Fly Boy pushes on the belly of Hippo Sumo, but his efforts
are useless. Fly Boy is perplexed because his mother told
him the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, and
he is very frustrated he cannot make substantial progress.
If Fly Boy could reach his heart, he would be close enough
to make a headlock and pull Hippo Sumo down to the mat.
Realistically this will never happen which is good because
Fly Boy is not insured for injuries caused by sumoquakes.
This youth will most likely become a mediocre salaryman.
In the indigenous habitat of the ostrich bush, a potential source for
alternative fuel, excited European botanists are formulating plans
to transplant as many ostrich bushes as quickly as possible into the
European Union. Each ostrich bush can produce sufficient methane
to power a municipal plant and is an inexpensive supply of cheap gas
just waiting to be tapped and siphoned into readied metal canisters
and tanks of fuel-famished European transportation companies and
motorists. But great horticultural care must be taken to protect the
ostrich bush from sudden surprises and shocks because if its bulbous
cranial tuber pops out of its preferred wet hole of nourishment, it will
flail round in irrational panic and keel over like a stricken ostrich bird.
Market values of ostrich bush stocks and bonds are running wild, but
petrol suppliers say ostrich bush fuel is just a fad and will lay an egg.
Pushing her tiny neck flap upwards, baby Jessica felt her flabby
wattle and wished she could have plastic surgery to remove her
pudgy baby fat, yet she realized surgery for her imperfections
was highly unlikely because her parents would refuse to pay for
expensive operations and instead just roll their eyes and tell
her that she would grow out of it, it being reduction of baby fat,
not her inferiority complex which was quickly developing into
a wildly uncontrollable psychosis and was highly likely to end
up costing her parents a fortune in extensive therapy sessions.
With increasing frustration Bones struggled to dislodge the banana peel stuck in
Gordo's fat throat, but it seemed hopeless, a classic simian case of greed versus
need. If Gordo choked to death, Bones would be blamed by their trainer, and there
was no way he could get a fair trial in a zoo filled with hungry animals who could be
easily bribed to testify against him for a handful of peanuts or a chewy granola bar.
Bones knew that Gordo was in the wrong position for him to attempt the Heimlich
maneuver, but because his friend was too heavy to be rolled over on his belly, he
had to continue with his present course of emergency aid and hope the security
camera lens was still covered with dung as otherwise their trainer would notice
and rush in to stop his efforts. Bones was worried that he would be punished by
being placed in the open petting zoo enclosure where snot nosed children would
laugh and spit on him as they stuck gooey bubblegum and candy in his hair. Oh,
the humiliation of being a lower primate imprisoned by so-called higher primates.
"Every day in America countless small animals are abused
and sadistically killed. Be a good citizen: help stop animal
abuse. We poor defenseless creatures are dependent upon
caring people like you. I'd also like to take this opportunity
to warn my buddies to stay away from the Tunnel of Love
and the Ring of Ecstasy. I'm permanently scarred for life!"
Elmer Tarball of Backrib, Arkansas, almost lost his life when he
accidentally wandered into a mosque while on vacation in New
York City. A curious fellow and football fanatic who proudly wore
his favorite Arkansas Razorback hat everywhere, Elmer had been
seeing the sights and somehow ended up lost, so he walked into
a nearby building to ask for directions. Within seconds Elmer was
surrounded by bearded Muslims brandishing swords and torches.
When Elmer innocently asked if they were planning to have a hog
roast, the men went totally berserk and chased after Elmer, who
suddenly realized he was not with friendly fans so he skedaddled
out of there faster than a squealing pig slipping down a slop slide.
In an unverifiable document that will never be published in verifiable medical journals,
Professor Dustbin theorizes that Prahlad Jani is a rare hybrid of the human vegetable.
Although people commonly termed "vegetables" are incapacitated, unable to move
their appendages and require nursing care for their debilitation, Jani appears to be a
healthy mobile vegetable. Professor Dustbin believes that the Indian holy man derives
his sustaining energy from pure sunlight by producing his own enriched chlorophyll via
photosynthesis within modified melanin. "If you quarantined Prahlad Jani in a sealed
cave, he would die due to lack of the sun's light. He is not a mushroom." Confirmation
of Jani's botanical being was seen when a curious honey bee unsuccessfully attempted
to obtain pollen from his extended nostril hairs. Jani sneezed at the tickling sensation,
and the puzzled bee flew away in confusion. "That will be a buzzy topic of gossip in her
hive," Dustbin joked. Nobody laughed. The old professor acknowledges that reputable
scientists and researchers firmly reject his findings, but he remains convinced that his
theory will bear fruit, or at least Jani might if he were related to the tomato family since
tomatoes are often categorized as vegetables. Prahlad Jani looked at Professor Dustbin
and rolled his eyes. "Did you see that?" Dustbin asked excitedly. "Fertilizer sensors!"
Jani spat. "Spittle spores!" Jani arose, saying as he departed, "You are a cracked nut!"
"Dealing with security measures to block obnoxious paparazzi
from interfering with my dear Prince William's Royal Wedding is
exhausting. I'm off to the pub for a stiff pint, and then I shall go
skinny-dipping in the Thames with Teletubbies! Cheeri-eh-oh!"
Due to increasingly high insurance costs for long-term employees and lengthy rehabilitation
periods for full recovery of those injured at work, the Super Jump company discovered it was
far less costly and much more sensible to use sheep to test its new trampolines. Substituting
ovines produced an immediate bounce in profits. A side benefit of using sheep was that by the
time they had served their purpose through numerous pratfalls, backflips and belly flops, they
were sufficiently tenderized and ready for contracted shipments to pet food processing plants.
Grandpa wasn't quite sure what to make of the strange midget
alien that landed his spaceship in the cow pasture and strutted
down a ramp like a big fat Tom Turkey, but seein' how his whole
family had hit on hard times and knowin' how desperate his kin
were hankerin' for meat instead of boiled turnips and potatoes,
he blasted the alien with his shotgun and then let Granny do the
rest cause she was itchin' to try new recipes. Yup, there comes
a time when you take what you can get and that's good enough.
Granny in training: Ova Dahilla, a 78 year old grandmother of eighteen, counting the nine who have been killed in minefields
and from grenade attacks, stands at attention awaiting instructions from her imam, who has vowed to destroy all Western
technology no matter how powerful or distant from the sacred sands where Mohammed squatted and shat for blessed relief
to the glory of Allah. Ova joined the terrorists when she was told satellites take images of women's naked bodies inside their
burqas and sell those photos to American perverts on the Internet. Ova vows she will shoot down the Internet whatever it is.
"Let slip the nanobots of war, release the gars and sharks!
Destroy our enemies with gore, disease and scarring marks!
Let loose the floodgates of our wrath to drown surviving souls!
May ocean monsters eat their flesh washed up on oily shoals!"
Momentarily distracted from wringing the neck of Jacquouille la Fripouille for trading the time travel potion for a faux
gold plated iPod with a dead battery, Comte Godefroy de Montmirail turns his attention toward the sad plight of French
President Nicolas Sarkozy, apparently holding his hands upward in surrender. Godefroy decides he must delay punishing
his foolish servant and immediately rush off to rescue the helpless French leader, whom he believes is threatened by
robbers. Jacquouille thinks Sarkozy is only acting unconvincingly as a mime trapped behind an invisible wall. However,
both time visitors are mistaken because Sarkozy is pressing his palms against a transparent Plexiglas water tank that
will be filled with boiling bouillabaisse for having the Gaul to protest against banking bullies of the Euro Mafia Consortium.
Last edited by Bumblepuff; 03-25-2011 at 09:18 PM.
Are you fed up with old-fashioned land lines and high phone bills?
Do you want to break free from twisting binding phone cords that
needlessly entangle you at home and work? Then cut them loose! Go wireless!* Be mobile and control your future! We offer painless
cybercable installations and affordable payment schedules for your
specified options. Keep in contact 24/7 and never lose another call
due to bad connections! Fulfill your destiny and assimilate with us!
Lance Shell of Atlanta shows the location of his metal skull plate
which was accidentally magnetized when he walked through an
airport scanner with incorrect settings. Lance's cranial plate is
giving him constant migraines in addition to attracting loose pins,
sharp nails and other metal objects whenever he walks through
the aisles while working at Homestead Supply Center. Lance says
a hammer this size remains easily attached. As a short-term solu-
tion he has begun wearing a plastic football helmet to keep from
being beaned until his doctor can determine a safe way to demag-
netize his skull plate. As a child Lance grew up hearing about the
hard knocks of life but never expected it would be quite like this.
Testing of the new TSA hyperpulsebeam scanner has been suspended after complaints
from TSA workers that the images received from bombardment of emissions were too
blurry to examine intimate details of genitalia, including the time-consuming training
required for new employees to operate the scanning machine's complex control panel,
the extremely high energy costs for powering the hyperpulsebeam scanner, intense
migraines experienced by TSA workers while monitoring scans and most importantly,
the random particle dispersal of passengers who disappeared completely without any
trace causing frantic calls to airlines from families seeking missing members and even
more migraines for TSA workers unable to handle the large piles of unclaimed luggage
which they could not liquidate for profit because of ID marks rendering items unsellable.
Imam Duck instructs young Islamic ducklings in the proper orientation and positional posture
for prayer to Mecca so that Allah will be most pleased with their devout obedience and future
sacrifice for nourishment in Muslim bellies. Little Achma Fluff is looking in the wrong direction,
and if he does not pay attention, he will be publicly debeaked, plucked and dumped into a pot
of soup for tonight's feast honoring the anniversary of Mohammed's first fart. Allah Quackbar!
Wenlock and Mandeville, two lost travelers from France who are distant relatives of the
Coneheads, protest the harsh treatment they had received earlier when London police
suspected the two individuals were weirdly costumed drug smugglers and forcibly tried
to perform full body cavity searches, which resulted in several hospitalized police due to
severe pummeling from Wenlock and Mandeville, greatly angered and insulted because
they had no orifices to probe. To make matters worse, Wenlock suffered a badly sprained
wrist when a policeman tried to yank off his band because he mistakenly thought it was a
bracelet for teleporting aboard the Liberator, which is completely absurd because Blake's
spaceship had exploded at the end of the third season thirty years ago unless time travel
is factored into the equation, but that is best explained by Avon who astutely remains mum.
As expected this incident brought the English press and the Phreaks of London, a weird cult
devoted to contacting intriguingly unique aliens from distant star systems who genetically
seeded France. The Queen is not amused because by now every Brit knows every infraction
by the police has been recorded since Wenlock and Mandeville used their ocular videocams.
The press is salivating over rights for these photos, and lawyers are drooling over potential
megapound lawsuits if Wenlock and Mandeville choose to pursue litigation. At the moment,
the travelers just want to be left alone to analyze samples of fish and chips at a local pub.
The summer of 2012 was a sad season of hardships and painful discomfort from constant hunger
because crops had failed due to droughts and diseases, because farmers were unable to plant or
harvest due to fuel shortages and travel restrictions, because groceries were barren of all fresh
and canned foods, because marauding vagabonds would steal their scant provisions, but mostly
because no one knew for certain if their bowls of steaming soup contained chunks of dead bugs,
mangled roadkill or camp members who went mysteriously missing and were never seen again.
"Bring out your organs! Bring out your organs! By royal
decree of King Scabbybeast all organs must be collected!
Sorry to impose at a time like this when your daughter is
giving birth, but we're desperate! To make things easier,
King Scabbybeast offers the easy installment plan. You
can donate piece by piece until the organ is complete."
______________________________ "Any rats chewing on your organs? We can still use them,
______________________________ but deep bite marks and grimy hairs shorten an organ's life
______________________________ cycle, especially if we can't remove all the rat droppings!"
________________________________________________ "If you refuse to donate your organs voluntarily,
________________________________________________ we have orders to come inside and rip out all your
________________________________________________ organs piece by piece, pipe by pipe and stop by stop!"
"By the way, are you interested in buying any season
concert tickets? Your daughter's child can get in free!"
Whilst enroute to the London Opera to hear a Christmas oratorio,
the Royal Couple's chauffeur successfully swerved to the left lane
so as to avoid paparazzi but accidentally hit Frosty the Snowman
who was crossing the street on the left side to visit an orphanage.
Because the paparazzi were unharmed and eyewitnesses to the accident, they eagerly
pounced on the Prince's predicament, snapping photos of Frosty's slushy guts stuck on
the limousine. Tonight they will be dreaming of cash bonuses dancing in their heads for
getting their exclusive pictures published on the front pages of British national tabloids.
The Queen is not amused by this embarrassing incident and gave
her condolences to the sad residents of Winter Wonderland. Mean-
while, she will remain in seclusion until Scotland Yard completes a
thorough investigation and has cleared the Royal Family of blame.
Zippy the Pinhead wonders if the red dot pattern on his
muumuu provides secret identification codes similar to
tiny yellow dots printed on computer paper. That might
explain why the old lady at the Chinese laundry always
shrieks when he gives her his muumuu to be cleaned or
it could be just a simple overreaction because he waits
until after he arrives before stripping it off to hand over.
Possibly only the elite Fashion Police know for sure, but
if Confucius were alive he would make a wise crack at it
and connect the dots to reveal ancient Chinese secrets.
From the moment baby clowns pop out of their mothers' big
pantaloons into a world of wonderful fun they are constantly
on the move not knowing which adult clowns are cannibalistic
or just joking about catching clownlets to bake in cream pies.
Little clowns can never be too sure what hidden motives lurk
behind bulbous noses, painted grimaces and silly frilly wigs.
Bonding with a balloon dog provides protection because the
twisted pet can be trained to squeak at goofy intruders who
display wide smiles and wider machete blades of death, but
the best defense against malevolent clowns is to make them
die laughing, a comedic cliché with a horribly morbid history.
Henry has accidentally hit a wrong key on his keyboard
and now waits to see if the execution of his trade tanks
the market. This erroneous entry occurred after Henry,
having finished his first successful pump of the morning,
had propped his feet on his desk. He was not expecting
his left foot to slide off the used banana peel beside his
computer because banana slips usually happen on film.
As Henry attempted to reshift his legs, his left toe struck
one of the keys. Before he could push the Escape button,
it was too late and the digital command had altered his
future forever. Henry is resigned to the fact he probably
won't be getting that promised big banana bunch bonus.
Is Bat Boy shrieking in horror at encountering the image of his inverse split personality
which has inexplicably reversed in an alternate universe due to a sudden aberrant shift
in a time flux, or is this a weirdly warped nightmarish hallucination that will vanish when
he awakens from his mysterious coma, or is this more realistically the result of a severe
imbalance in his medications provided by his dyslexic pharmacist? The startling answer
is none of the above, for this is Bat Boy's first encounter with a mirror. Poor little guy...
Soylent Green, it tastes great in your hand or on a plate!
Soylent Green, mighty fine, goes with almost any wine!
Soylent Green, it's so keen, gives your skin a healthy sheen!
Soylent Green, good for you, helps recycle Uncle Lou!
"Damn! I've just eaten a full meal of
meat and fruit, but now you tell me I
could've had Soylent Green! Arrggh!"
In an unfortunate incident of inappropriately bad timing during a late evening
seance as a stream of ectoplasm was exiting the host's mouth, a maid made
the mistake of entering unannounced to bring refreshments including creamy
melted marshmallow fondue with Belgian dark chocolates. The mysteriously
flowing ectoplasmic essence immediately sensed odd occluding competitive
interference from the marshmallow fondue and forthwith attacked the white
melted goop, weaving a bewildering webbed tentacled snare which entangled
the host in a most awkward sticky mess of unnatural proportions. Afterwards,
the maid was terminated, the fondue recipe incinerated on recommendation
of the medium, and the traumatized host required extended treatments of hot
mineral baths and herbal tinctures to cleanse the viscous curse from his body.
"I have called this important news conference to tell you something wonderful! In
order to promote awareness regarding our present national war I have developed
a game to improve the mental skills of my brave jihad warriors who are fending off
onslaughts from barbarians. My strategy game is called Tripoli which is based upon
the general structure of the American capitalistic game Monopoly, yet has none of
the evil decadence and greed that has made it so popular with deviant miscreants
in the United States of America, may Mohammed blight them with obesity. There
are significant differences between Monopoly and Tripoli, but I shall tell you only
several because I must get back to kicking out the invading infidels. The American
Monopoly board is square because Americans are square. Boring. My Tripoli board
is manufactured in the shape of Libya, which is not a square, so there! Ha! Tripoli is
printed in Arabic only, not Berber or any substandard language such as English. The
American Monopoly game is contaminated with secular American culture and thus
is iniquitous and unworthy for my people. Tripoli is very educational because players
learn about my life, my deeds, my wisdom, my hobbies and my role in ruling Libya,
the priceless gem of northern Africa. Tripoli game pieces consist of soldiers, tanks,
clerics, assassins, belly dancers, nomads, camels and goats. Tripoli must be played
with my officially sanctioned dice. Any players found using other types of dice will
have their fingers cut off for disobeying my rules! If a prayer card is drawn, players
who have their pieces facing towards Mecca will advance three spaces while those
facing in the wrong direction go back three spaces. That is why my game is called
Tripoli, for the players get triple bonuses or penalties! Get it? I am so clever. Heh.
This is why I should remain ruler of Libya until my last breath. The Tripoli currencies
used in the game are genuine Libyan dinars because we are a wealthy nation and
have no need to print phony money like the American Ponzi bankers. Every Tripoli
player starts out putting tents on purchased spaces, for I was born in a humble
bedouin tent and want my people to know that with enough hard work, determina-
tion and strong belief in Islamic religious persecution, they can become famous
and powerful like myself. After buying tents, players can proceed to put up houses,
apartment blocks and then later resorts and palaces which are based on my own
architectural designs. As players gain wealth, they can buy more oil rigs, banks,
mosques, burqa boutiques, race cars, camels, goats, even sexy feather boas and
lingerie if that is their preference. However, nobody can buy railroads since there
is no railway system in Libya, but there are some great deals on tourist bus lines.
As players move their game pieces around the Tripoli board, they visit important
historical sites and major cities such as Tripoli, Benghazi, Misrata, Az Zawiyah and
Sabha. If a player's game piece lands on a holy shrine space, there will be bountiful
blessings. If a player lands on an oasis space, there is rest and refreshment, but if
a player lands on a desert space, well, that is not so good, and the player will die
from thirst unless the dice are rolled favorably on the next cast. If the player goes
directly to jail, one chance is given to submit and repent, but if the player refuses,
his head will be chopped off, he will be branded as a filthy pig and he will never get
72 virgin tokens to redeem at the end of the game for cool bonus points! This is a
most excellent educational game for my subjects, but all females from young girls
to old women must wear burqas if they want to play. It is Allah's will, so I decree.
My Tripoli game is available in mosques, market places, schools, libraries, govern-
ment offices, petrol stations and even remote oases. To get your free Tripoli game
simply show proof you are a citizen of Libya. Now please excuse me while I return
to waging jihad against monopolistic curs who will lose their lacy pink underwear!"
"Countless Americans are suffering from innumeracy, which is the ignorance of
mathematics, that is, the inability to properly add, subtract, divide and multiply
with numbers and do something useful with them to make money so our govern-
ment can generate taxes to spend on stuff we want. Although the Hispanics have
greatly improved in multiplication, even surpassing blacks who have fallen behind
because they spend too much time behind bars, the bars of innumeracy must be
bent and pulled asunder so all Americans can make a difference and be counted.
Not to dig too deep a hole for myself, I must add that blacks excel at subtraction
due to their skillful use of guns, knives and other deadly weapons on themselves.
The industrious Asian races are gifted in adding new competitive businesses and
multiplying like Hispanics by increasing via the abacus method, whatever that is.
As much as it pains me to dig myself deeper, American white trash is very divisive,
which causes all sorts of headaches, costly lawsuits and depressing Country songs
that plague our multicultural nation. As you might have adeptly calculated if you've
followed me this far, unless you're sitting on your hands, the sum of innumeracy
adds up to be divisive for Americans by subtracting multiple benefits. This is a sad
situation, almost as sad as spending weeks searching for your missing rich uncle
only to find him later decomposing back behind your psycho neighbor's garden shed
with his suicide note and last will stipulating he has disinherited you and yet you're
still stuck paying his huge estate taxes. The United States government is realizing
that erroneous innumeracy must be wiped out in our lifetime, or at least before the
next scheduled census because recently the US Census Bureau tabulated numerous
snafus due to innumeracy. This was anticipated by our administration, which is why
we fudged our final numbers. On the educational front, computer savvy students
have become too dependent upon Google for quick answers and are much too lazy
to turn on their calculators. The days of pencils printing numerical figures on paper
are almost extinct, but they don't need to be, not if my number one priority takes
first place as numero uno for the first time! Do you want to be a second-rate third-
class country of losers? We are teetering on a taut tightrope one tiny step forward
and two steps behind our plunging apex above. Uh... Don't think too much about
that one, okay? Now please turn off your cell phones, get comfortably seated and
listen closely while I show you my nine essential points on precisely how I plan to
eliminate ubiquitous innumeracy in America and restore our mathematical prowess
to rightful dominance in the world so we can collectively kick our competitors' butts!"
After years of fears from concerns that insects would eventually rule the earth in
the distant future, a genetic modification research experiment gone terribly awry
brought their nightmares into full-blown panic much sooner than anticipated after
laboratory entomologists accidentally created mutant varieties of insects which
developed substantially increased size and intelligence along with other advanced
abilities. Survival of the fittest was in accelerated mode around the globe, and the
casualties were incredibly high. Stupid obese humans were no match for the super
intelligent and deviously resourceful insects which adapted extremely well to their
advantageous changes, quickly learning to operate high-powered weapons of mass
destruction and computer systems using their agile antennae, claws, mandibles and
other appendages to stop utility services, sabotage transportation systems, disrupt
communications, crash the Internet and control the dreaded aerial drones of death.
As a result of massive loss of human lives, all cemeteries and crematoria became
obsolete because deceased people were recycled into nutritious bug food although
several species refused to eat human flesh because they complained that it tasted
funny. Subservient humans were forced to perform routine duties and menial tasks
to keep their bug masters happily satisfied as evinced in this case where a woman is
busily collecting fresh fecal waste material to feed a colony of warlord dung beetles.
Washed up and wrinkled, fired from her fantasy dream job at Disney and swimming in a sea of Swiss chocolate syrup,
Tinkerbell began a fast downward career spiral as she frittered away her talents on fritter eating contests, hokey game
show appearances, couch potato marathons, mud wrestling, dwarf tossing, singing bawdy commercial jingles in public
and servicing the scurrilous desires of scaly scallywags in Long John Silver's Lizard Lounge, pimped out by Peter Pan.
NOTICE: Timebomb2000 is an Internet forum for discussion of world events and personal disaster preparation. Membership is by request only. The opinions posted do not necessarily represent those of TB2K Incorporated (the owner of this website), the staff or site host. Responsibility for the content of all posts rests solely with the Member making them. Neither TB2K Inc, the Staff nor the site host shall be liable for any content.
All original member content posted on this forum becomes the property of TB2K Inc. for archival and display purposes on the Timebomb2000 website venue. Said content may be removed or edited at staff discretion. The original authors retain all rights to their material outside of the Timebomb2000.com website venue. Publication of any original material from Timebomb2000.com on other websites or venues without permission from TB2K Inc. or the original author is expressly forbidden.
"Timebomb2000", "TB2K" and "Watching the World Tick Away" are Service Mark℠ TB2K, Inc. All Rights Reserved.