E R N I E ' S   H O U S E   O F   W H O O P A S S

When It Rains, It Pours.

And no, I'm not talking about the hurricanes, either. I'm talking about flames people, flames.

For months there's been a drought. Well, there's been a few morons trolling for a flame, but I'm pretty adept at sniffing those imposters out. But the true fools are honest with their criticism of the Ernstabator. And don't get me wrong, there's a right way and a wrong way to get your point across. This is the wrong way...

Well fuck me, another Canadian. This almost makes me well up with tears when I remember how much (and why!) I loathed Canada back when I first started EHOWA. Now when I visit and dangle thine balls for all to enjoy, I can't stop and think to myself, "Thank God, I'm just visiting." See Laura, scrotums are funny!

Oh Canada, how do I miss thee? Not much truth be told, but I will admit you do have some pretty nice looking women, especially the Calgary Flames girls. Are you hot Laura? Will you show me them boobies of yours? Do your nipples stand up like little top hats, I wonder? Show me, show me, show me! So I can have a good laugh at your expense. And remember, Jesus and Michael Moore may love you, but I don't.

remember the b-52 model? bad news, it crashed

dude, i hope you guys have flood insurance for this shit

Now See, I Try To Do One Movie Review.

And I really thought it was going to be the religious nuts who were gonna drive me to drink. And I must admit, you people have been well behaved. Much to my surprise, I didn't get any Jesus lovers writing in all bent out of shape. We did however, have one unfortunate reaction from one tool who without provocation, turned the entire thing into an personal attack upon myself and a good female friend of mine. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Ernie no like.

You see, when I linked a page off tworetards, one of their users decided that would be a good opportunity to climb onto his soap box and go on a tirade. Now that's okay for me to do, because hey, I'm me. Anyway, here's the text in question this abortion appended to the page I linked:

Hmmm, now that was pretty hostile, eh? So shortly after pulling down said link, I got a quick apologetic email from Sheena from tworetards.com:

Okay, fair enough. Which as a side note, I'd like to take this opportunity to point out that's why I run the main EHOWA site all by my lonesome... nobody to fuck things up for me. Anyway, I explain that sure I'd be happy to plug their site again, if she'd kindly put me on contact with ol Phil...

Well now, what shall we do with Phil, eh? Anybody got any ideas? I mean I don't want to piss you off or anything, but you have no idea how easily I can make an ass out of you, don't ya know? And besides, your had quite the attitude which sounded kind of cocky if you ask me. And you said some pretty dog ass mean things, too. But that's okay Phil, Lucky for you I'm an easy going guy and don't hold a grudge. Well, not too easy going. I did masturbate for a few minutes and then write your email address on my throbbing cock, and posted that picture with a few gay personal ads. Enjoy your fifteen minutes.

here's a great video of two chicks but keep an eye on the background

these are without a doubt the most beautiful boobs i have ever seen. ever.

A Summer Fling.

There are 10 million members at Adult Friend Finder, all of which looking for fun filled action. Even if you don't want to hook up, sign up for free and check out tons of nude photos and profiles there. With 10 million members, you may find the chick next door there looking to get laid. And you ladies, don't be shy. Tons of hunky guys are waiting for you. Just take the 1 minute to sign up for free, go to your e-mail to confirm and get busy!

Mel Owes Me Two Hours Of My Life Back.

So I know this isn't the most timely movie review, but I had the opportunity/punishment of seeing The Passion of the Christ this weekend and I just figured I'd share my thoughts on it. Now I wasn't expecting to have some profound spiritual experience, or to have a heart attack during the movie, or confess to some crime afterwards. But I was at least hoping to at least enjoy a cinematic experience out of it. I like Mel Gibson's movies and I know he put a lot of effort into this, so it should at the very least be an interesting watch.

Picture if you will, the most perfect piece of crap ever to squeeze its way out of your little chocolate starfish. Imagine perfectly streamlined sides, tapering to a nice point so as your asshole doesn't slam shut when you're done. Now picture taking a rolling pin and smoothing out that piece of crap into a long thin roll and feeding that into a movie projector. That sir, is what this movie was. A complete piece of shit.

I know there was a lot of hub-bub about this moving being very gory, the torture scenes being too graphic, yadda yadda yadda. Trust me, the blood was the least of its worries. Here's the story in a nutshell:

Ok, great story. But I just told the entire story in what? Twenty seconds? That leaves one hour, fifty nine minutes, and forty seconds for Mel Gibson to rob me of the precious moments of my life which I will never get back. Yeah some years from now I will be on my deathbed wishing for an extra few moments of life, and I will remember wasting two hours of my life on this piece of this film. Because instead of telling a story, here's how it played out:

I had the same complaint about The Matrix Reloaded when Neo fought the eight million copies of Agent Smith: No matter how cool it is, there's only so many ways you can see a guy throw a punch or take a kick before it gets repetative. "Neo can't win, yeah I got it already, so move on." Only now with Passion it's, Jesus who gets beat unmercifully. Yeah I got it already, so move on. I actually found myself fast forwarding past the torture scenes, not because I was creeped out by the gore, or felt any connection to pool ol'Jesus, but because it thought my DVD player was caught on some infinite loop replaying the same bullshit scene. Hey Mel, there's only so many ways you can whip a guy before you lose whatever empathy you feel for the victim and grumble, "Uh, kill him or stop, but move the fuck on." These scenes Mel wanted to have such an impact instead turned boring; so repetitive they just ruined the movie. And whatever message he was trying to send fell on deaf ears as I sat there sighing and mumbling to myself, "Jesus Christ, please gouge out my fucking eyes so I don't have to watch this crap anymore."

This piece of shit movie would (should) have shared a rare distinction currently held by: The Thin Red Line, Showgirls, and A Night at the Roxbury. Those being the only films I've stopped right in the middle of, ejected and taken back to Blockbuster without even finishing. All because they sucked so much. I only finished The Passion of the Christ because I kept waiting for that great cinematic experience that everyone was talking about. But it never came. And I feel cheated. And I want those two hours back, Mel. You owe me.

Personally, I'd just have soon spent my time checking out chicks at a car show.

these jesus links are not for the faint of heart! one - two - three!

The Namesake of the USS Cole.

Sergeant Darrell Samuel Cole, United States Marine Corps Reserve (Deceased)

On August 25, 1941, Cole enlisted in the Marine Corps for the duration of the National Emergency, and following a boot training at Parris Island, SC, he was appointed to the Field Music School for training as a Marine Corps Field Music, the equivalent of a bugler. Completing instruction, he was transferred to the First Marine Regiment, First Marine Division, and on August 7, 1942, reached the shores of Guadalcanal for the first American offensive of World War II.

Not too happy in his role of field music when he had joined a fighting outfit to fight and after acquitting himself meritoriously as a machine gunner in the absence of the regular gunner, he applied for a change in rating, but was refused due to the shortage of buglers. Cole completed his first overseas tour of duty and returned to the United States in February 1943, where he joined First Battalion, Twenty-Third Marines, then forming as a part of the Fourth Marine Division at Camp Lejune, North Carolina. When the unit moved to California he again asked for relief as a Field Music and for permission to perform line duties, but was again refused due to the shortage of buglers in the Marine Corps.

During the first engagement of the Fourth Division at Roi-Namur in the Kwajalein Atoll, Cole, again forsaking his bugle, went into action as a machine-gunner. Four months later, when the Division stormed ashore at Saipan, he had been assigned to a machine-gun unit. Because of his proven ability in combat, he was designated a machine gun section leader.

During the battle when his squad leader was killed, Cole, although wounded, assumed command of the entire squad and acquitted himself in such a manner to be awarded the Bronze Star Medal for "...his resolute leadership, indomitable fighting spirit and tenacious determination in the face of terrific opposition..." A few days after the battle of Saipan, Cole, again led his squad ashore in the invasion of the neighboring islands of Tinian, where he continued to live up to his growing reputation as "The Fighting Field Music."

After the Marianas campaigns he again requested a change of rating and this time his request was approved and he was redesignated Corporal "line" and was subsequently promoted to Sergeant in November 1944. On February 19, 1945, Sergeant Cole led his machine gun section ashore in the D-Day assault of Iwo Jima. Moving forward with the initial assault wave, their advance was halted by a hail of fire from two Japanese emplacements which Sergeant Cole personally destroyed with hand grenades. His unit continued to advance until pinned down for a second time by enemy fire from three Japanese gun emplacements.

One of these emplacements was silenced by Cole's machine guns, but then jammed. Armed only with a pistol and one hand grenade, Sgt. Cole made a one-man attack against the two remaining positions. Twice he returned to his own lines for additional grenades and continued the attack under fierce enemy fire until he had succeeded in destroying the Japanese strong point. Returning to his own squad, he was instantly killed by an enemy grenade.

By his one-man attack and heroic self-sacrifice, Sergeant Cole enabled his company to move forward against fortifications and attain their ultimate objective. In addition to the Medal of Honor and Bronze Star Medal, Sergeant Cole was awarded the Purple Heart, Gold Star in lieu of a second Purple Heart, Presidential Unit Citation, American Defense Service Medal, Asiatic-Pacific Campaign Medal, and the World War II Victory Medal. The Medal of Honor was presented to his wife on 17 April 1947.

I Love It When A Plan Comes Together.

So I tried washing my viagra down with a beer -- guess what, pretty spectacular results!

It seems Bush and Kerry are trying to get along recently, although I don't know how that's gonna work out.

I met a really sweet girl recently, although her name raises some doubts about her sexual past. And the best part is she doesn't mind if I stare at her jugs.

Everything was going great for this Olympian, that is until people started chanting his name. Plus I'm feeling a little constipated lately, but I'm not sure why.

Horror Remembered.

I actually took this Tuesday morning off work, so that I could take my car in to get it's 5000 mile service. Traffic was a exceptionally bad, so I was flipping through the radio stations trying to find something to listen to. It seemed every station was talking and talking and talking about mundane crap as many morning radio stations often do. I finally settled on one and began to settle into the fact that I'd be creeping through traffic for the next hour. Then the morning show host mentioned how a co worker was running into the station... it seemd a plane had crashed into the World Trade Center.

Ha, I thought. Another bonehead tourist plane probably. The old building can take it, I thought. I remember reading that back in 19'some'odd when an Army Air Corp bomber crashed into the Empire State building in dense fog. Darwinism, I thought.

They finally got around to playing a few songs, which was a welcome break from the talking I had previous mentioned. Then the host breaks into music, right in the middle of a song, and states that a second plane, a big commercial motherfucker, had crashed into the World Trade Center also. At this point, I got angry. How dare they publicize such a stupid prank? How dare they? This isn't funny. This is horrible. I was actually contemplating picking up my cell phone and calling in to bitch someone out. And the thought occured to me... check another station. So I did. And they were talking about it too. And so was another. And another. This was for real.

I arrived at the dealership and there, in the customer lounge, were salesman, customers, managers, mechanics and receptionists all gathered around the television. There was an image of the peak of the World Trade Center Towers. There was a lot of smoke. People in the room were talking about terror and tragedy. After a few seconds later, the news media replayed footage of the second plane impact. I remember thinking that since he impacted the corner of the second tower, it looks like the guy missed his mark. I was somehow almost grateful. Imagine the loss of life if the whole fucking tower had come down in the impact.

We, a group of stunned and horrified people with only our American blood as a common thread, watched for a while longer. The coffee machine remained untouched. People were glued to the TV. Footage of victims and the rescue qorkers assisting them began to make their way around to the news media. Then the news broadcaster said they the windows in the building he was in shook. He heard a bang. He looked out of his window and saw people running away from the Pentagon. Hmmm. A car bombing maybe? Christ there's going to be a few hundred people killed in this attack, I thought.

Then the unthinkable happened. Right in the middle of Peter Jenning's sentence, right before my very eyes, the burning hulk that was once one of the two World Trade Center Towers, collapsed. Right before my very fucking eyes. There was dust, a mushroom cloud of it and the top of the tower just disappeared into it. It almost looked like it had been imploded, like you see on the Learning Channel late at night sometimes. It was gone, just like that. I can't imagine how many people died, right before my very fucking eyes. I turned to the gentleman sitting next to me, "is this really happening?" I asked. We were all stunned to find that one of the pilots of the hijacked planes lives in Dracut, Massachusetts. That's two towns over from where I live.

Surely the other one can't fall too. The media said that plane was much smaller, and it hit so much higher up. It can take the hit I thought. It'll be okay.

But I was wrong. Before too long, that tower collapsed too, killing with it not only the few thousand unfortunate souls still trapped inside but probably hundreds of rescue workers trying to aid the victims of the first crash. It's radio attenna on top dipped a bit, wavered left, and then too cascaded in a monster cloud of dust. And the news confirmed another plane had crashed into the Pentagon. I guess it wasn't a carbomb after all. Now all the airports are closed. And the railways. And they say another plane just crashed near Pittsburg. There is speculation that it didn't crash at all, but was rather shot down by Air Force fighters after the plane refused to respond to communication attempts and was headed directly towards Camp David. It's circulating now that perhaps that was just a rumor. God bless their souls either way. I fear the final body count in this whole ordeal, which in my uneducated estimates will climb into the tens of thousands.

Speculation is abound as to who is the root of all evil. The usual suspects turn up, as one might imagine. The news media is going through extraordinary steps of political correctness to not suggest any one of them is more or less likely to be the mastermind behind it, so as not to offend anyone.

Fuck that. We all know who is behind it. That tall, skinny, limping fuckhead Osama bin Laden. I know it, you know it, we all know it so let's cut to the fucking chase.

Some people say this is a time for restraint. I again reiterate my words of wisdom of, Fuck that. This is NOT a time for restraint. Restraint was yesterday. Today is a time for action. A time for downright coldhearted asskicking revenge. A time for retaliation justified ten thousand times. A time for stealth bombers and tomahawk missiles. A time for napalm. This is not a time for politicians to use words like 'dispicable' or 'cowardly'. I want them to use words like, "Yeah we found out who it was, and we kicked their fucking ass. We bombed them, we watched their families burn to death, watched their houses burn to the ground, and then I went and pissed on their ashes." I do not want my government to give a measured calculated response. Fuck that. I want them to react in a furious rage blinded by the visions of burned bodies on the streets of an American city and bomb any fucking person or persons or foreign government that ever did, does, or we suspect ever will coordinate a terrorist atack

And to you Osama bin Laden, I tell you this. I may be stunned, I may be angry, I may be shocked, but I am NOT terrified. No, I drove home from my job today, which will be open tomorrow, and I drove through McDonalds and got a super sized Big Mac extra value meal. Business as usual. I continued on home, parked my car, and turned on my big fucking 65" television with which to watch the news. I am proud to say I am from Massachusetts and my Governor had the courage and wisdom to keep our voting polls open. Americans may grieve today, but we will excercise our right to vote and continue on our lives. Those were not just innocent people that you killed today, they were Americans. And one day, one day very soon, either I or another of my countrymen will slip a knife into your belly and twist it. We will watch as the energies of life slowly drain from your body. And then just before you die, I will place my mouth over yours, I will suck out your last breath and I will eat it.

Gotta go, have to give blood. God bless America. Glad you're safe SantaSam.

She's An American Bad Ass.

THIS PROGRAM MAY CONTAIN SCENES OF VIOLENCE, STRONG LANGUAGE, ADULT SITUATIONS, AND NUDITY AND THEREFORE MAY BE UNSUITABLE FOR CHILDREN UNDER 17. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

PREVIOUSLY ON EHOWA: "Yesterday morning a friend of mine shipped out for a year's deployment in Iraq. She is a 24 year old medic ...Her unit will be assigned to a forward command post near Tikrit, Iraq, which if any of you read the newspapers know is Saddam's hometown and one of the last bastions for his supporters. We lose soldiers there almost every week...I don't fear so much for her physical safety; I think the times of this war when a combat medic will have to routinely race into enemy fire to rescue a wounded comrade have faded away. No, I think by the time a medic will be called under today's circumstances, it will be to try to save the life of some other poor bastard who's fallen victim to a sniper attack, RPG assault, or homemade bomb explosion. Sometimes she'll succeed, and sometimes, well, she won't. I fear more for any emotional scars she may carry back home with her, than any physical ones."

So let's take a look at some of our guy's handiwork, shall we? First off, an auction. Anyone want to buy a slightly used yellow car? It's got about 80,000 miles, manual transmission, red interior, and will need a little work including a new front and rear windshields, and a good scrubbing.

Here I believe we have wounded insurgent guy number one, whom I have dubbed Johnny Ring-Around-The-Collar. Dude, wash that shirt before you go out and attack in public, will you?

Next up for your viewing pleasure is Johnny Red Cheeks. I tried to read what's on his t-shirt but I can't make it out (perhaps "I attacked American soldiers and all I got was this lousy t-shirt"?) so who knows.

Now we come to one of my favorites. I ask that you revisit this picture and notice that bullet hole in the rear door. I've come to know this young man who was sitting in the back as as Johnny Three Knees, for obvious reasons. Man that looks like that hurts. Here, let's take a closer look! Looks like someone's soccer career is over.

And finally, we have one of the two young chaps who tried to fire mortar rounds. Obviously attacking our troops is very exhausting work, because thing little fella had to lay down and take a quick nap. A dirt nap. Hey it's never too late to stop and smell the roses. or perhaps, lay back and stare at the stars! Hey buddy, mind if I pick your brain about something? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Now some of you might be a little upset at my lackadasical attitude towards the violent deaths these men suffered, or perhaps put off by the straightening of Johnny five crooked fingers without the aid of pain relief. And well first off, I really don't give a fuck. But alas, I will engage your concerns for just a minute. It's as simple as this. These guys, who suddenly spoke good Engligh when it was convient for them to ask for something, didn't approach this beautiful young woman with flowers and chocolates or ask her to the movies. They approached her with these weapons and they wanted to kill her and her comrades. So yeah, like she said, fuck them and their crooked fingers.

She's an... American Bad Ass. Watch her kick. You can roll with rock, or you can suck her dick. She's a porno flick, She's like amazing grace. She's gonna fuck some Joe's after she rock that place.

The Hokey Pokey -- Shakespeare Style!

O proud left foot, that ventures quick within Then soon
upon a backward journey lithe. Anon, once more the gesture,
then begin: Command sinistral pedestal to writhe. Commence
thou then the fervid Hokey-Poke. A mad gyration, hips in
wanton swirl. To spin! A wilde release from heaven's yoke.
Blessed dervish! Surely canst go, girl. The Hoke, the poke --
banish now thy doubt Verily, I say, 'tis what it's all about.

house for sale! (take a close look at pic #3)

Hi-Ho Silver!

Wow, the Dems made such blunder the other night -- where did they hire their public relations people from? Costco? I'm sure some self-proclaimed expert said, "Mr. Kerry, listen here. This is what we got to do. As soon as the Republican convention is over, we need to hold a press conference at midnight in a swing state to show that we are coming out swinging, ready to fight, not willing to tolerate the insults hurled at us over our liberal voting record."

But it looked terrible! After viewers just finished watching a huge, well-orchestrated, nicely-lit, national-production with a massive audience and incredibly enthusiastic crowd, on comes Kerry's V.P. pick, Boy Wonder, with the backdrop of a couple pathetic people in some podunk town somewhere in bumfuck America looking like he was about to cry because they have been beat up so bad. And in the background stands the Long Face Ranger looking depressed and beaten. He looked like a man running for city councilman in a small ghost town after the president of the main super power in the world just finished speaking. God, the contrast couldn't have been worse for Kerry and Edwards. You'd think that the dems with all their Hollywood input could have orchestrated a better image for Kerry.

The Dems have been beaten and last night they showed just how beaten they know they are. And their whole little whining about the Republicans being negative is just a waste of time for them, everyone knows that they've spent more than a year calling Bush every name in the book, but as soon as Bush make fun of Kerry's voting record, they cry he's being negative. Sorry, but everyone in middle America understands the rules of what's considered a fair fight. And right now Kerry is looking like the little pussy of the school yard who hit someone else first and is now crying because he's getting his ass kicked. Better hit the booze, John.

stupid iraqis: don't fuck with suspicious packages in the middle of the road