Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Each year, on the seventh of December, we illustrious members of the Special Needs Group open the heavy mahogany doors of our grand interstate headquarters to the general public in a grand celebration we have taken to calling The Special Needs Open House. As the exact location of our headquarters is a closely guarded secret, the event is often very low-key. This year was no exception. Since our open house has had relatively little interest from the general community over the years, let me give you a little insight into the inner workings of our beloved Special Needs Group and Auto Club.
The group’s headquarters itself was constructed by indentured laborers in 1945 in the magma chamber of an extinct volcano. The laborers, who entered into indenture in the hopes of escaping various legal troubles in their homeland, imposed their own Germanic sensibilities onto the construction process, helping to give the Special Needs Group Interstate Headquarters the dramatic Gothic look for which it is famous today.
The laborers proved incredibly organized and industrious. With their almost faultless military precision, they were able to complete the gargantuan project by late spring of 1946. Given new identities, the workers were relocated by the Special Needs Group to Central America. Many of the former laborers have remained in relative seclusion ever since, but others have remained in contact with their former employers. With knack for discretion and impeccable record keeping has allowed for many lucrative business ventures between the expatriated former laborers and The Special Needs Group over the years.
The underground fortress has been home to The Special Needs Group ever since—with the brief exception of 1977, when it enjoyed fleeting notoriety as the interim headquarters to the Legion of Doom. Today, the headquarters boasts a state-of-the-art communications center, radiation resistant living quarters for the associates and employees of The Special Needs Group (for profit earners only), several decades of freeze-dried rations, clean water, and insufficient plumbing. The Legion of Doom very generously supplied our headquarters with a complex “defensive” weapons grid, complete with machine gun nests, and medium-range intercontinental ballistic “fireworks” emplacements.
The headquarters supplies our honorable associates with a place to meet and compose new blog posts in quiet, blast resistant, solitude. This is how we keep bring you fresh helpings of your favorite blog on a regular basis.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Editors Note: As always, Mr. Flavour’s opinions do not reflect the views or opinions of The Special Needs Group, its affiliates, lackeys, sponsors, footmen, cronies, operatives, third world militias, or parent company: Hernandez Veterinary Pharmaceuticals. Hernandez Veterinarty Parmaceuticals, "Drugs you need, for the rodents you love."
As most of you are aware by now, we are knee deep in what has come to be known "Jackalope-gate." A little back story, way back in what we now call "the late 90's" a game came to fruition known as Bunny Baseball. This is basically played by catching several rabbits and then using them as baseballs. This generally ends with several dead rabbit bodies strewn around the infield.
Quite recently an offshoot game very similar in context to bunny baseball appeared. The main difference being that the bunnies are substituted for jackalopes. Now the Liberal-Left Wing-Jew run media are trying to stop these games from taking place, claiming that "playing a game that amounts to no more than the killing several of an endangered species with fungo bats" is illegal and inhumane.
I just think that these dicks need to stay out of my fucking business. What I do on my property is my own business and not that of PETA and their band of gay and lesbian hybrid driving deuchebags.
Also, whoever it is that fucking squawked on me and my underground Jackalope Baseball games is a fucking dead man. I mean that literarilly. Nobody screws with Woody without getting shanked hardcore. I may end up in jail for this but trust me, I've got guys on the inside and outside and you WILL be put on ice for this. You think I'm scared of jail? I laugh at your bullshit, as I've been there many times.
I'm sitting there in my house, jerking off to ESPN's Around the Horn (Jay Mariotti, although a chode, is a very handsome man) and all these fuckheads dressed as a SWAT team burst through my frond door and start throwing shit all over my living room (I found out the guys dressed in SWAT attire were actually a living breathing SWAT team). They fucking went into my basement and found all of my cages where I kept and had been breeding the jackalopes and stole them all from me. They also found all of my jackalope baseball training gear: the steroids, the jackalope treadmill, the thumbscrew.
In hindsight maybe I should have cleaned up my backyard a little better. I think the stench of many, probably hundreds, of dead jackalope bodies festering in the sun so many days in a row is possibly what prompted the police investigation. In any case, after the trial and/or incarceration I will be back on the streets promoting illegal underground sports involving tiny animals.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Usually there's sports but there's libations involved so this is where its at....
Back before I was in my mid-twenties when I was doing a little minor league ball, my team the Oysterville Muskrats (featuring myself on the bass) was going on what they used call back in the day a "minor league baseball tour." We'd go from township to township, baseballing (as it was referred to at the time) other teams in order to win the rights to sleep indoors at night.
Anywhat, on one such trip we went through what they used to call a "prospecting town." Now for those of you that aren't "in the know" a prospecting town is a place inhabited mostly by prospectors, whittling away their years with nearly endless amounts of prospecting. The only time that they aren't prospecting is when they are "maintaining their buzz" which was a term used to describe people in the act of baseballing another team.
Anywhy, at around 48:19 pm (which was approximately 10:30 pm in those days) we arrived on the baseballing pitch. We were so tired from traveling every single day, "maintaining our buzz," that by the time it was time for our time to start baseballing the Prospecting Town Prospectors, around 11/12ths of our baseball club had passed out from cocaine psychosis. This meant that I had to take on these prospecting mother fuckers by my lonesome. It went down a little something like this:
A sickly silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, if only Flavour could get but a whack at that -
We'd put up even money, now, with Woody at the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despis-ed, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and the men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.
Then from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,
For Woody, mighty Woody, was advancing to the bat.
There was ease in Woody's manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Woody's bearing and a smile on Woody's face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his hat,
No stranger in the crowd could doubt 'twas Woody at the bat.
Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Woody's eye, a sneer curled Woody's lip.
And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Woody stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy batsman the ball unheeded sped-
"That ain't my style," said Woody. "Strike one," the umpire said.
From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone on the stand;
And its likely they'd a-killed him had not Woody raised his hand.
With a smile of Christian charity great Woody's visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the spheroid flew;
But Woody still ignored it, and the umpire said, "Strike two."
"Fraud!" cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But one scornful look from Woody and the audience was awed.
They saw his face grow stern and cold, they saw his muscles strain,
And they knew that Woody wouldn't let that ball go by again.
The sneer is gone from Woody's lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.
And now the pitcher holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Woody's blow.
Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout;
But there is no joy in back home in Oysterville- mighty Woody has struck out.
This meant that Woody's colleagues would outside have to sleep
When the rest of Oystervilles baseball team awoke they did weep
A nightmare became a reality, it was impossible to shake
Sleeping outside had happened too often, they needed a fucking break
It was time for them to hatch a plan, and hatch a plan they did
They would find a way to sleep inside if it were the last thing they ever did
They waited outside the sleeping hall whilst the Prospectors dreamed their dreams
And snuck in at around nearly 3:00 am and murdered them all it seems.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Editor’s Note: As always, Mr. Flavour’s opinions do not reflect the views or opinions of—Actually, screw you, California. For god’s sake, you’ve always been that state that’s risen above intolerance. Despite giving us Reagan, you’ve always been the standard bearer when it comes to civil rights and tolerance. Jesus Christ, now your letting Mormons tell you what to do? Since when have you been bowing to the will of Joseph Smith? Woody’s right, California, you used to be cool.
Fuck you. 50-some percent of you anyway. Go kill yourselves.
Steve Young's still cool.
Yeah by now you've heard the grim...no wait...what's the word I'm looking for? Oh yeah grim was the right word...sorry for typing out my internal monologue like this...its quite a waste of space and time (that's interesting and slightly eerie to read). The grim news about the election.
Here's something i think would have helped McCain win...a proper endorsement from Arnold Schwarzenegger. We saw them together on the "idiot box" as I call it, and Arny saying stupid shit about "aghh I was action hero in movie film...John McCain actual action hero meyooo." I can't but think that if he would have referenced another one of his movies shit would have gone another way:
"I am kindergarten cop in movie..........JOHN MCCAIN REAL KINDERGARTEN COP."
"I am pregnant man in Junior.....JOHN MCCAIN REAL PREGNANT MAN!!!!!!"
"I am Terminator 2 in movie......JOHN MCCAIN REAL TERMINATOR 2!!!"
"I am twins with Danny Devito in movie......JOHN MCCAIN REAL DANNY DEVITO TWIN!!!"
"I am Conan the Barbarian in film.......JOHN MCCAIN IS ACTUAL BARBARIAN!!!"
"I am True Lies....."
You get the idea.
p.s. Seriously though, the O man won...this is awesome.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
I’m tired of hearing from McCain about Joe the Plumber. Every day, every speech we hear more and more about Joe the Plumber. Now, Joe the Plumber even has a fucking publicist. I think I speak for the majority of the universe when I say ENOUGH.
I don’t want to hear what Joe the Plumber has to think. I don’t care what his stance on states’ rights is. I don’t need to hear his views on gay marriage. In fact, from this moment forward, I’m calling for a media ban on Joe Wurzelbacher and anybody else who uses the first name-article-occupation style moniker. This includes, but is not limited to: Joe the Plumber, Tito the Builder, John the Senator, Sarah the Simi-Literate Governor, George the President, Grace the Tax Clerk, Ted the Rock Star, Mott the Hoople, Sharon the Guttersnipe, Mack the Knife, or Winston the ‘Fixer.’
I’ve come to the decision, dear reader(s), that if John McCain wins the election, I’ll drink myself into a four year coma. At least I won’t have to deal with Joe the Cabinet Member. Nixon’s already tried plumbers in the Whitehouse, and it didn’t turn out so well for him.
Friday, October 24, 2008
It's the World Series again (has it been four years already?????) Luckily this time it didn't land on a leap year, or else we would have had one less day of baseballic fun. Hopefully this time the U.S. will bring home the gold plated gold medal of honor of baseball. So here's to Barack Obama and the United States winning shit again......
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Ladies and gentlemen—actually, let me start over. I just assumed that you are either ladies or gentlemen. That was very wrong of me. Its possible that you are too young to comfortably call yourselves ladies or men, preferring a presumably more age-appropriate girls and boys. Perhaps you are a member of one of the myriad species of rodentia that I’m told enjoy our humble blog. You could even be, for all I know, spirit beings, and have no need for sexual characteristics; but yearn to experience just once—for even a microsecond—the pleasure of another being’s touch. If that is the case, my friends, let me express the pity I feel for your endless state of living hell.
Ladies, gentlemen, boys, girls, small mammals, and androgynous spirit creatures, if I seemed somewhat rambling in my opening paragraph, I do apologize. You see, for the last twenty-three hours I have been playing the Star Wars: Force Unleashed videogame, and my thoughts are a bit nebulous. Playing the game and thinking about the government, as I often do, I was struck by a rather odd realization. We’ve completely mis-caricatured our Vice President. Dick Cheney does not resemble Darth Vader to the slightest degree.
Darth Vader is in reality a rather tragic character. He began his life as innocent Anakin Skywalker, who turned to evil in a desperate attempt to save his beloved Padmé. Though he devoted much of his life malice, Vader’s selflessly give his life to save his son and daughter. Though this arguably was not enough to fully redeem his numerous acts of cold-blooded murder, he at least eventually discarded his wicked ways.
If Dick Cheney is any Star Wars character, he’s got to be Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin. Tarkin was a practiced bureaucrat who rose to a powerful government position, only to grab even more power. He was content to rule through fear, and was willing to do anything to thwart those who threatened that rule. He suborned torture, and even laid waste to Alderan (pronounced Iraq) to hold on to his power. He died rather than abandon the instrument of his authority.
So please, ladies gentlemen, and assorted entities, lets stop defaming Lord Vader by ancoring his memory with Dick Cheney.
This concludes the nerdiest blog post I have ever written. Tune in next week when I compare George W. Bush to Jar-Jar Binks, Barak Obama to Mace Windu, and Sarah Palin to these chicks.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
I read an article in Slate Magazine by Liza Mundy about her problems researching Michelle Obama for her new book, Michelle: A Biography. It prompted me to write the following e-mail to the Obama Campaign.
Notice how I shoehorned my complaint into a question in the last paragraph to meet his web site's e-mail requirements?
I will post the reply, if I get one, in a future post.
To whom it may concern:
I was very disturbed when I read an article by Liza Mundy in Slate Magazine today (http://www.slate.com/id/2202261) describing the resistance that the author encountered from the Obama campaign while researching Michelle Obama for an upcoming biography.
I understand the caution a Presidential candidate and his campaign must exhibit while dealing with the press. However, after reviewing Mrs. Mundy’s body of work, I must admit that I am confused as to the reason for the Obama Campaign’s resistance. Mrs. Mundy seems to be a skilled and objective journalist.
Sen. Obama is no doubt aware how critically important government transparency is to maintaining a free society, and that the press is the public’s watchdog in maintaining that transparency. The current President has made a habit of obstructing and deceiving the media, and is very disturbing, therefore, to learn of Sen. Obama’s campaign actively hindering a press investigation.
I would like to close this letter by saying that I support Sen. Obama. I hope that he brings the change he promises; change that our country desperately needs. But can we really expect that change when your campaign impedes the press just as President Bush does?
Dictated but not read.
Thursday, October 9, 2008
With the recent news of the economy being what it is, I think its time we familiarized ourselves once again with the 1930s. Therefore, I'd like to announce the kickoff to what will be The Special Needs Group's look at dealing with hard times.
Part 1: Knowing the Music:
They used to tell me I was building a dream, and so I followed the mob,
When there was earth to plow, or guns to bear, I was always there right on the job.
They used to tell me I was building a dream, with peace and glory ahead,
Why should I be standing in line, just waiting for bread?
Once I built a railroad, I made it run, made it race against time.
Once I built a railroad; now it's done. Brother, can you spare a dime?
Once I built a tower, up to the sun, brick, and rivet, and lime;
Once I built a tower, now it's done. Brother, can you spare a dime?
Once in khaki suits, gee we looked swell,
Full of that Yankee Doodly Dum,
Half a million boots went slogging through Hell,
And I was the kid with the drum!
Say, don't you remember, they called me Al; it was Al all the time.
Why don't you remember, I'm your pal? Buddy, can you spare a dime?
Thursday, October 2, 2008
By Woody (Cricket Bat of Sorts) Flavour
What have I become? I mean come on, its the 2000s people. There's not enough news going around. And the only kind that is going around is the fake kind. The kind where Republicans equal more that 1/3 of regular people. All I'm saying is that I think the newspapers should employ paper boys again. This whole economic down turn has choked the money out of the lifeblood that is the wallet of the common dog faced paperboy.
I remember this old guy from the barbershop, who remembers a time when Americans got their news from a prepubescent to pubescent guy toddering around on a ten speed bikecycle. It was a wondrous time filled with printed homonyms and syllogisms. Cotton candy and moon pies filled the room with all sorts of piles of doughy crustynuts. Cereal grew on trees and mailboxes were made of pressed wood from floorboards of the rich.
It's time that the guys wearing their designer ties driving around in their Deloreans and eating their caviar and drinking their Mad Dog 20/20.
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
After reading and rereading our previous posts for the previous several days, I’ve become concerned that our opposition to Governor Sarah Palin could be mistaken as sexist—I’m looking at you Hernandez. I feel that, bearing this in mind, the honored fellows of The Special Needs Group (including Tobias the Sorry Clown, but not Woody Flavour) must clarify our position on Gov. Palin.
Sarah Palin should never be our Vice President. She is shockingly, shamefully, dangerously unprepared and unqualified for the position. This is not because she is a woman. The Vice President must be prepaired to become President of the United States at a moment’s notice; and Sarah Palin does not have the skills or knowledge that would make her an effective Chief Executive.
Our research minions have provided us with a list of Republican women who we think are vastly better qualified to be Vice President than Governor Palin. The following are just four of the members on that outstanding list of exceptionally qualified and respected women.
Sen. Elizabeth Dole (R-NC): Sen. Dole is a Phi Beta Kappa graduate of Duke University, and has attended graduate programs at Oxford and Harvard, receiving both a master’s in education and a Juris Doctorate from the latter. She was Secretary of Labor in the George H.W. Bush Administration, Secretary of Transportation under Reagan, and Federal Trade Commissioner under Nixon. Sen. Dole later served as president of the American Red Cross. She has served in the Senate since 2001 and has is currently a member of the Committee on Armed Services and the Committee on Banking, Housing, and Urban Affairs.
Sen. Susan Collins (R-ME): Sen. Collins has been in national office for 11 years and is a member and the former chairman of the Homeland Security and Government Affairs Committee; a member of the Armed Services Committee; and Special Committee on Ageing. She has also served on the Committee on Health, Education, Labor, and Pensions; Permanent Subcommittee on Investigations; Ad Hoc Subcommittee on Disaster Recovery; Subcommittee on Oversight of Government Management, the Federal Workforce, and the District of Columbia among others.
Rep. Ileana Ros-Lehtinen (R-FL): Rep. Ros-Lehtinen is the longest serving Republican woman in Congress, having been a U.S. Representative continuously since 1989. She earned a PhD in Education from the University of Miami. She served in the Florida State Congress for six years between 1982 and 1988. Rep. Ros-Lehtinen is a ranking member of the House Committee on Foreign Affairs, and is currently co-chair of the Congressional Vision Caucus and the National Marine Sanctuary Caucus. Her eligibility office comes into question, however, having been born was born in Cuba.
Gov. Linda Lingle (R-HI): Gov. Lingle is the the first Republican, first woman, and first Jewish person to serve as governor of Hawaii. She served in several local political offices, founded the successful Molokai Free Press newspaper, and chaired the Hawaiian Republican Party before being elected for her first term in December of 2002. As Governor, Lingle played a key role in turning the state’s budget deficit of $250 million into a surplus of $730 million, a record for Hawaii. She also served as deputy chair of the 2004 Republican National Convention.
Knowing that these and several other experienced and qualified Republican women are available, one has to wonder what the hell John McCain was thinking.
Holy crap she's dumb.
She might be our president;
I'm Canada bound.
I'm not much of a poet, so do yourself a favor and read about a real poet, Sarah Palin, in this Slate Magazine article by Hart Seely.
Monday, September 29, 2008
My friends, fall is upon us, bringing with it colder weather, greyer skies, a new school year, and deep, deep depression. Bearing that in mind, I would like to remind you that The Brotherhood of Gentlemen Alcoholics is winding up their annual fall membership drive!
We all know that drinking is an invaluable tool when it comes to driving and parenting, but did you know that it’s also a great way to kill time? Why should you have to endure the endless winter months alone when Johnny Walker, Jose Cuervo, Old Mr. Jameson, George Dickel, George T. Stagg, and hell, even those dirty little bastards Jim Beam and his chum Jack Daniels all want to help you through?
Drinking can make the most boring activities, such as piloting an aircraft, captaining an oceangoing vessel, or brandishing a firearm, seem fun and exciting. Just ask Sean Connery:
If that look on his face after he takes his first sip dosen't say "Yum!," then I don't know what does.
Gentlemen—and ladies, I suppose, but who can tell?—I have plumbed the depths of the internet, and I have witnessed some weird, deplored, grotesque things. I’ve seen a man fucked to death by a horse, I’ve seen Chris Farley’s bloated corpse; I’ve even seen Brazilian chicks eat excrement like soft serve ice cream to the tune of Lover’s Theme, but I’ve never seen smut like this:
This obscene photograph is obviously meant to suggest still-President Bush's head on Mt. Rushmore next to the greatest men in the history of the United States. I do like how Presidents Washington and Lincoln seem to be judgmentally glaring at Bush, though.
Only 112 days ‘till the Bush Administration is just a memory. I feel that everybody should do what they can to make that memory easier to handle. For example, I plan to remember it as a blurry series of disjointed images--like a fever dream! I've got a buddy who swears he's going to slam Everclear until he can't remember it at all. However you choose to remember it, let's all agree to be glad its over, and not to carve his head into any mountains.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Friday, September 26, 2008
Sarah Palin is sexy. She’s down-right fuckable. I’m not sure if it’s the Tina Fey, vulnerable-yet-spunky-librarian-MILF thing she’s got going on, or if it’s just the fact that insane right wing chicks are universally hot (see here, here, here, here, here, here, and the exception that proves the rule here).
I’ve noticed, however that some people have confused her insane come-shag-me-until-I–believe-in-global-warming looks with actual astuteness. In the interest of deflating our collective wood, I’d like to remind everybody that Sarah Palin is a functional moron (see here, here, here, and another fugly conservative here). She does not believe in protecting endangered species, evolution, or teaching safe sex—preferring instead the all but debunked abstinence only programs. Tom Perrotta wrote an excellent article about the bizarre paradox of sexy abstinence advocates for Slate Magazine.
There’s no shame in wanting to have weird, degrading, amoral sex with Sarah Palin. I know I do. But please, don’t cast your vote for anyone based on their sex appeal. There’s a reason penises aren’t allowed to vote.
UPDATE: If i didn't make the case against Sarah Palin, let Sarah Palin do it:
Watch CBS Videos Online
What language do they speak in Alaska?
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Friday, August 1, 2008
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Apparently there's an issue here on the board that I thought I'd never have to deal with. This isn't just about football anymore Woody...
Let's just get the huge eraser and shake the Etch a Sketch clean...its a mess now....
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Every once and a while, the members of the special needs group need to take a quiet sabbatical in order to recharge our creative batteries. If Messers Hoden and O’Toole are off on a vacation, or completing programs that would allow them to reenter society, I would pick up the slack and post more often. If, however all three of the honorable associates of the special needs blog happened to be engaged in other projects, responsibility would fall on our junior associate Woody Flavour to fill the void.
It would seem that we failed to explain to Mr. Flavour that we here at The Special Needs Group do not insult our readers on the Special Needs Blog; instead favoring to do so behind our readers’ backs. We also will have a talk with Mr. Flavour about context, and telling our readers what the hell they’re reading.
As a special way of apologizing to our loyal throng of readers, we are introducing a new semi-regular character to our gang at the Special Needs Group. Please welcome Tobias the “Sorry” Clown. His image will adorn all future posts in which we make a public apology. We look forward to working with our new friend Tobias.
Wednesday, July 9, 2008
Monday, July 7, 2008
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Please permit me a bit of digression from our usual standard of jackassery, while I ramble a bit about my views of humanity.
I’ve always felt that the most encouraging aspect of humanity is our singular need to better ourselves. To recognize one’s own flaws and strive to overcome them defines courage. It is our gift of introspection and our need to prevail over ourselves that I believe will save the world.
There are many reasons to be frustrated with still-President George Walker Bush. The decisions that he has made have damaged the United States in countless ways. His responsibility in the deaths of thousands of my countrymen, and tens of thousands of innocent civilians is unforgivable. Bearing this in mind, President’s unwillingness to acknowledge his mistakes—and his utter inability accept responsibility for the negative outcomes of his mistakes—is especially infuriating.
With 202 days left in his final term in office, still-President Bush has precious little time to mitigate his blunders. It is very unlikely that Mr. Bush would change anything, even if he were cognizant of his flaws. He tends to view leadership as the quality of never changing one’s mind; always staying the course.
After Bush’s watch is over, our new helmsman will hopefully see the wisdom in changing course before we run aground. If our new President does recognize that wisdom, George W. Bush’s administration will be an easy act to follow.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Evenin' there wayward souls. It's been a few weeks but sports and bla bla bla......
Went and saw Styx and Boston the other day...it was good...i mean Styx...Boston was like a drunk uncle or something though...trying to ruin Thanksgiving or whatever.
Listen I'm starting a petition to create a new professional baseball league. The MLB has been pissing me the fuck off for a month or a year or something. We should have the MLB and the "Super Baseball League of America" (SBLA). The MLB will keep being judgemental pricks and ruining all of our fun and the SBLA will allow supergenetic steroid-utilizing baseball machines to beat the fuck out of eachother. Mark McGuire will come back. It'll be awesome. They just have to provide their own steroids.
Let's do this people.
Editor's Note: As always, Mr. Flavour's comments do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of The Special Needs Group, its affiliates, lackeys, sponsors, footmen, or parent company: Hernandez and Son's Hydraulic Adult Toy Co. Also, we will never again allow Mr. Flovour to post while drunk.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Yesterday, my old-time jazz band, The Plessey Fergusons, and I were discussing the plethora of problems that our nation faces today. No member of The Plessey Fergusons claims to be a political genius, but we believe we may have come up with a solution to the gay marriage issue.
We propose that the term “marriage” be stricken from the law. Everybody, gay or straight, who wishes to enjoy the legal benefits of what we now call marriage, will apply for a civil union in the state in which he, or she, or he/she resides. If they wish to call themselves “married,” well, what the hell, let’s let ‘em.
Religious groups will wish to independently decide whether or not they’ll sanction the civil unions as marriage, but I’m sure most gay couples won’t care whether or not The Third Baptist Church and Grill of Butt-Fuck Louisiana says they’re married.
This strategy will allow all persons who love each other—be they gay as spring time, or straight but bi-curious—the full legal benefits of marriage.
Finally, as a way of apologizing for the way gays have been treated in the past, we propose that each openly gay couple be given a pass to Sea World of San José, and a Greek Passport.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls; any animals that somehow navigated to our page, WE’RE BACK!
Yes, the Special Needs Group, touted by some to be the most relevant blog ever, has returned to its adoring throng with tales of the hiatus that seemed like it would never end.
Each of our honored associates is poised over his respective keyboard, eager to share stories of their hiatus. Shamus will enthrall us with tales of his triumphant return to the land of his birth—only to end up drunk, naked, and lost in Scotland. Jesus will tell us about his safari, and perhaps share with us exactly where he “found” a metric ton of ivory. Cap’n Adam is simply turgid with anticipation of telling us about his journey to the New York Comic Convention, or ComiCon, as the nerds say. And, I’m sure Woody Flavour will make us all cringe with some horrible contribution of his own.
So join me in ruckus celebration at the reopening of our beloved Special Needs Blog.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
So here's the rub: Shamus, Captain, and Jesus were flying to poland and their chopper went down over the Himalayas. This is a huge fucking bummer because that means I've got to extend my shit to talking about stuff that don't involve sporting accidents.
My three dear dear acquaintances are currently undergoing radioactive spine treatment in hopes that some sort of himalayan monster won't grind their bones to make his oh so popular (and tasty!) bread.
So let's see...what's in the news....
Oh yeah...I was reading the other day about these two dudes in suits in Oregon. Some representative guy or something named MANNIX told someone that the other guy, Sir Erickson or some shit put his load in some girl and then paid her to have the kid killed while living inside of her. I've come to learn that this practice is known as abortion. This is performed, presumably, by either drilling through the females naval and digging the child out with a large wooden spoon, or holding the mothers head under water in a bathtub, thus, killing two birds with one stone.
The whole problem I have with this deal is the fact that everyones acting like the guy who had that bitch kill her kid is some kind of jerk...when in reality he should be given some sort of medal of achievement. There are enough people in America that have kids already, we don't need politians to have them too.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Yesterday, I penned an article of which I was very proud. I was proud of the content of the article, not of the subject, which is an idea that we’re apparently fucking married to for some reason. No, I was proud of a couple of the jokes that, like an expert craftsman, I laid lovingly into my work. Yet, last night, as I was sitting with friends; discussing the issues of the day over brandy and Cohibas, I was chastised by an acquaintance for this joke:
What can I say about SpongeBob SquarePants that the Book of Revelations hasn’tsaid already?
I thought this amusing little sentence was a clever, pithy setup for the rest of the paragraph, which went on to describe the cartoon in a negative light. My acquaintance told me that “I’m past all those Book of Revelations jokes.”
This statement annoyed me for several reasons. First, he had suggested that his sense of humor was so much more advanced than mine that he no longer had time for my sophomoric little jokes. Second, what fucking ‘Revelations jokes’ was he talking about? Was there some recent tsunami of people making snide remarks about The Book of Revelations that I had missed? Finally, fuck him. You may not enjoy another’s sense of humor, but that doesn’t mean you have to call it puerile to his face—wait until you can say it behind his back.
Therefore, in honor of my acquaintance, I present a new feature of our Special Needs Group: The Revelations Joke of the Week. Somewhere on this page, there will be a Revelations-related joke that shall be updated weekly. I beg you to enjoy.
Monday, May 5, 2008
The polls have closed, the votes have been counted. Ladies and gentlemen, apparently cat art is more repugnant than the word ‘sassy.’
Far be it from me to challenge the democratic process, but you’re wrong. To be fair, though, we shall hereafter ban all forms of feline fine art. We shall also continue our policy of grinding sassy-mongers into chuck.
This week, Big Mouth Billy Bass:
Verses, this guy:
Why do we keep seeing singing mounted animals? For God’s sake, this should have stopped years ago. I’ve seen singing, dancing Santas, deer heads, fish bones, and even lobsters. They’re in such poor taste that even self-avowed redneck Jeff Foxworthy makes fun of them. I can’t even listen to Take Me to the River anymore without feeling nauseous.
What can I say about SpongeBob SquarePants that the Book of Revelations hasn’t said already? As a cast member of Mr. Show, Tom Kenny commanded our respect. Most of us loved him as Shakes the Clown. We were enthralled by his performance of Heffer. Now he’s just that jackass what voices SpongeBob. This cankerous little sponge has ruined Mr. Kenny just like he is ruining our children.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Friday, May 2, 2008
I’d like to share with you an excerpt from my much anticipated upcoming book, Captain Adam Hoden’s Guide to Lovemaking and Boat Repair:
There is a line in Othello about a drinking man, “Now a sensible man, by and by a fool, presently a beast.” And that is how Nathan Hawthorne began his day; pondering his own body’s malevolent treatment of him. At 11:45 AM, Hawthorn was fairly sure that he could prize himself from whichever bed, futon, or wheelchair he had chosen for this night’s repose.
Gingerly, Hawthorn made his first attempt to rise, and, finding himself hindered by the leg of a bedfellow, chose instead to remain flat. It was just as well. He wasn’t entirely sure that his treacherous legs could handle any sort of expedition at the moment; the previous night had been a blur of thick smoke and drunken images.
Now, though, with the party over, and guests littering the room, it was time to assess the damage. Motivated, presently, by an urgent need to vomit, Hawthorn pushed the trespassing leg from his chest, mumbled, “Fucking sot,” and rose shakily to his feet. Near him, several prone figures were beginning to stir. He hoped that he would be the first to use the bathroom that morning.
He was not. The bathroom was wet and smelled like the alley behind a tavern. Hawthorn flipped the light switch. All but one of the bulbs in a four bulb vanity above the bathroom’s sink were broken. Powdered glass lay dangerously on the linoleum floor. A black man who Hawthorn didn’t know had fallen asleep with his head on the seat of the toilet. A girl who Hawthorn did know was lying face down in the bathtub. Hawthorn pushed on the black man’s right shoulder, and he slumped to the floor with a groan.
After several tumultuous minutes in the bathroom, Hawthorn slouched out of the bathroom and surveyed his surroundings. He had no idea where he was. The house he was standing in was unfamiliar. The house’s walls bore no decoration. There seemed to be no furniture. The carpet had been new, but it was now soiled by the stains of the previous night’s debauchery.
Captain Adam Hoden’s Guide to Lovemaking and Boat Repair will be available in bookstores soon.
Monday, April 28, 2008
I’d like to take the time now to thank you for voting. It turns out that both of the people who read this blog unanimously hate wolf art.
The Special Needs Group shall henceforth ban any discussion, depiction, or hyperlink to artwork featuring wolves.
This week, artwork featuring cats:
Verses the word ‘Sassy’
Artwork featuring cats has long been the realm of old ladies who have heretofore squandered their creative abilities, but still feel obligated to send quilts and pillows to their unsuspecting relations. These saccharin images must not be taken as gestures of love, but for what they really are: A reminder from Grandma that she is ripe for Death’s icy sickle, and you should call her more often.
The word sassy is an atrocious word that has been a disgusting, cancerous blight on the Queen’s English for too damned long. Users of the word ‘sassy’ should be culled from the respectable populous and processed as animal feed.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Ladies, and to a greater extent, gentlemen, I am certain I have your support in my newest pursuit: the prohibition of things distasteful. I am nowhere near arrogant enough to believe that I am the ultimate authority on the subject of American Culture, and therefore; therefore, I introduce the very first interactive feature of our beloved Special Needs Blog.
From this point forward, there will be a one or two question survey—to be located somewhere on our page—asking you to identify the least savory of a list of absolutely insipid things. Voting will last begin on Monday and end on Friday. Over the weekend, I will tabulate the results, discard them, and choose the option that I find most offensive.
This week, Artwork featuring wolves:
Both are horribly tacky wastes of otherwise innocent wall space that morons believe show a deep connection to their spirituality. Realisticly, they only show that you will spend your money on anything. In an amazing feat of poetic justice, Native Americans sell these mass-produced atrocities to stupid white people--who believe them to be art—at an absurdly inflated price. They then use their profits to build casinos and bilk even more white people out of even more money. This sort of incisive business sense is evidence that Indians are determined to take back their country—no matter how long it takes.
Choose wisely, friends.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Editor's Note: As always, Mr. Flavour's comments do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of The Special Needs Group, its affiliates, site-managers, lackeys, sponsors, footmen, or parent company: Hernandez Latex Apparati. Know ye this: Woody be not a man, but a beast from the deep.
Here we go with another Sports Fuck...
Announcer: Ladies an gentleman of the press Mr. Johnson would now like to read a prepared statement.
Magic Johnson: Ladies and gentlemen, I have contracted AIDS. Which means that I had sex with a lady that had sex with a man, who had sex with a lady, who had sex with a man, who had sex with another man, who had sex with a monkey. Thank you.
We all remember that shadowy November eve in which Magic Johnson announced his having of AIDS to the people. And we all remember pumping our fists with joy. It was like Christmas buttfucked Mardi Gras and had an ass baby named "Finally Day."
I don't have anything against Magic, but AIDS happens to people that allegedly solicit prostitutes. Magic allegedly roamed the streets nightly trolling for disgusting whores. That guy allegedly couldn't get any without paying for it. He allegedly never wrapped his shit up when putting the shag to said whore ladies. Allegedly they all told him his wang was half the size of Wilt Chamberlains.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Apathy is working against me,
Wants to bring me down.
I sit here, knowing that I must write, but I just don’t give a damn.
My honored and dysfunctional associates all have prior obligations. Jesus Miguel Hernandez is currently busy gazing into a spring, and Captain Adam Hoden is off crying, and Woody Flavour is, of course, stone-fucking-dead. This leaves yours truly to pound out some sort of mildly entertaining article. Problem is: I just don’t feel like it.
Therefore, instead of giving you some clunker of a posting, here’s some more of Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie:
Thursday, April 17, 2008
We here at The Special Needs Blog would are sad to report the timely death of junior associate Woody (Cricket Bat) Flavour, who was released from years of painful existence early this morning.
Last night, Mr. Flavour was stumbling home from temple—thinking it was Friday—when he was attacked and sodomized by a roving pack of feral dachshunds. His body was then dragged into a culvert and eaten by several feisty javelinas. A homeless gentleman, known locally as ‘Crispy John,’ then gathered much of his skeleton to use as dice and various other hobo bric-a-brac.
The Special Needs Group would like to extend its sincerest condolences to Mr. Flavour’s family and friends. Though Cricket Bat can never truly be replaced, we will certainly try. I wonder if Francesco Marciuliano is available?
Editor's Note: As always, Mr. Flavour's comments do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of The Special Needs Group, its affiliates, lackeys, sponsors, footmen, or parent company: Hernandez Plus-Sized Feline Apparel.
It's been months now. It's been months and months and no one has said it. Apparently I'm going to have to be the guy.
Is it just me or did people make the Micheal Vick dog fighting thing a bigger deal then it should have been? I, being the sportsmaster general of the Special Needs Group, am a ginormous proponant of sports...sports like dogfighting. Just because Goodman Vick was able to do what all Americans secretly want to do, does that mean that he needs to be drugged(correct spelling?) through the mud of our shabbily fucked political system? Fuck no. Dogfighting, when conducted at the appropriate speed, can be a beautiful thing.
There's nothing more (or less, depending on what you like) American than sitting down with two or three or an arena full of your good buddies and watching some canines eat eachothers faces off. I can recall many summer nights with my two friends and the dogs we'd stolen from our neighbors and other folks around town. If we werent able to get the dogs to fight we'd end up killing them ourselves. Our hometown was quite dogless after a couple years worth of us stealing multiple dogs and forcing them to kill eachother. As soon as we'd ran out of stealable, fightable dogs it was time to ramble on to the next town to continue betting on the fighting of dogs procured from strangers.
There's nothing inherantly wrong with forcing animals to kill eachother. Frankly, if dogfighting is wrong and unlawful then basketball should be as well. Studies show that just as many dogs die each NBA game as they do durring your common, run of the mill, town center dogfighting championship.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that it's time to fucking riot in the streets and protest until we canget mister Vick out of negative public favor and crown him "World Dog Fighting Champion of the Universe." I myself have been renting billboards around town and fixing them to display images of Vick, in his Footballing atire, spiking a pitbull in the endzone of a football field. This is costing me quite a bit of money but it will be worth it in the long run if the citizenry will get behind this wonderful cause.
It's time to make a positive change in the world. FREE VICK!
Addendum to Editor’s Note: For-the-love-of-God, please do not confuse Mr. Flavour’s opinions with those of any of the honored associates of The Special Needs Group; or those of any lucid, cogent human-being. He will be severely horsewhipped by the Special Needs Enforcers; who, I assure you, are burly and sadistic dog-lovers.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Monday, April 14, 2008
If you wish to join, you must be:
- At least 18 years old.
- A gentleman.
- Able to drink scotch whiskey without making a face.
You must have never:
- Ordered an apple-tini (unless you are an homosexual).
- Asked anyone in a bar to stop smoking, EVER!
Friday, April 11, 2008
Never disparage a beloved cartoon character.
Today, I was accosted by a large lady—henceforth referred to as The Columnist-Eating Woman—wearing an ancient and stained Snoopy sweater. She vigorously reminded me that Rerun Van Pelt is indeed a well-known and much-loved member of the Peanuts gang.
The policy of The Special Needs Group, as spelled out in our charter (§ 147, ¶ 6), is to never print corrections unless under threat of firing squad, lynch mob, or civil law suit. However, after much prompting from The Columnist-Eating Woman, we will make an exception.
The Official Peanuts Web Site says the following about our beloved Rerun:
Rerun Van Pelt is often mistaken for Linus, even though he's his little brother. He can always be recognized in his trademark overalls. Rerun is more skeptical than his brother, much harder to convince, and always gets around Lucy where Linus gives in. His only fear is being the passenger on one of his mother's bicycle-riding errands. Somehow, Rerun is the only witness to her riding into grates and potholes. Luckily, he always wears a helmet. Rerun also longs for a dog of his own, but since his parents won't let him have one, he tries to "borrow" Snoopy from Charlie Brown. Snoopy won't have any part of it unless Rerun brings cookies.
Assuming that The Columnist-Eating Woman does not know where I live, I promise this will be the final posting concerning a comic strip. God, I need a drink.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Being insecure, I often take internet based tests to confirm things that I already know about my own personality. Today, I stumbled across the “Which Peanuts Character are You?” quiz at Quizilla.com. I answered the six questions that comprised the test, and this appeared on my screen:
It seems pretty accurate, although I’m not charming. I do have one question, though: Who the hell is Rerun? I know Charlie Brown, and Snoopy, Woodstock, Linus, Lucy, Pigpen, the Patties—both Peppermint and otherwise, Marcie, and Sally; but I have never heard of Rerun. I wasn’t even able to find an entry for him on Wikipedia.
While searching for Rerun on Google, however, I did find a clip from that awesome episode of What's Happening? where The Doobie Brothers show up for some reason!
Here it is for your sportsing pleasure: my first real Sports Fuck! entry.
Really, what's the deal with Tiger Woods? You know what I mean. Strutting around like he plays golf or something. What's all that about?
And another thing, what's Muggsy Bogues been up to? Probably no good....probably. Probably has a bad case of short man syndrome...probably. Probably walks around all day spitting in the food of those dining on many a restaurant patio...probably.
You guys see rumble in the jungle? Foreman must be watching Ali right now and be saying to himself "That guy beat me? That shakey fuck?"
Editor's Note: Mr. Flavour's comments do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of The Special Needs Group, its affiliates, sponsors, or parent company: Hernandez Heavy Industries, Inc.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Dear English Speakers,
For the love of god, please stop misusing the word ‘literally.’
I would like to share with you a quote from Pennsylvania
Governor Ed Rendell:
"The first two months of this campaign, January and February, it was absolutely reprehensible what the media did. Senator Obama literally walked on water."
We submit that it would, in fact, be absolutely reprehensible for the media not to report Sen. Obama literally walking on water. If Barack Obama stepped onto the surface of body of liquid water and did not sink, this is something that the public needs to be aware of.
If we may be so bold, we would like to suggest that perhaps the Governor meant to say Sen. Obama figuratively walked on water. It is possible, though seemingly unlikely, that the Gov. Rendell was using the word in an ironic way, in which case the fault lies with the reporting party for not using the appropriate accentuation.
Not to unfairly target Gov. Rendell, the misuse of the word ‘literately’ is a FIGURATIVE epidemic in today’s culture. It is said casually by public figures far too often. Therefore, we beg the English-speaking world to help us to retard this overuse of a once great word.
The Special Needs Group
We are delighted here at The Special Needs blog to welcome a new contributor to our fellowship. Woody (Cricket Bat) Flavour is a respected and revered football hooligan from The Continent.
While I shall leave it up to Goodman Flavour to submit a more detailed history, I would like to briefly describe his credentials for you. Woody (Cricket Bat) Flavour—aka Thomas “Big Toe” Henderson, aka Stubbs Johnson, aka Elliot “Rice Cake” Hancock, aka Popper Martini, aka Dr. Jonas Mitchell—has had more disorderly conduct arrests than all three of our regular contributors combined.
I first met Cricket Bat Flavour when he was the events coordinator at Lansdowne Road in February of ’95. Since then we have been incarcerated together twice.
There will be very little change in the production and presentation of The Special Needs Blog. I shall continue to bring you news pertaining to my specialties—alcohol, Consumption, the consumption of alcohol, tennis, Ireland, and the campaign to bring back Surge. My honored associate Captain Adam Hoden will continue being a nerd, and Jesus Miguel Hernandez will still refuse to answer any questions about his citizenship.
So please join us in welcoming our new junior associate and sports columnist Woody (Cricket Bat) Flavour.
Monday, April 7, 2008
No, I'm not one of the usual suspects (Inches O' Toole) nor do I claim any esteem. I do however, get in fights at soccer (football[soccer]) matches. Yes, I have been commisioned (commission pending) to tabulate the occasional sports column for the Special Needs boys.
My knowings of sports is vast. And by vast I mean I constantly have ESPN Classic on in the background while I'm playing Russian Roulette by myself 15 minutes a day for the rest of my life (oh how the caged bird does sing!). I've been in football(soccer[football]) fights on several continents. I've brawled at Maine Road in Manchester, England before it was torn down in 2004. I head butted a transvestite at Estádio do Morumbi in Sao Palo Brazil. I even streaked across the field in Estadio Azteca in Mexico City. Yes, I've been well involved in sports, but not nearly as involved as I'm going to be. So don't try to tell me I've never even heard of soccer(football[fuck you])!!!
Since I've taken up alot of space so far with giving you the details of my ableness to produce sportslike talks, I will make my post brief.
Lets see...whats going on in the wild world of sports today....I guess Chuck Heston died...that's kinda weird.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
I was wandering around the annals of a popular social site today. I noticed that the comments left on a friend’s profile were a little bland, and so, in the interest of interest, I posted the following:
It seems that you have been treated too well by your posting several. Please allow me to correct this oversight.
You are an absurd, bastard-sucking lowlife with all of the wherewithal of an incontinent mental patient. You spout clichés with carless abandon while having little or no idea of their meaning; though your fans may lavish praise upon you, they obviously have very little taste.
You weep effluent from every pore. Your every action causes perturbation and strife; you should be lanced and drained off the buttock of civilization. It is no stretch of truth to call you the worst human who has ever lived. I speak without hyperbole when I say that you, sir, are shit.
Hoping you are well,
Captain Adam Hoden
P.S. Hope to see you soon for tea.
Dictated but not read.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
My honored associate, The Good Captain Adam Chelsea Hoden, has temporarily lost his voice in a tragic bulimia accident. As an act of solidarity, I shall—from this moment until Captain Hoden’s voice returns, in triumph, to its time-honored domicile—become mute.
Those of you who have read to the nomen of my declaration may ask “But what of Goodman O’Toole? Will he become silent as well?” Well, my friends, he has already fallen silent. By an astounding coincidence, our honored associate was, just last night, struck repeatedly about his larynx by an angry school girls’ tennis team. The resulting swelling has rendered him mercifully dumb—and left him with several humorous racket shaped bruises.
Though we shall still take joy in Screaming into the Void, for the next day or two, we shall be doing so silently.