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Mama said knock you out

Dear Murray:

I have been getting the urge lately to fucking punch my boyfriend in the face. What should I do? Punch the fuck out of him or tell him how i feel in a nice calm way.. even though I ask him OVER AND OVER AND OVER again to just pay attention to the little things he does that piss me off?

About to knock some teeth out,
Mike Tyson, Jr.

Alright. Here’s where mothabitches piss me off. IF YOU’VE GOT A PROBLEM with a mothafucka, TELL THEM. Tell them early. Tell them often. LOOK MOTHAFUCKA, don’t do that shit. If you keep it up, I’m gonna stab your goddamned eyeball.

It’s simple enough. Then people can adjust. They know what to expect. You can’t hold all that shit in. My ex wouldn’t bring up a goddamned thing until it was bothering her so much that it couldn’t be fixed. Things like OH GOD, WHEN YOU BREATHE, I WANT TO KILL YOU IN YOUR SLEEP! YOU KNOW WHAT? If you can’t fucking say something before it’s too late, you relinquish all rights to bitch. Put it in writing, put it on a plaque, needlepoint a big sign SPEAK NOW OR FOREVER SHUT YOUR FUCKIN TRAP.

So if you really have been telling him AS YOU SAY you have, and he continues, then by all means. You have every right to pop a mothafucka in his jaw. And I don’t mean just saying “stop”. “Stop” has no effect on dudes. Try something like “if you don’t fucking stop, I will cut your dick off and feed it to you on a kaiser roll.”

Otherwise, SHUT YOUR FUCKIN TRAP and leave me the fuck alone.

Categories: Limp Dicks

Dear Murray

Dear Murray a tasty, tasty bitch beloved and feared by hordes of basement-dwelling illiterati and their fierce antagonists, the Grammar Nazis. He single-handedly turned the webcam whorefest of Myspace into a lively commerce of ideas, including whether or not the TUBGIRL photo will ever be topped as a postmodern expression of the inexpressible. According to web historians, he has inspired more photoshop projects and syphilis jokes than Britney Spears (who he has been repeatedly linked romantically to). He is also rumoured to be the father of Anna Nicole Smith's baby, a disciple of Cliff Yablonski, and the second gunman on the grassy knoll. Although he could not be reached for comment, he reportedly resides in or near the tent cities along the LA River Basin, third right after the walrus sunning station.

He has vehemently denied all charges that he is any any way responsible for that rash your wife claims "is from the heat".

His primary function is doling out advice; the inspiration sprang from an endless and eventually dull repetition of fucktards failed to heed his words.

A secondary result is a dysfunctional family "round table" of people who contribute innumerable one-liners and personal experiences, rarely related in any way to the actual question.

It is estimated that tens of thousands of readers have "LOL'd" approximately 5,395,645,694,167,467,105 times, with the toll expected to rise.

He is immune to kryptonite, chlamydia, and brainwashing.

Wikipedia has banned PENCILTITS's entry, debating the relevance of his tasty bitchiness.