Discover a new way to pemp your jigger

Tired of the daily hopscotch with your nork? Had enough of trying to find time to rort your nanner and hairmound? Sick of your friends always making fun of you because you lock yourself inside of your sweat-chamber for hours and come out with a look of disgrace and humility?

My sole question: are you not performing well at pemping your jigger?

My friends, I have the solution: Read my new binded-page collection, entitled "A Whole New Way to Pemp Your Jigger" by me, Tam Pumphouse.

In my book, I discuss the ancient "Run-Tun-Dun" method of wamming on your sillyrod at six to midnight.

You get all the information you need on every available technique, from the "Bump-Bump Bangrod" to the "Deep Forest Brush Grush" and the mysterious Yang-Tang Torkus."

And I don't shy away from important topics like what happens when your special-gal comes in and sees you looking at yourself in the mirror and going ham-ham-ham on a Tuesday night. What a stress!

But most importantly, I discuss the true spirituality associated with gruubing your man-nail. HOW is it done? WHY is it done? FOR HOW LONG? And will the Astro-Lord care?

For all the answers and more... buy "A Whole New Way to Pemp Your Jigger" at your local binded-page purchasing facility.

Be sure to visit these fine locations on your money-spending adventures:

-Borlock's Page Ripper
-Soup Forskin's Page Eyeballers
-Bowell's Pooks
-Beefhunk Bill's Brucker's n' Boogs
-Sports Books International Slam-Dunk Reader's Association

Mega Brothers: Bed Boys

"My brother Jorgon likes to ram a clothcord up inside of my rip-canyon."
-Enord Ponkhoggle

Jorgon and Enord, the fun-guys behind the local-access-wire television show "Mega Brothers: Bed Boys" are known in the Southwest Lower Smazwad County as the premiere teen-aged bed pranksters. Legendary social critic and fun-guy enthusiast Shim Tightwad once said that the Ponkhoggler brothers were "the most important thing ever to happen to the bed-prank/good-times community."

For those of you who haven't seen Mega Brothers: Bed Boys, every week is a new adventure in foolers and goofs. The Ponkhoggle brothers think up a new round of sillies to pull on one another within the confines of their undersized bunked bed. On last week's episode, Enord carved a hole up into Jorgon's bunk and pulled his underpants off at 4am. The week before that Jorgon popped all his pimples down onto Enord while he did a snumble-snooze. Next week's episode will feature a guest appearance by none other than Porkball legend Gary Sheepsblood. Gary vows to channel his "sports strength" to fold the Ponkhoggler brothers' bunkbed into a massive wooden taco and throw it out the second story window onto their parents front lawn WITH THE BED BOYS CRAMMED INSIDE.

Stay tuned!

***

Critical reviews of Mega Brothers: Bed Boys (from around the SW Lower Smazwad County area):

"Jorgon and Enord have hand-crafted a piece of genuine art that casts a dark and murky shadow over every other thing in my life, including my wife and kids."
-Shim Tightwad, the Smazwad Grumbus

"At first, I thought this was just another show about kids in bed. Then I learned about all the pranks and honkers that go on after midnight. That's when it really got my attention!"
-Rigger Manhole, the Daily Hork

"My favorite episode was when Jorgon did a top-bunk bedflip into the wall and bonked his noggin. It woke Enord up at 3am! Hilarious!"
-Fud-Fud Figgle, the Pinkle Tuesday Express

Pear and Biscuit!

Looks like Biscuit is having trouble with his publicist again. Pear, on the other paw, seems alright today.

Disgraced Woodbat Legend Addicted to Rough Dirtslides

It was announced today that disgraced Woodbat Player and Ballhammer-Swinger Pooter Warmcabbage checked into Dripping Forehead Sexual Rehabilitation Center in St. Peter's Wood, George-Uh.

It was noted that throughout his career and home life, Pooter spent most of his days swimming in dirt and filth, and tilling the soil with his pam-pam.

Pooter's third ex-wife remembers a scene: "I remember coming home from the grocery store and seeing Pooter in the backyard in a pile of rubbish thrusting his ooger into a mound of dead leaves. When he saw me in the window, he just got up and pretended he was doing yardwork."

Pooter's sixteenth ex-wife remembers another painful scene: "After our first week of marriage, I caught Pooter shoving handfulls of farm dust down the front of his trousers. He was grunting and growling and calling out to the 'Spirit of Filth.'  It was awful."

We also spoke to Pooter's mother, who had some insight into Pooter's career as a Ballhammer-Swinger: "I remember when Pooter was little, he used to say he wanted to be a dirt-man when he grew up. I used to say 'Honey, there's no such thing as a dirt-man.' I used to tell him if he liked dirt, he could be a grave digger, a construction worker, or a Woodbat World-Star Beefhunk. Naturally, he chose the latter option."

Pooter's descent into public depravity came to a bulbous head in the Summer of 1976 when he pulled out his jammer during a game and stuck it deep into the earth while doing a belly-skid into third pad. He screamed out in wild ecstasy. Then, seconds later, he appeared to come back to reality. Pooter then sulked back into the man-bunker in shame as thousands of fans cried and screamed to Jesus' name in mercy.

The next day his coach expelled him from the team, claiming that "Woodbat is for Jesus-Men. Not Dirt-Boys. Not fucking Dirt-Boys."

Since then, it has been said by friends and colleagues that Pooter would make a habit of taking off his body cloths and swim around like a hungry serpent or a redworm in river banks and cemeteries, looking for the softest spot to sink his hamrod.

Now, 20 years after his expulsion from Woodbat World-Star Beefhunk Champion-Game, we've caught up with Pooter Warmcabbage and asked him for comment.

"I'm going through a rough time right now. My life-coach says I have to stay away from moist, hot landscaping. They put electric razor chains across the soft-dirt garden outside my window. I think I'm going to slit the guards throat tonight and try to escape from this place."

No Cookie Law Angers Red-Eyed Demons

Pro-cookie demons have shot out of earth’s crust—snarling and barking—in protest of an anti-cookie law recently enacted to keep local hunger-beasts away from community cookie storage facilities.

Hulking pork-tummies, pure hunger-beasts, pooch-bellies and Rum-tum-tums recently staged a raid on Famous Amos’ Cookie Water Tower, which held 10,000 Gallons of raw, chemically untreated cookie dough.

The PCLF (Peoples Cookie Liberation Front) Led by female-demon Barkdust Riptooth and male head-lord demon Blop Buttercream recruited dozens of followers over the past weeks.


Pictured: Barkdust Riptooth


Pictured: Blop Buttercream


Armed with flaming spatulas and poisoned oven-mits, the angry mob descended on the unprepared employees of Famous Amos’ “Fun-Guy’s Good Time Palace” and mercilessly slaughtered every last man, woman, and senior-level manager.

The group then proceeded to climb the cookie dough water tower, where they—through sheer force of will—and extreme carb consumption—toppled the tower. The group members and demons then gnawed down several dozen trees with their teeth, setting them ablaze around the water tower, cooking the 10,000 gallons of dough, creating one massive cookie.

By the time the National Guard arrived, the PCLF had already devoured the cookie and returned to their base in the lava tunnels in the bowels of the earth. Main military guys say the shit's going to hit the fan during Christmas season, when the main cookie rush begins.

"We've stationed our most elite cookie-defense troops and religious baptists near all major cookie outlets all over God's sweet America. We've got machine gun guys stationed in front of Buttercream Ned's Sugar-Disc Sellers, Beeter's Round-Hound Exchange, and Globular Hot-Dough Item Distributors of America. So when the hunger-demons surface--we'll be ready for 'em."

-Admiral Turbo Beefgrain

Camp Self-Worth Homeless Poets Fellowship WINNERS

NAME: Drippy-Nose Wolfbaum
ENTRY: "My Nose, it Drips" 1st Place

My Nose, it Drips
by Drippy-Nose Wolfbaum

My Nose
It Drips
Upon My Nips
My Naked Nips

It Touches My Lips
It Touches My Hips
It Breaks My Heart
It Makes Me Fart




NAME: Professor Soda-Pop
ENTRY: "I Love Soda-Pop" 2nd Place

I Love Soda Pop
by Professor Soda-Pop

I feel like a man
With a bubble can
A bubble can
A bubble can

Sometimes I pee inside my can
Inside my can
Inside my can

And tell my friend Henry
It's a fresh lemon fizzer
A fresh lemon fizzer
A fresh lemon fizzer

And then Henry drinks it
And says "this isn't a lemon fizzer"
"this is just some of your urine"

And I say
"Yes, it is just some of my urine"
And then we go to bed
Inside of some garbage



NAME: Dr. Crab-Helmet
ENTRY: "I Blasted My Pants" Honorable Mention

I blasted my pants
On Saturday night
On the way to Banana Peel Theatre

I had a date with Esmeralda Wolfhair
But I blasted my pants
And I was filled with despair

I shouldn't have eaten that
Smoked salmon and egg nog
It made me slam my trousers

With a hot pot of juice
From my grumbling guts

Young Hungerbeast Reigns Supreme

A young Hungerbeast was chosen to replace long-time Grand Champion Hungerlord Sir. Hotbeef Redsauce as the presiding Chow-Slammer of the Universe. Every 10,000 years, the current Grand Champion Hungerlord must choose an apprentice.

This year, a small Beefmaster named Ham-Hock Steamroller was chosen at a McDarnalds chowhouse in Cole Slaw, Road Eyeland. The current Grand Champion Hungerlord floated down to earth on a geyser made of hot turkey gravy and landed in the McDarnalds parking lot, where he made a large beef-fart. Many people vomited from the hellfire stench.

The Grand Champion entered McDarnalds through the south doors and he ordered a HotMan 2000 and a basket of Potato Rods. He sat down across from young Ham-Hock and observed him during his slam-feast. After the meal, the Grand Master passed his medallion onto his successor.

The young Ham-Hock Steamroller gave a short, but spirited acceptance speech.

"I accept this medallion in honor of my father Warm-Pork, who passed away while trying to roast a full-grown Giraffe over a large fire pit in the bowels of Africa. Thank you former Grand Champion Hotbeef. I promise to uphold the values of Chow-Slammer of the Universe by eating Hog Gravy, Lard Bricks, Beef Hunks, and Whole Burds. Thank you, Lord."

Bon-Bon Bumpenheimer's Pet Universe: Christian X-Mas Warmskin Newbodies

Attention Bun-Bun shoppers!

We have a whole new catalog of Sports Pets, Moistened Floppers, and Soothing Warmskins as gift ideas for holiday glory-time. Just in time to give your small-bodies the surprise of a lifetime! What's better than having little Hambone wake up Christian X-Mas morning to find a birth-moistened Gruncher waiting for him under the festive death bush? Nothing. Nothing is better than that. Except for maybe a wet-mouthed Toggert to greet your fresh-babies. Or a hot-blooded Dick-Skin Cattywumpus to make your little-hearts feel real nice. Read on to learn more about our new soft-breathers...



TOGGERT
$3.99

These bud-duds are easy to care for. Just make fresh warm oatmeal in the morning and pour it on your Toggert's lips. He will swallow it and groach and huggle--all to the delight of your youngkids. Toggert will love you forever. Toggert lives 48 hours.



DICK-SKIN CATTYWUMPUS
$7.99

Dick-Skin Cattywumpi are a child's favorite friend. Kids love running their fingers over the dips and raggles to find hidden hun-duns and little caverns. Dick-Skin Cattywumpi usually eat microwaved color crayons (preferably yellow) and old slippers. When you're choosing the right kind of slippers to feed your Dick-Skin Cattywumpus, try to find the oldest slippers around. Look for signs of excessive decay and sweat damage. If you can get a hold of athlete's slippers or the slippers of a long-dead person, your Dick-Skin Cattywumpus will love you forever.



GRUNCHER
$4.49

Everyone knows Grunchers are the most intelligent critter in the animal kingdom. Every 75 years, blue whales blast a Gruncher out of their "blast-hole" onto dry land. Scientists and math teachers have no idea how this is possible. Lucky for consumers like you, a recent Gruncher birthpile was found off the coast of Nevada, near the arctic sea. There were thousands of Grunchers waiting to be claimed. I, Bon-Bun Bumpenheimer, was the first one to the scene. We used our fleet of Chevy Celebrities to round up the critters in fishing nets. Then we towed them home on the Interstate. Now they're available just in time for Christian X-Mas.

The Throat House

Let's be true-faced with one another. Everyone loves swallowtube surgery! Even my crab-apple Aunt Croak. It's the funnest procedure anyone could ever wish for. You get to lay like a hotdog in a warmbun for hours while man hands and silver-sticks go inside of your gizzard. It's like having a fun-time exploration of a wet-cave like back when you were a young-whisker.

It's true... I didn't have black-balls in my neck. Nor did I have any kind of white-smoke disease. I just wanted to have some fun-tyme surgery. So I went to a place around the corner from my Dad's trailer. It's called "The Throat House." It's a good old fashioned fun-palace if I might say so.

The first thing they did is ask me how much money I wanted to spend on neck-cuts. I said about nine hundred cashpounds. Then the owner, Dr. Poark Hamglaze came out with a burlap sack to take my money. After that... they took me in the back put a gigglemask over my mouth to make me sweet-headed then I laid down like a hotdog.

The experience was a grum-dugger! I smiled a tooth exposure-face for Dr. Hamglaze the whole time! He was laughing at me and he kept calling me "Tube Jim" even though my name is Henry Thomas. It was terrible. I hated it.

After all the fun, I got to walk around in a flower-robe and meet all of the other Throat House patients. I met a kind-man named Rimshot Gorgonheim who had is bulsa exposed to a wild Grook. Then I met a young-boy by the name of Boober Wetcliffe who showed me his throat wound. It looked like a sour-apple after a wormfeast! After that I met the woman who would become my wife, Schroeder Junkhole. She was just like me. She had some extra greendollars to throw around so she got her gagger slashed just for the kick! We connected right away and signed up for second surgeries. I'm going in next week to have the right side of my asparagus boinker gnawed on by a razor-claw. She's going to see if Dr. Hamglaze can make a custom rip on her cough-bone. I can't wait!

Uncle Dad = My Best Friend

WET-BUSH ELEMENTARY SCHOOL
11-17-1993

"MY BEST FRIEND"
by Porridge Sandwichmeat, 5th Grade

After school I hate to watch Sally Nevada on Disnee Channel. I just go over to my friend Uncle Dad's house. He lives a few blocks away. We like to watch big-boy movies and play with bar-bells. He is my best friend.

Last year, my REAL dad and I went to the park to play on the playground. My dad said he was going to go get a foam-chugger at the smell house. When the sun went down I started crying. I was so scared because he never came back. That's when I met my best friend and my new rad-dad. He was standing under a streetlight wearing a long-coat. He said "don't worry, I'll help you." I asked him what his name was and he said "uncle dad."

HERE IS A PICTURE OF "UNCLE DAD" WINNING THE BEEF-HAM MALE WET-BODY CHAMPION-SHIP:



Ever since then we've been best hud-duds. After school, we go sit in his steam-box and go slippery-doodle in his hotpool. We even watch his Laser-Discs: Bengo Groark, Soft-spot Underpants, Slip-n-Slyde Boyz, Moist Friday, Beef-Muscle Mack, and Veiny Vinny.

Uncle dad likes to make me hot-plate warm-meals and set them on my jeans for dinner. He makes me Rot-Tot-Tots, Nicken Chuggets, Brownsauce Meat, Hot Cow Innards, and Chinese Boilers.

He even made me a special birthday cake with big-boy bar-bells all over it! Uncle dad says one day my bar-bell will look just like this:



THE END.