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 or so, then 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 of his presence. Once the passengers noticed the boy, it caused quite the commotion inside the cabin. The pilot got on the intercom and assured everyone that he was safe as long has he stays well fed and gets a personal "chyld syze" 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 his 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 stewardess brought him out a blankie and a pillow so he could sleep outside for a half an hour.

After naptyme, Ruffy awoke to find the plane making its final descent into the clouds. That's when Ruffy got on top of the fuselage and made his way toward the roof of the cockpit 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 occurred, 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.

Friday, October 7, 2011

Blord: The King Wood Toucher



(This article has been reprinted with permission from The Wood Elf Herald, an online publication for underdeveloped adults.)

WOOD ELF HERALD
Feature Article By Blayde St. Revenge

I met Blord at Flosh Grudens Community College in 1997. While the other kids went to class, we would go back behind the bushes and play with our action hero figures. Blord was Kraft from Ringlords and I was Bowman from Slyngers. We would knock our guys together until our moms came and picked us up in their minivans. After the first few weeks our moms realized we weren't going to class so they made us quit college. So I was forced to get a job at the mall working at Fruit Blendz Drinks For Men. But Blord took it all really hard, the break up and all. All I remember is that he said "Dark Forces Are At Work" and he picked up a medium-sized log and ran full speed into the New Jersey Pine Barrens. I literally haven't seen or heard from in in a year. But apparently other people have. I took some testimonials from people in the area that have seen him wandering the wyld plains:

"I was walking my dog through the pine barrens and I saw a large man with long hair attempting to hide behind a small sized rock. I literally walked right past him and he kept adjusting himself in some sort of feeble attempt to stay out of sight. Not only did I see him, but I was concerned that he was some sort of deranged woodsman that wished me or my dog harm. So I confronted him. I just asked if he had a problem. Then all of a sudden he began to screech at an ear piercing decibel. He the stood up violently, continuing to scream, picked up a giant hunk of wood and galloped away at a frantic but awkward pace towards dense wooded cover."
-Dr. Berri Snyder

"I was out birdwatching on the south end of the pine barrens and I heard a squirrel making warning noises. The warning noises got louder and louder then stopped altogether. Then I saw a giant oaf of a man fall about 75 feet out of an pine tree and land flat on his back. He seemed to be in some distress but he got up and in his right hand was a dead squirrel. He picked up what appeared to be a giant hunk of wood. That's when he noticed me standing about 200 yards away with binoculars. His eyes began to glow red and he barked like a dark Tasmanian wolfhound and shot off into the darkness."
-Hobby Pinkle

"It all started when I was picking blackberries off a massive tangle of vines last summer. I saw a huge clump in the far back row, just at the end of my reach. I had to stretch deep into the bush to get them. While I was straining I felt like there was someone behind me, but by the time I turned around a large, naked man with long black hair had already stolen my bucket of berries and was making a bee line for the trees. I was less upset and more just amazed that someone would steal berries. So I watched him run about 300 feet away. He stopped in the middle of a clearing and began to softly urinate on a pile of leaves. I used that time as my opportunity to sneak up behind him. I got closer and closer and he seemed not to notice my advance. Once I got to within a foot or two, I planned on just reaching down and stealing my berries back but the man quickly spun around, and let out a blood curdling snarl, revealing razor sharp serrated teeth. I quickly ran back to my car and drove home."
-Bonnie Tyler

Monday, September 26, 2011

Nooper "Do Not Dance Too Close To Female"



"I installed heat sensitive cameras inside my daughter's bathroom to ensure that she isn't getting warm feelings thinking about boys." -Elder Faithdust "Nooper" Placard

Nobody is more outspoken against male/female relations than Nooper, the popular Mormon Recording Artist. Though Nooper isn't his birth name, it was given to him by friends and family because of how often he says the word "nope" in a funny way due to his North Dakota accent.

Nooper became a popular name in the booming Mormon Recording Industry in the late nineteen seventies. Performing such hits as "NO NIGGERS IN THE PRIESTHOOD" (1977), "I LIKE BLACK PEOPLE (FOR THE LORD NOW SAYS IT'S OKAY)" (1978), MY NEIGHBORS SON KISSED A BOY AND HE IS BEING EX-COMMUNICATED" (1981), "THE HUMBLE WHITE UPPER MIDDLE CLASS/UPPER CLASS HOME" (1985), "MY MINIVAN" (1992), "MY DAUGHTER WILL NEVER HEAVY PET, I GUARANTEE IT" (1999), "DREAMS OF 9-11" (2001), "DON'T HOLD HANDS WITH MY DAUGHTER--OR TOUCH HER--OR LOOK AT HER" (2002), "SEXUALITY OUGHT TO BE REPRESSED--AND THE ENSUING MENTAL ILLNESS MUST BE STAVED OFF WITH CONSTANT READINGS OF 'PEARL OF GREAT PRICE' IN THE BOOK OF MORMON" (2005), "MARIE OSMOND'S SON DIDN'T KILL HIMSELF BECAUSE HE WAS A REPRESSED HOMOSEXUAL. HE KILLED HIMSELF BECAUSE THE MORNING STAR ENTERED HIS BLOODSTREAM AND MADE HIM LUSTFUL TOWARDS A MAN FOR A TEMPORARY PERIOD (BUT HE HAD THE POWER TO FIGHT IT)."

Now that he has entered his golden years, his daughter is of legal dating age--and Elder Nooper has TRULY gone off the deep end to protect his daughter. Acting out in response to his own sexual repression and deep seated insecurities, he's written an album entitled "Don't Dance Too Close To Female." He's distributed a copy to every male at her high school in hopes it will ward off any sexual feelings of lustful moisture towards his daughter.

NOOPER
DON'T DANCE TOO CLOSE TO FEMALE

1.) JOSEPH SMITH DIDN'T BELIEVE IN INTERCOURSE (AND NEITHER SHOULD YOU)
2.) MALE PRESIDES OVER FEMALE
3.) FEMALE IS SUBORDINATE (AND MUST OBEY HER FATHER)
4.) GLAD TIDINGS FROM ONE TEENAGER TO ANOTHER (WITHOUT PHYSICAL CONTACT)
5.) PRESERVE YOURSELF IN YOUR HEAVENLY WHITE ROBES
6.) ONE DAY YOU WILL HAVE YOUR OWN MINIVAN
7.) DADDY'S CELESTIAL WONDER
8.) TOGETHER FOREVER (IN THE BONDS OF FAMILY IN WHITE ROBES)
9.) STAR MAKER (I DON'T WANT BLACK PEOPLE ON THE PLANET I CREATE-SORRY GOD)
10.) MODERN AMERICAN CONSERVATIVE VALUES ARE MY APPLE PIE (LOVE ETERNAL)

We were fortunate enough to catch up with Veronica Placard (the daughter) for a brief interview regarding her father's over-protective behavior. This is what she had to say:

"I totally forgot to take my birth control last night. I was pounding whiskey with Greg, Antonio, and D'Shawn and we smoked a whole $20.00 marijuana purchase. Anyway, I had relations with like one of them...or maybe more...haha...I don't remember but the point is...I forgot to take my birth control. Anyway, I'm going to have my friend Amber hit me in the belly with a broomhandle in a month or two to make sure I'm not pregnant. I can't go to the pharmacy to get Plan B or to Planned Parenthood because my dad insists on driving me everywhere in his minivan. The only reason I was lucky enough to party last night was because we did it upstairs in church while my cousin Jobe was getting baptized."

Friday, September 16, 2011

Plork (Fun Elvis!)



"Many jabber faces make remarks about my band saying 'you play shit.'"
-Unber Groak, Lead Vocalist (Plork)

At the mere mention of Plork, most music critics begin to tear away at the skin on their faces and reach for the nearest bottle of rubber cement to pour inside of their ear canals. But everything aside, Nor-Land's infamous "Hodge-Podge Eclectics" Plork are preparing for the release of their new album "Fun Elvis" and an extensive Southern U.S. Tour.

In a recent interview with Plork's lead vocalist, Unber Groak, we discovered much of the band's career so far has been rife with terrible hardship, crippling self-doubt and reprehensible body odors.

"It make me sad that everyone in the world hate our band. We go on tour of United America and a man, he take a bottle and bash it over my newborn baby son's face and tell me to die in lava."

Many people wonder how a band that is universally despised can afford to go on a tour to another continent. The answer: not easily. Unber and his band mates search for extra money deep in the bowels of the sewers.

"Last time we go tour America United, we get under the ground by sliding down a hole. We bring rakes and pieces of stick. Then we go where people make splashes in the white-pot. We stick our tools into the smell piles until we find coins and we collect them in Knhort's burlap sack."

After learning more about his methods, I realized that Unber is referring to the rogue coins that people sometimes accidentally shake out of their jeans into the toilet when they're taking their pants down before a bowel movement. Since not many people accidentally drop coins into the toilet, Unber and his band generally have a very difficult time searching for coins in piles of human waste. But after sixteen years of feverish searching, the band has come up with enough capital to fund another tour to the U.S.

Instead of taking a discount plane ride or taking a barge, due to their limited funds, Plork will be constructing a man-made raft from milk cartons and hardened dung from the sewers (used as sealant). They will consume raw fish meat on the ride over (fished from guitar strings) and they'll keep all their musical gear wrapped tightly in plastic wrap (found in the garbage).

Plork "Fun Elvis" will be released on cassette this December.

Track Listing:

1.) My Dig In The Sewer
2.) I Found A Coin
3.) My Son Hit With Bottle
4.) Feeling Worse About Underarm Bad Smell
5.) Good Times For Uncle Elvis
6.) I Smell Not Like A Good Man
7.) Money I Don't Have
8.) America Money Pot
9.) Sweat Woman
10.) Garbage Eater
11.) Trash Hunger

Monday, August 29, 2011

Hope Instigator Supreme: "Crimson Blayde"



When times are tough for the students at Grape Berry High School in Tree-branch, Illinois, they have someone there looking out for their feelings and their well being. At least according to Horton Shrivel, the high school janitor, who also goes by the name "Crimson Blayde."

Mr. Shrivel claims he uses his mysterious alias to give kids "good feelings" and "for general security impressions." Though he claims his intentions are noble, some of the students claim his methods are a bit unorthodox.

One student, who declined his name be used in this interview, claimed to have a strange encounter with Mr. Shrivel:

"Yeah, so like I was in the bathroom stall making a rear drop. I guess I was groaning and sweating a bit. But anyway, someone started pounding on the stall door. So I said it was occupied. That's when I noticed the red shoes. It was the janitor, Crimson Blayde. Instead of listening to me, he crawled underneath the door and started to rub my ankles. He told me that "destiny awaits in the plummage pot" and he pulled my sock down, tucked a piece of hard candy into it and slithered back out the way he came making clicking sounds."

Another student describes his abnormal experience:

"So I was standing at the piss drain doing a Mississippi hose-down and I hear a deep voice tell me that destiny has plans for me. I turned around and saw the Janitor. I know it was him because he dresses like a comic hero or something. He always carries a red broom on his back and his mop has a medieval-style mace made out of a urinal cake with pencils coming out of it. Anyway...the janitor came right up behind me and started to jiggle my fat rolls. He started to make noises like a snake hissing and put a lollypop down the front of my t-shirt pocket."

When interviewed, Mr. Shrivel had very little to say about the incidents. He spoke instead of his personal manifesto. "I have special weapons that help me clean the down ground. If I see someone he have a hard time make drop, I give him sugar sweets. I name myself Crimson Blayde because my broom-sword is so bad. If I see a brown on the ground I smash it with my sword and sweep the pieces."

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Crotch Interviews

Cat's Crotch has always been receptive when offered a chance speak with important figures in politics and economics, and this month we're honored to have a visit paid to us by Ben Bernanke, the current Chairman of The Federal Reserve. BB wanted to explain to us in layman's term why printing more money will fill our pantries and keep our hot bars satisfied.

CC: "Good morning Ben! You look healthy."

BB: "Thank you. I feel good!"

CC: "I love your skin."

BB: "Let's get down to brass tax. This month started off fairly rough with the Debt Roof barely getting raised in time before America became officially slightly unreliable when it comes to paying back loans. You really have to understand why it's important to have a perfect credit score."

CC: "We think about that all the time!"

BB: "I know, it's pretty intense. Anyway, when you print more money, that means everyone will get more, and we need more because we were almost out."

CC: "Well that makes sense... that doesn't mean its value will decrease, will it? Or that stuff will get more stupid?"

BB: "No, of course not, god."

CC: "What about it eventually cycling to other countries and not coming back? I think that is a possibility."

BB: "That's completely impossible because it's American dollars. They only work in America, c'mon."

CC: "... what's that black stuff coming out of your eyes?"

BB: "What...? That's nothing, nothing is coming out of my eyes."

CC: "It looks like Satan's semen."

That this point Ben pushes his index finger into his eye socket and then draws something on the desk in front of him with the questionable black material, then vanishes. The symbol that was traced into the wood also vanished.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

U.S. Army Presents: "Would-Stock" 1969



In response to the well-known counter culture festival of the same year, the U.S. Army felt it necessary to host a competing festival for "buttoned-up military types" as opposed to "loose haired faggots."

Upon hearing the news about Woodstock, General B.R. Slate Blambrock of The Catskills Military Training Grass Field said "we'll let those robe-wearing chicken-hawks have their dandy-doodle, but me and my boys will put on a little show of our own."

General Blambrock sent word out to personnel at all the surrounding military bases: "You close-cut boys don't have to feel short-changed by not being allowed to go to Woodstock with the hippy-dippies and their boring drugs and loud music. We're going to put on a little show of our own called 'Would-Stock.' As in, why WOULD you want to go to Woodstock?"

As it turns out, General Blambrock was unable to book any musical acts (aside from a few elderly Christian singers from the local gospel-hut to do a song-and-dance promenade) so he enlisted a few of the most elite Jet Fighters from the local air base to drive around in the fields with their afterburners on full blast for a "straight shot of sweltering American heat and joy."

On the day of the festival, many military families gathered in a green field under the sun to enjoy the day's activities. Many prepared mayonnaise-based meals while others picked single blades of grass and threw them back down again. Some young men even slapped a "high-five" to one another (assuming the high-ranking officers weren't looking).

But when the Jet Fighters arrived, the fun TRULY began. The jets started off on a slow but gradual taxi around the green field, but after a few minutes of slow play, the pilots fired the afterburners and drove their airships straight into the crowd... giving men, women and children something great to look at.

A few military military participants look back on memories of the festival with fondness:

"I thought it was a jim-dandy time. My father and I were some of the lucky few to have jets drive over our family picnic and squash our 'taters. It was truly hilarious!" -Private Grumder Feath

"My young daughter and I were there when the pilot's landing gear failed and the nose dropped into the crowd. It fell right on someone's bottle of mustard and squirted it all over their face." -Popcorn Lieutenant Pumper Clapflash

"My good friend Jacob stuck his hot dog into the jet's afterburner flame and cooked it. I remember him telling me how it was the best hot dog he'd ever tasted. He died of cancer a couple years later. But... back to Would-Stock! It was a great time. I wish I could go back and do it again!" -Colonel Ennerd Foghorn



Friday, July 15, 2011

Unbelieveable Glory



Worldwide eyeball phenomenon and leading American browhair-length extraordinaire Malniferous Pondercut has given birth asexually to twin albecorian slickhaired screamers. Communicating using a series of alphabetical scorecards, Malniferous named his/her two youngest offspring Flame Junction and Steel Blade. As of Tuesday night, they will be officially ordained as part of the "Twin Sons" bicentennial Browhair Legacy Foundation's "Royal Review."

As many people already know, Malniferous is the son/daughter of Legendary look-absorber Pontificus BloodRevenge, the individual with the longest and most perfect recorded eyebrows and mustache known to civilization. But with that prestigious of a lineage comes considerable pressure. In his/her younger days, Malniferous was known to stay out late with "questionable breeds," often "rubbing leathers" with a ruffian miscreant or two along the way. As it was often reported in "Dog Feathers Worldwide Tribute" in the late nineteen seventies, Malniferous also occasionally partook in dog's marijuana (a cheaper, less-reliable form of the drug, boiled and distilled down to a level where dogs can begin to understand it's effects on the mind).

It was never quite understood what exactly pulled Malniferous out of the drug and sex filled stupor that ruled his/her younger days, but according to leading experts at the Brow Length program at Tableaux Royal University, he/she experienced enlightenment when his/her eyebrows and mustache reached an adequate length. Adequate enough to set his/her restless mind at peace and leave him/her with an everlasting feeling of spiritual tranquility that no man, beast or fiery war will never interrupt.

Now, with the birth of his/her two sons, Malniferous will be making a sizable donation to the "Brow Enhancement Research Fund for Fortunate Youths" to bequeath some of the hair-praise he/she received in his/her younger days to a new spawn of slickhairs. It will be with great pleasure that, upon the moment of his/her death, Malniferous is to have his/her browhair and mustache surgically removed and installed on the back of a sports car traveling the desert at extraordinarily high speeds. Malniferous explained in a recent interview with "Hair Hound Daily" that he/she wishes to re-live those dangerous and untamed days of his/her youth, but now, with the children, that is impossible. He/She (or part of him/her) will be a feather on the breeze in the next life, but not in this one.

It was reported that Sportscar Pedal Accelerator Operator Jergens Fourthwright III of Southwestern England has agreed to be the man to install Malniferous' hair upon the spoiler of his Ephigram Royal 5X B3. In a joint statement with his sponsors, Blumghust Motors and Edith Graham Dog Food, Jergens said "I feel a debt of gratitude to Malniferous and [it's] wonderful hair... produced as a result of a lineage that will be remembered forevermore."

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

1983 Consumer Reports: "Van 'Halin," A Disturbing New Trend With Soft-Faced Schoolboys



Above is an experienced artist's interpenetration of "Van 'Halin:" a terrible new trend that has been reported by PTA parents in the Troutflesh school district this year.

The rumor was started by Blather Turnjaw, a mother of three school-aged boys who INSISTS she thinks she might have seen "a couple of ruff-tuffs getting 'comfortable' with the hard-iron muffler of her sports utility vehicle." Blather explains...

"I didn't exactly witness the event firsthand. But a couple of the other neighborhood wives thought they heard or saw some kids talking about a new sexualart/fantasyact called Van 'Halin. I have no hard data or facts, only an experienced mother's hard-minded opinion. And I think what we're dealing with is some real sour-faced melonwater. I'm talking a pickle-rind on the beef-end of the barbeque. A spacemaker for the darkmind. Something you don't want your kids overhearing, that's for sure." Blather goes on to explain... "From what I can gather from my motherly intuition, gained from letting my husband ram his fluids into me and bearing his children, I believe these young teds are wrapping their tender little lips around the spout-hole of the mufflers while the cars are running. Just to get the flavor of the blacksmoke on the front of their teeth. Then they go around bragging about how many makes and models of cars they've 'jammed.' I'm not going to claim to be an expert on any of this, but some of the other mothers in the Troutflesh PTA agree that I'm really onto something here. With a name like Van 'Halen, what else could it mean?"


In order to get down to the dark and truthful facts, we stuck our head deep into the nectar of the scientific community to search for someone who might have answers. Doctor Jazz Moundgrinder, a medical professional in the field of smoke inhalation, had this to say: "I've heard of a muffler with a man on the end of it. Breathing in and out. You know what I mean? It's a grim shudder of a thought and I hate to think about it. But huffing hot-gas fumes is a real party if you want to get baked like a clam and have a shout with your friends, but I wouldn't recommend it. Sure I did it a bit in college when naked girls were cheering me on. I drank fresh smoke right out of the steel rod poking out of the back of my friend's van. That was while we were protesting Vietnam. It was a different time back then. With the war going on, we found ourselves in a new emotional paradigm, trying things we normally wouldn't try, resisting authority to such a degree that we sometimes dismissed social mores altogether. It was a feeling of spiritual freedom that most people don't really know. God those were some sweet times. OH! I'm sorry, I got a bit off topic. Yes, yes. I think these acts with the children and the fume pipes are a terrible disgrace to upstanding Americans like ourselves. Certainly very, very bad, yes."

After a few months of hard research and extensive local press coverage, we were contacted by the agent of rock singer David Lee Roth, who insisted that we cease and desist any slanderous jaw-turning about his band.

Once again, we spoke to Blather Turnjaw, who claims Van Halen's songs SPECIFICALLY ENORSE huffing fumes. She insists that the band formed as a direct result of finding out about smoke inhalation, and wanting to spread the message to the youth. She hypothesizes that "every song is a direct metaphor to smoke inhalation. Just because I've never actually SEEN young boys coddling automobile smokepipes doesn't mean it's not happening. Take 'Hot For Teacher' for example. 'Teacher' is clearly a metaphor for a metal rod. And being 'Hot' for 'Teacher' simply implies a strong desire to wrap one's lips around the muffler of a running car, just for the thrill. And the song 'Running With The Devil' is much the same. I'm fairly sure I heard a story once about a young man running alongside a school bus with his lips curled around the edges of the steampipe, huffing every last ounce of hotsmoke that came guzzling out. And I think that's precisely what David Lee Roth is singing about. The band is truly distasteful and I can't believe they can be so insensitive as to write songs about such a harmful topic."





Having heard the slanderous remarks made by Blather Turnjaw of the Troutfish PTA Squadron, David Lee Roth fired back with his own viewpoint: "I am truly hurt and bargled by the remarks. Made. Why say this? I am a longhaired jackrabbit with no time to mess with flaffs like this! Why me? I'm just an old jackrabbit. Hah Hah! Yeah I huffed a muff! What do you want??? LOL (David Lee Roth also coined the term "LOL" which means "Laughing Out Loud," a truly hilarious and groundbreaking man, wouldn't you agree?)!"

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Getting Things Done Around The House: Perhaps Tomorrow



Longtime roommates Dayve and "Rag Bones" decided to finally get some work done around the house. According to Rag Bones, "the laundry hadn't been done for a few years. My bro Dayve and I just don't dig knobs and buttons [Refrencing the ones on the laundry machine]. They're so corporate and... like... you feel me? I mean, we really just wear bagged-out hoods and sweet sag-pants so we don't really usually see the point of washing these old bong stains off [laughs], I mean you know? Chicks still come over. We still got pussy crusin' our way."

After a short look around their living quarters, it was clear that marijuana consumption had been a key priority for the last few decades, weighing far heavier on the scale of importance than things like removing fast food wrappers from inside the shower and removing resin stains from the carpet.

"Yeah bro, Rag Bones and I just live a renegade lifestyle, you know?" Dayve says in between pulls from his oral fog steamer. "After high school things just chilled out, you know? It was only like twelve years ago, not too long ago. No big deal, you know? It's just like... we're just keeping it real and keeping the dream alive."

"Yeah, I got a sweet job over at Best Buy as a compact disc sales representative Team Leader," Dayve explains. "A lot of my friends are jealous at how successful I am. You know? I got a lot of money. That's how Rag Bones and I can afford this sweet one bedroom in the heart of suburbia, right bro? [laughs and hi-fives Rag Bones]"

Rag Bones seemed a bit uncomfortable when asked about his lifestyle and career, but as he spoke, he seemed to muster some level of feigned confidence. "Yeah bro. My mom and dad were both in real estate, so they hook me up with some sweet stuff like canned food and some money to help Dayve out with bills. Like Dayve said earler, you know... we were kind of the renegades in high school, and we're still living the legend, you know? I don't really work, you know? I mostly work on my rad drawings on my desktop PC that my parents got me my senior year. [Rag Bones hands me his most recent work]:



Dayve chimes in and mentions that "this is the earliest that Rag Bones and I have been up in years." I looked up and the clocked read 2:30pm. "Yeah, we're usually kinda afternoon style dudes, ya know? The morning is for like college professors and politicians. See, we're just a couple of young dudes keeping it real, feel me?"

I asked Rag Bones what his plans for the future were as he sipped his morning beer and took a puff of a hot silverfish. "Yeah... I think I'm going to try to get some of my art onto a cool blog or a website. I got pretty good at making sweet 4:20 art. I think I'm gonna try to sell my whole collection for a couple million to an art gallery in a couple years."

I asked Dayve what his ten year plan looked like. He explained that he saw himself as moving up the ranks and Best Buy, hopefully to become the "King Sales Chief" of the compact disc sales area.

Monday, May 23, 2011

Burger Monthly: The Thrill Is Gone



As I stabbed the flappy cheeseburger directly into my facial port, my sense of "being" and "togetherness" began to slowly fade away. I no longer derived any joy or pleasure from the oral jam, only a sense of detachment as the bun contorted and tore around the borders of my food sewer.

With my eyes half closed, I pictured my dismal, flickering existence and how I'm known around town as "Burger Terry." The name was given to me because I, along with everyone else in my family, bulldoze multiple burgers per day. Being a burger dumpster used to bring me an exotic sensation and a trembling joy deep in my groin, but now I feel only emptiness. And it's all because I killed my aunt by eating her burger that would've saved her life.

My aunt, Clort Floop, was in the emergency ward of the local hospital, suffering from "Burger's St. Wort," a terrible beef affliction. Like me, she only ate burgers, so the doctor had to deliver her every treatment through the medium of fresh, wet hamburgers. The doctor needed to give her spinal fluid so he injected it into a double cheeseburger "Fresh X-Treme" from Groper's BUR-GUR Kingdom and passed it to her to ingest. But before she could eat it, I snatched it out her moistened fingertips and drove it down my funnel with two fingers. Aunt Clort screamed in wretched agony and died instantly.

It took me only seconds to realize what I'd done. My desire for sweet, oily brownmeat had driven me to commit a terrible act. But the worst thing was, it hadn't been the first time. I wish to repent for these crimes so I can once again go back to the sensual burger life I once enjoyed.

LIST OF HEINOUS BURGER CRIMES (Chronological Order):

December 25th, 1976: My first burger crime was committed at a family Christmas gathering where I stole a baby bottle full of burger milk from my young cousin.

March 31st, 1994: I went and saw Jurassic Park in the movie theaters and when my mom wasn't looking, I shoved my burger down the front of my Lee Denim jeans and rubbed it on my fur pile.

May 24th, 2005: I grabbed a fresh "Cheese Max" Supreme triple stack from a young boy on his bicycle and rammed it down my funnel before he could take it back. Then I kicked him into the road and stepped on his leg to prevent him from calling the police.

August 6th, 2009: During a full moon, I ripped open a fast food dumpster and found two homeless people making love. I pried them apart long enough to grab a moist handful of expired green burger meat to pound down my digestive tube.

I am sorry.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

My Visit With Jesus In Heaven




Major news anchors and producers have been humping their desks and caressing their meaty testicles in anticipation for a story like this to drop in their warm, slighty moistened laps. And now that it's here, it's shocked the free world--most notably the scientific community--to it's very foundation.

It's been reported today that a young boy by the name of Jib Tupp has traveled to what christians refer to as "the misty lair" or "Jesus' mountiantop." In other words, the highest level of heaven. But the most amazing part is--Jib's has returned to tell the tale!

Jib's father, a member of "'R Grayce 'N Chryst" Church and avid science disbeliever, paraphrased his son's experience for us. "My son Jib fell off his high chair after a family prayer and conked his noggin on a crate full of bibles. My wife and I don't believe in science so we didn't take him to the hospital. We got some mason jars and started to catch the blood that was coming out of his head and bottle it up so we could put it back in his body later. After a couple of hours of being passed out in the Lord's Netherworld and bleeding from a broken skull, Jib woke up but he didn't say nothing. He just looked at us, smiling like he'd just seen the Holy Light. Then I asked him if he'd had a Christian experience in the "Tunnels of Ecstasy" and he shook his head yes. Than I asked him if he met the Lord and walked with him in the Vally of Good Times he shook his head yes."

When social workers got word of the boy being denied medical treatment by reason of religious dogma, they were required to make a house call to examine the boy's condition--as stated in Futter County Law. Medical examiner Plute Guffer noted the boy's unsavory condition. "After being unconscious for two hours, the brain becomes completely devoid of oxygen--leaving the victim in a state of complete and utter ragdoll-hood."

Despite the medical expert's analysis, Jib's father insists that Jib chooses not to speak as a result of getting "his getting touched on the nose by the finger of the lord." Jib's father rationalizes that after going through such a "dazzler of a Holy Touchdown" one thinks banal acts such as oral communication to be of little importance.

Reporting from Futter County, Aarkhinsaw. Cat's Crotch News Team.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Hacker Profile: Shadowlord 5000



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In a deliberate act of retribution, revered computer hacker "Shadowlord 500" fired a "wizard orb" virus into his ex-girlfriend Pat's Unicorn website, littering the homepage with lude images. The news of the incident has traveled to every corner of the hacker community. While many consider the vengeful act amusing, some consider it to be disgraceful to the hacker code of ethics.

As it turns out, Shadowlord's motives for revenge are fueled by anger and jealousy. To shed more light on the topic, we spoke to a source close with Shadowlord 5000, who explained to us that "Shadowlord is a Level 6 Giga-Prophet but an emotionally sensitive keyboard warrior, who's only Achilles heel was losing his true love to the fleshy embrace of another." We can only glean from that statement that Shadowlord is upset because his girlfriend cheated on him.

We were lucky enough to secure an interview with Shadowlord's ex-girlfriend Pat on her way to work at Tubby's Burger Shed. She explained to us that she was never untrue to Shadowlord, who she addressed as Derek. She said she went out to get a cup of ice cream at Blork's Cold Den with her study partner, Bod Funkus. But when Shadowlord rode by on his mountain bike, presumably after following her to the store to spy on her, he become emotionally crushed when he saw the two together. Shadowlord lost his bearings in the heat of the moment and crashed his bike into the curb right in front of the ice cream store window and tore the front of his jeans open. She explains the incident as extremely embarrassing for her, Bod and especially Shadowlord. She said after Shadowlord crashed, he picked himself up off the ground exposing a massive riff in the fabric of his "Old Tenor" denim jeans. Through the riff, everyone at the ice cream store had a full frontal view of his exposed privates, which were horribly scratched from the collision with the concrete. Everyone at the store broke into wild and furious laughter leading Shadowlord to hop back on his bent and broken bicycle and make the agonizing ten mile journey home in bitter tears of rage and confusion.

She said ever since then Shadowlord has failed to return her phonecalls and refuses to walk down the halls at school. Instead, she says he spends all day in the computer lab doing independent study with a moist towelette wrapped around his dasher. She hopes that they can one day be friends again and she has no hard feelings about the virus he infected her website with. "For the record," she says, "I haven't updated that unicorn website since Jr. High when I made it. All I care about now is spending time with my new boyfriend, Bod Funkus, the sweatiest most bulging man on the legball hustlers."

Monday, May 16, 2011

Science Crotch


A scientific emergency has gripped our nation in a blinding fervor this month, as American specialists have confirmed that there is a massive shortage of laser technology in several countries with the minimal requirement of MicDunalds food chains. As many subscribers probably don't know, lasers are not only used in skin treatments and listening to music, but they are also used in hair removal procedures, movie viewing, data reading, eye treatment, light measurements and visual entertainment. Some lasers are even applicable on the battlefield of war and fighting.

Without modern laser technology, people in Africa have had to resort to using Ancient Magic Laser Eyes, and while this sounds impressive, these lasers can only be used to send signals to other tribes. Laser color is also incredibly limited (red only, and sometimes orange if it's a shaman). In the meantime, military officials and charity groups have been fixating on providing the locals with trivial things, such as medical aid, food, educational books and protection against terrorists and warmongering dictators. Unfortunately, no matter how much they read, they can't play a CD or get rid of their back hair.

"Our efforts have been diverted and we've been distracted," says Attorney General Rick Godwizard, "we've promised these people democracy and a place at our side as we take that laser bridge into the future, and instead they're eating frozen honey and getting addicted to methadone."

Coverage for this story was brought to you by our sponsor and a special interest group, CLIT (Cultural Laser Initiative Tribune)

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Yon-Yon Fantasia: The 6th Dimension



Brave adventurer Yon-Yon Fantasia knows there's more to life than what we see on a day to day basis. That's why she's dedicated her time to uncovering and documenting life's most fascinating mysteries for the betterment of all mankind.

Most Recently, Ms. Fantasia's bold adventures lead her to the syrupy, vile-smelling floor of the restroom in the Burning Cockbird Nightclub. As with most of Ms. Fantasia's scientific expeditions, her journey began with seven shots of straight rum and a few Oxycotin painkillers, to put her mind in a state of supreme inquiry. Before she dedicated herself to the full pursuit of knowledge, she began to rub on the enlarged crotches of antonymous males on the Burning Cockbird dance floor. Security even threatened to forcibly remove her from the establishment when she attempted to remove the jeans from one particular man named Sagebrush Jones. But not before she gave the security guard a piece of her mind. She explained, in no uncertain terms, that her intentions were fueled purely by logic and altruism, to create a brighter future for men, women and children by unlocking the secrets of the universe for the tangible benefit of the "Astro Generation." But the plead landed on deaf ears, as the security guard clearly did not share her concern for such pursuits. But instead of simply surrendering herself to the authority figure, Ms. Fantasia decided to throw her planned expedition into high-gear and make a bee-line for the women's restroom. After entering the female John, Ms. Fantasia, by now totally smashed rotten on rum, began to search for the tile, which she believed to be the key to unlocking the forbidden 6th dimension. Her ever-present intuition lead her to crawl on her hands and knees to the back of a toilet stall, behind the toilet, where she decided to set up basecamp. And there she stayed for the next three hours. But unlike most scientists, Ms. Fantasia prefers to let her unconscious mind do the work, never her waking mind. Without the barrier of consciousness standing in the way of discovery--Ms. Fantasia believes anything is possible.

So in her benumbed slumber, Ms. Fantasia ruminated on her best theories (which came in the form of sexualized dreams). When she awoke, around 2:30am, to the sound of the janitor mopping the next stall over, she was quick to arrive to a conclusion: the 6th dimension must lie not here, but at another night club altogether.

For as everyone knows, finding answers to life's biggest questions is never easy. The search requires years of dedication and many late nights of deep concentration and study.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Horse Rage (uncontrollable)

KNEBRASKA, HORNSLIVER - It's probably not known that some of our staff members and their loved ones have mixed feelings about musclecries, but as professional journalists, we've set our opinions aside and have decided to cut straight to the sop.

In a friendly rolling hills county among the weeping willows and the howling church goers of WalMarg Amirka, you can't find a more animal-friendly region. There is no industrializing of meats or unafraid-of-god modifications of green no-tastes or peppered flesh sauce. Ecosystems are respected and so is the proven science of leaving shit how it is. I won't mince words here as I adjust my sun blocking fag stomp-er hat, no sir. However, since the conserving of Classic Car Juice has so starkly inhibited the refuel-ers of NASCAR, a new "breed" of entertainment has emerged, one that has left several spectators with mixed reactions. Omaha bred beef grind corn spit Jibkif Whitelight calls it unnatural.

"Horses used to jis' bite 'en kick 'in give tha people a good nature-d tussle romp. Ain't no sense in invoking the word ah gawd." says Jibkif.

Another man, Tennessee shitstacker Quiggers Kuck, said, "teachin' horses how tah ask the Almighty Lord to smite another horse is jus' as natural as votin' for what's true and right."

Regular horse wars used to include two furious beasts and a fresh hot dog inserted into each animal's anus, which would spur the creatures into attacking each other in a standard manner. Now, lordlovers have decided to train their combatants in the art of invoking the power of Christ, by way of modifying a gold spell called Pulsa diNura. The steeds can then perform harmful and sometimes fatal miracles, including but not limited to levitation, transformation, blinding speed, vengeful strength, telekinesis, summoning angels, massive erections and God Eyes.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Tryumphs in Food Eating: Hall of Legunds

Whenever I think about the Hall of Legunds, my eyes suddenly well up with wistful tears and a terrible groan begins to lumber fourth from my lower bowels. I wish so badly I could go back in time to when I competed in the MEAL FINISHERS CHAMPIONSHIP... before I lost everything I had to those god damn Courn Boys. But there's nothing I can do now. I am, at this moment, a shriveled and incontinent old man with no hope for redemption. But one thing I can do before I pass onto the holy rivers of yore, is tell my story to you, the Pepsi generation.

When I was a young man, I had the world at my fingertips. Not only was I handsome young man, but I was a good food deposit. In fact, my friends used to call me "Hoagie Todd" because I liked to eat Hoagies sometimes in my lunch sack. My mom was my biggest fan. She supported me in my food hunger. Sometimes, she would even sneak in my room in the middle of the night with a hot kettle full of beans and dump them under my sheets to get rid of bed demons that lusted after young boys like myself. (I would of course eat the beans in my sleep.)



A picture of me. "Hoagie Todd," as I was known.

Anyway, as I grew, I realized I had a natural talent for finishing my meals. That's when my mom recommended I compete with at that year's MEAL FINISHER'S CHAMPIONSHIP, so I could be forever emblazoned in the Hall of Legunds. But there was only one problem... the Courn Boys were the reigning local champions 5 years in a row.

The Courn Boys were three brothers who ate Hobs of Courn for breakfast lunch and dinner. Rumor has it they were born in the middle of a cournfield under a Harvest Moon while their pregnant mother was walking through the cournfield eating a hob of courn. Suddenly, after her last bite of courn, all three brothers fell out of her open birth passage onto the soft dirt and proceeded to grab fresh courn off the stalks and feast upon their moist innards.



"The Courn Boys" Circa 2002

Eveer since then, the Courn Boys have earned a wicked reputation for finishing nearly every meal they've ever been given--and destroying anyone who got in their way. Their leader, Fern Vucker, even claims to have a 100% clean meal deposit record for his life, a record current WURLD CHAMPION Chor Bloodheart won't even claim to himself.

Despite my fear of competing with the Courn Boys, I decided to sign up for the Meal Finisher's Championship anyway. On the day of the event, I was terribly assaulted by the Courn Boys. They all approached me in the men's bathroom and begin prodding me with hobs of courn. Soon, they removed all my clothing and begin poking me in the dark passage and under my toenails, leaving me with yellow nuggets dropping out of my body for weeks!

Now, as I think back on those terrible moments, I wish I would have had the courage to finish the Meal Finisher's Championship. But those god damn Courn Boys ruined everything for me and left me with a red, raw inner highway for weeks to come.

Friday, April 8, 2011

Smoke Force: Marijuana Jetfighter's Academy



It's a well known fact that the United States military recruits at high schools and junior colleges because they know they'll always be able to pick up a few slackers and green-nugget tokers. Whether it's crumbling under pressure from family, or succumbing guilt about their lack of accomplishments, over ten thousand students sign up per month.

Up until recently, the military would frown upon their troops "ripping a bullhorn," "sucking a babyfinger" or "puffing on a jammer," especially while on active duty. But now, things have changed...

The military has officially recognized the unanimous admiration for "green dope" among the long-haired, tribal-tattooed youth of the American mainstream. And the military has adjusted it's rigorous standards accordingly. As of today, the military is now offering special "enlistment bonuses" to young men and women with "toke mouths." What is the bonus, you ask? A special-edition US military fog-tube, so the young people can huff in style.



But the best part of the new enlistment program is that no matter your age, IQ or physical limitations, you WILL be issued a personal jet and YOU WILL be able to fly it on fun missions. According to General Zig Ironcollar, of the Military Airplane Guys, most normal "non-drug using" individuals are a bit "uneasy" about doing bombing runs on heavily populated areas. He expects that good tasting snacks like potato crunches and cheese dip will lure young "Marijuana Jetfigher Academy" students into bombers, and while distracted by using the controls and feasting upon snacks, will be able to successfully accomplish nearly any mission--and return home with only faint, hazy memories of what happened--or how many innocents were obliterated.

We've spoken to a few recent graduates of the Smoke Force: Marijuana Jetfighter's Academy to get their thoughts on the program:

"I thought it was pretty cool. My bro Lincoln got inside of a DC-138 and hit a huge fog tube while he was flying upside down. It was sooo rad. The plane ended up crashing into a neighborhood in Syria, but my bro Lincoln parachuted out before anything bad happened. And luckily, he remembered to grab his fog tube before he hopped out. Hahaha. The miliatary wasn't even mad. Those dudes were like 'WE HAVE SO MUCH MONEY.' It was hilarious. Rock on!"

-Ched Falconheart

"I singed up for the Smoke Force because the guy said I'd get a free rip-rod to inhale smoke with. Now that I'm graduated, they gave me an SR-71 blackbird to do stealth missions. Last night I flew over an all women's prison in Iraq and snapped some pictures of naked tits from 60,000 feet. The image is grainy but I still masturbated to it before I went to bed. Tomorrow I'm going to do the same thing."

-Sloan Meatbones

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Cat's Crotch Ghoulf Presents: An Interview With Skin-Legend Yang Bogey


Cat's Crotch: I see you've touched a man.
Yang Bogey: Yes, I recently touched a man at the Smelfur Open.
CC: Did you intentionally touch that man, or was it a hand error?
YB: It was mostly a hand error. I am aware of the laws regarding polo shirt shoulder-to-hand contact.
CC: You touched [Prow Ghoulfer] Pause Hampton correct? How did he respond to the flesh to fabric swiff?
YB: He wailed like a dying Marmot and began to empty all of his bowels and bladder onto the shortgrass.
CC: That's a fine reaction I'd say.
YB: Considering the circumstances, I can't blame him for what he did.
CC: Yes, it was acceptable. Did you help him collect his body litter?
YB: Yes, out of sheer nervousness we began to collect his wetness and softspots from the roughage.
CC: Were you able to collect it all? We're aware that the value of a Ghoulfer's excrement is incredibly high.
YB: It truly is, yes. We were able to collect most of it. Wasting it would be a shame to the profession.
CC: And then you went directly to the hospital, correct?
YB: Yes, I rode with Pause Hampton all the way to Mother Mary Of Grace Schwartzburg Hosptial where the doctors were able to forcibly insert most of it back into his slimetubes.
CC: (Groaning) Excellent.
YB: I'm sorry but that noise you just made was inexcusable and rude.
CC: My apologies, I am a man of sensitivity.
YB: I accept your apology.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

A Plead: Quit Enchanting Our Young Boys



By Ridge Oakwood,
American Columnist
Outraged American


Let this be a message to all you Popinjays, Coxcombs, Dandies and Woodpeckers: I know what you're doing to all of our young boys and I don't like it. As a large wage earner, I feel that I'm entitled to raise two young, hearty boys who like leather footballs and the soft feeling of a woman's breast at midnight. I don't want to lose them to the pleasures of masculine anal lust. And I feel that all you hairy pixies are trying to use your green-glowing enchantments on boys like mine to make them enjoy fast-paced music and tight-fitting jeans.

I was raised by my father, Cedar Oakwood to be a man of the dollar. A man who climbs the ladder to success and busts the rungs behind him as he climbs, so as not to let any Tootles follow me up and sniff my anal fur. But in these dark days, I feel that there are Slipperies around every corner, just waiting to wrap their dark mouths around the private parts of my teen-aged sons, and it drives me wild with confusion and anger.

Late on Sunday nights before bed time, my father, Cedar, used to set me on his lap and point off to the north star. He used to say "son, do you see that north star? That's the star that represents how much I hate fags." Then he used to go on to explain that Bum Crunchers weren't allowed around our family, because they use special enchantments to convert us to their side, like they did to my dad's brother, Nash.

He used to tell me that Nash was kidnapped out of his bed by an army of Nipple Pinchers and they used telepathic mind rays to convert him to loving pink stars instead of pink canyons. I haven't talked to my uncle Nash since I was a young boy, when he used to let me try on his leather hats.

The point I'm trying to make is, I've seen the damage that has been done to young American stone horses like my boys. My boys are so strong and muscular. They sweat so hard in PE class. The last thing I want for them is to be turned into a bunch of Tootsie Rolls.

If you can, please join me at the Peach Mountian Lodge for a Town Hall Meeting about how we can clean up this great Capitalist Nation by removing the Hoobers and Nonnernots.

In the meantime, please enjoy this photo image of my young boys, taken in my garage late at night:

Tuesday, March 29, 2011

911! Alert! Stolen Chevy Chugger 1986.


1986 Chevy "CHUGGER" van stolen from my shed in Springfield on Sunday.
DESCRIPTION: dark grey color, side and back rear windows covered in silver duck tape, and sprayed over with black spray paint.
**I was planning on turning it into bus for my church, that's why the windows look like that. people know me would back me up on that so I'm not worried about it.

VERY PERSONAL private, personal items inside
1- two sets of police-style handcuffs... very valuable. steel locks. I have the key ,so you can't use them anyway, I would really love to have these back for sentimentel reasons.
2- There might also be some old magazines too maybe, but they aren't mine.
My neighbor asked me to store them inside of my van so his wife wouldn'tcatch him looking at them, they are not mine, but I would like them back so he doesn't get in any kind of trouble for looking at that sort of thing. We all sin, but god knows our heart! (corinthians 5-17)

**There is some home-made like VCR tapes too that aren't mine. believe me, I go to church all the time, and people who know me will tell you that I would NEVER look at stuff like that,
but it would be real nice if I could just return them to their rightful owner so people don't think I look
at crap like that. God knows that I don't and that's what's important.
Please let me know if you have seen this vehicle!! This really hurt my plans for the weekend
any information would be appreciated! God Bless!

Friday, March 25, 2011

Just A Couple Of Snarlers




They're just a couple of snarlers. Don't take their meat. Their tasty meat. Or they'll show their teeth and curl their lip and say "I'm about to nip." When you're a dog all you live for is a log. A log of meat. A tasty treat. Don't fool with a mutt or he'll tear your butt. Don't hassle a hound or he'll put you underground. Don't tease a pooch or he'll give you a smooch. A smooch of dogfang.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

Vietnam 2013: Charlie's Revenge




Prepare yourself for cyborg glory!

In the year 2013, Former American foot soldier Fist Megathrust will do battle with a long forgotten enemy: "Charlie." After installing cyborg parts (mostly pilfered from Goodwill Megastores) Fist Megathrust and his old enemy, known only as "Charlie" will meet at high noon at the ultimate arena: the Vietnam War Memorial in River Fish North Dakota, right accross from the Sizzler Steakhouse for the ultimate gladiator showdown.

Just when America thought it was safe to visit War Memorials, two rivals will go head to head again: only this time there will be lazers, gatling guns and automatic shotguns.

We interviewed Fist on his opinions of who will have the upper hand:

"My grandson Jimeny and I built this Gatling gun out of parts he stole from the Goodwill Superstore. There's a nite brite in here somewhere, and a couple of woman's private part jammers we converted into bullet shells. When I heard Charlie was back in town, I just had to arm myself and get ready for a final showdown. For god and country. And freedom from reds."

We also had a chance to speak with his long time rival, known only as "Charlie." This is what he had to say:

"I have no idea how thing whole thing started. My name is Greg Johnson. I guess because I look Vietnamese this guy wants to kill me. But I'm not even from Vietnam. I was born and raised here in America. This mask is a state-issued seeing impairment device. This belt around my shoulder contains a series of inhalers in case my asthma acts up again. And this smoking pole in my hand is a respiratory machine designed to assist my breathing. I hope the police show up soon... I called them as soon as I found out this guy claimed that I was a cyborg and he wanted to kill me. All I want to do is sit down and watch Two and a Half Men with my grandson Nathan."

In the year 2013, old grudges will bust open after decades of festering! Only on FOX.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

New Products 4 Mehn

CEO Executive Events Coordinator Administer Muscle-Beast Wrangler Bortor Dergun for Campulls Supsup Mantime Meals was posed with a challenging question at a press conference that was held at Glistening Veins Gym in Tuscan Arizone, USA. While the reporter inquired about the future of Mantime Meals' new product, Dergun snapped a full grown bull's neck in five places while miXXXing his new sup with Lord Lift Powder, a weight training supplement. He then proceeded to pull the bull's head clean off and wear it as a hat. This gave all the manbraves uncontrollable erections, and the woman with worthless fallopian tubes became pregnant with triplet mini-wrestling boys with admirably large penises.

Reporter: "How is your new supsup better than foods that can't be eaten without chewing?"

Bortor Dergun: "Buffalo Chunk has always brought big success when it comes to getting pulsing results with no sweat and hardly stalls the gym-jams. With Hot Slab Gruel, you've got a pissed off flavor that penetrates to the core center. It's a new scientific formula that targets the quads and lats in a way that actually substitutes the rest of the blood in your body for more muscle. All that's left is to perfect the concoction until your bones and skin are also consolidated into more muscle. Fuck Yeah (copyrighted).

Reporter: "Can we see a demonstration?" (cannot hide his erection, gives up trying)

Bortor Dergun: "Sure thing... hurrrrrr!"


Friday, March 18, 2011

A New Study: Radiation Does Not Exist

A new study conducted by the East Chico, California Community College "Jr. Tech Leaders" of America (a non-credit "fun" course) has suggested that radiation helps you "not be a pussy."

Lincoln Vein-Rod (R-Tennessee) has used the evidence gathered by the young Americans at East Chico to write a report based on these findings, claiming that "radiation doesn't exist," except only as a proven method of transforming pussies to patriots. Mr. Vein-Rod insists that radiation is an excellent method of turning liberals into "nuclear power fighters for freedom." Mr. Vein-Rod has suggested sprinkling radiation into women who believe that murdering the lord's unborn children is acceptable. He has also recommended that we sprinkle radiation juice into the head-tops of crybaby teachers who selfishly want to get paid enough to eat a warm meal.

He made mention of his plans on Dash Stryker's popular morning AM radio talkshow "Eagle Talon" where he said... "America's weak-boned, soft-fleshed teachers, who are pretty much just babysitters, need to chug some of this radiation to turn them tough, hard-talking patriots. There are so many sissies out there who want their cars to run on things like peace, love and harmony. Well, listen here, I come from a world where cars run a little fuel called AMERICA."

Mr. Vein-Rod later went into detail discussing the scientific proof of his claims on radiation. He explained that a week before, he and the East Chico students put some radiation on a bear. He said that the bear died. But before it died, it became a patriot. He qualified his statement by saying that "the only reason the bear died was because it was too big of pussy to handle the transformation into a true patriot."

Friday, March 11, 2011

Lead Guitarist for "The My Mom's Basement Band"



"THE BONE CREEK MONTHLY"
Southwest Bone Creek South Dakota Community College Newspaper
ARTS & ENTERTAINMENT

Jhoe Chooch, the lead guitarist for "The My Mom's Basement Band" will be playing the school cafeteria this Monday afternoon at 12:30pm. People are urged to donate canned food, frozen pizzas and Doritos chips to Jhoe, as his Mom has recently cut him off from "all the food in her cupboards" once she found out Jhoe was spending his allowance on internet pornography and single shots of Potter's Vodka.

The My Mom's Basement band began back in 1992 when Jhoe lost his job at Terry's Hot Dogs and had to come back home to live with his mom. Now, at the age of 41, Jhoe has written some personal songs that reflect the turn his life has taken. "Broken" is by far his strongest song. It tells the story of how he had to sell his "dragon wrapped around a misty globe" paperweight to help pay for his food expenses.



"Lost Soul," another winning track, chronicles Jhoe's spin into deep depression after his mother told him he had to pay her fifty cents every time he flushed the toilet. As an act of revenge, Jhoe locked himself in the bathroom and flushed the toilet seventy six times, putting him thirty eight dollars in debt with his mother. It's a debt, that after two years, he has yet to fully pay. His newest album, "Pain," is a strong effort, but lacks the same raw emotion of his earlier work. In the song "Borrowed," Jhoe tells the story of how he doesn't own a guitar or a tape recorder so he had to borrow them from a twelve year old boy named Crotch who lives down the road a few houses. On the album's closing track, "Black Hole," Jhon is most open about his hunger for food, singing on the chorus "I used to have tater tots and chicken nuggets, now I all I have is one more pizza pocket, tear out my heart and tell me I can't believe in hope... or love." It's a gut-wrenching tale of loss, and perhaps the album's brightest gem.

Don't miss Jhoe this Monday at the Cafeteria and if you can spare some canned peanuts, Toni Braxton's Parti Pizzas or Mother Becky's Chicken Tenders, Jhoe would really appreciate it.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

"The Weed Hiders" by Toker: For The Modern Bud Smoker



As a "bud man," I've always felt shortchanged by regular cargo pants, even some cargo pants with bonus pockets and "zip zones." I just don't feel like I can TRULY hide my dope stash and get peace of mind knowing the cops aren't going to find it. You know?

I've spent my whole 4:20 career looking for the right pair of pants that I could feel safe tucking a "21 Bud Salute" sack into without the cops being able to find it during a pat down.

Well, I've finally found the pants I've been looking for with "The Weed Hiders" by Toker. They have an intricate series of pulleys, levers, elevators and passageways to help keep my weed stash hidden from the probing hands of lawmen. Good thing I got them because I had a brush with the law my first day wearing them.

The other day, my friend and I were making a smoke oven in my lowered Geo Metro in the Bowel Mart parking lot listening to Lazer Floyde. Then, all of a sudden all these cops pulled up and told us to get out. The thing was, I had a massive "21 Bud Salute" in the 14th pocket of my right pant leg. The cops started groping my legs and eventually worked their way down to the 14th pocket. When they opened the zipper, it tripped a switch that elevated my bag of dope up to my 3rd pocket. When the officer saw the bulge move up my pantleg he got even more suspicious. When he went back up to my 3rd pocket and pulled the zipper open, it triggered the "zip zone power pulley" which slid my dope bag around my anus into the 25th pocket on my left pantleg. So by the time the officer got around to checking my left pantleg, when he opened the 25th cargo pocket, I tugged at the heel of my pants with my Skate Shoe to activate the "emergency eject" cord, which activated an high-powered sling shot, busting a hole through the anus of my pants and catapulting my dope bag safely into some bushes directly behind me.

When the officer started patting my butt, he felt the hole and asked how it got there. I just told him I was a "rag man" and having a hole in my anus is the proper style for my subculture. He just scoffed in response and told me I was "no son of America." That's when he got back his cruiser and left WITHOUT EVEN GIVING ME A DOPE CITATION!

Thanks Weed Hiders!