Cojoined twins Christmas returns

A note, found at a grisly suicide scene...

1. Plaid sweater from the Gap (makes us look fat).
2. Chic-Fil-A calendar (he's getting fat). **** you asshole! You are the tub of lard! Please don't go messing up my post. EAT ME.
3. Starbucks gift card (makes fat dumb**** gassy). I'm gonna kick your ass! Oh wait....you DON'T have an ass, lamebrain.
4. My turn ****stick....We are taking back that book of romantic poetry your faggot boyfriend bought you. Oh no you don't! That is my favorite gift and Harold was so sweet to think of us. US? I hat that mother-*****...always sticking his tongue in my side of our mouth! And he can't keep his hands off my ****. Your ****? I don't think so, girlfriend! But he does like your pretty little ass! SHUT THE **** UP!
5. That stupid tea set and biography of Liberace. RUBBISH you lotharian! It WILL NOT go back. I love formal tea service and Liberace was a graceful, loving human being. A man's man! You are a ****ing flaming faggot! Liberace was a turd pounder. And we won't have tea..NOT ON MY WATCH. OK, just fine. Do you want everyone to know about that night you went camping with Thad? I tried to sleep...I tried to forget about it....Great, you ***che-bag. THANKS A ****-LOAD. Now EVERYONE knows. IT WAS JUST ONE TIME. And it's your fault -made me go see Brokeback with your 'girl' friends. That's it. You've gone too far. I'm hurt. I'm taking back the Skil-Saw. The HELL you will! Thad bought that for ME! It was our first Christmas. What am I saying... I think we all know who the meat lover is in the family....OH MY GAWD....Does Mom know? I can't take this anymore....where's my 5 in one screwdriver set? PUT THAT DOWN. You'll put out our eye! Stop it! That hurts......NO!

Text ends......

A Surrealist Dog on Christmas Day

Kids up early. Let me out! Open door! Must go pee! Let me out! Make circles ‘til someone looks. They’re ignoring me! I’ll pee on the floor. I’ll do it! Wet circles of paint form mist in the construction of urban dungeons.

Finally, door open! Run, pee, go over by the bird bath, pee more, move toward the door, pee again. The unknown spirits plant severed feet beneath the basket of sleeping puppies.

Back inside. Wrapping paper being torn, discarded. Sniff a bow, smells like nothing. Everyone excited. Petunias serve as forks to kings in elderberry estates.

Room a mess. Paper scattered everywhere. New toys and clothes. Strange lighted tree still in house, blinking. Now people tired. Washing the red compass results in a wary glitch of observable time.

Finally! Someone feeds me. Dry food, no wet. Sniff first, then eat. Marionettes with daggers frighten alley cats beneath a shadowed moon.

People keep arriving. Bark, then bark more. It’s my house! You come in, I bark! Someone pets me, I stop. Shave the cast from the mummified remains; the energy of ancient thought floats visibly, then evaporates.

Tired. Nap time. Too much running, barking. Too many people. Growl at infant touching my face. Get kicked by master. Cortical functions become levers racing in orange.

All good now. Strangers leaving, me being fed, new toys to sniff, kids happy, masters tired. Must eat, take dump, go sniffing, then nap in peace. The wind finds serenity amongst the dead as camera eyes flicker in frustration.

A Ghey Family Christmas

“Oh Father, the tree is ever so lovely this year!”

“Merci, my dear. When I first laid eyes upon it, I thought it was splendid and, with a knowing wink, said to the gentleman in the lot, ‘My good man, the Gheys simply must have this gorgeous specimen!’”

“Let’s unwrap the gifts!”

“Yes, let’s shall!”

[unwrapping noises]

“Oh my! This sweater is exquisite! My everlasting thanks, m’lady!”

“Oh Father!”

[laughter, followed by more unwrapping noises]

“The complete works of Truman Capote! A touch naughty, but I likey!”

“I’m pleased that you’re pleased!”

“Oh Father, we love all your presents. Thank you so so so so so much!”

“Shopping is even more of a treat when guided by love!”

“I was about to opine that Christmas is the best, but no.”

[gasps]

“Father, you are the best! You fill the Ghey home and hearth with such love!”

“I bow to your compliments, for I am humbled.”

“But still incorrigible!”

“Ho ho!”

“What shall we do next? Try on our new outfits?”

“Is there a foot ball match on the telly?”

“Ho ho! Foot ball?! You always were the black sheep of the family!”

“Speaking of such, Father, I have a confession. At University, I shan’t be majoring in theatre.”

[silence]

“Then what? Literature? Willst thou be a playwright?”

“Oh my! I sense a tiff arising and must ask who would like to partake in snow sledding.”

“Oh, let’s shall!”

“Yes!”

“Oh yes!”

“Not I.”

[silence]

“Say again? You’d miss such jollification? Is your heart too light for the dales on this morn?”

“Nothing like that. It’s just that someone has to prepare the hot chocolate for when the hardy sledders return from their sporty endeavor.”

“Last one out has lumps of coal in their stocking!”

Bad Santa 2007

For our 'newer' readers, it has become tradition among the staff (pun intended) of Lincoln's Trombone to offer distasteful, off-color greetings, suitable for the season. Enjoy...share...Merry ****ing Christmas!

Three openers, from the pen of Millard Fillmore.......

It's Christmas two-thousand and seven
Santa's ready for sex with his elven.
They all get up at three
For Claus to bury his tree
And they ride his red rocket to heaven.


Oh you better watch out
You better not cry!
You better not pout, I'm telling you why
Santa's giving you a dirty sanchez for Christmas, bitch.



**** the sleigh
**** the holly
**** the mall
Let's ****

Advice for the Holidays

Should a German family invite you to a Christmas costume party, and you decide to go as Fox news commentator Brit Hume, remember to sing the following song:

I’ll be Hume for Christmas.
Du kann count auf mich.
C-N-N and F-O-X
Would ne-ver hire dich…

Ironic Smegma Liner Notes

It is with great pride that I announce that I have been selected to write the liner notes for the new Ironic Smegma boxed set, due out in time for the holidays. Below is my rough draft. I welcome any comments, critiques, advice, etc.


I remember the first time I heard of ‘80s icons Ironic Smegma. The breathless coed practically screamed in my ear that I had to hear this band!

“They’re tits and beer,” her boyfriend agreed.

At that time, IS had a new age influence I didn’t much care for, but there was no denying the talent. What’s more, they stayed within themselves: The four chords they played, they played damned well.

Curious, I followed the band through the decade, watching them add 2 additional chords, 4 hairdressers, and countless spandex jumpsuits. Over and over again, I examined the video for Foreskin Hair Gel, wondering if the band had peaked. Then, of course, came their tour de force, My Spandex is Stretchin’ (Because You’re so Fetchin’). Yes, the video featured the leather bikini, but there was more to it than that. For example…there was…um…oh hell, all I remember is the leather bikini.

In any case, through all the women, fame, women, hairstyles, and more women, IS never lost touch with their essential principle: Make as much money as possible and do it damned quickly. Perhaps, when the history of ‘80s music is written, that will serve as their greatest legacy.

Ranking Nothing in Particular, Special Holiday Edition

What a difference one holiday makes!

Top 5, week of November 24, 2007:

1. Formless voices that suggest saying “AH-lou” when discussing Moises Alou
2. Florence Henderson’s false dance card
3. Statuesque lawn gnomes with bloody gums
4. Billy goats who rant about the flavor of the dress code
5. The World Series of Pork

Top 5, pre-Thanksgiving:

1. Spleen juice well behind first
2. Mispronouncing “meatus”
3. Minuscule lawn gnomes with bloodless gums
4. The curse of the odorous shaft
5. Flash drives emitting sparks of everlasting menstruation

Every College Football Message Board

There’s no way we loose this game. [Name of opponent] has no running game, no D, and there coach is a retart!

I’m with ya bro. Our third team would take em by 2 TDs. LOL!

Anyone see we got a chance of signing Laerton? Isn’t he the #1 recruit nationally? We do that, we win the next 4 NCs!

He’s coming. Mark it down.

That asshat [name of columnist] wrote that we’re “really good” but have a few areas to “tweak.” How does a f***ing idiot like that even get a column?!

LOL! Who cares what that a-hole says? If I ever see [columnist], I’ll kick his a** I promise you that!

Just another example of how the media NEVER gives us a break. Do they ever say [name of rival] or [name of other rival] need to tweak? Bastages!

Almost game time. Let’s start an official game thread so we can write down what we’re all watching.

Aw geez! [Name of quarterback] just threw an INT. When are they going to play [Backup QB]?

ROFL! You must be kidding!

I assure you, I don’t kid about football!

You ever play the game, asswipe? Some a you fems need to learn about football before you post. I’m LMAO at some a the crap I’m reading here. If you never strapped it on, don’t tell us who to play!

No reason to switch QBs. [Name of coach] knows what he’s doing.

Maybe, but [Name of offensive coordinator] is a moran!

LOL! Who cares what you think?

ROFL! Would you rather be [name of rival team] and win by cheating? That’s what most teams do. Thank God we’ve got class.

Not most teams—practically EVERYBODY cheats. I don’t know how [name of coach] plays so clean and wins. I guess that’s greatness for you. Like you said, pure class. We’ve got it, they wish they had it. LOL!

It’s almost halftime and we’re only winning by 10. Why are we so flat?

The reffing hasn’t helped. Has [opponent] gotten a single flag?

Only the ones they deserved. Meanwhile we get flagged for scratching our nuts.

The [name of conference] hates us. No big story there.

[Name of offensive coordinator] is a moran. Calling a run on 2nd and 10 doesn’t fool anyone if you keep doing it!

LMAO! You ever play the game, asswipe? If you never strapped it on, don’t tell us what to call!

Bad news on Laerton. [High school player ranking service] just announced he’s going to [rival school].

Good riddance to bad rubbish! We’re better off without him.

He wouldn’t have played a down here.

That a-hole will regret this day after we win the next 4 NCs. LOL!

3rd and 1. There out of time outs. We pick this up, the games over.

You ever play the game, asswipe? If you never strapped it on, don’t tell us how many time outs they have left!

Did that idiot [announcer] just ask who our 2nd string tailback is? Hello?! Does the name [of 2nd string tailback] mean anything to you?

ROFL!

Guess we no who the asshats in the booth our rooting for.

They did just say we were great…

LOL! That’s just speaking the truth! No credit for that.

YESSS! First down! Put it in the books, bay-bee!

My congrat’s to any fans of [opponent]. Your a good team. No disgrace to loose to us. Hold your heads up.

We’ll probably move up in the BCS after this.

Maybe, but our O sucked.

What do you expect? [Name of offensive coordinator] is a moran!

16th Century Hyperbole

"Famisheth me wot; mine starvation thou horse for vitual wouldst erstwhile absolve."

"Thine brain, O Lord, is mightiest of all peas."

"Jocluarity of thine tale hast been told of the millionth"

"Doth thou not behold thine ladies bosom? powered vessel upon them, I wouldst 'til dawn!"

"Mine appendage; glorious and mighty, bringeth measure to thy meter!"

"Emit from thy buttocks, would most surely gaggteth lowly maggot"

"Thy visage is thus homely that canine posterior wouldeth mightly improve upon"

"Width and measure of thy girth is wot immeasurable: royal elephants doth fling legumes at thy sight!"

"Kaline, thy juice of spleen, 'een gold competest not!"

Some Thanksgiving Conversation

“Please pass the stuffing.”
“Why don’t you have your new little trophy wife pass the stuffing, you f***ing a**hole?!”

* * * *

“You didn’t have to bring a dessert. We have plenty.”
“Yeah, but last year yours were a bit, oh, let’s just say tart.”

* * * *

“You did a great job on this. Not too hard, not too soft. Not too dry or juicy.”
“The aroma is absolutely yummy!”
“And the color is a perfect brown.”
“Uh…are you guys talking about the turkey or the dump I just took?”

* * * *

“Do you like my pie, dear?”
“If I didn’t, would there be 12 people seated around this table?”

* * * *

“So Joe, you married yet?”
“No. And to answer your next question, I’m still straight.”

* * * *

“These potatoes have a weird aroma.”
“Maybe you’re smelling the SBD I just cracked.”

* * * *

“What’s that noise? Oh... Hey, dogs throw up cranberries! Who knew?”

* * * *

“I think you’ll find this wine satisfying, if a bit amusing. White, but not dry; possessing a zesty essence.”
“As long as it gets my ass buzzed, it can dry the zest off my shaft for all I care.”

* * * *

“Eat the food before it gets hard.”
“Would that be so bad? Hell, that’s what I’m most thankful for!”
“Before the food gets hard.”
“Oh, right.”

* * * *

“So you’re an accountant now. Hey, sounds gripping!”
“So you’re still a smartass. Hey, grip this!”

How to Order Pay-Per-View

Here are the steps to ordering pay-per-view in my area. Your results may vary (though I’m guessing not by much).

1) Try to order the game by hitting the correct button on the remote.

2) Read an error message stating that it’s not yet available.

3) Repeat step 1 closer to game time.

4) Observe the new error message, telling you it is now too late to order this particular game.

5) Call cable customer service.

6) Wait on hold and hear ads about how great their service is.

7) Listen to customer service rep tell you the game’s not available in your area.

8) Call again.

9) Wait on hold again.

10) Get a different rep and ask if the game is available in the area.

11) Be told no again.

12) Repeat steps 8-10 until you get a rep who says yes.

13) Ask this last rep to hook up the game.

14) By then it’s halftime, so wait 15 more minutes to see if it’s actually the second half of the game for which you just paid full price.

15) If yes: Enjoy. If not, return to step 5.

Quarterfinals

Match 1: 1972 Dolphins vs. Bobby Fischer. Fischer opens well, but this is one group match that is simply too much for his insane cortex to handle. With a quick fake and limber execution, Jake Scott single-handedly snatches victory away from “The Fischer-Man” in the final seconds.

Match 2: 1927 Yankees vs. Mark Spitz. First upset of the day, as the ’27 team is surprised by Spitz’s speed and stamina. Gehrig leads a valiant comeback, but too late in the day and the Yanks fall short.

Match 3: Secretariat vs. Taylor Hicks. A complete mismatch. Big Red, fresh off his qualifying annihilation of Larry Storch, defeats Hicks before the opening bell stops ringing.

Match 4: Bill Tilden vs. Millard Fillmore. Though Vegas installed him as a slight favorite, Tilden can’t hang with the tougher and more seasoned prez. Fillmore gets the early lead and coasts.

Semifinal pairings: Dolphins-Spitz; Secretariat-Fillmore.

Rejected Disney Theme Park Atractions

Top 10, as of early this morning:

10. Simba's Buffet, featuring the grisly deaths of Timon and Poomba
9. Roy Disney's Polyp Collection
8. Regis and Kathy Lee starring in "The Rescuers go North of 90th Street"
7. "So you want to be a fairy?" narrated by Richard Simmons
6. Michael Eisner presents "Reasons I am God"
5. Interactive videos: "What lonely pirates do at sea"
4. The world is freaking HUGE, dude!
3. Discounted park hopper pass that doesn't include bathroom admission
2. Bambi's Bordello
1. Al Kaline's spleen juice adventure

Something for the Thursday-Friday Commenters

I did a little research and discovered that over a quarter of the comments we get come on Thursdays and Fridays. To show our appreciation, we will open this entry to the many end-of-the-work-week folks.

Tell us what's on your minds.

Halloween Costumes I’ve Been Unable to Find

1. That translucent liquid that squirts out the first time you use the mustard
2. The saddle sores on Lady Godiva’s ass
3. Danny Bonaduce’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame
4. The nose hair fairy
5. A Dolphin fan celebrating a win
6. The guitar solo from The Torture Never Stops
7. Rudy Giuliani's impersonation of Hannah Montana
8. The semaphore version of the wind beneath Abe Vigoda's scales
9. Mark McGwire’s Hall of Fame acceptance speech
10. The perfume my ex-girlfriend wore that night she vomited Boone’s Farm all over the console
11. A guy with his hand in his pants
12. An unpopped blackhead
13. Nick Smegma
14. A sporkful of Cheez Whiz
15. The act of merrily awakening to scofflaws with sunburn
16. An UFC fan on his way to a Mensa meeting
17. Cranial nerve VIII
18. Man O’ War’s rotting corpse
19. That stuff on sunny-side up eggs that looks like snot
20. Snot

Trading Places: Jack Bauer and Cosmo Kramer

While trying to bring down an terrorist cell, Kramer's weapon is entangled in his mansiere. Hilarity ensues.

Jack goes with Jerry to the Soup Nazi kitchen. After a terse exchange, Jack blows the mother f**king soup man to pieces.

Kramer promotes Frank Costanza to director of field ops in exchange for smuggling actual Cubans into the country (who turn out to be Dominican knock-offs).

Jerry complains to Elaine that Jack says 'dammit' way too much.

Kramer attempts to court Chloe by going to the ladies room to show her his 'protocol'.

Jack is seen torturing the doorman for information about Newman's whereabouts.

Kramer makes a phone call to the President about a 'sure thing' in the 4th at Aqueduct.

Elaine passes out on the floor when Jack bursts into Jerry's apartment 'commando' style.

Kramer is reprimanded by the powers that be for asking Audrey's Raines to "do the Nina for me, baby".

Jack is accused by Jerry of being a 'low-talker'.

Ranking Nothing in Particular

What a difference several ranking points can make.

Top 5, week of October 8, 2007:

1. Pedestrian greed associated with burlap panties

2. The quarter minute between mastication and deglutition

3. Coeds claiming to major in pre-Horsecrap

4. Reruns of the classic Goefflingmeyer-Horst semifinal

5. “If sweltering fistulae are so delightful, why sleep near the gravy?” (when used as an insult)


Other notables:

6. Clandestine fornicators in a buzz saw of tripe

11. Al Kaline’s spleen juice

25. One-liners about morning wood

58. Word play that leads to nose vomit

339. Carefully executed scene stealers who double as license plate tags

Words that in no way rhyme with Steve

My current list:

filching
brandished
spleenguard
Lewinsky
wassail (german derivation)
blarney
putrid
vbf
Loebidness
mandingo
splotchy crotch
maniacal melvin's mystery meat
autocoprophagy

I would usually add the word whorn or puke orange faggots, but it just pisses me off, generally (and specifically).

Feel free to add to the list.

Notable Essays, Part MCXXVII: Grappefroot

The following excerpt is from an essay, entitled “Republicans and Democrats,” written by Stanley Grappefroot, the only American writer known to simulate bodily noises every 13 syllables.

Perhaps I was naïve, but as a young adult, I—sniff—viewed American political parties far dif—ah-choo!—ferently than I do today. My mental image—BRAAACK!!—of Democrats was an idealistic son, full—[grunt]—of ideas and wanting desperately to save the—ack!—world, if only he had the money to do so. Re—BLAH! LURCH! SPLASH!—publicans, on the other hand, were the dad with the—hack!—checkbook, saying, “Son, I respect your goals, but we sim—ssssssss… “Ah, the pause that refreshes!”—ply cannot afford them all. Let us choose some and re—squeek—visit the others later.” To my way of thinking— Ptttt!—both were needed and both needed each other. Nowa—“Oof! Uh!” [Ker-plunk!] “Ahh!”—days, however, the GOP stands for power, as—Wah! Wahh!—in accumulating as much as possible, damn—ptui!—those in the way. But, unlike the Dems, at least they stand—zzzzzzzzzz—for something.

Blow Me! Lincolns Mailbag

Dear General Fester: I have recently been pet shopping and have had trouble deciding which young pup would look best on my wall (in pictures, of course). My friends won't talk to me anymore (they found new, BETTER friends). Can you help? Also, any advice you might give on keeping a recent 'test' out of the public eye would be appreciated. Signed, Falcon Forever (PS: My agent helped me write this)

Dear Canine Hitman: I knew you didn't write this letter. You couldn't spell DOG if I spotted you the D and the G. Stay out of the f***ing pet store, fool. By the by, I understand you have Fluffy rated as a 3 point favorite over Spot? Bite me, Fly boy. Say hi to your brother. Maybe they will put you two together soon. I wouldn't worry about the test; I don't think anyone knows about it!

Dear General Fester: I recently was on a really cool TV show! It was AWESOME! I took the opportunity to yell at a bitch who had said some naughty things about one of my friends. Of course, it was all true (what she said), but I figured, since I was on TV, and my hair was especially spikey, that "what the hell?" Hell, a couple of the people in the audience (Mommy and Daddy) even clapped! Why doesn't anyone like me any more? I am really hawt and smart and I have all of my teeth! Signed: Coach G.

Dear Aggie: No one likes you now? Uh, earth to stoolwater: they never did......idiot. PS: When hand feeding children with teeth, be especially careful.

Dear General Fester: Why would people intentionally mispronounce someone's name? A 'friend' of mine, with a pretty unusual name, is being called "Satan" which sounds a LOT like his real name. In fact, a rather hurtful little song was written in this space with the word "Smegma" instead of my 'friend's' real name was posted recently? How do I make it stop? Signed: Rick Fabian

Dear Satan: Repeat after me: I (state your name) promise to never, ever, Dolphins, ever (repeat it) ever, Spartans, ever (repeat) ever, Tigers, ever (repeat) ever, GO F*CK YOURSELF, ever (repeat and go to beginning and repeat continuously until you feel better)

Dear General Fester: I am just a regular gal, wondering what it takes to get into your pants? It seems that Blow Me! is mostly made up of celebrities and sports people, not just regular people like me. Seriously, how do I get lucky? Signed: PSA

Dear google search engine queen: QUIT STALKING ME. It's over, baby......

CONFIDENTIAL TO JUICE MAN: Of course I believe you! I would want my gloves back, too!

The Ballad of Nick Smegma

There was a team they called the fish
Who won most of their games.
But when December rolled around,
Their play was rather tame.

“A new coach! That will fix our plight!”
Said fans in fish-dom-land.
“Our last two haven’t won enough
“And that we cannot stand!

“There is a coach named Smegma.
“I think his first name’s Nick.
“He’ll cost a lot of money,
“But he might do the trick!”

So Smegma came and coached the fish
And drafted players new.
They couldn’t run or block or catch.
Big plays? Well, there were few.

And even though they won oft’ not,
Coach Smegma said he’d stay:
“I’m never going anywhere
“No matter what they pay!

“A promise is a promise
“As such, it must be kept!”
Nick seethed at every question as
The fish grew more inept.

But as the losses mounted up.
Fans saw Nick was a sham.
“I’m staying!” he announced once more,
Then left for Alabam.

Remember that team called the fish,
Who won most of the time?
They’re losing still. Though Smegma’s gone,
He left a trail of slime.

Point:

If life is every bit the stage player that d’Angoulême claimed she was (Roman numerals aside), it should fall to mystics, not the intellectual elite, to steer young scholars away from “backhoed” contingencies.

I await your counterpoints.

Assignment Haiku

Write about what happens when Nickelodeon characters cease to be solids and take other forms.


Patrick, great starfish;
An FM radio wave:
The two merge as one.

Diego: Now steam
From a boiling pot of grits;
His nuts no longer.

Imaginary
Is Eliza Thornberry.
(It’s kind of scary!)

Neutron’s dog Goddard
Dissipates into smegma.
Never shall he wave.

Though spirits one time,
Timmy’s Fairly Oddparents
Are pus in a zit.

Magenta, ex-dog
Now reproduces comics
As Silly Putty.

Movie Reviews, by Erik Estrada

The Godfather
Supposedly one of the greatest movies of all time. I say bullsh*t. Jon and I would have arrested the little rat bastard in a high speed chase, sans shirts. After the chase, with my bare heaving six-pack glistening in the sun, I would have said: "Looking for cannoli? Here's an offer you can't refuse: you're under arrest!"

You've Got Mail
I really like this movie. I cry every time I see it. It brings out the sensitive side in me. My astrologer says that it's tough to have jupiter in gemini and I shouldn't be worried about wearing a terri cloth robe and smelling sharpened pencils. Jon and I like to watch it together, with tissue and lots of lotion handy.

Caged Fury
Definitely my favorite movie of all time. I love women in prison. I love seeing myself in great roles that stretch my acting abilities. I really liked the part where the mime kind of randomly walks through the scene (with the monkey in the cage!). That was my idea; it made the movie more artsy. I had a big argument with the producers about my pulling a hammy right before the big prison escape scene. They said it was more believable that the sister from Oregon broke into and saved the day, since it was an all-girls prison anyway. I wanted to show off my Spanish, too, but they just told me to shut up and take my shirt off! It was awesome!

Spiderman I, II and III
Crap, crappier, crappiest. Who would believe that Seabiscuit's jockey would save the day? He's a f***ing nerd! I thought I should play Peter Parker. I have a much better body for the part and a much better Peter Parker, I've been told. (Get it? that was one of my funny jokes) I think my latino hotness would have been so much better. No way I'm an idiot photographer, though. I would have banged that high school chick rotten.

Interview with a Vampire
I love this movie! It has blood and stuff and I think Brad Pitt is totally hot. I think a bloody faced Tom Cruise may be the most sexy thing I've seen, since I watched the Chips reruns with my shirt off (did I say that again? ooops! LOL! I can't stop myself). It also has a younger version of the chick I would have banged in Spiderman. The only thing I didn't like about it is that there are no motorcycles, and of course, the fact that I'm not in it.

Oldie of the Week: Casablanca
Total piece of crap. My numerologist told me to watch it because of something that my online tarot reading said. When that happens, I always do it. But damn it, I couldn't get my tv to work. There wasn't any color and it was in English. I finally just gave up and watched the stupid thing. No motorcycles, no ME WITH MY SHIRT OFF, no funny stuff or naked women. Again, I would have banged the sh*t outta the girl and put her on the f***ing plane crying, like he did, except for the fact she would be crying in pain and knowing she would never have Ponch again, if you hear what I'm saying.

I've got to go now. I've got my daily hair appointment and then my astrologer told me I needed to go try out for some dancing show that I know is bullsh*t. Send me your movie ideas or questions and I'll do my best to answer them. Don't even think about it if you are a Taurus with a rising sign of Leo. I'll kick your mother f***ing a** for even thinking about it.

An Advice Columnist with Dementia

Dear AACwD: I think my boyfriend is cheating on me. Sometimes he smells of perfume. His car does too. More telling, I saw some provocative e-mails from “Sheila” on his computer. Do you think I should confront him?

AACwD: Good morning.


Dear AACwD: I am a recovering alcoholic at my wit’s end. My wife left me, my children (grown) don’t return my calls, and my job is soon to be phased out. I don’t want to drink, but I don’t know where else to turn. Please help!

AACwD: Sometimes my shoes are on the wrong feet. But if they weren’t, it would be double!


Dear AACwD: No matter what I do, I can’t get on my in-laws’ good side. Example: MIL tells me to bring a salad to the family reunion, even though she knows I’m a master chef. Though steamed, I complied, even made a joke about the situation (one that was met with blank stares). Any advice?

AACwD: Have you seen my driver’s license? Half of Spain is in the picture! Quite delightful, really.


Dear AACwD: My husband is so possessive, I can’t stand it! If I so much as talk to another man (like saying “excuse me” in a crowded restaurant), hubby accuses me of sleeping around. I don’t know if it’s insecurity or an overactive imagination, but I’ve about had enough!

AACwD: I must retire to the nest. Bill Tilden is coming to dinner and I mustn’t forget to fluff the nosegay!

Gridiron Musings

I think it's kind of ironic that during football season, it's OK for guys who similarly castigate their significant others for the same thing all year, to plan their wardrobe weeks in advance, to the last detail .

I'm pretty sure that when using the toilet in the stadium from now on, I won't ever reach under the stall for some TP.

Why is it that grown men act like their life is over as they know it to go shopping on the day after Thanksgiving (too crowded, traffic, bad parking lots, standing in line) yet will drop a couple hundred bucks on a September Saturday to do the same exact thing for a football game? Why am I asking you?

I'm sure if I googled it, I could easily find out the origins of 'gridiron' and 'pigskin'. However, I would be afraid to do it without 'safe search enabled'.

Why are we even bothering playing this season? USC has already claimed 5 national titles for their collection before the first damn ball was kicked.

I've been thinking about a new color scheme for penalty flags. I think they should throw pink ones for sissy penalties like encroachment (and by the way, what ever happened to calling it offsides?) and illegal procedure. I'm thinking perhaps a nice shade of orange for 10 yarders like holding, etc (because not a damn thing good happens in orange). And then, Jolly Roger flags, soaked in the blood of virgin goats (have to go somewhere besides Stillwater or Morgantown to find them) for personal fouls.

If one more ghey soccer fan says that soccer "is the real football", I'm gonna punk their sorry asses.....or maybe tell their Mom on them....

After years of picking college football winners, I've arrived at a singular truth: my picks are nearly perfect, I'm just picking the wrong year, apparently.

BOOMER SOONER!

Ranking Nothing in Particular

What a difference 47,000 light years makes:

Top 5, week of August 29, 2007

1. Dots of SJ splatter on the right field wall
2. Giving flowers to badly scripted waffle iron salesladies
3. Saxophonists who say “uh oh” when asked to introduce their skeleton keys
4. Meowing at St. Cloud’s entrance rules
5. Pork sausages in a wheelhouse dental chair

Top 5, Centuron XP5Philo

1. Smart ass light photons trespassing from Semera LT1091
2. Spiral galaxies in lacy push up bras
3. Bacterium under the guise of temperate microfiche
4. Those black hole jokes astronomers think we can’t hear
5. The punch line, “Hubble? Heck no! I think I HUMMED-ble!”

A Summary of an Unwritten Story

A celebrity party cruise goes down in the Pacific. Two survivors make it to a nearby island: comedian Bob Zany and German badminton champion Hans Goefflingmeyer. This situation becomes a classic good news-bad news scenario for Zany. Although Hans is a lifelong bully, he labors diligently, albeit silently, as the two survivors build homes, haul water, and hunt for food. Then Hans begins work on what looks to be a large platform with a primitive bench in front of it. Zany helps out, though he is unclear why such a platform is needed.

Once the platform is built, Hans proceeds to go insane for exactly one hour a day—always at nightfall. He begins speaking, but only to insist that Zany get on stage and perform a faux Tonight Show 5 nights a week while Hans watches from the bench. As Hans is a world-class athlete, Zany has little choice but to comply. The badminton champ is a good audience, laughing uproariously at Zany’s material. But insanity has not affected his memory or his passion for entertainment, and thus Zany is beaten senseless whenever he repeats a joke or states aloud that he isn’t really interviewing, say, Ally Sheedy.

Although it becomes clear that the 2 castaways will never be rescued, we learn much about the human condition by observing their behavior. It is unlikely that readers will ever laugh the same way again.

Top Ten explanations for General Fester’s absence

1. Sold into slavery by the Duke in order to prevent his publishing of the essay: “Stammering: Proctological and Symphonic Perspectives”

2. Was caught doing the War Eagle chant in downtown Tuscaloosa and subsequently given the “Dueling Banjo” treatment by the locals

3. Hospitalized after ordering a GLBT by mistake at the Broken Spoke Saloon

4. Attending a symposium on the late 1950’s trombone movement known as the “Brass Ass”

5. In crisis emotional health care after realizing that Millard Fillmore was not chosen “Man of the Year” at any time during his term.

6. Interviewing a mime

7. Just couldn’t give up on the Harry Potter movement; was seen stalking Aunt Petunia.

8. Trapped by Yeat’s Beast yet again; forced to perform untoward acts of perversion involving Underwood’s deviled ham, Duncan Hines cake mix and a crazed yak named Patty.

9. Judging an internet fight between the UCLA Bruins and the USC Trojans about who is more ghey. (Unable to decide…)

10. Driving to South Dakota, viewing the blog, driving back so that SD was represented equally with equatorial Africa

Football Season Is Upon Us

Football season is starting, and that means over the next 5 months you can expect the following:

· During a sideline interview at halftime, the coach of the team that’s ahead will be more or less pleased about how the game is progressing, but will caution that “there’s a long way to go.”
· After a play that worked in the first half doesn’t work in the second, a color commentator will inform the viewing audience that the offensive coordinator “went to the well once too often.”
· A fat guy in a sports bar, beer in one hand, cigarette in the other, will yell over his plate of onion ring carcasses that it’s time for his team to “dig deep” and you’ll wonder how deep Tubby has to dig to make it up a flight of stairs.
· Three weeks into the NFL season, some team will still be undefeated and pre-game shows will begin parading out the ’72 Dolphins.
· Six weeks into the season, you’ll grab the remote and announce to everyone in the room that you “can’t watch that damn Peyton Manning commercial again.”
· Troy Aikman will babble on about how it’s the slot receiver’s job to get open in the flat and Ijust don’tknow howaguycanpossiblyrunaroutethatbad, etc. and you’ll suddenly realize he hasn’t inhaled in over 4 minutes.
· A play-by-play announcer will yell that a punt returner has “one man to beat!” seconds before 3 guys tackle him.
· Your TV Guide will list “SEC Football” and for the third or fourth time since the beginning of the season you’ll become excited at the possibilities of who might be playing: Florida-Tennessee? Georgia-LSU? Auburn-Arkansas? Then you’ll once more deflate when you see that it’s Vanderbilt and Kentucky, two teams you’ll swear have played each other at least twice already.
· A radio sports talk host will term a caller an imbecile for expressing a theory about the local team.
· The same radio sports talk host will fawn all over some assistant coach who expresses a theory identical to that of the aforementioned imbecile.
· Chris Berman will say, “Nobody circles the wagons like the Buffalo Bills” with such conviction that, for a while, you’ll think it actually means something.
· A player on a team with only a remote chance for the playoffs will state that his team must henceforth play “one game at a time” and then “see what happens.”
· You will look at the commentators’ “Keys to the game” and think, “Score a lot of points and limit their scoring. Got it.”
· The twelfth time you hear someone say that the BCS is one letter too many, you’ll stop even pretending to laugh.
· After the Super Bowl, you know you’re going to miss football over the next 7 months, but not desperately enough to actually watch the Pro Bowl.

Inappropriate Comments Set To ‘70’s Music

Some stupid with a flare gun, burned the place to the ground…

"Sir, I assure you that my intentions with your daughter are quite honorable. But, uh, man-to-man, we all get urges, you know what I’m sayin’?"

It’s so hard to keep this mouth on my face…

"Hey Joe, I hear you’re gay. Do me a favor and tell me how I should get my hair cut."

Big ol’ jet airline-uh. Don’t carry me too far away…

"Does it make your butt look big? Not at all dear, assuming you are at this moment smuggling 2 beanbag chairs in a quarter-acre of bubble wrap."

Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me…for me…FOR MEEEEEEEE!

"If everyone is finished with the agenda items, I have some new business. Boss, that giant turd you crapped out in the second floor bathroom still hasn’t flushed down. Don’t you think you should try a plunger?"

Whose wine? What wine? Where the hell did I dine?

"It’s an honor to meet you, your holiness. Quick—pull my finger!"

Slow ride….take it ea-sy…

"Laskowski? What is that, Polish? Hey—do I have a joke for you!"

Jeremiah was a bullfrog! Was a good friend of mine…

"Why do I want this job? Hey, got to stay one step ahead of those bullsh** molestation charges!"

And she’s buying a stairway. To heaven.

Babysitting Blues

I can’t get any f****** babysitting jobs!

My plan for the summer was pick up some extra f****** cash babysitting, but I haven’t made sh** and the summer is half-f****** over! Why can’t I get f****** work? I have friends who babysit and they’re dipsh**s! Why won’t any f***nut parents hire me? And don’t give me that bullsh** about babysitting being for chicks. I know plenty of guys who do it (most of whom are a**holes with earrings and tattoos, of which I have neither!).

It’s not like I haven’t gotten jobs before. Fact is, I’m a d*** good worker. I worked construction one summer and that’s hard-a** labor! The summer before that, I was employee of the f****** month at the car wash! And when I’m not working summer jobs, I’m a straight A f****** student in college! But does any of that impress people? H*** no!

Example: A single dad needs a sitter and he f****** asks me, “Do you have a girlfriend?” wondering, I guess, whether I’ll spend the night sucking some b****’s face rather than watching his f***a** kids. I told him, “F*** yeah, I got me a piece of a**, but when I’m on the f****** clock, her a** won’t be anywhere near this place, you can bet your wife’s left t** on that, may she rest in peace.” But rather than acting reassured, he stops the conversation, like I’m lying or somef******thing. Sh**!

Then there’s the lady who asked me if I’m a partier. I tell her the truth: “I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I don’t even like that f****** sh** that passes for rock ‘n’ roll these days.” Then I joked, “’Course, I might buttf*** your cat if I get to feeling frisky!”

Apparently, the b**** didn’t get it because I didn’t hear from her again.

Anyway, I can tell you one f****** thing: Next year I’m going back to the car wash or f****** construction site. This babysitting bullsh** turned out to be a f****** waste of what should have been a kick-a** summer!

Letter to the Editor: Trombonist Monthly

(We at Lincoln’s Trombone are proud to present this editorial and honored that our forum was chosen to break it first!)

Dear Ed:

I am a charter subscriber of your magazine. In fact, I can trace my family roots back to possession of the original Gutenberg edition of “die Holzblasinstrumente bumsen!” (Literally, **** the woodwinds) We have been loyal throughout the life span of the various publications that has become to be known as Trombonist Monthly (including “Sousaphone and sassafras”, “Trigger, the magazine for women trombonists” and more recently, “Slide Greasers”. It’s been a long and rewarding journey, UNTIL NOW।

I was incensed beyond reason to read your most recent editorial “Times be a changin!; Love a fellow woodwind”. The very thought of the words in this article bring bile to my throat (causing me to miss a high “C” when playing Moonlight Serenade at the local monthly karaoke and tuning meeting) It is simply too preposterous for words, but I shall persevere. It is a common belief, and has been since the invent of brass, that woodwinds are of lesser nobility (if at all noble), and good for only one thing (and I think you know what I mean). These ‘skirts’ of music provide much needed recreation and refreshment between sets. They do what they are told, they are subservient in all ways to us. In earlier days, dare I say it, they were ‘indentured’ to the brass.
The notion that they should be equal is ridiculous enough; the idea that they are to be equally loved and cherished is heresy। I caution to take care with your words. The last time this ‘notion’ was forward, it ended ugly in the spit valve incident of ‘53. I don’t think any of us want to return to that, do we? (I mean, for heaven’s sake, man, how do you compare fast fingering to the stroke of the slide?)

I have contacted the local 101st about this piece (of you know what)। Actions will be taken, up to and including CANCELLATION OF MY SUBSCRIPTION (yeah, you read that right).

I eagerly await your response in this space।

TROMBONISTS UNITE!

Jonas Slot

Blow Me: Lincoln's Mailbag

Dear General Fester: Love the name, bro, reminds me of an ex-girlfriend. I travel frequently around the world, recently in the UK. My question, specifically relates to British pop and something that bothers me (it nearly cost me the 5th set): Why do guilty feet have no rhythm? Signed: Roger F.

Dear Champ: Thanks for the props. (BTW, did anyone ever tell you that you look a bit like Quentin Tarantino?) Great question, the answer is quite simple, though. Consider the source of the song. Random gay sex with a variety of lovers makes for an awkward gait. Imagine trying to dance the samba with a fresh baguette inserted, proctologist style. Even worse, if you were cheating on your ‘baker’? I think you get my point. (PS: You are pronating your wrist on your forehand volley)

Dear General Fester: You’ve recently posted a thought provoking piece about Gilligan. You failed to answer the age old question: Ginger or MaryAnn? Signed: John Weekly

Dear Long baller: You are smarter than the average bear. In asking the question, you reference my picnic question, HERE. (And Yogi knows something about pic-i-nic baskets, if you hear what I’m sayin’...) Let me answer your question with a question: Do you prefer an expensive, but rare ahi-tuna from the finest restaurant in Hollywood? OR, Do you prefer the luscious sweet peach of a roadside stand in paradise? It’s easy, my friend; screw the tuna, eat the peach. (PS:Hope your sports gambling goes well!)

Dear Duke: I'm not sure what coagulation is, but I do have a personal health question. What exactly is Smegma? Thanks in advance! Signed: Michigan Wolverine

Dear M Go Goo: Perhaps this mental image will help: Think of the worst head cold you ever experienced. Now replace your nose with a foreskin.

General Fester: What the hell is a Yeat’s Beast? (Does it taste like chicken?) Did you vanquish the b*tch or does it still seek your blood? Signed: OJS Trojan

Dear Rubber: Very interesting notion. Have any tips for a rookie? (PS: Keep writing, you'll get it right one of these days.....)

Duke: You seem to have a high interest in romantic poetry. How do I talk to my girlfriend about public farting? Signed: S. Dakota Collegian

Dear SBD-sniffing SDC: It's the question that writers of love sonnets have been asking for centuries: What rhymes with flatulence? As others before you have found out, it's best to go with a synonym. Something like: That you are my gal makes me ever so proud/Except when you crank out a nasty-ass cloud.

(For more on Romanticists, see MUSINGS.)

Duke: Please discuss the influence of Jungian philosophy on monk candidates with cleft palettes hailing from Alabama. Signed: Dog-Eared Paul

Listen up, Dawwwwg: You may have me confused with someone else. I am wholly dedicated to helping those with cleft PALATES and could literally talk for hours on how Bahá'í theory alone built Mobile's best craniofacial clinics. But frankly, why monks would use split boards to hold their watercolors is beyond me.

CONFIDENTIAL TO LINDSAY L: His name is Thomas Mesereau

10 Festering Questions

1. Is this site finally finished with the Harry Potter crap?

2. Why is “ssssss” the universal sound effect for taking a leak?

3. Since Venus spins in a backward rotation, would defensive backs have the advantage there?

4. Hypothetically speaking, how well would a feral cat have to perform on an American Idol-type show if the judges were all bunnies?

5. Who would win a fart-off between students from USC (a lot of Mexican restaurants there), Florida (Cuban food), and Ohio State (with their Polish sausages and cheap beer)?

6. Is there no way the grammar police won’t do what their critics didn’t say they wouldn’t?

7. If Montana and South Dakota were one big state, would it be any less remote than New Hampshire?

8. Why do rock & rollers pretend they’re cowboys?

9. And who do they think they’re fooling?

10. Is it really 2 guys writing this blog, or 1 guy writing under 2 different names?

Rejected Harry Potter plotlines....

Harry enters a bordello, run by a certain Luna Lovegood, expecting the Friday night special. Instead, the Weasley brothers plant a sucking violet in the room. Harry gets blue balls and hilarity ensues!

Ron and Hermione decide to test her ‘blood purity’ in the broom closet. As Ron begins the test he realizes that he is stroking Mrs. Norris instead! (wrong pussy)

We meet Willie Widepecker, a famous Hufflepuff, who gave Moaning Myrtle her name.

Snape shows up to the Christmas dance in stiletto heels (LAST year’s design), leather bustier (fringed in feathers) and a smart, but sassy mini-skirt. He says that he has learned to ‘obey the dark lord’.

OJ is tried for the murders of Albus Dumbledore and Sirius Black. He is convicted and sentenced to watching Cagney and Lacey reruns.

Quidditch is banned from the school after the Slytherin team takes the field in the buff, and introduces a new maneuver; the reach around.

Erik Estrada becomes the next headmaster, showing that he knows more about mastering head than anyone on the planet, wizard OR muggle.

End of the Harry Potter franchise? I don’t think so!

Voiceover:
New on FOX this fall…

From the makers of Trapper John, M.D….

Orphan Jeffrey Number 655 learns the shocking truth: He is actually the illegitimate son of none other than the great Albus Dumbledore. Stunned by the news, he also knows that he has only one chance to live his own life. He must move out of England, away from the shadow of his famous father. Jeffery sets out to find his own fortune, landing in Tulsa.

This fall, Paul Rodriguez is…

Jeff Dumbledore, P.I.

He’s tough.

Scene: Jeff questioning a perp.

Perp: “Hey Brit-boy! Why’s your name sound so familiar? And what’s the deal with the wand? Hey, wait a sec—"

Jeff: “And why are you changing the subject, punk? I think it’s time I kicked your a**!”

Voiceover: He’s tender.

Scene: Jeff dining with a beautiful woman.

Woman: “I don’t know what—or whom—you’re running from. But I’m glad you ended up with me.”

Jeff: “Sure thing, hon. You want pepperoni on your half?”

He’s complex.

Scene: Jeff talking to a Tulsa street cop.

Jeff: “Why do you Americans say number 2 when every time you sit down to do both, you crap first?”

But most of all, he’s good…oh yeah…real good!

Scene: Two beat cops talking.

Cop 1: “Well, Dumbledore solved another one. I don’t know how he does it. It’s like he’s got something to prove.”

Cop 2: “The magic doesn’t hurt either.”

Coming to FOX this fall…

Jeff Dumbledore, P.I.

Check your local listings.

Trading Places, Part 1: Gilligan and Gil Grissom

An ongoing series, profiling the likely differences on TV shows when the lead characters trade places….

Gilligan has to resolve a work problem between Catherine and Sara; who’s picnic should he eat?

Grissom and the professor butt heads over who made the best centrifugal grinding mill using coconuts and banana leaves.

At a recent crime scene, Gilligan digs into the sand, looking for a vic, instead finds hidden treasure and Mr. Howell is dispatched to determine the rightful owner.

Grissom convinces Ginger that his “DNA Testing Rod” is used orally.

Gilligan is propositioned by a Vegas hooker, but opts for a fat chick that calls him “Lil Buddy”

Grissom is enraged to find that Mrs. Thurston J. Howell III is holding a white party after Labor Day.

Nick beats the sh!t out of Gilligan when he discovers that Gilligan has been using his hair wax to plug bullet holes.

Grissom is rudely awakened by a burning sensation in his bunghole. The skipper smilingly sleeps in the cot below.

Gilligan convinces the staff to take a short excursion to Lake Mead. They are never seen again.

Grissom escapes the island with Harold Hecuba, and stars in his new hit production: CSI: The Musical.

Ranking Nothing in Particular

What a difference 4.4 centuries make:

Top 5, July 18, 2007

1. Au jus from lightly broiled right fielder spleen
2. Electric balloons, up to and including the nubs who floss anywhere near them
3. Crayon-shaped pork in a downpour of rennin
4. Cleavage rangers and their assholier-than-thou attitudes
5. Mountaineers, Huskers, and Razorbacks who claim to be from Vermont-New Hampshire border towns, despite being seen repeatedly on the Montana side of the Dakotas


Top 5, June 5, 1561

1. Nostradamus’ recent prediction of OU 63 Whorns 14, whatever the hell that means
2. Mary, Queen of Scots: For my money, the finest piece of Scottish Royalty ass since Elizabeth Electress Palatine
3. That imaginary place where flicked boogers go to die
4. The excessive hype surrounding the Fourth Battle of Kawanakajima—hey, the third wasn’t exactly chopped goat turd!
5. Wondering why someone doesn’t hurry up and invent toilet paper

On Asterisks; A lost work of Percy Shelley

I found this on a bathroom wall, but we believe it to be authentic.

What the f*** is love? Ask the son of a b**ch who lives; what the he*l is life; who ‘s piece of s**t fu**stick brother ate my sisters **** raw (and left their spoon up my a**?)

I know not the **** size of other men, but I do know the little pe***r you call a tool. I haven’t measured it, to be sure, my love, but only small animals revel in its visage.

Thou demandest what is Love? It is that powerful attraction toward sticking your hard throbbing p****s into to the chasm of my waiting **** and if the mood strikes, into my proctologic*l zone. If we reason, we would be understood( that f***ing and su****g and the courtesy of a reach aro*nd are better than l*cking and fl*cking) If we feel, it better f***king make me shoot my j**ce . It is probably in correspondence with the law that the infant drains milk from its Mother (lucky *****). This is fu***ng love……(manuscript fades….)

Ask Mr. Meeting

Dear Mr. Meeting: I recently informed my task force that any outcome measures we derive would necessitate new pedagogy and are thus best reported within empirical support rubrics. My co-chair argued that a demonstration of multitasking relevant to the de rigueur substructure is intrinsic to our (or any) organizational strategic imperatives. I won the day but am now having second thoughts as to whether she was correct. Alpha Co-Chair

Dear Alf: Given the limitations inherent in the proposed alternative, it was appropriate to divert the task force toward rubric compilation. However, had Ms. Co-Chair used the phrasing “organizational strategic assumptions” (which, you’ll have to admit, may be what she had in mind), the correct response would have been to facilitate feedback toward long-range objectives.


Dear Mr. Meeting: While debating specific internal/external factors to include in the organizational mission statement, the committee chair assigned 3 of us to a subcommittee to explore the company’s vision vis-à-vis market instability, opportunities, directions, and competition. At the time, I didn’t think much about it, but now I’m wondering whether process development could be compromised by an executive action of this sort. What do you think? Associate Subcommittee Head

Dear AssSubHead: Such an assignment sounds more like a task force than a subcommittee, and thus any questions regarding process are secondary to the implementation of prerogatives. Openly question your chair’s ability to facilitate a supportive environment and watch how fast he or she pays attention to amending organizational infrastructure!


Dear Mr. Meeting: I have to confess: I hate meetings. Whenever I’m in one, I spend the entire ordeal checking and rechecking my watch and thinking about the portion of my life that doesn’t concern budgetary priorities, Robert’s Rules of Order, aligning goals to imperatives, or mechanisms for realizing long term outcomes. Please provide some feedback in order that I might facilitate a decline in the instability of my attention to task. The Master of “Meeting Be Hating”

Dear Master B’Hating: You just asked me for “feedback” to “facilitate” greater stability. In other words, there’s nothing to worry about: You’ll be one of the gang in no time.


Dear Mr. Meeting: During, say, the compilation of strategic planning initiatives, I like to wait for junior executives to express new ideas regarding prioritization of novel resources in ways the CEO terms “outside the box,” after which I roll my eyes, sigh, and say something like, “Why not just have a f****** hoagie sale, Mortimer?” In your opinion, how quickly will this strategy fast-track a promotion over these half-brains? A Whole Brain

Dear A-Whole: Please kill yourself. Then never write to me again.


Dear Mr. Meeting: After a recent meeting on updating service delivery options, a really hot female member of the sales force told me she’d “do anything” to be part of the revenue source research initiative. How much should I read into that comment? Married Guy

Dear Mary: If you’re asking what I think you are, allow me to point out that your thoughts are quite inappropriate, not to mention unprofessional. Now please excuse Mr. Meeting, as he suddenly feels an urge to visit the bathroom.

Jethro Tull’s impact on Sardine Production in Portugal: An Empirical Perspective

Do you ever crave a pilchard? Ever wrap your lips around a brisling or slid?

If so, you immediately understand the sensation of the tongue that only can come from a nice slid sardine uhmmm, ‘slid’ down the throat (packed in a bit of garlic!)

But this isn’t about that. It’s about a noble work by a noble band for a lesser fish from a lesser place.

On November 5, 2000, the aforementioned group (NOTE TO COWBOYS: Jethro Tull is NOT a person) played such a concert from which legends are borne. It’s said that Ian Anderson literally brandished his bouzouki in front of the throng, flailing upon it until streams of hot liquid rock magma erupted forth, delighting the entire crowd (other than the front two rows). Upon climaxing, he reached for his trusty concert series flute and tongued with the passion of Candy Loving. Were that not enough, in tribute to the flute legend, Mr. Ron Burgundy, he ‘gripped his tool’, made a wish and the fair ‘tuna’ in attendance swooned and passed out.

After that night, Portugal surpassed all countries in value of exports to the country of France. (We surrender, we surrender!) A fact, unchanged since that day.

While many of you think of this blog as ‘tripe’ (another fish, another day), it is our aim to inform of lesser known, though completely true stories.

Later this month: Troy Aikman licks his favorite philatelic fan……

The Lost Writings of Shakespeare

The Bard’s early attempts at coachspeak:


Strut your effort 110%
And failure ne’er we’ll meet.

We toil to take
What the defense bequeaths us.

When others cry havoc
Must you then dig deep.

Mine preference is for luckiness over goodness.

Rough-hewn this contest will unfold;
So strap it on and play nobly as hell.

Losing grandly is not a sin.
But neither is to win ugly.

Play flat and fortune’s fool shall you be.

Oft’ times ‘tis less the skill of the warrior
Than whose desire is greatest.

Aggression can be but a shadow of life.
Allow thus the contest to come to you.

Be not a coward in pursuing greatness,
But instead be all you wish to be.

Play together as a band of brothers:
Battle ye with alacrity
And chemistry.

Attempt not to grasp unreachable stars
Rather, play within thine own self.

Overheard on a cruise ship......

10 things, heard recently on a cruise ship:

1. This food is awful; and the portions are so small.
2. Do these stairs go up or down?
3. I wonder if the crew sleeps onboard?
4. Does the ship make it's own electricity?
5. Those toilets will suck your nuts right down to the ocean!
6. Al Kaline couldn't hold Willie Keeler's jock strap (a small scuffle ensued)
7. I prefer LeKinff to Tarkay (what the hell?)
8. But how do you KNOW they are Cuban?
9. Sexual frustration is simply a matter of personal preference, just ask any Cowboy goat owner.
10. You look something like Ajax the Greater, without the muscle.

A Surrealist Dog on a Family Vacation

Tuesday
Family loads car. Wag tail. Wag. Wag and prance. Wag, dammit! Want to go. Let me in. Letting me in!! Car going. Must push head outside window! Ensuing pain. Windows all closed. Lay down to sleep. Kids asking when we’ll be there. Trees rush by, their dander forming screaming scepters of meaningful depth.

Car slowing down. Jump up! Wag tail! Wag more! Let me out! Rest stop! Leash on, leave car. Pee here. Pee there. Pee again. Wonder how deviled eggs would fare against a jury of diseased cat carcasses.

Back in car. To sleep. Dream of granite tadpoles with the haunting accents of long dead languages.

Wednesday
Kids in pool. Splashing, yelling. I run. Must run. Circling pool, barking. Meat hooks travel, yet are no match in time for cigarette smoking ne’er-do-wells.

Dinnertime. Left in hotel room alone. Make squealing noise. Bark at jerkball pounding on wall. Still alone. Take dump. Wipe ass across carpet. Ideas become confetti for a missing dachshund’s wake.

Thursday
State park. Spend day on leash. Nature trails. Hot, all frackin day. Run some, but too damn hot. Wish for toilet to drink from. Splotches of calico are the train that grants destruction of Scottish pines.

Friday
City streets. No run, just walk and walk and walk more. Sniff public mailbox. OK to pee on. Man playing saxophone. Must pee some more. Kids run by statue I’d like to pee on, but leash tied to bench. Who wasn’t there when dripping definitions cast well-schooled humans wholesale from clavicular to fasciculus?

Saturday
Car ride to coast. Run from family when arrive. Take leak in sand. Drink salt water. Eat beach grass. Puke in car on way back to hotel. Puppies with ravioli selling their dreams to the city.

Sunday
Returning home. Sleep until car stops. Large dog at rest stop. Sniff butt, but detect no identifiable indicators. Arrive at house. Take dump in familiar lawn. Time for more sleep. If you’ve a Snausage for a thumb, gaze upon my testicles.

Things a Rhyming Proctologist Might Say

I’ll try to be kind
To your sick behind.

Of cream I’ll add a dollop.
It might reduce your polyp.

If I fill your can with helium,
You'll float up to the ceilium.

Joe was constipated
'Til the age of thirty-one.
Then he came to see me.
Now his hole shoots like a gun

I'll look into your bung,
But not sift through your dung.

Corn in your stool?
That ain’t cool!

I always change my glove
Before the finger shove.

Painful rectal itch?
Just part of my niche.

If you act like a dope,
With a spork I will scope.

I provide a service;
You give me hard earned loot.
I then put on the rubber glove
And get inside your chute.

Show me the crack, Jack!

There's a pimple on your bun.
That can't be too much fun.

Your vertical smile
Ejected a pile.

McPhennigan had dandruff
Upon his anus hair.
I said, "Try Head & Shoulders.
"Or wash your crack with Nair."

If you can change your diet,
Your bum should then get quiet.

Should you pass a bass through your ass, m'lass,
Your gas just has to be crass.

I’ll probe within your pooper.
Let’s hope it turns out super.

Will I look in your arse?
The answer is "Of carse!"

I’ll check your fecal matter,
But poop you mustn’t splatter.

Because...
You're blue
With flu,
Your poo
Came through
Like stew
Thus…
For you,
This goo.
Doo-doo:
Like new!

I’ll diagnose in onomatopoeia:
Splishy-splashy goes your diarrhea.

Ranking Nothing in Particular

What a difference 16.5 months makes:

Top Ten, week of June 19, 2007

1. Billy Joe McAllister’s least appreciative wolverine
2. Heaving the Tennis Channel through time splitting nature calls
3. Guys who say “fooooo-ton” when they mean “your haircut is shaped like a corn turd”
4. That Mark Philippoussis TV show! Man, was that ever—OK, I didn’t watch
5. Little League umpires, except the ones who bite me

Week of February 5, 2006

1. Dopamine-induced fits of banana boat theft
2. Minnesota vs. Duquesne. Need I say more?
3. Battleaxe recipes involving expulsions of phlegm
4. With the Super Bowl now over, Pro Bowl mania can finally begin!
5. Saddam Hussein’s lawsuit (how’d that turn out, by the way?)

Poetry Reading Script

Totalitarianism!
We mosey against the lard.
Plodding, plodding, always plodding.
Always…
Plodding.

[Pause]

Helmeted Mayor McCheeses
Burrowing in excess
Rapping, tapping, beating, algebra!

[Pause, then slowly shake head]

I sure picked the wrong day to pluck that button off the interstate!

[Wait for laughter to die down]

Fallopian! European! Cantalouppian!
We run without chandeliers
‘Twixt the meaning over orange.
Phil leader: Beheaded and cavalier;
Old hockey pray tell.

[Clear throat 6 times]

Damien on horseback,
Delivery crap!

[Put hand to ear to show no fear of angry muttering]

[Louder] Final fish! Yes, I said that! Final fish!

[Wait for gasps to cease]

Tomorrow we elevate the land odor dexterity!

[Be careful here—applause might begin]

And…
And…
And…
And…
Neptune we bow sullenly to the specter of…

[Make quotation marks with fingers]

“Garden meat!”

[Wait for initial applause to diminish before bowing]

Jaundiced Misgivings

I have recently found myself being attacked by a bitch reminiscent of 'Yeats Beast'.

No, she isn't particularly ugly nor does she possess the unmistakable odor of tuna gone bad.

So, what to do? How do you engage or otherwise attack such a beast? How do you defeat vbf spawn?

My first try, poetry:

Roses are red,
violets are blue;
Go f**k yourself.

Not good, though I particularly get a kick out of the ending.

Second try, philosophical reasoning:

Maintain a philosophical attitude, madam;
eschew all things philodoxical.
Suspend judgment and thoughtfully weigh considerations and reasons.
Above all else, eat me, you *** su**ing a**hole!

Really over the line, good as it might feel.

Finally, an attempt at good ol' boy humor:

How they hangin', ****stick?

So yes, quite jaundiced, and quite unsure, I opt for the only solution:

One teaspoon of Al Kaline's spleen juice, given on an empty stomach.....

Musings

If I had a pile of decaying meat, I’d probably name it Milo.

I used to think that the imaginary presence that lives in my spleen was the finest neurosurgeon in the northern hemisphere. Turns out it’s just some guy named Jeff.

Green Eggs & Ham: Orange cover. Bowling Green University: Orange uniforms. Coincidence? Yeah, right. And the Tonys aren’t fixed.

My sources tell me that the producers of “So You Think You Can Dance” are working on an action adventure series they plan to call “23.” It features a super agent named Zack Power.

The pancreas may well be the most underrated of the internal organs. It not only flawlessly performs its, um, you know…pancreatic functions, but does so in complete darkness.

When someone says, “I look forward to meeting you,” I sometimes answer, “You’ll look BACKward to meeting me!” even though I know it’s not funny.

If my toilet was clogged and I had to choose one poet from the Bengali medieval period to unclog it, I would probably go with Jayadeva, as he was, in my opinion, most likely to be the handyman of the bunch. Vidyapati seems a bit whiny for the task and Badu Chandidas would surely overthink it. The other medievals are, in my opinion, unworthy of consideration.

I’ve noticed that a lot of guys who say, “What can I do ya for?” have difficulty matching their socks to the rest of their clothing.

Uvula: Good-ass word.

Liver and Beets

The thought of this simultaneously brings my blood to a boil and provides that eerie feeling that you get right before the bile hits the back of your throat. That what the hell is happening to me feeling followed by the oh crap, I knew I should have flushed the toilet (but the damn camera was dead and I wasn't about to let that gouda beauty get away from me without documenting it) kind of feeling. I think you all know what I mean here.

I defy anyone on the planet to tell me why these two substances should be allowed on the earth. Perhaps renaming the life giving organ to something more noble like 'bassoon' or 'estrada'? Perhaps that purple fruit should be renamed 'fudgepacker' or 'breastial festival'? Frankly, I'm thinking the entire purple dragon and it's family should be banned.

Our friends over at OUINSIDER.com (not to be confused with SCOUT, who SUCKS THE BIG ONE) recognized this early on. Liver and Beets were permanently banned, end of story. Some thought adding a little ketchup or some spices would alter them; but no. Liver and beets in any form are reprehensible.

And while I'm at it. I'm thinking of suing the creators of South Park. Clearly "The Passion of the Jew", episode 804, was a direct rip-off of Liver's final stand, other than the happy ending.

Enough politics. Please contact your grocer, your alderman, you favorite super moderator and let them know your outrage.

Tell them Steven Segal sent you.....

Ranking Nothing in Particular

What a difference 35 years makes...

Top five, week of June 6, 2007:

1. The juicer that may or may not be attached to Al Kaline’s spleen
2. Guys who say “Been a business doin’ pleasure with ya’” just before they vomit on your necktie
3. Those booger-like things you sometimes find in your eyes
4. “More bedrock, Flight Commander?”
5. Primal scream therapy that sounds suspiciously like frat house hooting

Week of June 6, 1972:

1. Spleen juice, right field, Tiger Stadium
2. When “Bed that wench!” becomes less a cliché and more a call to arms
3. Traipsing twixt the moors o’ yesteryear
4. Naming your tits Hubert and Spiro
5. Using Rollie Fingers’ moustache for medicinal purposes

Contemplating Gouda

I've spent a lot of time lately consuming various cheeses as scientific research. How, specifically, does each varietal impact the following: Mood, Bowels and Embouchure. (I briefly considered testing each for tensile strength and general knowledge of botany, but I was talked out of it by my pet turtle, Sparkle, who despite his appearance is quite the man about town and possesses a razor-sharp wit.) Results were tested in a double-blind method using 'exhaustive' procedures, discounting the possible permutations involved in both seasonal and regional bias. Striving for optimal results, maximum testing efficiency (conformity assessment) was utilized. Basically, I went to the store, bought the cheese and ate it.

Frankly, I was surprised by the range of results. Many had virtually no effect on any of the three above mentioned study parameters; swiss, goat, gorgonzola, muenster (though some spotting of the 'bowl' was noted with the latter). Edom, Camembert and Brie elicited responses of spontaneous laughter followed by bouts of rage and the general inability to hit a high "C" on command (though the frito chili pie at lunch might have skewed the results). Stilton and marscapone made me down right pissy both figuratively and literally.

But Gouda, dear God, holy mother Mary, all the saints and Mary....Beemster X.O. (extra DOUBLE aged Gouda), elicits what I would term a virtually sexual response. It was provocative in only the way something that rots for 18 months can be. It was arousing (yes, I got laid that night). Almost better than the night before was the virtually perfect, 10 point beauty of a BM that graced my morning after; better than an empty bed (or waffles!). Beautiful and breathtaking (again, figuratively and literally). Were that not enough, I wailed the rest of the morning on my Bach Concert Series Trombone as if I were a child again. If Beemster X.O. were a woman....scratch that.....if Beemster X.O. were a tree.....scratch that......If Beemster X.O. were President....well, we might have a new namesake on the blog......

The Difference Between New York and LA

Were I a time traveler, I would go back to my sixteenth year and re-pop that one unforgettable zit. I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that it splashed so intensely I looked as if I’d gone face-first into a vat of mayonnaise.

Good times.

Once that mission was complete, I would go to the early 1800s and explore, just like Lewis & Clark. For companions, I would bring Caroline of Brunswick, who was Queen of Britain for about 10 minutes right around 1820, and, of course, Klaus Meine, lead singer for the Scorpions. It seems like the perfect combo: Klaus and I could talk about ‘70’s music (“My name is Michael, I’ve got a nickel? What the hell was that?” “No, wait! I got a better one: ‘I’m not Leeee-sa…’”), we’d have someone from the century we were in to guide us (Lady Caroline), we’d have a woman’s point of view (Caroline again), and, based upon historical reports, the woman in question would be so exceedingly repulsive that any thought of sexual tension (which can ruin the best of exploring) would be laughable.

The dangers faced by Lewis & Clark—new diseases, hungry wildlife, fierce warriors, and such—are admittedly more than the 3 of us could handle. So rather than exploring uncharted America, we would instead blow air horns at Thomas Paine’s funeral.

The cool side of the pillow

A question I’m almost never asked is how to write a sea chantey. So I did a little research and concluded that the only real requirements are that they 1) include nautical terms and 2) make absolutely no sense whatsoever. Something like:

Smegma ahoy! That mighty wave.
Devotion aye! Thar’ seamen crave.
So starboard ho! That foreskin stench.
Afore away! Thou thirst will quench.
Labia-ha! It rests aft there.
Twelve knots hurrah! My bottom’s bare.
We love it so! That cheesy stuff.
Sail schooner hey! Can’t get enough.

(Repeat)

Mr. Niel Loebig, at your service

Why is it that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west? Why is it that the transcendental meditations of an erstwhile lilliputian monk (bathed in gravy) result in Presidential appointments of the 19th century that also involved trombones and Tupac?

These are the festering questions; the stories, the epic chantey's; the foundation of the musings of a site that will often pay homage to Al Kaline (with particular attention to his magical spleen juice).

Stay tuned....the journey begins.....


General Fester