First, I’d like to tell everyone that my new banner ad has surpassed my wildest expectations and doubled my hit count for the past few days. Let’s not get into the fact that most of these hits were made by people who wanted me to die and said so in their nasty little anonymous notes. Here are two of my favorites-

“Moore is a genius. You are the idiot. Thanks for coming out, asshole.

Signed- everyone”

While this is clearly a well thought out statement, everyone didn’t leave me an address to respond to their points (not that someone as stupid as I am could possibly counter such a concrete argument). However, I would like to congratulate everyone on what had to be a very carefully orchestrated maneuver in which they all shared a keyboard and hated me at once.

“…You are blind and ignorant, and a government puppet.

Signed- The World”

Great. Now the planet earth is mad at me. WHAT HAVE I DONE?!? PLEASE DON’T UNLEASH A TIDAL WAVE OR EARTHQUAKE!!! I’M SORRY!!!

These notes and the cowards who left them anonymously are a great testament to the makeup of Moore’s fan base. Passion and reaction, no thought involved. Really smart and informed. The good thing is, I did actually find a use for the fat tub of shit. If you want lots of excitement, put up a controversial banner-

They say the average banner on this site gets something like 2 hits per hundred views. 3 or 4 is considered really good

My little hate-filled banner was at 15% for a day, and has averaged 7% since then. That’s my hollow victory for the week. Of course, I had even more positive feedback than negative, and to those people I say, “My next banner will say ‘Michael Moore is the smartest man alive, and I want to kiss his sweaty gross neck’”. Be sure and send notes.

I am a meathead

Or more to the point, I was an up-and-coming meathead until I messed up my back. Now I am a recovering meathead still addicted to lifting weights, but unable to really be aggressive about it for fear of paralysis. After my last surgery, I did nothing in the way of exercise except stretch my back and leg muscles and take the occasional walk to the bathroom. I managed to gain 40 lbs. and become a certified fat turd. (215 lbs, 36+” waist, 5’9” tall)

On New Year’s Eve of 2001 I decided not to be fat anymore. By April of that year I weighed 185 and a year later I have lost 10 more pounds. How? Lots and lots of cocaine and regular puke sessions between meals. Now I have yellow teeth and am anemic, but I look great. Over half of your weight is blood, and once you start barfing that stuff out, the pounds just fly off.

The point to this (and no, I didn’t do it with drugs and barfing) is that I started back to the gym a few weeks ago after a good six months of building mutual trust between my spine and myself. Now that we have an understanding, I can go to the gym; stretch for about 20 minutes, and then gingerly provide resistance to my muscles in a very controlled way.

The first time I had been to the gym in six months. Now that was an experience. I still remembered the secrets of the gym, like wrapping your wallet and phone in your underwear when you leave it in your locker. No man EVER considers another man’s underwear clean enough to touch with his bear hands, even for a wallet and a phone. There are also certain hours when the gym is more crowded than Disneyland, and I know those by heart. Goofy’s always hogging the abdominizer. What I wasn’t expecting was the rush of adrenaline I felt when I saw all of the weights and machines and smelled that gym smell. Call me nuts, but I love it. I felt like a retard at Chuck-e-Cheese’s. A mosquito at a nudist colony, if you will. So I got my lift on, and went home.

Other things I forgot about-

Working out makes me very hungry. I ate everything in the house that night, and had the nightmares to prove it.

It also makes me twitch violently as I fall asleep. I actually hit myself in the nose so hard it made me cry.

Stretching on the morning after a workout can result in a very painful cramp in one or more muscle groups, and ends with me making gasping noises on my bedroom floor.

Since it is impossible to raise my arms above the level of my shoulders, washing my hair involves my squirting shampoo on the shower wall and rubbing my head in it.

By placing my toothbrush on the edge of the sink and moving my teeth back and forth over it, I can brush them somewhat effectively.

Don’t even try to shave. Significant blood loss.

I have Jesus’ class ring.

Bet you didn’t know that, did you? Oh yeah, sure do. I got it the year I graduated from college, and it disappears every so often for months or years at a time, much like the hotly debated shroud he was supposed to have been buried in. I’ll take it off and put it somewhere and it will travel to another dimension and hang out with the socks I lose in the laundry, and reappear in my old golf bag or something. The last time I lost it, I found it about two years later in a pair of shorts that I hadn’t worn since I got fat. Today I found it in the lost and found at the gym. That crazy ring and its never-ending shenanigans…

How many people do you know who have ever held a meat thermometer for ransom, or even thought of doing that? Answer- One.

Last weekend I spent $16 on a little gas grill for my back porch. One thing I can do well is grill some food. It’s like an art form, and I spend hours meditating before beef touches metal. My brother, the Ladyfriend, my friend named Cram and his fiancée, Lady Cram all came to my palatial estate to cook meat and drink beers. Cram brought a shiny new meat thermometer, complete with plastic sheath and shirt clip. I am not ashamed to say that I coveted it. Oh, how I coveted it. I was all about jabbing it into the flesh of dead animals to see if they were still harboring things that could kill us or make us farty. What a miraculous machine! Not that I hadn’t passed them dozens of times in the aisle at the grocery store and they only cost about $4 or anything… The good news was Cram left without his thermometer. The better news was that I have absolutely no moral qualms with stealing from a friend. I used it the next day when I grilled two of three meals. I would have grilled three, but eggs and cereal fall right through the little bars, and they smell bad when they do.

I had big plans for this thermometer, but Cram was vigilant, and told me to bring it into work on Tuesday. I had a better idea. I took a picture of the meat thermometer with a current newspaper so he’d know it was healthy when I took the picture. Then I started with the demands. This is paraphrased from an instant messenger conversation we had-

Cram- Give me the damn thermometer, punk.

Dusty- I don’t think you are in any position to make demands.

Cram- oh, GOD. What have you done?!

Dusty- If you ever want to accurately measure the internal temperature of your meat, you will do exactly as I say.

Cram- You are sick…

(here’s why my career as a kidnapper never took off. My demands sucked.)

Dusty- 1. A naked picture of Bea Arthur, and, 2. tell me what movie that came from.

Cram- What? “Measuring the internal temperature of your meat” came from a movie?

Dusty- Don’t get lippy with me, my friend. *bend* (meat thermometer screams in agony)

Cram- OKAY! Schindler’s list!

Dusty- Wrong! Airheads (starring Brendan Fraser)

Cram- Come on.

Dusty- By the way, it is a toasty 99 degrees in my rectum right now.

Cram- You owe me $4.00

Dusty- I didn’t really put it in there. I was kidding.

Cram- I don’t care. $4.00, bitch. I already thought about it, so it’s ruined.

I do know why I would make a terrible criminal, but I don’t know why a guy like me even has friends. Of course, I wouldn’t need them if I had a damn meat thermometer.

The End.

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