Dirk Dirtwood's Dirt House
The Adventures of a Southern Dipshit


                     Me and some of my friends, or my friends and I, used to always do this shit called a CURVEBALL. The curveball was so effective it ended up becoming world renowned, everyone knew this shit! EVERYONE! The Eskimo down the street who didn’t even speak English ended up knowing what the Curveball was, cause it was that damn important! I can only imagine a world without my infamous curveball; an African president, a US in recession, a bunch of hippies hell bent on green energy. What a world that would be!

                Anyway, I have a confession to make. I’ve been meaning to tell people this shit for years but I’ve been too afraid, a little pussy, a little tuna cat trying to find a mouth. Anyway, I’ve got this thing where every day it’s like they said I can’t rap about bein broke no more, they ain’t say I can’t rap about coke no more!  Slut, you think I won’t choke no whore till her vocal cords don’t work in her throat no more!?!

                And everyone is looking at me and I get real serious, my eyes get real red and look nothing different from Satan fucking an angel and I really gotta tell you, my name is Marshall Mathers, I’m an alcoholic. I gotta disease and they don’t know what to call it. And to tell you the truth the whole time I’ve felt like bitch I’m comin out swingin! So fast to make ya eyes spin! You get knocked the fuck out like Mike Tyson!

                And that’s a fucking CURVEBALL! See,  you start the thing off like you gonna say something personal  and serious and then you bust into a rap everyone knows. I just used a rap from like 10 years ago and GOD DAMN! Am I fucking that old already? I’d still be fuckin’ ya mom! Like seriously, ever since the day I was born, drugs what they used to say I was on, I don’t know which way I was goin but everyday they keep playin my song!

                And that’s the CURVEBALL, rapping at inappropriate times. It’s great for birthday parties, bar mitzvahs, weddings, you name it!



           My friend John’s dad is a very special man. He isn’t a doctor or an astronaut or a famous football player. He isn’t even a genius. Matter of fact, he’s a very uneducated man. But the reason my friend John’s dad is awesome is because he is the man that invented TiVo. That’s right. My friend John’s dad, Joe, invented TiVo.

           In 1995 Joe patented an idea/design for a program that would record live TV at will. He got the idea one night when he had to go out to eat with his wife and her family. Furious that he couldn’t watch his favorite TV show, Joe went into an inner rage that could only leady to one outcome: Brilliance.

          All night Joe sat patiently at the table, feigning interest and bullshitting nonchalantly with his wife and her compadres. It took about 2 hours of bad conversation, a little bit of wine and a half of a fillet mignon when Joe suddenly realized that he had to take a huge shit. Frustrated by his inconvenience but relieved that he could get away from the disasters at the table, Joe grabbed a napkin, his lucky pen, and headed to the Men’s room.

           There John sat, in the urinal farthest against the wall, pen and napkin in hand. It was within these mere moments that Joe devised his plan: SnapIt.

            SnapIt was basically every thing TiVo and other brands are and could ever aspire to be. It was everything. It was the whole motherfucking manuscript, all on a napkin. If the entire universe was a napkin with a brilliant idea written on it, Joe would control the world. He was the man. So what happened to it? Why isn’t Joe the righteous inventor of the TiVo unit?

             When Joe left the restroom that evening, he made one crucial mistake. Joe put the napkin in his back pocket, and he didn’t stuff it in all the way.  The plan slipped out. Shortly after, another man came into that restroom. He was a 29 year old electrical engineer whose last name may or may not have sounded similar to Ramses. Curious as to the design laying on the floor, he did what anyone would do if they saw a million dollar bill laying on the ground: he took it.

           The rest is history. Every now and then Joe will mention how he created TiVo and how much agony he has suffered in his life for losing “God’s one and only blessing” upon him. We always remind him he didn’t create TiVo, he created SnapIt. Basically the same thing, he says. Amen brother.

           The moral of this story is it’s better to be pissed off than pissed on. Now that I think about it, that saying has absolutely nothing to do with this story.


                My friend Dave used to work in this huge sporting goods store. This store was awesome, decked out to the fullest. It had dead deers and wolves and ducks and squirrels all over the place, just laying on the walls and on this gargantum display in the middle of this gigantic store. It was cool. Anyway Dave got charged with sexual harassment one day on the job, in front of everyone, and it was fucking hilarious.

                Dave usually worked in the camping department of the store. One night Dave got called to the fishing department, a department that he was wholly unfamiliar with. For good or for bad, a whole hot mama fuck of a stomach full of kids visited the Fishing department. The Fishing department was right next to the Sailing department, the clothing department. and the Kids Clothes department. Perfect for a sailor fucker, a hot pink fucker or a child molester. For Dave, none of these options would suffice. Dave was more of a regular Joe, and as such that made him more like any normal person than an actual normal person. Here’s an exercise: Grab a pen and paper and draw two little dots as eyes, a dot for a nose and a smiley face. Above this happy horsefuckin’ face write Normal Dave. That is about how normal Normal Dave is.

                But this particular night things went wrong. Dave was called in to the Fishing department to clean the fish and make sure the area was tidy. This department had a few hundred fishing poles spread out over about a 200 square feet area. Some kids were fucking around, just being the ignorant spoiled little shits they are, and in the midst of their nursery orgy they knocked over a bunch of fishing poles. As the poles clashed against the ground, Dave was the only person standing that was over 5 foot 4. This meant the little shit kids were small enough to dash off and use their diminutive stature as an advantage; they could easily run and use the aisles as cover; unfortunately, Dave was the only unlucky sumbitch to be noticed.

                “He did it!” screamed a fellow [traitor] worker. He’s the only one walking away!” To this, Dave was furious. Some would say Dave was fucking furious. So Dave runs after these little midget kids, who are still within eye sight form him since he saw them moments before their big fuck up. Dave catches up to them, grabs the boniest of the two and hold him up as if he was some sort of fish on display for a bunch of hungry fish munchers.

                RAPE! the little kid screams. Dave just drops this little motherfucker, bust his ass up. Dave was so angry, he literally held this little kid by the collar of his shirt, just dangling him from the air.  The kid starts screaming and crying and everyone is suddenly in a bad mood. It was the biggest and quickest change of scenery I have ever seen. At first everyone is at least  feigning happiness, next thing you know this piece of shit child is crying, and Dave is being touted a child molester. They ended up firing Dave shortly after that because they couldn’t bare having a purported child molester in the place. It was pretty fucked up. Only thing is, my friends dad is even more fucked up. This dude was so fucking high that he thought he was blind and tried walking across the Interstate. In order to keep a tragic story tragic, he got his bitch ass hit by a car, and rightfully so.  I go to school to enable myself to learn a wild mix of ebonics, street slang and English, and that meshes about as well as this sumbitches face right about now. I don’t even know who I just insulted there, but this motherfuckers face is fucked up. And that is about the end of this story.


    So last night me and my friend John were chillin.’ I was trying to get on the Internet so I could show him this funny ass video of this guy beating this other guy up and then shitting on him in public in front of a bar; real classy stuff. So anyway since I don’t have the real Internet in my place I use one of those things they call “wireless.”

    Wireless internet, that’s correct. As I’m checking the local connections, hawk-eyeing the usual NetGear and LSUhome, I come across a connection labeled karmaguard. Feeling it strangely odd, I turn to John and I ask “dude, why do you think this connection is labeled karmaguard?” The usual question ran through our minds; Is it bad karma to steal other people’s Internet? Or to put it in a more rational form, Will we have bad karma for using someone’s Intetnet connection? Is it our fault that they didn’t throw up a WEP key? What the fuck am I even talking about?

    So now we’re in some serious shit. Here we are browsing the net with someone else’s internet connection because they didn’t throw up a WEP key. Problem is, this connection was labeled karmaguard, and now we are facing some sort of Voodoo hex or some shit. I swear, I couldn’t take a shit for 3 days. The bad karma had finally caught up to us. Before I knew it we were in Vegas riding in a 60,000 Lexus and playing Craps. I’ll admit that last part was complete bullshit but the rest of this story is true.


Round here people are really in to their shit. Their religion and shit. It kinda  scares me.

                Today when I was workin on the farm, we had this huge carton of milk outside, filled with little 8 oz cartons of milk in them. I’m milking this cow when I suddenly notice this little lady helping herself to a carton of milk. She’s gonna steal ’em I’m thinkin’. I watch as the little lady makes her way towards me. Either she’s gonna pay for  ’em, or she’s gonna kill me and then go take the whole carton. She may even eat me once I’m dead but statistically speaking, this is a small probability.

                This ladys like “How much fer dis?” I tell her 40 cents. She gives me a dollar and says with an innocent laugh “I’d rather pay for these, it ain’t worth goin to Hell over  .40 cents.”

                Bitch, I’m sure you’ve commited worse sins than .40 cents in your lifetime, so if you believe that way, go to hell.


My friend Johnson used to have a house we called The Bughouse. We called this place The Bughouse for one reason, and one reason only: It was full of bugs. The Bughouse was home to all sorts of crazy little creatures of the night; insects that seemingly serve no other purpose than to be at the bottom of my shoe, like an angry Zeus striking with no mercy on every little ant of a mortal.

                Johnson used to study insects because he was taking up some sort of insect major at the local community college. He was a diehard insect fanatic, studying their every limb, but he had no money. An insect scientist with no money is like Angelina Jolie with no pussy so he was pretty useless because that meant he had no science lab. What Johnson did have was a rotted down house he inherited from his uncle Jimmy. Since this piece of shit was already a termites favorite fuck toy, Johnson said fuck cleaning it, I’ll make this my lab Bitch! Those were pretty much his exact words too; the day the house was passed to him he said “Dude, guess what…my uncle gave me a house.” When asked what he would do with said house, Johnson replied, “I’ma make it my lab, Bitch!”


                The Bughouse looked like Rosie O’Donnell’s asshole after getting ass fucked by Barbara Steisands dick. I mean it was horrible. It smelled like 20 T-Rex’s shitting in a toilet for Wee-Man. My tit grasp of the English language cannot even express how nasty this place was. Fuck getting too descriptive, imagine the bugs and insects you fear the most and multiply that by a whole house full of ’em. This place was Freddy Kruegar’s  wet dream. And Johnson loved it! He would always tell me how he wants to make it his permanent residence one day. I pretty much just said whatever dude.

                Why we ever even went there I don’t know. I do know that Lenny Lane used to always go smoke weed there with Johnson. They’d toke up and then go and kill bugs with lighters and shit. I’ve even heard ol’ Lenny would hit the occasional crack pipe there. Regardless if Johnson did, who knows. He was always bugged out anyway.

                These fuckers would be smoking in The Bughouse day and night. When Lenny was smoking crack, he’d get stupid as fuck. He used to always start punching holes in walls for no reason. One desperate night Lenny even beat the shit out of an old man for crack money. He kicked a young boys teeth in just because the dude had a Twilight t-shirt on. Motherfucker was crazy. Anyway, Lenny and Johnson were always getting high on something in The Bughouse, be it weed, crack, bannanna peels, whatever. One night, late late at night, Lenny left his pipe on a counter or something. The pipe got knocked over or something, and the place caught on fire. I say something because the events are a little hazy.

                The Bughouse was completely disintegrated in a mere 20 minutes. This place was so far out in the middle of horsefuck island that the place was already on its knees by the time the fire busters got there. No one knows for certain what events transpired on that fateful evening; Were they high? Were they doing drugs? Did they burn it down themselffs? Was there something I could have done? But if there is one thing I am sure of, it’s that it doesn’t bug me.


   So, about my friend Lenny, Lenny Lane. He is the son of Penny Lane of Beatles fame. She was the groupie, he was the son. Some would say he was the sounuvabitch. Either way with me, he was cool.

   Lenny used to go around and play kick the can by my uncles barn. We’d all be ridin’ horses around there and this 37 year old guy would be playin’ kick the can by the barnyard. I remember one day my boy Skee-Lo got sick an’ tired of seein him there all the time. Skee-Lo took one of the horses and straight ran that sumbitch over. Literally rammed straight through his shit, busted him up real bad. Funniest part was, after this shitfest Skee-Lo told him it’s all good; I know, the irony of that. Skee busted his ass up and suddenly it’s all good on Skee’s half, whatever. After Skee said all this he went to his truck and put on the Penny Lane song. I’m like you fuckin’ nigger got the Beatles in your truck? Well I didn’t really say that but I was thinking it; Or maybe I did say it. Or maybe I imagined saying it and convined myself that I did. No, I’m just kidding, I did say it. It’s all good though.

       On better days you could find Lenny at the old folks home cleaning up the shit of old ladys. I guess he was a nice guy at heart. He used to take all the Vicoden and Percosets and Lortabs from all these old people. He used to tell me bout how he  hypnotized some old lady and got her to give him all her pills. Actually, more than just her pills. I honestly think he was full of shit but he did seem to always have a stash of pills. What a strange strange character. He use to feed his cat pills and call it a “catnap.” It was pretty weird. One day Wayne was like “say bra, stop giving your cat all the goddamn pills….. You could give ’em to me.” These are really good guys! My sarcasm there should be about as obvious as Kim Kardashians big flabby ass.     

       Lenny Lane used to love cats. He loved cats so much that I think he’d fuck a cat. Maybe not that much but he definately spend some money around Charistmas time.

   And that’s another thing; Lenny whooped up on Santa Claus at the mall one day. A few days before Christmas in 2008, Lenny was at the mall with his oldest nephew, a 5’9 bronzed goddess named Maria. Well it just so happens none other than Santa  is at the mall on this same evening, and as they pass by his little hut, he’s walking out and bumps into her. Not a hard bump or anything, just a light breeze. Uncle Lenny gets all pissed off and starts screamin “Why the fuck you hittin on my daughter bitch? Fat fuck why you hittin on my daughter?” I don’t even care to know why he was saying his nephew was his daughter. Santa must have called for reindeer backup or something because Uncle Lenny knocked this guy out flat, knockout of the week! Maria then slapped him and called him an embarassment and made us get the fucking fuck out of there. It was a pretty awkward moment. Larry made it chill though, as he walked away he made sure to tell everyone Merry Christmas. I thought that was real nice.