Mudpiglet's Brandy Nook

Don't mind me, I'm just an asshole on my bluetooth

2006-12-03T14:00:00.000-08:00

Really funny article about teenagers wearing bluetooth headsets and how annoying it is

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Shut Your Fat Fucking Mouth, Bono

2006-11-07T23:42:00.000-08:00

Bono gets told where to stick his opinions.

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The Worst Movies of 2006

2006-10-31T09:09:00.000-08:00

A great collection of the worst movies to offend our senses this year, with brief scathing reviews.

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Stop Trying to Recruit Me, Military

2006-10-28T15:27:00.000-07:00

Why does the military pretend that all they do is play with cool toys all day?

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The Modern Adventurer

2006-10-26T00:14:00.000-07:00

An ignorant adventurer and explorer sets out to "discover" Hawaii in the year 2006 and encounters resistance from "hostile natives".

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The Legend of Topwaya

2006-10-24T16:42:00.000-07:00

Guilty White man pretends to be an Indian, plays magical flute with wolves, sells cd.

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Society Hits a New Low, Will Continue it's Disgraceful Decline

2006-10-17T22:43:00.000-07:00

Rap songs Chicken Noodle Soup and Chain Hang Low mark a new level of ignorance and societal decay

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In Defense Of Los Angeles

2006-10-16T14:07:00.000-07:00

Stop bitching about Los Angeles and go home you goddamn New Yorkers.

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How Many Pills Will I Take Today? - By Courtney Love

2006-10-12T08:14:00.000-07:00

Courtney Love ponders the only question that she really cares about.

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Choosing A Servant

2006-10-11T09:06:00.000-07:00

A recovered Victorian document penned by a British Navy Officer in 1879 describes the proper way to beat and rape domestic servants. Appalling!

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Readings From My 4th Grade Journal

2006-10-10T09:36:00.000-07:00

Readings from my 4th grade journal. Filled with jokes about nudists and the drug addled homeless. Clearly, I grew up too quickly.

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Making Fun of Aaron Carter

2006-10-05T14:05:00.000-07:00

A great article that makes fun of Aaron Carter.

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Bringing Back Retarded

2006-10-02T10:21:00.000-07:00

If Justin Timberlake is bringing back sexy, then what are the other members of N'Sync reviving?

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Dear God, I think You Meant that Stingray For A Different Steve (Steve-O)

2006-09-27T10:14:00.000-07:00

A funny open letter to god about how god probably meant to kill Steve-O from Jackass instead of Irwin.

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Ridiculous Rap Trends Part Deux: Gettin' Hyphy

2006-09-25T17:16:00.000-07:00

Really funny article about stupid rap trends. Contains an explanation on how stupid rap trends come about.

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Conservative Watchdog Groups Are For Pussies

2006-09-23T01:47:00.000-07:00

A funny article about what a bunch of pussies conservative watchdog organizations are.

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Childhood Obesity: Let Them Be Fat

2006-09-22T00:23:00.000-07:00

A funny article in favor of childhood obesity.

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Big, Dumb World

2006-09-21T13:29:00.000-07:00

Chinese drunkard fights a panda and loses, man with "grand theft auto" tattooed on his back keeps getting caught stealing cars.

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The Apathist Manifesto

2006-09-20T14:57:00.000-07:00

A satirical guide to being as fat, lazy, and unproductive as you possibly can.

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Useless Gadgets For Useless People

2006-09-17T16:34:00.000-07:00

Funny article about completely useless gadgets

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Fuck CGI, Bring Back Puppets!

2006-09-16T14:44:00.000-07:00

A funny article about how CGI has ruined movies and we need to bring back the big elaborate puppets of yesteryear.

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Lamest Advertising Mascots

2006-09-15T13:17:00.000-07:00

A chronicle of really stupid and ineffective advertising mascots, funny.

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Animal Wars: Man vs Beast

2006-09-13T23:28:00.000-07:00

Pigeons dive bomb crowd, man declares a "cat jihad"

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Jesse Camp Found Living as a Homeless Man

2006-09-10T16:24:00.000-07:00

Jesse Camp, former MTV Vj, is found homeless and living in an alleyway with a dalmation in New York.

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WeLcOmE tO mY 420 StOnEr PaGe

2006-09-07T16:23:00.000-07:00

A funny parody of embarssing stoner humor

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Ask an Antisocial Loner

2006-09-06T01:24:00.000-07:00

Parody advice column from humorist Mudpiglet

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Dear John Basedow: Please Stop Creeping Me Out

2006-09-05T15:55:00.000-07:00

John Basedow: Man, Myth, Creep? Mudpiglet.com explores the phenomenon known as BASEDOW

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An Hour in Target (or, Why I Hate Poor People)

2006-09-04T12:06:00.000-07:00

A humorous article about a hellish time in the store Target surrounded by ignorant, fat, and poor people.

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RIP Steve Irwin, Fuck You Stingrays

2006-09-04T03:26:00.000-07:00

Rest in Crocodile Hunter, we miss you.

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Magicians, Liars, Frauds, and David Copperfield

2006-09-03T04:51:00.000-07:00

Defaming magicians, particularly Criss Angel. All hail David Copperfield!

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The Real Life Peter Pan

2006-09-01T02:46:00.000-07:00

A 52 year old man insists he is Peter Pan and lives his every day life in costume. He's looking for "his Tinkerbell", could it be you?

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Larry the Cable Lie

2006-08-30T04:24:00.000-07:00

Larry the Cable guy is actually a college educated actor named Dan White, the whole story with witty commentary plus secret videos of Larry before he was Larry

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Can we just convict John Karr anyways, guys?

2006-08-29T03:05:00.000-07:00

Humor article in favor for convicting John Karr of JonBenet's murder regardless of evidence

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Album Covers From Hell

2006-08-26T03:11:00.000-07:00

A collection of hilariously bad album covers with witty commentary

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Snakes on a Plane Review

2006-08-25T02:34:00.000-07:00

A funny review of "Snakes on a Plane" from Mudpiglet.com

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Tom Cruise: The Bizarre Truth

2006-08-23T10:37:00.000-07:00

A humorous article that satirically reports the truth about Tom Cruise

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Rap Trends: Yesterday, Today, And Tomorrow

2006-08-22T00:04:00.000-07:00

Mudpiglet humorously predicts rap fashion

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Text Message Sex: Are you That Lonely?

2006-08-20T04:04:00.000-07:00

Mudpiglet humorously explores the issue

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Judicious Masturbation

2006-08-19T02:25:00.000-07:00

Mudpiglet humorous article on judge masturbating in court

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How To Spot a Sexual Deviant

2006-08-18T02:08:00.000-07:00

Why can't society spot sexual deviants like John Karr and Lance Bass anymore?

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Bad Tattoos 2: Evil Returns

2006-08-16T18:08:00.000-07:00

Mudpiglet makes fun of bad tattoos

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Thanks A lot For Myspace, Tom, You Ass

2006-08-15T02:49:00.000-07:00

A funny article about how myspace is ruining the world

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The Lamest Band of All Time: Contenders to the Throne

2006-08-14T15:33:00.000-07:00

The worst bands compete to beat the titleholder, Enuff Z'Nuff

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When Tattoos Go Wrong

2006-08-13T21:00:00.000-07:00

A summary of some awful tattoos

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Boo Hoo, Lebanon, Cry Me a River

2006-08-12T03:34:00.000-07:00

Really funny story about why Lebanon has gotten what's coming to it!

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Cop Rock

2006-08-11T01:20:00.000-07:00

It's a gritty, hard hitting cop drama. And it's also...a musical?

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Furries: The Downfall of Civilization

2006-08-09T18:31:00.000-07:00

An article on the people that desire sex with cartoons and plush toys and why they are a sign of the decline of civilization.

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The Oldest Living Animals on Earth

2006-08-09T05:29:00.000-07:00

A humorous but factual article about the oldest living animals in the world today. Vey funny.

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Jared Leto is a Pretentious Loser

2006-08-05T04:43:00.000-07:00

Ruthless thrashing of Jared Leto and his attempt at making music with his crappy band.

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Mel Gibson: Drunken Crusader

2006-07-31T01:24:00.000-07:00

Mel Gibsons night in the drunk tank eerily echoes Christ's final days

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Footwurking: The Black Man's Riverdance

2006-07-26T00:02:00.000-07:00

The world of "black" dance has now come full circle, and urban youths are riverdancing. They even have "crews" for it. I shit you not.

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Moved to MUDPIGLET.COM

2006-07-25T03:42:00.000-07:00

Mudpiglet's Brandy Nook has moved to WWW.MUDPIGLET.COM

I will no longer be posting any updates here, only on the new site.

Thanks,

Mudpiglet

Dog Eaters And Illiteracy Advocates

2006-07-25T01:32:00.000-07:00

An old chinese principal tries to eat a dog and burns down his school. People protest to make spelling easier...because they are idiots

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Gays Are Straightbashing

2006-07-24T02:43:00.000-07:00

Hilarious articles about some gays discriminating against straight people in a homosexual resort town.

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Mudpiglet's Banned Article

2006-07-23T22:36:00.000-07:00

Mudpiglet's Banned Article

I wrote this piece for another site as part of a weekly column that I do. It was briefly posted but soon taken down due to concerns over it's potentially offensive material. So, naturally, I decided to put it up here, because I could care less who gets offended. I ask you to calm the hell down and realize that it's just a joke. If you are offended by this, you need to know that you are being a pussy. I understand why the other site took it down, they have things to worry about. I do not. I don't even think it's that bad, really. Anyways, without further ado, here it is:

Provincetown, Massachusetts: Get Gay or Get Out

Provincetown, Massachusetts has long been a Mecca for gay tourists. Though normally the town is only home to 3,341 residents, during the summer the population swells to 60,000 people, almost all of those being gay tourists. Because gay marriage is legal in Provincetown, homosexuality is normally welcomed and embraced (and kissed on the mouth in public). Many local residents, however, are not so happy about the extreme influx of gyrating, sweaty gays into their community every time the sun comes out, and have set out to stop it. Their first measure of action is, you guessed it, banning gay marriage. The result of this tempestuous mixture? Hilarity.

Much of the trouble started when a gay activist group started a website - www.knowthyneighbor.org - that published the names of all the people that had signed the gay marriage ban petition. Many gays had finally found a better use for their assless chaps and cowboy hats: becoming vigilantes in the war on heterosexuality. Reports started coming in of straight couples being assaulted by wild bands of homosexuals who would chase them down the streets calling them "breeders" and "baby-makers!".

I'm not sure if I would exactly be offended by that. I think, for one, if you are going to start a riot against a heterosexuals, you need to have better insults ready for them than "baby maker" or "breeder". I mean, it's a natural instinct to breed. That would be like me teasing somebody in a cafe for being a "drinker" or a "thirster", it's just lame.

Police did not label the abuse as a hatecrime, though, and neither would I with only 15 policemen and a 60,000 catty gays ready to raise hell. Many gays even took offense to the very notion that they were being discriminatory after they had suffered so many years of abuse. "There are still a lot of straight people who treat gays badly," said Steve Bowersock, 35, before snorting another bump of cocaine off of a young Thai boy's sinewy buttock, "it's a total double standard".

He says that he doesn't really discriminate against straight people, but it does give him a boner to make them uncomfortable. "If I see someone nervous like a big butch guy, and you can just tell he's a redneck, I'll grab my partner and I'll kiss him. It's not being mean, but 'hello you're in our town'," said Steve as he suggestively played with his nipple ring. "I just like to see the tough boys squirm". Underneath his sweaty, heaving body while listening to Duran Duran, no doubt.

So in the short term, the town has decided to do essentially nothing. Town Manager Keith Bergman alluded to having some sort of community hearing on the subject, but it will most likely not happen for a while due to the Judy Garland festival scheduled for next week followed by a John Waters film marathon on Showtime. Until then, gays and straights will just have to agree to disagree about where their precious semen belongs.

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See, now that's not so bad is it?

-Mudpiglet

Strange News Part 1

2006-07-23T05:26:00.000-07:00

Some strange things are afoot in the world lately. Let me tell you a little bit about them.

An old Chinese School Headmaster recently had a profoundly stupid idea. He was looking for some quick cash and for one reason or the other (probably opium) he decided that the best way to make money would be to secretly sell off all of the trees on his school's property.

Somehow, he found a buyer for the trees and managed to have about half of them secretly uprooted and taken away. Soon, teachers began to notice. Worried about his position, the headmaster approached the teachers and told them that he would cook them a dog feast if they shut their mouths. They agreed.

First of all, this is the be all and end all of the "oh stop it they don't eat dogs" excuse. Yes, they do eat dogs in China, but only once in a while on special occasions. Like when they are being bribed to keep their mouth shut about a tree theft.

Anyways, so the Headmaster has his friend go into the streets to find some dogs. The man goes out and kidnaps some nice big dogs to eat and brings them to the school after dark. With all of the teachers there, the Headmaster murders the two noble beasts and begins baking them in the oven.

The problem is, the dogs soon burst into an uncontrollable inferno and burn down the entire school. Ouch. Not only was this guy caught stealing trees, but he is now a known dog eater and responsible for the destruction of his own school (and job). Can a plan go any more awry? No, it can't.

In more depressing news, there is a group of people (retards) who are pushing for simpler spelling in the English language. They blame high rates of illiteracy in the United States on spelling being too hard to learn. I blame it on lazy, stupid, bastards like them. If you cannot learn how to read and write, you are a goddamn idiot. Seriously. There is no excuse. I learned, and I am a very, very lazy man.

They have been showing up in increasing numbers protesting outside of spelling bees dressed as, guess what? .... Bees. This should be a tip off as to how clever these people are, as well as how seriously they should be taken. They are coming to spelling bees in bee suits demanding to be heard, their message being: spelling is too hard.

Something tells me that they aren't going to find any sympathizers anywhere near a spelling bee, where everyone around them is completely UN-retarded. What they are really accomplishing here is simply standing around, embarassing their poor kids, holding signs that essentially say "I'm il-it-er-et, kan u pleese chanje tha wurld four me?"

That is not even an exaggeration. That is exactly the kind of phoenetic spelling they are pushing for. Their argument is that Spanish and German are both phoeneticly spelled languages, and their children learn to read in weeks as opposed to the months or years it takes an English speaking child.

That's all well and good for Spaniards and Germans, but there are some big differences between them and us. First of all, English is a bastard child of Latin, German, and a little bit of Greek. Most of our words have their roots, that is, suffixes and prefixes etc, in one of these languages. To be able to properly understand a word, it needs to have its root intact.

This might not apply to ignorant people like the man I pay lick the scum off of my riding boots or the poor people I allow to graze on my lawn before I hunt them for sport, but to anyone with an education, this should be obvious. Most English words have very clear meaning spelled out in Latin or Greek or German underneath them, and to understand those things is to understand any word, even if you haven't seen it before.

Secondly, our language is much, much larger than German or Spanish. I read once that the German language, harsh as it is, only has about 190,000 words in it. Spanish has about 400,000. English, on the other hand, has been estimated to have 988,968 words it, give or take a few here and there. What does this mean?

1. We have more to learn

2. We need more complex spelling to handle 1 million words and 40 different sounds to make them with

3. Shut up you ignorant, illiterate fucking idiots. Shut up and get back to licking the scum from my boot because that is what I pay you for.

Where is my hunting rifle? I wish to go and find me some poor people to shoot...

Tiny Pinocchio: The Most Unhealthy Dog Ever

2006-07-22T01:57:00.000-07:00

Tiny Pinocchio: The Smallest Dog Ever

You are about to hear a strange tale. It is a tale of one tiny dog, the tiniest in the world in fact, and it's maniacal, exploitative owner, known as "Mommy". Tiny Pinocchio is a little yorkie terrier, as pictured above, who I suspect was born with some sort of severe skeletal disease. His was unfortunate enough to fall into the hands of "Mommy" (real name Ms. Skeels) as a puppy, a woman who made him both a star and aided in his untimely demise.

Tiny Pinocchio took to the world stage in 2003, with an exhaustive tour schedule that mostly centered around local news stations. Was he the world's smallest dog? Possibly, he only weighed one pound and was about the size of a coke can. That is fucking disgusting if you ask me, but apparently many people found him adorable. News anchors all over the country (presumably from towns with no news) began clammoring to book an interview with Ms. Skeels and Tiny Pinocchio.

Ms. Skeels certainly wasted no time setting up this website where she will sell anything Tiny Pinocchio related to you for around 12 dollars, be it bookmark or pin. What a wonderful gift, a pin so that every time a gentelman looks at your woman-suit lapel they will be reminded of one of the most unhealthy animals ever to live. It wasn't long before news of this sappy little cur reached the hungering belly of Oprah. When she heard about this half dead skeleton animal she demanded to have him on her show, smothering him with kisses like he was a cheesecake at Macaroni Grill.

Ms. Skeels during the height of her abuse of Tiny Pinocchio

So Ms. Skeels brought the little shit on Oprah to be displayed to the world and publicly humiliated for his pitiful size. But that wasn't all she brought, she also decided to drag along her "aspiring" songwriter/bi curious theatre major brother Steven. Steven wasn't just there to watch her sister humiliate a deformed pet in front of a national audience, however. He wanted to be humiliated too! So he wrote a themesong for the Tiny Pinocchio and sang it for the audience and the world, acapela. The lyrics are the most trite, childish, disgusting, and sachrin prose ever written.

They are:

Tiny Pinocchio, Smallest in the Land

Tiny Pinocchio, Nothing sweeter than

Tiny Pinocchio, Brought joy to all he knew

Tiny Pinocchio, Oh how we love you.

Steven Skeels - Songwriter/Adult Baby

And it's just that repeated in a lullaby tone for about 5 minutes while Douchebag Skeels plays a Toys-R-Us casio behind his singing. The reason I know this is that Ms. Skeels used to have the song posted on her site, but has since taken it down (most likely due to embarassment issues).

Steven Skeels, however, has kept on rockin his tunes and has gone on to sell about 15 Tiny Pinocchio cd's at 5 dollars a piece. I mean he totally raked in the dough from his Tiny Pinocchio single realeased over his sisters dog exploiting site. He propably made literally 30's of dollars of his brilliant composition.

But back to Pinocchip himself. After Oprah, the smallest dog in the world began posing as a model for dogwear. Ms. Skeels pushed Tiny Pinocchio very hard during these post-Oprah times, because she was afraid interest in her little dog was waning. "If she could just lose a little more weight, she could be on top again. Just a little bit tinier, that's all we need..." Skeels reportedly telling a friend. During this time period Momma Skeels rode Tiny Pinocchio very hard, often exhausting the dog with hours of publicity photos and constant stressful touring, mostly to schools and children's parties.

Tiny Pinocchio, during one of his last photo shoots.

One day, Ms. Skeels was calling for Tiny Pinocchio and there was no answer. She came into Pinocchio's room and found her dead of an apparent kibble overdose. She had, in her last hours, eaten herself to death. No doubt this was in rebellion to her living as a freak on display for her tiny structure. Tiny Pinocchio just wanted to eat, to be a big, normal dog that played in the park and sat on it's master's lap. Unfortunately, like all the brightest stars, she burned away too quickly, dying far too young at the age of 1 1/2. Damn you, cruel Hades, for taking away our stars so young!

This lead to much speculation that Tiny Pinocchio committed suicide as a result of Ms. Skeels take-no-prisoners management style, and that her constant demands on the canine entertainer drove it to an early grave. Others theorize that Tiny Pinocchio was bankrupt and depressed, and out of desperation took her own life.

But did Tiny Pinocchio really die as the police reports suggest? Rumors have sprung up on the internet that she is in fact still alive, and only faked her death so that she could return to stardom 7 years later. While her family denies this, online forums are brimming with conspiracy theorists and purported witnesses that claim to have seen Tiny Pinocchio living as a monk in Belize, or as a hotel porter in Michigan. Others say Pinocchio is just biding her time on an island in the Carribbean, waiting until the time is right for her star to shine again.

Many claim that she left clues alluding to her plot to fake death and return triumphantly in her photographs. For example in this photograph:

Tiny Pinocchio is placed next to a rabbit, a traditional Easter/ressurection icon in Christianity. She is also surrounded by 7 plush toys which means that she will be "dead" for seven years before coming back and becoming the ultimate dog celebrity, more popular even than Lassie or that hussy Rin Tin Tin. The purple ribbon in her hair is a symbol that there is a terrier funeral, as it is the traditional color of mourning for all small-breed dogs.

Is Tiny Pinocchio still alive, waiting to comeback and take the world by storm? Who knows, I guess we will have to wait 4 more years to find out.

-Mudpiglet

Footwurk: the Black Riverdance (Video included)

2006-07-21T00:44:00.000-07:00

In case you did not read the update on Mudpiglet.com, today's article is regarding the newest craze in the world of "urban dancing" (being retarded). It is called "footwurk", which is intentionally misspelled because the dancers are from the streetz, dog. And we all know that spelling don't matta on da streetz cuz out der, da only thing you need to know how ta do is dance. And if you can't dance, then shit son, you a sucka.

Many of you may be familiar with an earlier and equally ridiculous style of dancing known as "krumping", which is where inner city youth dress up as clowns (don't ask why) and do dances that resemble seizures. The end result is something that looks like two epileptics battling over who is going to be the entertainer at a child's birthday party in Queens. Footwurk could be described as the rebellious son of krumping. It shuns the clown makeup (the second gayest part of krumping, the first being dancing in the first place) and looks down upon the use of your upper body.

That's right, in case you haven't guessed, footwurk is all about the feet. In essence, it is a sort of black riverdance. In fact if you watch the videos, you'll notice that they steal moves from Michael Flatley, king of the Irish jig. The only time a footwurker is allowed to use his arms is when he is flashing what winds up being the least threatening gang sign of all time.

I think it's time I show you the video. In it, two men identifying themselves as "Spade and LP from Prodigy Mob" dance in a public restroom. Now, I'm not a member of the mob and I have never been involved with organized crime, but I had no idea that they were in the business of sponsoring dancers. I thought being in the mob meant you sold drugs, extorted prostitutes and small business owners, and killed anyone that got in your way. Apparently, though, the new Mafia's business pracitces revolve more around dancing in a public park restroom and selling the video online. Oh, the times they are a chaning. Watch this (pay special attention to the second dancers Riverdance ripoffs):

Well, congradulations if you made it through the whole thing. Extra congradulations if you made it 20 seconds without laughing and/or hanging your head in shame and muttering "what has the world come to". It really is probably the gayest hobby I can imagine having, and the fact that the dancers seem to think there is an intimidating element to it at all is just... hilarious.

I had said this about crumping before, and it goes equally for footwurk: that is not dancing, that is what a 7 year old does after a ritalin and a pepsi. If I had known that the hyperactivity I displayed as a child could have been made into a multi-million dollar dance franchise, I would be a footwurk/krumping legend by now.

The fact that I found this on yahoo news is even more upsetting to me. I mean the President banned stem cell research today and the editors of yahoo news decide that the more important issue at hand is the fact that 17 year old gang members have a new dance they do in public restrooms is more important? I don't know about you, but to me, that is incredibly upsetting. The President just signed away the cure for cancer, aids, and a trainload of other diseases, and all that yahoo news can think of is: Look at those feet go!

It makes me fucking sick.

Don't Wake Daddy! (Complete)

2006-07-19T20:59:00.000-07:00

Mr Daniels is allowing his son to have a friend sleep over. He is a notorious drunk, and is seldom seen sober about his home. His implicit instructions to the boys were "go to bed and stay there. God help you if I wake up and catch you wandering around the house after dark."
And So the Adventure Begins

Part 1 - In which Leif Explains to Gene His Master Plan

Shhh!!! Hey, I gotta question for you! Wanna go nightcrawling? What do you mean you don't know what nightcrawling is? I do this at every sleepover, it's so much fun! Ok so here we are, having an awesome sleepover, me and you, Gene, and we're all ready to settle down. Daddy totally thinks we are in bed, but just because we have our PJ's on doesn't mean we are going to sleep!

My Dad has been drinking all night long which always makes him two things: tired and dangerous. Boy, the last thing he would want is for us to go out there while he is passed out and eat sugar in our pajamas! But guess what... that is exactly what we are going to do!

Why, you ask? Well, because we are nightcrawlers of the highest echelon. By the end of this sleepover, Gene, you will be a master in the art of sneaking around in pajamas and stealing from the cookie jar, drinking soda, and eating leftover pizza after bedtime. But be warned: this is no easy task. Daddy's bloodstream might have a lethal dose of alcohol in it, but you can be sure that he is a light sleeper!

So here is our plan, I have made a map to help us in our quest for junk food. First, we are going to sneak out in the hallway with our flashlights and nerf guns for protection. Then we will hit Daddy's room, where reports indicate licorice in the vicinity of his dresser. After taking all we can fit in our pillow cases, we will move to the kitchen.

As you can see, Gene, Daddy's room is right across from the kitchen, so it will not be hard to reach. Once inside the kitchen, we will immediately circle right around the dining table in a sweeping motion, hitting all of the cupboards and the fridge for snacks along the way. To up the anty a little bit, once our pillow cases are full of food we will go over to the couch and sniff my Daddy's shoes, because they always smell like hard work. Then we retreat to my room and eat. If at any time during this excercise we are caught, we retreat to my room and lock the door. At that point I will call my mommy on her cell phone for advice.

Ready? Let's go...

End of Part 1, check back soon for the exciting conclusion of "Don't Wake Daddy".

Will the boys wake daddy? Will they eat sugar and stay up all night? What if something falls and breaks? Daddy has warned his son not to nightcrawl... but what are the punishments for breaking all the rules?

All of these questions and more answered in "Don't Wake Daddy" PT. 2, coming soon!

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Don't Wake Daddy Part 2: Featuring Third Person Narration

"Ready? Lets go...", said Leif precociously.

The two boys crept into the hall giggling, Leif wearing his batman pajamas and Gene wearing a dolphin t-shirt and sweatpants. They began creeping slowly towards Daddy's room, Leif frequently peaking behind him to shush Gene. As they approached the divide between the kitchen and Daddy's room, the boys could hear that he was watching Late Night with Carson Daly.

"Ewww your dad is fag!" whispered Gene, "he's watching Carson Daly!"

"Shut up, Gene, who cares what he's watching! We're after the candy and junk food remember? God..." Leif replied impatiently.

"Well your dad is after cock..." Gene shot under his breath.

The boys slowly opened the door to Daddy's room, every little squeak of the doorknob making them cringe for fear of waking Daddy.

"I have an idea," said Gene as the door slowly opened. "Let's pretend we're wolves while we do this! I mean we're already on all fours and I have kind of alreay been pretending I'm a wolf."

"No! We can't do that, we're night crawling! Night crawlers are like burgalars, not wolves! Besides, a wolf howl would wake Daddy, and no matter what happens we must not wake Daddy!" said Leif, getting a little impatient.

"Come on, we're already on all fours creeping around, let's just play wolves until we get to the kitchen, k?" Gene pleaded. "Then we can be nightcrawlers again".

Leif finally relented, and the two boys began pretending they were wolves, padding over to Daddy's dresser. "My wolve's nose smells licorice here! What does yours smell?" inquired Gene.

"My wolf nose says it's on top of the dresser, let's fill our pillow cases with it and get to the kitchen!" said Leif, plucking the jar of treats from Daddy's dresser and dividing them between the boys' pillowcases. "Ok, now on to the kitchen. We don't have to be wolves anymore!"

This made Gene a little disheartened, but he figured that being a night crawler was better than nothing, even if it wasn't as cool as a mighty timberwolf. "Your dad's room smells like my dad's butthole," he said as they began to leave.

"Well so does your brother's mouth, because he's been licking it in the dugout after practice. Come on, we have to get out of here! Nightcrawlers go!" retorted Leif as he led the way out of Daddy's room and into the kitchen.

As the boys passed into the kitchen, was lit only by the television in the adjacent room, they could hear an ominous sound: the snoring of Daddy. Clearly he had already passed out, but this did not mean that waking him was any less dangerous.

"Remember, don't wake daddy!"

"Tee hee, don't wake daddy!" the boys tittered to eachother as they slid across the linoleum floor in their pajamas. The sound of Daddy snoring had a disturbing psychological effect on the boys, making them uneasy in his presence. They knew that if that snoring stopped both of their little hides would be tanned.

The boys plundered the kitchen like it was the crusades, filling the pillow cases with Diet-Rite, Funions, granola bars, and, foolishly, popsicles. When their bags were full of treats and their eyes full of excitement, Leif turned to Gene.

"Ok, now comes the final part. Let's go sniff Daddy's shoes!"

"Why are we going to sniff your Dad's shoes? They probably smell awful," replied Gene.

"Because it's what nightcrawlers do, come on," whispered Leif. The two crawled on all fours over to Daddy. They found his shoes next to the couch, big brown Adidas. One by one, the boys lifted the old sneakers and huffed them.

"Your Dad's feet smell like poop," moaned Gene as pushed the toe of the putrid old sneaker back under the couch.

"That's because they've been in your Dad's butt," quipped Leif as he finished huffing his sneaker. The two giggled, and suddenly Leif had an idea. "Let's pull his pants down!" he whispered excitedly.

"Oh no, no way. His room smelled like a butthole, his feet smell like poop, who knows what his ding-a-ling is going to smell like! Plus, what if we woke him up and we were pulling down his pants? We would be in more trouble than ever!" Gene whispered indigninantly. He knew this was going to far.

For Leif, however, it was now a certainty. The very thought of how dangerous it was incredibly excited him. What if Daddy did catch him trying to pull down his pants? What would he do? He would certainly beat him, that's what. The danger was really getting Leif off, and he knew one thing for certain: those pants were coming off.

"Look, we have done a great job of not waking Daddy tonight," Leif began, "We can do it this time to. Look, there is nightcrawling and then there is really nightcrawling, you know what I mean? This time, we aren't playing around with candy. This time..." he stared Gene in the eyes, "it's for reals".

Gene knew there was no choice. If he ever hoped to become a nightcrawler of the highest rank he had to do it. A nightcrawler remove a man's pants and STILL not wake Daddy, well, that was one serious nightcrawler. Gene was in.

The two boys crept up on the couch, Leif sitting on Daddy's legs. Gene began unbuckling his belt while Leif pulled at the ankles. They began methodically working Daddy's pants down his leg. They got the pants all the way down to the ankle, and crept off of the couch. Grabbing their pillowcases, they giggled all the way back to Leif's room. They had won, they didn't wake Daddy.

The next morning Gene's father, Rick, came to pick him up from the Daniels residence. When he got to the front door he peered through to glass and immediately saw Mr. Daniels laying spread eagle on the couch with a crooked morning erection. Rick didn't even have to knock: he knew his son had been molested.

Kicking in the door he picked up a nearby box of kleenex off of the dining room table and hurled it at Mr. Daniels' sleeping body as he advanced on him.

"Get up you son-of-a-bitch", Rick screamed as he yanked Mr. Daniels' pantless form from the couch. "You fuck my son, Nestor? Huh? I let him sleep here an' you just go an' fuck em!? Huh!?" he began punching Mr. Daniels' stomach, causing him the throw up all over his exposed legs. "You answer me you fucking chicken-hawk! Did you fuck my son?! ANSWER ME!!" he screamed.

"No! No for christ's sake!" Mr. Daniels' managed to gurgle out, coughing up blood in the process. Having heard the ruckus, the boys came running into the room.

"Dad stop!!" Gene cried and flung himself on his father's leg, hugging it tightly. Rick stopped punching Mr. Daniel's and looked at his son.

"Did he do things to you, boy? Why was he naked when I came in here?", Rick inquired sternly.

"He passed out, we took his pants off. We were nightcrawling!", replied Gene meekly.

Rick took a brief look at Leif, who was horrified and had kneeled by his broken father. He looked back at his own son, took his arm, and left. Suffice to say, neither Leif nor Gene ever nightcrawled again. They were in very big trouble that day, and even though they hadn't woken Daddy, they had gotten him assaulted by another father, which was just as bad, if not worse.

THE END

Keep Your Legs Together Girls, the Bus Ride is Bumpy

2006-07-19T03:46:00.000-07:00

Careful now, girls. You're all wearing skirts and this bus is incredibly bumpy. If you aren't careful you may expose a milky white calf, perhaps even your hodgepodge! You don't want it's pungent musky odor to permeate the air around you, where everyone can smell it, do you? Of course not.
Yes ladies, calm down, we are almost there. Now let's go through the drill one more time:

We arrive at the top of the volcano, we file out neatly to the Dropping Rock, and one by one we will ritually defecate into the fiery molten crater, relieving both our bowels and the hunger of Pele. We have to be efficient, and I know since none of us have pooped since last years ceremony that you all will be able to unleash quite a large amount of your carrot-filled ass garbage. Just try and make it snappy. Remember, every girl in the world has to do this before the Shitralus festival is over one week from now.

If mankind discovers what we do here, we are all, needless to say, in lot's of trouble. If they knew that we actually pooped they would be horrified! Do you know what that would do to them? Some may become violent, some may ask to watch, some may even want to eat it! Nay, we must all keep the Shitralus festival a secret.

Thats not to say we can't all buy one of those souvenier turds-in-a-hammock on the way to the bottom of the mountain, but just remember to keep it hidden when you get home! Shitralus festival artifacts are mysterious to men and hard to explain away. What woman would normally have a statue of a turd giving an empowering "thumbs up" sign enscribed with her name?

Last check: did everybody bring their one sheet of toilet paper? Good, let's hope thats enough, because as you know this is a volcano and the only other thing around is pumice, so if you run out of toilet paper your ass is in for a seriously sanding.

Well girls, I know I have to drop a years full of fetid old lady stool into this hot lava, too, so let's be on our way. Good luck and good pooping! Shitralus festival, commence!

Bonus Feature:
Dad, What are You Doing?!

This man is insane. He sounds like a fucking raptor when he squeals with anguish and throws what appears to be chimney parts around his backyard. Why? Who knows, dads are a mystery.

Terrible Music Videos: Bring it on.

2006-07-18T03:56:00.000-07:00

There is one thing in life I love more than anything, and that is a terrible music video. The kind that is so cheap and bad that it makes you feel embarassed just watching it. You look at some dude prancing around in a cape with a flute and six asian children playing violins around him and think to yourself, "what if that was my dad?"

Today's video is pretty fucking awful. It is a song called "I Could Be Happy" by a band called "Altered Images". I can be happy too, happy with the fact that I have never had anything this humiliating happen to me. This band appears to be made up of 4 nerds playing cardboard instruments and one hot chick singing. In the chick winds up making out with a lion that stalks the band the entire video. It's fucking bizarre. Enjoy.

Ryan, Honey, Your Father and I are getting a divorce... from you.

2006-07-18T03:45:00.000-07:00

“Ryan sweetheart? Are you in here?”, asked Cheryl, a gentile and middle aged mother of two.

“Your mother and I would like to talk with you, son”, said Allen, her hard headed coal miner husband. The two parents pushed open a sticker covered door in their suburban home to find their 11 year old boy, Ryan, on the floor with his EZ-Bake oven, surrounded by Yu-Gi-Oh cards and hand-me-down GI Joes, which he had altered to look like older women.

“Ryan, sweety, what are you doing in here?” inquired his mother, putting a reassuring hand around her husband’s waist. She could feel his anger and disappointment resurfacing.

“I’m making apple fritters for my lady’s book club. This week we’re discussing ‘Flowers in the Attic’ chapters 3-8", replied the sassy boy in his high pitch feminine lisp, which the doctors promised would disappear with age but never did.

“Ryan, son, why don’t you turn that off and come sit up here on the bed with your mother and I”, said Father in as paternal a voice as he could muster. The three of them sat down on the boys bed. Ryan on the far right and Mother and Father on the far left, holding each other’s hands warmly.

“Son, we have something very important to tell you. After we finish, please feel free to ask any questions you might have and we’ll do our best to answer them for you”, Mother said, smiling.

“At least until the OC comes on at nine”, piped in Father.

“Yes that’s right, until the OC. Then questions are over”, confirmed Cheryl, nodding first at Father and then at little Ryan, making sure everyone agreed. Ryan looked puzzled.

“Anyways, son”, Mother began, “your Father and I are getting a divorce... from you.”

“Wha...WHAT?!”, gasped a confused and quite clearly alarmed Ryan.

“That’s right Ryan, don’t be too upset. Sometimes mommies and daddies love their little boys very much but then the more they get to know them the more they realized that they don’t really ‘get along’ and that things just, well, aren’t working out anymore”, said Father. “Except in this case”, he continued, “we don’t really so much ‘love you’ as we ‘want you out of our lives and home.’”

“We’re also aware that you may have some concerns as to whether or not this is in any way your fault, and we want you to know, Ryan, that... yes, yes this is entirely your fault and you should know that”, cooed Mother, searching her son’s teary little eyes for understanding.
“But...why? What did I do Mommy! Why don’t you love me anymore! I love you so much!!”, sobbed Ryan.

“Please don’t make this ‘weird’ for everybody, Ryan. Nobody needs that here”, replied mother a little more sternly.

“Well Jesus Christ boy take a look at yourself!”, snapped Father. He had been waiting to let this out for a very long time. His son’s careless femininity had driven him into a rage countless times: at the movies, in the mall, Christmas mornings, family re-unions... but he always stuffed it all down inside, never showing his anger, standing with silent stoicism that was all the weathered brow of this Pennsylvania coal miner could handle. “What with your goddamn book club and oven”, he continued, “your not the kind of son a father can be proud of!” He paused, looking down at his Dungarees, “and you never will be.”

“But I like all that stuff! Daddy I’ll throw away my toys if you just pwease, pwease love me again!”protested Ryan, wiping away more tears and sniffling, which only further fueled his father’s disappointment and fury.

“I know sweetie and it’s not necessarily bad”, said Mother, “but your Father and I were kind of hoping that we would get a boy who was, well, quite frankly, not such a humongous pussy.”

“Well what about Derek?”, asked Ryan in a squeaky little voice, referring to his 18 year old brother.

“He’s a fucking deep sea diver, Ryan! He’s a fucking man’s man! He dives into the ocean and kills sharks with fucking harpoon guns and battles megamouths with nothing but a divers knife and pure grit!”, shouted Father, now red in the face. “You put stickers on your face and wear a t-shirt that has what looks like the Fed-Ex logo but instead it says ‘Fed-Up’, and then under that it says ‘With Boyz’! I wanted a son who liked cars and bikes and guns, not ‘Chicken Soup for the Soul’ and Ace of Bass”, spat Father. Mother put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down. “Anyways, Derek is getting a divorce from you too. He said he didn’t want to be here today because he knows you are a pussy and that you would cry. Your poor brother can’t stand it when you cry, he says it sounds like Anne Heche and that goddamn Ellen DeGenerate are making each other cum in an echo chamber. And nobody here likes Anne Heche, Ryan, just like nobody here likes you”, Father confessed.

“When do I have to leave? Where do I go! Guys please don’t make me go away...”, sobbed the heartbroken lad.

“You leave right now, after you sign these papers. We have our attorney here as well as a notary public. Mr. Schumacher, Mr. Klein will you gentlemen come in here please?”, called Mother. Two elderly men shuffled into the boy’s room. One of them presented Ryan with a hefty document and flipped it to the last page, pointing to a line on the bottom and handing him a crayon.
“Sign here”, the man said. “This releases your room, sheets, 2/3 of your toys, and all of your furniture to your parents. Additionally, it releases your parents, Allen and Cheryl, from any further responsibility for you, your well being, your allowance, and your gecko, Elliot....you goddamn sissy”, said the man. Ryan’s tears stained the paper as he signed his signature, heart and smiley face included. The two men doled out copies of the papers to everyone present and then left.

“Ok Ryan you’re on your own now”, Mother said. Ryan stared at his parents, bewildered, astonished, and sad.

“Where do I go now?”, Ryan asked.

“Ryan, I don’t know. But you need to get the hell out right now. And don’t forget your lizard...good. Now please leave, because we need to turn your room into a smoke hut for your brother and then catch the OC”, replied Father, growing annoyed again.

“That boy loves his pot, doesn’t he Dad?”, said Mother as she kissed her Husband on the cheek.

“Sure does, honey. Hey Ryan! Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out!”, Father called out. When he saw from the kitchen window the boy’s figure finally emerge from the home and shuffle down the driveway, he silently flipped him the bird.

What else will you take from me, oh Great White Thief? - By Little Hawk

2006-07-17T08:13:00.000-07:00

Long ago, this land was ruled by my people, the Chumash. The valleys were green and filled with buffalo and poh-nies. The poh-nies grazed on the lush grass that grew all the way from Winding Snake river to the lands of the Souix. Everything was perfect. Then the White man came.

He make deals with us that he just turn around and break. He call our women short, fat, ugly, stout, round- all sorts of mean things. But it wasn't the name calling that got to us: it was the thievery. The White man wanted to buy my land from me to build a railroad. I told him I needed 25 poh-nies for this. Instead, they took 25 poh-nies from me and then evicted me at gunpoint. That was not very honest of White man.

Next, White man tells my people we need to move again. We don't want to so we say no thank you. White man comes back with army and makes us walk the Trail of Tears to camp! Why is he so cruel to my people? Why cannot we live side by side like the buffalo and the poh-ny?

On reservation, we are only allowed to sell beads and own 2 poh-nies per person. This is like only letting White man sell hay and have 1 dollar. Poh-nies are our livelihood, our currency, our true love.

Soon, White man let us have something. He give us firewater. Injun no like-um firewater at first, but soon we must drink it all. My nephew, Red Steed, became so belligerant that he beat up his wife and his family fell apart like an adobe with no water. White men say Chumash can't handle firewater, they say we are all drunken gamblers. Maybe they are right. Why do you have to give us the devil's drink, White man? Why?

Next, movies are being made. Movies about cowboys and Indians. Finally, a chance to be famous indians! But no, White man will not hire indians to play indians, he hire Asians to play Indians. White Thief robbed us of our dignity, our own parts in our own movie.

Next, White man let us open casinos. "Finally a way to support the tribe, to make money that is not made of poh-nies", I think to myself. Wrong again. White Thief comes and takes all of casino money away in taxes. White Thief really pisses me off.

What else do you wish to take from me, White Man? What is there left to rob me of? Do you want me to give you the very feathers from my hair? Would you take the moccassins from my feet? I bet you would, White Devil, if you could

If you are planning a business transaction with the White Devil, I would advise you to just ignore it entirely. They are cruel, shrewd, snake like men who have no honor. They will get you drunk and trick you like a demon. They will make you walk tear-trail, or take your poh-nies from your land. If you see them coming, just run, run as fast as you can. My people have nothing now... no beads, no money, no poh-nies...

....Damn you, Great White Thief, damn you....

I love the 30's

2006-07-17T01:55:00.000-07:00

Vh1 cannot get enough of running it's decade nostalgia shows. "I love the 70s" parts 1 & 2, "I love the 80's" parts 1 & 2, and "I love the 90's" are basically the mainstay of this whore of a station. Right now the big deal is the "I love the 70's: Volume 2" marathon they run every day. It's stupid though, considering every commentator on that show was about 6 years old in 1978, meaning that none of them really know shit about the 70's.

In the spirit of these shows, I present to you Mudpiglet and Vh1's "I Love the 30's", a nostalgic look at pop-culture in the 1930's.

Disney Produces First Cartoon

Hal Sparks- Oh man, we all remember when "Steamboat Willy" came out. It was all about this mouse, Mickey Mouse, and he gets into all these wild adventures on a steamboat. Of course at this point we didn't know Walt Disney was a Nazi, so nobody really got the whole "steamboat holocaust metaphor" thing... great 'toon, though, great toon.

Michael Ian Black - The first cartoon was revolutionary. At this point, we were all so sick of looking at Robert Donat's face plastered all over the screen with his mustache and his "holier than thou" attitude. I remember thinking: "how about just, a moving drawing...of a mouse... on a steamboat... that's what I need." Thanks Disney.

Robert Donat - I resent that. I really do. Cartoons ruined my career. I was trained in a program at THE Globe Theatre. Years of hard thespian schooling only to have my life ruined by a drawing of a boat captain mouse wearing surgical gloves. Infuriating.

The Great Depression

Robert Smith - You think you know depression? Pshh.... fuck you, man, fuck you. You don't know shit. The 30's have no idea what real misery is about. Poser decade...

Godfrey - The depression was this time when like, nobody could find work right? So basically everyone got to be black for a few years. All the white folk were like "damn dude, this shit blows! No wonder black folk so upset all the time!" Of course, ya'll soon forgot the lesson you learned and it wasn't long before you started seeing us as scarecrows with 9 inch hardons again.

The Wizard of Oz hits Theaters

Elton John - JUUUDY! JUDY GARLAND! #1 FAN JUDY, #1 FAN IS RIGHT HERE!! OOOO!!!!

Donal Logue - The Wizard of Oz was just this total phenomenon, I mean it came out of nowhere. I remember dressing as Dorothy for Halloween that year and being beaten by my father after his friends insinuated that he had raised a dickless coward. The wish I made on those ruby slippers for an accepting family never did come true, but at least I don't have Superaids, which as a promiscuous gay man is a blessing I gladly count every day.

Radio becomes most popular form of media

Katherine Hepburn - Radio, see here now guy, that was a hit. When those airwaves started a kaboomin across the great American continent there wasn't an untouched ear, see? Oh the radio plays they used to do... Artie and the Wolfman, The Wolfman Meets Teddy Roosevelt, I Fell in Love with a Wolfman, When Wolfmen Ruled the World... true art, boys. Those were the days, when a good teleplay about a wolfman was all it took to still the quaking thighs of a virginal New England debutante. That all changed when those talkies started coming out, though. Of course that was good for me in the long run...

Tom Leykis - I make millions, bitch. Radio. You might have money, but you don't have Leykis money, sweetheart. Because if you did, you would have a big red hand print on your ass that spelled out "I gave Tom Leykis a Rim Job for his Leykis Money". Thats the only way to make Leykis money, baby, that and radio.

The Beginning of World War Two

Bing Crosby - Well there was this real knuckle head of a fella named Adolf Hitler that started walkin' around talkin all tough. He started takin' things that weren't his, see, and that's where the trouble started. Boy if he were my kid, I woulda beat him within an inch of his life with a golf club in the corner of my rec room. And if he wrote a book about it later, why, I reckon I'd just have to disown him then.

Mo Rocca - You know, ask a German, and they'll tell you: for all his flaws, Hitler was a charmer. He would laugh and sing and he had the most adorable dog that he would let all the children pet. He was a sort of kindly old uncle with a sinister secret. He had a certain joie de vivre that just drew young blond boys to him like pigs to slop. And gosh did he have a sense of humor! All those " I promise I won't invades" and then just invading anyways! What a guy, oh man, it's cracking me up just to think about that jokester.

Seriously though the holocaust is not a joke. But the time he put grease around the rim of Himmler's binoculars before he asked him to gaze across the Rhine, oh man, now that WAS a joke! He had big greasy racoon circles for days!

End of I love the 30's part 1

Most embarrassing TV Show Ever: Tribes

2006-07-16T01:47:00.000-07:00

The Incredibly embarrassing Tribes Cast

Today I have decided to share a treasure with all of you. It is a little television show entitled "Tribes", sometime known as "The Tribe". There is a great deal of mystery surrounding this particular gem. There is barely any images available of the cast, and clips of the show that I could find are not as funny as they usually are on TV, but perhaps this is due to me being a jaded Tribes connoisseur of sorts. Sources even dispute what nation produced this incredibly bad show! What information and insight I do have, however, I will tell you now.

Tribes is a show that seems to be for kids, though while researching it online I found that it has a surprisingly large number of adult fans. I have taken the liberty of assuming that they are all socially inept retards, because this show is so fucking godawful gay that it CANNOT be appreciated in any way at all except for it's camp value. It appears to be a British/Australian show, but many sources claim it to be a product of New Zealand. Strangely enough, or perhaps I should have expected this, it is said to be incredibly popular in Germany, a country notorious for its adoration of cheesy imported art (think Hasselhoff).

So here's the setup (as I have gathered so far): Tribes is set in a world where all the parents are dead from some kind of space virus that only kills grown ups. So all the children under the age of about 17 are left to rule the planet. Instead of growing the fuck up, they decide to play games all day. They put on loads of gay makeup, wear silly clothes from the dress up bin, put feathers and beads in their bleached and dyed hair, and form tribes. But not just any tribes, we're talking about super gay New Zealand pre-teen tribes. Tribes with names like "The Mall Ratz" and "The Technos".

From what I have gathered, the Technos seem to be kind of the evil tribe, while the Mall Ratz are the good guys. It really doesn't seem to have any kind of cohesion as far as who is the enemy though, because they all hang out together. They just kind of talk shit behind eachother's backs and wear different clothes.

Here is a little Tribe breakdown. I will include notable members of each tribe with my nickname for them, because I have no idea what their real names are. I'm only sure that they are gayer than anything I could ever come up with, but I've done my best.

The Mall Ratz

The Mall Ratz are the common folk. It seems like everybody under the age of 12 is a Mall Rat. You can identify them by their flamboyantly glam apparel. Their main task is to take care of the orphaned babies, like complete pussies. If I was in a post apocalyptic world, I would take a lesson from the male lion and kill every baby that wasn't mine to ensure the survival of my near perfect genes. Idiots. I will include notable members of each tribe with my nickname for them, because I have no idea what their real names are. I'm only sure that they are gayer than anything I could ever come up with, but I've done my best.

Notable Mall Ratz include:
"Mike Tyson" - so named because of the birthmark/henna tatoo on his face.

"Feather Hair"- the hunk. This guy is one of the most embarassing characters on the show. On top of being a terrible actor, he also wears feathers in his goddamn hair, usually blue and red ones. Just look at him, and pray your daughter never brings anything like this home.

"The Tranny"- I have yet to figure out if this is a boy or a girl, so I am assuming it is the token transexual.

"Trudy, the Fatass" - Ah yes, the token fat girl. Pictured here seconds before consuming a human infant. She is the whiny bitch on the show, but sometimes FeatherHair sticks it to her.

The Technos

The Technos are like the evil robot police force. They are made up of all of the surly teenagers, computer nerds, and assorted losers. This would be a good oppurtunity to point out that there are no cool kids in this show, only different varieties of nerds and twats. The Techno's leader is a guy named Mega, and he never leaves his rolling office chair outfitted with lame props to appear futuristic. In fact, all of the Techno's "technology" is basically made of painted cardboard, paper mache, and poor imaginations. They are identifiable because they wear all black and have a target drawn in red sharpie on their foreheads, presumably put their by the older, cooler kids for spitting on before they died from the virus.

Notable Technos Include:
"That guy from Prodigy"- actually a girl, but it doesn't really matter. See the resemblence?

"Ebony"- I think she might have a Mall Rat twin, but I'm not sure. Note the german text in this photo, proof of a cult following for this kind of trash in Germany. It says"ich bin furburger", which means she has quite the muff.

"Mega" - I can only assume his name came from the fact that it is Mega embarassing to be caught dressed like that.

So there you have the Tribes. Their interaction is priceless, their show is budgetless, and their careers' are futureless. Now there is really very little left for me to do but show you some of the show itself. I think the best way to really represent the whole show is through it's credits, which are not nearly as gay as they used to be. However, I think you will still understand what makes this show so funny by watching them.

Nippon Ultimate Pervert Team 3000

2006-07-15T04:21:00.000-07:00

Well, I have discovered something QUITE wacky. The Japanese, my all time favorite perverts (Germans are a close second), have a new kind of porn. What is it this time? Well let's review briefly what they have given us so far:

1. Bukkake
2. Tentacle Sex
3. Cartoon Sex
4. Rape Fantasy Sex
5. Robot Sex
6. Shit eating sex, variation on a German theme
7. Snake fucking
8. Snake sucking
9. Fish Sex

Well that's a pretty impressive list for any sexual deviant. I now innagurate a new bizarre fetish to their list: Public Sexual Assault.
How is this legal? Watch:

Well this one is pretty tame. I mean me and my friends did this to nerds in middle school, so it's really not a big deal. But when you consider that they are no longer in school, I mean, it's a little wrong. They just pantsed this bitch in the grown up world, which is very different from the fantasy land of middle school, she is scarred for life. On to the next!

This delicate lotus was just reading a book when a masked pervert snuck up behind her and pantsed the shit out of her. Wow, that sucks for you honey. This a little more extreme than the last one, because this is officially the line where this becomes "assault with intent to fondle". The worst has yet to "come", however, as evidenced by this one:

Oh man, now that is just dangerous. If there is one thing television has taught me, it is to NEVER leave your jizz at the crime scene. This makes me feel that these videos are fake, and they probably are. I mean where the hell was this guy masturbating before he came out of nowhere and just sprayed this girl's face with his hot goo? Where did he come from? If it's real, there is no question that it is illegal. Imagine if somebody did that to you, it would be horrifying!

Really it's just weird that there is a market for this somewhere. What am I saying, of COURSE there is a market for this somewhere, it's fucking Japan. They are the best perversion venture capitalists in the world. Pshh, silly me, why didn't I think of selling sexual assault videos as porn?

Oh Great, a Pregnant Rottweiler

2006-07-15T01:46:00.000-07:00

Oh, isn't this just wonderful. A pregnant rottweiler. Why thank you, Son. Somebody must have told you how much I wanted to have a sensitive, lethargic, pregnant dog on my hands. Thank the lord! My dream has finally come true.

Seriously, boy, why in the hell would you bring this home? Did your mother put you up to this? It would be just like her... well, no matter, it can't stay here. Why? Because it's a dangerous pregnant stray, that's why! I don't care how sweet you think she is.

Come on don't cry now, Son, dry those eyes. Look, heres the deal: this dog is just too big, too pregnant, and too much of a burden on me right now. I've got a lot going on in my life right now and the last thing I need to have on my mind is knowing some wild animal is hours away from pooping out 6 baby killers and about 8 ounces of liquid womb and placenta onto my carpet. I can't deal with that kind of stress, can you? No, you can't.

God please stop sobbing this is really breaking my heart. Look, Son, let me tell you a story. When I was about your age I found this beatiful cocker spaniel in the park, pregnant as hell. I brought her home to my Mom and she let me keep it in the garage. Well, that whole week I skipped school to be with the dog in the garage. It was summertime, and tempuratures were reaching about 105 daily. I begged your Grandmother to let me bring the dog in the house, but she wouldn't have none of it.

So one day I'm in the garage, it's hotter than hell, I'm sweatin' like an Indian in a civilized setting, and this dog starts giving birth. One spaniel after another came sliding out of this momma dog's cooter like turds from a mule deer. I got this disgusting sticky fluid all over my hands pulling those puppies out of there, smelled like a retainer. I later got an eye infection because I kept having to whipe the sweat out of my eyes with that goo on my hand. It was hell.

So anyways, I finally get all of the puppies out and my mom won't let me in the house! I beg her and beg her but's it's just too goddamn dirty for her so she makes me keep them in the garage. Next day, all 4 puppies are dead from the heat. The momma spaniel, wow was she upset. She became all aggressive with me and my family, started nippin at your Grandpa when he'd come home. So I had to take her to the park and leave her. Last I heard she was rabid and the county put her down. Poor old gal.

Anyways, Son, the moral of the story is that a pregnant stray is just nothing but trouble. I mean I know she needs help but dogs are tricky, and I certainly don't want the stink of rottweiler afterbirth about you before your first school dance, no sir. So do me a favor, boy, and just put that nasty old slut of a dog back in your wagon and go dump it on the MacPherson's lawn.

Besides, we got our own dog. Take a look at him. He's beautiful, and his babies are much easier to handle, though the stink is much the same.

Killin baby tigers

2006-07-13T04:49:00.000-07:00

What is wrong with a baby tiger? I'll tell you what: They are too fucking cute, that's what. Little bastards have paws as soft as an angels scrotum and eyes like... well, a cat. Look at these little shits:

No wonder they are being hunted to extinction, they're too cute for their own damn good! I heard that the one in the middle is a well known tiger homosexual. You can tell by the stripe pattern in his forehead, he is clearly looking for another large male to mount and dominate.

In other news, Vladimir Putin made out with a five year old's stomach. Are you ready for some pedo shit? Check this out, badboy, and tell me if you know where YOUR son is tonight. You better pray he isn't near the Kremlin

Because this buckwild Russky is going to kiss his tummy, rub his tummy, and call him a kitten. That's what Vladimir did to this blonde little waife, anyways. When a sensitive public asked him what the fuck he licked a parentless five year old's abs for, Vladimir said, I shit you not:

"People came up and I began talking to them, among them thislittle boy. He seemed to me very independent, sure of himself and at the same time defenceless, so to speak, an innocent boy and a very nice little boy," Mr Putin said.

"I tell you honestly, I just wanted to stroke him like a kitten and it came out in this gesture. There is nothing behind it."

Wow, stroke him like a kitten, huh? Is that really all it takes to defend charges of pedophilia these days? "Sorry, I thought it was a cat. I didn't know it was a little boys penis when I put it in my mouth, I didn't know until you just told me now. Seriously."

They should impeach this toddler fucker. Using complicated science, I closely analyzed the picture and now firmly believe Putin had a chubby so thick that would make a large moose jealous. Who the fuck kisses an orphan's distended stomach anyways? Isn't there a serious ringworm danger in that? Man, Putin, you are one sick son of a bitch.

Jason and the Stranger

2006-07-12T13:38:00.000-07:00

"Swing away, Jason!" cried the boy's father. Jason and his Dad were practicing baseball in the park. It was only two weeks before the season started, and Jason had lots of practicing to do if he wanted to join the little league team. "Good hit! I'm going to go grab a soda from the car Jason, do you want one?" cried his father.

"Of course I do, Daddy, can I have grape flavor?", the little 11 year old called after his father, who nodded his head "yes" as he strode towards the far off parking lot. Jason went over to the nearby bleachers and sat down near the top. "Sure is hot out here today," he thought to himself. Off in the distance, Jason heard a giggling noise. Looking over towards the bushes on the far side of the tree line, he saw a man in neon green overalls with frizzy red hair lugging a trunk.

The man was tittering to himself the whole time, and he seemed to walk with a limp. "I wonder what he's up to," Jason thought to himself. He looked over near the parking lot, but his father was nowhere in sight. "Dad's probably digging for sodas in the car", he reassured himself.

As he turned his gaze back towards the strange man, he was stunned to find that the red haired stranger was right in front of the bleachers! "But that's impossible!" thought Jason, "a second ago he was all the way in the outfield!" But before Jason could figure this out, the Stranger said

"How do you do, little Jason?"

"Um... I'm doing ok, thank you," the boy replied, a little nervous.

"Well, don't you want to know who I am?" said the Stranger. "And what I am doing with this silly old trunk on a baseball field?"

Up close, Jason didn't feel that this man was a natural redhead. He seemed to be darker in the face than most, and he almost looked Indian. On top of all that, his hair just looked like a nylon wig. The neon green overalls severely clashed with this bright red hairpiece, and Jason felt like he was going to get a headache from it.

"No, not really. I'm waiting for my Dad to come back." Jason said softly, playing with his catcher's mitt.

"Oh I see! Well, let me ask you something Jason, do you like plot twists?" the Stranger inquired sweetly.

"I guess so, I mean, I don't really know what a 'plot twist' is," said Jason, thinking perhaps he might get a present from this man for answering correctly.

"Well dear boy, how can you guess you like them if you don't even know what they are? Let me explain plot twists to you," said the Stranger. With that, he flung open his trunk and pulled out a VHS copy of the movie The Sixth Sense. What we have here, my lad, is one of the best examples of a plot twist in all of recorded history!"

"Ohh yea, that's where the Bruce Willis is a ghost in the end, right? That movie was pretty cool," said Jason knowingly.

"SHHH!!!!! Shut up, boy! Don't you know you are NEVER supposed to give away the plot twist? Christ almighty, you have a lot to learn! What if somebody heard you that hadn't seen the movie? You could have ruined it for them!" the Stranger was suddenly agitated.

"But there's nobody around, Sir," Jason said timidly, not wanting to anger this bizzare character any more.

"You don't understand, do you? They watch me... from the sky, from the trees. Their spies are everywhere! They would just kill to find out my next curvy-turvy plot twist! But they'll never know, not until I let them, tee hee!" giggled the Stranger. He reached back into the trunk and pulled out a DVD of the movie Unbreakable.

"You'll never guess what happens to Bruce Willis in THIS movie, boy!" the Stranger snickered excitedly, putting a white-gloved hand over his lips.

"No," said Jason, "I know that one. Bruce Willis is like a comic book character or something, it's lame. My dad said that movie should have been called Unwatchable. It sucked."

At this, the Stranger threw the DVD on the ground and pointed a shaking, accusing finger at Jason. "So, you and your precious 'family' think they know everything there is to know about plot twists, do they? Hmm? Well let me tell you something, you don't know shit! I am the master of suspense, the Plot Twist Pirate, and I weave complexities in your brain that confuse, titillate, and amaze you! So shut up and learn, you little dick, before you get on my...twisty side."

The Stranger reached back into his trunk and pulled out a copy of The Village. "This," he said, "is the holy grail of twistery and befuddlement. This film is the product of an insane genius. NOBODY could have ever guessed what happens in the end of this film. You have to watch it to find out... dare you enter....THE VILLAGE?!?"

"No. Because I hate Adrian Brody, Joaquin Phoenix is gay, and there's nothing scary about a village somewhere thats living 200 years in the past. In fact, it's real. They're called the Amish. That movie is stupid," Jason said matter-of-factly.

The Stranger, it seemed, had had enough. He threw the DVD at Jason, kicked over his trunk, ripped off his wig to reveal short black hair and began sobbing. "Why doesn't anybody like my movies!? Not even children give a shit anymore!! Oh god, take me now, just wrench my wicked worthless soul from this tired body!"

At this point Jason's father came trotting back with the soda. He took one look at the insane man on the ground pleading for god to kill him and rushed over to his son. Grabbing Jason by the shoulders he asked "What's going on Jason, who is this guy? Did he try to touch you-"

"Oh don't worry Dad," Jason said calmly, "it's just M. Night Shamaylan being a sourpuss because his movies suck."

The Stranger stopped sobbing. Wiping tears from his eyes he looks up through gloved fingers and moaned "How did you know... how did you know who I was..."

"Because nobody else would give such a shit about your crappy movies! I knew who you were by the time you got to Unwatchable", Jason wryly replied.

"What do you mean nobody likes my films! I am the master of suspense! The weaver of nightmares! I concieve of horrors untold and plots so windy you need a sherpa on a vespa to navigate them-"

"No dude, Alfred Hitchcock is the master of suspense," Jason's Father interjected. "Nobody likes your garbage but you. You're the mainstream equivolent of that dickhead in High School that always picks up a guitar at a party and plays his shitty songs, thinking everyone will love them like he does. You are such a pretentious douchebag, man, your movies are like torture."

"Torture... yes... torture to try and navigate my incomparably twisty and clever plots! The weaving of clues is masterful, the foreshadowing is superb!" cried the crazy old Shamaylan.

"Come on, Jason, let's go," said Father, taking the boy by his hand and leading him back to the car.

"Don't forget to see Lady in the Water!" Shamaylan cried after them. "It will amaze your brains!"

Japanese Tiger baby takes a shit and MORE

2006-07-11T20:46:00.000-07:00

I have found a series of turd related videos I would like to show the world. This one is particularly bizarre. It is a Japanese potty training video featuring a family of fecalpheliac tigers. Make sure you watch the last 30 seconds, it borders on illegal.

This is not dissimilar to the circumstances under which I learned to take a sh*t. My parents brought a large Siberian tigress in heat to my bathroom and had it snarl in my face while I sat on the toilet. I quickly learned all there was to learn about pooping. Now, I am an expert.

This next video has some annoying fucking Italian east coast radio host convincing a frat boy to stand shoeless in a portapotty-hole full of turds. The man's screams of disgust are hilarious.

Porta Potties are fucking gross. This fatass gets doused in turds so hot and brown they most likely gave him a hard on.

This video depicts American soldiers hard at work, covering eachother in human shit. They could have really hurt this guy.

This is starting to disturb me. I have tipped some porta potties in my time, and seeing these people get disgraced makes me feel like karma is making it's way to me. That's all the turd oriented material I want to post today.

Mudpiglet Bad Movie Review: Troll 2

2006-07-11T15:57:00.000-07:00

In this history of films, there is only 1 that can be the worst of all time. There are so many contenders: Jack Frost, My Boyfriend's Back, anything with Queen Latifah... but today, we have found a champion. And that Champion's name is Troll 2.

So incredibly bad is Troll 2 that it is more fun to watch than anything I have ever seen in entire life. It is the story of bad actors and ugly folk, the Waites Family, who take a vacation to a little shithole town called "Nilbog". Their young hussy daughter, Holly Waites, leaves a scent trail from her vagina that her boyfriend and his companions follow all the way into town in their camper.

What the family doesn't know is that Nilbog is goblin/witch/troll territory. But the young boy, Joshua, soon finds this out when his dead Grandpa Seth's ghost starts visiting him in the bathroom. I know... that's disgusting. Anyways, Joshua winds up urinating in his family's dinner at his Grandfather's request, which leads to the coolest scene of the movie: the beating of 9 year old Joshua by his burly father. Mr. Waites lays into that kid something fierce, slapping him all the way up a flight of stairs and then verbally berating him in a hallway before spanking him. "You don't piss on hospitality!!!", he howls as he throws his son through a prop door.

Joshua- Little Shit

Joshua is an effeminate little boy, and if I were a paedophile I would surely like to fuck his butt. I'm pretty sure his Grandpa Seth has the same intentions. Anyways, as cute as his rosey little ass might be, Joshua is the only one that can see the trolls. In my favorite part of the movie, he realizes that "Nilbog"-the town name- is "goblin" spelled backwards. This seems to be Joshua's only proof that there are trolls in town. What is never explained, however, is why the movie is called "troll" when it is really about goblins. Or is it really about trolls but the town is called goblin? It doesn't matter, because I garauntee none of the idiots involved in making this piece of shit even thought it through that much.

This movie had to have been made for about $200. It seems like nobody in it knows anything about movies or acting, and they are just doing it because they are all the director's family members. The makeup and special effects departments are virtually non-existant. The trolls, for god's sake, are just children in burlap sacks. Seriously, thats all, burlap sacks. That and a really, really shitty mask. Like these:

Thats embarassing. Can you see the burlap on their shoulders? They should have called this movie "Potato Sack Kidz: Dominion of the Hidden Budget". The trolls only really kill one person in the whole movie, and he had it coming anyways. This is how it goes down: Holly's hormone fueled boyfriend is jerking off in his camper when a comely young lass appears outside, screaming and covered in blood. He chases her into the woods asking for a blowjob and is murdered by children in burlap sacks. Trolls, I believe (or are they goblins...). Anyways, he has the best line in the film. He says, with no emotion in his voice, talking like hes sitting across a table from you
"Oh my goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood." He holds the word "god" for about 40 seconds. It is the most embarassing thing I have ever seen.

Normally, the trolls like to feed their victims some green food that turns them into plants that they then proceed to eat. Is this really that horrifying? I'm not so sure it's very scary to me, I mean at least they aren't beheading them or burning them alive or anything like that. They just turn them into plants. Oh no, please don't turn me into a fucking houseplant, troll! My life would be so much harder that way! I wouldn't have to work, talk, sleep, move, think... it sounds wonderful.

There is another strange character in this movie named "Creedence". She is suppossed to be some kind of a witch that turns people into plants for the trolls. Instead, she comes off as a struggling, talentless actress that is way too into her role. She is a lot like those kids from highschool that were in drama and always acting and being all flamboyant and annoying. While most people in this movie suck because they don't try hard enough, she is the only one that sucks for putting in far too much effort. Come on, bitch, it's just Troll 2, calm down. I think this is an appropriate time to show a clip from the movie. The woman in it is Creedence the Witch, the person in green slime is the forest slut, and the children in burlap are the trolls. The dude is the nerdy boyfriend, pictured just seconds before his "oh my gooood" death.

Now that you have seen the prancing "trolls" in all of their hilarious splendour, you should have a better grasp of just how horrible this movie is. Let me tell you a little story about Troll before I give you one last gem of a video clip.

Before I had seen Troll 2, the worst movie I knew of was Troll 1. The first Troll installment features: a latino midget named "Brother Elf", more little shits like Joshua, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, Sonny Bono, and the most bizarre troll themed musical number of all time. For no reason at all, trolls in Troll 1 make a forest habitat in Sonny Bono's apartment and proceed to break into song.

The lyrics go something like "urba urba wey, urba urba wey, ip-skay-bola, scurba scurba fist, ip-skay-la". Who knows what the fuck that's all about. Anyways, for your enjoyment, I present Troll 1' and the musical number that started it all.

So in conclusion, if you can find a video store that isn't ashamed to have this movie: SEE IT. Either Troll film is really a wonderful thing to behold (though I do recommend Troll 2...). I promise, you will not regret it.

Trying to Seduce my Repair Men

2006-07-10T15:11:00.000-07:00

My name is Robert Stiflin, and I am a proffessional repair man seducer. It's a fine art, really, seducing a straight repair man. I like to think that I have it down to an art, somewhat. As good as I am, though, I only have about a 20% seduction rate, so I thought it would be funny to tell you about the other 80 percent.

RoBeRt'S WaCkY SeDuCeR BlOoPeRz

1. The Air Conditioner Guy
One time I was sitting around my house in my satin robe, as is my custom, and I had this incredible boner after I saw this really hot Maytag commercial where a repair man comes and helps somebody with a washing machine problem. I knew right then I needed to fuck. But what needed repairing? Well, nothing. Then the idea hit me: I could just break something myself.

I went into my attic and found the air conditioing unit. After some careful examination, I pummelled it with a hatchet until it was in a very serious state of disrepair. Whistling, I picked up the phone and called the A/C company to come out and fix it. Within a few hours a handsome young black man of about 22 arrived at the door. I answered in my robe.

"Hi, I'm from Western Heat and Air, can you show me to your unit, Sir?", he asked.

I pulled out my uncircumsized penis and winked at him, slowly working my hand over my now swollen genitals. He gave me a scowl so mean that I got frightened and slammed the door! He began pounding on it ferociously, saying "fuck you faggot, Ima whoop yo bitch ass, try n take advantage of me I will kill you muhfucka!" Knowing I couldn't call the police, I just went to my room shaking with fear and locked the door until he left. This was my first experience with repair man seduction, and clearly I needed work. My boner was harder than ever by now, and so I went in search of something else to repair. "The phone!" I thought.

2. The Phone Repair Man
I went over to my phone box outside and opened it up. I gave it a once over with the hatchet. Then I used my cell phone to call and tell the phone company to send a repair man. "1 hour" they said. I went back in my house and applied essential oils to my bare buttocks and thighs, almost positive that this was going to work.

An hour later I heard my door bell ringing. Still wearing my robe, I went over and answered it to find a tired, sweaty, hispanic man of about 45 standing there with a toolbelt and a clipboard.

"Phone company, here to check your lines," he said.

"Oh my, right this way...Arturro, is it? Come come...", I said. "Yes.. come... come all over my chest and face you burning Latin inferno" I thought quietly. I led him out to the phone box. He opened it up, and I stood behind him. Silently, I undid my robe, revealing my boner under tightly clung silk boxers.

"Sir, this box has been attacked with a hatchet", he began, but stopped immediately when he turned to look at me and saw this:

Of course, at the time, the boner was much bigger. In fact, you can't even really see how massive my johnson is in that picture, but trust me, it's like a California Redwood. And I do mean red.

Well, the repairman balked at the site of this magnificent piece of manflesh that stoof proudly before him, chest heaving with sexual anticipation. Frightened of my beauty, he ran away. "Son of a bitch!" I thought to myself. "Why don't these repairmen want me?"

Since then I have done this around 50 times, and 10 of those resulted in me sucking and fucking my way into a repair discount. Nothing makes me cum like a helpful repair man, I just wish they all weren't so afraid of my big, healthy cock.

Mudpiglet Product Review: Stella Artois + Chili's Awesome Blossom

2006-07-10T01:15:00.000-07:00

Today I have decided to do something a little bit different. To switch things up, I figure I will do a consumer report on something I am actually using, right now, as I type. No, it's not a fleshlite. It is the finest combination of food and drink in history known to man: Beer and Fried Onion... or so the onion and beer industries would have us believe. In the spirit of science and consumer advocacy, I have decided to use myself as a guinea pig to test the myth, in real time, as I type this.

Digging In
Hmm, the beer is pretty good, though I will admit it is my 4th in a row, and I am fast becoming drunk. In fact, you look like you have an honest face, so let me tell you the truth: this wasn't an article, this is just what I was doing anyways. Shhhh. Anyways, let me give you some history of these products.

Stella Artois is a Belgian beer, a fine product that tastes pretty good and definitely will get you hammied if that is your goal. And if you are drinking beer and that isn't your goal... who are you? Why are you drinking beer? You know it only makes you thirstier, right?

On to this awesome blossom. In case you are not from America and do not know what Chili's is, it is a restaurant of middle to low likability that serves mostly American food. What sets them apart, however, is their Awesome Blossom, which is pieces of fried onion that seem to be glued together to somehow form a super onion that is covered in the saltiest batter of all time. As I tear away strips of onion from the "mother husk", I am reminded of the time I was starving in the woods and had to pull a squirrel apart with my bare hands to eat it. That was probably to most blood I've ever had on my face... but it's never to late to break a record (Ahem, ladies....).

Chili's Awesome Blossom

UPDATE: I am beginning to feel sick from the Awesome Blossom, its too fucking salty for it's own damn good. It seriously tastes like a fisherman's crotch: mildly warm, moist, and accidentally covered in sea salt. This disgusting accompaniment of fat free ranch dressing isn't helping either.

UPDATE...PART 2: Stella Artois has really started to kick in. This is truly a fine, fine reflection of Belgian brewmastery. It was recommended to me by a very kind, though rather pushy, Belgian man named Pater while on a trip through the country. While we got drunk together, I declined an invitation to snuggle him on his antique bunkbed, which really set him off. I wound up sleeping in the barn, next to a mule whose rectum was suspiciously dilated.

Pater- Pushy Belgian Homosexual

UPDATE: Three Ninja's Kick Back
Well, I keep taking breaks to go drink more Stella Artois. At this point, I am really not feeling good about these inferior onion crisps. To be honest, I have never even heard of an onion crisp. Only onion rings. I m not sure what Chili's is trying to prove with this blossom of salty batter but all that it's shown me is that it suckers you in for serious dehydration, which, when combined with Stella Artois, makes for an angry drunk.

My roommate just learned this the hard way. She passed through asking me what I was doing awake and on the computer in my underwear. I threw a nearby kleenex box at her and said "same thing you are doing with your clit ring out, you fucking whore: relaxing!".

Yea, she's only been here a day or two, and I immediately knew that was a bad move. I can hear her whimpering in the next room as I type this. I mean I suppose I am completely free to go in there to comfort her... but I feel obligated to finish this article. I am a proffesional. BRB, need more Artois.

UPDATE: 4-play
Back. On the way past my new room mates door I screamed "I'm sorry....sorry that you are such a fucking crybaby!". Then I opened it and she told me to get out. In response, I simply pulled out my dick and bared my teeth at her. I don't know what the hell came over me, because then I just apologized and tripped on my own boots trying to leave.

I am getting tired from being so drunk and full of salt. It's time to end this, I promise I will post again tomorrow, much longer, bigger, BETTER. Then again, never take a drunk's word for it. So in conclusion: Awesome Blossom is only good if you need something salty to keep sleet off of your driveway in the wintertime, but it makes a terrible food. Stella Artois is just wonderful, unless you have heriditary alcoholism, in which case your life may go to shit upon drinking it. Hey though, sometimes you just need to get a little drunk.

Until next time,

Mudpiglet (wanna lick salt off my rim? Shut up, you know which rim...)

Howard Stern: The King of all Boring Media

2006-07-09T03:47:00.000-07:00

Howard Stern, pictured here looking like a worried Jewish mother, is a source of constant annoyance to me. This son of a bitch's show has been passing for comedy for far too fucking long, and it's time somebody exposed him for the lazy, boring fuckhead that he is.

All of my life people have told me "Howard Stern rocks! He is so funny!" or "Man, Howard really pushes the envelope!". So naturally, I have given him many chances to impress me. After failing to do so, I gave him even MORE chances to just slightly entertain me, but he couldn't even do that. Howard Stern, it seemed, was just not fucking funny.

And he never grew on me. I tried watching his show, but I fell asleep somewhere between the 15th and 200th guest stripper. I tried listening on the radio, but found that he had very little to say besides "show me your tits" or "what do you think of those tits, Artie?" - at which point his fatass companion would praddle on about how drunk he was with an Armenian hooker the previous night. Boooriiiinnng.

I know people don't want to hear Howard Stern get put down, so this article isn't going to be too much longer. But seriously, am I the only one that thinks he is just a radio version of the most boring guy you know? I refer you again to the picture at the top of the page. Seriously... it's a Jewish woman, and she's worried because you haven't called home.

Anyways, I know this was short, and I'm sorry. But you have to understand it's 4 in the morning, I'm drunk + dehydrated, and the air conditioning in my house is broken. Its like 98 degrees in here (insert Nick Lachey joke here), and I want to fucking die. I feel like I'm in fucking Cairo, and at this point I would rather be.

In conclusion, I am glad Howard Stern is on Sirius radio now, because he no longer has any "limits" to push, which means he is no longer relevant or needed. Finally the world will see how boring his show is when he has nothing to bitch about and just talks about tits all day with his ignorant brooklyn pals. If I wanted to hear that, I would just go hang out down at the DMV break room. But I would certainly never pay 15 dollars a month for it. XM baby, XM is where it's at.

Howard demonstrates how he will make you cum

This should at least raise some eyebrows...

Mudpiglet Exclusive: "Enuff Z'Nuff", The Gayest Band In History

2006-07-08T02:49:00.001-07:00

Enuff Z'Nuff: The Gayest Band Ever

Wow. Tonight, while watching Vh1's Classic's show "Metal Mania", which features all of the most embarassing music videos from the 1980's metal scene, I stumbled upon a treasure long sought by music fans everywhere. I discovered what you could consider to be the holy grail to people like me who thrive on tearing down the accomplishments of others: The Gayest Band of All Time. And their name, which should be a big clue to how right I am about their Champion of the Gays title, is "Enuff Z'nuff".

Now I know a lot of poor people, and though I never touch them without gloves or walk among them without my bodyguards or velvet carpet, I have seen a lot of uses of "street grammar". In case you missed the 90's or are unconcious of rap music, "street grammar" is something you put in your sentences, song names, album titles, or even your own name so that people know you are from the streets. For example, "Enough is Enough" becomes "Enuff Z'Nuff". The addition of the letter "Z" is to make one appear more ignorant, therefore more capable of violent crime. And as far as appearing badass, the use of the "street Z" is about as far as this fantastically gay band ever got.

First off, let me introduce you to the members of the band. It's safe to say that their names read like a NAMBLA newsletter subscriber list: Chip, Ricky, Donnie, and finally, my favorite, "Monaco". I still haven't decided whether it's gayer to be born with a name like Monaco or choose it yourself, but either way, this guy is completely and utterly devoted to the worship of dicks. Without question. Past members include more embarassing names: Vikki Foxx (left after she found out they weren't a joke band), some guy named Derek, and one mysterious "Geno Martino" (no pictures available). Fun fact: Chips last name (so he claims) is "Z'Nuff". I don't think you have to be very smart to figure out that this is not a real last name ANYWHERE in the world. Not only is Chip a liar, he is an incredibly uncool one.

The band's official biography on their poorly designed website begins:
"Wild card. Enuff Znuff are the chrome-glinted definition of it."

...what? Wild card? Chrome glinted definition? It sounds to me like Enuff Z'nuff is stringing together random words that they heard teenagers say and hoping what they create comes out sounding cool. It doesn't.

The biography then goes on to say, rather arrogantly,

"Chip and Donnie are the living, breathing example of a pop group that should be, and one day will be, revered in hushed tones for their elegant, life-affirmed grasp of gold and platinum pop perfection."

More like belittled and slandered in a loud, abrasive fashion for sounding like Bon Jovi if he had two vaginas instead of just one. That, and looking like this:

Oh man, that is some embarassing shit. The music video that introduced the band to me was for a song called "The New Thing", which, curiously enough, is exactly what the band did NOT become upon it's release. I have posted it at the end of the article for you to laugh/marvel at (don't watch it yet, read first!). It is such an incredible feat of gayness because it encompasses EVERYTHING about the years 1987-1993 that are just absolutely embarassing and cliche. I am talking about colors like neon green and hot pink, things like the "peace sign", hoop earrings on androgynous men and, of course, god awful music.

Upon first seeing Enuff Znuff, one might mistake them for the Burger King Kid's Club, circa 1992. But no, that isn't Kid Vid wearing all of those ridiculous denim cutoffs and lipstick, that is lead singer/virgin Donnie. I swear to god, in this video, he looks exactly like a chick. I thought he was until I looked it up online. So I guess thats officially the 5th time I have been fooled by a tranny in my life, which disturbs me greatly for obvious reasons.

Enuff Z'nuff is so lame they took the peace sign as their logo. Now I know this was very popular in those times, I know I had a pair of parachute pants featuring the peace sign myself, but seriously: that is the lamest fucking logo on Earth. I don't know whether Enuff Z'nuff just co-opted the most popular symbol of the time as their logo for marketing or made it popular, but wherever the fault lies it does not excuse this extremely lame album cover:

I have to include this last line from one of their fan site's biographies (not updated since 2000), because it is so remarkably naive and contradictory:

"Expect to see the band on an upcoming VH-1 Where Are They Now episode, yet another T.V. appearance. This band is on the rise and has a bright future ahead!"!"

Really? I thought being on Vh1's "Where are they now" usually meant you were beyond being even "on the way out". A more likely description would be "suicidal and broke". Now for the 2nd gayest moment this band has ever given the world (their video being the 1st). I don't know who was behind this, why they did it, or how in the world they thought this would help the band's image, but whoever it is is either hilarious or the worst promotions director ever (both?). Without further delay I present to you now the gayest publicity still ever taken:

My favorite parts of this picture are as follows:
1. The pedosmile on the man's face in the upper left (Monaco, I presume?)
2. The fat bastard in the far back whose boner is most likely the cause of...
3. ...The face of the one in the front, whose back is presumably being prodded by #2's dick
4. Monaco shaves his pubes. I am not surprised: it has a calming affect on the young boys he courts.

Enuff Z'nuff is clearly the lamest band of all time. I would rather listen to a doctor tell me my only grandson has terminal cancer than to a song by Enuff Z'Nuff. In case you aren't convinced, here is the grand finale of this piece: their debut music video from 1989, "New Thing".

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On the Mind of a Frustrated, Drunk Civil War Reenacter

2006-07-07T03:12:00.000-07:00

Ahh summer. Time for flowers, bees, and Civil War reenacting. Aw shit, who am I kidding, it's all about civil war reenactments. My name is Cyril H. Huttle, Civil war reenacter, and let me tell you about the most important issues on my mind:

3. Where's the Battle at, Dog?
Ok, I am ready for some pretending ya'll. The most important tool a civil war reenacter can have is his pretender (imagination). When I am on the field of honor, it is as real to me as the child abuse charges filed against me when my daughter's teacher found bruises on her thighs. What he was doing snooping around there I will never know, but there is something much more important for me to figure out right now: Where the next reenactment at, ya'll?

Look, I am a Private First Class in the 1st Virginia Regiment, 2nd battalion. For pretend, of course. But never the less, I am an eager southern soldier seeking simulations of old-timey battles. I want to camp out for a weekend with 100- 175 other divorced men with outdated facial hair and musket replicas looking to fulfill/obsess over a childhood fantasy.

2. Get off my ass, Wife, I am a Confederate Soldier
Sharon: shut your fucking mouth, bitch. I have been a pretend confederate soldier for much, much longer than I have been paying your bills. I may be a CPA every other weekend of the year, but this weekend is mine. This is when I fight those Yankee dogs and maybe, for once, set the South free. I am so sick of losing this civil war, Sharon, who are you to take from me the possibility of victory? Slut!!

God willing, this year we will finally defeat the Union forces. I know, I know, I've been saying that for years. But seriously: just because the North historically won this battle does NOT have to mean that we will lose the reenactment. Every inch of ground is important, and fake General Lee needs every man he can get, Sharon!

Again, I am really sorry that this happened to fall on our anniversary and believe me it hurts me too, but for Christ's sake, our Southern honor is in jeopardy! I promise next weekend we can rent "Cheaper by the Dozen" and settle in for an anniversary brunch at IHOP, but this weekend I really, really need to go pretend to fight the civil war. I know, Sharon, that you will understand. Just as I understand why you won't let me eat you out while you take a shit, as much as I want to.

1. Fuck you, Abraham Lincoln

Nice beard, asshole. Yea Lincoln, I'm talkin' to you. Johnny Reb is going to buttfuck every last one of your Union soldiers back to Maine, you sum-a-bitch!! I dare you to come to Charleston wearin that faggy ass hat, Abe, you'll get tossed around by some slave owners like nobody's business! Yee Haw!!

Pistol Shots

You just don't get it, man. It's like this, you scalliwag: states rights, bitch. I mean I may be a little drunk on Cpl. Taggarts bourbon, but I assure you that states oughtta have their own rules. I am so ready to pretend massacre your forces. I will reenact a defeat so heartbreaking your bitch ass will be inviting John Wilkes Booth for dinner TOMORROW. Me and my replica musket are going to make you pay, you bearded old fool...

Thanks a lot, Dad, you Dick

2006-07-06T04:02:00.000-07:00

Camping? Hmmm, no thanks. As I child, I frequently went camping with my father. What a mistake that was. My dad is a complete and total asshole when it comes to just about everything. When I was a boy he wanted me to play baseball, so he locked me in a shed for six hours to be molested and abused by a man wearing a catcher's mitt. Motherfucker.

At the time, I thought I was learning Daryll Strawberry's secrets, and for a while the experience really seemed to help me on the field. Now of course I know I was just being scarred for life by a man whose face remains a mystery, but whose scent I am reminded of every time I am anywhere near leather goods.

Dad always wanted me to excel in all of my endeavors, and I guess I can understand that. What I don't understand, however, is why in the world he would wake up all of my friends during my 13th birthday sleepover party and tell them all I was gay, then leave the room. That was probably the worst birthday of my life. Did he really think I was gay? Probably not. Did he masturbate in the next room listening to the sounds of me getting brutally assaulted by 7 homophobic adolescents? Most assuredly. Did my Mother ever do anything? No... Mother just stared.

When I was 16, Pop took me to the woods to learn about being a man. I expected I would learn how to tie a knot or two, maybe make a fire without matches, and climb some trees. Man was I wrong. When we first arrived, we met with some of my Dad's friends who had a brought a dog along in a kennel. I thought it was strange that somebody would bring a dog camping and keep it caged up, so I asked my Dad what it was all about.

Next thing I know, im in the middle of a rock quarry fighting for my life against a rabid pitbull while my father and his drunken friends place bets on the bout. I managed the kill the dog with a large stone, but not before I nearly had my calf muscle taken off. When I caught my breath, I began to scream at the men for what they had done. My father just bear-pawed me in the jaw, knocked me down, and put a FUCKING MUZZLE on my face.

Next thing I know we're in the woods, hes got a gun in my hand, and we're looking for a stag. We come across a Momma deer and it's faun, and before I can remark how beautiful they look, my dad has shot the calf in the head and the mother in the gut. The mother was still squirming when we got to them, and my Dad asked me to kill it.

"Fuck no" I said. So he pointed his rifle at me like a crazed nut and told me to get down and "eat the wound like it's a pussy". Yes, those were his exact words. Well, what choice did I have?

Now, you may think a deer is a silent animal, but try jamming your tongue into an open bullet wound in it's chest cavity and you will hear it sing a very different tune. It squealed like a New Orleans trumpet while I tongue-fucked it, crying all the while. Dad just laughed at me, and after about 30 seconds of this he simply blew the goddamn thing's head off. He got down next to me while I was crying and kissed me on the forehead.

Tearfully, I looked up at him. He scooped up some gore from the splattered, broken skull of the deer and drew an "M" on my face in blood.

"M is for Man" he said to me. I still don't know what the hell he was talking about, but I know that I am certainly going to put him in the most abusive nursing home I can, that son of a bitch.

"Lamentings of a Forgotten Pony" - By Dandelion

2006-07-05T17:04:00.000-07:00

Dandylion - Forgotten Pony

There was once a day, long since passed, when I was Master's favorite. He would ride to and fro upon my muscular back, galloping over hill and dale. Together, Master and I explored all of the forests, valleys, fields and glens together. Sometimes, at a particularly beautiful spot, he would dismount and we would snack on carrots and oats, Master telling me of his day and I, his noble steed, listening intently, glad to be the center of his attention. Stroking my mane he would say "Dandylion, you are truly the gentlest of beasts, and I do love you so". Oh, those days were wonderous. Alas, however, they are now gone.

It all began shortly before Master's 17th birthday. His father, Count Gerbenz, insisted on buying him a horse. A pony, he said, was no longer a suitable mount for his precious son. "Heresy!", I brayed into the night, wishing it was not so. My neighs grew so loud and fervent that Count Gerbenz had me whipped for insolence. It was the most heartbreaking experience of my life, and I shall never forgive him for it.

What came next however, was even more horrific. On his birthday, the Count ushered a new beast into the stable. It was a full grown horse, named Kristoff, from somewhere deep in Bavaria. He was a beautiful white stallion, twice my size and half my age. He had mane like those horses in neo-classical paintings that blew so beautifully in the wind, and his gallant saunter was truly something for all equinity to marvel at. The problem was, he was the most arrogant old hoof I had ever met.

Kristoff - Master's "New" Horse

He was such a bastard that first night in the stable. My feelings were already so hurt by being replaced, the least he could've done was sympathize with me. After he had settled into the stall next door, he wasted no time before he began preening his beautiful, snowy white mane. I decided to strike up the conversation.

"So you are the uh, new steed on campus?", I said politely.

"Hahaha. You could say I am ze only shteed on campus", he replied shortly with a flagrant laugh that I would come to hate.

"Well, I may not look like much," I began, "but Master has found me quite useful for these past 16 years. Him and I have ridden through meadows so golden, forests so green, across rivers so blue and clear-"

"Who cut your mane?" Kristoff interrupted.

Taken aback, I replied "the stableman did, he cut's all of the horses mane..."

"Vell, vee shall have to put und shtop to that. I vill definitely not have mein mane looking so shabby as yours, no offence. I vill talk to der count about und new shtablemeister," Kristoff said curtly, looking me dead in the eye.

I knew then this horse was a complete and total asshole.

"Well, I don't know if that will happen." I was still trying to keep up an air of politeness, despite my rude new friend. "Gerhard the stableman has been working here for over 20 years, I don't think that he will be easily replaced."

"Ve shall have to see about that... Herr Pony", he said coldly. I did not like the sound of it at all. "Pony, have you ever been to a horse show?"

"Yes, I have a few friends in that business, but I have never competed outside of a pony show", I replied.

At the mention of "pony show" he let out a stifled laugh but quickly regained control of himself. "Oh I see, well did you know that I am a rather famous show horse in Bavaria?"

"No," I replied. I was done talking to this asshole for tonight. We said no more to eachother and I soon fell asleep, having nightmares of a big white stallion galloping through my fields and taking carrots from my boy's hand.

I woke up the next morning to the sound of tears. It was Gerhard, the stablemen. He was apologizing to one of the horses across the stable.

"I'm sorry, old Fritz. You know I've been havin' a time of it groomin yer ol' mane these past 20 years, but the Count says I gotta go. Damn new horse o' the boys needs somebody younger, hipper... more in touch with the youth he says. I just don't understand it, I been workin here 20 years! There ain't but so many ways to clip a horses mane..."

I was infuriated! Gerhard was one of my best friends! I turned to the stall next to me and woke up Kristoff with a mighty bray. "You son of a bitch! What the hell do you think you're doing? You can't just have this man fired because of a haircut, he has a wife and kids! He was one of my best friends!"

Kristoff leared at me, then his lips curled in a devilish smile. "But Herr Pony, I vas shleeping, I could not have had anything to do vith it. If der shtablemeister is, how you say, incompetent, it is no problem of Kristoff. Perhaps der Count simply vishes to have more appropriately groomed horses."

Just as I was about to lay into him, Master came into the stable. "Thank god," I thought, "I need to go out for a gallop right now and get away from this prick." I whipped my tail around and trotted in place, happily greeting the master as he came jovially down the stable hall... and walked right past me.

"So this must be the mighty Kristoff!" he exclaimed. "Oh fuck," I though to myself.

Kristoff just leered pretentiously at him and gently shook his noble mane.

"Well we shall have to take you for a ride, wont we?" Master continued.

I felt like somebody had just put a knife into my little pony heart. What the hell was wrong with him? Couldn't he see that this horse was a total jerk off? My heart broke that day, the day Master chose Kristoff over me. He didn't even bring me a carrot or say hello!

Master led Kristoff out of his stall and mounted up. Kristoff turned to me and said "Oh, Herr Pony, I almost forgot. I left und present in your feedbag. Give them out to your friends at ze horse shows, please. Danke." And with that, they rode out of the stable.

What the hell was he talking about? I looked in my feedbag and what I found frustrated, infuriated, and just plain pissed me the hell off more than anything he had done so far. It was Kristoff's headshot, a publicity still of him rearing up on his two hind legs like some heroic steed. What was even more ridiculous was that he had the audacity to fucking autograph it for me. I couldn't tell whether he actually thought I was in awe of him or he was just being a dick on purpose.

I spent the rest of the day stewing over this flagrant act. I couldn't believe that MY master, who loved me so much and has spent so much time with me, actually like this asshole. When the two returned from their ride, I set into Kristoff.

"So I got your present, Kristoff. Why in the world would you think that I wanted that?"

"Vhy vouldn't you?" was his reply.

"Because I am not a fucking horse agent, and I am certainly not your fan" I shot back.

"Vell that shows your taste, little Pony. Allow me to show you something."

With that, he raised his well muscled head high into the air, lifted his tail up like a feathery white flag, and did something so rude and disgusting that it rendered me speechless for five minutes after it happened. From below his belly, a long, slimy, pink phallus began to immerge. It seemed to come out forever, inch by inch slithering out of it's furry compartment. He moaned as it slowly extended to it's full length. After what seemed like ages, it was finally all the way out, and he proceeded to urinate all over the hay below him, shuddering as he did so.

As much as I hated him, I had to give it to him. This was definitely one of the biggest horse dongs I had ever seen in my life! All of the mares in the stable caught on pretty quick, and were soon whispering among eachother.

Since then my life has pretty much been a living hell. Master has only ridden me once in the 6 months since that day, and even that was just a brisk cantor around the corrall. Yes, Kristoff has pretty much ruined my life. All of the other horses and ponies are just in awe of him, much to my dismay. I have learned to live with it though, and have since joined a poetry class to vent my rage. My first poem was called "In the shadow of an Equine", and it was recieved with lukewarm reviews.

All I can do these days is pray for death to come. With the way my life is right now, I would really welcome a trip to the glue factory. This is not the future I had planned for myself, and it certainly is looking no better. Perhaps somebody out there will hear my plea, and would like to adopt me and save my life. Until then, I must continue to find a way to break my leg in order to be put down, but it's hard when you never get a chance to leave your fucking stall. Thank you for hearing my story.

-Dandelion, the Forgotten Pony

"My life is a Waking Nightmare" - A Day in the Life of Dennis Leary's Wife

2006-07-05T02:32:00.000-07:00

Dennis Leary's wife, Alice, has serious problems. For one, her husband is a complete prick and the whole world knows it. Secondly, she's on her period.

"Son of a bitchin' Dennis left his goddamn "Rescue Me" promo sweater on the floor again, I swear that man will be the death of me! Oh... oh... great... I can feel blood on my leg. Thanks, period, I really needed you right now", she sang out in her Irish accent. She had met her husband in South Boston a few years prior at an Irish pub, but had since regretted that decision..

As she turned around she was startled to find Dennis himself right behind her, inches away. The sweater she was holding fell quickly to the ground as she jumped in fear. Dennis was making his face. He only makes one face, happy, sad, angry, horny, it's all the same. The face looked like this:

"Oh, Dennis, you've got your face on I see," Alice said timidly, knowing what he was up to.

"You know what I want, Alice", Dennis breathed softly at her. He moved his hand to her shoulder, and she turned away from him, a solitary tear running down her cheek. But Alice was a proud woman: she never let him see her cry. No, she never broke before, and she would not break now.

"I suppose it's dinner you'll be wantin', then?" Alice said in a shakey voice. Suddenly she felt what she dreaded. From behind, Dennis cupped her crotch.

"You didn't think you could get this by me, did you? Oh Alice, you must think I'm stupid..." he flickered his tongue across her neck.

"I don't think no such thing, I just... wish you didn't want it...like that. You only want it when it's dirty, Dennis", Alice felt like she was about to cry, but she managed to hold back the tears.

"My nose, Alice, is a like a wolve's", the old lecher began. "I can smell things, blood, musk, skin, from miles away" he leaned towards her ear and inhaled sharply, licking his lips and grunting. "And like a wolf, I have a certain, how shall I say it... blood lust, that must be fulfilled. When I smell my she-wolf in heat, it makes me feel like the alpha male. And do you know what the alpha male does to the she-wolf?"

"He leaves her alone and treats her with respect, for once!" Alice shot back at him. She turned to walk out of the living room, but Dennis suddenly became much more aggressive. He grabbed her arm and threw her back to the couch.

"Not today, bitch!" he spat at her. "I fucking want what I smell, and what I smell is your little blood hole! I work all day, so fucking hard, coming up with jokes. I grow so very tired of joking, Alice, and I don't have the patience to come home and joke with you!" With this, Dennis began unbuttoning his shirt.

"You walk around here with a fanny pack full of tampons leaving a scent trail from your cunt so strong it would make a bassett hound pass out! You don't think I know your cooking me a steam pie in there!? Well I want a taste, and as your husband and king and boss I have the RIGHT to taste that pie! Now open up and let me taste you!" he shouted at her.

Alice could no longer take it, she began to weep. Slowly, her quivering legs opened and Dennis Leary yanked her sweatpants off. As the smell hit his face he became inebriated by its potency. He noticed his wife was crying, but this only seemed to fuel his sexual aggression. "YES... yess" he moaned, shirtless, spreading his arms out like a crucifix. "The day has finally come to taste the comingling of blood and tears. Leary...is...in...HEAVEN"

For 18 years, every 3rd week of every single month, her husband turned into an uncontrollable monster. He would do ANYTHING to ravage her while she was menstruating. It was humiliating to Alice. Dennis would frequently smear the blood on his face while he "pleasured her" and then penetrate her and scream gibberish: a game he called "bloodthirsty natives". The only consolation that Alice ever had was knowing that Dennis would never see her cry, that she could get through anything as long as she kept her will steeled and her feelings hidden.

So night after night, week after week, month after month, and year after year she would lay there, stiff as a board while Dennis degraded the both of them in a bloodfeast so foul that Alice would often stay in her room alone for days after it happened. But she would never, ever let him see her shed a tear...until today.

It was just too much, she realized that her growing children would one day be free of his savagry, but she, at least until she got a historectomy (which he would never allow) would be forever a slave to his womb eating fantasies. She had nightmares of the two of them, 20 years older with wrinkled faces, hugging grandchildren goodbye and cleaning up. Suddenly, Dennis would get a whiff, and the kind old man that had just kissed his 2 year old grandson goodbye would become a raving twat hound, begging to lick her bloody cervix clean. It was for this reason, the endless imprisonment in her own inescapable femininity, that she wept.

She could feel his hot breath on her mound as Dennis prepared to feast on her disgust, and she braced herself for the horror that was about to ensue. Suddenly, a door slammed. "Thank the lord" thought Alice, "Danny is home!"

The couple had a 12 year old son, Danny, a bright eyed young chap with his father's eyes. Dennis, looking infuriated, quickly began buttoning his shirt back up. Alice hurriedly put her sweats back on just in time before Danny came bounding in the room.

"Hey Mom 'n Dad! Whats up?" squeeked the gleeful young man.

"Nothing, now..." snarled Dennis.

Thinking quickly, Alice said "Danny, want some ice cream? I'll take you to Thrift's for the best ice cream in town!"

"Oh boy, DO I EVER!!!" squeeled Danny. Alice glanced nervously at Dennis, who was stewing and definitely unapproachable. "Cmon, Danny, lets go get your coat" she sighed as she grabbed his hand and led him hastily to the closet. "Danny we need to get out of here right now, this is really important-" but her son interrupted her.

"Mom, what stinks?" he inquired

"It's just the dampness in the air, honey, don't worry" Alice replied, embarassed.

"No...I don't think so..." started Danny, but Alice was too busy searching for a suitable coat for him to live in, at least for a while. So much was rushing through her head she could barely keep pace with herself. All she knew was she was leaving, with Danny. After that... to her mother's house? No, Dennis would find them there.

So many things were swirling in her head. She turned around and - TSSSSSS

Danny had sprayed her in the face with pepper spray! Alice screamed a horrified scream, what the fuck was wrong with her son? Why would he do this?! It felt like somebody was rubbing hot liquid shit into an open genital wound. The pain was horrible! Screaming, flailing, Alice tried to make her way towards the kitchen. Suddenly she was being beaten with a candlestick holder! What the hell was going on?! She begged her son to stop and asked what the hell his problem was but all she heard was 12 year old grunts, and the thwack and blunt pain that came with the repeated blows. Suddenly, one caught her in the side of the head. It was dull, numbing pain, then seconds before blackness took over.

********

Alice awoke in the dark, with nothing around but a single candle light in front of her. It felt like... her basement? She tried to move, but she was tied to something. As her eyes adjusted to the light she realized she was in a chicken-wire cage.

"Oh no.... nooo....." she thought to herself. In front of her, a figure was coming into focus. It was her son, Danny, but his face was obscured by the shadows. "Danny... what happened to me, untie me please!"she rasped to him. But Danny didn't budge.

"Mother" he replied after a long silence "I wish to play a game with you."

"Now is not the time, Danny! Get me out of here!"

Danny did not reply. Slowly, he moved into the candlelight.

Alice watched his face become illuminated and noticed something on his cheeks. Was it... paint? It looked like war paint...but...redder, and it stank...and then, suddenly, it hit her.

"I want to play a game called "bloodthirsty savages, mummy", said her son, slowly and deliberately, the menstrual fluid dried and caked on his face.

"oh my god, no, why oh why lord...." Alice began to sob. "Don't take Danny from me lord, please not him..."

"His name is no longer Danny", a familiar voice rang out. It was Dennis. "His name is Romulus, and I am Remus. And that makes you...

the mother wolf"

The End

Bonus: You thought I was kidding about that face, didn't you? Look at it... it's always the same. It's like he's wearing some kind of a creepy Leary mask, and it always looks incredibly hostile and threatening. Be careful around Dennis Leary, people, be very careful

Mudpiglet 4th Of July Special: Top 5 Patriots of All Time!!!

2006-07-04T02:35:00.000-07:00

Ah the 4th of July rolls around again. It's a time for fireworks, barbeque, and... I guess that's about it. Either way, it's kind of a cool holiday, so I thought I would do something special and list the 5 greatest patriots of all time.

Patriotism is a special trait which few possess and all aspire to, kind of like sucking your own dick. So what makes a patriot? Well, it's that special blend of sacrifice, bloodthirstyness, and making people say things like "hell yea, America motherfucker" in response to your actions. With that being said, here are our shining stars.

5. Japanese Americans, 1942-45

During World War II, we had a very serious problem, and it's name was Japan. In what later turned out to be a misunderstaning, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor, Hawaii in 1942. It turned out they were just looking for the tomagatchi technology we had been working on in secret for years. Anyways, back in mainland America we asked kindly that all Japanese-Americans turn themselves in to be stored in camps until the war was over. Guess what? They obeyed!

What the fuck? What self respecting Japanese would see a sign that said "Dear Jap: Please throw all of your things away and come live in prison. No, you can not bring your robot dog and cosplay uniforms along"... and obey it? These noble people made the ultimate sacrifice: they gave up their bizarre fetish for artificial life, and without really questioning it either. In fact, being locked up for 5 years in what was basically a summer camp with no cool counselors and being guarded by dogs that they couldn't eat seemed to be no big deal for them. Good job, it's a forgotten atrocity!

4. Kevin Costner

Pictured here making the face he makes when you try to joke with him, Kevin Costner is a patriot for a different reason than most. For, rather, it is not something he does, but something he ceases to do that helps this country, and that something is making movies.

You see, before there was Keanu Reeves, before even Mark Wahlberg, there was Kevin Costner. A man of few words and even fewer dramatic abilties, Costner has been poisoning box offices all over the world since 1983. This son of a bitch is probably single handedly responsible for wrecking at least 300 careers in his lifetime, from screenwriters to directors to producers and even entire studio staffs (Waterworld). Does anybody remember that piece of shit "The Postman"? My god....

Anyways it seems after years of torturing the public with his syrupy voice and weak, decidedly feminine, onscreen behavior, Kevin Costner seems to have finally called it quits. And it's about fucking time. He was making our country look foolish with his embarassing portrayals of American heroes like Wyatt Earp and that dude in "The Bodyguard". He did the right thing and retired... for now....

3. Ronnie James Dio

Nobody has done more to enhance volume of pure rock than Ronnie James Dio. Look deeply into his eyes, for they may well be the last thing you ever see before you die from rock n roll extacy. Consider it a blessing that he even considers you worthy to look upon, for he is Dio, an immortal among mere men.

Unlike that faggot "Blizzard of Oz", Dio does not have a camera crew follow his family of vampyres and crypt keeping serpent folk around. Probably because he would shatter the camera lense when he wails, in perfect pitch, his orders to his skeleton hordes to commence the rocking. Dio is a patriot for two reasons and two reasons alone: "Holy Diver:, and "Rainbow in the Dark". These are really the only two songs in the history of music that should really matter.

We really should change our national anthem to "Rainbow in the Dark", and make "Holy Diver" our war-march song. I would never in a million years stand up to an army that announced itself with Dio's war cries and blaring guitar solos, it's just too much. Dio is really doing us all a service by rocking so hard, which is why he is the number 3 patriot of all time. Whose next? You probably won't like it, but bare with me:

2. George Bush Sr.

You know, the Bush family takes a lot of shit these days. Come on, we've all had a retarded son in our lives. I mean I know most of us drown our's in the tub as infants but imagine somehow yours escaped, and then, through some freak accident, became President of the United states. Well this happened to George Bush Sr. But having a familymember with severe autism is not enough to make somebody the #2 patriot of all time. But puking on the Prime Minister of Japan is:

Shown here just after throwing up all over Japanese Prime Minister Miyazawa Kiichi, George Bush Sr. HAS to go down as one of the greatest patriots of all time. Not only did he fight against them in World War 2, he carried a grudge against them that was so deep that being near one 50 years later made him physically ill. Acting on the instincts taught to him in the army, he threw up all over what he percieved as a threat, which according to the Air Force Survival Manual is always the nearest Asian adult. By coincidence, or perhaps by design, this happened to be the most powerful Asian man in the world.

What Bush probably didn't know, however, was that this just made Mr. Kiichi hard. You see, vomit is a delicacy in Japan. Eating so much raw fish has made their stomachs able to digest nearly anything, so food poisoning is rare and sexually arousing in their culture. In Japan, the scandal was seen as a sort of gift giving ritual, from one powerful man to another.

1. Mel Gibson as "The Patriot"

The blood... the glory.... the Gibson. Mel is a strange duck, for sure. He has really only two passions in life: ultra-violence and religious fanatacism. Historically speaking, these make an excellent combination if you are looking to raise an army or make a race of people extinct. They make an even better filmmaker.

Mel Gibson's face is to blood as an Asian girl's face is to cum during bukkake. He just gets doused in it, again and again, usually on purpose. In the film "The Patriot", Gibson sets records with the amount of gore he buries his manly visage into. You see that axe he's carrying? Guess how many limbs it severs. More than it's fair share, my friend, more than it's fair share.

So what's so patriotic about hacking up British soldiers with an axe and screaming until he is hoarse, then wiping the blood from his wounds on his son's golden blonde hair? The fact that he's doing it for America, thats what, smartass. Not even Ben Franklin did that kind of shit for this country. Gibson was born to disembowel people, and luckily he seems to have a passion for so in the name of his country. Nobody has murdered, pillaged, and destroyed more for their country since Genghis Khan, and even he would probably think Mel Gibson was a little over the top. For sheer blood lust and ruthlessness, Gibson is definitely the #1 Patriot of all Time.

So there you have it The finest patriots the land has ever seen. Gaze fondly upon them, for men of their ilk so rarely exist. After the burgers are gone and the fireworks are nothing but a smoldering tube waiting to start a forest fire, I hope you will sit and reflect on these kind gentlemen and their sacrifices for our country. Good day.

Interview with Jeff Corwin

2006-07-03T14:42:00.000-07:00

"What the heck?! There's a lizard on my head!"

It came as no surprise to anybody that knew him. Jeff had been on the edge for a long time. Try as he might, he just could not top the ratings of Animal Planets other wacky nature show host: Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter.

According to sources, Jeff had recently retreated to his house in the Florida swamplands, drinking heavily and telling his assistant, Gregory, to take no calls and allow no visitors. For 6 months nobody heard anything from him. Then, last Friday, I got a call from Gregory telling me that Corwin wanted an interview with me. I leapt at the chance.

What follows may be slightly disturbing to anyone that has ever been a fan of "The Jeff Corwin Experience" on Animal Planet. Gone, it seems, is the jovial young man that played leap frog with wallabies and gave sugar gliders soft kisses. What I found when I got to Florida was not the same Corwin. Not even close.

I arrived in Florida and drove my rented car to a secret location in the everglades, where I met Gregory. He blindfolded me, put me in a golf cart, and drove me literally 10 feet to Corwin's front door. (He later told me Jeff insisted on this after he learned that this is customary when granting an interview from hiding, he just didn't seem to understand that the point is lost when I am already parked in his driveway). This was my first clue that Jeff Corwin was losing his mind.

I entered the estate, and at Gregory's advice I screamed "where have you taken me?! Untie this blindfold right now, I say!" That was when I heard Corwin's voice for the first time. He sounded very hoarse. "Untie him, Gregory!"

As the blindfold fell away I got my first glimpse of the place. There was trash all over the floor, empty cartons of Marlboro Reds, pornography, plates and silverware that had not been washed. It was utterly disgusting. I could see cockroaches flagranty scurrying around beneath my feet, fearlessly feeding on Corwin's trash. But the most disturbing thing of all was that the walls were covered completely in newspaper and magazine articles about Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter. Corwin had burned out the eyes of several photographs, on others he had scrawled words like "blasphemer" and "false prophet" in what appeared to be feces. Needless to say, I was appalled.

And then I saw Corwin himself. He was in nothing but a big, open robe, his grotesque genitalia hanging over a stair that he was sitting on. He had grown a full beard and was nearly unrecognizable. His immense stomach hung over his thighs like a disgusting pink sack, and I could tell by the glaze in his eye that he was drunk. I set down my recorder and began the interview:

MUDPIGLET: Jeff... there are a lot of rumors about you these days. Can you tell me what you have been up to? The public misses you...

JEFF CORWIN: (cackling and coughing) Man... dont feed me that bullshit. They never wanted to go on Corwin's Quest...

At this point I was concerned as to whether the interview could go on, as he began drinking from a nearby bottle of Jameson Whiskey and he was already slurring his speech so badly it was hard to understand him. I decided to press on, though, as this may be the only interview he'll ever grant again.

MP: I don't think that's true, Jeff. You had a lot of fans, a good show...

JC: Don't you fucking lie to me man... I know a lie when I see it. That's all I ever was... lies, deception, failure. You know who has fans? The Grand Debaucher, thats who has fans.

MP: The Grand Debaucher?

JC: You know exactly who I'm fucking talking about, man. The Great Deciever, King of the Phillistines, the Progeny of the Beast... that fucking Crocodile Hunter!

MP: You mean Steve Irwin? Well, granted, he has a good show too, but you two had completely different formats. You were a naturalist that helped all animals and educated the viewers, he just wrestles crocodiles... it's like apples and oranges.

JC: Apples and oran... pshh, open your fucking eyes man, take a look at the world around you! Steve Irwin took my fucking job. He wrestles crocodiles, he wrestles snakes, he wrangles zebras, he does it all. THAT WASN'T IN HIS CONTRACT!!! He moved in on my fucking turf, that cunt, and now I'm jobless.

MP: Well I thought you quit your job, I didn't know you were fired?

JC: No man, I had to quit.. wannn-know why? wannn-know why?

MP: Why?

JC: Ughhh...mmfff...

MP: Jeff? Are you ok?

(at this point Jeff threw up into his hands and then rubbed them on his robe)

MP: Oh my god, Jeff can I help you...

I reached out my hand in assistance but Corwin slapped it away and shouted at me, causing me to recoil in fear.

JC: I'M TELLING YOU A STORY!!!!!

MP: I'm sorry, Jeff! Go on, please!

Corwin started guzzling down more whiskey, then continued.

JC: It was Christmas of '03...maybe '04, I don't remember. Christmas don't mean much to me anymore. Anyways, I was at an Animal Planet Christmas party. I was having a good time, talking to this fine piece of pussy in an elf suit, haha, anyways I was having a good time and then guess who shows up?

MP: Steve Irwin?

JC: Yea, that motherfucker comes in and all of a sudden the bitch I'm talking to goes runnin' over to him squealin' like a pig in heat. As soon as Steve comes in, nobody gives a shit about Jeff BOREWIN! So I'm a little drunk, right? It's Christmas you know I have the right to let go a little...

MP: Clearly...

JC: So I go over to Irwin and I grab that bitch I was talking to by the wrist and shout in her face "There's nothing special about a croc wrestler! He never done helped nobody but his own self! Why you want to fuck him now, bitch, what's wrong with Corwin's cock!??". Now that infuriates the old croc hunter and he's like "Take your hand's off the girl, mate". So I let her go and I turn on him!

I'm like, "why don't you go back to Outback Steakhouse you two-bit hillbilly piece of shit?! I went to college to learn about aminimals and you, motherfucker, just wrestle them! Fuck your show! Fuck your dog Suey! Fuck you bitch wife Terry! I hate you, bastard!"

And then...then...

Corwin put his head in his puke covered hands and began to sob. I heard him softly moaning "Oh my god... oh my god..." I decided it was best not to try to touch him and just let him work it out. Then he put his head up and wiped the tears from his eyes.

MP: What happened then, Jeff?

JC: He... he wrangled me. In front of everybody! He just treated me like... like...

MP: Like a croc?

JC: Just like a.....cr....croc!!! He flipped me on my belly and said "there's a girl! What a pretty little Corwin we have here!" I wiggled and tried to get away but all that happened was my pants came off and my bare fucking ass was exposed to the world. It was humiliating. I can't believe I'm telling you this. Anyways, I was screaming "I'm gonna fuck you up faggot! Let me up! Let me up!" but he wouldn't. He just said "Look what I've got here everybody! The Corwins come in 2 types, weak and pathetic! What we have here is clearly a hybrid of the two!" Everyone laughed.

Every time I wiggled he said "calm down mate", or "theres a girl" and just completely acted as though I was a crocodile on his fucking show. It infuriated me. Security eventually escorted me out, and in a drunken rage I called that night and quit my job. There was no way I could go back there...

MP: Do you ever feel like he owes you an apology?

JC: Every fucking day man... every fucking day... but no sense in waitin' on it, he ain't no real man. Just a croc wrestling little boy, that's all.

MP: Do you have any plans for the future? A new show perhaps?

JC: Yea I got some plans. I got this porn thing startin on the internet, its called "corwintakesadump.com", I got this webcam in my toilet see, I shit and it posts the video online so fans can see. I'm settin that up.

MP: And you think there is an audience for your... defecation videos...

JC: Definitely, actually I'm going to go take a shit right now.

*********

And with that, Corwin was gone. Gregory escorted me outside and blindfolded me again, drove me across the driveway to my car and released me. On the flight home Corwin was all I could think about. Why had this incident driven him so mad? Was he a danger or just a harmless old lunatic? One thing was for sure, his reputation was ruined. "At least I left on a good note" I thought to myself.

When I arrived back at my offices there was a package waiting on my desk. It was a mysterious photograph of Corwin, with cryptic text written on it by a madman's hand:

in case you can't tell, this is a parody. Jeff Corwin is, I'm sure, a sober individual with high moral standards and a satisfying job.

Yes, Mr. Depp, we get it... You are a pirate

2006-07-03T02:26:00.000-07:00

Ok Johnny, calm down, we get it. You are, and will forever be, a pirate. Not just any pirate, mind you, a pirate of the caribbean. We know. We just don't really care anymore.

I can't take a shit these days without Johnny Depp giving me the look he is giving us in this picture. It's fucking scary. Not even the toughest pirate would sail around with that style he has going on. Look at those beads in his hair, no 17th century privateer would dare wear those. He looks like your friend's hippy mom that introduced you to pot in 7th grade with those things in. But that mascara and greasy little mustache...well...they bely a much more sinister intent: piracy on the high seas.

Yes it seems Johnny Depp, after all these years of searching, has finally found the character he feels suits him best. And that is captain Jack Sparrow, a functionally retarded boat captain who inexplicably wears Mabeleine eye-liner 200 years before such things existed.

Don't fucking question it man, it's Johnny Depp. Did we question the time he had scissor hands? Fuck no we didn't. Why? Because Johnny Depp is supposedly the most eccentric character actor of all time. And you know what? I'm sure he has a poster of himself dressed just like that ^ on the ceiling above his bed to remind him every day of that fact.

But that is bullshit. Val Kilmer could fuck you up, Depp. Kilmer is the #1 eccentric actor of our time, and no amount of scissor handed willy wonking can change that fact. One time at a friend's house, a girl was talking about Johnny Depp and how he was the best actor because he only takes weird roles and never sells out. I immediately bit my tongue, walked across the room, and spit blood into her open mouth. While she screamed and writhed, I held her to the floor and hissed into her ear "don't you ever forget about Val Kilmer, you fucking bitch. Never!" Remember this, everyone, next time somebody tries to tell you that Johnny Depp has more integrity than any other actor: He doesn't have shit on Val fucking Kilmer.

I will prove to the world, one reason at a time, why Kilmer tops Depp.

1. Val Kilmer is a better Pirate

For those of you that have seen the movie Willow, you will know a thing or two about the deadly blade of Madmartigan, the midget defending pirate/buccaneer played by Kilmer. Compare this photo to that poser Depp's pirate impression, and consider that Kilmer was stabbing people with a rapier in 1988, a full 15 years before that baby Johnny Depp even set his finicky little feet on a pirate ship.

BONUS: If you notice in this picture's upper left corner, there is a "hotness scale", each of the five hearts representing roughly 20 million pre-adolescent jeans creamed by young girls. Kilmer ranks a 4, meaning he made 80 million little girls cum BEFORE THEY EVEN HIT PUBERTY just by looking at him. And keep in mind, in 1988, 80 million was about 3/4 the population of the entire world.

2. Val Kilmer is "The Caveman"

Yea, I know, I can't tell them apart either. Because they are the same fucking person. That's right: Val Kilmer IS the Geico Caveman. Did he ever ask for credit? When this commercial came out were there billboards all over town with the caveman's face glowering out at you like with Depp? No. Kilmer has class. As soon as Johnny puts on one fake fingernail worth of makeup he wants the world to know that this is him doing another patented "character" of his. Val does it for free, with no credit. He is the caveman because he thought it would be fucking cool to dress up like a caveman and make a face. Now that's an actor.

3. Val Kilmer owns Buffalo
Need I say more? Do you know what Johnny Depp owns? The rights to the next blockbuster movie, that's what. But late at night, when he is sitting alone in his mansion, looking for something big, furry, and nearly extinct to pet, Johnny Depp is going to have to go to bed unsatisfied. Meanwhile, however, Val Kilmer will be grooming the stately mane of his buffalo companion, getting the kind of love that only this distinctly American beast can give.

4. Jim Morrison is way cooler than Ed Wood
Both actors starred in critically acclaimed biopics about prominent 20th century artists (Kilmer in The Doors and Depp in Ed Wood). Actually, scratch that, only Val Kilmer did, because calling Ed Wood an artist is like calling Bernie Mac "The King of Comedy": It's just a blatant lie. While Depp was blundering around pretending he was the most prolific creator of tasteless cinema ever to live, Val Kilmer was pretending to fuck girls in elevators, recording studios, and parked cars. Not to mention his death scene consisted of being drunk in a bubble bath, which is a great way to go out if you ask me. And when you consider that the movie "The Doors" rocks despite being directed by notorious fucking idiot Oliver Stone, Kilmer's achievement is even more commendable.

5. Val Kilmer Plays The Cooler Drug Dealer
As a freshman in college, the first thing one learns is that somebody's roommate thinks that Johnny Depp is an "O.G." in the movie Blow, a relatively inconsequential 2001 release in which Depp plays George Jung, the man that established the American cocaine market in the 1970's. Thanks a lot, Jung, you asshole, for making every 5th chick I meet even more talkative, excitable, and irrational than they were born to be in the first place. Anyways, as cool as the movie might be to somebody that idolizes the cocaine trade (wiggers), it has absolutely NOTHING on the splendor that is Val Kilmer as "The Sherpa" in an episode of the same name for the HBO show Entourage.

Now I know Entourage sucks, but this is another example of Kilmer beating the odds with an unbelievable performance. I googled as hard as I could, but unless you were lucky enough to see the episode, this may be all you will ever know of the amazing turn old Val took as "The Sherpa":

Now take a look at that and tell me that Johnny Depp with a clean shaven face and some aviators is cooler. Not unless Johnny Knoxville is suddenly cooler than ZZ Top, and I KNOW that can never happen. And get this: all Val does the entire episode is sit on a persian rug, smoking pot, surrounded by goats. Don't forget that he is getting paid for this.

Sorry, Depp, but Kilmer has your ass beat 5 to 0. In a world where people admire an eccentric actor, it is understandably easy to pick Johnny Depp as the king. But don't be fooled, there is only one true lord: Val Fucking Kilmer.

Old Mr Muntz

2006-07-02T17:13:00.000-07:00

"Katie, where are my car keys?", asked old Mr. Muntz in desperation.

"Pop, youhaven't had a car in years... you're confused again Grandpa. Have you taken your medication?", Mr Muntz's caretaker and granddaughter Katie replied.

Of course he had not taken his medication. A veteran of the Korean war, Mr. Muntz had always been a strong man with a sharp mind. At 82 years old, however, he was but a pathetic ghost of his former self. He found himself in rooms he did not remember entering, he made wild accusations to squirrels and birds in his yard, alleging that they were extorting him for his pension. He frequently confused telemarketers with friends he hadn't spoken to in 30 or 40 years, or family members that have long been dead. Mr. Muntz was, in a word, senile.

Sometimes Katie would return from the grocery store to find him sobbing in the Kitchen and when asked why he was crying he would say that his wife had run away with another man. In truth she had died 7 years earlier, faithful to her husband unto her dying breath. But damned if Mr. Muntz had a fucking clue.

"I need my keys, Katie!" the baffled old fool continued, "because the boys down at the racetrack need to meet with me about buying a horse".

Katie had no idea where the old fool had derived such a ridiculous notion, but she knew it wasn't true. Most of his friends were in nursing homes or deceased, and he didn't know the first thing about horse racing. She felt, however, that it would be wise to humor him as she always did so that he did not become violent.

"Oh I see, Dad. Let me take you", she said.

So the two piled in her Rambler and set out for the "race track" (there wasn't one within 50 miles). The pair drove around town for two hours while old Mr. Muntz gave directions that clearly were the conjurings of a fading mind. As time went by and they continuously drove in circles, Mr. Muntz became increasingly frustrated and eventually broke down in tears; confused, angry, and clearly losing his grip on reality.

Katie decided to do him a favor. Pulling into the swap meet parking lot, she chirped "here we are at the track, Pop!". The old man stepped out of the car, looked around, wrung his hands together and said "I need to meet Tucker and Artie, we're buying a horse".

He wandered over to a merchants stall and stared at the display case full of iPod cases. Seemingly out of nowhere, he dropped his pants, stood up straight, and began defecating all over his legs and feet. As he did so he stared directly into the merchant's eyes and tearfully bellowed at the man "Where's my wife Kathleen you son-of-a-bitch! My blood her guts it's all the same to you isn't it, Eisenhower?"

The alarmed merchant immediately pepper sprayed Mr. Muntz's cataract covered eyes, causing him to yell in pain and crumple down into the pile of feces he had created only moments before. Mr. Muntz was half naked, screeching like a banshee, and covered in his own excrement when two Indian security guards came to drag the wild old nudist off the premesis.

As they struggled, Mr. Muntz inexplicably grew an erection, and the crowd of onlookers began to laugh uncontrollably at his humiliation. This once proud family man who had fought for his country so honorably was visibly aroused at being wrestled by two robust Indian men. Humiliated, broken, he urinated all over himself as his body lost all control. The embarassment was too much, and Mr. Muntz blacked out.

------

Katie arrived at the police station an hour later to pick up her grandfather. He was cursing the Asian policemen for "chink defectors" as they led him in, clawing, screaming, and gnashing his teeth like a wild animal.

"Kathleen get out of here, these chink soldiers have captured me! They'll be taking me straight to old Mao, I suppose, but I won't tell him a damn thing!"

"Dad, it's your granddaughter Katie. Your wife has been gone for 7 years. Why don't you remember, Dad?" Kathleen cooed.

The realization dawned in Mr. Muntz's eyes. As the reality of his wife's death set in for the um-teenth time since she passed away, he fell limp in the policeman's arms and for the second time that day began urinating all over himself. He threw up in his own mouth, and began convulsing, making a sickening gurgling noise as he choked on his own acidic vomit. Thinking quickly, a nearby policeman laid him flat and performed CPR, saving the old man's life.

"Sexual abuse!!!!" Mr. Muntz cried with his first new breath of life. He let out a deep, primal growl and began trying to bite the officer. Everyone present looked uncomfortable.

"Free to go, Mr. Muntz", the officer said uneasily, turning him over to Katie.

They led him out to Katie's car with an armed K-9 escort. "Filthy curs, you'll never have the best of me!" Mr. Muntz snarled at the dogs. He had to be physically stuffed into Katies car by the officer's, as he was still kicking and clawing every bit of the way.

As the two drove off, Katie looked sadly at her grandfather and said "You really humiliated us today, Dad! What has come over you these past few years? Do you realize that I have been taking care of you for so long that I no longer have a life of my own? No man will want to be with me as long as you are around. And now, at 36 years old, I am afraid it's almost too late for me! I may never have kids grandpa, and it's because of you! It's enough to make me weep!"

She stared into those big blue eyes, seemingly older than time itself, waiting for a response to her deeply heartfelt statement. Mr. Muntz seemed to understand, she could see a certain sorrow in the deep lines of his face. He opened his mouth, his lower lip quivering, and said:

"Kathleen, we need to get to the racetrack. Tucker and Artie are waitin' on me to buy a horse! Old Kentucky 37 is his name, and I've got a fair clue he is a winner if there ever was one..."

Me to Mexican Family: Stop Picnicking on My Lawn

2006-07-02T05:12:00.000-07:00

It has become a disturbingly familiar sight: I come home sometime between noon and sundown, and there is a Mexican family picnicking on my lawn. In the name of the lord, fucking stop it.

Yes, I am aware that my trees are shady. I know all too well how the velveteen grass that adorns my well gardened lawn feels under bare foot. Hell, I even know how tempting it can be during a hot summers day to lay down under said tree with all of my kids and their happy meals and have an impromptu picnic. My lawn, however, is not the place we should be doing this, amigos.

You see I bought this house with the strict understanding that I own everything from the front door to the sidewalk, and that no man save myself has the right to picnic on anything that falls within those boundries. However, a certain Mexican family, and you know who you are, seems not to respect this fact.

It is not that they are ignorant of it, for whenever I come home and get out of my car, staring in disbelief at them, they hustle up the children quickly and vacate my property (leaving all of their McFlurries behind). Apparently, somebody over at Thomas Guide Inc. fucked up and listed my house as a government recreation area/landfill. It's just unbelievable.

Who in their right mind sleeps on somebody elses front lawn? Is this some kind of a subtle threat to my home? It got so bad last summer I put up an "I shoot Picnickers on site" sign, but I only found it a day later with a 7/11 big gulp and a hastily abandoned poncho under it, so I scrapped that idea.

The strangest part of the whole ordeal is that this only seems to happen to me. My neighbors lawns are always eerily bereft of picnicking hispanos, which really pisses me off because I do not even come close to having the shadiest tree on the block. No, I think it's because I am halfway between a McDonalds and a housing project, each about 2 blocks from my house in either direction.

This leads me too assume that one or more lazy families from the apartments take their children on a waddling day trip to McDonalds, load up on Big N Tasties, happy meals, what have you, and then only have enough energy to make it to my lawn before the chemicals from the junk food they just ingested start attacking their immune system and lethargy sets in. They begin to sweat profusely, taking long, labored breaths, the entire family looking like the stragglers on the trail of tears before finally they arrive at what must seem like a shady garden of Edin beckoning their fat lazy asses to take a load off: my lawn.

They are soon made drunk by the enchanting scent of my peach tree. They are intrigued and bemused by the colorful rose bushes they lie beside. Grass tickles the children's little feet as they play with their newly aquired happy meal toys. Suddenly, a rumbling is heard. It is the approach of the Lord of the Garden, Me, sweaty, angry, sunburnt, reeking of cigarettes with my hair matted to my face, slamming my door and uttering "what the fuck". In a panic, the alarmed family picks up the children and runs away from this mysterious monster who has intruded upon their paradise.

Ah yes, you motherfuckers, I know how it feels. But I don't care. This is my lawn, goddammit, not Griffith Park. If you think you are going to go into a sugar coma then do the neighborhood a favor and do it in the privacy of your own squalid hacienda. I know it's hard to sleep when your house is filled with 6 children wearing Winnie the Pooh hand-me-down overalls and braying for "mas leche", but that has nothing to do with me and therefore I still cannot allow you to sleep on my lawn.

I'm about spent on this topic. Just know that I HAVE set booby traps around my yard for your next arrival. They won't catch you all, they won't even catch most of you, but if one of your little cubs has his bare foot impaled by a feces covered pike hidden in my lawn, maybe you will learn to stop eating junk food and napping in places that are not your home. Beware

Marlowe the Homless Deviant: Part 1

2006-07-02T03:02:00.000-07:00

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“Goddamn that fucking Goldie Haun,” snorted Marlowe, a grizzled old drifter, as he dabbed his chin with a soiled maxi pad. “Always lettin’ her damn shit out, poutin’ her ass to and fro on the silver screen,” he continued.

“Gee Marlowe, I really liked her in ‘The Out Of Towners,” retorted a timid Asian orphan who was missing a finger from a circular saw accident that he didn’t remember.

“You shut your fucking rice-hole, Ling Pao!” yelled Marlowe, aggressively pawing at his genitalia like some filthy Brooklyn dago. The little Korean boy followed Marlowe every day as moved around the city, sleeping, begging, and defecating in fountains. This was for two reasons. Firstly, being an orphan, Ling Pao had no other human affiliation other than Marlowe. Secondly, Marlowe had a habit of keeping meat in his pockets, the scent of which naturally draws hungry boys.

The two had been in a sordid and symbiotic relationship for about a year now, moving frequently between jobs of different sorts and using each others dank and foul smelling body warmth when sleeping to conserve heat. The two depended on each other: Ling Pao using Marlowe to defend him from things like truant officers and acquaintance rape, and Marlowe using Ling Pao to take out his inborn aggression on after years of hard life on the street. Marlowe was a bitter man, a veteran of Grenada, his 1 week long tour of duty had driven him slightly mad.

It was now dusk, and the two companions had lit a fire under a bridge in a downtown wash. Ling Pao watched intently as Marlowe ate a live pigeon he had caught earlier that day using a mouse trap and a Daryl Strawberry hologram baseball card. Ling Pao looked hungry too, but he had no way of getting his own food. Marlowe was not in the habit of sharing with the boy, and often accused him of sloth when he asked for some of Marlowe’s.

“There’s no way for me to make money for myself, Marley (as was the boys affectionate nickname for his friend). I’m only 12, and because of current labor laws nobody will hire me,” chirped the young lad.

“Well too fucking bad for you, isn’t it? Why don’t you sell something on E-Bay, since your kind are soooo pro-fishh-unt with them goddamn computers,” replied Marlowe emphatically, his gravelly voice garbled by the pigeon blood.

“I don’t even own a computer, or anything to sell on E-Bay if I did. Plus, I’m only 12, so I can’t have a credit ca-” but he was cut off by a furious Marlowe, who in a delusional rage had thrown hot embers from the fire into Ling Pao’s face. The boy began to scream but Marlowe couldn’t hear him as he sprang across the fire and began to savagely assault the boy, all the while screaming an unlinked volume of obscenities and racial epithets.

“Motherfucking yellow skinned tojo dog eating korean shit heel...”, Marlowe yelled through gritted teeth, teeth that were now stained in orphan blood as well as pigeon. Marlowe’s bloodthirsty onslaught was stopped short, however, when he noticed two figures coming silently down the side of the wash. As Marlowe attempted to make out the figures, one of them yelled down to him.

“Hey! Is that Marlowe from Pelican Bay?!”, most likely referring to Marlowe’s brief stint in the up-state prison for grand larceny in the mid 80's.

“Yea, what’s it to ya?” Marlowe replied cautiously.

“It’s me! Peeping Paulie Ashton, from D-Block!” one of the figures replied as they began to step into the firelight. “And this is my buddy Kevin. He knows lots about dinosaurs,” Peeping Pauli continued.

“Well it’s nice to meet you Kevin. I would shake your hand but I think I may have just broken it on this little faggots face,” Marlowe said politely, wiping his hands on Ling Pao’s hair.

“Mmmm, is that boy still alive?” asked a very polite Paulie, who batted his eyelashes in an effeminate manner and nodded his head towards Ling Pao with a tender yet curious look on his face.

“Oh yea, he’s fine. Isn’t you Pong Lee or whatever the hell your name is,” Marlowe said as sweetly to the boy as his weezing drunkard’s gasp would allow.

“Yes Marley, but I’m in a lot of pain. And you know my name but you always pretend not to when we meet people! Why don’t you want people to know we’re pals?” said Ling Pao, wiping tears, blood and grime from his face with his heavily weathered Adidas windbreaker.

“Has he been ‘turned out’ yet Marlowe?” inquired Paulie. Kevin grew a noticeable erection.

“Peep, buddy, we’re not in the big house any more. You don’t have to assert your dominance here,”said Marlowe. A twisted smile came over the spindly and pop-eyed Paulie. Kevin began to shift in his shoes, attempting to move his erection to a more comfortable position without anybody noticing.

“This is not about dominance,” Pauli began slowly, “...it’s just about cumming”. Marlowe, never a fool when it came to a bargain, saw his chance and took it.

“I think you mean, it’s just about business, my friend,” Marlowe replied, smirking.

“Marlowe, please! I don’t want to get hurt!” cried Ling Pao, so scared he was beginning to cry. “I..it’s ok! I can find my own food now we don’t need any money! No Marlowe! Please I’m your friend!” continued the boy. Marlowe simply ignored him, but held a firm grip on the boy’s thin, malnourished wrist.
“What is the asking price for 45 minutes with him?” said Kevin, breaking his silence. “Want some toy dinos?”

“No fuckin’ way. I want Paulie’s K-Swiss,” haggled Marlowe.

“Awwwww, man!” complained Paulie, “these are my new tennies!”

“Well you better fuckin’ learn to deal or you don’t get to cum,” lied Marlowe. He knew he would give the boy away for free if it came down to it.

“Fine. Here, take em,” Paulie said, giving in. Kevin ambled over to Ling Pao and took him by the hand. Ling Pao’s eyes slowly drifted up into the cold blue stare of Kevin’s eyes, and he whimpered a little.

“What’s your favorite dinosaur?” Kevin inquired.

Sniffling, Ling Pao replied “probably a brontosaurus, because it has a spout on it’s head”.

“Well I know a dino with a spout on it’s head that I have with me right now...would you like to touch it?” Kevin replied as he began to lead the boy behind an abandoned car wreck. Paulie walked behind them, pulling a big rubbery two-sided dildo from an ill-fitting and brightly colored Winnie the Pooh backpack.

“Just don’t jizz in his hair....I wipe my face with that,” Marlowe called after them, cracking open another can of Coors.

Marlowe fell sound asleep that night being serenaded by the sounds of a boy pleading for help and crying in agony. The sounds of slapping flesh resounded through the wash, sometimes overlapping with things like “Ughh ughh, did you know that, ugghh, that a velociraptor can claw through like 3 inches of wood if, ughhhh yea, oooo yea, if it wanted to?”

And so it went.

I am Teamster Hear me Roar

2006-07-02T03:01:00.000-07:00

Join the CrispAds Blog Advertising Network!Here's a transcript from the time my uncle Kenneth Brunellini gave a talk to my first grade class about what he does for a living:

Hey hey hey you bunch of basta’ds! Jersey Boy Kenny here to represent the South Shore Teamsters Union Local 44! Well, I’m here to talk to yous kids today about bein’ a teamster. It’s a pretty friggin’ sweet gig, if I do say so myself. Anyways, let me give all yous little deviants a brief history of me, Kenneth Bruscellini, eh? Because if you want to understand what bein’ a teamster is all about, then you gotta understand what the KEN-man is all about.

I was born 44 years ago in a little town called Hoboken, New Jersey. Heard of it? You’d frickin’ better, because Foreigner played their legendary 3 night stand there back in ‘81 at the Hoboken Greek Theater down there on 13th and Oriole, and if you don’t like Foreigner... well then ya probably a fuckin queer. Calm down kids calm down I’m only joshin’ with yous. Anyways, so my old man wuz a steel worker, see? And he done taught me the values of labor unions from the day I was, what, like 7 or something, ok? He sits me down one day and he says “Ken you listen up’a to me, eh? There ain’t nothin in this whole wide world so noble and just as a confederation of laborers united against injustice in the workplace. A real man will live his entire life around that cause... your grandfather did, I do, and someday, Kenny, you will too.”

Pop was a wise old man, that’s for sure, because when I was 17 I dropped outta highschool and got a job workin’ down at the salmon hatchery. It was tough work, but a Jersey boy ain’t above an honest buck, and I learned a lot from my time there. Most importantly, I remember a guy named Rocco Sausillici. He was the coolest motherfucker I had ever met in my entire life. This guy Rocco, he drove the delivery trucks that came in every Wednesday to pick up the friggin fish, see? Sometimes he’d get there early, and I’d go smoke a joint with him by the propane tank.

So one day we’re smokin’ a joint by the tank there and I says to Rocco, I says “hey, Rocco, tell me one thing asshole, how’d you get so goddamn cool?” He looked at me for a sec and says, “that’s an easy one, Kenny, it’s because I’m a frickin’ teamster.”

“A teamster? What’s that?” I says to him. He told me all about it- how bein a teamster is the best thing in the world because you are protected by a brotherhood, a bunch a’ regular Springsteens like you and I, who put in their days work, and not a minute more, and take exactly one and a half hour lunch breaks and refuse to work overtime. He told me how he injured hisself one time on the job and the Union sued his employer, which got him a fat check PLUS workman’s comp, and he spent the summer smokin’ pot in his garage and screwin’ Jewish hookers inside of his ‘83 Camero. Now that’s the sweet life, I thinks to myself.

So I signed up, became a driver for a company that hauled electronic parts, and started collecting the fattest checks you’ve ever seen. I knew then that this was the life for me. Whenever somebody asked me to do somethin’ I didn’t wanna do, I would just point out that I’m a teamster and that if I am injured in any way, the union will sue the pants off of em, and pretty soon I had virtually no responsibility at all. Still is that way.

About 3 years into my career a terrible thing happens. I get a phone call from the union, says Rocco been injured in an accident during a truck loading down at the hatchery, they say they gonna sue the shit out of the hatchery, the government, the schools, and of course the company that made the crate that Rocco was asked to lift. Right on, praise Hoffa, I says.

So the next week I go down to visit Rocco on his deathbed. He’s lookin’ like a bucket of shit, ya know? So I says hey Rocco wanna smoke a joint in here or what? I’m on my lunch break and union rules says I can do whatever I want on this break. He says fuck you, Kenny, come I ‘ere I got somethin’ to tell youz. I says alright Rocco what is it. He says come closer ya Dago basta’d, so I do. He whispers into my ear:

“Guess what?”

“What”

“Chicken Butt”.

Them was the last words he uttered. Motherfucker always was the cat’s ass when it came to makin’ people laugh. The next week I was stricken with grief, so in his honor I purposely tweaked my back closin’ the door on the truck, applied for workman’s comp and boom... summer of 2002... or as we all remember it: the summer of Kenny. So these last few years have been tough, you know? It’s hard to get over the death of somebody you used to make a mockery of the American work ethic with, and it don’t get easier with time. Rocco was an inspiration to me and every teamster he met.

In closing kids let me just tell you that the only way to make a difference in this great big world is to stick it to the man by joining a large group of other lazy, surly, overweight, buttholes and threatening to strike and sue every employer you ever come across. Take it from me, a teamster, that there is no better feeling in the world than injuring yourself on the job and fleecing the government out of taxpayers money by applying for workman’s comp and unemployment, so you can sit on your lazy bum ass and listen to bands like Ratt and Iron Maiden while you should be workin’. If the clock in the back of the class is correct, then it is indeed 2:45 and union rules state that I am entitled to take an hour and a half break right now, so if you don’t mind, I will begin by going into the hall and lighting up a cigarette. Good day to you, and vote labor.

Open Letter to "The Rock"

2006-07-02T01:43:00.000-07:00

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Dear "The Rock",

First and foremost, I want my ten dollars back for The Scorpion King. Maybe if you and Johnny Knoxville had pooled together the change you had spent on the tearful, career-ending bus ride out of Hollywood after the Walking Tall premiere, this would have been possible. But seeing as you must be a penniless alcoholic somewhere in the outskirts of Houston by now, I will instead give you a life affirming lecture.

Look, Rock, I know you don't need anybody to hit you while your down, but you really pissed us all off. I think it all started when you came into town calling yourself "The Rock". Apparently nobody bothered to inform you that the name "The Rock" has been taken for at least 60 years by the infinitely more badass Alcatraz Prison. I don't care how many muscles and sneers you have asshole, you can never be harder than the penitentary that swallowed Al Capone's bloody, syphillitic shit and begged for more. Do you have that on your resume, shithead? I didn't think so.

Now onto your movies. Not even Nicholas fucking Cage is as disappointing and boring to watch as you. Your acting abilities basically boil down to your patented "eye brow lift" (which looks suspiciously like the face your dad must have made when you told him you wanted to be a wrestler) and arm flexing. Speaking of your parents, are you and Vin Diesel related? You guys are both virtually the same wooden, polyracial autistics that for some reason, Hollywood thinks can entertain us. I suspect they are looking for a new Arnold Schwarzenegger, being that he is too busy cutting school funding and putting mexicans into circus canons to shoot them over the border to make any new films. Well let me tell you something Hollywood: We're over the "muscleman". It's been done, and on top of that, it's been done by a guy with a hilarious accent and a questionable Nazi past.

You know, the Scorpion King made me want to cry. You are too dumb to be a king of any sort, Rock, even in First Dynasty Egypt. The best part had to be when you sneered. Or maybe it was when you lifted your eyebrow at Michael Clark Duncan. Either way, the pleasure was gone within 5 seconds. I felt so bad that my fucking father, who works hard for his money, spent 20 dollars to see that movie with me 4th of July weekend only to leave us both disappointed and drunk with popcorn-induced lethargy, during which my slumbering father's penis fell gently out of the leg of his shorts and onto my hand, scarring me for life.

I'm not even going to get into "Walking Tall" or any other piece of shit you have made, because I doubt anybody has seen it and therefore it doesn't matter, but suffice to say you are a fucking asshole, and I am glad you aren't making movies anymore. Arrogant prick.

Grillz: The Mark of a Modern Gentleman

2006-07-02T01:14:00.001-07:00

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Ah yes, the grill. No, I'm not talking about what your drunken step-father cooks roadkill on, but rather about that gawdy, jewel encrusted tooth accessory which sits in the mouth of every rapper and spoiled white suburbanite. The grill is truly a cultural phenomena which has taken hold of America's imagination. Suddenly, everyone has one, everyone wants one, and yet nobody really knows why they are attractive or desireable. Seemingly overnight, the grill has become the true mark of a modern gentleman.

Nothing says classy in today's society like a $100,000 retainer that spells out "Dirt Rapist" in ruby's and emeralds when one smiles. The culture of hip-hop has taken something that used to be the mark of a pirate or a homeless man with a mouth full of fillings and made it into the most glamorous trait a young affluent male can have. Leave it to those trend setting rappers to take what we least expect and make it cool. Who remembers when selling crack cocaine was considered "uncool" and "dirty"? Boy, it didn't take Eazy E long to show us how cool it actually turned out to be!

In a similar fashion, hip-hop artists like Paul Wall and Nelly have shown us recently that what a woman truly looks for in a man has nothing to do with love, education, or understanding, but rather focuses on how much "bling" he can fit into his mouth before he suffocates and dies. Rapper Nelly points out in his new hit song "Grillz" (which is actually a scholarly essay on the development of the trend in disguise) what he does with his teeth:

"I got like platinum and white gold, traditional gold
I'm changin grillz errday, like Jay change clothes,
I might be grilled out nicely (oh) In my white tee (oh),
On South beach (oh) in my wife beat."

Nelly paints quite the picture of sophistication. The modern gentleman should wear white gold, traditional gold, change his grill "errday" (but not his clothes), and sport a white t-shirt while beating his wife in Miami. Oh how far society has come from the days of "suits" and "manners". If you want to be a young millionaire with women, yachts, and a private jet, let me give you some starting advice. Listen to Nelly and get yourself a grill. Supress the feeling that you look like you have cavities and dont be alarmed when people run away from you screaming "loose rapist!", because your dreams are about to come true.

PICTURE: Modern sophisticate "Young Buck" shows off his eclectic taste in jewelry.