Snig Dollop: 100% "Jam-Up" Hair Product

Are you a person that has some hair? If so, you or your close family members will perhaps be interested in my new "home-mayde" hair smoother. It's called "Snig Dollop." My sister Daysie-Hay Snodgrass and I made it out of some things we found out in the cornfield. I used blopped-buttercream from a cow's pinksack and Daysie-Hay put in some smoking hotrounds from the dirtfield. We also got a hold of some of Papa's crotch-tonic and Mama's dinner grease. It's smells dead-awful but it work's like an Dago's Oil!

Don't take it from us, listen to the hair-heads!



"I took a bottle of Snig Dollop to school with me to impress the girls. I rubbed it on my top hair and I also rubbed some on my bottom hair. I think this girl Torfy smelt it cuz she started smelling my groin area and making furnace noises."
-Snork Glump



"I picked me up a bottle of this fur honey and rubbed it in me hair for a dozen hours or so. Next thing I knew I had a fleshy blood rod coming out of me trousers and a couple-a girls nobbin on the end of it, eh? It was a great time at me mum's house. I use to like Pup Town Washer and Browshag Tuesdays but this is a much more capable product."
-Bubble Tony



"My mom dragged a handful over my rear-tails before I went on a bike ride. All of a sudden, hundreds of crows and tree-birds started following me and screeching. Some of them tore chucks of hair out. I was crying and screaming for help from the Robe-Lord. It was terrible."
-Charlie Chan

Burger Dads--Wolfdown Tour 2002

"Nobody can understand the Burger Dads and what they stand for."
-Hotlink Toinker, Social Critic and Statistical Analyst


HERE IS THE TEXT TAKEN FROM THE "ABOUT US" SECTION OF THE BURGER DADS WEBSITE:

It's true that most people who eat Hamburgers and Cheeseburgers live their lives at a level of pretension that most could never fathom. Most burger-eaters are social elites and corporate heirs, who spend their evenings and weekends drowning and suffocating in large piles of money, drinking wine out of the vaginae of classy escorts, and indulging in the rich flavor of cooked beef. A flavor that's virtually unknown to the middle and lower-class worlds.

But let me remind you that there are three middle-aged "bandanna rebels" who are out to change the socioeconomic structure of burger distribution. They're a force known as "the Burger Dads:" a team consisting of Borb Greasemeat, Sludge Foundation, and Copperhead Molargrinder. They're an idealistic trio of "Robyn Hood" types that travel the nation in a large SUV, eating burgers and "living out loud."

PROPERTY OF BURGER DADS ENTERPRISES, LLC. http://www.burgerdadsacrossamerica.com

Many people attend Burger Dad events hoping to catch a glimpse of the team doing a tooth rip on a beef-pad. But many people are unlucky, as the Burger Dad's tickets are often in excess of $200.00.

Here at Cat's Croch we decided to interview some people in Coalburner, Idaho about their opinions on the Burger Dads:

"I think the Burger Dads are national folk heroes. They're giving us hope. Us little people. Showing us that anyone can eat a burger and you don't have to be some hootin' tootin' millionaire. I want to go see them live but I don't know if I can sell our cars and refinance our home in time to buy those two hundred dollar tickets." -Yope Strawberry

"My son Timb and I are thinking about going to see the Burger Dads live. The thing is... Timb has cancer. He is going to die sometime tomorrow afternoon. He said he'd rather see the Burger Dads than just about anything. So I called the Burger Dads' agent and asked him if my son could meet them as part of the "Take A Breath" foundation for dying youngsters. He said it would cost us ten grand plus applicable fees. But that's almost all I have. Right now, I'm getting ready to sell my wife's uterus and all of her backskin to a medical research facility to help cover the costs." -Porp Walnutpowder

Public Announcement: Marshal Laws Online

We're excited (and a bit oppressed) to announce that the Decency and Class Committee has officially released the 10 Things You Can't Say Online for Pulse Fleshes and Long-hairs. This list is comprised of some of the most heavily researched words and phrases. They're designed to warn the public to ensure that they won't go to jail or get beat up. It is our journalistic dootie to not horde these info gems.

Men (voted best sex because of war)

1. Where is my purse?

2. I wish my son would get more boners

3. Obama is a fa***t ni***r-monster

4. I love to smell my farts

5. Women don't know nothin'

6. I love kids and puppies so much

7. I don't know anything about cars

8. I am not computer savvy

9. (sharing opinion about anything)

10. I'm lonely

Women (voted best at being insecure because of marketing)

1. I'm single and looking

2. I poop and fart

3. I'm just one of the guys

4. Fuck men, I'm gay now (real lesbians still won't trust you)

5. I am not sympathetic towards minorities

6. What do you think about _____?

7. Don't you want something better for yourself?

8. It's ok if I'm a pedophile (we know it's ok, but you can't say it)

9. The phrase "penis envy"

10. The euphemism "premie" (prematurely born)

Examples:

Guy 1. "Hey man, how're the kids?
Guy 2. "I wish my son would get more boners." (incorrect)

Woman 1. "Hi Sharon! Heard you finally had that baby, eh?"
Woman 2. "Yes! She was a premie but you'd never be able to tell." (wrong)

Droopy Drawers: The Key to Inner Space Travel?

Is this true? Scientists are starting to think so.

During a recent bluejean study, scientists have discovered what they believe to be the key to blasting into another dimension: Wearing Droopy Drawers.

It all started when accredited science man Fester Morlock lost a bunch of weight. "My pants slipped on down past my Jimmy Johnson and I started stumbling forward and I crashed through a wall of glass... only to wake up in another dimension. It was full of hot, freshly baked pies and hypodermic needles. It was truly awe-inspiring."

When Fester pulled his pants back up, he was launched back into his own dimension--safely arriving back into his lab--landing in a pile of broken glass. It was then that he decided to begin research into the Droopy Drawers Theory. It's based on the notion that pants are what define us as people. In essence: our souls live in pants. When they are lowered to Sea Level--the center of the astral plane--an inter-dimensional rift is created--pushing us into a new world of fresh baked goods and sharp medical equipment.

Fester hit the streets of East L.A. and spoke to some young hard-lyfe street-men about their Droopy Drawers.

"Heow yeah man, I been to da otha dimension. Where do you think I got all deez heoin needles and fresh baked pies from?" -Speakerbox Jones

"When I got my first pair of bag-legs from T.J. Max back in 1996, I launched into the other dimension in my middle of my brownloaf toilet break. I grabbed a couple of bananna cream pies and a couple needles and pulled my pants back up. Before I knew it, I was back on the toilet, enjoying a nice slice of fresh baked pie." -Sour Grapes Malone

"Shhit-Cheah maaan. I went dere! I was pullin my pants down to fuck this bitch and I started stumblin. She started screamin' that lazers were comin out of my pants. Dats when I ended up with a face fulla cherry pie. And not the kind I was lookin fo. I also got a ballsack fulla needles." -DJ Toot Toot

Nor-Lack : The Beef Lifter

Almost all of us have heard the tale of Nor-Lack the Beef Lifter. For many of us, she has haunted our blackest nightmares. For others, she is simply a laughable myth.

When I was a tinyleg, my caretakers used to tell me the legend of Nor-Lack before bedtime, usually around Halloween. Many other children exchanged terrible stories around campfires and in dimly lit treehouses all over the living-sphere.

But Nor-Lack isn't a myth. She's real. At least according to a photographer who snapped her in his candid shot, lifting a full-grown Beef-Walker right off the green earth.

In the original tale, Nor-Lack was born at the bottom of a bog. Nor-Lack Traditionalists insist that she was launched out of a swamp, rejected by the earth itself. Either way, as a child, she crawled around, lifting stones and tree-logs to pass the time. By the age of eight, she was already strong enough to bench press a full grown hog! Legend says Nor-Lack roamed the land, drifting from farm to farm lifting up farmer's livestock and putting them back on the ground. No one knew why she did this. And many people tried to ask her. But she replied only by lifting THOSE people up in the air, doing a few reps, and setting them back down again. The mystery of Nor-Lack is what draws many people to repeat her famous story.

But that's not the ONLY thing that draws people to her. Many people discuss her beautiful magic leotard, said to be crafted by Merlin and his friends as a gift for her on her wedding day. People also mention her beautiful complexion and her stylish, ultra-modern haircut.

We asked Dr. Smoothguts Blompowder, a Professor of Sexual Feelings at Humpington University, to explain why Nor-Lack has such a sexual hold on the male population:

"I believe it is her bustling arm-ripples that really push men over the edge. Please excuse my language but I also believe that it's her perky, coffee-colored chest-rounds that make men ooze their Dockers over her. If she actually exists, I would leave my wife to try and have a rip at her."

Pognus the Hole-Driller

"I got arrested last month because I drilled a hole in the ground and there was an underground kindergarten there. I killed a lot of kids."
-Pognus Danderdan

I started drilling holes back in 1986. After my husband rode his riding lawn mower off a cliffside, I decided to dedicate my life to corkscrewing mother earth. I sold my house and took the money to the farm equipment store and just dumped it all over the counter.

The guy was like "what do you want to do with all this money? There must be over two hundred thousand dollars here."

I was just like "give me a fucking driller."

So that's how I got Snow Wolf, my earth-screw. Now I mostly just drive around on the freeway and drill up the concrete as I go. I like to make "fun paths" so people know where I've been and where I'm going. But people don't understand my life's meaning. Usually people just honk their horns at me and throw garbage and warm refuse in my face and in my hair.

Last month, I asked some kids where they think I should drill. They said "go drill over there." They were all giggling and they pointed to a soccer field next to a school. So I drove over and plunged my terror-screw deep into the earth's face and began to till up the sweet brown-flesh. Next I noticed that there were some screams and some gurgles coming from underground. Then some blood came up also.

That's when I turned around and noticed that all the kids (the ones who told me to drll here) were running away. And I noticed a sign that read "Wilfred Gentlefinger's Underground Kinder-Garden."

That's when it hit me. I had just massacred dozens of kids. I panicked. I got on the freeway towards Mexico. I figured that I could make it there within a month and a half (since my top speed was about 15 miles per hour). After about ten seconds on the freeway, a few dozen police cars surrounded me and fired rounds into my beautiful Snow Wolf.

That threw me into a fit of rage. I fired up my terror-drill and hit the gas. Snow Wolf lunged forward into the police barricade and I plunged my drill deep into the chest of Sargent Armvein. Then all the police people opened fire, shooting me in the face, the arms, the nipples and my legs.

I write this message from Nicker-Nacker county Jail Hospital. The guards informed me that Snow Wolf is on it's way to the junkyard.

After I finish this message, I'm going to fashion a drill out of steel from my jailhouse bunkbed and burrow through the brick wall to freedom. Then I'm going to intercept Snow Wolf in the way to the junkyard and take revenge on every one of those kids who told me to drill into the soccer field.

My Favorite Skylord "Praise" Hum-Dums

This is my all-tyme favorite Sunday Morning Whistler. Irma Ingley's timeless classic "Moving Day," features some of her best work to date. Many of the songs on this record are written about the things she keeps around her house that she was thinking about as she packed them up to move into an elder castle. "My Doily" is a wonderful song about her favorite thing on her end table. She also has a song called "A Picture of my Grandson, Billy." It's a great song about how her grandson is a very, very good boy. What strikes me as most impressive about these hum-dums are how Irma manages to tie them back into his Holy Presence, the Lord. Every song has a few verses about how the Lord helped her get all of her neat belongings.



This album presents a lighter, funnier side of the Lord. Don't get me wrong, this is a praise record, but it's just a little lighter on it's feet than most others. Gert Jonnys (the guy in the front row with the Portobello mushroom haircut) is the main singer. He has the voice of a pumpkin boiling in a pot of stew but I love him anyway. This record features the song "The Lord Went to Baskin Robbins." It's a fun little tune about what would happen if the Lord walked into an ice cream restaurant to get a sweet-mouth treat. In the song, the lord orders a Buttermilk Lick Dish with extra Brown Nuts. My favorite part is when the man at the counter says, "Praise him all that he be." And Lord replies, "Praise this Buttercream, my brethren." It's truly hilarious.



What can I say about "Let Me Touch Him" that hasn't already been said? This record is a Sugar-Glazed Ham of the Lord's Ever-Tender Presence. Dust Windblow has the best voice this side of Margaret St. Bethany Cathedral. When he sings "Tiny Hands on my Lap," I almost make warm eyewater. And how can I forget to mention Bort Popcorn's wondrous harmonies? Especially on "The Pitter-Patter of Tiny Steps in my Bedroom." And Miggy Rooftop is a strong singer as well, with a great baritone range. He keeps the melody flowing on the closing track "Tim on my Trousers." This record is a soft-tone blessing from the gentle-moods that can be called the finest testament to the Skylord ever written.