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Rethinking the Mouse Trap

We bought a mouse trap. You’re supposed to put cheese in those things, but people don’t know that cheese is actually really bad for mice. Kind of in the same way you’re not supposed to feed bread to ducks, because the yeast consumes sugars in their stomachs, releasing an alcohol cloud that expands and causes an explosion. Just imagine walking up to a duck that had eaten bread earlier that day. Let’s just say your new nickname would be ‘Nubby’ or ‘Guy whose balls got blown off by an exploding duck.’

Anyhoo, cheese doesn’t have as dramatic an effect on mice as that, but it is very high in fat and can cause cardiovascular issues down the road. That’s why I prepared the below spice blend:

 We’ve got a little SPG mix, onion powder, oregano, parsley, and crushed red pepper for a bit of heat. Not only does this pop way more on the tastebuds, it comes without the bloated waistline and crap backup that are major hallmarks of cheese.

This is also easier on the mousetrap, because the metal bar doesn’t have to fight through a thick layer of cheese fat to crush the rodent’s brain, and there won’t be any exploding residuals from the constipation when the deceased mouse……..voids, if you catch my drift.

A Multi-Layered Taco Dip Of A Joke

Taken from thedugoutreport.com

I’m sitting here watching the MLB All Star Game. Joe Buck’s forehead, which is somehow simultaneously advancing up over his scalp and down into his face, raping and pillaging any hair or sensory organs that cross its path, gave me the idea for a joke.

It will amuse nature lovers.

Sports fans might get it.

It incorporates the ancient art of rhyme.

The very masculinity of Buck himself is brought into question.

Sports, nature, poetry, and machismo in a delicious multi-layered taco dip of a joke. Here goes:

Joe Buck? More like Joe Doe!

I never said the joke would be funny. I’m very sorry.

Categories: Humor Tags: , , , , , , ,

I Met Satan The Other Day

“You were gay before being gay was invented.”

—One kid to another, overheard walking by the neighborhood playground

Interesting.

How could that child be gay if it hadn’t been invented yet?

The only logical conclusion is that the child is Satan.

Explanation:

According to America’s most trusted news source, Fox News, it’s no secret that the Dark Lord invented gayness in order to slow population growth and by extension the influx of souls into hell, which was going through a housing shortage caused by imported cars, Islam, and any human that did not have milky white skin. A fifth grader knows that, and Jeff Foxworthy knows that a fifth grader knows that. Ergo, Jeff Foxworthy is as smart or smarter than a 5th grader, but are you? Tune in to Fox every Tuesday to find out.

This still doesn’t explain why that kid is Lucifer incarnate. Something I’m not sure Jeff Foxworthy knows is this: before putting the final patent stamp (which officially makes it an invention) on his concept of same-sex attraction, the Serpent King himself experimented with homosexuality in order to fine tune the subtle nuances.

In other words, he was gay before being gay was officially invented.

Just like Jeff Foxworthy was Jeff Foxworthy before Jeff Foxworthy was invented. He is in fact Jeff Foxworthy version 2.0, after the original Jeff Foxworthy prototype was destroyed by a massive explosion in the Appalachian Mountains when a redneck who didn’t know he was a redneck (because Jeff Foxworthy had not been invented and therefore neither was his guide on knowing if you are a redneck or not) lit a match near a 50 gallon drum in which he and his sistercousins had been saving their farts for the past three years.

This was one of those happy accidents though, for imagine if we had gotten that first raw, uncouth, unrefined version of Jeff Foxworthy—what would the comedic landscape look like today? Would we have Larry the Cable Guy? Would R ever git done? Would anything git done?

Jeff Foxworthy brought redneck humor (as well as all of its sub-genres, creating a seismic ripple felt everywhere in comedy) up and out of its ‘primordial ooze’ phase, tens of feet into the sky above dusty, car-part littered yards everywhere, like a bottle rocket. He’s like a comedy bottle rocket scientist.

So, uh, in conclusion, the Devil used to be gay and Jeff Foxworthy is a rocket scientist.

The Summer of Catfish Jackson

Here is my summer plan.

It goes like this: leave a series of small circular patches on my face unshaved. These flocculent circles will grow into long, resplendent whiskers, like those of a catfish. That’s my plan. Look like a catfish. I drafted this list of names to adopt once I look more like a catfish:

Catfish Jackson

Whiskers McNulty

Bottom-Feeding Man Fish

Land-Walking Fish Man

Tuscaloosa Timothy

Of course, the plan ran into some resistance from Cassandra Morningfart, which is the real name of the real girl I’m dating.

Here is how that was resolved.

Cassandra Morningfart: “That would look stupid. And I will not call you Catfish Jackson.”

I then grabbed her mouth and moved it around so she appeared to be talking, and said in a replica of her voice, “Yeah! Try to look like a catfish! I’m on board!”

So after that speed bump, if it can even be called that after the speed and efficiency with which it was overcome, everything is in motion. I will soon look like a catfish. I will think like a catfish. I will eat like a catfish. I will worship catfish deities. I will ‘like’ statuses that my catfish friends post on Facebook. I will attend funerals and weddings for catfish. I will read catfish literature. This blog may start to lean towards the sympathies of catfish politics and catfish-lifestyle issues (can you believe catfish have a similar Bruce Jenner type controversy going on ‘down here?’ (‘down here’ is what we in the catfish world refer to what humans know as ‘underwater’)). I have already begun lining my apartment floors with mud and decomposed plant matter. I can now hold my breath for almost 20 seconds.

The transition is in full effect, as it were.

Catfish Jackson, signing off.

P.S. I’m not officially ‘signing off,’ for I cannot officially live ‘down here,’ (underwater) because that would kill me, so I will still have full access to human internet and many other amenities while I’m ‘up there,’ until the government (rightly) begins funding human-gill growing research programs.

Categories: Humor Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Rudy Maxa Asks Montrealian Bagel Maker Whether He Prefers Montreal Or New York Bagels—And His Answer May Surprise You

During a visit to a Montreal bagel shop on today’s episode of the PBS progrum Rudy Maxa’s World, the titular host was looking to stir up sediment on a rivalry as old as a man that was born a long time ago.

Maxa was no doubt hungry for blood—as the bagel maker gave a walk-through of the ingredients and techniques that make a Montreal bagel, Maxa loomed in the background, ignoring all that was said and done, visibly salivating, ready to hit the man with the controversial question that was on everyone’s mind.

Then, the bagel maker finally shut up. Maxa pounced.

“So, which do you like better, Montreal or New York bagels?” asked Rudy, crossing the point of no return.

After a full half second of silence, the bagelman answered, to the surprise of everyone present: “I like Montreal bagels.”

There you have it—the man who makes bagels in Montreal likes his own product more than one that was made somewhere else.

Next week, I hope to catch a rerun of Maxa’s trip to the Pacific Rim, where he asks a native whether or not that rim is the best rim in the world.

Categories: Humor Tags: , , , , , ,

Hairy-Assed Baby Born

NEW ULM, MN—Last week, in the birthing unit of the New Ulm Medical Center, a baby was born with a very hairy ass, upsetting a tried and true cliché that the rectal regions of infants are the smoothest and softest surfaces known to man.

There was so much hair on the baby’s ass, nobody even bothered to check if it was male or female.

“There was so much, I, I, hold on, let me gather myself,” said the delivering doctor. “It looked like the anus of the baby had vomited up Bob Marley’s head. Excuse me,” he blurted out as he presumably ran to a sanctuary free of hirsute-buttholed newborns.

The flocculent anus of the baby is most unsettling to those who frequently lean on the phrase ‘smooth as a baby’s bottom.’ The isolated incident sent shockwaves through unimaginative people young and old alike, who now fear that they will have to wait for another smooth object to become accepted as a universal standard.

“This is one very big black sheep that no one saw coming,” said a professor of linguistics who happened to be hanging out at the hospital. “Which ironically is what that baby’s rear end looks like. A sheep.”

hair

Artist’s rendering of the rectum in question

“Now when my husband shaves, what am I supposed to compare his face to? Sure as shit not a baby’s ass, thanks to that freak,” said one woman.

Another bystander was baffled as well. “I know it’s just one baby. But now, if I use ‘smoother than a baby’s butt,’ I can already see some semantic-minded jackass saying ‘not if it was that one baby with the hairy ass.’ This kid has ruined everything. I support abortion now.”

“So now what am I supposed to say? ‘That’s as smooth as a stone that has sat undisturbed in a gentle stream for hundreds of years?’ Fat chance. I say throw the thing off a cliff,” said the nurse.

The firestorm is expected to die down in a matter of weeks, when more and more people will discover that a watched pot always boils, so long as it is placed atop a sufficient heat source.

Here’s What I Think Of Those Bastards At Hobby Lobby

A few weeks back, I was in need of blue paint. I was attending a party, you see, and certain parameters of that gathering required me to look like a member of the Blue Man Group.

To Hobby Lobby I went. In the art section, I asked a woman whose name I forget, probably Ruth or Mahalath or something religious, what I could use to paint my head blue. She then quoth Leviticus, chapter 19, verse 28: ‘Do not cut your bodies for the dead or put tattoo marks on yourselves.’

I told her I was simply painting my dome, not tattooing it. She then reached out and touched the hem of my garment, and again, quoted Leviticus, chapter 19, verse 19. The exchange went as follows:

Hobby Lobby Lady: ‘Do not mate different kinds of animals.’

Me: ‘I don’t.’

HLL: ‘Do not plant your field with two kinds of seed.’

Me: ‘I don’t.’

HLL: ‘Do not wear clothing woven of two kinds of material.’

She had me there, for I was wearing a shirt composed of 60% cotton, and 40% polyester.

Me: ‘Are you going to help me find the paint or not?’

HLL: ‘I do not work here.’

Once again, she had me. So I asked a woman that actually did work there where I could find the paint I needed. She didn’t know. After some looking, I eventually found some blue tempura paint that met my needs exactly.

So, Hobby Lobby, it is my opinion that you should invest more in your employees, particularly on training them in knowledge of paint.

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