Sunday, March 11, 2018

Robo "Terror Wolf" to Curb Sexual Appetites of Wild Boars in Coastal Alabama

PHOTO: "Jim" the Robo Terror Wolf with Grayg Handstanwich, his master

This article has been reprinted with permission from the Alabama Cornrustler News LLC, 2006

Due to the boundless sexual appetites of wild boars in coastal Alabama, the population sizes have spun out of the Lord's control. As a result, millions of dollars of damage have been inflicted on local bump crops, property and hot garbage bags left on the curb. This dire situation has left local Alabama residents scrambling, fever-praying in sweaty living rooms and desperately grasping empty palmfuls of air for a solution.

Enter local robotics/toy enthusiast Grayg Handstanwich. His solution? Scare the wits out of mating boar couples mere moments before planned copulation. The method? A robotic, radio controlled "Terror Wolf" with glowing red eyes and a mane of sweet, beige hair to aid in distracting and confusing the hot-to-trot oinkers.

Grayg originally conceived the Terror Wolf idea while watching an episode of Galaxy Boys, his favorite television program. During the episode, lead character Swoop and his sidekick Grungle Jr. get into a bind when they are cornered by a Star Beast deep in the forests of Ronhunkus. That's when Grayg got the Lord's blessing in the form of a brilliant mind-blast that he could use this Star Beast concept to solve his city's own dilemma.

It took only six months, along with some donations from local investors, to get his idea fleshed and furred out.

"We took our prototype Terror Wolf 'Jim' out for a field test and he worked like the dickens, let me tell you. You see, Jim uses infrared technology to sense sexual desires from deep within the boars. We can see them like little ding-dots on a map. In fact, using Jim's sensors, I can pinpoint the millisecond when the boars form an erection. That's when I enable Jim's 'attack' feature. In seconds, Jim comes crashing through the bushes, scaring the living daylights out of the male and female boars seconds before the moment of divine penetration. Fog and laser SFX were also added to Jim's arsenal to heighten the mood of pure terror."

"So imagine you're a boar with a strong sexual desire and you lock eyes with a beautiful female, who is ready and willing to do a breed-and-feed. Just when you get ready to mount her, you hear a hellish barking noise, you see the bushes shake violently, fog and smoke come pouring out, and then two piercing red eyes, long teeth and a mound of tan fur come flying at you like a devil's dust storm!"

We had a chance to see Grayg field-test Jim on a couple of local hogs back behind the Cornrustler building. We watched from afar as the male boar began sniffing the female's genital area, deep in a haze of lustful desire. That's when Grayg powered Jim on. Within moments, Jim was pounding through the brush, making a bee-line for the mating pair. Just before the tip of the boar's penis entered the curved halls of the female's entrance chamber, Jim came lunging out of the bushes in a sea of smoke, flashing red lights...and the chorus of "Rock You Like A Hurricane" by Scorpions.

"Yeah, we added that song to Jim's sound system just for fun. It plays during all the attacks now," Grayg says in between hearty chuckles. "Scares the shit out of the boars. They hate the chorus."

While the long-term efficacy of Grayg's project is yet to be determined, the short term effectiveness is clear. Based on our observations, the primal fear in the boars' eyes, and the speed at which the boar's erection was annihilated post-attack, we have faith that Jim is the Wolf that will save Alabama.

Tuesday, January 30, 2018

TRINDER: "Fostering Stronger Interpersonal Bonds, Aiding the Lonely and Healing Communities"

TRINDER: "Fostering Stronger Interpersonal Bonds, Aiding the Lonely and Healing Communities"
An Editorial by Welt Scrimmer

Finger-jam left or finger-jam right? In today's "fast towns," there is no better way to discover your mega-value. And everyone wants to know what theirs is! So what are YOU worth, you ask? Likely, the answer is no more than a penny coated in hung-bung-roop. Try your luck at Trinder's "skin lottery" and you may very well win the juck-pot. But on the other hand, you may lose the very thing that makes you a leg-walker.

For calendars and calendars, relationships between warm-bodies and other warm-bodies have been terrible. Now things are better, at least according to Trinder CEO Hid Chamstring.

"Yes yes I think I made a mash-button sight where hungry boys and hungry girls can feast on one another with no thoughts of the grim skeleton hand and the shadow that it casts over all of our lives."
With a twinkle in his eye, Chamstring laughs heartily as he comments on the state of affairs in our nation's fast towns.

"History has shown us that reflection and soul-searching are stupid and worthless ideas. Down here at Trinder home offices, we think it's best to 'jam-up' with countless strangers, sort of like a buffet. But at our buffet, you never need to get a clean plate. Just keep using the first one until the odor and decay starts to scare the buffalo away."

"Listen bud, wrap yourself in butcher paper and huck yourself over some old barbed wire fence into the mouth of a hungry stranger. Doesn't that sound better than discovering your own true needs through careful introspection and sound communication? *sinister laughter* Anyway, listen, just be happy that we're even giving you this button to mash. If we didn't, you'd still be mashing in your mom's potatoes, am I right?" Again, Chamstring bursts into a fit of uncontrollable rage-laughter.

"One thing I know for sure, that Trinder fosters stronger interpersonal bonds, it aids the lonely and it heals communities, the same way people like yellow-rods and McDarnald's."

While the jury may be out on whether or not Trinder adds any depth, wisdom, sincerity or cranberry sauce to the sacred interpersonal bonds of relationships, one thing is for sure: people are turning jaw.


"Yeah man so I had a hard spell last calendar. I lost my job at Hinkle Dink's over the holidays, had some health issues and had a mental honkey tonk the size of Houston all in the same month. It was super rough trails for this ol' length-of-rope. I didn't know how I'd make it through without my girlfriend Sooze. Instead of just feeling sorry for my face like an old handkerchief, I got two full-time jobs to make sure Sooze and I could be comfortable and well fed. During one of my night shifts scrubbing the bathroom floor at Danny's First Meal House, I got a message from Sooze telling me that she found a guy with better clothes and better money in his wallet. After she left me, and after they closet-jammed for the 6th time, the dude left her for a model named TERESA 5. It hadn't even been a week. Then Sooze tried to call me to apologize but I have decided that I want to euthanize myself at a hospital instead of go on living in this shiver world."

"Hey yeah so I just threw my phone into a sewer and took off my clothes and now I live in the forest and I am pretty sure I am turning into a wolf. I am never going to use Trinder or any pant-unzipper ever again." *SIGNIFICANT HOWLING ENSUES*

"My name is Trey-C and I just wanted to call in to explain that I met a really nice guy named Brud on Trinder. He had nice brown slicked-back head-top hair and a perfect rustle of face-bottom-hair. He picked me up in his Owdee 5,000,000 VERSION 6 SPURSTER outside of my rental house. He smelled so nice, like a thousand bundles of sports candles. He took me to eat liquid clams and hunks of beef at NIGHT SLIDERS, one of the nicest "roof rammer" restaurants in town. He took me home and his mouth smelled like beef and he tried to make me slork by using his mouth on my downtown compass. After all of that, he said some weird things about wanting to step on the throats of people with cars older than 2016 so they would all die and he would have the roads to himself. When I woke up, I was all alone. All that was left of him was a single sports candle he left on my pillow. It had an engraving that said 'America First.' That was the last I ever saw of him."

"Hey there, I'm Tiddle Two. I have a Trinder story pretty similar to the one that Trey-C just told me. I met a really nice-seeming mixologyst named Trim who worked at O-Da-Lolly's down on First in the Downtown Boiler Zone. He told me he could throw a drink up in the air and walk away for a brown unload and come back and then catch it and the drink would be fully made. He really steamed me with that one! We took our date on the back of a steed that he ordered from We went out to eat at Zinger's Arcade and Cafe. We played some games and he ordered me some basket-food. Then he took me back to his place for Trinder-perscribed ramming. Instead of going right for my lettuce, he had a tour around my garbanzo beans and my garden area. I could feel his neatly trimmed facial hair all over me. I felt odd about his choice to rustle around in my bean garden so told him politely that we should save that for later. That's when Trim threw up his arms and told me I should go join the Navy and that I was a real snooze. He left and never returned my feverish phone calls."

Wednesday, December 20, 2017

Dino Dad: My Boy and I Live Inside A Dinosaur

Jucksnick Rumcum's personal "Dino Journal"
Day 645 of being a "Dino Dad"

I woke up this morning with a severe back ache from accidentally slipping down the dinosaur's colon during a period of deep sleep. Luckily, I was able to reach around in there and find a few bones to pull on to get myself back up into the stomach area. Once I pulled myself into the safety of the inner largecavern I found my boy, Nidpip Helvin Rumcum, resting on a pile of skulls in a pool of stomach acid. I was so happy to see that little butterscotch bumper that I let out a little honk of glory and gave him a snugger.

I'm not going to lie. It's been really tough living inside a dinosaur with my young son. Ever since my wife left us, it's been a butt hammer. I lost my job as a toothpaste salesman and my wife shot out the door like a greased weasel in a tailpipe. I never pictured myself as a Dino Dad but now I guess that's what I've got jam into my noggin. What gives me the hankers is that my boy and I are living hard. We don't get enough to eat in this darn bone and muscle house. And we aren't able to wash our clothes well enough. Those are pretty much our main complaints...except that Dominoes stopped delivering to us after our Jurassic scalehouse ate one of the delivery men and it got blood all over our pizza order.

It's hard to believe it's already been 645 days living in this old Thunder Lizard House. The real estate man said that ever since the economy started getting bad, it's been pretty common for dads like me to move into scientifically-resurrected dinosaurs with their boy sons. I did what any desperate single dad would do and bought a modestly sized landfill property and a large Tyrannosaur to eat us and allow us to live in him.

I think for dinner tonight I'm going to make some gravy from one of the dead deer bodies we have in here. From there, I'll probably bake some bread in the large intestine (downstairs) with some seeds and old smellweed we found.

Maybe tomorrow we can take our house on a trip the park to watch the money people do normal things. With some luck, maybe we can make some money by letting people take our photographs and laugh at us. I will spend it on pizza delivery. But this time, I will have the delivery man throw it in our housemouth, not try to crawl in to give us the receipt.

Monday, June 12, 2017

Terri Lost Everything

A Cincinnati publication that focuses specifically on the mental fortitude
Issue 274

As the mist slowly crept back over the jagged and unforgiving black mountains of eternity, a local mechanic and jackrabbit named Terri Gringer, Jr. was swept into the unyielding gaze of doom, rendering his mind and body totally atrophied under its endless crushing weight.

We spoke to Bunky JamJam (one of Terri's closest friends and co-workers) about what happened and what he saw:

"I work with Terri and he is a great guy. Probably one of the most chill dudes I know. I really just saw a change in him today. He was flippin' a wrench on my bro Flingus' old Mazda Miata. He is so sick when it comes to replacing struts, it's insane. Anyway, yeah, out of the corner of my eye I saw Terry jerk a little bit and drop his wrench. He just got super tense and his eyes just started, like, bulging out of his head. I just don't know what's up with him, we were supposed to go out to Jake's Beer Drinking Place tonight to drink beers out of beer cups but now...I just don't know..."


One can never attempt to fully understand the complexities of the mind. Ever since Terri's story got out, countless specialists have speculated as to what could have turned one of Cincinnati's most legendary wrench turners into a complete catatonic. 

It has now been six long years since that horrible mind disaster and Terri is still mentally and muscularly-locked and as tense as a bridge wire on a windy day. His wife (Nanner Widget-Gringer) promptly left him mere moments after his medical emergency. She stated that she wanted to be with a "real man." 

Nanned explained that the "last time I saw Terri was the day when he went stiff. I saw saw him cling to Bill's shirt in pure terror that day and I thought to myself 'I can't be with a guy with problems.' In fact, I knew then that need a lot more money to feel like I'm really happy in life so I divorced Terri by mail that same night and married a few men that I met at Jake's Beer Drinking Place. They bought me beers inside beer cups. We went to a hotel later. I love them."

With all these events occurring, we could't help but feel for Terri in his profoundly grim situation. We went to visit Terri at the International Center for Existential Dread and he was in a very similar state to when he was first afflicted. His eyes had a deep glaze and nearly every muscle group in his body was still clenched as tight as ever. 

Bunky, his old pal from the auto mechanic shop, was visiting with him bedside. Still in his mechanic garb and blue work shirt, Bunky hunched over Terri's twisted frame and spoke sweetly and softly into Terri's ear. It was then that we noticed he was reading passages. As we discovered, he makes a special visit to Terri's room every night to read from his favorite books.


"My Faith in the Sword" by Jones Boss
"How They're Made: Tater Tots" by Pibby Rugg and Boon Nip-Nodbod
"Widget's Naughty Place" by Yip Schooner

Friday, March 7, 2014

Pvt. First Class Dooty Nee (LEFT) to reporter: "I am far better looking than Elvis Presley any day of the week!"

From an archived copy of The "Tuscaloosa Toot" Newspaper, published February 6th, 1955:

Take casual notice of the young man standing to the left of Elvis Presley with his top-lip curled up into a dark and mysterious frown-grin.  This man is none other than Pvt. First Class Dooty Nee of Trout Grunder, North Mississippi.  According to Mr. Nee himself, "the world is one great big dung heap and I'm at the top of it because of my chiseled good looks and strong jaw's line."  

You may not be surprised to learn that among the members of Groark's 51st "Special" Infantry Unit on this U.S. Army Platoon's personnel base in Glunk-Blimdunk-Hanker County on the Arkansas/Tennessee border, Pvt. Dooty Nee ranks among the least popular.  In fact, directly after Mr. Nee made this statement to us, a couple of fellow infantry men poured a pot of spoiled boiled hen all over Pvt. Nee's lap, creating a stench so unholy that certain members of our news organization projectile vomited onto the airstrip, which was 5 meters away.

On a brighter note, it's no secret that none other than Elvis "Pussyfaucet Knobturner" Presley is also a proud member of this very same Personnel Unit.  In fact, Elvis garnered worldwide news attention for his decision to join the Army back before his penis was badly damaged from smashing it into a few underage girls in the dark and dismal Southern winter of 1954.  When asked to comment about the crude and unseemly behavior other infantrymen displayed towards Pvt. First Class Nee, Elvis only replied that he "felt a tingle downstairs and had to step into the restroom."

We met again with Pvt. First Class Nee to get his opinion on sharing an Infantry Unit with none-other than the King of teen-aged music (and underage ram-jamming) and, sure enough, he replied with a comment so boisterous and left-field that even god himself threw up through the cracks in his fingers: "I am far better looking than Elvis Presley any day of the week!  I am, by f--." As it turns out, in the middle of his sentence, Dooty's strong overbite suddenly became firmly and inexplicably tangled in his lip-flesh, causing him to squeal in immense pain.  Blushing almost to the point of aneurism, Pvt. Nee then kneeled over awkwardly and began the arduous process of untangling his tender lip-flesh from around and between the grooves in his piano-like upper white-biters.  After a frustrated and hurried mess of fumbling and squeaks, Nee rose quickly to his feet and began stammering on in a clear last-ditch-effort to save face in front of his fellow infantrymen, who by then had already begun to form an impromptu "circle of humiliation" around the young buck-toothed private.  "I-I-I can sing way better than Elvis and the girls love me and the way I-I-I move my hip structure..." By then it was clear that the couple dozen-or-so infantrymen that had gathered in an almost-complete circle were there for no other reason than to gawk and laugh at the pitiful and tragic existence of the oral-layout and jawbone-challenged young man.  

Snapping to his senses and realizing that he had once again become the subject of a wealth of painfully vitriolic, crude and remorseless put-downs by his peers, Pvt. Dooty suddenly--and without warning--broke into a fit of violent tears and high-octave screaming and began tearing away at an almost superhuman speed toward a patch of distant foothills.

After hearing some of the commotion, Elvis Presley came swaggering out of one of the barracks, followed by three underage girls, clearly ruffled and unkempt from hours of unprotected intercourse.

"The hell's goin' on out here?" Elvis asked, slyly, in between breezy chuckles.

One of the infantrymen replied back that "Ol' Nee decided to run up in them hills--probably for good!"

As it turned out, Pvt. First Class Nee kept running into the horizon until he disappeared into the forest, never to be seen again. 


*Tuscaloosa Historic Society Vice Curator Bunger Frund notes that it was later discovered that Pvt. First Class Dooty Nee ended up making a permanent home up in those foothills, never to be seen again by any living person after his sudden sprint into the green horizon back in 1955.  Years after his death, a few hikers found his remains in a ramshackle cabin made almost entirely of human dung and small stones.  Inside the cabin, there were dozens of small statues Pvt. Nee made of himself.  Scrawled into those statues were various brags and sayings about how much better looking Nee was than Presley and how Nee was a far better singer and dancer.  [R.I.P Pvt. First Class Dooty Nee 1935-1955 "An American Hero"]

Thursday, January 10, 2013

Chimichanga Richard

“Sometimes I’m overcome with emotions of warm, soft beef and I begin to sweat from my arm zone and strange feelings come across my heart.” -Chimichanga Richard

Whenever local food man Richard Dungameyer so much as pictures a Chimichanga in his mind, he is rendered physically useless, falling into a sort of strange sexual trance where his mouth falls agape and his hands move slowly to the front of his lap where he undoes the front of his jeans and begins massaging himself through his underwear.  Normally, behind closed doors, this behavior would be tolerable--if not a bit strange.  But Mr. Dungameyer never does this in private.  He generally performs this kind of activity in the booths of fast food restaurants like Hot Plate Jim's, Crowded Terry's, or The Oiled Chicken Leg on West 52nd.  

Richard's arrest warranted reads like a shopping list.  He's been cited for indecent exposure over 45 times across a period of 12 years in Horkin County alone.  But Richard insists he's not in the wrong.  

"I lead a life of quiet and tarnished damnation.  Sure, my hands slide near my Jimmy when I think about hot sauce beef, but it's not my intention, Lord.  No, sir."

Mr. Dungameyer insists that he suffers from a rare brain disorder known as Chimichanga-Washout, where at the mere thought of ingesting a Chimichanga Meal (with a side of Mexican rice and fat-boiled brown beans) his physical body remains grounded but his soul and consciousness are brought to a spiritual realm he refers to as "The Outer."  While in The Outer, he is able to place an order at a mystical fast food counter made of fog and smoke.  As you would probably guess, Richard always orders the Chimichanga without hesitation.  And he gets it too.  Richard explained that when he gets his "dream Chimichanga," it tastes even better than store bought food.  "And cheaper too," he adds.

When asked about his plans for the future, Richard says "oh, not much I guess.  Just probably go to a hot food establishment and rub up on my Jimmy."

Monday, October 29, 2012

I Prefer Tortillas Over Bread On My Space Flights Because I Don't Want Crumbs Flying Around The Cabin

Being an astronaut can be a very discouraging job.  I wake up literally every morning with a horribly painful erection that, due to strict NASA regulations (brought fourth when they were purchased by Caumcast), I am not to touch, poke or even glance upon--lest it distract me from my mission, which is making adjustments to an unstable Caumcast satellite (so the citizenry of earth may watch Sugar Foo Foo, the child bride).  As a result, I am left feeling much like a Mormon boy, letting semen accumulate inside my bowels until I have a gallon of "milk" sloshing around in there.  Milk that is left to sit and fester, much like my mood.  Not being able to release myself is not only a boondoggling psychological strain but a physiological one as well.  At the very best I have, quite literally, a single american gallon of semen inside my body that I have to try to ignore.  At the very worst, I have that gallon of white butter PLUS a painfully hard erection (generally in the morning and afternoon hours or whenever I look upon my co-pilot Barbara, a normally unfortunate looking woman that I am now lusting furiously over due to my lack of options).

Friday, July 27, 2012

Forced Expulsion of Unwanted Feelings

"Upon denim contact, I felt as if I had to forcibly expel my internal organs through my anus in order to prevent the sacred feelings from travelling down to my pringle." -Hazzard Maplewood, Formerly Jailed Denim Contact Addict
Ever since brother Maplewood has been attending services here at Christian LordGod's Kingdom, I've had a funny feeling about him. It all started at the casserole feast last Friday. I was standing next to brother Maplewood in the chow line when, during light conversation, he explained that he had recently disposed of his denim collection due to "general dislike of the fabric." I found it to be an odd thing to say to someone, especially after buying so many pairs of pants before suddenly deciding to get rid of them. I asked him what influenced him to make such a decision and he suddenly thrust his entire hand deep into the bean and liver glorch casserole, perhaps in an attempt to distract me from my line of questioning. He proceeded to grab a giant hunk of food and slap in on his paper plate before rushing further down the line while wincing quietly. I caught up with him near the melted ham gelatin mound and asked him if he'd like to speak privately with me in my office. That's when things got strange. As Hazzard's eyes turned up from the buffet table and met mine, I could see that he had begun to sweat profusely. His face was drenched in sweat droplets. In fact, his white T-shirt was so covered in sweat that it looked like an extra layer of skin. That's when he began to speak. "Pester Chad, I am a cold and moistened spirit. Let me dine upon his sludge in relative peace." That's when Hazzard slunked off to the corner of the room, in a dark corner to eat alone. Just then, I noticed brother Jinker and his son tiny Ed walk over and sit next to him. Little Ed waved to Hazzard and asked if he could sit with him. Hazzard nodded hesitantly and Ed crawled up on his lap and begin to snuggle with him. That's when a look of inexplicable horror came upon Hazzard's face. He began to writhe in pain, squeezing his eyes shut and baring his teeth in an expression of pure agony. That's when Jinker noticed the scene and asked Hazzard what was wrong. Hazzard opened his eyes and pointed at little Ed's jeans. Jinker then grabbed little Ed and removed him from Hazzard's lap area. By then, the entire congregation had taken notice. Hazzard began to suck deep breaths of oxygen, his cotton pants soaked completely through in sweat. Once it was clear his situation was made public, Hazzard stood up in embarrassment with his head hung low. He looked to the crowd and in a booming voice, he screamed "I was protecting the boy from my tingle zone!" And ran full speed through the exit doors.
That was the last time I ever saw brother Maplewood at church services. I did, however see him downtown a month afterward. He was wearing a jean jacket, a jean baseball cap a jean undershirt and a jean necklace. He was sleeping inside of a sleeping bag made from stonewashed denim, right on the steps of the courthouse. Though I didn't bother waking him up, I wished him well in a silent prayer.
 Head Pester Chad Trinkle
 Christian LordGod's Kingdom Church Facility
 Boarflesh, North Carolina

Thursday, June 28, 2012

Thunderjack Rogers: A Frustrating Truth Revealed

The following are a series of compiled quotes from "A Frustrating Truth Revealed," the long-awaited memoir by Thunderjack Rogers, a legendary Vietnam War vet, warm chicken meal eater and public bathroom expert.
"Back in Vietnam, a few of the boys used to call me 'Tussles.' I didn't like that nickname so I shot them and I told my commanding officer that the enemy shot them." -Thunderjack Rogers, on his wedding day
"To my knowledge, I was the only man who fought the entire war with a skin tight full-body leather outfit under my military fatigues. Whenever I felt that I was gaining stiffness in my front zone, I unzipped my fly and let my jorkus out for a fresh breath of air. It just so happened that I let it out once when I was standing over Private First Class Tinky, who was only 18 at the time. I was tired from doing so much war stuff so I had to take knee. Coincidentally, my skin column was right near his mouth when my platoon happened by. It was frustrating that they felt they had to take the whole event out of context and call me a male lust ranger. It is simply not true. I am a hardened American Male and I love women only."
"In 1987, when musical act Styx were becoming popular on the radio I decided to grow my hair out to match the way they looked. It also happened to be rather bright outside one day and I didn't have my sunglasses so I borrowed a pair of my wife's. I ended up wearing them every day because they felt comfortable on my face. I also got full breast implants so I could sleep more comfortably on my stomach at night. Many people said I did those things because I like men but they are telling lies. I am a red-blooded woman-lover and I am a trained military guy. I don't believe men and men should be more than just good friends."
"He came to me in a dream once when I was on my first tour in Vietnam. In the dream, was standing near the bank of the Ten'Chau river. He was naked and crawling towards me on all fours at an implausible rate. I was standing near the tree-line, also fully nude. We were both fully aroused and already on the precipice of ejaculation when we made physical contact. Just then I awoke with the front of my combat jeans soiled from reproductive matter. I was holding a small American flag in one hand and a 9mm pistol in the other. I remember feeling a sense of ease that my body had finally rejected those unwanted feelings."
"It wasn't five minutes after my first tour in Vietnam that I met Grover Allens, a young man of 19. He said he needed financial help and that he was lonely and in need of firm companionship. I had just received war money and I felt like I was able to help. After I cashed my check, he took me back to his apartment on 131st where we both removed our clothing. I was very hot from the summer sun so I hung mine up to dry and only for that reason. He began to tickle my beard and refer to me as 'Muffins.' I was able to suppress my violent urges and told him that I didn't appreciate the nickname and that he only refer to me as Thunderjack, the name my father wanted me to embody. He told me not to be so sensitive. He then placed the tips of his fingers gently on the back of my neck as I faced his window. He ran them down the back of my spine until he reached my dark crevice."
"My life changed forever when I had my first son. Only a few hours after the birth, my wife Stacy and I began to discuss baby names. She suggested we should name him John. I stood firm on naming him Tipples. As our conversation wore on, I could feel the tensions rising between my wife and I. After refusing to budge on my name choice, she claimed that Tipples sounded 'homo-erotic' and threatened to call my father to tell him about my alleged secret tender feelings towards other men. That's when I lost my temper and flipped her hospital bed over and jumped out the 3 story window, landing feet first on my mother in Law, Barbara."
"Life finally calmed down for me in the Summer of 1994. I spent that whole season lounging around in a pair of pastel underwear at the local Sauna, making great conversation with new friends I made. Many of them had small, small mustaches and tiny haircuts. Some of them liked to tickle my chest and pat at my round bobbers."

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Make A Hope: Fun Ryde

"My son Ruffy got to ride on the bumper of an air mover. He had some screams and some tears but he had a good time in the cloud city." -Torton Griffer, PCP Addict

The passengers of flight 76R of the SkyJammer150 airline service had a real honker when they heard the muffled screeches of a youngbody outside their plane. When they looked out their window, they were shocked and pleased to see a smallman desperately clinging to the side of the aircraft at around 16,000 feet. He was crying until about 20,000 feet until he began to smile and giggle and run up and down the wing, presumably from the lack of oxygen.

Flight attendants soon realized he was Ruffy from the Make-A-Hope League, a program for sick kids where they get to make one last hoper before the dark hands come and grasp them. Ruffy's wish was to ride on the outside of a plane and be a "plane man." His father signed the forms and checked in with the pilots, but no one else had been informed previously. But once the passengers noticed the boy, the pilot got on the intercom and assured everyone that he was safe as long has he stays well fed and gets an oxygen tank above 25,000 feet.

That was around the time a stewardess crawled out the porthole on the top of the airplane and walked out to the wing and brought the boy a half a tuna fish sandwich and an oxygen tank so he would be comfortable for the rest of the flight.

By the time the plane reached 50,000 feet, young Ruffy began to get tired so the stewardness brought him out a blankie and a pillow so he could sleep for a half an hour.

After naptyme, Ruffy awoke to find the plane making it's final descent into the clouds. That's when ruffy got on top of the fuselage and made his way toward the front of the plane so he could get the best view of the cloud city. He pulled out his jar and scooped up a piece of cloud so he could bring it home to show his dad when he got out of jail.

When the plane began its landing maneuvers, Ruffy was nowhere to be found. Everyone began to worry that the unthinkable had occured, that Ruffy had fallen. That's when the radio tower alerted staff that Ruffy was wrapped tightly around the landing gear drinking an apple juice box savoring his last final moments of glory.