1997 Consumer Report: Werewolf Insurance

The Werewolf Insurance craze has officially swept the nation. Nervous shiver-bodies and spooked Henrys from coast to coast have rushed to Rip-Jip's Centennial Ghost, Spook and Wolf-Bite Preventive Insurance Centers of Southern America to purchase the "Lifetime Gold Hound Dog and Wolf-hound No-Bite Plan."

Ever since a Werewolf busted into the White House last Hugtember and tried to sniff the President's asshole, people have been concerned about their own corntubes. The number of "Hound Dog and Wolf-hound No-Bite Plans" have risen from 4,000 warmbodies in 1992 to 75,000 in this fine year 1997.

Customers from all demographics have began to feel the tremble of fear deep down in their grape-sacks and nard-holsters. Last year alone, Werewolf attacks tripled in American nursing homes. Over 2 million shrivel-bodies were completely devoured in their sleeping chambers by hungry wolf-dogs and blood-snarfers.

We spoke with an old-fashioned grey-afro long-boob about her terrifying experience with a Red-eyed Hunger-beast.

"I was in my bed watching an episode of Nadlock Whoopie-Cushions on Grey-hair TV and I heard a growl or a snarl outside of my window. I got out of bed to look outside and a Wolf-beast lunged inside my living quarters. I thought it was going to eat my old body but it kept sniffing my legs. Eventually, I realized it was smelling my catheter. It began to grown and it ripped the catheter off my leg and snarfed all the hot dunnerds inside. It was terrible."

We spoke to a man from Easter-Christmas FunVille Nursing Facility for Sag-Faces in East Carolina about his experience with a Night-Hound.

"I was inside of my bathroom trying to make a brown-pile in my smell-vat when I heard a wolf-howl outside of my door. I said 'who's there' but no one answered. So I got off the stink-bowl and moved toward the door with my pants around my ankles. I opened the door up just a crack and saw a 12 foot Werewolf going through my collection of Matlock tapes on VHS. I screamed at him to get away from my tapes but he saw me and barged into the bathroom and ate all of my browncream out of the smell-tank. I have never felt so violated."

At Consumer Reports, it is our Sky-Lord appointed duty to inform you of grave incidents such as the ones you have just heard. We strongly advise any shriveled humans or weak-hearts to buy the "Hound Dog and Wolf-hound No-Bite Plans." The silver plan includes a 6-Month No-Bite guarantee while the Gold plan ensures a full 7-Months of No-Bites plus a full turd-replacement promise. So whenever a Hungry-Beast gobbles one of your brownlogs, Rip-Jip's Centennial Ghost, Spook and Wolf-Bite Preventive Insurance Centers of Southern America promises to replace every ounce of smell-log lost.

Bolster Groach Gets a Hungry Man Feast From His Mom

On his 36th Birthday, Lawnmower Engineer Bolster Groach received a special present from his Mother. A Hungry Man feast. His mother explains:

"My son Bolster lives out in the garage behind our house. He makes his money fixing grassblades and weedhackers for Jork Bunsniffer down the street. Bolster is a gentle warmspirit and we're proud to have him as our bigboy. When he's not working on lawnparts he usually pets the neighbor kids inside of his room fort. For his 36th Birthday we decided to get him a warm-meal to put inside of his fleshsack."

We caught up with Bolster to get his side of the story. It seems he was in the middle of giving a warmpet to a smallboy who lived next door so we came back the next day to interview him. This is what he had to say:

"I love my brownharied mother. She is a sweet sugarangel. I never left home because I don't know how to hold my torker when I sprinkle. For my birthday this year she got me the Hungry Man Boneyard Boontussle Brogers with a side of Nashed Tugglers and Hot Sploosh."

Small-Faced Tim Celebrates His Last Birthday

It's the end of the life-tunnel it seems for a miniature tenderflesh named Tim from Horseapple, a small town out near Nardsville.

Friends and relatives have gathered for Small-Faced Tim's "death feast" where he was able to choose all of his favorite treats to enjoy one last time.

"My Dippy says I'm going to Darkville so he let me pick out my favorite sugartuts. I choose a Choco-Horkus, a Groak, a Bapple Cider Fuckus, and a Rigumtort Slophouse. For desert we're having Plowdog Chili-Hunger and Boon-Chunk Rungers."
-Small-Faced Tim

Small-Faced Tim came down with a terrible case of Boondoggler's Frown last Barch when he grumpled into a patch of Friar Friar Fucks. Small-Faced Tim is just a littleman so his immune system wasn't able to fight off the terrible blow of poison bullshit that came from the plant. According to Nadshrinker Medical Journal, there is no known cure for Boondoggler's Frown at this time. Most white-jacket wearing medical doctors call it a "stupid idiot's disease" and don't like to "fuck around with it."

Small-Faced Tim's Dippy made some comment's on his son's sugar chowdown:

"My son Small-Faced Tim loves sweet sugar. I bought him a Rustler Cap like the real pistolboys used to wear. We've been trying to tell him that Darkville is a great place for littleboys and there are lots of nicemen there to make him feel like a strongarm."
-Regular-Faced Fenton Corkscrew

Salute insult dead people that died while building it

50% of stoic patriots will agree that Wasted Agility, the new one guy competition that's turning us on like Cammy in Street Fighter is pounding down all other televised pantomiming conflict head-to-head Gimmetheballs.

Kime Castraggit, native of FuckFaggots Missouri, bellyflipped across the states to Unknown Deepwater #1 and back again, hands on the wheel but no really. Everyone is growing strong muscles for a gander at his patented Crystal Sun Helix Asunder Ganon impersonation.
Kime Castraggit aka "Perfect Sex"

Other Wasted Agility competitors, such as Grease Puffleshit, Andasitor Touch, Eyeknife Wayne and Justice Mirror stand tall as the leading jesters in this game of evading doing anything remotely constructive with their life on bluespin. They dominate and kids emulate them with burning effigies and WalMart purchases. Catch them every other night on CNN just before Slow Talk.

Jick Magger crosses the line.

Jick Magger, lead jaw-turner for the band Stolling Rones has officially made a hork-wuffer of himself onstage.

On Rogtember 32nd, the Stolling Rones were playing a gig at the Rochester Eggsucker Stadium. In the middle of the song "Mawtucket Mary," Jick Magger hopped offstage and began wrapping his gaping mouth around the heads of infants in the audience. A woman in the front row was holding her twins and was surprised to see Mr. Magger stretch his massive red liver lips around both of her infants heads, one at a time of course.

"I was so shocked I dropped both of my babies and ran for an exit. Later that day I was like 'where are my babies?' I went back into the Stadium after the show to look for them and I found them squashed flat underneath a couple of seats next to a pile of popcorn. I decided to just pick up the small pile of popcorn and take that home instead."
-Tornup Swigger

Towards the end of the show, Jick Magger strutted back on stage and began to look for more things to wrap his large trap around. He found a few more babies backstage that his tour manger had stashed for him. Rumor has it that he put the entire babies heads in his mouth in order to absorb the proteins from the soft spot on the back of the skull.

Porkflesh Male Human Competition Event

IN MEMORY OF DEAR UNCLE GORKY. #1 PORKFLESH BALL-ARM POTATO CHIP CRAMMER.

Notice to all of my Porkflesh Ballsport Smyle-Faces: You guys already know that the yearly Porkflesh Hammerdown is happening this Sunday night. The Donahue Pie Eaters are playing the Nard Town Ruckers. It's gonna be a great ovalball cocksmash.

We've been having this event ever since 1982, when my Uncle Gorky was still young and vibrant. Boy could he catch a Porkflesh! Just look at the above picture. The had the coordination of a blood panther and the eyes of a baldhead ee-gull.

We are serving a bowl of SaltRounds for you hungrymouths. But everyone needs to pitch in. My wife Teresa Smelltrout bought a bag of Caribbean Flavored SaltRounds but now we don't have anymore money. I prayed to my Uncle Gorky to send down spirt powers so we could get more money for more chips but it didn't work. So we only have enough for each person at the party to have one half of a handfull of SaltRounds.

Also, if someone has a TV and Pay-Per-Peek, we need those things too. We don't have a TV or a coffee table. Or a couch.

Ghost of Mervyns Rises From Dead to Taunt Loyal Sears Customers

Customers at the Double Brown Shopping Center fled in terror from a specter Mervyns Department Store that appeared in a flash of fog and lightning and began to taunt loyal Sears customers. Witnesses say that the store, which went bankrupt and got demolished in 1991, materialized in the Sears parking lot.

We asked some of the witnesses to comment:

"My wife Bork and I have shopped at Sears since we got our first goldcoins. This is where we buy all of her bodyrags and beefed-up shoulderpads. When we pulled into the parking lot today, we saw a demon Mervyns floating two feet off the ground hollering obscenities a bunch of prunefaces. It was awful"
-Mart Plowbog, 32

"My best friend Pennywallet and I come to Sears every Saturday to check on the Kitty Sweaters. But today that damn Mervyns ghost store scared Pennywallet so bad that she lost control of her bowels and made a brownsplash in the parking lot. We had to take the bus all the way back home to Shady Bung Retirement Fort so she could change her crapchute."
-Horky Cumberbun, 91

"I have to walk through Sears to get to my favorite stores like Smoker's Palace and Card Trader's Bungalow. When I saw the ghost I dropped my greennugget smoking tube on the concrete and it broke. Now I have to ask my aunt Greubler for another glass bubble torker."
-Dun Cripp, 17

Marshed Mellows to become illegal in She-Caughgo?

I recently acquired this document from the Bureau of Marshed Mellow Management, She-Caughgo, Ill-Inoise. This illustrates the reasons Kong-Wress-Man Jump Stackhouse plans to ban them from burnholes and flavorspots citywide.

PAGE 1:
Last year, my daughter Norpus had a terrible accident with a Marshed Mallow. She began the snarf procedure but got some wetted-chunks crammed inside of her swallowtubes. She began to snarl and hack but my wife and I were watching the William Kosbee program on television upstairs. We heard strange noises but we didn't realize she was having a chokedown. When we came back down, we saw that her life had vanished.

PAGE 2:
The next day my wife and I took my daughter's body to a Medically Certified Marshed Mellow Witch Doctor and Food Enchanter.

For those willing to fact check me, his name was Popcorn Jenkins, MW and his business is on the corner of Hobbyhorse Highway and Bumpus Way in Southtown.



Mr. Jenkins used a confectionery glaze, made solely of Marshed Mallows to bring her withered spirit back to life. It worked. For payment, he requested 13 small bags of Marshed Mellows be delivered to his home over the next three years. It was an installment plan he and my Marshed Mallow Accountant, Bhurt Schnooter, had devised over the touch tone fone (whose knobs and buttons were sticky from excessive exposure to Marshed Mellows).

PAGE 3:
Now my daughter Norpus has successfully started the city's first "Women's Anti-Marshed Mallow League." They hurl Marshed Mallows at tinybabies and wrinkleskins, anyone who scowls at her while she pickets the Marshed Mellow factories.

Page 4:
I hearby recommend that all members of the Sweet-Savor district of She-Caughgo ban the flavortasting and smush-handling of any of these wretched foodstuffs.

Richard Attenborough's Aged Cider

QUOTE FROM PRESS CONFERENCE REGARDING RICHARD ATTENBOROUGH'S AGED CIDER:

"Welcome to Jurassic Pa-heh...I mean... Welcome to my aged cider."

-Sir Richard Attenborough

The news of Richard Attenborough's Aged Cider has already reached most major media outlets. To many, this is a cause for celebration-a night of rubbing hotspots and torking on warmhandles-but for others a day of shock. Today, the news has been been released of a dark double life of the popular actor/naturalist/non-flosser.

Authorites in Liverspotshire, Pumpittt, London have discovered a bevy of lude and moistened photographs of downtrodden middle-aged women hidden in the flossless bathroom cupboards of the Attenborough estate. Yes, it is true. Sir Attenborough, best known to Americans as Rad Dad Richard Hammond from Jurassic Park, is a youngflesh taster known in rumpus circles as "Rude Rude Rick." Though, traditionally, youngflesh is considered young women between the ages of 13-21, Rude Rude Rick's preference is a bit older.

It has been discovered that in between shooting films like "Long Talks On Shrubbery" and "Clean Clean Countertops," Sir Attenborough has been walking the dark streets of Liverspotshire on the hunt for the gooeyducks of jobless middle aged women. It's been noted that he often proposes warm-robbins in exchange for goldcoins. In fact, it seems that many famous London showpeople already know about Sir Attenborough's dirty habits.

Here's what some of them have to say:

"I knew that old fruit was a hamgrabber. I saw him looking up my wife's rugumtorts during my son's holy head dunk."
-Greggorie Dougersnout, Film Director

"In between shoots on the set of 'Clean Clean Countertops' I saw Richard patting the palm of his hand on his wigwam and breathing like an old chimney fireplace. He was staring directly at my chowderbowl. It was absolutely bonkers."
-Moihira Drippingsfield, Actress

"Please somebody put that old yellow haystack behind bars. I saw him having bumpers with a girl named Margaret-Bet-Bet after he paid her two gold coins when she lost her job as the hairstylist for Goit Nanner."
-Pord Illingrath, Stunt Trainer to the Elderly on "Jurassic Park 6: John Hammond's Revenge"

It remains unclear whether or not this hubble-hobbing will ruin Rude Rude Rick's career.

Check back for more news on this anus-breaking story.

Pear and Bisquit

Biscuit really isn't gay. Really.