Archive for August, 2012

Tampa Area Hookers Getting Ready For Upcoming Republican National Convention

TAMPA, FL — The Republican National Convention is set to kick off this coming Monday, and with it will come a substantial boost for local businesses. Restaurants, hotels, and especially hookers are preparing for the financial spike that comes with any national gathering.

“This will definitely be the busiest we’ve been in years,” replied a local hussy.

“I can’t even begin to tell you how excited we are. It’s times like this when you can really show how valuable you are to your whoremonger,” said another filthy woman of the night.

This reporter, curious as to just how much money the convention will infuse into the economy, found a few prostitutes who had already consorted with some early arrivers to Tampa. Their comments:

“As opposed as they are to using public money to fund schools or art programs for kids, they really have no problem at all throwing their personal money down at the clip of $3,000 an hour so they can strangle me and tell me I’m worthless. It’s very noble.”

“One guy gave me 500 bucks to sit quietly while he read an erotic poem he wrote about Reagan.”

“A congressman from Texas gave me more than he pays his Mexican housekeeper in a year just for me to watch him pee.”

“A group of city councilmen from Kentucky pooled their money together, probably enough to put an underprivileged inner-city kid through a few years of college, and threw empty whiskey bottles at me while I did the Macarena.”

The influx of cash will be much appreciated by the army of harlots. However, if the second law of thermodynamics is any indicator, with every boom, an equalizing bust will follow. While the hookers will all be bringing home the proverbial bacon, Tampa is expected to fall into a mini-recession following the convention, due to the uninhabitable cesspool it will become. Enclosed spaces all over town, like closets, public bathrooms, back seats of taxis, etc., will all have to be roped off and hosed down by scores of workers in hazmat suits.

“Frankly, I’m not sure if our sewer system is going to be able to handle the extraordinary volume of bodily fluids that will soon bombard it. My best advice for residents would be this: head for the highlands, and check the city’s website for updates on when it’s safe to return. May God have mercy on us all,” warned a high-ranking Tampa official.

On a side note, the enormous profits reaped by the multitudes of floozies are expected to form a sort of “trickle-down” effect within the greater Tampa area. Manufacturers of high-end stilettos, experimental herpes-taming pharmaceuticals, and crack are all expected to benefit from the brief explosion of capital into the flesh industry.

How To Make A Lame Story Not Lame

I’d like to share something I heard on the radio this morning. It’s a perfect way to make sure you never tell a boring story.


Today, at the grocery store, I asked a guy that worked there if they had any more peanut butter. He went into the back, checked, then returned and said, “Sorry, we’re all out.”

Pretty lame, right? Now listen to this:

Today, at the grocery store, I asked a guy that worked there if they had any more peanut butter. He went into the back, checked, then returned and said, “Sorry, we’re all out,” and then he crapped himself.

It’s a pretty simple device, but it works. If you find yourself telling a story, and halfway through you realize it’s not as good as you thought it was, just add “and then he/she crapped him/herself” at the end, and boom, you’ve just told a hilarious anecdote.

Hamsters, Birth Control, and Me — A Cautionary Tale

When I was a boy, I came into possession of two young hamsters. Due to the infinitesimal nature of rodent genitalia, I found it very difficult to figure out the sex of my new pets. Nature informed me a few weeks later, when a batch of hamster pups arrived. All I could think about was how badass these hamsters were, becoming parents after being alive for less than two months. Where had they learned this behavior? Why would they choose to become pregnant at such a young age? I began to get the feeling that even if I had given them “the talk,” they would have gone and had weird hamster sex on each other anyways. As it happened, the hamster mom ended up eating all the babies after a few days. Why would she do that? I did some reading, and found that if a mother hamster feels that her pups are in danger, she’ll eat them. It’s better to be eaten on purpose by someone you love than to be hypothetically harmed by a stranger, or so goes Rodent Philosophy. During my research, I also learned that these critters pump out babies like a soft-serve machine. The proverbial hamster wheel in my head began to turn:

“There’s a pet store near here. Pet stores always need pets. I can provide those pets. There’s all these squirrels running amok in the yard, and if I can catch a few of those, I bet the store would give me some money for them.”

So I went and chased squirrels for a few hours, with nothing to show for it but scratched legs and a slightly increased knowledge of local acorn reservoirs. While I was rubbing dirt in the wounds, it hit me: “Wait a second, why am I chasing squirrels, when the geese in the park are bigger, slower, and probably easier to catch?”

A couple hours later, as I was splashing pond water on my goose bites, I had another thought — “Why am I trying to catch geese to sell to a pet store when I have two young, horny hamsters at home?”

So began Project-Make-My-Hamsters-Get-Pregnant-A-Lot-And-Sell-The-Babies-To-The-Local-Pet-Store, and naturally, a rigorous breeding regimen. Soon enough, they had another batch. I tried to make the mother feel as safe as possible, in order to avoid another cannibalization of the herd, as it were. It worked. Once the babies were big enough, I brought them to the pet store. I had spent the entire morning cleaning out my wallet to make room for all the money I was about to have in there. After demanding to see the manager, I was informed that they don’t take undocumented hamster children. I in turn informed him that maybe they should have a sign outside the store that says “We Don’t Buy Hamster Babies,” and therefore save us all some time. So I flipped him off, threw the hamsters in a garbage can on the way out, and became addicted to hardcore street drugs.

The moral: had those hamsters had access to birth control, none of this would have happened.

How Are Everyone’s New Year’s Resolutions Coming Along?

It’s August 8. Have you been keeping up with your New Year’s resolution(s)? Did you lose weight, get a new job, read a book, join a gym, mentor someone, find a mentor, spend more time with your family, quit smoking, get out of debt, give to charity, tickle a midget, eat more vegetables, plan a dream vacation, control your anger problems, ride a bike, see what gerbil tastes like, watch less TV, knife-fight a hobo, become more involved in your community, walk more, run more, let a friendly puppy lick peanut butter off your nipples, use the stairs instead of the elevator, eat more whole grains, talk to a long-lost friend, eat less fast food, compliment a stranger, ride around in the back of a pickup truck picking off stray dogs with a shotgun, or make any discernible effort to improve yourself at all?

Chick-fil-A Will Now Only Serve Meat From Gay Chickens

Dan Cathy, in what may prove to be either a brilliant PR move or an incredibly misguided attempt to appease millions of seething poultry lovers who probably hadn’t even heard of Chick-fil-A just weeks ago, has announced that his company will from now on serve meat exclusively from chickens who were homosexual during their lifetimes.

The company president’s decision was met with anger from PETA, who will never be happy about anything, lukewarm support from poultry farmers, whose businesses will be bolstered or hurt depending on the sexual orientation of their chicken herds, and general confusion from the LGBT community.

“No animal should ever be used for human consumption,” a PETA official stated, not realizing the irony that humans most likely would not have evolved to the level of consciousness necessary to come to the conclusion that it is wrong to eat animals had it not been for the inclusion of meat into their diets millions of years ago.

A redneck farmer, who contracts his birds out to Chick-fil-A, was speechless, and looked more confused than a cow in a henhouse, a pig in a shower, and a horse at a hootenanny.

“Uh…..what? I don’t get it, are we supposed to be happy that they’re including homosexual chickens on their menu, or offended that they are now only slaughtering the gay ones for their restaurants?” a befuddled representative of the LGBT community responded.

Whatever the motive, you can bet your bottom dollar that this exclusive gay-chicken move will only make Chick-fil-A better than ever. That’s according to Dan Cathy, who asks you to ponder this: “Imagine, two roosters just going at it. They are both masculine, powerful, and dominant. The strenuous sexual battle betwixt them will result in more of a struggle, therefore a harder workout for each bird, resulting in a leaner, healthier cut of meat. I’m getting sweaty and hungry just thinking about it.”

This reporter, not satisfied with one-sided answers, took it one step further — what about the meat rendered from lesbian chickens? Cathy looked thoughtful for a moment, then replied, “Well, Michael, that’s a damn good question. A damn good question. While less physical than the male of the species, a lesbian cut of meat can be counted on to provide what is lacking in their penised counterparts — tenderness, juiciness, and an all-around aura of love. And that’s what we want people to experience when they eat at a Chick-fil-A restaurant — love. But not weird, ishy, homosexual love.”

When asked what the homosexual chicken community thought of this development, a local gay chicken was very tight-beaked, yet its body language betrayed the fact that it was thinking deeply about something, but what? Is it that chickens, regardless of sexual orientation, have no marriage rights whatsoever? Was she planning an escape? Was she thinking of what was going to happen in the henhouse later? Or perhaps there was no cerebral activity there at all, her brain a veritable ball of goop due to years of the inbreeding and harsh conditions that make up today’s corporate chicken farms.

Whatever the outcome, I’m still not sure what Chick-fil-A is or how to pronounce it.




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