I respond to tumblr posts relating to Tom Kraus

Re: Tom Vs. I haven’t had internet for a week.

Ok folks, sorry for the slack ass sessions I’ve been failing to post. I’m going to try and throw this together using the MCC wireless internet in the 5 minutes I have before my class starts.

It’s been about a week since I haven’t had the internet. I know it doesn’t sound that bad, but it wasn’t until now that I realized how heavily I depend on a shitty 10Meg connection. I haven’t had the ability to do any of my online homework, watch the X-Files on netflix, play Gears of War 3 on X-Box live, do any of my internet banking, etc… These are all unfortunate circumstances I had to overcome for a bit now. My nights have grown lonely, repeating disc 2 and 3 from the Chapelle Show season 2, because disc 1 was missing from the case. I have been reciting the outtakes from Black Bush and the Racial Draft for the past 3 days at work now. Work, now that’s what I wanted to talk about…

Tom Kraus got a mother fucking job. A real job. Shipping and Receiving and other bullshit responsibilities at the oh so loyal Moosejaw. What does this mean?

I ran into Tom Kraus at the Hayloft this past Sunday in Mt. Clemens at an Undesirables/Spring Break/Mayor Mayor show. I got to meet super saiyan GoTenks in PERSON, bitches. That’s right. Tom Kraus was outside, spraying champagne over 20-30 fine bitches ass, yelling out money ain’t a thang. See, Lars? Getting a real job IS cool. Being a real person IS cool. You get shit ton of money to buy booze and hookers and party like the stock market does. Party on, TK.

Re: Tom Vs. Summer’s Ending

I had a dream the other night. I don’t dream very often, maybe only once or twice a month. So when I do dream, I grab onto those dreams, break them down, and try to decipher their meanings. The dream began with me walking up to an older house, a tri-level colonial. The front porch steps were destroyed beyond repair, but still ascendable. As I made my way through the screen door, a baby snake slithered across my feet, up, and into a hole in the facade of the entrance. I made my way into the house, with a hint of pet urine and human sex in the air (needed to clarify said sex). The walls were covered with cobwebs, bed bugs, and cockroaches. As I made my way into the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of a man standing in front of the fridge, drinking from a gallon of milk. I didn’t make a sound, trying not to alert the man for I was waltzing around in his house. “You’re here…” he said to me as I stood there like a statue. “Why am I here?” I asked back, hoping for a useful response. The man didn’t move his body, yet his eyes scanned every inch of my body, “…because you are here,” he responded.

Instantly the kitchen lights flickered and popped, and the dim light barely grew on the walls of the room. It was then that I noticed who I was talking to. The figure in front of the fridge was me, from this past Halloween, dressed up in full Lumberjack attire. (Note: Lumberjack should always be capitalized due to the fact that you are spelling out the name of a god.) As I stared at myself covered in saw dust, dead squirrels, and vitamin-D, I suddenly woke up. . You know, you usual nightmare movie wake up scene. Me, covered in sweat, panting, cum all over my walls, and HGTV on the tube.

What was my Lumberjack self trying to tell me in my dream? Here? Where is here? Tumblr? Earth? The Laundry Stop laundry mat located on Cass Ave and Groesbeck? No one knows, nor ever will. Coincidental that Lars Rip’s most recent post was about the summer’s end and Lumberjacks? I think not. A wise man once said, “Everything happens for a reason.” Tom Kraus killed that man. Nothing happens unless Tom Kraus has a say in it. So as I sit here, preparing myself to fold my last load of laundry, I think to myself what would Tom Kraus do had he had this same dream? He would have got off his ass, posted half naked scene chick GIF’s on tumblr, had a Timmy Hoe’s ice choca-latta thing, and fucked his palm. Cool enough? I wish I was….

Re: Tom Vs. The New Broad Vs. The Incredible Hulk.

It’s been a minute. I’ve decided to smash a two for one.

Fuck you.

Re: Tom Vs. Live Strong

Lars really went off on this one. Real 666 and shit. He can be a bit intimidating at some times. A real tough act to follow, you know? Yea….

I never bought one of those live strong bracelets. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Lance Armstrong is a bad mother fucker. Riding his bike all over the place and having less testes than I do. I’m more of a man than him, though. I have 2, he has 1. Bummer bro. I dig the cancer awareness, and teaming up together to fight a cause, and yadda yadda, but you’ve seen the dudes wearing those bracelets, people. Buck jacked, muscle shit, collar popped, fake tan, BRO BRO BRO! You don’t hate cancer, you hate being different. Tom Kraus IS cancer. Every cigarette you smoke has 15% TK, fuckin your lungs all up. I just learned that the processed meat in hot dogs increase your chances of cancer by 21%. I buy all my hot dogs from Tom Kraus, so fuck me. Nothing CAUSES cancer, there are just certain things that awaken the cancer cells and speed up the process. I hope that’s how I die. I mean, cancer? Pssh. Bring it on. Remember the song Mambo #5? At my death bed, I want Lou Bega to be sittin next to me singing it “A little bit of Tom Kraus by your side. A little bit of Tom Kraus then you die.”

Rest in peace, me. Rest in peace.

Re: Tom Vs. Drugs

Sorry, it was a long weekend. The camping is all over with, now back to Tom Kraus. I’m awfully exhausted. It’s been a long Monday, and my mind is pretty jumbled, but here we go…

It’s been over 6 years since I’ve used an illegal substance. Other than cigarettes, the occasional beer, and to you vegetarians, red meat, my body is pure from all that other garbage. I drank a whole 12-pack of Vess (Save-a-lot) brand cola over the weekend camping for no one other than Tom Kraus. When I heard he was addicted to store brand soda, I went for it. Nothing magical behind that, I just wanted to say that I drank a whole 12-pack for you, TK. You are the epitome (I had to google that spelling) of cool. The cat’s pajamas. The bee’s knee’s. You can see now that why I took all that sugary garbage down my gullet was to impress you. Will you marry me, Tom Kraus? What kind of wedding will we have? Will there be Harleys? Will you invite all of your 1100+ Facebook friends? Will they arrive on their Harleys? Will they give us Harleys for our wedding gifts? Do you even approve of same sex marriage? I don’t, but if you do, I’ll bend over and receive whatever you’re pitchin’. <3

Re: Tom Vs. The Open Road

A wise man once told me, “Life is like a business of polishing turds into diamonds. The source of turds is constant, and the demand for diamonds is also constant. A diamond can be polished from any turd. Despite the appearance of the diamond, it is a diamond none the less. However, every once in a while, there comes a piece of shit that no matter how hard you buff it, you will never quite get the luster you desire.”

No one is perfect, folks. That’s a fact. No wait, that’s not a fact. Tom Kraus is perfect.

At first when I read Lars Rip’s post about Tom Kraus’ dick, I was confused. Not about Tom Kraus’ dick, but about the sax solo. The first time I heard the song “Turn the Page” by Bob Seger, I was introduced to a religion known as “Segerism”. It’s plain and simple, Seger is my god. Pray? No need to pray, listen to Seger. Church? No church, every Seger song is mass. Confession? Seger died for my sins. My life is now eternal. So as you can see, I was confused when the sax solo wasn’t Seger’s dick, but in fact Tom Kraus’ penis cumming. Does that mean Tom Kraus trumps Bob Seger? Does Seger heaven exist? Do 4 quarters make a dollar? All of these theories are a bit crazy, so I won’t let myself get too carried away.

In the end, no one is perfect (except Tom Kraus). We all have different religious views, and some have none at all. But when 2012’s devastation comes haulin through, and the world is falling into bits underneath my feet, you better believe I’m gonna be sitting behind Tom Kraus on his Harley, hugging his muscular midsection as we blast Bob Seger and drive into the sunset.

P.S. Larry, it’s FONZIE*

(Source: thisislars)

Re: Tom Kraus: FUCK YEAH. (and I mention Amy Winehouse)

As we’re all aware, Amy Winehouse OD’ed and died. Good.

I’m sitting in my room on this fine Sunday afternoon, about to visit my girlfriend at work, then go to a BBQ with friends, followed by bowling. I’m also currently downloading Grieves’ past two albums with high hopes that they won’t be as monotonous as his first full length.

It’s Sunday, folks. 3 days left to wear away until I’ll be in Gladwin, MI. All my friends will be getting fucked up by the campfire while I’ll be more than likely fishing the Tittabawasee River the whole time. Does this mean anything to you? More than likely, no. You probably don’t like to fish, and you probably don’t like my wonderful alcoholic friends, but none the less, LISTEN. This is camping, an American past time brought down from generation to generation. Go into the woods, get drunk, fuck things up, throw axes, shoot guns, and destroy what mother nature has worked so hard to create for us. Any bells going off? History lesson…

Tom Kraus created camping.

Lesson over.

We should be grateful to have such a cool friend like Tom Kraus to go back in time and tell someone in a middle-lower class suburban home;

“Hey, fuck head. Take your family into the woods, and don’t forget the marshmallows.”

‘Smores were had, and ‘smores will be had this weekend. Who do we have to thank?

TOM FK’IN KRAUS.

(Source: thisislars)