Puffball is contentedly satisfied and pleased with himself after discovering how
to unlatch a large metal cabinet containing the entire supply of cat food at the
Happy Pets Animal Shelter. Puffball's enormous sense of intense curiosity and
overwhelming instinct to explore where no cat has snooped before contributed
to his success, but his access to the scrumptious cornupcopia of feline cuisine
was mainly due to the fact that the cabinet had no lock. While making an early
morning security check within the building before it was opened to the public,
alert staff member Shelly Shellington noticed scads of kitty nuggets scattered
all over the floor of the storage room and found Puffball greedily gorging upon
packets of gourmet kibble and surrounded by empty pop-top cans and the lids
he had easily lifted off with his claws. Shelly was extremely relieved to capture
Puffball before he found the potent tuna-flavored oral laxative, thus preventing
his untimely demise due to a traumatically turbulent and explosive evacuation.
Chaz and Cher proudly pose for a celebrity photo session after winning a splendid
Dododildo Award for their new hit show The Hair and the Tortoise, a charmingly gay
and compassionate sitcom about the perils of living with outlandish hairstyles and
corrective transgender surgeries in our narcissistic society of anal-retentive back-
stabbers and sneaky paparazzi. Although many critics have continually dissed the
episodes as sophomoric, insipid, lame and void of any redeeming social value, the
snickering snorts, raucous guffaws and belching bellows from live studio audiences
during video taping and the phenomenal quantity of gossip and suggestive chitchat
from rapturous fans on FaceBook, Twitter and other Internet websites plus a most
startling increase in urgent requests for transgender reassignments and exotic hair
implants demonstrate that The Hair and the Tortoise has a long way to go before it
reaches the finish line of cancellation. Not pictured with the happy family is the late
Sony Bono, who made a special guest appearance in the pilot episode as the ghost
of paternal love in an ethereal realm of peculiarly skewed arboreal somnambulation.
"I wish Chaz good fortune in his stupendous transgender evolution from female
to male. I'm really eager to see his mature masculine appearance after his body
fully heals and readjusts from strenuous metabolic changes. My own personal
life-affirming transformation suffered from frequent surgical blunders over ten
painful years of costly hospital care and extensive recuperation at home, but I
always had faith that my arthritic myopic plastic surgeon from Argentina could
overcome his chronic alcoholism, prescription drug addiction, compulsive itching
and incurable schizophrenia to remain relatively sober and sane during my final
critical operation, even though he blacked out twice before finishing my sutures
and inexplicably lost his medical license after embalming a cross-dressing dwarf. I've finally achieved my cherished dream of becoming a sensuous love muffin!"
"I just love spring shoppin' at Wal*Mart to keep up with the latest fashion trends.
I take Skeeter along so he'll get some pointers, but right now he's pointin' mostly
at candy and junk food on shelves he wants me to buy. I seen some swimsuits on
sale includin' sexy bikinis. I'm antsy about tryin' 'em on because I might reveal way
too much, and besides, last time I went to the changin' room, I got stuck in between
the door. There's some bright solid color clothes on sale in the style Michelle Obama
wears that makes her look like a clown without grease paint so I'll pass on them. My
own home-on-the-range Western style clashes with the teenybopper Britney Spears
wannabes and cheap sleazy whores. Sometimes I gotta shield little Skeeter's eyes
when them hussies come struttin' by us because I don't wanna spoil his innocence.
Of course that's nothin' compared to the occasional hairy streaker racin' through the
aisles to cool off in the store's air-conditionin'. I tell you, our Wal*Mart brings out the
weird in people, but I love this place and so does Skeeter! I'm trainin' my son to be
a Wal*Mart greeter so he can develop social skills, meet new friends, get me lots of
employee discounts on products, and most important of all, support me later in my
old age. Hey, Skeeter, say your friendly Wal*Mart greetin'". _____ "Howdy, folks!"
In an ominous event foreshadowing stories by Ray Bradbury the little rascals stand
in open-mouthed shock and dread as they watch their mean-spirited teacher slosh
more kerosene onto the horrific conflagration which consisted of their prized comic
books set at the door of their beloved clubhouse. The destruction of their privately
funded library with its archive of priceless memories contained within curling ashen
sheets of their favorite publications was subsequently recounted in the short story Fahrenhot, which was later confiscated and burned by a snooty substitute teacher.
"Although I noted a plethora of discrepancies and convoluted theories contained within The Martian Chronicles, I tamed my tongue and deactivated my antennae so as not to
ruffle the humanistic feathers of Ray Bradbury by accusing him of inventing curiously
spurious tripe. There are other reasons why I resisted exposing his unfounded follies,
chief of which is because the last time I interfered with science fiction writers in this
solar system, mercurial Mercurians and venomous Venusians wiped each other out!"
Yesterday Cookie Monster used Bert's computer to visit Internet websites because
he heard Bert state that companies put lots of cookies on computer hard drives of
visitors who click upon their web pages, but thus far all he has seen are stupid pet
tricks, even stupider hairbrained human stunts, boring political propaganda, garish
cosmetic infomercials, explicit photos of naked Muppets in bondage, and desperate
pleas from semiliterate Nigerians to arrange for transference of bank account funds
without delay. Cookie Monster wonders if he will get any cookies before Bert notices
the new expensive subscription charges on his credit card. If Bert gets furious and
tears his hair out, including his stitches, Cookie Monster hopes that Ernie will take
all the blame, or maybe Elmo and his other friends. It depends whom Bert catches
viewing the live videocam streaming Muppet porn he was unable to cancel that was
inadvertently charged to Bert's credit card as a nonrefundable lifetime membership.
"I'm not as actively involved with Greenpeace saving whales and baby seals or
protesting environmental issues like I used to be because there are too many
hassles dealing with paleoconservative douche bags and liberal control freaks,
and besides, I'm getting on in years, but if I see a real need, I'll do my best to
fill it. For example, last week I saw a polar bear overheating at the local zoo so
I tossed him the ice cubes from my margarita so he could chill out. I felt really
pleased with what I did to counteract global warming so I rewarded myself by
smoking a doobie with my old lady. I even blew some smoke rings to the polar
bear for good vibes toward world peace. Share the love and stay cool, dude!"
European bankers have assured worried investors via controlled media propaganda
channels that efforts are now underway to reclaim vast sums of wealth which have
been safely stored for centuries upon the sandy bottom of the Mediterranean Sea
within the barnacle-encrusted bowels of sunken ships. Marine researchers theorize
that full recovery of gold bullion from Spanish galleons alone will more than cover
the costs of the bankers' contracts to lease all the towboats and barges necessary
for reclamation and to pay volunteering bank employees from local branch offices
and skilled mercenaries recently released from prisons, but for the next temporary
bailouts of Greece, Spain, Portugal, Ireland and other needy nations on the naughty
roster of fiscal irresponsibility to succeed, the scuba divers must bring upward from
the briny deep the magnificent fabled lost treasures of ancient Rome and Carthage
to break even on the frequently readjusted compound interest rates of all previous
bailouts. European leaders who are clinging tenuously to their incumbencies praise
the bold entrepreneurship of the financial institutions for salvaging the deteriorating
foundations of their hopelessly muddled economies and firmly promise that Interpol
will protect their valiant scuba divers and dutiful crews from the pesky interference of
nosy greedy American boaters who claim they are off course, scurrilously rude rogue
pirates in seventeenth century period costumes, litigious black-suited sharks seeking
claims to unreported taxable loot, unpingable Russian stealth submarines monitoring
clandestine underwater subterfuge, and monstrous sinister squids with memories of
old battle scores to settle who will pull down any body, any ship and any untethered
things they can clutch and crush with their coiled tentacles of cephalopod destruction.
"I am working on a new documentary titled Mutt To Mutton which is about the consumption of dog
meat rendered into beef substitutes for fast food burgers, frozen TV dinners and meals served at
senior citizen retirement homes. The production schedule was proceeding according to plan until
one morning out of the blue I was told an alarming leak by an anonymous White House insider to
whom I shall refer as 'Deep Growl'. As I heard this revelatory and astonishing utterance the hairs
on the back of my neck raised up, so I dropped everything and decided right then to do a supple-
mental segment focusing on the White House. After I took a part-time job as a lawn maintenance
worker, I managed to wire up Obama's Portuguese water dog Bo with a hidden microphone and
hook a tiny videocam module on his collar. It wasn't easy because I had to catch him while he was
outside pissing on pansies beyond the view of the Secret Service canine handler. I double-checked
my audio and video settings, gave Bo a warm puppy hug, whispered some last minute instructions
into his ear, then pushed him off toward the White House Rose Garden. Unfortunately for me and
you and Americans who want transparency, Bo's undercover assignment backfired when he wan-
dered into a staff meeting and caught high-ranking officials performing low-skanking acts! I was
watching the wireless streaming videocam as it was happening, and I was on the edge of my seat,
literally, because I was on my riding lawn mower. Bo whined and yelped loudly, spun around and
around strangely which caused those in the room to panic, so Secret Service agents searched him
thoroughly, and I do mean thoroughly. I lost all of that priceless video footage, and now Bo walks
with a swishy gait. You can draw your own conclusions, but multicolored skid marks on the Oval
Office rugs have convinced me there is a bigger, messier story to expose! This is mutt to muffin!"
"Why should I care what the unwashed masses say or think? My fans follow me to the ends of
the earth, or at least to concerts I give on coastlines and island resorts. Actually, if people are
willing to pay, I can perform on cruise ships, so technically I can give shows everywhere except
the polar regions unless you want to pay really big bucks to charter a private airplane for a high
atmospheric gig. Anyhow, who are you to question my worth? I'm an extremely creative singer
and musician. I have risen to my celebrity status because I am making a big difference globally
whether you believe it or not. You tone-deaf losers need your tin foil headphones readjusted so
you can listen clearly. Sheesh! I have great plans for the future, and my fans will support me as
I ascend beyond mossy Mount Madonna to the sparkling stars! By the way, Madonna is a slutty
leaky douche bag unworthy to buff my former manager's inbred cousin's bowling shoes! Ciao!"
An unexpected heat wave and subsequent breakdown of a house's air-conditioning system melted
the Smurfette birthday cake decoration which was discovered too late by a frantic mother who was
worried that her impressionable little girl Jennifer would be traumatized. When her husband viewed
the misshapened Smurf ornament, he ingeniously decided to rename it as a happy leaping dolphin.
Although Jennifer was perplexed at the peculiarly shaped birthday cake centerpiece which did not
resemble Smurfette in any way except maybe for a bonnet, her clever parents convinced her that
dolphins are distant biological ancestors of Smurfs and would appear in a future cartoon episode
starring Papa Smurf, Smurfette, Brainy Smurf as a volunteer Greenpeace worker and the singing
dolphin pods of Smurfy Surf. Kids are easily fooled when denied access to TV program schedules.
"No matter how much strong deodorizer and perfume I spray on myself
before traveling through airport terminals to board airplane flights, my
phenomenally intense feminine pheromones drive TSA workers wild with
uncontrollable lust, and I get patted down and thoroughly groped by the whole damned staff of horny employees including women! I have had to
replace six metal walkers I bent from fending off those creepy perverts!"
Countless complaints from airline passengers regarding abuse of juveniles by intimidating and
grossly perverted TSA workers inspired several industrious engineers to invent a new product
which they guarantee will protect and secure safety of children who are subject to searches in
airport terminals before boarding their scheduled flights. Cyberguardian is the creation of many
hours of hard labor and technical innovation. The cyberguardian aeropassenger model is able to
protect assigned passengers from groping TSA thugs by spraying caustic repellent in their eyes.
If the streaming warning shot is not heeded and the defenseless passenger becomes vulnerable
to imminent danger from mentally disturbed TSA workers, then the cyberguardian will instantly
vaporize the uniformed offenders with controlled multiradial high intensity close range focused
laser beams that disintegrate threatening biomass. The cyberguardian aeropassenger comes
with a lifetime warranty on its components and has wireless technology to download software
updates for its circuits in order to counteract newly altered and deviously devised TSA policies
that violate your basic human rights. If a passenger cannot afford to buy an extra ticket for the
cyberguardian to be seated adjacent during the flight, then the cyberguardian is easily stored
temporarily within the airplane cargo section and later released on arrival at the passenger's
destination. Optional accessories for factory installation include a palm screen to watch films
on DVD, a CD player for music, audio storyteller mode to pass those dull moments waiting in
long sluggish lines, a small abdominal toaster oven to heat delicious snacks and other useful
gadgets available for quick convenience. Buy a cyberguardian and never miss another flight!
Sometimes if a black widow becomes lonely, she will crawl
in search of a new mate. If you are a wealthy bachelor, be
very cautious when making amorous contacts on the world
wide web because you may never know who will attempt to
ensnare you before you finalize your prenuptial agreement.
Abandoned by absentminded Australian tourists during a blinding blizzard in northern Alaska, a tiny
female puppy was rescued by a mother seal after she heard the little one's whimpering cries carried
downwind. The cow seal had recently lost her own pup, and thus her maternal instincts compelled
her to bring the shivering short-haired canine back to her colony for nurturing where the disoriented
pooch found nourishment, protection and friendship. Over time an inexplicably quirky and biologi-
cally twisted bond of true love developed between the canine bitch and a compassionate bull seal.
Months later, little Mugsly was born, a cute little bundle of joy, half-dog and half-seal. Although the
other seal pups laughed at his peculiar appearance and called him names, Mugsly proved he could
beat them at their own seal pup games, especially ice puck hockey and water polo where his canine
instincts proved most effective in retrieval. Mugsly has exceptionally keen hearing and smell which
are extremely helpful in alerting the seal colony to approaching poachers and polar bears. The elder
seals greatly value and collectively support their unique adopted son, yet some younger seals in
the pod still call him nasty names behind his back while he is busy burying whale bones or digging
out frozen Arctic explorers. Mugsly realizes that his life holds daunting challenges which he must
courageously overcome if he expects to live to a happy old age instead of becoming part of a thick
luxurious winter fur coat offered for sale in a fashionable clothing department store in Anchorage.
The EuroTrain is ahead of schedule because the engineer dumped tons of monetary fuel into the
engine, but its early arrival caught the overworked and exhausted railway construction crew off
guard and unprepared before they had finished strengthening a long wobbly span over the Great
Derivative Gap. Because the EuroTrain's worn brakes were applied too late, the massive engine
plummeted down and crashed into scattered twisted fragments while the Greek car slipped over
the edge. The Spanish car which connects the Greek car with the other nations' cars is between
a crock and a fright place. The opulent German car at the opposite end of the train closest to the
tiny Liechtenstein caboose wants to unhook several of the cars to stop the others from plunging
down into the Chasm of Schmerz, but the cars stuck in the middle are hopelessly confused at the
communication provided by the disoriented conductor who is in danger of being thrown from the
train if they cannot reach their destination on time. Meanwhile, a scary rumor is circulating about
a terrorist bomb hidden inside one of the cars. Interpol is searching every body and every thing.
Although the alleged destructive device could be just a bulging can of spoiled Swedish meatballs
authorities are not risking any lost opportunities for frisking. During this barely tolerated incon-
venience, the French car wants to build a tall metal tower on top of their roof so they can get a
better vantage to take photographs, and the Italian car is constructing a compact version of a
Vatican confessional booth inside their luggage compartment so passengers can be given their
last rites. The Dutch car has a leaking lavatory, and the Swiss car's air-conditioning system mal-
functioned which resulted in a complete meltdown of their chocolate. Curiously enough, passen-
gers from Liechtenstein are boarding black helicopters to be flown to Disneyland to ride roller
coasters, eat ice cream until their brains go numb and play gay hopscotch with Mickey Mouse.
dolphins are distant biological ancestors of Smurfs and would appear in a future cartoon episode starring Papa Smurf, Smurfette, Brainy Smurf as a volunteer Greenpeace worker and the singing dolphin pods of Smurfy Surf.
That sounds like a chillin' good time!
...hey, if ya choke a smurf what color does it turn?
"The Burger King bacon ice cream sundae sounds absolutely scrumptious!
I plan to take my wife and our three little piglets to our favorite franchise
and pig out in style! It's my way of showing President Obama that I really
appreciate him allowing us to go whole hog while he restrains First Lady
Michelle from sending us to government fitness centers and diet clinics!
If you live in Atlanta, come join us dressed as swine and have a soo-weet
time! I will be giving an entertaining comedy performance featuring my
famous wiggling piggy finger puppets Huggy, Tubby, Flubbit and Orlando
as they jest and joust with creepy old Burger King! We'll have it our way!"
While most children at some time in their most formative years like to play doctor
as a fun learning experience with their peers, Morango the voodoo priest enjoyed
playing mortician as a boy. With a sturdy shovel, sharp knife and thick burlap bag
little Morango kept himself happily occupied in cemeteries where inept doctors had
been unable to cover up their grave errors discreetly removed from hospital clinics.
Morango taught himself human anatomy and became very proficient in dissecting
cadavers, but one moonlit night his life was changed forever when a young girl he
had exhumed suddenly opened her eyes and began to claw frantically into the air,
for she had become zombified! At that moment Morango realized he had a higher
calling to be a master voodoo priest. After getting over his initial shock, Morango
immediately comprehended the benefits of administering aid to the zombie, and
within several weeks of patient training she had become his trustworthy nursing
assistant and confidant. Results of groundbreaking experiments which Morango
continued until he perfected his craft are buried in the past awaiting discovery by
future generations of entrepreneurial children who have the necessary curiosity,
courage and cleansed surgical tools to explore the ancient arcane art of voodoo.
Charles Hoarse Whisper imagined his Internet advertisement for swinging sex-starved zombies
would be laughed at as a joke by his buddies online, but his office workload increased with some
new projects that needed to be completed by early evening so he soon forgot about it. Later that
night at home while feeding his cat, he heard numerous persistent knocks upon his door. Charles
queried the identities of the visitors, but received no response, so he cautiously opened his door
and was shocked to see a large horde of zombies standing outside his yard and staring intently at
him in his pink bathrobe and bunny slippers. When Charles called out the names of his friends, he
was greeted with growls and grunts. Just then the left arm of one of the zombies fell off onto the
ground, and at that instant Charles realized this was not humorously cute like snakes and snails
and puppy dog tails, but acute as in skulls and nails and disemboweled entrails. Charles thought
about tossing his cat out to create a diversion when he suddenly remembered it was just a fluffy
plush toy. Charles felt a sickening compulsion to let them in for hot pretzels and cold beer yet his
fear of the unknown made him tremble like a small child lost in a circus freak show surrounded by
badly dressed adults with overpowering body odor and severe behavioral issues. Charles felt odd
icy chills running down his spine and sharp tingles running up his neck as his vision began to blur.
Two identical twin zombies walked to the front of the group and giggled fiendishly. They clapped
their hands in the air and began disco dancing as they waved colorful sparklers. Then on cue the
remaining zombies took off their hideous face masks and laughed out loud to show they had been
joking with Charles all along and were indeed in cahoots with his Internet buddies to pull off this
great elaborate prank, but their revelatory unveiling was in vain, for Charles had suffered a fatal
seizure from a brain aneurysm and dropped dead on his doorstep next to his gargoyle doorstop.
"I like turtles. I like zombies, too. Yesterday I buried a dead turtle under a tree in
the park, and I waited a while to see if it would turn into a zombie turtle and dig
itself out and chase after beetles and spiders, but nothing happened and I got
bored and hungry so I went home and ate a bag of pretzels and watched The Red
Zombies From Mars and Godzilla Fights The Giant Mutant Zombies From Planet Z
on TV. This morning I walked back to the park and saw a big ugly zombie man
sitting on the ground under the tree, and he was eating my dead turtle. I don't
know if my turtle dug itself out as a zombie turtle or if the zombie man dug it out
cause it was dead. I'm kind of confused cause I thought zombies ate living things
so maybe my turtle was a zombie turtle for a little bit before he got bit by the
zombie man. I feel cheated cause now I gotta find another dead turtle to bury."
Last edited by Bumblepuff; 06-15-2012 at 07:42 PM.
Reason: "Do you know where to find a dead turtle? Not one that's been run over and squooshed flat. Lemme know, okay?"
"Prepare my winged warriors for armed assault on the vulnerable nonsensibilities
of complacently snoozing sheeple! The die-hard uberdoomers are stocked to the
brimming tops of their tin foil bunkers, and it is time to release my menacing mon-
keys of malicious mayhem upon the gluttonous grasshoppers in their mortgaged
suburban bungalows and overpriced penthouse apartments! Festering European
economies are ready to burst offensive offal over the unwashed masses, making
them even more in need of ethnic cleansing followed by underwater deep rinsing
and deeper dunking! I have peered into my magic crystal snow globe for many
moons to see what must be done to shake out coins and cash from the rich and
to split open bloated bellies of greedy European bankers, eviscerating their plump
pomp under curiously crass circumstances! Gather the spun spiderwicker baskets
of spurious mischief and fill them full, for we must widely and wildly disperse this
diabolical doom over rebellious rabble to incite raucous riots and crazy crimes!
I have prepared putrid pungent potions of disastrous doom containing essences
of insidious diseases, infectious wheezes and mysterious inferior rancid cheeses,
for I want my horribly hairy henchmonkeys to hurl my poisonous vials into urban
reservoirs used for all drinking water and douches! We must use stealth to steal
their health! My potions are more potent than the strongest toxin-laced Kool-Aid
and will bewitch the greatest mouthy doubters and sour gouty pouters! I will get
my revenge on those goofy gaudy goody two-shoes for mocking me with puffed
protruding tongues wagging naively that apocalyptic doom will never happen in
their lifetimes, for surely it will happen sooner than those pretentious pollyannas
imagine! Oh, and don't forget to bring lots of water balloons to drop on my stupid
sister to liquidate her snarky snobbery!" ____________________ "Ooky-dook!"
"Recent news reports of impending financial ruin, economic collapse and all-out nuclear world war
are totally false according to my confidential anonymous source! There is no need to panic! Please
do not run around with your hair on fire! Such behavior will lead to loss of self-esteem, extensive
scalp surgery, expensive hair transplants, and most important of all, a risk of igniting combustible
gases which are leaking from several fuel tanks behind you! I can assure you that there will be no
traumatic calamities anywhere today, tomorrow or next week. Please do not make runs on your
banks! It is completely unnecessary and foolish! The bankers assure me that they are insured so I
assure you to be sure of yourself and take deep relaxing breaths until your irrational compulsions
subside. If for some other niggling reasons you feel compelled to withdraw your money from your
bank accounts, then please transfer them to me for safekeeping. I offer competitive interest rates
and your choice of free kitchen appliances. There is no need to stockpile food and water because
there will be no shortages. There are plenty of petroleum products to fuel the transportation net-
work to bring you important stuff. To those in front who are frantically building a bunker I must
advise you to cease shoveling. Go dig elsewhere because you will not enjoy encountering large
underground nests of giant camel spiders within inches of your toes. To the tattooed teenagers
wearing baseball caps backwards and silly sagging shorts I urgently beg you to stop kicking and
pounding the Spanish clowns, French mimes and Greek jugglers! They are here to entertain the
children, not you troublemakers who feel justified in venting your frustrations on innocent fools.
Please, please do not set the troupe of Italian puppeteers on fire as this will increase probability
of explosions from the leaking fuel tanks if they run haphazardly in search of water to extinguish
their burning puppets and collide with the people whose hair is still on fire! To you others present,
please remain calm and visit the colorful canopied concession stand near the missile launchers for
free refreshing Kool-Aid. If you think it tastes bitter, then add more sugar. To those of you who are
diabetic, try our special blend of pomegranate, mango and kiwi Kool-Aid. It has a tutti-frutti kick!"
"This thread is drifting more aimlessly than an abandoned intergalactic barge
hauling radioactive sewage without a set course, yet being inevitably pulled
toward a denser gravitational mass of destruction! I just passed one of those
antiquated clunkers heading slowly in the direction of a large black hole, but
there is no need for you to be worried, unless you happen to be situated near
the vortex of its opposite end! You look really bored on this board. Your time
is better spent picking lint out of your belly button, unless of course you are
an autonomous droid or cyborg in which case you could lube all your parts!"
"2012 is turning into an ugly year. The old lady who rescued me from the pet shelter
five months ago used to spoil me with big cans of gourmet cat food. Now times are
so tough she keeps the cans for herself to eat for supper and feeds me her leftover
breakfast oatmeal. Blech. I have to supplement my protein requirement by catching
scrawny alley mice and clawing through neighbors' stinking trash bags. I'm forced to
wear this thick rind helmet to protect my head from big sticks and stones thrown by
gang members while I'm out scavenging. The economy is so bad that the gang can't
afford bullets to shoot me for target practice, so they plan to break into a gun store
for ammunition. But what really has me worried is that last night I heard the old lady
whispering on her phone to the owner of a local Chinese restaurant, and I'm afraid
I will end up on the dinner menu as mew goo lo mein or kung pao kitty! Me-yow!"
New scuba recruit Danny Dunderhead beamed with pride after having finally
learned how to load his speargun properly and how to pull its trigger as he is
eager to continue in the next stage of his aquatic training to master precision
aiming just as soon as his instructor receives sufficient medical treatment for
the injuries to his posterior so he can stand up straight to teach the class, but
it is unlikely Danny will be allowed anywhere near the ship's whaling harpoon.
"Don't you just hate it when you join an Internet message board with the best of
intentions yet get maliciously slammed by mentally fuzzy moonbats with control
freak issues, nasty harpies, meddling moderators on power trips, conceited drama
queens, pretentious know-it-alls, perverted psychotic weirdos, pseudointellectuals
who couldn't argue their way out of an open elementary school dictionary and dippy
senior citizens who love using baby talk? Those are just a few examples because on
the Internet nobody knows you're doggone dumb until you post something stupid!
Internet discussion forums are supposed to be for edifying discussions and dissemi-
nation of knowledge, but more often than not proliferation of forums and subforms
has devolved into cliques of goofy chicks and fruity pricks. That was my surprised
discovery after I signed up to join a message board about Ming Dynasty ceramics.
Whenever I posted my query about a particular piece of pottery, the thread would
quickly unravel into unrelated issues about politics, pumpkin pies, newborn puppies,
purple pincushions and other bizarre problems including tantric sexual dysfunction. Sheesh oh sharleenah! I learned later that this nonsense is called 'thread drift',
but I see it more accurately termed as meandering merde tied in with short-term
memory loss since these lunatics have no true interest in the topic and just want
to spout poppycock from their wobbly tacky soapboxes. Lots of members put up
blustery tough guy fronts to hide their deficiencies. If these online losers behave
even remotely like their Internet personae in the corporate meatworld, then they
should be locked up! Banning these goofballs only inspires them to rejoin under
different usernames but with the same deranged quirks. And what about members
who post their usernames after every single post they submit? Do they think we
don't have a clue who wrote their words even though all usernames by default are
set in the posted thread? Or do they just love to see their usernames? Maybe they
need to type them in just verify their existence. Whatever. Do you ever wonder
about forum members in the United States who cannot write coherent sentences or
correctly spell simple words even though they claim to have college degrees? If their
only learned language is English, then either they're just plain lazy or positive proof
that the dumbing down of America is metastasizing out of control into a full-blown
Alzheimerstan! Some take offense when their gross errors are pointed out, and they
almost always claim they are rushed and very busy, yet the contents of their posts
are usually empty filler and excessive use of Internet memes. Sometimes I want to
throw my coffee cup at my monitor and smash their avatars to smithereens, but
then I get a hold of myself and a fifth of brandy and have a good time elsewhere
with my teenage mistress. Nobody is forcing me to spend my waking life on the
Internet, but I just thought you'd like to know you are not the only sane person
surrounded by Internutcases. I'll rant some more after I've emptied my bottle."
"Several of you forum members have such grotesquely skewed arachnophobic
psychoses that I'm amazed you spend countless hours on the world wide web!
For you others who boast that you're not afraid of us little spiders, I'd like to
show you something. Lean in really close to your computer screen so the tip
of your nose touches it because my fangs won't reach where you're seated!"
"Thy fighting years are finished, black knight. Sir Dubious, fetch my
royal surgeon before this wretched stump of a man bleeds to death!"
"Bleeds to death? Hah! I am a fast healer! My minor scratches are
already scabbing over with marvelous vigor! I swell with health!"
"I believe thee not, for in truth, it is far too late to preserve thy life.
Sir Quivering, drag the jester hiding behind thy horse and bring him
hither. I shall use my sharp sword to cut out my jester's funny bone
and graft it into his truncated torso for immediate comedic relief!"
"Art thou accusing me of lame humor? Bugger off, King Dung Beetle!"
I feel so frackinflooblezoomed and perplexiscrambled sometimes;
sometimes I want to inject my frontal lobes with radioactive superglue and die;
the secret insider Internet sources are so vacuously vague and cryptically creepy;
their redacted posts are invisible leaky blots that stain my Rorschach nightmares.
I feel so worminfesteroidal and doomringdingingly duped;
nobody understands my self-administered facepalm pain;
I want to stash moonshine in my hovercraft and race through hurricane rain;
the Kool-Aid drinkers leer at me as they drool on their rinky-dink keyboards.
Sometimes I want my mental construct to brick me up with cannibals and die
underneath the scatterblistery eye bleached chemtrail streaked lightning sky.
"The Department of Homeland Security has been alerted to a new terrorist threat
involving American drivers who haul trunk monkeys without valid simian licenses.
I've worked diligently to ensure that American trunk monkeys are selectively bred
and trained by certified personnel to perform duties pursuant to drivers' adherence
to product warranties in total compliance with lawyers representing animal rights
activists. Unsurprisingly, devious miscreants and pseudopatriots who wrap them-
selves in their moldy musty Constitutional coats of self-righteousness are guilty of
using trunk monkeys obtained illegally from Chinese smugglers, thereby bypassing
the Department of Monkey Business. Besides this failure of not paying license fees
and state taxes, these sneaky criminals are acting irresponsibly because gangs of
trunk monkeys scampering out of control are a menace to our national security and
contribute to bizarre incidents of weird road rage on state highways and byways.
The Department of Homeland Security has set up thousands of surveillance cam-
eras to deal with inebriated gun-toting drivers who insist upon their rights to keep
trunk monkeys no matter how agitated and addled they behave. I'm talking about
both humans and simians. Trunk monkeys unleashed are worse than a barrel full
of Egyptian camel spiders crawling over your naked body yet not as titillating. The
Department of Homeland Security will not tolerate trunk monkeys taking control
of uninsured vehicles and driving them recklessly like youthful drag racers or dan-
gerously sluggish senile slowpokes generating hazards and constipated gridlock.
DHS workers will capture and quarantine illegal trunk monkeys to administer a
basic banana test probe. If they pass this examination without due process of
appeal, then they will take the coconut test which consists of three empty coco-
nut shells moved around on a table to see if they can correctly point to the one
coconut shell which is covering a peanut. DHS officials are training TSA workers
to do pat-downs and body cavity searches of illegal trunk monkeys, but we are
waiting for Congress to approve additional funds for inoculations against rabies
in case detained simians go apeshit. If you want to see undeniable evidence of
dangerous trunk monkey behavior, then watch the videos posted on YouTube.
If you have small children, then I advise strong parental discretion because we
don't want little kids clambering around inside trunks of vehicles acting like mis-
chievous trunk monkeys where they might get hurt or trapped. In closing, if you
are an abused trunk monkey and desire emergency assistance or professional
counseling, please find a driver's unattended mobile phone and dial 1-800-PRY-
OPEN. Simian operators are standing by. And here's my personal promise to you
shackled trunk monkeys who yearn to taste American liberty: 'Ook-ooka-bookee-
dooka-ack-dack!' which means 'Hang in there, little buddies! Don't go bananas!'"
"Howdy, folks! We ain't Nigerians tryin' to scam you out of your bank accounts with
gushy soundin' sob stories. Nope. We're just good old American rednecks who need
your help. Honest injun. You see, our moonshine still broke down and we need a few
new parts. If you can send some cash to our address, we'd be mighty thankful. For
anybody who helps us out of our dry spell, we promise you'll get a jug of the finest
moonshine you've ever tasted! It's guaranteed to make you lie down and scream!
We ain't got no Interweb account so our little cousin Bobber made this page for us.
Our official mailin' address is Kickass Goodness, Route 3, Box 5, Mudflap, Georgia.
We forgot our zip code, but our old postman can deliver it if you stick on a stamp.
You gotta use a real stamp. Drawin' one on won't work. We know cause we tried it.
For folks livin' near Mudflap, we invite you to come visit us and see our moonshine
still for yourself just so you know our word is as good as our product. In case you
get lost on the back roads, look for our mailbox with ten bullet holes. Nevermind
them scammin' darkies with silly fairy tale stories. They'll rip you off! But we won't
cause we want you to be repeat customers! Well, time's a wastin', the skeeters are
havin' a feedin' frenzy, and we gotta slop the hogs before they eat our baby chicks!"
"I knew a dwarf clown named Zen, a weird dude who acted spaced out whenever
he entered a state of deep meditation after guzzling cheap booze. He claimed he
was close to achieving full enlightenment and complete transformation of his inner
being. One evening Zen entered a higher level and never returned. The path he fol-
lowed was up short steps into the open cage door of a circus lion's wagon. I don't
know if Zen ever touched nirvana, but it sure looked like that lion touched nerves
of Zen's inner being! I covered Zen's funeral expenses by auctioning his whoopee
cushions, rubber chickens and toys on eBay to the highest kidders. Har-dee-har."
"I recall toilets exploding at Woodstock. It happened because people ate the
brown beans. It was really hot and people brought along little portable fans
to the concert. Well, the explosions shook up everyone near the toilets, but
others didn't notice because the music was so loud. I think this is the place
where they coined the phrase: 'the shit hits the fan', but I'm not sure since I
woke up in a cow pasture the next morning with tiny pink flowers painted on
my nude body and police officers standing over me laughing their asses off!"
In a sight not seen since the ancient days of Herodotus, citizens in Greek cities
line up to get boxes of fruits and vegetables in order to make cute cornucopian
caps which they will wear while performing pagan dances to the Hellenic deities
to beg for prosperity as it was during the golden age of Pericles. Although other
European nations think the Greeks have gone bonkers, the newly elected Greek
government is confident that the sight of millions of Greeks dancing with plucked
foods on their heads will cause the gods on Mount Olympus to laugh so hard that
tears from their eyes will drop down from above and bring perpetual abundance to
humbled servants. Greek government leaders are taking this course because they
are desperate, and if their odd fruity performance has no effect upon Zeus and his
council, then young virgins will be selected to be offered up as sacrifices in ancient
restored temples with the hope that Americans will have pity and give the Greeks
billions of dollars in aid before the first drop of blood is spilled. Meanwhile, descen-
dants from the ancient city of Troy have announced they are preparing a specially
constructed large wooden gift which they will leave outside the gates of Athens.
Greek political leaders have rejected the offer and said the Spaniards can have it,
but the Spaniards subsequently declined it and said it should be given to the Irish
who need all the luck they can get after leprechauns went on indefinite extended
holiday to Wales when the Irish government tried to confiscate their pots of gold.
"I know many Americans suffer anxiety attacks and other physiological disorders
from arachnophobia, and unfortunately far too many innocent victims get bitten
when they least expect it, so I want to tell you that White House administration
officials are taking appropriate measures to protect you when you must venture
out into your wilting gardens and untamed weedy lawns to install your campaign
signs for our re-election in November. If you see a spider, do not panic, unless it
has you in a death grip. Otherwise, please take a deep breath, then slowly back
away and enter your home. If your arachnophobia causes you mental or physical
illness, please take your meds or drink lots of icy cold beer which is a great stress
reliever, believe you me! If you find a large nest of spiders, do not take matters
into your own hands with a spray can to disperse pesticide because it may have
a faulty nozzle and you could end up spun in a web like cotton candy! Leave the
big jobs to the professional guys with heavy duty chemicals and flamethrowers.
I strongly urge you to make sure your life insurance is up-to-date. Together, we
can bravely face these pesky poisonous nasty beasties. However, if you happen
to encounter a spider with this many legs, do not hesitate to panic and call 911 to
request SWAT teams to come to your premises! Depending upon logistics we may
send in helicopters and air missile attacks. In the meantime, flee to your nearest
police station! The Department of Homeland Security has been searching for some
mutant zombie spiders that have escaped from a secret underground laboratory!
These mutant spiders are illegal alien arachnids and must be stopped before they
take over the world! They grow very fast every time they consume living tissues.
The White House administration will take extreme measures, including the nuclear
option, to prevent these hideous creatures from wreaking destruction which would
interfere with the re-election of President Obama and myself. Can you imagine how
awful it would be if our Democratic supporters were all stuck in webs and unable to
travel to their voting precincts? Perish the thought! Also, if you cherish your pets,
keep them safe because these mutant spiders love to feast upon fresh pet food!
I meant to tell you this vital information earlier, but I was delayed by the urgent
request of President Obama because I had to serve as his substitute caddy after
his golf boy called in sick. Remember this motto to keep you aware: If a spider's
got eight legs, then that's okay, but if you see ten legs, then run like hell away!"
"For months the forum moderators had warned me not to feed the trolls on
their Internet message board because I would only stir up trouble and make
things worse. Well, I thought I was sufficiently witty to give one quick reply
to the biggest troll on the forum. Within seconds after postin' I suddenly got
ripped by a sharp retort that has left me permanently scarred for life! Damn,
what the hell was I thinkin'? I learned my lesson, folks. Don't feed the trolls!"
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