There comes a moment in a man's life when he stares into the jaundiced, bleary eye of fate and realizes the inescapable truth of what is to become of the rest of his time in this world. That moment for me was halfway into a marathon "waffle and masturbation" spree. I had just gotten back from spending the last three years stuck in 1967. (Fortunately I wrote a guide on just such a possibility, so I got all up in that past-pussy son, yeah.) (Also I am okay with shameless self-promotion. So, there's that.)

Upon my return, I proceeded to perform the aforementioned ritual I use to process events of such a nature, when all of a sudden it hit me like Bobby Houston: in addition to being incredibly insensitive for writing that last sentence right after I heard about Whitney Houston dying, I had just experienced an epiphany. I now know what I am meant to do. I am going to destroy Kenny Loggins‘ entire existence.

I'm going to smash his head in with a guitar. That's not a particularly dire threat, but I really wanted to be El-Kabong as a kid.I utterly despise that long-haired motherfucker like I have never hated anything else in my entire life. This is a relatively new hatred, and not one based on any rational reasoning whatsoever. In fact, to the best of my knowledge, I've never even actually heard a single song he's written. But I hate that son of a bitch more than AIDS, high school, and Glenn Beck put together. Literally, if I saw an AIDSy, acne-ridden Glenn Beck complaining about Homework Communists or some shit, I would walk by without a second thought. Because every ounce of loathing I possess is now reserved for one person: Kenny Douchenozzle Loggins.

I can't even begin to describe the level of total rage I feel when I think about him. When I meet a man whose name even starts with a K, I punch him directly in the scrotum. Seriously, if anyone reading this knows Kenny Loggins, tell him that I am hunting him like Moby Dick, because I want him to spend the rest of his life in constant fear of what I might do. And I haven't decided the exact manner of retribution I am going to rain down upon him for being such a chode, but rest assured it will be both pants-shittingly terrifying and hilarious at the same time, because I want his family to have that moment of self-doubt about their own character when they chuckle to themselves thinking about the way he died.

Kenny Loggins
EDITOR'S NOTE: I was advised not to allow any pictures of Kenny Loggins within 500 pixels of Nate's article. Whatever you see here is a hallucination.
I am so entirely dedicated to making him pay for whatever it was that he did to me (I haven't decided what exactly that is yet…maybe he like, fucked my dad or something?), that I am willing to have a child merely for the sake of engineering an elaborate plot to have Kenny Loggins framed for pedophilia and put on To Catch a Predator. And in the ten or so years it will take for my child to grow to the right age, I will take a dump on his doorstep every single day. I would seriously do that.

God I just want to rip that smug mustache right off his cock-eating face. He has a mustache, right? Either way, he is going down. I'm going to smash his head in with a guitar. That's not a particularly dire threat, but I really wanted to be El-Kabong as a kid, and it would be so satisfying to complete two items on my bucket list at one time.

I might even kidnap him at gunpoint and force him to blow another dude, then kill him right when he cums, just so the last memory he has is of being sprayed in the eye. Just some really gay shit so he can die all confused and uncomfortable.

Well, I think I've made my level of totally unwarranted anger towards Kenny Loggins totally clear. If anyone has any other ideas on how to inflict misery or humiliation on that old bastard, leave a comment. This is solely intended to help me in my vendetta and not at all because I'm slightly self-infatuated and looking to pat myself on the back.

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