Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Hiatus Maximus

By Woody "Cricket Bat" Flavour

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

A New Revelation

By Shamus (Proud Inches) O’Toole

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

Oh, Sassy is SO Worse!

By Inches O’Toole

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.

Vote well.

Sunday, May 4, 2008

Spooorts Fooook

by Woody "Cricket Bat" Flavour

Here it is sir...more Sports Fuck...

"....I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth..."

...I call bullshit....

Friday, May 2, 2008

Project Lead Buoy

By Captain Adam Hoden

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.