Monday, June 12, 2017

Terri is scared today!

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 one of his close friends and co-workers Bunky Jamjam about 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 I just don't know..."


One can never attempt to fully understand the complexities of the mind of a mechanic. Many great minds 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, stating that she wanted to be with a "real man." 

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

We went to visit Terri at the International Center for Existential Dread and he was in a very similar state. His eyes now have a deep glaze and nearly every major and minor muscle group in his body is still clenched as tight as ever. Bill, his boss from the auto mechanic shop, was visiting with him bedside. Still in his mechanic garb and blue work shirt, Bill hunched over Terri's twisted frame as he spoke sweetly and softly into Terri's ear. It was then that we noticed he was reading passages out of a book about Tater Tots. As we discovered, Bill makes a special visit to Terri's room every night to read passages from his favorite books, including:

-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.

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Rick Masters: Brown Rainmaker

On the narrow steel bridge in Plumith Groak, Mon-Tanna legendary Sports Musician Rick Masters flipped a switch on his tour bus that released nearly one metric ton of solid hot brown sewage on the faces of poor villagers below. Before pulling the switch, Rick got on the megaphone and told everyone to come out of their houses to catch free money that he had earned at his last Colosseum gig. People ran out of their houses hoping for a miracle but what they got was something much different.

Rick Masters describes the events in his own words: "Oh that one? Oh man! That was hilarious. So here's what I did. I had the driver stop on this steel grated bridge, right? So I get on the megaphone and I say 'Attention low income Americans. I am so sorry for charging so much for tickets to my shows. In an attempt to regain some of my integrity I wish to bestow you with free dollars from the sky.' Hahahaha. It was so funny I could barely say it without cracking up. Everyone in the neighborhood under the bridge started running out of their houses holding their hands in the air hoping to catch a buck or two but got a Rick Masters brown right in the kisser. When my faggot fans keep complaining about high ticket prices, I'm going to let them know exactly how I feel about them not having enough money to afford them. Period."

It was reported that the Mayor of Plumith Groak threatened to sue Rick Masters for the cruel trick, but before he could, Rick Masters purchased the entire town, and took a shit on everyone's doorstep just for kicks.

Rick Master's violinist summed the situation up quick succinctly by saying "Listen man, Rick is a turd man. He loves turds. And he hates people that hate sports. It's that simple."

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Tremendous Isolated Achievement

The following text is reprinted with the permission of "Baldur's Dragon Scroll" Monthly Newsletter.

////Pliff////Freeze Time Spell////Pliff////

"It's no surprise that the world's top scientists have been unable to properly calculate the mind's energy expended on such honorable pursuits as online medieval warfare but today...we are one step closer to realizing that some of earth's brightest stars pursue life-quests on the digital plane. I can only hope that my forage into a sodium and refined sugar-rich diet was not for naught...but for a cause brimming with glory. A challenge to a higher plane of the shining rays of hope." -Suicide Note From Wharp Flameshield, former Internet Game Player

It is with great regret that I must inform you that Wharp Flameshild, a semi-respected game player has decided to take his own life by falling on his replica ninja sword today. To make matters worse, the sword was made of a low grade Chinese "metal-like" substance, laced with led and cheap plastic so he died not of the small abrasion to his hip but to the ensuing infection.

May we all bow our heads in a moment of silence as we picture the Majestic Mountains of Iso-Lor and the smoking tar pits of Blorkus-Shanner.

In another bit of news, the above picture was taken of me by my stupid brother, Nedrew. He blackmailed me into putting it into the newsletter. Earlier this morning, he found my stash of Chinese Girl action figures with all of their outfits taken off underneath my bed. He took pictures with his camera and said he'd tell mom and dad I was wiggling my thumper to action dolls if I didn't take a degrading picture and post it in this newsletter. He gave me a towel, a clothes pin and a pair of my sister's recently worn wrestling underwear and told me to dress up like a "gay forest elf" and pose with my Warp Craft box. I am sorry to bring you down even further after the already bad news.

On an uplifting note, I discovered that I am growing some hair underneath my peaches in the "end zone." Some of the people that I hang out with have already entered the "mysterious phase" where red forces begin to appear on their forehead and their voices become that of warriors instead of cabin boys. I am excited when I am able to leave the realm of my parent's and get a castle of my own one day. But until then I have to put up with stupid gay Nedrew and all of his taunting.

Swords of Eleandor!

////Plowr////Dark Smoke////Plowr////

-Dark Whisper The Vigilante

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Fhal Kill Mur's Hidden Village

"My Hidden Village is a testament to all I've accomplished as an actor. Most notably my work on Batman Forever [Kill Mur pauses to take a massive bite of a submarine sandwich] the epitome of human achievement and spiritual forcewill."
-Fhal Kill Mur

Former A-List actor Fhal Kill Mur has recently opened a low-grade amusement park based solely on his past projects. Vhal named the park "Hidden Village" in remembrance of his performance in the oft-overlooked and critically dismissed 80s picture "Willow."

The park was built last year by Fhal and a couple of migrant workers over the course of a few weekday afternoons (with a few siestas tucked in for good measure). The result: an underwhelming smattering of wood and scrap-steel based rides and booths for picture viewing. The following is a list of attractions:

1.) "The Blue Flash." A roller coaster that evokes Val Kilmer's career-making performance in Heat.

2.) "Wooden Wonderland." A ride based off of the Fhal Kill Mur-starring pornography drama "Wonderland" that was released in the early two-thousands.

3.) "Batman Forever: The Revenge Of The Riddler." This is an action packed, fully horizontal land-based ride Fhal has dedicated to his successful addition to the batman franchise.

Admission to the park is $7.95 and each ticket purchase comes with a fresh home-made submarine sandwich from Fhal's own kitchen. Many people don't know this but Fhal is a pryme sandwich enthusiast and has a certificate of completion from the Subway "Sandwich Artist" training academy. His recent weight gain and ballooning facial features are considered a result of his new found obsession for refined carbohydrates.