When I see Slavoj Zizek, I am Going to Go Completely Ape-Shit on his Fat Little Ass (Don't Think I Won't)

It's called a fucking beard comb you stupid Slovenian drunk

While exploring the anarchist scene of the former Yugoslovia I ran into a little problem with a fellow you should recognize. His name is Slavoj Zizek and he is a punk-ass windbag. Slavoj, if you are reading this, you are seriously gonna get some wet willies next time I see your fat, pasty, slovenly dressed, tenured ass.

I was mackin' on some fine-ass Slavic bitches when Slavoj rolls in like he's some kind of gangsta, when he really ain't shit. Goin' on about Cheaper By The Dozen 2 being some sort of metaphor for Badiou's theory of Marxist revolution. Honestly, who gives a fuck? ...besides dickless Maoists like Mike Ely, who probably hardly ever get any pussy because of their outdated and authoritarian conceptual frame-work. (Mike Ely is also a Virginian and it is a fact that Virginians are in-bread fucks who love to h8 on me because I score with their fat redneck mamas and then skeet-skeet in their Virginia Tech baseball caps when they're not looking) It is a well-known fact that Badiou is a Smurf-nosed frog-eater who beats his meat while fantasizing about being double-teamed by Pol Pot and St. Paul.

The next thing I know the ladies are swooning over this sweat-soaked, sweater-wearing shit-bag, even though he smells like my taint after hours of vigorous training for the revolution. What the fuck? He's not even that good looking, seriously.

Then I see this fat little chode on Democracy Now chatting it up with Amy Goodman. Rumor has it he gave her the old Juan Gonzalez afterward. WTF people, WTF. That should be fucking ME on Democracy Now, not some scraggly Slavic fuck who talks like an IMDB fan review on acid. It's so fucking unfair! So fucking unfair!

I pour my blood, sweat, and tears into my writings and I so seldom get the recognition I deserve. What more do you people want? I won't be your monkey you fucking vultures! I won't sing and dance for you and prattle on incoherently about Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I won't fucking do it!

Zizek, this is a warning, the next time I see you I am going to give you the titty-twister and then kick you right in the base of your spinal cord. Then I will give your ass a severe whooping with a tire iron, before spitting in your face and putting out a cigarette in your eye. And while you're mewling and bellowing on the ground like a beached dougong, wallowing in your own blood and tooth-fragments, I will look you in the eye and say "JURASSIC PARK IS NOT A FUCKING METAPHOR FOR LACANIAN PSYCHOLOGY, IT'S JUST A STUPID FUCKING FILM ABOUT DINOSAURS"! And then I will smile and piss in your mouth. And tea-bag you for good measure.

I'm totally serious.

(If anything the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park are a metaphor for the exploited workers in the colonial peripheries rupturing with the capitalist mode of production)