How To Burn Your Motorhome (Roger on RV Safety)

ACHTUNG WARNING: FOLLOWING THIS ADVICE MAY LEAD TO YOUR DEATH OR HORRIFIC MAIMING. ROGER ACCEPTS NO RESPONSIBILITY FOR INJURIES OR DEATHS STEMMING FROM ADVICE CONTAINED HEREIN. KIDS, ASK YOUR PARENTS FIRST.

As a motor enthusiast, I get a lot of questions about my unique approach to all things driving. Questions like ‘How much have you been drinking tonight?’, and ‘Why don’t you come down to the station with us, Sir?' I'm always happy to help answer questions like these with my patented face breaking technology, but my real joy comes from giving people solutions to real problems that plague them.

Like this:




At first it seems impossible. It’s so large, so made of metal, so against all laws of nature. At first it might seem like you won’t be able to reduce it to
a pile of ashes. It might seem that after stealing it, driving it through a river bed, using it to stage a daring felony, running Mexicans across the border and finally dropping it off the side of a ravine you’ll still have a largely intact monstrosity jam packed full of damning evidence.

DON’T PANIC

You can burn it. You can burn it good. You just need to apply a little strategy, a little brain power, and a lot of accelerant.

The end result?




(It’s easier to burn the RV than it is to get the douche driving it out. They regenerate like the mold between Roger’s toes.)

Roger’s Four Step Guide To Burning An RV

Step 1: Salvage anything you don’t want burned. Tyres, stereos, family pets, that sort of thing. Put these items a safe distance away from what will soon be a towering RV inferno. Make sure RV is resting on a non flammable surface, like tarmac or concrete – not in a field of highly flammeable Chinese nightgowns.


Step 2: Fill that baby up with fire juice. Old couches, love stained mattresses, fiscal returns from 2000 to 2008, get it in there, layering the debris lovingly and dousing it with the accelerant of your choice. I recommend Kerosene or Roger’s Raging Homebrew (2.99 a gallon – special offer to you blog readers).


Step 3: Light a rag on the end of a long stick and poke it inside the back door.


Step 4:






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Ten Ways Marriage Is Like A Car Crash


If Roger knows about any two things, they’re marriage and traffic accidents. I married Mrs Rager when we were both 16 after her Daddy put a shotgun to my head. It was a beautiful wedding, but things went horribly wrong as soon as I dragged her bloated body over the threshold and set her to cooking me some waffles.

I told her broken waters ain’t no excuse for burning my vittles, but she was too busy hollering about driving to the hospital, which I can understand. Sometimes I want to go for a drive real bad too. She screamed the whole way there, and far as I can tell, she hasn’t stopped screaming since.

As me and Mrs Rager celebrate our lucky 13th wedding anniversary, here's what I've learned over the years...

  • Marriages and traffic accidents are both usually caused by women.
  • Marriages and traffic accidents are both often the result of rubbers wearing thin.
  • Marriages and traffic accidents are both characterised by horrible hysterical screaming that only stops when you lose consciousness.
  • Marriages and traffic accidents will both often cause those involve to wake up months or years later wondering how they got so horribly maimed.
  • Marriages and traffic accidents are both sure fire ways to lose a sweet motorbike. (Mrs Rager sold mine so the kids would have a college fund. I told her they didn’t need any fancy book learning, they could make their way in their world with their wits and their fists, like their Daddy did, but she tried to hit me with a tire iron. That woman knows how to make a point.)
  • Getting married or having a traffic accident without the proper license can get your ass thrown in jail.
  • People a few bolts short of an automobile tend to have more traffic accidents and more marriages.
  • Having a traffic accident and getting married both mean that you won’t be going anywhere for a while. Or ever.
  • Being threatened with a shotgun will often cause a car crash – or a marriage.
  • Marriages and traffic accidents will both break your face.

Got something you want to say to Roger? Leave a comment, and I'll be back to break your face later.

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Five Reasons To Revoke Women's Drivers Licenses

If it were up to me, Soccer Moms would be sealed up in their wheel clamped SUV’s and only allowed out to bake Mac n’ Cheese and do the laundry (I’m a reasonable man.)

A woman in an SUV is the human equivalent of a poodle in a Howitzer tank. It’s against nature. I let the whole ‘women having a vote’ thing pass, but I will maintain until my dying day at the hands of enraged lesbians (all the women who hate me are lesbians), that women should never have been allowed the right to drive.


Not that I need to defend my beliefs, because Roger is always right, but here are five watertight reasons to ban woman drivers immediately:

  1. Women are always stopping to ask for directions. Any true driver knows that the earth is round, so if you just keep driving, you’ll get to your destination eventually. All that yapping makes Roger’s head hurt.

  2. Most women will refuse to speed up to 90 MPH on a blind corner to pass a convoy of trucks, instead just waiting patiently behind them until their turn off comes. Precious minutes are lost this way. Roger knows that in this life, every second counts, and he isn’t about to waste a single one of them.

  3. The rear view mirror is not a make up mirror. It’s to be used exclusively for checking for cops and backing out of long windy drives at full speed without looking over your shoulder. Women do not understand this.

  4. Mrs Rager manages to do a fine job of driving from the back seat, making it entirely unnecessary for her to drive herself. I really appreciate her constant harping comments about staying away from the pot holes, passing various cars and “not getting us all killed for God’s sakes”.

    Roger’s Random Motor Tip: A duct tape gag is an essential for a quiet journey.

  5. In the event of an emergency, women inevitably panic, screaming “Oh my God” over and over and over again, instead of taking the appropriate action of pouring sulphuric acid all over the road to remove any DNA evidence and proceeding directly to the nearest respray shop.
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