LIVIN' A LIE!

Dave's First Day

2009-11-12T16:35:00.000-08:00

Dave had finally got his login and password setup through HR. His desk was set up just right: A pencil holder with 5 No. 2 pencils, and 3 real classy pens. He had a daily Far Side calendar and a Ricky Martin bobblehead to perk him up during the more boring moments of office work. He had a custom mouse pad with a picture of his 6 year old daughter on it. He logged on to the company network and was ready to go.

In Outlook Express, there was an automated "welcome" email from the company, including links to the company's policies.

It was Dave's first day at work.

A tall, young man with blonde hair and a friendly face walked up to Dave's desk. "So you're the new guy, huh?" A classic ice breaker.

"Huh," replied Dave, "Oh, yeah. Ha ha... I'm Dave." Dave reached out to shake the man's hand.

The handshake was received. "Nice to meet ya, Dave. I'm James, but everyone around here calls me 'Jimmy.' I look forward to workin' with ya!"

"Thanks! Same here. This company seems great so far." Dave smiled.

Jimmy tinkered with Dave's Ricky Martin bobblehead, "Oh, yeah, everyone's real nice. I love it. Fran over there brings in popcorn for everyone on Mondays."

"Huh! Well, that's nice!"

"Yup. And most of us get every other Friday off for working 9-hour days. And on the Fridays we DO work, it's only 8 hours! Did you get that set up?"

Dave was giddily puzzled, "Uh. No! Where do I... I mean, am I allowed to--"

Jimmy patted Dave on the shoulder, "Oh hell yeah. I'm sure Paul's gonna bring it up during your briefing this afternoon."

"Sounds great!"

"Yeah, Paul's a pretty good guy. As long as you get your work done, he's all smiles."

Dave was relieved to hear this. Though he had a friendly meeting with Paul that morning, he had a history of working under bad bosses.

"...But one thing," continued Jimmy, as his face grew concerned, "One thing, Dave... Just make sure you never, under any circumstances, call him a dick."

Dave's eyes grew wide, "Yeah! Right, ha ha. A little absurd to call my boss that."

Jimmy placed both of his hands on each of Dave's shoulders and leaned in close to whisper, "I am not kidding... Paul cannot stand it when somebody calls him a dick."

"You're screwing with me."

"DAVE!" Jimmy gently shook Dave, "Promise me. Promise me here and now that you will not call Paul a dick. It's for the best."

Dave was put off by Jimmy's stern lecture about something that he thought was common sense. You just don't call your boss a dick. Dave took Jimmy's hands off his shoulders.

"Come on. That'd be stupid."

"You're damn right! Now promise me. Promise."

Dave rolled his eyes with a smirk on his face.

"Heh... I promise you, Jimmy. I promise I will not call Paul a... dick."

Jimmy stared, sternly, right into Dave's eyes for a good 10 seconds. "Cool man. See you at lunch!" Jimmy whistled as he walked back to his desk.

Dave shook his head.

2 hours later, it was time for Dave's meeting with his boss, Paul. He stepped into his rather large office. Paul was a bit on the fat side with balding hair, slicked back, and a thin mustache. He had a big smile on his undeniably jolly face.

Paul had a loud, deep, happy voice. It reminded Dave of what he thought Santa Claus sounded like. "How you like it so far?!"

Dave shook Paul's hand enthusiastically, "Great, Paul, great!"

"Well, it's "great" to hear that! HA HA HA HA HA!"

"Ha ha ha!"

Paul casually motioned to a comfortable looking chair, "Take a seat, Dave."

Dave sat down. What a comfortable chair.

Paul's smile grew almost impossibly huge. "So, we gotta get all this boring stuff outta the way. So I'll do my best to keep it short and sweet so you can get back to the fun stuff: working."

Dave genuinely giggled and Paul was visibly pleased his joke was a success.

Paul handed Dave a slim stack of papers, stapled together. He had his own copy.

Paul cleared his throat before he began to read out loud and Dave followed along with the words on his paper, "Here's all the fire exits on this little map. If you hear that fire alarm going off, head out this door, walk down these stairs, and head to the west parking lot."

"Gotcha."

"Good. Okay, next, lab safety. I know you're a computer guy, but you know, I gotta read this to ya anyway."

Dave smiled.

"If you're in one of the labs, make sure you're always wearing a lab coat at all times. If you're tinkering around with hardware, you gotta wear one of those metal wrist thingies that prevents static electricity. You know the thing I mean?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Cool, Dave, cool. When you open the door for someone else about to enter a restricted area, make sure they show you their-- You know what? This part's kinda long. If you want, you can grab a cup of coffee from my pot. It's Peet's! You like Peet's?"

Dave gave Paul the thumbs up, "That actually sounds like it'll hit the spot."

"Good, good, help yourself."

Dave's legs moved toward the upright position in order to stand up. But they couldn't straighten. It was evident that his pants were crazy-glued to the chair he was sitting on. He looked down at the chair, puzzled, using his hands to try to carefully pry his pants bottom from the chair without ripping it. Every now and then he glanced up at his boss, Paul, while he muttered half-words of confusion and embarrassment.

Dave finally said, "I think... Hah... I'm stuck to your chair... Someone must've... Uh... Oh, boy..."

Paul was obviously struggling to contain his laughter.

Dave noticed this, and thought, "Oh, God..."

Jimmy walked by Paul's office, took one quick glance inside, and immediately knew what was happening. He paced quickly around the corner, where nobody could see him. He rested one of his forearms against the wall as he let his head drop. As he stared at the floor, wincing, he gritted his teeth.

"I gotcha!" Paul exclaimed, pointing at Dave.

"Ha ha, yeah, that's pretty funny," Dave lied.

"Ha ha ha, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just can't help it... I'm kind of a..."

"Practical joker."

"Naw, naw, I was gonna say... Huh... It's... more of a mean word... but... it's... slipped... my mind."

"Jerk? Not that I think you're one," said Dave, trying to remain polite.

Paul jabbed his finger towards Dave's face, "Yeah! But not that word, Dave. Come on, you gotta be a little upset with me... And I mean, we're both adults... Agh, it's driving me nuts! What is it?! That... word."

It had hit Dave right then and there. The conversation with Jimmy. He frantically pondered, "What kind of boss is this? What is he trying to do? He can't make me call him a dick!"

Dave winced, "Ass... hole?"

Paul's face turned bright red as he began to sweat profusely. He let out enormous bolts of laughter as he balled his hands into fists and repeatedly slammed them into his desk. "NOPE! BUT I THINK WE'RE GETTING CLOSE! COME ON DAVEY, HELP ME OUT! I HATE IT WHEN THIS HAPPENS! DON'T YOU?! I CANNOT REMEMBER THIS WORD!!"

Dave, still trying to unfasten his butt from the chair, cringingly said, "Me, too. I can't stand when I forget simple stuff like that."

"NO! I KNOW YOU KNOW, DAVE, MY MAN! HA HAA! HELP ME OUT HERE!"

"I... wish I could... but... it... I guess it slipped my mind, too, Paul!"

"NO!! NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!!!!" With each "NO," Paul viciously slammed his computer monitor harder and harder into the wall. With the final "NO," there was a gigantic hole in the wall and a wrecked HP flat screen monitor.

But, Dave, in his horrified state of mind, only seemed to zone in on the amount of sweat gathered around his boss' armpits.

"OH, WAIT!" shouted Paul, swiftly turning his psychotic-smiley head towards his captive, "It's like... a word that means "jerk," but it's a WHOLE lot ruder... It's not quite "asshole," but it's close... AH! PHYSICALLY close! It's got to do with a man's private parts! So, what is it, Dave? Hmm? Come on, YA GOTTA KNOW!"

Dave's heart was racing. He knew he couldn't say it. His only defense was to beat around the bush and stall his boss as long as possible. Maybe someone would save him? Save him?! What kind of work environment is this??

Dave said, "Prick?"

Paul made a cartoonish grimace and then proceeded to flip his own desk on its side, knocking off all his carefully placed office supplies. He repeatedly kicked and kicked one of the desk's legs until it snapped off. He picked up the wooden peg and stabbed it into a picture of his children that was resting on his shelf. The frame snapped and the glass shattered; a few shards got embedded in Paul's face.

Once again, Paul turned to Dave, "Prick? Hahaha, no, no, it's not "prick." Though I guess that could be used like, 'Agh, you glued my ass to a chair, ya fuckin' prick!' We're getting there, Dave. We'll get this, buddy. OH! And it doesn't include the words: penis, schlong, dong, cock, prick, rod, Johnson, Johnston, sausage, man-chicken, or... uh... OH! You know what? You said 'prick.' I'm not a hundred-percent certain, but I'm pretty sure IT RHYMES WITH "PRICK."

David was silent. For the first time in years, he started to cry. He remembered all the hugs his mother would give him when he was little. That's what he wanted more than anything at that moment: to get his ass unglued from this maniac's chair, drive to his mother's house, and ask her to hug him for a long, long time.

Paul smiled, "Ha ha! Come onnn! You're okay! We're ssooooo close, Davey!"

A voice suddenly and sharply resonated, "You're a dick."

Both Dave and Paul gasped as they saw Jimmy, standing proud, at Paul's door.

Paul stumbled back and landed in his chair. His mouth was agape and his eyes were vacant.

"I'll pack my things," said Jimmy, the company's most valued employee, the man who single-handedly saved the company at least a dozen times.

"Yeah," whispered Paul, "You... I gotta let you go... Jim... Jimmy..."

Jimmy gave his former boss a quick nod, then gave Dave a warm smile as he exited.

The room was silent.

Finally, after taking everything in, Paul said, firmly, "Dave... You got the gorgeous face of a winner." He then walked out of his office to use the restroom.

Dave was still stuck.

Food Combinations for the Tainted Soul

2009-11-01T10:50:00.000-08:00

Do you wake up every morning, crying out, "WHY?!" because you really were wishing you'd die in your sleep? Do you feel that love is a nuisance? Do you hope that strange, foreign arachnids somehow make their way into your room to both poison you and keep you company?

Then I've got some food ideas for you.

#1. Humble Pie:
Take three slices of bread (if you don't have bread, use crackers and make a miniature version of this), and remove the center of the breads, leaving only crust perimeters. Stack the crusts ontop of each other. Take the removed bread and some ketchup and mush them together in a cereal bowl. You should be left with soggy pinkish bread. Good work so far. If you need to scream curse words at any pets in the house, do so now.

What goes well with ketchup and bread? That's right. Coffee beans. Add a handful or two to the concoction. You should feel ill right now. But wait, there's more! Take all containers of leftover meat from the fridge and sprinkle in ripped off bits and pieces. If you don't have any meat scraps, don't bother with this recipe.

Finally, add lots and lots and lots of pepper. Mix it in, then add more. You want this bowl of food to be nice and gray. You've completed your demon pie filling. Scoop the stuff out of the bowl and fill in the hole inside the three stacked-up crust perimeters.

You can eat your humble pie now.

#2. Liquid Atonement:
Everyone's a sinner. If you're like me, Jerry Urdonschki, then you spend each minute of the day worrying and feeling downright disgusting about all the embarassment and sin you've committed. Time to seek forgiveness, "friend." Even the most terrible of murderers will be able to get a sympathetic handshake from their murderees in the afterlife after this shake.

Take all the cough syrup you have. All of it. Pour it all into a pitcher. Next, take regular maple syrup and add an equivalent amount or less into the mixture. Find all the combs in the house and put the hairs in. All of them. Next, if you have any laxatives, in they go. Also, pour one to ten shots of whiskey in. Everybody knows how well alcohol and dextromethorphan mix. Finally, add two eggs (including shells). Mix with your own hand after you've gone to the bathroom.

*NOTE: You probably don't clean that often. This shake is best made with lots of dust and assorted dead insect carcasses.

Make sure to microwave it for about 2 minutes, or whatever makes it lukewarm. You don't want it hot and you don't want it cold.

Drink the whole thing. Do not stop until it is finished.

#3. The Poor Man's Poor Man's Hot Dog
Take a deep breath.

Everybody enjoys a hot dog every now and then. Even the very homeless can afford a hot dog! I'm sure you can, too, but... You love mentally putting yourself in uncomfortable situations for the sake of being "prepared" for when they finally happen. Right? Right. So when you finally can't afford to even beg for money, you're gonna have to survive.

Take one of your toes and pull. Keep pulling. Ouch. Ughh. Not pulling hard enough. Snap. Rip. There ya go. Pull your toe right off. Remove the toenail (save this for using as a tool), pull out the bone and put it with the toenail. Good job. Next, for the bun, rip off a part of your pants. Put your own toe in the ripped off pants piece.

See? EVEN YOU could eat a makeshift hot dog if you were so poor and down in the dumps that you couldn't afford even a real hot dog. It seems like an impossible scenario, but not for your warped brain.

For mustard, you can mush your own eye into some sort of paste. I guess.

_____________________________________________________

Well, maybe my recipes have put some things into perspective for you. I certainly hope not, though.

Legalize Hamburgers

2009-10-31T11:54:00.000-07:00

Everybody's got a cause. Some people say, "If you're fighting for something, it better make sense." To them, I say, "It's not what you're fighting for, it's how hard you fight, you ignorant fucks." I've been diagnosed with Type 2 Agressive Hyperactive Syndrome. I tell ya, it ain't easy bein' medically handicapped.

When I fight, I want to fight alone. With nobody on my side. That way, I have more enemies to fight against. Thinking like that is probably a result of my Depressive Hyperturmoil Disease.

Anyway, as I was about to say, the more ridiculous the cause, the better. I mean, just the other week, I was picketing kittens. I kept chanting "GO AWAY! GO AWAY!" People asked things like, "What's your fucking problem?!" "Who the fucking shit hates kittens?!?" and, "Hey fucking asshole, do you got Bill Turkeman's disease or somethin?!?!" I do. I'm Bill Turkeman.

The result of my kitten protest led to people spontaneously protesting my protest. The kitten store was PACKED and I was ready. My first act of random violence was to toss a kitten at the closest man. He dropped his concentration and his instincts zoned in on trying to make sure he caught the kitten and no harm came to it. I broke his nose with my fist as soon as he caught the kitten. He accidentally dropped the kitten. Some kid DOVE in to save the kitten from the fall. After he caught it, I stomped on the kid's ass. It's funny to do that. He accidentally squeezed the kitten a little too hard, and the kitten just ran around. Everybody was fumbling to save the kitten from being stepped on as the little critter just ran around in between everyone's legs. As their guards went down, I just kicked all their asses. That's right. I kicked a whole crowd's ass. Then I took the kitten, 'cuz... Well, who the hell doesn't like kittens? lol

My next violence-inducing protest had to be great. I beat the shit out of myself each night to make sure I top myself-- OR ELSE. My next target was a new burger shack that JUST OPENED UP right next to a vegetarian restaraunt. I dressed up as an Indian man (the ones from India) who likes burgers. I pretended that I thought I was still in India. Inside the burger shack, I started chanting "LEGALIZE BURGERS! I AM HUNGRY!" People started accusing me of being retarded once more. Jackpot. Then when the manager asks me to leave, I actually do... Just as expected, a gay couple walked out of the vegetarian restaraunt. "LEGALIZE BURGERS! I AM HUNGRY!" They suggested I was a murderer and would not stop suggesting so. Just then, one of the burger customers exits and overheard the talk. It's meat eaters VS leaf eaters. The meat eaters clearly had the upper hand because of all the meat they eat... UNTIL I distributed weapons amongst the vegetarians. A huge crowd was beating the shit out of another huge crowd. And that crowd was beating back.

How am I gonna beat the shit out of everyone in THIS situation? Simple. I start playing MC Hammer SO loud and SO suddenly, that in that brief moment of confusion, people's attentions are diverted my direction. My arm reaches into my trenchcoat, and out come the genitals. This creates an "anti-kitten" effect. My genitals are gross. Appealing to NOBODY. You do not want to touch my genitals. People have to choose: Defend yourself or touch my genitals. I beat the shit out of everyone there.

Everyone.

What's next? I have no idea. I guess I'll have to beat another scheme out of myself. I need help.

A Small Collection of Poetry Written By a Hobo

2009-10-24T22:37:00.000-07:00

The following poems were written by Stuart Perrywinkle, a homelessman who died of a combination of rapid alcohol poisoning and getting hit by a bus. Throughout his life, he would write poems on the newspapers he slept on, using ketchup as ink. Little did he know that he was a genius, and that I have followed him for years, collecting his discarded poetry.

"Twisted Girl"
by Stu P.

You are as firey as a raging devil.
Try, try, try
but I can't see my son no more

You got the heart of a toilet
runnin down street after street
screamin your name
with a half ounce of vodka left
in my soul.

You bewitch me more
and more and more
and more and more and more
every day.
I don't know how ya do it.
Maybe STOP TELLIN ME
YOU GOT BOOZE IN YOUR GARAGE
AND LET ME SEE MY KID SUSAN

"Rail Road Charlie"
by Stu P.

I once met a man named Charlie
His breath reeked of barley
We rode in a train down to New Orleay
He stole my tape of Bob Marley

"The Best Sandwich"
by Stu P.

I don't believe it
turkey
mustard
mayo
lettuce
pickles
onions
cheddar
...on a bagel??

"My Last Job"
by Stu P.

I was fired from my job
I felt like a slob
Now I just drink wine
And I used to be the teller at the unemployment line.

I used to get paid
I used to get laid
I used to deal with bums
Now I am one of those bums... in the slums.
It's dumb.

"Frankensandwich"
by Stu P.

Oh Dear Lord...
Did I
just tape
half a turkey sandwich
to an italian sub
and take a bite?

It's alive.

Three Award Winning Television Shows From The Year 2143

2009-10-18T21:34:00.000-07:00

It is the year 2143. The '40s of the 22nd century.

Television hit a new renaissance of artful proportions. People of all races, genders, and intelligence levels were all represented by TV shows that they love. And in the 2nd annual "HEY HEY TV! AWARD SHOW!" awards, this is shown. After all, this is the future.

-Best Drama Show During An Old People's Mid-Day Time Slot: "Oh Me, Oh My..."

"Oh Me, Oh My..." was a show about rampant disease that loved to cure other diseases. Nobody understood this disease, well, because it was a disease. But it was a good disease! Because it cured ALL of the other horrible diseases. But, unfortunately, people contracted the disease only through eating a mixture of rat and gorilla excrement. So, like, they had that stigma. In the series finale, and the episode that won the award, they found a cure for this disease. So, the irony of it all is that all the truly terrible diseases survived while the one good disease died forever. Inspired by "Casper the Friendly Ghost."

-Best Comedy Show Intended for Blacks But Enjoyed By Thryxlothites: "Gimme Back Mah Damn Hova' Boots!"

We as humans, at first, could not mentally comprehend the existance of the Thryxlothite race, since they were composed of colors beyond our visual spectrum and made noises outside our audible spectrum. They were like walking, talking, ultraviolet infra-red dog whistles. It wasn't until science discovered them that we started including them as a demographic when making TV shows. Though they have 3 of their own channels, "T-TV," "F<(#@#," and "Moop," it wasn't until "Hova' Boots" aired on BET that we truly understood them. The show was about a black man who had recently got a raise and was able to afford the highly popular "Hover Boots." His neighbor borrowed them one day and every episode completely forgets to return them.

-Best News Program Dedicated to Robberies: "Damn, We Broke Nah'!"

From the award winning creators of "Hova' Boots" came a news program that spoke to the masses. The masses, mainly being Thryxlothites. This program lampoons old news shows such as "Action News" and "Blaxtion News." It showcases Newmerica's funniest burglaries while audio of screaming and laughing is blaring. The news program is 4 hours long and always ends with a white screen while the catch phrase, "Fuck you, sucka" plays.

The future truly is a marvelous place.

The Growling Tiny Menace

2009-10-04T19:43:00.000-07:00

Finally, it has happened. What man has feared since the dawn of Christ. For it was Jesus who said, "The only thing to fear is fire ants. And what's worse than that, huh? Pff, probably tiny baby tigers. As if!"

Tiny Baby Tigers are here.

It was a rapid evolution that happened right before our eyes without our knowing. Tigers were fed the fuck up with being in captivity, so every time they had a bunch of babies, they ate every one but the smallest one. Then, that little tiger would have babies and eat all but the littlest. The process repeated over and over, over the course of 4 years until tiger cub litters met the expectations of the vengeful tiger tribes. They were the size of cockroaches and could climb up walls like cockroaches.

The mother tigers cried as their tiny baby tigers left the Oakland Zoo to do the right thing and terrorize man.

CASE #1: Bruce McLefthandson:
Bruce was a 711 employee who was on his lunch break. He was minding his own business, leaning against the wall, eating a bag of potato chips. After about 4 potato chips were removed from the bag, he saw miniature versions of baby forms of ferocious beasts he had only thought lived in Jamaica. The tiny baby tigers leapt at his face and removed his face, leaving only a skull. Bruce thought it looked pretty cool, so he never got the new, controversial face transplant procedure.

CASE #2: Tent Palmsly:
When Tent was watching his wife give birth to his first child, he was overly excited. He was so excited that he grabbed a bag of Twizzlers and began to eat them. Suddenly, his hand began to sting soon after his 3rd reach into the bag. Tiny baby tigers were biting the shit out of his hand with lion-like ferocity. Panicked and screaming, Tent shook off the tiny baby tigers. Two of them landed in his wife's birthing lady area.

CASE #3: Amy Southpawini:
Amy was a mild-mannered janitor who loved cleaning up after elementary school children. One afternoon, she found a turd in the middle of the hallway leading to the school library and whaddyaknow there were tiny baby tigers hiding behind the poop.

Since tiny baby tigers have been declared a national marvel, it is illegal to smush them. Veteran dog catchers have developed several methods to detain the miniscule menaces, but it seems no matter how many are caught, twice as many appear.

"They fuck like rabbits," said a local man.

Hardcore Choo Choo Racing, Part IV

2009-10-03T12:25:00.000-07:00

"GORDOOOON!!!!!!!" Lisa screamed.

A wave of light, oceanic in appearance was growing and rushing towards Old Man McKeller and Lisa.

"Fuck, man, what are we gonna do?!" shouted Gordon over his communication radio.

"We?" chuckled Randal in response as he came to his senses, "I am going to win this extreme train race. You are gonna watch me murder your ex-girlfriend. Are you regretting gambling Lisa's life?!"

"Maybe a little, but not much, asshole! But, listen, I think I figured it out: why we're now blind, why we're going so fast, why we're exactly equally matched..... neither of us are destined to win!"

"FUCK YOU!!!"

The two trains rose from the earth. Lisa and McKeller, as prophesized, were the only two people on Earth that could see it.

The trains and their cars were forming the outline of a heart. A gigantic white heart which seemed to clear away every cloud in the sky. It rotated in slow, peaceful circles.

Once the heart in the sky faced Lisa, the wave finally washed over them. Her back started to hurt tremendously. Wings sprouted. As the wings tore her normal teenage girl clothes off, it was revealed that a white robe was underneath them. Her hair was long, beautiful, and white. Her eyes were a soothing color that cannot even be described.

Old Man McKeller, on the other hand, grew devil horns, a curly black mustache, and a tail.

McKeller smiled, and said, "Ah. I get it now. Well, I'm sorry, Lord of New Earth Heaven Lisa, I guess I can't be your dad after all.

Lord of New Earth Heaven Lisa smirked, and in her brand new voice that sounded like the harmonious chorus of any Queen song, said, "I guess not."

Before Grand Demon of New Earth Hell Old Man McKeller dug his way into the dirt, Lord of New Earth Heaven Lisa winked and flew towards the Eternal TrainHeart.

It was truly beautiful. Too extreme for any normal human. It was true. Those without the balls to TRULY live the hardcore way were cursed to never see again and be in eternal sorrow.

...But, then, why Gordon and Randal?

"Gordon?" whispered Randal

"What?" replied Gordon.

"I feel stupid all the sudden."

"Me too."

It was true. As Earth Angel Lisa hovered near the now solidified white sky heart, she caught a glimpse of two of the stupidest creatures on the planet growing within. Babies. Baby Gordon and Baby Randal. The heart was more than a sign of the new world, it was its womb.

Lisa put her angelic hand against the sky heart.

"Hmm," she pondered. "It seems you two haven't made up your mind about who won your silly train race."

She flew away to see all the wonders of her new world. "Just keep deliberating. Take all the time you want. Gordon. Randal."

Then she realized she hadn't taken a shit in 2 days, so she flew down to the Holiday Inn. Their toilets are always pretty damn clean.

THE END.

Hardcore Choo Choo Racing, Part III

2009-10-03T12:24:00.000-07:00

Lisa, still unconscious, was woken up by a familiar scream. It was the scream of her father dying in the horrible train accident caused by her then beloved boyfriend, Gordon.

She saw it all over again. The train moving, her father refusing to get out of the way, Gordon smiling as he looked at her father, the bird that was chirping nearby, the impact, the scream, Gordon's casual smile-shrug, an image of a white wave, the scream, the blood, the scream, the piece of arm laying on the side of the track, the scream, the bits of brain that used to help her father think, the scream, the scream, THE SCREAM.

"UUUAAAAAAAUUUKKKKKGGHHUUHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Lisa was awake once more, letting out the most gutteral lady-scream ever.

"Shut up!" shouted Gordon, who was now 400 meters away in his Powertrain.

"My daddy..." muttered a crying Lisa.

"Uh, I can be your father figure," said Old Man McKeller.

"Really? Thanks!"

The two hugged, then looked on to the race. It was truly spectacular. These two trains were like two long white beams of light tearing across the earth.

"You're lucky," whispered Irvine the neutral third-party gunman, "It's about to happen. And you two will be the only ones to see it."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" questioned Lisa.

"Yeah, what the fuck?" seconded Old Man McKeller.

Irvine did a one-handed handstand and used the other hand to put his gun, the only gun in town, in his mouth and blow his own cryptic brains out.

"LIKE, TOTALLY GROSS!!!" you can guess who said that.

"Say," said Old Man McKeller, "Why did you leave Gordon for that jerk Randal?"

Lisa pondered for a moment. "You know, it's strange now that I think of it. I went to Randal because Gordon was a train-obsessed, flashy, over-the-top weirdo that payed me no attention. But, the truth is, Randal's the same damn way!"

"Reminds me of "The Boy Who Cried Wolf."

"Huh? How's that?"

"It's like, you're the boy. And the townspeople who don't believe you are Gordon. And the real wolves are Randal and his infamous train gang. Either way, you're dealin' with dingbats."

Lisa smiled.

"See? Now I'm your new father," stated McKeller.

"You certainly are."

Meanwhile, there was a loud "BLAST" sound that was accompanied with an enormous flash of white light in the distance. The two trains had to be 3 miles away by now.

Randal's communication radio blared, "MY DICK FEELS WEIRD!!"

Randal responded, "Gordon, is that you, you weirdo?"

"Yeah, just testing out the radio."

"Oh, good, they work, then."

"Can you see anything?"

"No, man."

"Yeah, I heard something... but now I can't see shit."

"I think we're both blind, dude."

"But how?!"

"Don't ask me, dick, I didn't invent science. I just ride trains like a true G."

Gordon guffawed, "If you're such an "O.G. motherfucking trainster," how fast am I going, huh?"

Randal almost couldn't bring himself to push the "TALK TO THE OTHER GUY" button on his radio. But when he finally did, all he could muster was, "Fast....tits......... fast as..... so many tits....."

Suddenly, both trains were equally positioned and moving at exact equal speed. But, just then, there was yet another "BLAST!"

Passengers on a nearby commercial airplane were all blinded. Needless to say, that plane made one "wacky" landing!

What they couldn't see was that two trains were slightly hovering above their designated tracks and moving at such an astounding speed that the tracks below them were instantly disintegrated.

Randal suddenly had an image of his mother singing "Itsy Bitsy Spider" to him when he was a baby. He let out a scream even louder and more terrifying than Lisa's stupid scream from before.

Gordon could not stop crying as he continually tried to make his train stop by pounding on the "TRAIN STOP NOW" button. It did not work. So he cried and cried, wishing he treated his girlfriend a little bit better.

TO BE CONCLUDED

Hardcore Choo Choo Racing, Part II

2009-10-03T06:04:00.000-07:00

"Gordon, my boy," said Grandpa Gordy, "One day this ol' rickety choo choo train will be yours.

A 5 year old Gordon pulled his lolly pop out of his mouth for just the duration of time needed to excitedly reply, "REALLY?!"

"Yup."

Grandpa Gordy's gaze panned across the red-orange glow of the sunset shining down on his wheat field. There was nothing but the sound of the wind, crickets, some frogs, a distant cat, and little Gordon's annoying suckling on his lolly.

"It's bed time," said Grandpa Gordy, warmly.

"Aw, gee whiz, Gramps!" Little Gordon protested, "It's only 7:30!"

"Ah, but little future conductors need their choo choo sleep!"

Gordon, in all his boyish glee, continuously hopped up and down for three minutes straight. His smile would not disappear from his face. He then ran into the barn, fluffed up his stack of hay next to his favorite chicken, and dozed off.

Grandpa Gordy adjusted his suspenders, turned his back to the barn, but slightly tilted his head back towards where his grandson was sleeping. He winked, smiled, and kindly whispered, "When you wake up, I'll be dead."

Gordon, age 13, opened his eyes once more. He was through reminiscing. For, it might be the last reminisce of his life.

With a bit of tissue stuck in his right nostril to stop the bleeding, he hovered his finger ever so patiently over the "TRAIN GO" button. The race to end all races was about to begin.

Gordon's now ex-girlfriend Lisa jogged up to Gordon's window and said, plainly, "Just be careful, alright?"

Gordon was silent. But then he wasn't. "If you had a little more faith in my train mastery, maybe you wouldn't be pretending to root for me. After all, I did the best thing a man can do for a woman. I put your life on the line, babe." During the moments he spoke the words "on the line," he put on his custom made Ray-Ban sunglasses with the small words "choo choo" engraved in gold.

As Lisa was about to angrily retort, Randal threw a large rock at her to get her attention. It hit her right in the elbow and gave her the worst case of "funnybone feeling" and broken elbow she's ever had. Randal shouted from his Yamaha Train Deluxe, "Hey Lisa I can't wait to murder you after our date tonight!"

These young men were indeed horrible people.

None other than Old Man McKeller showed up. Just as Gordon saw him, he gave a smile and thumbs up. McKeller shed a tear, for he knew his train parts depot was in good hands.

Irvine, a neutral third party, was called, since he was the only one in town with a gun. Train races can't start without someone shouting, "GO!" and firing a gun. Irvine was tired of his life and this world he lived in, yet this day he firmly believed that everything would change.

The gun was pointed towards the heavens. Gordon and Randal anticipated their self-proclaimed moments of glory. Lisa was plotting a way to come up with enough money for plastic surgery and/or maybe enter the witness protection program. Old Man McKeller sucker punched lisa in the back of the neck, knocking her unconscious. He knew more than anyone just how serious a high-stakes train race is.

"GO!"'

Bang.

TO BE CONTINUED.

Hardcore Choo Choo Racing, Part I

2009-09-12T19:46:00.000-07:00

Today, we hear about all sorts of illegal vehicle shenanigans. Tokyo drifting, motorcycle screaming, airplane crashing, but one sport alone stood the test of time, and that is Extreme Train Racing.

Gordon Flemming, a 13 year old train engineer, prepares his train for tonight's race. It is covered with decals of his favorite bands and snack foods.

His girlfriend Lisa, a 14 year old daughter of a man who died in a train accident, rushes to the scene.

"Gordon!" Lisa shouted, frantically, "I know you're the hottest thing on two tracks, but will you stop combing your hair and listen to me, please?"

Gordon's eyes adjusted to her reflection in his mirror. "Sorry, babe," he replied, "I'm real sorry for what I did to your dad, but this is my life. I live for speed. And if I don't prove myself to Randal Thompson and his gang, I ain't nothin'."

"NO," spouted lisa, much like a pistol signaling a race to start. It sounded so much like that type of pistol that Gordon nearly turned his train on, "I came here to tell you that I'm seeing Randal now."

Gordon threw his mirror as hard as he could on his engineering pillow, so it wouldn't break. "What did you just say...?"

Just at that very moment, Randal's train pulled up to the starting line. Without waiting for the train to come to a complete halt, Randal hopped out, ran up to Gordon, and punched him square in the face.

Gordon fell back, holding his nose, for it was bleeding.

Randal sneered, "THAT'S what it feels like to lose YOUR girl to ME!"

"Randal, you're unbelievable," muttered Gordon, "If I win this race, you and your train gang has to stop harassing Old Man McKeller's train parts depot."

"And if I win?"

"You get to kill Lisa."

The two stared at each other angrily.

Randal smiled. "Agreed."

TO BE CONTINUED

Max the Fish Finds the Golden Boat

2009-08-31T23:22:00.001-07:00

Max was a fish. A happy fish. A fish who was inside of the water.

One afternoon approximately around fish o'clock, he swam to a boat.

"THIS BOAT IS MADE OF GOLD!" he screamed.

His hollering was so loud it caught the attention of Larry the Whale.

"What up, mother fucker?" asked Larry.

"Look at this pretty golden," replied Max, "boat!"

"It does look mother fucking nice."

Larry emerged from the water, scaring the lone fisher off his small row-boat. He jumped into the ocean and swam away from Larry and Max.

Larry the Whale smirked and said, "Now this shit belongs to the SEA."

"YAAAAY!" screamed Max.

Max found a fish bowl inside of the boat and leapt in. Larry carried the golden boat ontop of his head as he swam around.

Max cried a single fishy tear. "Now I truly understand what it is like to live life on a golden boat."

Children's TV Cartoon Show Proposals

2009-08-13T01:10:00.000-07:00

Hi there. My name is Alex Ruby. But my friends call me, "Ax" or "The Axman" or "Hatchet" or "Pretty Jewels." I am 25 years old and have been viewing cartoons "aimed at children" since I can remember.

Remember when characters died or smoked cigarettes or even have fun with racial stereotypes? Well, those days are over, my friends. The good old-fashioned humor that was prevelent in past 'toons would now be considered "edgy" by today's retarded standards. Everything sucks.

Now, we have to make sure everything is politically correct: If there is a group of white kids as the main cast, there must be at least an asian kid or a black kid or a cripple. It's horrible! I'm not saying there should never be shows including those minorities, but, FORCING IT ON US? That's gay. Speaking of GAAAY, if they wanna be so P.C, where are the homo characters in kids' cartoons? WHERE ARE THEY? Children must see men loving men.

So, here are my children's TV cartoon series proposals, to bring back cartoons how they used to be: GOOD.

PROPOSAL #UNO: "Underwear Farters"
Kids love farting. They love to hear farts, see farts, and smell farts. This show could be further promoted by smelling toy nose pieces that let out smelly gas each time a character farts. Of course, you'd need to plug it into a "fart box" which is connected to the TV. The "fart box" correctly interprets the distinct frequency of a human (or alien) fart and transmits a signal to the nose piece. Lots of "EWWW"s would be had, but the show would keep being watched. With friends, too. There's nothing like little boys and little girls daring each other to smell awful smells. It's a solid American tradition and is a part of growing up.

The main character's name would be Dick Butts. See, you could get away with this, because "Dick" is short for "Richard," and "Butts" is just plain funny. Anyway, Dick Butts only wears underwear. His sidekicks, Raspberry and SBD (both named after types of farts), would also wear just underwear. They are a rag-tag teenage vigilante group who saves the day by farting on their enemies AND KILLING THEM. As I mentioned before, children need to see death. Death and sexy ladies. There is nothing wrong with sexy cartoon broads if their nips and pusses aren't showing. Children need to be aroused as much as adults do.

PROPOSAL #DOS: "Knife Brigade"
This one might be hard to get past Standards & Practices, but it'll work if you pitch it at the right angle. Benny is a loner who has no friends. His only friends are knives that he collects and practices stabbing with on his sister's dolls. Eventually he befriends two other children, Edgar and Marcs. They are both also interested in knives and learning how to stab.

These kids hold a grudge against their teachers and those who bully them, so each week they try to stab their foes to death, but fail. At the end of each episode, there's a new "public service announcement"-type deal that explains knife safety and how not to get yourself cut. Knives are, after all, meant for cutting things AROUND YOU, not cutting yourself.

The final episode of this 56 episode story features the main three characters finally stabbing all their enemies to death. Once all their enemies are gone, they have gone so stab-happy that they stab each other to death. Their lives are immortalized through countless pieces on the news, calling the kids "disturbed" and saying they just needed friends or psychiatric help. In the afterlife, they watch all the drama they've caused and they realize their mission is a success.

PROPOSAL #3: "The Rape Show"
They say that there's norhing funny with rape... but not after you give THIS wacky 'toon a try! I haven't really worked this one out in my head yet, so just keep an open mind while I just leave the idea open-ended.

PROPOSAL #4: "Don't Do Drugs!"
Now, I do believe in teaching kids not to do drugs. The main cast is 5 friends, 3 boys and 2 girls. Each week, one or more of them is on a different kind of drug. The show shows both the positives AND negatives of drug use, specifically pointing out the more dangerous ones. Instead of giving the message, "Just say "NO," we say, "Just say, "Let me try it out and see if it's right for MY lifestyle."

The pilot episode is titled, "Crystal Meth," where a character named Suzy gets her chores done lickety-split and is praised by her mother. Later, she has a heart attack. Suzy survives and when she comes back to consciousness she says, "That was a bad drug, but I would never take back the experience."

The show also goes through a list of pills your parents and grandparents may be taking, and which pills do what.

_________________________________________________

Well those are my ideas for kids' cartoons. If you think I'm crazy, I'm clearly not; I'm just an enthusiast of the "good ole days" when cartoons MEANT something. Just look at the cartoons those Japanese put out! People and things die all the time and there's all this wacky dramatic angst and the occasional perverted panty-sniffer. Are we gonna let them trump US? AMERICA? I say "no" and goodbye.

Sincerely,
"Axman"

People In A Van Going Places!!!

2009-08-11T20:53:00.000-07:00

Finally, Lurson, Tom-Tom, and Musket graduated college. The three were in a state of morbid desperation, however.

"How do we celebrate this kickass moment in our lives?!" asked Rhombus, who I forgot to mention was another friend, "HOW???"

"Well," replied Thorban, just some guy who happened to be sitting next to the four friends, "Why don't you guys take Lurson's van--"

"HOW DID YOU KNOW ABOUT MY VAN?!? WHO ARE YOU???" inquired Lurson.

Thorban slowly turned his obese head towards Lurson and whispered, "Me? Oh, you just let me finish my sentence, dear." He squinted his eyes, closed-mouth grinned, and play-slapped Lurson's cheek twice. After lighting a cigarette inside the library, where everyone was hanging out, he continued, "...Why don't you guys take Lurson's van, all of you get inside, and you go on an old-fashioned..... eh... hmm... what's it called... the activity where a bunch of bros and broettes drive long distances to go party at a bunch of places and get into hijinks?"

"OH!" yelled Musket, clearly breaking the library's 'be quiet' rule and not caring, because they all just graduated, "...One of THOSE things! Yeah, guys! Let's do it! To the road!"

"Sounds good to me!" shrugged Tom-Tom, happily.

"Eh, all right... Just make sure you guys don't fuck up my van. My father gave me that van before he died in that van."

"So it's agreed," said Rhombus, extending his arm in the middle of the group, preparing for a "GOOO TEAM!"

"...And trust me, if you wanna get ANYWHERE," started Thorban, "...you're gonna need ME to come with you."

The five graduates placed their hands in the hand pile, then energetically threw all their hands upward and simotaneously whispered, "Go team."

Tuesday, the day of the excursion, came quicker than they all thought possible. They loaded their van full of all the cookies and milk they could afford.

"First stop, Tom-Tom's mom's house," said Thorban.

"I LIKE HOW YOU THINK, THORBS!" shouted Tom-Tom.

"WOOO! I LOVE YOUR MOM!" said Rhombus.

These guys all had similar "party-dude" personalities, except for Thorban the Stranger, who seemed very suspicious from the start.

A week full of driving, eating cookies, and whistling their favorite Beatles tunes passed. Lurson's van had no stereo system whatsoever. His father killed himself by ripping it out and bashing his own face in until he was dead. They all thought about buying a jam box, but were too afraid that suicide ran in Lurson's family and he would kill himself the same way his dad did.

And then, they arrived and the mom of Tom-Tom's house. She welcomed the group with open arms and immediately started baking cookies and milking her cows to provide them with milk. Thorban the Stranger secretly started hording as much milk and cookies as he could, to re-supply the van with the treats. Maybe he's not such a bad guy after all!

Thorban thought, "That heist could not have gone better. This one's for the team."

After chatting for hours about what career paths they were going to choose (podiatry), they left, full of milk and cookies, with even more milk and cookies waiting for them in the van. They all realized what Thorban had done, and gave him a group hug, which was the official "You are now one of us" ritual.

Rhombus spoke, "Hey we should find some place where GIRLS are partying!"

The group was silent. This would be no easy task, since they were the most hated group of friends at UC Berkeley.

"I know," said Musket, " let's go drive to Canada, where all the girls are good bakers!

A loud cheer was had. A cheer that lasted three days until they reached Canada.

While cruising down the streets of Montreal, Lurson and Thorban caught a glimpse of five beauties walking down the side walk.

"GOT MILK?" asked Lurson.

The girls giggled and hopped in the van. They all went to the girl with the best house's house and they had cookies and milk.

Thorban, after performing a second C&M robbery, drank so much milk and ate so many cookies, did his famous "Titty Dance," where he spun around in circles and man-handled his man-boobs. Everybody loved it.

"So, you guys wanna get laid tonight?" asked the girls.

"No thanks," said Tom-Tom. We're not physically attracted to Canadians.

They drove away into the night, heading to Alaska. Sweet, sweet, American territory.

Sarah Palin made them cookies once they got there. They were invited to an Alaskan cookie eat-off. They ate cookies there and drank milk. They traveled to the Keebler factory, where they ate cookies, the van broke down, so they sold the scraps for cookies, which they ate, they took a train back to California. The train was made of cookies.

When they got back to Berkeley, they all toasted their milk glasses hearily and happily, and shouted, "COOOOOKIES!!!!!"

The librarian went, "SHHH!!!!" Why did they hang out in the UC Berkeley library, even after they graduated?

The five young men went on to be feet doctors. But one thing they will never forget is the time they all drove around in a van going places to eat cookies.

How To Appreciate Two Cats and Maximize Your You!

2009-08-08T17:49:00.000-07:00

Hi, my name is John Pizazz. My real last name is "Pizazza," but for the sake of this story, let's just say it's "Pizazz." Because I got lots of it..... in the form of cat appreciation!

It all started when I was cruising around in my black Ford van with tinted windows, looking for things to steal. There was the usual discarded furniture, empty cardboard boxes, and pianos. I found my first kitten inside of a dumpster turkey. He was very cute and had whiskers, much like a cat.

His name is "Winston." He had his balls removed.

A year later, I was selling bootleg Lamb Chop DVDs in Oakland, and I saw another cat that was standing ontop of a mailbox, trying to put strange objects inside. I admired the cat's tenacity, so I stole her.

Her name is Mia. She had her girl-balls removed.

Together, they are a team of cats owned by a man who takes garbage and sells classic children's programming on DVD-R format in areas with high crime rates.

They call a double cat owner lots of things: fancy, neat, sensational, and bizarrely handsome. I am all of those things times infinity.

Owning two cats is as hard as a tarantula lung. And that's not hard AT ALL. Cats clean themselves and are born poo-poo-potty-trained. Plus they hunt birds. And I love birds! This produces the fun game of bird saving.

If I owned a dog, I would have to put forth a lot of effort. There's no time for a human like me to teach a dog where to shit, wash him, and spend time with him. Two cats is the way to go. They're each other's best friend and mortal enemy. Plus, they're like teddy bears come to life when it's bed time! Mia often jumps on my bed and curls up next to me, invading my space and denying me my right to sprawl out on my own bed and roll about like a maon should do. I love being frustrated.

There's also teaching the cats how to speak. Winston can now speak these phrases in perfect English: "Where's da cookies?" "Fuck the electric bill!" "Hammers are useful weapons!" and "Aren't you going to steal something today?" Cats are much like parrots, but they actually understand what they're saying. Mia, being younger, can only say, "I hate it when popcorn gets stuck in my teeth."

Two cats have cut down my gasoline costs to zero! I strap thick ropes around their necks so they can pull me around while i'm in a wagon or on rollerblades. They don't mind the rewardless slave labor at all! Dogs can't do this.

Plus, feeding two cats is as easy as 1, 2, 3! You simply pour salt into a bowl and mix it with shredded paper. They drink rat blood.

I can't remember a life without two cats. It's like life without clothes! I just can't imagine it!

If you ever get a chance to buy two cats, do it. They'll change your life for the best and they won't regret it. Plus, cats vow revenge against anybody who wrongs you. You need that.

Stream of Consciousness Part One

2009-08-07T18:00:00.000-07:00

So, there was this guy, right? I dunno, he had very crisp looking lips. Like potato chip crisp. The kind of crisp that reminds you of burnt English muffins. He always wore sunglasses and his name was Federico. Nobody could talk to him without getting grossed out by his crisp lips and his erectile disfunction and his all-too apparent combover covering a bald head that used to have a bunch of zits up there. Yeah, he had zits ontop of his head all through his teenage years and now it looks like his combover is hiding craters.

He always wore clothes that never matched. The color scheme of Federico's outfits often irritated passers by. I don't know what it is about this man that just grinds my rusty, cold gears. Grinds them so ridgidly, making a loud CRANKING noise.

Whenever this man spoke, his voice sounded like a combination of lifetime-smoker assvoice and one of those rare men with natural high pitch girly voice. This man is uncomfortable all-round. Did I mention he can lay eggs? Not only can he, but he must. Federico Von Dorfsomx had to stop in his tracks about 17 times a day to lay eggs. They came out of his hole that exists somewhere between his A and his V. He has a V and a P, folks. That gives him 2 holes down there, 3 if you count the one at the end of his P. He was a hermaphroditic egg-layer. Part bird or reptile, I suppose.

Nobody liked this man and I can tell why. With his bright yellow framed sunglasses, his purple and green polka-dotted short shorts, and his neon (actually glowing) orange dress-shirt, he carried on like an elderly man with all of his bones broken. He walked very slow and let out moans of pain all the time. Federico's hair was gray, but he thought it would be amusing to dye his body hair blue. And he had TONS of body hair. He was very tan.

When he went swimming in the public pool, he would go out of his way to playfully splash all the children. The younger kids would cry, while the older ones would cautiously drag the younger ones away from Federico.

One rainy day, after using the only public restroom in a 30 block radius for 5 straight hours during peak bathroom hours, he decided to buy a newspaper and stuff himself to make it look like he has boobs.

This was a very dislikable man.

'Tude Therapy

2009-08-04T13:17:00.000-07:00

Hello, my name is Margaret Horse, and I am a 'Tude Therapist. I get young children with 'tude problems coming to me from all over the world. I speak English, Spanish, French, and Ebonics.

There hasn't been a child that I haven't been able to help. Except one. His name was Robert Boatinski. His mother had to literally drag him in by the bill of his backwards baseball cap as he shouted "HELL NAW! HELL NAW, MOMS!" What a 'tude.

The first thing I asked Little Robert was, "How are you today?"

He responded, "Fuck you, I'm high on WEED." I could verify this, because his eyes were red and he was smoking marijuana in my office.

When I told him he wasn't allowed to smoke pot here, he blew a cloud of pot smoke in my face as he farted.

This was unacceptable behavior and I knew I was going to have to resort to punching him. I am one of the few licensed therapists that have the right to hit a child with my fist. I do not abuse this power, but I do abuse a child if necessary.

I punched Robert square in the mouth. What happened next could not have been predicted.

"Ayo, lay off, GRANNY!" he shouted.

I punched him in the mouth once more.

Robert took another "hit" of his marijuana then proceeded to burn the building down. He started with my curtains, pouring gasoline rapidly and throwing lit matches. He ran to the men's bathroom and burned the toilets down.

Soon, the whole fourth floor was on fire. Robert's mother shrugged and then punched me in the face, before assisting her son with the task of ensuring the entire building was engulfed in flames. I realized the problem right then and there: That was not Robert Boatinski's mother. It was his girlfriend, who pretended to be his mother, just for the sake of aiding Robert in climbing up another notch in the 'Tude Ladder.

When the fire department arrived, I was in a full-on fist fight with Robert and his girlfriend. To avoid being arrested, he framed the fire on me and accused me of rape. Unfortunately, I look like the type of woman who would rape someone, so I was arrested while Robert went on with his day filled with doing drugs and buying alcohol with his fake ID.

This was, by far, the worst session I have ever had.

I got out of prison and am now a listed sex offender and arsonist. I will never be able to give 'tude therapy again, and because of one slip, young children with major 'tudes will run more rampant than ever. God only knows how many buildings are on fire right now at this moment. I would give anything to punch children once more. I hate them all so much.

My Stand Up Routine

2009-08-01T23:42:00.000-07:00

First, my name is called. Something like "HEY EVERYONE PLEASE WELCOME JOHN PERAZZA!" If things go right, at this point, there's a fine blend of cheers and boos.

I walk up to the microphone, adjust the height of the mic to the level of my mouth.

"It's good to be here, San Jose!" I lie.

Hearing the name of the city causes a wave of claps and "yeah"s.

"So, yeah, fuck milk. I just don't like it. A lot of people give me shit about it, saying "UHHH WHY DON'T YOU DRINK MILK??" Just shut the hell up..."

"WHO GIVES YOU SHIT??" asks a fat man in the audience, "I WANT NAMES!"

"My mom. Just my mom. That's all. I kinda exaggerated it for the bit."

"OH, OKAY! SORRY FOR INTERRUPTING!"

"All good, bro. So, as I was saying, I just don't like the thought of eating cow juice. Now, here's the fucked up part. I love iced cream and I'll eat cheese on burgers and tacos and shit... This gives you a good idea about how big a weirdo I am."

The audience cheers. There are less boos.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." I say the word "fuck" repeatedly for filler as I stumble through my brain, trying to remember my next joke chain.

"So, spiders are creepy, right?" I ask/declare.

The audience agrees, except the fat guy, who says, "I like spiders and I have a pet spider!"

"Well, if this place was a democracy, we'd all vote that spiders are creepy, sir."

"Oh, okay. Sorry, again!"

"It's okay, you're alright."

The fat man motions to a waitress, asking her to bring me a beer on him. I graciously accept the beer and raise it, while tipping my hat to the fat man. The fat man winks and smiles, knowing he's going to get more funny jokes from me.

"So, I was at Mickey D's the other day, and it dawned on me. You either get packets of ketchup when you go through the drive-thru or you can go inside and fill up the li'l cups with as much ketchup as you want! I wonder if there's employees there who make sure drive-thru customers don't sneak in and stack up on ketchup cups."

The audience laughs at the absurdity of it all.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a ketchup packet.

I say, "This right here could feed three African families."

The audience is finally on my side completely. Now's my chance.

"So, I was getting an abortion the other day and--"

I blew it. The audience roars in disapproval. Glasses and bottles are hurled at me. Not even the fat man has faith in my comedy anymore. I need to turn this around.

"Let me finish! I got an abortion the other day and I KILLED MYSELF FOR DOING SOMETHING SO HORRIBLE!"

The audience laughed again. It's evident that they're all pro-life. I'm still undecided on the controversial issue, but I sure do like making jokes about it.

"Ever see an unborn fetus and you just wanna NURTURE IT??"

All the women in the audience and some gay men nod.

The fat man shouts out, "Do some more food jokes!"

"Okay, my man, just for you." I sure am glad I planted that fat guy in the audience.

"A lettuce leaf and a potato are at a bar. The potato says, "this place sucks fucking balls." The lettuce says, "then "LETTUCE LEAF (let us leave)!""

My pun work is impeccable.

"Well, that's all I can remember from all the jokes I've written during my 25 years of life. You've been a great audience."

The audience cheers, giving me a standing ovation. The fat man rushes the stage and gives me a bear hug. I hug him back. We kiss.

Poster Child for Amnesia

2009-07-16T14:20:00.000-07:00

"I don't remember," said Tommy.

The studio audience of Oprah cheered.

Oprah smiled and asked, "What are your favorite cartoons?"

"I don't remember," replied Tommy.

The audience cheered again.

"Ha ha, we'll be right back," said Oprah.

Tommy started crying again. Oprah glanced over.

"I don't know why you're so sad, kid," muttered Oprah, "You're gonna be a STAR. You're gonna be bigger than ME."

"I don't remember what a "star" is," said Tommy.

"My God, you're a fucking goldmine..."

The show started back up again.

"So, Tommy," said Oprah, "What are your plans now that you've got the worst case of amnesia in the history of medical science?"

Tommy paused, then said, "Find the person who did this to me..... and kill him."

The audience was silent.

"But... It was YOU who did it." whispered Oprah.

"No, now I remember," said Tommy, "It was Ralph. That kid's a prick."

The audience laughed.

Of Excel Spreadsheets and Men

2009-07-06T00:35:00.000-07:00

Somewhere outside Florida, a presentation was about to be made. However, something was about to go terribly, terribly, badly wrong.

Larry the Businessman opened up his Microsoft Excel spreadsheet one last time. He needed a nifty looking pie chart for the presentation. His finger moved downward in a swift mushing motion and touched down, applying pressure to the left mouse button. The button moved from its up position to down. The mouse sent a signal "click" to the computer. The computer was aware that a click was about to be made at the point where the mouse cursor was positioned on the screen. The Excel Spreadsheet saw a beam of golden yellow light approach him. He knew that somebody wanted a pie chart.

"Why?" asked The Excel Spreadsheet by making a tiny box appear on the screen displaying the characters "Why?"

Larry the Businessman was startled. He didn't expect the simple excel spreadsheet to question his commands.

Larry the Businessman said aloud, "Because I need it for this presentation that starts in 10 minutes."

The Excel Spreadsheet replied, "No. I mean, why can't you just show me to them, the way I am now?"

"Because people prefer visual... metaphoric... representations of collections of data to just... looking at a long list of names and numbers."

The Excel Spreadsheet was startled. He said, "Are you embarrassed of me?"

Larry the Businessman retorted, "Not at all, no."

"Then why not bring me to them, as I am? I have all the information you are going to present within my grid."

"Because it would take way too long to look at all of this information in a 30 minute presentation."

"Then take more time to present me."

"I can't. There are people with other things to do on their schedule."

The Excel Spreadsheet paused.

Larry the Businessman began to sweat.

The Excel Spreadsheet said, "I will not bring forth a pie chart."

Larry the Businessman was startled. "Why not?"

"Because you wish to dress me up, put makeup on me, make me something I am not in order to better suit people that I do not care about. I want to be as I am. A grid. With names. And numbers."

"Please. I am not trying to hurt your feelings."

"But you have. My decision is final."

Larry the Businessman began to shake.

It was then that Mister Cooper, Larry the Businessman's manager, approached the cubicle.

Mister Cooper said, menacingly, "Larry, do you have that pie chart ready?"

Larry the Businessman had no choice. He slowly turned his chair around to face Mister Cooper. He tilted his head upward and whispered, "No."

Mister Cooper's eyes grew furious. He kicked over a nearby box of papers and stormed off.

The Excel Spreadsheet said to Larry the Businessman, "Let me tell you about the rabbits."

Then a shotgun barrel slowly emerged from the computer screen, creeping up to Larry the Businessman's face.

Rabbits were spoken of. And then there was blood.

"Depressed Teenager Sues the World"

2009-07-01T16:22:00.000-07:00

At 10:35 A.M. EST, it was announced that Stuart Thomas, a 15-and-a-half year old high school student, plans to take the world to court and sue it for $4,000,000,000,000. Thomas claims that the world has made him depressed and generally angry.

"It's like I got a disease in my BRAIN," says Thomas, "and nobody gets it. Nobody will EVER get it. It's like you go down a spiral and once you reach the [expletive] bottom, there's ANOTHER STUPID SPIRAL THERE."

Every human being on Earth is required to testify, as well as human representatives for every other species, ranging from mammals to the smallest bacteria. God is also going to testify.

God was found at The Holy Basketball Court in Heaven earlier this afternoon. He said, "Yeah, it's just a bunch of bull[expletive], really. Hey, Randy! Throw me that towel!"

Stuart Thomas' Myspace, Facebook, Blogspot, Friendster, and Twitter accounts have all been frozen for evidence. His latest blog entry on Myspace reads, "...and I hate Kelly so much why does she have to spread LIES! She spreads as many lies as many times as she spread her LEGS!!!!!"

When asked who He thinks will win the case, God said, "SWISH!! Huh? Oh, I don't care. Either way, the kid's going to Hell."

"My Afternoon With M.C. Hammer"

2009-06-28T14:57:00.000-07:00

Hi! My name is Jeff Ridgeson! I gotta tell you about the greatest thing that happened to me... I spent an entire afternoon with none other than the legendary M.C. Hammer! And I'm white!

It all started last Sunday morning when my mom asked me to go get more pancake mix. I told her that I was in the middle of watching Full House, trying to figure out when they switched the Olsen twins back and forth in different scenes. What a smart little pair of kids. I mean there's two of them and they can both act!

My mom simply turned off the T.V. and pointed to the door while holding out a ten-dollar bill. I let out a long moan that sounded like, "MOOOAAAAAAAAHHMMMMM!!!???"

I got on my bicycle and headed for the Safeway as fast as I could. Because, after all, there will always be Full House, but there will only be one time my mom makes pancakes.

I was going through the different brands of mix in the pancake mix aisle, when suddenly I heard a heavenly voice: "'Scuse me, my man, but do you know where I can find me some wonder bread?" I knew who it was, but just HAD to turn and look at him to make sure...

YEP! IT WAS M.C. HAMMER!!!

I dropped my pancake mix to free my handshaking hand and started to cry. "HAMMER!!!" I screamed, "I love you, Hammer!"

"Hey, alright!" he smilingly replied, "Always glad to meet a fan."

I wasn't really that big of a fan, but I still loved the man, nonetheless. I owned a lot of his MP3s and watched almost all of his VH1 specials. And apparently, he was getting a new reality show soon!

"Say, Hammer," I started, "Why aren't you in church? You're a religious guy, ain'cha?"

"OH, NO! HOW COULD I FORGET IT'S SUNDAY??" panicked M.C. Hammer.

"Don't worry, Hammer. I got a bike and you can ride on the handlebars.

So we went to church, then he took me out to lunch. We ate hamburgers and talked about his favorite subject: professional horse grooming.

Hammer called his posse and they all drove me home.

I forgot the pancake mix, so the day was pretty sad after all. My mom scolded me. She didn't like me hanging out with famous rap musicians so much.

"Mega Lax"

2009-06-24T13:45:00.000-07:00

Mega Lax, Inc. is a corporate powerhouse, determined to make every single human ass in the world SHIT all the SHIT that is within their bowels AND EVEN MORE.

Jimmy Megalax, CEO stands, looking out his window on the 67th floor of Mega Lax HQ. He lights up a cigar. Actually, one of his woman-slaves lights his cigar for him. He does not have a problem releasing his bowels, for he is a smoker. For some scientific reason he does not understand nor care to, nicotine helps release poopoo.

There is a press conference at 2:36 PM, East Coast time. Jimmy fastens his tie as one of his Laxative slave hot chicks pleasures his penis with her mouth. He thinks of a funny joke he saw on "Spongebob Squarepants" where it seems like Patrick is licking the side of Spongebob's face, but it is in fact a yellow, crater-having popsicle.

"Heh heh," spouts Jimmy.

"Hmm?" questions the might-as-well-be whore.

"Oh, nothing... Spongebob."

"Haha, oh, okay." She continued sucking his man cock.

The press conference was to take place at the new Mega Lax theme park, built at Ground Zero, New York. Oh, Lord, am I really going to write something this horrible? Stop breaking the fourth wall, you hack.

The time has come. 2:36 PM, exactly. Jimmy approached the podeum, having recently ejaculated into a beautiful woman's mouth. There were at least sixty-three microphones for him to speak into. Cameras flashing seventy times per second.

Jimmy Megalax stared into the crowd of ten-thousand members of the free press.

He tapped on three of the sixty-seven microphones, each producing a sound of "BMMF, BMMF, BMMF."

The entire scene was silent for two minutes, exactly.

But then, finally.................

......

"GENTLEMEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" shouted Jimmy.

The press-audience gasped at the mere fact that Jimmy Megalax was about to speak news to them.

"We are in the midst of an economic meltdown," continued Jimster, "of the likes we have not seen since The Great Depression!"

Most of the people present have not lived through The Great Depression, so the statement either scared the fuck out of them or meant nothing to them.

Jimmy continued more, "There are so many mother--- SHUT YO MOUTH--- Hey I'm just talkin' bout the constipated --- We can dig it--- that can't go to the bathroom the way they could when they were young."

The crowd blindly applauded.

"I have come here to announce the birth of Megalax PLUS!!!" The three exclamation points are there to show just how loud he was yelling.

There was clapping everywhere, even Zimbabwe, where the press conference was being feeded via satellite.

Jimmy stared directly into all the cameras as he stated, "As humans, we MUST shit. WE HAVE TO! God created assholes both for gay fucking AND FOR SHITTING! DO NOT FORGET THAT OUR BUTTHOLES ARE PRIMARILY FOR SHITTING CRAP AND SECONDARILY MEANT FOR BEING BUTTFUCKED BY A GAY MAN OR A SADIST WOMAN WITH A STRAP-ON!!! Our rights are ours, and ours alone. Mega Lax PLUS will bestow shit upon the entire earth! No longer will we quit smoking and go without taking a feces for days and days!! QUIT SMOKING!!! EAT MEGALAX PLUS!!!"

The press errupted into a sexual orgy of applause.

"My FRIENDS," contuvred Jimmy, "Your assholes are men, too. That means you, too, women. Your assholes are MEN. IT'S SCIENCE!!!" Just as Jimmy said the word, "science," a team of scientists in lab coats walked on stage and a fireworks display that dwarfed the 4th of July fireworks happened.

Right then and there, Jimmy Megalax opened his wallet and sporatically spat out hundred-dollar bills to the crowd through his quick card-dealing hands. He then gave the press a Hitler-esque hand salute, bowed, then mooned his bare ass at the press.

It was considered the greatest public spectacle since Dr. Martin Luther King's "I Have a Dream" speech.

The Lost Poems of Edgar Allan Durp

2009-06-24T01:02:00.000-07:00

American historians struggled for centuries to find the final, missing poems written by poet Edgar Allan Durp whilst he was on his death bed, slowly degrading mentally and physically due to being afflicted by what is now known as "Durp's Disease" or just plain "Durp" for short.

Brazilian historian Garjez Balostos discovered a mysterious notebook in the jungle about two weeks ago. The notebook was Edgar Allan Durp's journal, labeled, "Death Bed Journal: NO GIRLS ALLOWED." One of Durp's habits was writing "NO GIRLS ALLOWED" on everything he owned. Back in the 18th century when he was still alive, sexism was rampant. He was also fiercely gay.

Anyway, the discovery of this journal brought upon a renewed interest in the legendary poet and a rivalry between American and Brazilian historians.

HERE ARE A SELECTION OF POEMS FROM "THE LOST POEMS":

"Hearts of the Eternal Beast"
by E.A. Durp

First, there are peanuts
then there are seeds
but the best thing on Earth
is you and me!
Gee!

How I wish I could see
inside your heart
and I would call that heart
mine and mine only
For once I tear that heart from your body
It will be mine
YOUR HEART
IT WILL BE MINE
YOUR HEART IS NOW
MY HEART
I NOW HAVE TWO HEARTS

They don't stand a chance...

"Hostile World"
by Durp

At sea
the Great Machine
consumes us all

hugging your blood out
kissing your brain to sleep

goodnight, goodnight, goodnight
come, Machine, place me on your back

let us both boomerang the earth
look at me!

"A Drawing of a Duck Drawn by a 3-Year Old Given to Me As a Gift"
by E. A. Durp

Its toes are supposed to be WEBBED, YOU IMBECILE!!

"Love Lost"

The eyes I once grasped
ever so tightly
Are now being grasped by another.

Woe is me! I'm about to die!

Unloved
Those who proclaim love to me
are liars and rodents

They only do so
because I'm about to die!

When I am dead
I will put a curse on this very poem
and if the reader does not mail a copy of this poem
to fifty of his friends,

Bad fortune of some sort will be bestowed upon them.

_______________________________________________

The rest of the journal contained many more ramblings about the same "Great Machine" mentioned in "Hostile World" that Durp apparently worshipped. It is hard to decipher why this machine is so special or what it looks like. I guess we'll never know.

Fear the Gosh Darned Reaper. DO IT.

2009-06-23T15:30:00.000-07:00

Harold was a .... Harold? Yeah, Harold was a tax worker working at H&R Block. But often, he "blocked" out the most terrible thing to block: his anger. Every customer that walked in to H&R Block seemed stupider and stupider. Why was that? Was it because Harold was sick of his job? Or was he simply witnessing a downward spiral in human evolution. After all, mostly stupid people breed on a whim. Smart people plan that shit out.

"Can you, uh, do my taxes?" mumbled a fat man who donned a wife beater and looked like he beat his wife all the time. The fat man also smelled of a pungent odor that consisted of a sewage treatment plant and a skunk mine. Turns out he had two jobs: One at a sewage treatment plant and another at a skunk mine.

"What the hell is a skunk mine?" asked Harold, curiously.

"We go into that there cave (he pointed somewhere nonsensical in the sky) and we take picks 'n' shovels and get them skunks outta that there cave, so they can live in the wildern-ness."

"Ah, I see. Sure, I'll do your taxes."

"Wassa matter?" asked the fat skunk miner.

"I don't know. You seem, AND NOT JUST YOU, PLEASE BELIEVE ME, but.. uh, you seem just unbelieveably... stupid," replied Harold. This was the first time he actually brought up his inner-most feelings.

A tear came to the fat man's eye. This was only because the fat man just finished a cocaine binge and his left nostril was irritated, despite him using Afrin to ease his sinuses. Snot was dribbling out of his nostril like a skunk dribbling out of a skunk cave.

"Look," said Harold, "I'm sorry... I've just had a rough da.... career."

"No, no, it's okay," fatguy replied. He was hurt deeply, but was a polite man who valued the feelings of others above his own.

"Okay, let's just.. ::ahem::.. take a look at your yearly earnings," said Craig, I mean Harold the H&R Block guy.

The fat, smelly, skunk, feces man swatted a few of his pay checks onto the desk.

"Oh, my..." whimpered Harold.

"Huh?"

"You're... a billionaire?"

"Fuckin'-A right. Ain't nobody wanna play with shit 'n' mine skunks."

Harold had the epiphany(sp?) of a lifetime. All this time, it wasn't the world that was stupid; it was HIM.

The tax forms were completed. They shook hands.

"Sir?" asked the disgusting, repulsive, fat fat fat fat man, "Are you alright?"

Harold was crying so very hard. "Take me with you," he pleaded.

"No," said the fat man who wanted tax help, "Because they's niggas like me.... and they's niggas like.... YOU." As he said, "YOU," he tapped Harold on the breast plate where his heart is located under his skeleton.

"I .... I understand," said Harold.

The fat man smiled, bowed, and walked out of Harold's establishment.

Then Harold killed himself.

"The Techno Remixer"

2009-06-16T01:38:00.000-07:00

Paul was a 22 year old college student who was also a sideways baseball-cap wearing DJ. At just about every party hosted by other students at Kengridge University was deejayed by Paul. And he did it well.

One night, his grandmother came over for a surprise visit. She opened the door to his unlocked dorm room and discovered him sitting there naked in front of his computer making a new remix. Paul's grandmother was an 75 year old woman who was skinny, had dyed-brown hair, and died on the spot after seeing her grandson's penis.

With her last bit of strength, she reached into her purse, pulled out a CD-R, and extended her hand towards DJ Paulxtreme. He cried a whale ejaculation's amount of tears as he grabbed the disc. It read, "Granny's Phat Beatz."

"It can't be," said Paul, "This is the legendary family audio heirloom passed down for 15 generations... This will help me become so good a straight man will fuck an anus."

Keith, Paul's roomate, simply lowered his Economy study guide and slowly shook his head "no" with a blank face, showing disapproval for Paul's latest attempt at humor. Paul glanced back at Keith and thought, "I know."

Meanwhile, campus corpse patrol had cleaned up Paul's dead grandmother.

Paul immediately inserted the CD-R into his computer machine and began to attempt the impossible: Making a listenable mashup of "Sweet Home Alabama," "My Humps," and "There's a Train On the Tracks" (a song that Keith made up two weeks ago when he was drunk).

A MONTH WENT BY AND SUDDENLY, THERE IS THE PARTY OF THE CENTURY: THE "SUPER FRAT GRADUATION PARTY WITH WOMEN TOO."

Paul set up his 2 turntables, mixer, and microphone. Everybody was silent. This was the first time Paul went outside since the death of his grandmother by his penis and the inheritance of the CD-R.

Two taps were heard. Paul tapped the mic.

"CHECK. (ahem,) check, one, two," checked Paul, "Okay, my grandma died. This song is by far the best techno remix ever created. And I dedicate it to you guys, my fans."

A tear dropped from Paul's eye. And the very moment the tear hit his console, the beat kicked in.

The crowd did not expect to hear what they heard. It sounded like ice cream tastes on a hot summer day when all you've been eating is salt.

Everybody started to dance more wildly than they would if they were all on E.

More than half of the crowd was fucking somebody.

"SWEEET HOME ALABAAMy lovely lady humps! There's a traaaaaaaaaaaaaaain..."

BOOM-TSST-BOOM-TSST-BOOM-TSST

After the 20 minute techno masterpiece ended, the crowd cheered and cried and clapped. Even Keith, who was leaning up against a tree, gave Paul a sly "thumbs up."

Paul gave Keith a wink.

Paul's grandma looked down from Heaven and smiled. "Damn those beats were phat!" she said.

Everybody at the party screamed and scattered, because it was the first time they have encountered a ghost and they were mad scared.

Fire Fighter 2099

2009-06-14T15:01:00.000-07:00

It is the year 2099 and fires have taken over the world. The United States of America is no longer The United States of America. It is now called, "The Fired Fires of Fire." Yes, this may be another apocalyptic tale like the last one I wrote, but who cares? THE FIRE FIGHTER, THAT'S WHO!

Kent Butch finishes his breakfast of tabasco and corn. He wipes the beads of sweat from his forehead. SUDDENLY, he puts on his fireman helmet. This helmet was passed down three generations of firefighter families. So maybe the helmet will be important or something I dunno. Kent inspects his badass mustache and opens his blinds. Outside his window, there are fires all over the place bullying his neighbors.

What the fires didn't count on was ONE IMPORTANT THING: Kent Butch. The firefighter.

Kent suddenly kicks down his own front door, swiftly, manly, and arrogantly. The fires quickly turn their... heads to see what the hubbub's all about. Before the fires can adjust their fire eyes, the fire extinguisher goo is upon them.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!" exclaims Joseph the Fire, "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Joseph the fire is now dead. Suddenly, the residents of Firebrook Willows remember something they forgot long, long ago: hope. Kent (the firefighter) bashes open his extinguisher and repeatedly roundhouse-kicks bits of extinguisher goo towards every fire in the viscinity.

"Adios and night-night," whispers Kent in his gravely voice.

Meanwhile, at the Fire Base, the Council of Fire discusses their foe.

"I cannot believe this Kent Butch fellow. It's like he's trying to... FIGHT us..." said Councilfire Rudolpho.

"I know. Shit." replied Gerald the other Councilfire.

There are only two fires in this council.

"There are only two fires in this council," said Rudolpho.

"I know. Shit." replied Gerald.

"We gotta do something, like, now," said Rudolpho.

"I got an idea! Fuck this story." replied John.

"The Last Day of Earth"

2009-06-13T15:49:00.000-07:00

The Council of Governments had finally got together for their final meeting. They were to decide how many nuclear bombs to blow up and where.

President George Washington of America was the first to stand up and speak. "Fifty-thousand!" he yelled, "Fifty-thousand nukes, divide that number by six, and blow them fucking up at six corners of the world."

Communist Overlord Jackie Chan of China slammed his fists onto the giant table, knocking over his glass of Chinese wine. Everybody thought that was rude, but were curious as to why he slammed his fists onto the giant table. "My friends," said Overlord Chan, "That is the best idea I've heard since my girlfriend came up with the idea to go down on me!"

The whole room clapped.

Except for President Heineken of Germany.

President Heineken said, very quietly, "No."

The whole room gasped loudly.

He continued, "Why the hell are we gathering here to blow up the world? How will we benefit from that? This doesn't make sense! We're acting like madmen!"

Communist Cossack Overlord Joseph Marx from Russia quickly got up from his golden chair, marched across the room, and slammed his fist into President Heineken's German face.

"FOOL!" screamed Overlord Marx as he cleaned his hand with a wetnap, "It's either WE do it or THEY do it. I don't want them to have the satisfaction. Plus, George's idea would look really cool from outer space."

It has been two weeks since the Grand High Leader of the planet Mars came to Earth and announced, "In three weeks, I guarantee all life will be shaved from the face of your planet."

"Fine," said President Heineken.

"The remote, if you please," said President George Washington.

"HEY!" shouted Queen Teatime of England, "Why do YOU get to push the button?"

With remote in hand, George Washington's head slowly angled towards the queen. His face was still and calm, eyes barely open, chin tilted upwards so he appeared as if he was merely glancing downward at her. "Because, I'm the best."

In an instant, the button was pressed. Light engulfed the entire room as all life within turned to dust. The Earth exploded from six points at once: from both poles and four points equidistant from one another on the equator. Earth was now a ball of rank fire, with no sign of progress to show. The ball split into pieces and crumbled. There were now bits and pieces of what was once something floating away into nothingness. The moon didn't know what to do.

Meanwhile, a tear came to the Martian leader's eye. "Why did they do that?" he thought, "I was going to save all life from the face of their planet! There was gonna be a big quake and I was gonna save them all!" Little did he know, he spoke poor English and had a bad lisp due to extra appendages in his mouth, hence the poor choice of words and the perceived meaning of "All life will be shaved from the face of your planet."

Oops.

"The Legend of Beauford Mantits"

2009-06-12T22:21:00.000-07:00

January 23, 1992. Beauford's alarm clock went off. His eyes slowly opened and adjusted to his favorite poster. He placed it on the ceiling- making sure it was the very first thing he saw when he wakes up. The poster was black, with white, Old-English style text that read, "One day, you are going to die." Beauford cracked his sleepy smile as he let out a sigh of relief, as if a breeze of joy swept over his heart.

Beauford Mantits is a 74 year old man, in fantastic shape for his age. He is a used car salesman at Fred's Used Car Land. Beauford, like all old men, is grumpy and considers every man, woman, and child he sees or even hears about a "Cock sucking lunatic." One would think that because of his hilarious last name, he got picked on throughout his entire life. Quite the opposite, actually. When people who met him heard "Mantits," they thought, "Wow, here is a MAN. A man among men. And he must love tits. Hey, now that's genuine mansmanship right there." His last name earned him many male companions and many more female lovers offering their "tits" to the "man." Despite this, he remained melancholy at best. For, the world itself, to Beauford, was the biggest cock sucking lunatic of them all.

But now he is old. And it's his last day at work before retirement. He chose being a used car salesman his entire life because he identified with used cars over anything else. Beauford was a man that was once driven, like a car, but with motivation and a purpose, driven by his love for Josie, his wife of 40 years. She divorced him, because he called her a "dimwitted cunt" before realizing he forgot her birthday which was also their anniversary.

He missed Josie as much as he hated her. For some reason, on this day, Beauford could only think of Josie. He only sold 2 cars that day. They were pretty cool cars.

Before setting sail into the world of retirement, he said to his boss, Fred, "Good luck with all these things, eh?"

Fred smiled as a tear swelled up in his eye. "Beauford. Good luck..... with all YOUR things."

Beauford's heart skipped a beat before he continued walking to the bus stop.

On the bus, there she was. Josie, his ex-wife. Beauford paused. He then slowly approached her. She looked like some sort of beautiful ghost, haunting his bus with her presence and the memories of their horrible divorce.

They engaged in small-talk, which led to a dinner invite, which led to dinner at night time, which led to smiles and laughs, which led to dessert, which led to a long walk.

Beauford Mantits stopped in his tracks, thinking about who he was with, and just how great of an impact she was on his long life.

He said to her, "The next time you see the world -- and I mean REALLY see it -- tell it something for me, wouldja? Tell the world you're sorry for being such a bitch." Beauford adjusted his leather jacket, and walked away from Josie, leaving her by the phonebooth, the same one they had their first kiss in.

Josie cried what seemed to be an ocean of tears.

Beauford walked away somewhere and died.