I Accidentally Sat On My Son's Pet "Gooey Duck"

Nad Towderfish's Personal Life Journal
Entry #250,987
Barch 2nd, 1993

Crabapple! I've really done it this time. I squished my son's favorite pet. I write this message from the stale, hard freedoms of an American hospital bed at "St. Margret's Blump" Discount Hospital.

This whole mess started after I got home from Ware-Mart. I went there with my wife Judy to buy some plastic containers to hold her growing collection of crotch-clam healing creams. She's got some real foul mossy odors down there. She needs those creams, boy. Oh lord, she needs 'em.

Well, once we got home I put a VHS tape in the tape player. It was a movie called "Cribble's Nanners." It's a funny movie about a couple of men who live in apartments next to each other and throw whipped creme in each other's faces.

When I sat down on my easy chair I realized something was very wrong. I felt a slime covered rod slam deep into by no-no hole. I screamed for my son Gonard to help me. He came running and picked me up and saw the limp body of his beloved Gooey Duck, Humpty Dumpty crushed beneath my bleeding crapchute.

I feel very bad about the death of Humpty Dumpty. He has been in our family for over 16 years. We got him from the pet store when he was only a baby. As an adult he liked to just lounge around the house and watch TV. But now he's dead because of me.

Right now I'm on life support because my no-no hole has been carved up like a jack-o-lanten from Humpty Dumpty's broken shell. My Doctor says there's a pretty high chance that I'll die by tomorrow morning. I just hope that before I die I will get a chance to watch Cribble's Nanners, my favorite movie, one last time.

Perfect girth/width ratio

With the astronomical impact on Diverted Attention Technology that's been tested on the public in a way that is nothing short of ham-fisted, experts entirely motivated by status have discovered that most anything can be converted into a stomach-able variant that is essentially detached and neutralizing from its origin, a euphemism for any unsettling or poopy-fun-hurt information, ideas, words, actions or serious business; someone could die or have to reveal life threatening honesty.

... but did you know that the image of a kitten can distract any living thing from giving a shit? Some of us do, but some of us don't, or not really.

"Corn is in everythang but if mah lil' baby kitteh hot farts gives it a lil' baby bunny nibble, yah ain't gonna sit thur an' tell that we're rewritin' our genetic evolution to ensure that we'll be weak and diseased for the sole purpose of turnin' a buck, cuz Diet History is allotta hooey an' things is convenient cuz we'z clever now an' looki't mah dick" -Jim Pamflip Cussfuck

"My kitten is always curious: It surprised me completely. Now I never vacuum and my dad cut his mouth but it's not getting better" -Gilli Flowdress

"I was sad and I had a lot of things I needed to do to fix my life, but instead of that I found a quick fix: A kitten cutey buns snuggle shits squish squish soft dumpling booger mass star collapse I'm not your real mother." -Gregger Girg

Jews used to be upset about The Holocaust, but resent science trials with control groups and variables (these are science phrases that are the same as regular words but used in a different context) have revealed that when Pork Haters are exposed to pictures of kittens with Hitler mustaches (same as Charlie Chaplin if you are not familiar with Hitler), it is ok. Homosexdudesuckers (I am one of these and I can attest to these statements) who were upset about not being allowed to love someone they trusted and believed in were indifferent towards discriminatory laws, completely lost interest when they were shown a picture of a girl kitteh and a boy kitteh in a wedding dress and tuxedo.

The staff here at Cat's Crotch made a bold and awkward (we've never seen each other in person) maneuver and met at a Denny's and threw cat's at each other's faces. It was kinda fitting because of the title of our Blob.

"Slip that hugskin across my lapslap" -Adamantium jejejejejejeje

"These devil thrashers" -Simmer Mouth

"Let's be real" -tolerated faceless gay staff member

"Just put it in me but don't look in my eyes" -Land the Plane

Two Golden Globes for DMX in "Lockjaw"

America's Number One leading man and greengrass smoker PMX has done it again in his touching debut role as JimJum Snooger, a professional snake petter, and turbo action man in "Lockjaw." Lockjaw tells the simple story of a man from the cornfields (PMX) who loves to pet snakes--until the day the mayor of the cornfields declares that snake petting becomes illegal.



The mayor assigns a special task force to crack down on people who pet snakes. That's when JimJum is forced to take the law into his own hands. He tries to use Hip-Hop Voice technique to scare the force-guards away but it doesn't work. They shoot JimJum in both kneecaps right in the middle of a really, really good snake petting session. Then the guards to the unspeakable. They fatally wound his favorite snake, Shaniqua.

After JimJum crawls to a swamp in pain and brutal agony, he wraps pussywillows and bullfrog slime over his wounds so they can mega-heal. Then he buys a bazooka from the sports store and goes on a one-man battle squad against the Mayor's anti-snake petting task force. There is a huge mega shootout and tons of explosions. Just when it seems like JimJum might lose, a whole pile of snakes roll out of the cornstalks and kill the anti-snake petting task and break the mayor's arm-bone.

As a stunning conclusion, JimJum spares the mayor's life. JimJum helps the mayor to his feet and walks him back to his house. Then he makes him warm bread and they sit on the rug in his living room and share a warm laugh. It's a scene that won't be easily forgotten.

It's no wonder that PMX's touching performance have earned him two golden globes:

-"Best Hip-Hop Actor Alongside CGI Snake Friend"

-"Best Bazooka Fight Scene Involving a Rolling Ball of Snakes"

Sewer Mutant Holiday Celebration

Let's face it. Most land dwellers just don't understand that the lives of sewer people are rich and full of custom and tradition. This holiday season, many of the horribly disfigured and crusty critters from the underground have come together to share some tender moments.

We noticed particular warmth in a gift exchange between a Blood-Sucking Cauliflower Beetle and a Skin Shredder (pictured above). The Blood-Sucking Cauliflower Beetle (also pictured above) came bearing a wrapped box filled to the brim with rat intestines. The Skin Shredder presented a simple gift of jarred blood. They quickly exchanged their gifts and scampered back into their respective homes; the Cauliflower Beetle back under a large slab of concrete and the Skin Shredder into a hot pool of human feces.

On Christmas Eve, we could hear the faint sounds of chanting coming out of various tunnels. Though not all the mutants were singing in the same key, or the same language, they all seemed to be making a similar noise. Some were screeching the words. Some bellowing. And some spilling blood out of various orifices. Through it all, these were the only words we could make out: "We drink red-blood of plump tiny babies--Christmas come but once a year--we eat skin off weak and tender--I hope this year is never ender." It was a sweet little tune with a lovely melody.

Many surface dwellers falsely interpret these songs as a direct threat to humanity, though I prefer to think of them allegorically. I believe the true meaning of the songs can be only be understood by reading between the lines. When they sing about drinking the blood of "plump tiny babies," they are only referring to the child-like spirit they feel during the holidays. And when they sing about gobbling skin, they are only referencing the goosebumps they feel when the Christmas spirit crawls into their loins.

***

Christmas Day it was reported by the "New York Paper" that dozens of sewer creatures poured out of manholes and broke in to "St. Bork's Soft-Skinned Youth Orphanage" on Fifth Street. Orphanage owners reported that the crime was nothing short of a "literal bloodbath" with pieces of children hanging from the ceiling and walls. Over 72 children are feared dead and/or missing.

Father Perish Leader Christ-Man Cardinal Murphy O'Paddy McShulahan O'Clover had this to say: "I can't believe these godless heathens. This is the fifth time this year that they've broke into our Orphanage and eaten all of our children. One of the sewer creatures even stopped to speak to me in the middle of the raid. He explained that he and his sewer brethren would be back in April to devour the new batch of fresh-blood. I wish the city would do something about these vermin!"

When questioned about the sewer people, City Mayor Ham Poundcacke gave a few well-planned thoughts. "This is only a minor roadblock on the road of hunger for today's youth. With so many children starving in other lands, these children are anti-starved. It would be considered that they are not food but actual people. That would be true if they aren't alive. But now that they are gone, many wonder. How did we get here? The truth is, our opposing party vows to raise taxes to benefit these youngbloods. But do we have the money? It's too much to assume that just because we can protect them, that the roadblock on the road to hunger would be increased or reduced. It is only a mere pipe dream to assume that this country could pull itself out of such a twisted tailspin. In conclusion, I would like to extend my thanks to the brave men and women who celebrated Christmas in honor of our lord and sweat-covered rag-dressed savior who hung on the cross so we could bathe in the glory that is America."

Anus-Potboiler Badsmell Inhaler

When I was a boy I loved the feeling I got when my anus puckered and began to boil like a pot of chili. I used to make things called "smoke tents" by getting all the blankets and sheets in my house and basically making a large dome. Then I'd sit in there and eat bricks of cheese and hot piles of beans. Then I'd wait for my first anus-potboiler. Then another. And before I knew it, I was bathing in an ocean of my own badsmell. When I inhaled enough, I began to hear a deep and powerful voice. It introduced itself as Kinglord Brownsmoke Torkington.

More recently, I constructed an outfit from old car tires so I could suck the air from my anus potboilers and become closer with Kinglord Brownsmoke. I told my young son, Hen that I couldn't come to his school play because I would be too busy huffing my brown-fog.

My wife told me to come to my son's baseball game later on but I said I was busy getting a lungfull of dark-wisp. She said that if I didn't come, she'd stop paying all of the bills and rent. So I decided to come to the baseball game. I just sat under the bleachers breathing as deeply as I could as I made loud screaming prayers to Kinglord Brownsmoke. Some of the little league parents began to cry and others got mad. Some called the bluesuit police.

So I ran away into the forest over behind the elementary. Right now, as we speak, I am hiding in a bunch of blackberry bushes scribbling this note with a old back-exit log and a couple of leafs. I think I will try to make a home here among the forest beasts. Perhaps we can create a kingdom of anus potboilers and we can revel in the all-knowing hotsmells of eachother's brown-caverns. And we can sing together in unison as we praise his sweet-savior Kinglord Brownsmoke Torkington.

My only other wish is that my wife and my son stop bothering me to go to stupid things like PTA meetings and sportball cheer-days. I hate all fresh-air breathers and I want to live a life by the code of Kinglords' "hot-smell rip-rear" sermon.

Cartoon Book "Self Respect" World Convention

"I'm Wuffhound from the X-Guys"
-Gorgenhiem Tanner


Every year, the Cartoon Book "Self Respect" World Convention rolls though Troutfish, Wisconsin on the way to it's massive blowout in Tadpole, South Carolina. This year, many people showed up in their favorite cartoon-guy getups. We interviewed one largebody named Gorgenhiem Tanner about his experiences at the event.

First, we asked him what his favorite kind of milk beverage was. He explained that when he was younger, he liked 4% dairy fat supreme but he's recently switched to the buttermilk hotfeast. He says it makes his stomach numb. We noticed he had a one-liter jug of it in his back pocket.

Next, we spoke about his experience meeting cartoon book superlord Lanyard Steel. "I met Lanyard Steel and got my photograph taken with him. I had to make a yellowstream but no one would listen to me. So I went in my Wuffhound pants during the brightflash. I couldn't help it. When Lanyard Steel smelt the smell he looked at me and told he he used to make yellowstreams in his longpants when he was a youngboy. It made me feel better about my special mistake."

Gorgenhiem had some very strong opinions on his mom and dad's minivan. He explained that when his mom comes and picks him up, he will have to find her light blue Road Dome X-Press. "I told my mom to drive to the back of the parking lot to pick me up. I told her that I am going to have a playdate with my friend Daisy and I don't want her to meet my mom. Daisy is only 15 but she acts like a grown up."

"Blazing Skull" Female Cotton Rods

MARKETING PITCH:

Do you have blood-runs every so often? Are you a female woman?

Well stay tuned for this important announcement from BLAZING SKULL.

BLAZING SKULL, INC. has brought you many great products in the past. But we've noticed something about hygiene products nowadays. How come men get all the good ones? Men get "Chainsaw Body Mist" "Cinnamon-Beaf Dunk Deodorant" "Coleslaw Ball Powder" and "Mountain Bike X-Treme Masturbation Fluid." But what do women get?

Nothing so far.

Just lame products like "Daisy's Pussy Creme" and "Light Morning Sunflower slamrods."

Well things are changing.

Now there's Blazing Skull female cotton rods for your nad curtains. If you have drip drops at times, you want something in there, right? And you want something that's just as cool as what the boys get, right? Well good! Now you can change the world.

And be a female power figure with your friends. Our cotton rods have pictures of a skull on fire and some tribe markings--so you can feel the power of the most intense things that come out of the mists of your imagination. That way, when you have runny runny rivers, you can dam it up with a force of pure impact and human power!

Be yourself! Be the style you want to see in other people! With Blazing Skull Female Cotton Rods. By BLAZING SKULL, INC.

"Mad Dog Rage: Is There A Cure?" by Dr. Roncho Paynus

Every week, readers send in their questions for Dr. Roncho Paynus. This week Dr. Paynus answers questions about the "Mad Dog Rage" ailment affecting many pooches and terriers around the Tallywhacker County area.

Q: Dr. Paynus, I believe my neighbor's dog Bundt is very ill with Mad Dog Rage. Last week alone, I saw him tear the hide of twelve young boys in my local housing sector.
-Nickel-Nord Humdug

A: I believe you should feed one large slab of riverfish to the pup and while he's snarfing, insert a large calcium pill deep into his rectum.

Q: Dr. Paynus, my dog may have a case of Mad Dog Rage. I saw him tear into a box of cereal and eat all the innards. They were White Iced Frosted Bits for Youngmouths. Do you think my dog is a deadly force?
-Hootletoot Mustard-Seed

A: Yes, your dog is a death demon. Mad Dog Rage has taken his soul and his spirit to live a good life. You must destroy him by throwing him into a furnace or into the deepest pit you know of.

Q: Dr. Paynus, my aunt's dog ate his own tail for breakfast and crawled up onto the ceiling. Now he's just making low snarling noises from right next to the chandelier and he's vomiting blood from his eyeballs. Do you think he's possessed with Mad Dog Rage?
-Mug-Tug Portherhouse

A: No, there is very little chance of that. I'd say your house was built over some sort of spiritual force field or anti-gravity vortex for dogs. Contact your local rock shaman or peanut witch finger to see if they know.

Jorge the Lonely Creekwalker

"I mostly just come here to mingle with the toads and to bottle up some sludge along the creek bank. And to smoke PCP."
-Jorge

HERE IS A DRAMATIC RE-INTERPRETATION OF THE JORGE THE LONELY CREEKWALKER STORY:


I used to be a smile-faced man. Long ago, before a had a whoopsie inside my brain. I will tell you the story: I was once a normal man. With a hat. And a pet dog. And 40 dollars. I found a woman I wanted to marry. Her name was Filbert St. Jude. I met her on the sidewalk in front of my adult living facility. I saw her in the bushes and I told her I loved her. Then we got married in the treefort in a person's backyard who I don't know. I made a tuxedo out of an animal hide that I got from a golden retriever who lived in my neighbor's back yard. And I made Filbert a wedding dress out of a few boughs of pine. It was a beautiful wedding.

Later that night, I tried to bring Filbert back into my adult living facility but Master Krugnuck said "No way, you can't bring that tramp in here." So I let her go outside. For six months she lived outside my window in the bark dust. I made her a little fort out of a few pieces of Styrofoam and a garbage bag. When it turned into rainy season, I couldn't find Filbert St. Jude anywhere. I ran outside in the rain looking for her but it was hard to see anything. Water was everywhere and all the landscaping was flooded. THen I found Filbert in a stream in the road headed toward the sewer. I grabbed her up just before she fell into the drain. Then I got hit by a bus, because I was standing in front of the bus stop.

When I woke up in the hospital, my brain-doctor friendly-man Boop St. Augustine was standing over me. He told me "Jorge, we found you in the street with the mangled corpse of an elderly squirrel in your hand. Why is this, Jorge?"

I didn't know how to answer that question. I just pulled the blankets up over my head and started sobbing to Jesus to kill Boop St. Augustine for making my brain hurt. From under the covers, I could hear Boop talking with the nurse, saying: "We have witnesses saying they say Jorge up in a young boy's tree-fort having some sort of ceremony with an elderly, North American tree-squirrel."

It was then I realized... a warlock must have made Filbert St. Jude turn into a squirrel. That's when I decided to run away to become the Lonely Creekwalker. The way I saw it, if I walked long enough in creeks, Filbert St. Jude's spirit might come back to me. If she died in a creek, she may be resurrected in a creek. Either that or the PCP I smoke is affecting my judgment.

When Muffs Cry

"Google does not exist."
-Printz

That's right cucksnufflers, my long unfortunate absence can be wholly attributed to this mustache wielding, feather fried puss-snagger, Printz.

He told me that "the internet is dead", and I took the sweaty, crooning dickheart at his word. Believe me, I never would have listened to this puffy shirted Minnestotan in a million years, had a certain internet shit shower not been recently rained/reigned upon my being:


Do you see that skullfuckery? Google straight don't exist SON. Tall dwarves on NBA salaries make more sense to me than this. Don't worry though, I'll get to the bottom of this spudge, and be back on the Cat's Crotch prowl sooner than you can say "Rim dim diggle, rim dim dim diggle". That is, once I pull sexy Printz's mustache out of my "must stash" (which is what I call my vagina =D)! What? you thought I wasn't rocking a sex change operation since my absence? Come on n-words, It's 2010 and you're living in the two-thousand den (OF NOT BEING UP TO DATE)! Stupid slizzy nerds...


haha, I'm totally jking, I love all the ladies no duhhh! =P=P=P=P=P!!!!

Doop Mouth

Greg Jenkins' Family Journal
5/7/1998

I'm cousins with Doop Mouth. He's such a grumm-duckus. He came to my daughter's birthday and just sat there Dropping Brown Pound into one of her gift bags. When my daughter came up to say "hi" to him he just snarled like a forest wolf and told her to "back off." It was a really upsetting situation. I'm writing in this journal to vent my Red-Faced Mega-Rage.

My cousin Doop Mouth was born of bad blood. His parents were toilet addicts. The used to dip him in hot Grouch-Pam and turn him upside down late at night. Then when he was a toddler, when their family was visiting the city's municipal hazardous waste center, Doop Mouth crawled off the edge of the railing into the brown river. Eight years later, he was found on the embankment of the Mork River, slurping mud and snarling at passers-by.

By the time State Services took him in, it was far too late. He was a bonafide barf-sleeze, coughing and wheezing out browned-columns everywhere. Even during sacred events like church, you could always hear him in the back pew launching out a dark missile onto the polished marble floor.

He was once taken aside by Bishop St. Poppins for a private conversation. The Bishop tired to plead with Doop Mouth to find solace in the bosom of the White Robed One but he said "No" and a fountain of nasty sauce came spilling out of his mouth all over the sacred robes.

Dr. Beehive Furhand's Woodbeast Battle Gym

Some may laugh at the sight of a grown main engaging in hand to hand combat with a massive Furbody. But to Hangsack Tootlebeans, a native of You-Tah, combat with a Grizzled Bear is "a good way to spend a Tuesday night."

"Yeah, I've been taking Bear Karate lessons from Dr. Furhands for about two years now. I don't remember much of what he taught me. He usually just growls and snarls until someone brings him a pot of honey. But don't get me wrong, I've learned a lot."
-Hangsack Tootlebeans

It was Dr. Furhand's grandfather, "Ol'" Woodsap Furhand, who opened You-Tah state's first Woodbeast Battle Gym at the turn of the century (1900). Since then, the Firhand family has passed on it's powerful hand-to-hand combat skills to generations of humans and small kids.

We've recently attained some testimonials from customers of the Woodbeast Battle Gym and Bear Karate Centers of the United States:

"I dropped off my son Filbert at a late-night one-on-one training course for youngboys. When I came back to pick him up, Mr. Furhand said he hadn't seen my son come in. What struck me as suspicious was that Dr. Furhand was covered from head to toe in what he claims was raspberry jam. But I suspect it was strawberry jam. Either way, my son is still missing and I'm not sure where to look. It's been six years. I recommend Dr. Beehive Furhand's Woodbeast Battle Gym to anyone who wants the best for their kids."
-Whort Foghammer

"I decided to get my wife Starburst a season pass for Women's Self-Defense courses at the Woodbeast Battle Gym for Christ Day. After her first lesson with Dr. Furhand, she didn't speak a word to me. She just walked in the front door and packed up all of her belongings and left me for good. I got a letter in the mail ten years later (Written on a piece of timber) that said she was very good at Bear Karate now and that her and Dr. Beehive have many, many small Bear/Human hybrid children. During that ten years, I spent many late nights in an empty bathtub, sobbing uncontrollably. I wondered each night if I would finally have the courage to slice open my wrists with the Gillette Mach 3 that taunted me from the corner of the room. I would call my mother for support but she would never answer. It turns out she moved away with my Dad after Starburst and I split. She said the pain of Starburst leaving was just too much for them to handle. A year after Starburst left me I was diagnosed with a level three case of Rup Rup Rup, and now I can't walk on my own. I use a vehicle that I've designed from discarded hunks of watermelon rind and pineapple to scoot my useless body across my apartment floor so I can once again contemplate suicide each night. After my tenth year of being without Starburst, I finally went through with my suicide attempt and now I live at the St. Mork's home for People Who Try To Kill Themselves. When I finally received the letter from Starburst (the one written on the log) I felt my already loose grip on sanity weaken to the point of total loss of control. All of my internal organs slip and relax and a large pile of Rolling Hotballs came out of my pantleg. I also made a spray at the same time. It was terrible. Since then, my doctor said I've been making significant progress. He says one day, perhaps I'll be well enough to walk the snowy meadows of St. Hubbinsberg, the home of my birth. It's where I want to go to die, when the Rup Rup Rup finally comes to claim my tired soul."
-Hibbert St. Garfield