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.

Rapper Boasts About Average Penile Length In New Song

A blurred out image of the normal penis, which no one wanted to see anyway.

Some suburb in MN—Rapper Steven Anderson decided over the weekend to mention his 5 7/8″ long reproductive organ on his newest track, tentatively titled My Penis is Right In Line With The American Average.

“For the opening line, which can make or break a hip-hop song, I was thinking something along the lines of ‘My five and seven eighths/always satiates.’ It drops right in with the beat, and people will be like ‘What? That’s not very big. But it’s not little either.’ I’m not married to the idea, though,” Anderson said from his Toyota Camry.

In hip-hop tradition, when a membrum virile is mentioned, it is generally for the purpose of revealing great size, as well as giving a mention to the owner’s dexterity and control over the piece of anatomy, a fact not lost on Steven.

“Not everyone is hung like a goddam horse, alright? It’s just how it works,” he said. “I’ve got this weener, like most guys, and it’s just your basic weener, nothing more, nothing less, and I want people to know that.”

The reference to the mid-level junk, which is nothing to write home about, was finally given the go-ahead by Anderson after a late-night writing session in which he wrestled with the idea of whether or not people would like to hear music about his in-no-way-out-of-the-ordinary dong.

When asked if the size of his log might attract ridicule from rival rappers, or the fact that he drives a Camry, rents a middle-unit townhouse, and holds a day job in data entry, Anderson responded: “You know what? I’m just a normal person with no defining qualities, and I don’t think it’s a point of shame. The fact of the matter is, today’s average American penis doesn’t get a lot of clock in hip-hop. But the very fact that it’s not special, that makes it special among the masses, because there are millions of men just like me, and they’ll buy into this. No one makes fun of a guy for being 5’10”. That’s average. Besides, I make up for it in other ways, if you know what I mean.”

When told “No, I don’t know what you mean, please elaborate,” Steven ended the interview.

 

A New Workout Craze

Latest moneymaking scheme:

Create an infomercial, to be aired late at night. The product: a workout system for alcoholics.

The alcoholics then order the system while they are schnockered, with no recollection of having done so. The purchase will be reflected on their bank statements as ‘Alcohol Store.’

Eight to ten business days later: the alcoholic receives a package in the mail, informing them they have won a free prize—a hot, chiseled body.

The alcoholic, in its drunken state, will be horny, and want to possess a hot, chiseled body, so that it will attract people that like hot, chiseled bodies.

The package contains several videos, none of which name my company.

The first video instructs the alcoholic to hit pause, and get black-out drunk, then proceed with the program—a ploy that will work perfectly, because alcoholics, by their very nature, love to get black-out-drunk.

Once the alcoholic is black-out drunk, the video descends into a parade of nothing, basically—footage of cats playing with yarn, black and white photos of weddings that occurred in the 1930s, spliced with actual workout scenes, in the event that the alcoholic experiences a moment of coherence.

The VHS tapes will be engineered to unspool after 30 minutes of viewing. The DVDs also have a built-in destruction mechanism: they look like coasters. After repeated poundings from Steel Reserve tall boys, those discs will be useless within the week. The tapes and discs are thrown away and soon forgotten.

Since they are under the impression that the videos were a free prize, and the only record of any purchases are attributed to the ‘Alcohol Store,’ as the infomercials continue to air, money continues to flow down from the alcoholic to me, in a textbook case of the trickle-down economy in action. And it’s good for the alcoholic: the more times they purchase my system, the less money they will have to abuse alcohol.

I Was Gone For A Little Bit. I’m Back Now.

I’ve been out of the blogosphere for a few weeks, but I’ve been doing stuff:

—I gave three cans of beans to a food shelter. I am now part of the solution.

—I travelled.

—I came back.

—I was undercharged at a Subway in Lusk, Wyoming, and didn’t tell them because the service sucked.

—I was overcharged at a liquor store in Mounds View, Minnesota, and I did tell them because the total came to over $8,000 for a six pack.

—I met a woman at an Arby’s in Kearney, Nebraska, who believed South Dakota was an exciting state to visit.

—I went through South Dakota, and wanted to drive off a cliff after passing the 257th sign for Wall Drug. BUT THERE WERE NO CLIFFS.

—Then there were cliffs, in the western part. I decided to boycott Wall Drug instead.

—In the mountains of Colorado, I urinated in a tributary of Clear Creek, the water source of the Coors Brewery.

—I drank a beer infused with bull testicles. This beer: Rocky Mountain Oyster Stout.

From beerpulse.com

—I drank a beer named after Kurt Vonnegut, using a recipe from his maternal grandfather. This beer: Kurt’s Mile High Malt.

From wynkoop.com

That’s it.

 

 

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.

Bird Problems

Does anyone out there possess knowledge of bird digestive systems? I’m pretty sure the one that lives on my balcony has diarrhea. Normally, they leave small, white, circular marks that easily wash away with any rainfall. Lately, there are giant chunky piles with residual splatter that travels up to three feet.

I’ve already pumped a few worms full of Pepto and left them in a dish near the nest. The projectile shatting only seemed to intensify after that.

Help! I don’t know what to do!

Mother’s Day

Thank you Mother for allowing me to live in your womb for nine months. And then taking the time to give birth to me. I appreciate it.

Trying Again At The Recipe

Alright, what was in the thing I was going to cook yesterday? Tree nuts? Gluten? No, that would end up killing too many people. Why is everyone allergic to nuts and gluten all of a sudden? Time was, that’s all we would get for Christmas. Now, if aliens invade Earth, all they have to do is pepper the major landmasses with flour and peanuts, and this world becomes theirs. But not me. I’ll gladly eat the free peanuts falling from the sky. I’ll find a use for the flour. In the post-apocalyptic world, perhaps it will become a form of currency. I’ll invent some sort of vacuum device to suck all that grain dust from the lungs of the deceased, using peanut energy to propel me from body to body, siphoning the respiratory gold that lies within the airsac of each corpse. The remaining humans, those who haven’t swollen to death or sworn allegiance to the new alien government, will gladly follow my lead. But I won’t want to be their leader, and I won’t share the flour I have hoarded. So they’ll all disperse and kill each other off. Then it’s just me versus the otherworldly troika regime of Blandox 3000, Drunvalo 458,739,457, and The Everlasting Fluff, (Fluff has a different meaning on Ungerstudt, the oddly German-sounding planet these aliens hail from) the fate of Earth floating in the balance.

Maybe the recipe had alien poison in it?

Now that I mention it, I think the recipe actually did have something to do with both nuts and gluten: perhaps I do desire a dash to power after all, maybe a yearning for Armageddon. I don’t know.

While prepping for this post, I did find a ripped piece of paper, containing what I believe to be half of the recipe, with the words ‘pollen’ and ‘bee stings’ written on it. Beneath that it reads ‘marinate in cat hair and lactose juice.’ Hmmm. The missing half of that paper probably lists all the required seasonings, because what I have in front of me does not sound like it would please the palate.

Looks like I shot my wad early again. No recipe today. Sorry.

A Food Recipe For A Meal

The pages of culinary history are stained with the lipid-laden blood of creators, the greasy footprints of thieves, and the spatterings of rich, creamy sauces. The recipes that leap out of the past from those pages, especially the early ones, were made with food prepared by unwashed hands, saturated in sweat, earwax, and bedazzled with odd meat choices like squirrel, marmot, bear genitalia, to be consumed by whoever would take it. And people were gross enough to take anything back then.

As food evolved over time, every new generation of innovators stood on the shoulders of the one preceding it. This is where we get our ‘regional’ favorites, which then breed and morph into sundry ‘fusion’ dishes, and so on. Then along comes a guy who would throw the rulebook out the window, if he had ever bothered to pick it up, a culinary ronin roaming the robust, zesty landscape, a guy who ingested a large amount of caffeine after donating plasma who feels like too manythoughts arehittinghisbrain and can’t getthem outfastenough so he’s startingtoramble and forgetwhat wherethiswholethingwasheaded.

The original recipe escapes me now. I feel sweaty. I’ll try next week, go buy a Hamburger Helper and follow the instructions on the box for the time being. I need a nap.

The Ash-Sucking Umbrella Device That Will Save Earth

This person I know recently informed me it wanted to move as far away from Wyoming as it could within the next 10-20 years. The reason? The supervolcano that rests beneath Yellowstone Park.

If that thing blows, the ash blocks out the sun and we all die. Supposedly.

Of course, paranoia causes irrational fears.

We’ll be just fine, I said, because it’s an easy problem to prevent. Behold, the Ash-Sucking Umbrella Device:

From the diagram, you can see that the contraption is composed in a tapering pine-tree shape, with big ash-sucking umbrella things on the bottom to catch the initial blast. As you go up, there are smaller vacuums to catch what the bottom ones missed.

The option of another design also arose, which was basically the same shape, only upside down: with the large suckers on top, and smallest on bottom, in order to fit in with the above design like a jigsaw puzzle. However, my mathematics informed me something like that would be far too top heavy, and much more difficult to construct.

Further calculations only bolstered the fact that the big-on-bottom-littler-on-top schematic, utilized in large volume around the caldera of the potential extinction event, would catch enough ash to save the human race.

To cover the middle, we simply send up drones, which I have not yet sketched up, that look like manatee-sized Dustbusters.

Once all the ash has been contained, we then look to our final device, a reverse volcano:

This serves one purpose, which is to simply dispose of all that ash by shooting it back down where it came from.

Now we can all sit back and actually look forward to when Yellowstone erupts*.

*One side note, even if this somehow doesn’t work, I will have already become rich for inventing all of these devices, so I will end up as some post-apocalyptic prince-tycoon, and be able to live wherever the ‘privileged’ people end up.