NOTW. You’ve seen it. Maybe you’ve wondered what the fuck it is.
The NOTW bumper stickers started popping up years ago. I saw one again today, large as life on the back window of a Ford F150.
At first, I didn’t know what NOTW stood for. I thought maybe it was the logo for a Queensryche cover band. Back then, I never would have guessed it was an evangelical Christian acronym that stands for “Not of This World.”
Are you fucking kidding me??!!
Jesus is an alien, fine. I’m cool with that. But, when he comes back, do you think he’ll really want to see all you douchebags displaying a logo that looks like it should be a tattoo right above some slut’s ass crack?
Enough already. Just so all you idiots know, the company NOTW hails from Corona, California. For those who have never had the distinct pleasure of passing through this bumblefuck town, Corona is a paradise of white racist desert people that smells like a cow’s sphincter. Oh, and NOTW is a for-profit company. It’s not an altruistic charity with the mission of spreading the word of God’s redeeming grace. When you display this sticker, you’re not saving souls—you’re helping the CEO afford to re-tile his pool.
When did being a good Christian translate into displaying a red-necky rock logo with a hidden gospel reference? You’re not the “cool Christian,” ok? There are few things I despise more than the “cool guy” Christian who says things like, “Let’s rap about Jesus, bro.” I hope when Jesus returns he’s like he was in the temple that one time, flipping over tables and shit, except now he’s flipping raised pickups with monster-truck tires and using his laser-beam eyes to burn the NOTW logos into douchey foreheads.
If you have a NOTW sticker on the back of your vehicle, here’s hoping you get Left Behind.
Help save the remaining Whore Huts: Buy this track.
Whore Hut (repeat)
I met with Ho Chi Minh
Told him about American sins
He said: “Why talk about geopolitics
When you can talk about pussies and dicks?”
Take me to the whore hut
In east Saigon
Where we drop the napalm
And all the children have no arms
In the Philippines
We look for little brown fucking machines
That’s what we bring
Third World women
Make the best sluts
They work for cheap
And even tickle your nuts
When we march on your country
No ifs, ands, or buts
Just lead us straight
To the whore hut
We’ll even stop in Taiwan
Don’t cry, is something wrong?
They want American money
They want Coca-Cola bottles
On April 30, 1975, North Vietnamese forces captured Saigon,
To some, a symbolic end to the ill-fated American imperial endeavor in Asia
To others the start of a repressive communist era
In which soldiers and sluts fought to stem the destruction of the last remaining whore huts
We scoured the land
Looking all around for some nice woman
Day after day of searching for sluts…
We stumbled on a whore hut
The port of Inchon
MacArthur surprise attacked from
The Japanese had Nanking
Hey, let’s try to top that thing
© 2011 Rager/Rager/Clark
This is the second installment of Jack Diablo Hates™, in which our revered lead singer rips Florida a new asshole.
Florida needs to secede. There, I said it.
All of our country’s slime seems to drip toward the equator, ending in one big retarded grease trap in the Sunshine State. Florida makes Mississippi look like Florence during the Italian Renaissance.
If a cousin-fucker hits the newswire for doing bath salts and trying to eat the face off his morbidly obese sister, you know it happened in Florida.
Floridians have usurped the state’s natural beauty and turned it into a dystopian Wal-Mart-themed concentration camp.
It’s like a blonde that was hot in her twenties who’s now 54 and so pumped with Botox, cocaine, and opiates that she doesn’t realize everyone’s laughing at her cellulite ass hanging out of her neon thong while her emotionally unstable Pomeranian hides between her wrinkly tits.
Sure, there are the gays, the Jews, Disney World, and Gloria Estefan, but for the most part, the entire state is a playground for slack-jawed third-world rednecks.
What’s the solution, then? They don’t need welfare because welfare is a crutch. What they need is their own government, their own laws:
Incest can be legal! Marry your underage sister, and sell the sex tape!
Be encouraged to gain 400 pounds and punch the Domino’s guy in the face, because he forgot your garlic twists!
If you’re askin’ me, Jack Diablo, I abide by one simple phrase: Build the wall!
Editor’s note: This is the first installment of a new series entitled “Jack Diablo Hates,” in which famed curmudgeon, and Fancy Ketchup’s lead singer, Jack Diablo speaks his piece about subjects he despises, especially celebrities. He fucking hates celebrities not named “Jack Diablo.”
Want to get pissed off? Go check out what’s “trending” on Facebook.
Tori Spelling—that horse-faced, washed-up bitch—was drunk or some shit and freaking burned her arm at Benihana. . . . Stop the PRESSES! If she’d gotten a double mastectomy, then maybe I’d have a reason to give a shit.
And then there’s Gwyneth Paltrow, with her “poor-person experiment.” So you’ve decided to live for ONE WEEK like the people who have been carrying around your ivory fucking tower for the last 20 years? Can she live on $29 of food per week? Do I care? Guess she’ll have to go without waxing her vagina for a while. Mark my words, this little experiment ends when her bush starts to get unruly.
The only thing that is worthy of #trending is Chad Galactic.
You heard it from me, Uncle Jack Diablo. Until next time. Hugs and Snuggles!
Call us fools—a compliment, considering what people usually yell at us—but April Fool’s Day has us in the spirit of giving. It’s like fucking Christmas for Coyotes, Loki, Brer Rabbit, and all other tricksters—a archetypal group we’re proud to be a part of! Anyway … we want to give you FREE music to commemorate the day.
Simply follow us at fancyketchupband.com (look for the follow button on the bottom right of your screen), confirm your subscription, and we’ll send music codes for our two albums, Hold the Mayo and For Whom My Balls Toil, to your email address. If you already follow our blog but don’t have our albums, simply email us at email@example.com, and we’ll send you the tunes!
In our humble opinion, April 1st is a day to share mischief and mayhem. What better way to do so then by cranking up some Fancy Ketchup!