Dan West Hates You, And None Of You Will Be Happy

Fake Mexican Pulp Novel Cover Art #12

2012-01-09T14:22:00.001-08:00

Fake Mexican Pulp Novel Cover Art #11

2012-01-09T14:17:00.002-08:00

Fake Mexican Pulp Novel Cover Art #10

2012-01-09T14:17:00.001-08:00

Fake Mexican Pulp Novel Cover Art #9

2012-01-09T14:16:00.001-08:00

Fake Mexican Pulp Novel Cover Art #8

2012-01-09T14:15:00.002-08:00

Fake Mexican Pulp Novel Cover Art #7

2012-01-09T14:15:00.001-08:00

Fake Mexican Pulp Novel Cover Art #6

2012-01-09T14:13:00.002-08:00

Fake Mexican Pulp Novel Cover Art #5

2012-01-09T14:13:00.001-08:00

Fake Mexican Pulp Novel Cover Art #4

2012-01-09T14:11:00.000-08:00

Fake Mexican Pulp Novel Cover Art #3

2012-01-09T14:10:00.000-08:00

Fake Mexican Pulp Novel Cover Art #2

2012-01-09T14:09:00.001-08:00

Fake Mexican Pulp Novel Cover Art #1

2012-01-09T14:04:00.000-08:00

About two years ago I became addicted to painting these things as an ongoing series. I have twelve so far. I have recently switched for oils to acrylics so that I can paint even more at a faster pace.

The Mighty Monsturd (Painting)

2012-01-09T14:00:00.000-08:00

Another fine masterwork, painted as a Christmas present for Rick Popko

Music to my eyes...

2011-12-12T01:04:00.000-08:00

Hideous album covers from my private collection

Outside Yiddish Larry's Comfort Zone

2011-10-13T12:39:00.000-07:00

Thursday evening was always a big night for Tito's Tittytown Tavern. The weekly Klingon language poetry slams were a big draw and the crowds were large, thirsty and rowdy as all get out. Stringbean had made sure that the kitchen was fully stocked with Sloppy Joe mix , cool whip and young coconut meat, the essential ingredients of Tittytown's Thursday night special: " Dr. Puckerbutt's Anal Ointment" (for your chapped anus). Tito was always a basket case on poetry slam nights and Stringbean had learned to simply keep his mouth shut and the vermin grinder well-oiled. Tonight Tittytown was aflutter with rumors that the morbidly-obese talent scout, Coco Van Winkle was on the prowl for fresh new faces. Coco sat in a dark corner of the tavern clad in his trademark lobster bib and pinwheel hat, bobbing his head to the music of the house band, Jiffy Pop Frankenstein and The Hershey Squirts. A collection of men and women dressed in Klingon uniforms and makeup of varying quality mulled around the tavern awaiting their moment in the limelight and paying very little attention to the music.

The band was on fire tonight, playing a dynamic collection of songs from their new album, "Fumigate the Odor of Your Love". They blasted out power ballad after power ballad: "Convalescent Home Smackdown", "Normal-shaped Baby", "Licorice G-String", "Monkey Shit Blowback" and "Flatulence Filibuster". Stringbean found the music pleasantly complimentary to practicing his pelvic thrusts as he observed the band from the kitchen. He'd been a big fan ever since purchasing their platinum-selling double album, "Werewolf Breath" at the Skanktown flea market. The double album featured some of their greatest hits: "Candy Cane Catheter", "Ovaltine Colon Cleanse", "Pickles Poops in the Pumpkin Patch", and the mega-hit, "Succulent Chocolate Booty". It was really something to have such a powerhouse rock ensemble play the likes of their small fishing village and Stringbean hoped he could meet the band members and possibly get an autograph or two when their set was finished.

Stringbean liked to believe that he too was gifted with a modicum of musical talent and he had even recently performed a mildly-successful fundraising concert to raise money for cement to fill in the Ducky Jurgens Memorial Sinkhole. In the past few months, several children had fallen (or were intentionally shoved) into the sinkhole and vanished while playing near the gaping menace. Stringbean had raised a total of $4.50. The contributor had given him the money with the stipulation that he stop repeatedly playing his song, "The Sexual Underwear Gang" and leave the area. Stringbean had used the money to purchase lamp oil and ping pong balls for a performance art piece he was putting together. It would be an interpretive dance performance based on the film, "Three on a Meat Hook". He was still working out the kinks in the act, but it was taking shape as something truly special. He would perform the piece as his alter ego: "Salsbury Steak Face Lift", and would involve audience members in an interactive scavenger hunt in which they would find certain items inside of his pants. Soon it would be Stringbean's turn to wow the crowd at Tittytown, but for now he would stick to manning the grill. There were burgers to flip and anus ointment to mix.

With Tito distracted and frantically tending bar for a freakish collection of beer-guzzling "trekkers", Stringbean was free to work on fine-tuning a somewhat problematic chapter of his autobiography, "Ladies, Please Attempt to Ignore the Flesh-Colored Boa Constrictor Packed Into My Cling Wrap Thong: The Stringbean McDougal Story". The chapter in question was the book's third, tentatively titled: "Count Drinkula and the Lovesexy Cherry Coke Enema". Stringbean unraveled a length of toilet paper that he'd been using to doodle his chapter notes on. On the wrinkled toilet paper, scrawled in his own blood, were the words: "Restraining order", "Buck Knife", "Loose Canon", "Pumpernickel" and "Denture Creme Diabolique". He read the list aloud and then quickly took a felt tip pen from his pocket and added: "Raw Bacon", "Dumplings", "Easter Basket" and "Gay Agenda". Suddenly his concentration was broken by a voice shouting loudly over the music. "Kral Rak! Mauk Lak! Krell Mauk, Earther!"

Stringbean looked up from his notes, meeting the piggishly beady eyes of a heavily-perspiring, pudgy-faced Klingon standing in the kitchen doorway with his hand out. Stringbean rolled his eyes and then passed the flabby pseudo-space warrior a mountainous plate of chili cheese fries and an extra large bucket of Mountain Dew. "Mauk Slak, Earther! Krell Mauk!" the plus-sized Klingon roared, afterward cramming a fistful of the sloppy fries into his mouth. Stringbean could only shake his head, mystified, as he watched the wannabe alien badass waddle away stuffing his fat face. He recognized the Klingon as Christopher Newcastle, an obnoxious know-it-all windbag he'd had in a high school multimedia class who spent most of his non-Klingon hours speaking loudly to no one in particular about something called "World of Warcraft". The gig as Tito's resident grill jockey wasn't bad but the fucking Klingons were a bunch of buttfucking asswipes. Captain James T. Kirk had probably said the exact same thing at one time or another.

The band finished up their final number to lackluster applause from the portly Kilngons. Stringbean attempted to make up for their rudeness with a few howls of approval and a couple of enthusiast fist pumps in the air. The band members turned in Stringbean's direction and took a bow. lead singer Jiffy Pop Frankenstein tipped his purple top hat in appreciation. "I guess the ass-reaming little dickwad in the shithole of a kitchen liked us!" he said in a sarcastic drawl and then unzipped his pants and began to urinate on the stage. "Hey, shitface, when you're done choking your chicken in the kitchen you can drag your scrawny ass out here and wipe my piss up off the stage you faggot!" Stringbean grinned and waved at the lead singer and then quietly took a double barrel shotgun from beneath the kitchen counter. "Come on Cinderella, get yer mop!" the singer said. Stringbean waved again and then shot the lead singer in the groin with the double barrel shot gun. Blood splattered stunned Kilngons and fellow band members as Jiffy Pop was blown backward, shrieking in agony. The crowd panicked and scattered as Stringbean began to randomly fire into the crowd. Tito's head exploded in a crimson shower of brain matter and skull fragments. A man in a gorilla costume ran out of the men's restroom with a plastic bucket and began lobbing handfuls of human feces at the frantic customers. Several men dressed as the Keystone cops barged through the front door, battering customers with batons and throwing custard pies as a man in a straw boater hat sat down and began to play a cheery honk tonk tune on the taverns upright piano. The tavern was in complete chaos. The glass of the skylight rained down upon the crowd as the flying horse, Pegasus descended from the sky above. Stringbean mounted the mythical creature and donned Jiffy Pop's discarded rubber Frankenstein's monster mask. "Merry Christmas to all! And to all a good fuck!" he shouted as Pegasus took flight. Stringbean dropped a live grenade through the skylight of the tavern as they soared into the glimmering night sky. The tavern's east wall exploded below and there were terrible screams.

This post has been a test of the emergency alert blog system, in the event of an actual blog posting please wipe the semen from your computer screen and attempt to put your pants on over the top of your head. Who stole Bobo's funny red clown shoes? Can I get an amen? How about some diarrhea medicine?

Author's Note: This nonsensical pile of feces was created with a large list of words and terms that I wrote down while thinking that they might be amusing when combined into a story. I was quite wrong. The list went as follows:

Poontang Beaversnatch

Pelvic thrust

Ginger snaps

Candy Cane

Jiffy Pop Dracula

Lovesexy Cherry Coke

Cling wrap

Mead

Instant mashed potatoes

Loose canon

Choose Life t-shirt

Off-script

"Slank"

Puke Bucket

Cracker Jack

Catheter

Normal-shaped baby

Fishing village

Werewolf breath

Dr. Hopstetter's gene splicing tape

Witchfinder

Soup Kitchen

Stage Coach

Flea Market

Pin wheel hat

Hershey squirts

Twinkie fucker

Easter basket

Johnson's sink hole

Restraining order

Harmonica lessons

Panty line

Raw bacon

Blowback

Monkey bars

Spray foam insulation diaphragm

Surgical tubing

Filibuster

Chapped anus

Mr. Microphone

Cocoa puffs

Direct deposit

Amin: The Rise and Fall

Phantom Tanning Booth

Ovaltine

Colon cleanse

Licorice g-string

Pumpernickel

Calling card

Pablo Picasso's Blue Fartknocker#4

The Succulent Booty

The Colonoscopy Challenge Game from Milton Bradley

Journeyman Proctologist

Fumigate the Odor of Your Love

Convalescent Home Smackdown

Klingon language poetry slam

A Mint Julep for Judas

Sexual orgasm of love

Mervin the Magical Misunderstood Morgue Midget

Claim Jumper

Hashish

Dr. Puckerbutt's anal ointments

Skullduggery

Sloppy Joe sandwich mix

Scavenger hunt

Tito's Tittytown Tavern

Pickles Poops in the Pumpkin Patch

Pimento Loaf

Grizzly

Dugan Portnoy

Coco Van Winkle

Ping Pong

Lobster bib

Scabies

Count Dracula

The Sexual Underwear Gang

Lamp oil

Pubic region

Vermin grinder

Morbidly obese

Talent scout

Three on a Meat Hook

Gay agenda

Jocular

Accordion

Facelift

Salsbury steak

String bean

Young coconut meat

Diabolical denture creme

Wicker athletic supporter

Cool Whip

Bugle

Slim Jim

Dumpling

Octogenarian Sex Addict

Neck brace

Drywall

Fort some reason, while I think the resulting story is godawful, I still think this list is very funny. I didn't even get around to using such comic gems as "Twinkie fucker" and "Poontang Beaversnatch". You win some, you lose some. I thought this would be a pretty funny tale but it's really just too forced, weird and idiotic. But, hey...I love that list. Most of all I love having this list in my coat pocket, scrawled on two crumpled sheets of paper with checkmarks on certain words and circles around others. This sort of thing always makes me feel slightly off balance, like a crazy person who has been taking dictation for an imaginary demon who lives inside of his head.

Sloppy Seconds For Bertold

2011-10-11T19:32:00.000-07:00

Jim patted the malodorous perspiration from his testicles with a damp washcloth. The baby powder had been only mildly successful in preventing what Jim had come to refer to as "cheese balls". His groin area had ever-so-recently begun to emit a vexing and undesirable odor. The scent was particularly problematic during "teabagin' time" at the office. Jim seldom participated in "tea time" these days for fear that others in the office might take offense at the sour aroma of his sweat-drenched balls. A generous splash of Old Spice aftershave only seemed to mutate the odor into a pungent and embarrassing entity that haunted the folds of his cotton briefs. On Tuesday an anonymous prankster at the office had slipped a post card under his office door that read: "Hey stinky balls, you tryin' to get arrested for testicular manslaughter? How 'bout givin' those hard boiled eggs of yours a scrub or two before we all have to start huffing Lysol?"

Jim had narrowed down the source of the offending odor to an infection caused by either the mouth area of his homemade sexual assistance puppet or the moldy spandex of his Spiderman costume. He just hoped that the leeches he'd applied to his testicles would be able to remedy the infection with a little time and effort. In the meantime he would wear a Depends mint-scented adult diaper to the office and hope for the best. Perhaps he could switch to the wintergreen ultra-fresh spearmint scent if he needed to up the ante. He was confident that he could beat this thing...not like that guy at Chuck E. Cheese with the club foot. Hey..."beat"..."club"...Jim thought there was a potential joke in there somewhere and jotted a quick note below his list of things that he would like to lick.

Jim took a swallow of the white man's fire water and affixed his bald cap with a dollop of spirit gum. He would have his revenge for that funny little postcard about his balls, even if he had to go undercover in disguise to taste his sweet, blood-drenched revenge. A fake moustache, a phony mole in his cheek, a pair of horn-rimmed glasses...a swastika drawn on his forehead with his own fecal matter. Who was that bald-headed stranger looking back at him in the mirror? Zip Zany The Human Mushroom Cloud Man? Chooglin' Jake? Weanie Touchie Brian Loosecannon? Bucky Sabertooth III? Durville Sweettreat? Sambo Flapjack the fish squeezer? Colgate Jurgens, Sr.? Old Pop Whitman? Crappy Slim? Kink Corncorb? Sampson Dingleberry? Floop? Sock Puppet Cock? Chicky Gurgles?

Who was he today and who had called him Mr. Stinky Balls?

The Weird World of Ed Wood Jr.

2011-09-30T12:20:00.000-07:00

Just in time for the holy month of October, my latest oil painting. Ed Wood Jr. and an assortment of his wacky film characters.

Rebel Smell

2011-06-23T17:01:00.000-07:00

I think Satan may have broken into our apartment and farted into our refrigerator. A few days ago, my girlfriend, Sarita and I noticed a foul smell coming from the interior of our aforementioned household appliance. This odor has since been getting steadily stronger and now smells like what I would imagine Jeffery Dahmer's apartment might have smelled like when he was finally arrested for a string of horrible serial murders. Our stench is a stench of mysterious origins, wicked and Lovecraftian...as if birthed from an alternate dimension. The smell of nightmares and rot. A thorough cleaning of the interior had absolutely no effect on this odor..it only seems to gain strength through our disgust. We had no rotten food stored away in some dark corner to give this hideous smell some kind of earthly origin, rather it seems to have simply come into being of its own accord. There is something uniquely disconcerting about opening the door of your refrigerator and being met with a stench that might be more closely associated with something you might encounter during a visit to a county morgue. This "thing" is like some kind of olfactory syphilis. Every time we open the fridge these days it's like being forced to inhale smelling salts that have been extracted from the asshole of a rotting cadaver...if I was hard pressed to pin the odor down, I would describe it as a rotten cucumber that had been infused with the DNA of a dead rat and then pickled in a jar of formaldehyde and cocktail onions and served up on a plate of burning plastic and slathered with a hearty dollop of stagnant water drawn from an abandoned septic tank...oh and this would all be experienced in the world that the film Tron took place in...when people die in that world...this is what their bodies begin to smell like when they rot.

Ingo Gets The Squirts

2011-06-03T11:31:00.000-07:00

The man introduced himself as "Bob Bunyan". "Like the giant" he added.

"Giant?" Dr. Becker wasn't sure what possible significance the comparison could have.

"You know...Paul Bunyan."

"Oh...that giant" Looking at the man's chart, Dr. Becker saw that Mr. Bunyan had also included this trivial tidbit on his insurance information form.

"The one with the giant blue ox" the man said. "The giant lumberjack".

Dr. Becker sighed. "I get it, Mr. Bunyan. There's no need to belabor the point...wringing it dry like a blood-soaked rag. At this point you are flogging a dead horse, Bunyan. I get it! Next time leave this kind of trivial horseshit off of your insurance forms, or I'll put my foot so far up your ass you'll belch Birkenstocks"

Mr. Bunyan looked a bit shell-shocked by the scolding and Dr. Becker relished the man's uneasiness. Becker did not suffer fools and the tongue lashing had been quite satisfying.

"Having the same last name as a legendary giant lumberjack does not make you anything special, Mr. Bunyan. If anything, pointing that out makes you seem meek and insignificant...like some kind of wriggling, slimy worm...or better yet, a maggot....squirming in a sea of feces with others of your ilk."

Mr. Bunyan bowed his head, looking ashamed and Dr. Becker withheld a grin. He loved nothing more than berating his patients...except perhaps for stabbing them...but he didn't do that sort of thing anymore. He'd had the "Bad Becker" under control for quite some time now. His mask and knives were safely tucked away in a safety deposit box just in case the police should come to call on him.

"Here, Mr. Bunyan, I'll just fix this form of yours". Becker removed a ballpoint pen from the breast pocket of his lab coat and scribbled out Bunyan's "like the giant" notation and replaced it with the words "like the asshole". "There we are...much, much, much better!" he said, passing the clipboard to Mr. Bunyan. Bunyan gazed at the notation and began to sob quietly. Delighted by the man's waterworks, Becker couldn't resist ridiculing his patient further.

"I hate you, Bunyan! You're an idiot and I hope you die!" he hissed. Mr. Bunyan gazed up at the Doctor, red-eyed and full of self-loathing. "Why are you doing this to me?" he pleaded. The Doctor threw his head back and laughed. "I'm only funning ya, buddy boy!" he said and patted Mr. Bunyan on the shoulder gently. "It's all good, peckerwood, I'm just making a funny ha ha joke...like the stand up comedians do down at The Funny Farm Comedy Club!"

Bunyan looked confused but somewhat relieved by this information. "A...a joke? Like a comedian?"

"Yes...a funny funny ha ha joke like the comedian! Like the Bob Hope or the George Burns make with funny mouth! Make many joke so as to be laughed at by public!" Becker then began to walk stiffly around the exam room as if he were some kind of robot. "Dr. Pookie make funny joke for patient man in exam room!" Bunyan was further befuddled by his doctor's odd behavior, staring at him with his mouth agape. "Dr. Pookie is made of metal like the Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz!" Becker said robotically.

"Or like C-3PO?" Bunyan asked

"Ya ya! Little Dutch Boy! Me like C-3PO! Me robot!" Becker suddenly froze in his tracks. "Uh oh!" he mumbled.

Bunyan examined him. "What's wrong, Doctor?"

"Robot doctor accidentally make shit in pants." Becker answered.

Mr. Bunyan looked uncomfortable. "You shit your pants?"

"Robot doctor make doo doo download in drawers. Red alert! Red alert."

Bunyan quickly gathered his clothing from the chair he had draped it over. "Well...I guess you'll want to take care of that then, Doctor...uh...I'll just be going."

"Robot doctor want Mr. Bunyan for friend." Becker said and then broke wind loudly. "Oops! Make more robot poo poo in pants!"

At this, Bunyan bolted for the door of the exam room only to find it locked.

"Stay awhile" Becker whispered. "I was just about to make some of my famous sangria."

A Virtual Charleston Chew

2011-05-05T23:59:00.000-07:00

A gift for all of my rabid fans...please take a large bite of this virtual Charleston Chew.

Hollywood Purgatory: Potentially Classic Films That Never Made The Leap From Development Onto The Silver Screen

2011-05-05T14:21:00.000-07:00

1.) Indiana Jones and the Boner of Hendrix. Trapped in development hell, this treatment proposed a sequel in which the geriatric archaeologist pursues thieves who have stolen the notorious plaster cast of famed guitarist Jimi Hendrix's erect penis.

2.) Irwin Allen's Raw Sewage. In 1978, "Master of Disaster" Allen proposed this aptly-titled disaster epic in which an all-star cast fight for their lives when the streets of Los Angeles become flooded with human waste. Reportedly, when Allen approached Charlton Heston to play the lead role, the star quipped, "Are you fucking crazy?!" and tried to stab the director in the neck with a screw driver hidden in his sock.

3.) Franco Zefferelli's Joannie Loves Chaci. This proposed big screen version of the short-lived Happy Days spin off sitcom was abandoned when the famed Romeo and Juliette director instead chose to develop early treatments for The Harlem Globetrotters on Gilligan's Island.

4.) Lord of the Bling. This urban-flavored re-imagining of J.R.R. Tolkien's epic fantasy trilogy was shelved when early make-up tests proved to make actor, Samuel L. Jackson, who was to portray the wizard, Gandalf, appear too much like Song of the South narrator, Uncle Remus. The furious actor reportedly stormed out of make-up tests screaming, "Enough is enough! I have had it with these mother fuckin' snakes on this mother fuckin' plane!"

5.) Disney's Sodom and Gomorrah. This horrific tale of God's vengeance was forsaken when Disney studios' conceptual artists failed to come up with a family-friendly way to portray sodomy. The song Lick My Boner, composed for the film's potential soundtrack, was later used in a straight-to-video Little Mermaid sequel.

6.) David Lynch's Picklenose. Early drafts of the screenplay for Lynch's aborted project don't really explain anything at all. The color blue is heavily featured, as is a male character "Who vaguely resembles Fatty Arbuckle". The film was to also feature several close ups of raw meat swarming with flies and a man who has his nose replaced by a large dill pickle.

7.) The Great Muppet Holocaust. Little is know about this aborted project, probably for the best.

8.) Godzilla Versus Vaginasaur. Conceptual sketches for this entry in the successful Japanese giant monster series depict "The King of the Monsters" doing battle with a gargantuan rubber vagina.

Bobo Gets His Street Cred

2011-05-05T10:10:00.000-07:00

"Screw you, turd burglar! I'm pourin' it all in!"

It was a typical Jackie response; impulsive, foolhardy, crass. Exactly why Doug had been saddled with Jackie as a lab partner was a mystery, but it seemed to be the result of some deep-rooted animosity harbored by his chemistry teacher, Mr. Albright. Jackie's wild reputation around Filmore High had preceded him by a country mile, yet despite Doug's objections, Albright had chosen to pair them up anyway. The jerk had even laughed at the pairing, muttering something under his breath about "birds of a feather" and "dilly dallying dong fondlers". When Doug had again voiced his concerns about having a ticking time bomb like Jackie as a lab partner, Mr. Albright had responded by doodling a sketch on the chalk board which depicted Doug with his pants down having sexual intercourse with a chicken. Doug's face had turned beet red, not because of the jeering the offensive caricature had evoked from his classmates, but because he had secretly found the picture to be strangely erotic.

Now here they were, a mismatched odd couple with a tray full of volatile chemicals and Jackie just itching to wreak havoc. Doug shielded his eyes as Jackie dumped the smoking and bubbling contents of his test tube into the beaker which sat before them atop the bunsen burner. There was a blinding flash of light as the beaker exploded, riddling Doug's face with shards of broken glass and knocking him to the floor. The explosion was deafening, the impact blasting away the classroom wall to the left of the two teenagers. As Doug rose from the floor, pulling bits of glass from his bleeding face, he observed what appeared to be a rip in space and time created just beyond the ragged remains of the classroom wall. From the swirling nebulous mass stepped a bald man, completely nude, his skin a shimmering silver hue. In his right hand the silver-skinned man held a large, black, rubber dildo. The man pointed the dildo at Doug as his eyes became aglow with fiery red light. "Beware the Kremlac! The eater of souls!" he said.

"Who are you?" Doug asked.
"My named is Pookie Anal Prob Vampire Bat Tootsie Cat Call Skippy Vaudeville Circuit...and I am from the future." he replied.

The sliver-skinned man then stepped forward, observing his surroundings. He looked to the floor and cocked his head ever-so-slightly with a look of curiosity. Doug followed the direction of the man's glance and caught sight of the bloody remains of Jackie's now headless and mangled corpse. "That one doesn't have a head" the man observed coldly, not in the least bit perturbed by the blood and gore before him. Shocked by the gruesome sight, Doug lurched forward and regurgitated onto the floor. The silver-skinned man observed this and then, seconds later, copied the reaction, vomiting a puddle of steaming green liquid onto the floor. He then looked to Doug and smiled, as if seeking his approval. "I made floor liquid" he said, still grinning widely. Doug wiped the remaining bile from his face and smiled weakly at the man. "Yes...yes you did" Doug said.

The man from the future then reached behind his back and pulled a gold, disc-shaped object from between his buttocks. He thumped the center of the disc and out sprang the upper part of a silk top hat. He passed the top hat to Doug. "I made you a top hat with my asshole" he said. "For the top of your head". Doug examined the silky gold hat as the man observed him, seemingly waiting for him to don the gift. "For the top of your head". he repeated anxiously. Doug hesitantly sniffed the hat and then placed it on his head. It was a perfect fit. The man from the future again reached behind his back and pulled a CD case from between his buttocks. He then handed the CD case to Doug. Doug read the title aloud. "The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band : Greatest Hits". The silver-skinned man smiled. "For your ears" he said.

Suddenly Mr. Albright arose from the floor in a rage. "What in the name of Sam Hill is going on here?!" He observed the swirling space/time vortex just beyond the wall of his classroom and then turned to face the strange man who'd stepped forth from the inter dimensional whirlwind. "You silver-skinned son of a bitch!" Albright shrieked, pulling a straight razor from his hip pocket. "I'm gonna slice you up like a Thanksgiving turkey!" he growled, charging at the stranger and waving his straight razor wildly. The silver-skinned visitor aimed his wobbling black dildo at the chemistry teacher and from the tip of the rubber penis shot forth a bright beam of blue lighting. The lightning struck Albright with tremendous force, and in a bizarre metamorphosis, transformed the chemistry teacher into a bronze statue of a minotaur. "For your bedroom" the silver-skinned sorcerer said with a grin.

The stranger stepped toward the vortex. "Beware the Kremlac. The eater of souls" he repeated
"I'm going back to the future to have some sex with my sexy, silver-skinned lady" he said and winked at Doug. "Then I'm going to shave her vagina" he added, saluting Doug and then stepping back into the time/space vortex.

In a flash of light the silver-skinned visitor vanished just as instantly as he'd appeared.

Hello Dear Readers

2011-05-05T09:40:00.000-07:00

Hey there! Thanks for stopping by. It's been a while hasn't it? You've probably been wondering what I've been up to lately. Well here's a quick list to get you up to speed on the exciting things that I've been doing lately:

1.) Takin' it to the streets

2.) Stickin' it to the man

3.) Livin' in a rock and roll fantasy

4.) Chooglin' on down to New Orleans

5.) Workin' on the railroad

6.) Tellin' it like it is

7.) Lookin' for love in all the wrong places. Lookin' for love in too many faces

Oprah's 2011 Book Club Reading List

2011-03-25T18:03:00.000-07:00

1.) "Grandpa Shlomo's Belated Bris" By Rabbi Moses Horowitz

2.) "Dildo Whittlin' With Daisy Mae Dixon" By Daisy Mae Dixon

3.) "Pappy's Poontang Pantry" By Dr. Dianne Roth, PHD

4.) "To Slander The Name Of Dickhead McShitpants" By Father Ben Hardy

5.) "Homo Dragnet" By Stringbean McCoy, D.D.S

6.) "Hambone Brings The Thunder" By Dugan Turnblatt

7.) "Dunston's Bowel Movement Paper Weight" By Judith Kingsley

8.) "Fuckface Shoves A Fish Stick Up His Ass" By Sister Margaret O'Day

9.) "Peepers The Gynecological Witch Doctor" By Elizabeth Dahl

10.) "Well Shit My Slacks! : The Doodles Popper Story" By Jackie Solomon

11.) "Touch My Wiener Of Love: A Story Of Recovery" By Dr. Kimberly Sampson

12.) "Bottoms Up! : A Guide To Enjoying Your Unsolicited Amateur Colonoscopy For The Chronic Alcoholic" By Bert Fassbinder

13.) "The Erotic Flatulence Handbook" By Dame Victoria Whitman

14.) "Holistic Sodomy" By Jane Franks And David Simon

15.) "When Clown Dicks Touch : A Memoir" By Former U.S. President George Bush, Sr.

16.) "Belching In The Face Of Christ" By Father Duncan Mahoney

17.) "Understanding Masturbation In The Workplace" By Nancy Friedman-Barnes

18.) "Standoff At Diarrhea Falls : A Smokey Kaufman Mystery" By Tex Hansen

19.) " Burning Buttholes And Sizzling Sphincters : Avoiding The Painful Pitfalls Of Anal Waxing And Bleaching" By Christopher Harrison

20.) "Tang! : The Exciting Saga Of The First Drink Mix In Space" By Leonard Fitts Jr.

21.) "Seize The Day And Cornhole It! : The Power Of Positive Thought" By Dr. Joyce Walters

22.) "Everyone's Guide To Carpet Munching" By Capt. Roland Hirschfeld

Mervin Dunlop: Cougar Town Boy Toy

2011-02-25T09:22:00.000-08:00

With rumors flying fast and furious that Earth is about to collide with the planet Saturn any day now, I thought it would be wise to compile a list of items that I'll be packing up for my trip on the escape space shuttle to the Earth II biodome habitat on planet Mars.

1.) Lil' Smokey cigarette-flavored nicotine bubble gum.

2.) Bootius Maximus cushioned buttock enhancer pads (Soul Train style)

3.) Werther's humane euthanasia butter candies for the elderly

4.) Johnson's MILF Wax

5.) "Fuckin' Shit Up: An Autobiogarphy" by Angela Lansbury

6.) Hall's chewable tapeworm-loosening laxatives

7.) Coleman portable funeral home kit

8.) Tom's of Maine All-Natural Sexual Ecstasy Lotion

9.) Capin' Salty's sea salt-flavored condoms

10.) 1001 Racist Zingers joke book

11.) Flintstones Boner Time chewable Viagra for kids

12.) Raid Aerosol Spray Hobo Repellent

13.) Lego Skanytown Playset with spring-activated bitchslap action

14.) Fassbinder's Mint Julep Colon Cleanse

The Hardy Boys And The Case Of The Stinky Pinkie

2011-02-16T13:04:00.001-08:00

As I mourn over the double-whammy loss of both Tura Satana and Dave Friedman, I felt the need to lift my spirits by bringing back one of my least favorite guests in the whole world for a little chin wag. Today, making his 3rd and hopefully final appearance on the Dan West Hates You and None of You Will Be Happy blog, we welcome the Weird Guy in a Mr. Spock Mask.

Dan: Well ,Weird Guy in a Mr. Spock Mask, it's interesting to have you back.

Weird Guy: Always happy to put in an appearance on the Dave Weiss Hates Jews blog, Dave.

Dan: And the over-powering smell of cheap booze leads me to believe that you didn't fail to disappoint the fans by showing up sober.

Weird Guy: No, I'm hammered, Don. I've had five screwdrivers so far this morning.

Dan: Well then I suppose I can certainly interest you in a mimosa then, Weird Guy.

Weird Guy: Absolutely.

Dan: I knew you were coming, so I baked a cake...here you are.

Weird Guy: (Reads cake) "Go Fuck Yourself"...oh, that's cute, Don. I knew I was coming so I got baked (Laughs)

Dan: I'd like to begin by asking, if you could change your name to anything in the world, what would your new name be?

Weird Guy: Jocko "Chung King Dynasty" Pue-Pue...no wait (thinks for a moment and then speaks in drugged-up Elvis Presley voice) Johnny Poontag!

Dan: If you had a time machine, what would be your first adventure?

Weird Guy: I would travel back in time and give Michael Jackson that chocolate milk enema.

Dan: Any traumatizing and tantalizing childhood stories that you would care to share?

Weird Guy: My mother used to drink from a rubber baby doll that peed gin.

Dan: Hardly surprising...Would you care to make up any fictitious accusations against any family members that we can attribute to "recovered memory"?

Weird Guy: My Uncle Jackie once performed fellatio on a guy dressed like The Tin Man from The Wizard of Oz during a Satanic black mass.

Dan: If you could lick anything on Earth with your tongue, what would it be?

Weird Guy: Merv Griffin's coffin lid.

Dan: If you could have any particular body scent, what would that scent be?

Weird Guy: I would like to smell like the crotch of the original Creature from the Black Lagoon costume.

Dan: If you were captured in a net by a race of highly-evolved apes that possessed intelligence to rival that of modern man, what would you say to your hairy captors?

Weird Guy: I would clear my throat and then say in a loud and gravelly voice, "The aroma of your hands leads me to the conclusion that at least one of you enjoys fisting your sexual partner."

Dan: If you could write a script for an episode of the popular 1980s sitcom, Punky Brewster, what would your episode be about?

Weird Guy: I've thought about this for many years, and I have to say that in my episode Punky would befriend a flatulent hobo who is being sought by authorities for performing a botched sex change operation. I would title the episode: "Boner Patrol".

Dan: What book would you recommend for Oprah's 2011 Book Club Reading List?

Weird Guy: "Make Mine Pumpernickel: A Collection of Erotic Star Wars Fan Fiction", which is a volume of short stories written by Star Wars enthusiasts from Iceland. In one of the stories Jabba the Hutt performs cunnilingus on Princess Leia with that crazy tongue of his. It really gave me an erection, which eventually resulted in my being physically escorted out of Disneyland.

Dan: Are you lying?

Weird Guy: Yes...there is no such collection of Star Wars fan fiction, but the part about the erection at Disneyland is true.

Dan: What is you favorite line from the song, "We Wish You a Merry Christmas"?

Weird Guy: Tough call, but I would have to say the line about the figgy pudding. I just love a figgy pudding.

Dan: Do you have any personal heroes?

Weird Guy: Oh sure, Martin Luther King, Harvey Milk, Woody Woodpecker, Witchiepoo and the original bass player for Deep Purple

Dan: Any big turn offs?

Weird Guy: A sexual attraction to foot-long hot dogs and a desire to be sodomized by a man wearing a Garry Shandling mask.

Dan: Okay, well I guess that about says it all, Weird Guy in a Mr. Spock Mask. I'd like to thank you for putting in your 3rd appearnce on the Dan West Hates you blog and I hope to Christ that you won't be back in the near future.

Weird Guy: I thank you, Dirk...always a pleasure.

Don't Tug The Werewolf's Pubes, Mr. Jergens

2011-02-16T09:51:00.000-08:00

Don't make Dickie bitch-slap you, Ho!

R.I.P David F. Friedman

2011-02-15T13:07:00.000-08:00

Alas, the great David F. Friedman, producer of such exploitation classics as "Blood Feast" and "Two Thousand Maniacs!" has passed away. He was a big hero of mine and a truly larger than life character. This blog is turning into an exploitation hero graveyard lately.

Attack of the Giant Bobby

2011-02-10T13:09:00.000-08:00

After the fourth consecutive forced viewing of The Paul Lynde Halloween Special I finally cracked. I was ready to spill my guts before my kidnappers did the very same without my consent. A few hours previous, I'd been ambushed while questioning a Bavarian taxidermist about a series of grizzly bear maulings that had recently taken place in the the upper west side. This just wasn't my day. Earlier in the afternoon I'd been denied a new driver's license at the DMV because, despite my enormous silk turban and curl-tipped shoes, I was unable to provide sufficient identification to prove that my name was actually "Ali Baba". Goddamn bureaucrats! How the hell do they expect me to get a new driver's license under my own name after five drunk driving arrests in a single year?!

I wasn't sure what my captors had in mind for me, but I was crossing my fingers that it didn't involve rat traps or hairy male buttocks. I could hear muffled voices from the next room and it sounded as if my kidnappers were debating whether they would rather have sex with a live squid or a dead Oopa Loompa. This was a fine kettle of fish! Me, a private investigator with an honest-to-God certificate from The Jerry Jergen's Private Investigator School College, tied to a chair with my eyes forced open with tooth picks and duct tape. If only they had forced a pair of silky women's' panties into my mouth as a makeshift gag, I wouldn't have been so embarrassed.

Seeing as how my kidnappers had yet to reveal their motives for my abduction, I broached the subject before I had to once again endure the horror of the effeminate Paul Lynde attempting to play a macho trucker clad in white leather duds, fighting funnyman Tim Conway for the love of diner waitress, Roz "Pinky Tuscadero" Kelly. What any of that had to do with Halloween I was still attempting to figure out on the fourth viewing. I cleared my throat and then addressed my captors in a loud voice so that they could hear me in the next room. "So...ah...to what do I owe the dubious pleasure of your hospitality?"

There was a brief silence and then footsteps from the other room as my kidnappers approached me, finally revealing themselves. Upon laying eyes on the pair I could only gawk in speechless wonder. One of them appeared to be a blond boy, no older than seven years of age, but monstrous in size, wearing blue pajamas that stretched tightly over his skin as if he had been wearing them before experiencing some kind of freakish growth spurt. The second kidnapper was a middle-aged, mustachioed man dressed in a tuxedo, top hat and black cape, the unmistakable trademark costume of your typical stage magician. "I am Montag! Master of illusion!" he said, then gestured to his gargantuan accomplice. "And this is Giant Bobby."

The behemoth child stepped forward with an angry grimace on his face, clutching his fists in rage. "And you're a fucking dead man!" he roared and then punched me hard in the face, bloodying my nose. Montag chuckled. "Giant Bobby has been partaking of the Food of the Gods...a mysterious white liquid that brings about gigantism for reasons that are yet unknown by scientists." he explained. "Unfortunately for you, one of the side effects of Giant Bobby's condition is a ravenous craving for human flesh."

"What are the other side effects?" I asked.

"Irritability, severe diarrhea, which causes the irritability, a fondness for stage magic and an irrational bitterness over the fact that Joe Besser was chosen as Shemp Howard's successor for The Three Stooges." Montag said.

"Hoof and Goofs was fucking terrible!" Giant Bobby screamed and stomped on my foot, breaking my right pinkie toe in his fury.

I attempted to remain calm, despite the fact that I had just wet my pants. "You two wouldn't be mixed up in that series of grizzly bear maulings in the upper west side would you?" I asked, already anticipating the answer.

"As I have mentioned, Giant Bobby has acquired a voracious appetite for human flesh. To feed such an enormous growing boy, one must seek out human meat. The Bavarian taxidermist, Hans Shickelhaggen, provided the grizzly bear skin as a reasonable disguise with which to cover our tracks. Who would suspect that the vicious grizzly bear was in reality a gigantic seven year old boy with a taste for human flesh and a mad magician who's ghastly tricks actually work?"

I thought for a moment. "Hey isn't that former Wheat Thins spokeswoman, Sandy Duncan?" I said excitedly, glancing over my captor's shoulder. The pair turned away momentarily as I struggled to free myself. My ploy was all for naught, as I wasn't able to free myself from the chair before the gigantic youngster and his magician friend turned back to face me with looks of irritation.

"Giant Bobby is hungry!" the boy roared, seizing me by the throat and lifting both me and the chair off of the floor. "Feed Giant Bobby the genie man!" Bobby said, tossing me to the ground and shattering the chair. As I rubbed my throat, gasping for breath, I realized that my humongous silk turban and curl-tipped shoes did in fact make me look like a magic genie of the lamp. "Yes, Giant Bobby...I am a genie...and I come from the magic lamp...my name is Umpoopoo. Perhaps you would rather have three magic wishes rather than just eating me for dinner." I suggested.

Giant Bobby mulled over the idea for a few seconds. "Giant Bobby wants wishes!" Montag looked at me skeptically. Just then we were interrupted by a knock at the door. Without waiting for an invitation to enter, a middle-aged woman walked into the room accompanied by a man in a white doctor's coat. "Bobby, I would like you to meet, Dr. Fredrick Sizzledick." she said.

"And I would like for you to GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!" Giant Bobby roared. "Get outta here you bitch! Get outta my room!"

The woman exited the room timidly, shooting the doctor an embarrassed glance as if to apologize for Giant Bobby's rude behavior as he followed her out, closing the door behind him.

"Giant Bobby wants his fucking wishes!" The over-sized boy was now thoroughly enraged. I would have to act quickly if I wanted to survive the bizarre evening. "My wish is your command" I said and then crossed my arms and nodded my head. To my amazement, a puff of purple smoke appeared before me and former Wheat Thins spokeswoman, Sandy Duncan suddenly materialized. "What the shit?" she said, coughing a waving her arms to clear away the haze.

I pointed at Miss Duncan with starstruck glee. "Hey, isn't that former Wheat Thins spokeswoman, Sandy Duncan?!" I said. As Giant Bobby and Montag rushed to Miss Duncan waving their pencils and autograph books in a frenzy, I made well my escape, leaping from the window onto the back of a giant mothman who happened to be soaring under the apartment window at that very moment. As I soared away into the night sky I chuckled. "Merry Christmas to all! And to all I good night!" I said, as the mothman shit on some crazy homeless guy on the sidewalk below. "I love you mothman." I said and kissed him on the cheek. "I love you too, Kevin." he said with a grin.

The End

R.I.P Tura Satana

2011-02-07T13:26:00.000-08:00

She may be dead, but she can still beat your ass!

American Pie Redux

2011-02-02T11:37:00.000-08:00

A long-ass time ago
When, I can't remember
I saw a film with Jerry Lewis running wild
But what I couldn't figure out
was what the film was all about
it was just Jerry acting like a crazy child

And Hardly Working made me shiver
Don't raise the bridge, just lower the river
Which Way to the Front? and The Patsy
Jerry's dressed up as a Nazi!

And the producers are still horrified
About that piece of shit when the clown cried
It must have hurt old Jerry's pride
The day that project died

So don't cry, Mr. Chocolate Pie
Little Debbie ate at Chevy's
My tarantula died
Them Oak Ridge Boys was rollin' in the pigsty
singin' "This'll be the day the clown cried
"This'll be the day the clown cried"

Did you learn how to make sweet love
while jerking off wearing Playtex gloves
Are you just a skanky ho?
Do you stick your head in toilet bowls?
Can you hide food in your fatty folds?
And can you teach me how to lance my boils?

Well I saw you on that Jungle Gym
As you both sang out like Tiny Tim
you both wore wooden shoes
I play the lottery and always lose

I was s stitched-up teenage Frankenstein
with a raging sex drive and a taste for wine
and I almost lost my mind
The day that worlds collide

I started singin',
Don't lie, Mr. Purple Hair Dye
This dessert is very heavy and the turkey was dry
The Oak Ridge Boys have all kissed me goodbye
I'm singin' This'll be the day the clown cried
This'll be the day the clown cried

Now in the future they'll be armies of clones
and Keith Richards from The Rolling Stones
But now I really have to pee
Then Uncle Fester sang a song by Queen
in a jacket smelling of Jim Beam
and a voice that sounded just like Mr. T

Oh, and while we all dressed up as clowns
our buttocks all made farty sounds
the firewood was all burned
and our fan mail was returned
And while everyone talked like Grouch Marx
A crazy naked man ran through the park
Sheriff Brody killed a great white shark
These beans, they've been refried

And we were singin'
Don't cry, have some more pumpkin pie
I wear a jock strap on my face
I'm an irregular guy
The Oak Ridge Boys crossed over to the dark side
singin' let's all build a new water slide
And down the chute our bodies will glide

And Bobby Belcher was a rumored felcher
who hid his victims in a fallout shelter
He had pink eye from sniffing ass
And liked to wear a Don Knotts mask
inhaling gasses that were passed
As Richard Dreyfuss sculpted potatoes that were mashed

Now your half-assed schemes are all but doomed
aborted from their cozy womb
Don't leave things up to chance
Oh, Jerry Lewis is respected in France
He's a genuis of the silver screen
And they like him better when he's without Dean
He gets bigger laughs than Mr. Bean
The French must have no pride

We started singin' Why deny that we like to get high
Did so much acid that I flipped out and I thought I would die
All this angel dust has made me think I can fly
Maybe I can sore right into the sky
if you think you can stop me just try

Oh, then flying saucers came from outer space
And I dreamt that Genie sat down on my face
A generation soaked in bathtub gin
So come on, Jack be feeble, Jack get sick,
Jack's got herpes sores upon his dick
'cause condoms are for pussies, says Jack's friends

Oh, as Jerry Lewis took the stage
The french declared him all the rage
No angel born in Hades
could stop him from saying "Nice Ladies!"
And as all the Frenchmen sang his praise,
delirious with comic daze
It was fucking Jerry craze
A thought I can't abide

And we were singin'
All die as fire rains from the sky

The Apocalypse is coming and we're all gonna fry

So say farewell and kiss your asses goodbye

'Cause baby this'll be the day that you die

Our eminent destruction is nigh

He played seven parts in The Family Jewels

A nutty cast of crazy fools

A Delicate Delinquent gone astray

The Bellboy and Who's Minding the Store?

And Cracking Up which I deplore

but I've seen it 50 times now anyway

And at the moon the werewolf howls

then drops his pants and moves his bowels

The heads have all been shrunken

I just made love to a pumpkin;

And I tried to be a gracious host

As I raised my wine glass in a toast

To Casper the most friendly ghost

but then I got tongue-tied

I started sayin' Why, why Casper, why did you you die?

You were so friendly and so gentle that I break down and cry

What kind ghoul would murder such a nice guy?

You can walk through walls and also can fly

A little spook so tender and shy

And I was sayin' Why, why Casper, why did you die?

You were so friendly and so gentle that I break down and cry
What kind of fiend could strangle such a sweet guy?

You can walk through walls and also can fly

Dan West's Guide to San Francisco Nightlife

2011-02-02T10:46:00.000-08:00

Gurglin' Jack's Hobo Haven (Tenderloin District) Where the Steel Reserve flows on tap, served ice cold in a paper sack. Panhandlers welcome. Delicious cheap vodka that will fuck your shit up served in plastic pint bottles to prevent breakage. Thick with the aroma of urine and body odor (and maybe a little somethin' more!). No cover charge, but a distinct limp is required at the door.

The Hipster Hotel (Mission District) Pabst Blue Ribbon on tap with a bourbon shot for $3.00. Loud and supposedly tongue-in-cheek 70s rock anthems on juke box. Pool table. Strict dress code: Patrons must look as if they have just stepped out of a time machine from 1984, or appear to have been crossbred with a filthy hillbilly during a telaportation mishap, no exceptions.

Slutty's (Union Square) Attractive and under 35 patrons ONLY. Minimum one bottle Cristal or Grey Goose vodka per booth. Free use of booth phones. No skanks. Billboard quality lookers only. 36 and over crowd will be stared at with raised eyebrow and refered to as "Redenbachers".

The Manhole (Castro District) Leather-themed and Highway Patrol friendly, this legendary SF gay bar offers its famous Chaps and Cheeks Contest every Wednesday night. Tom of Finland decor and exotic "erection collection" doll house display. Did someone say "Manwich"?

Wizard of Gore Self Portrait

2011-02-01T16:18:00.000-08:00

More Fun Facts!

2011-01-28T13:15:00.000-08:00

Jeepers creepers! I can't believes me peepers! This new "Internet" is amazing! Why, all of this useful information is enough to swell your cranium to the size of a large, malformed pumpkin! Just like that creepy mutant that was confined to a wheelchair in the remake of "The Hills Have Eyes"! Did you know that Maximilian de Robespierre, a principal figure in the French Revolution, nicknamed his penis the "The Bananaconda" ? Or that Viking Explorer Leif Erickson first landed on the moon in the year 1000 A.D. ? As an amateur historian, it is my duty to collect and share these interesting historical tidbits with my fellow "knowledge enthusiasts". So here, for your enjoyment and intellectual amazement, I now present an all new collection of fun historical facts to thrill your knowledge-hungry minds!

1.) Artist Claude Monet, the founder of French impressionist painting, achieved some of the most vibrant colors in his work by incorporating a mixture of bloody human feces and vomit in his oil paint!

2.) Despite his death from syphilis in 1870, German philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche went on to write no less than 16 books from 1872-1888, including "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" and "On the Genealogy of Morality"!

3.) American President, John F. Kennedy preferred to sleep in a spiderweb-shaped hammock wearing a month-eaten chimpanzee costume he'd purchased at a flea market in 1952.

4.) Thomas Alva Edison, inventor of the phonograph, also founded the music industry's first hip hop record label, CrazeeAssKillah Records, in 1890!

5.) Film Legend Charlie Chaplin died of shoe poisoning in 1977 after cooking and eating one of his own shoes in an attempt to fight off starvation during a snow storm.

6.) Rock and Roll recording artist, Ted Nugent culled the lyrics for his 1977 song, "Wang Dang Sweet Poontang" from a little known poem written by author Edgar Allan Poe in 1847!

7.) Taco Bell franchise founder, "Taco Titan", Charles Bell was a self-confessed cannibal.

8.) Reclusive, "The Catcher in the Rye" author, J.D. Salinger played a storm trooper in the 1977 box office hit, Star Wars!

Well there you have it! More fun facts to make your head spin! I'll be on the look out for more fun and interesting facts to share in the near future! So until the near future comes, keep learning knowledge!

Gurgles, The Heavily-Medicated Chocolate Lovechild

2011-01-27T11:24:00.000-08:00

The mad killer had left a trail of butchered bodies in his wake that brought to mind some kind of awful human chum line shoveled out for the police to follow like hungry sharks. His modus operandi was as unpleasant as his nickname, "The Maniacal Murderous Mutilating Madman of Midtown Manhattan". It was rather an excessively-long nickname, but we'd had a contest down at the 21st precinct where the winner who came up with the best nickname for the murderer won a free dinner at Happy Steak and it just so happened that that one was the most popular of the bunch. Personally I liked my own submission : "Kill-O-Tron X: Blood Hunter From The Future", but I was obviously in the minority on that one. In all honesty we could have just gone with "The Kiss Army Killer" which would have made sense given the murderer's habit of writing the police his taunting letters on Kiss Army stationary, but everyone had their own take on the killer's most suitable moniker...I'm just glad nobody actually voted for "Aquaman", because I'm pretty sure that one was meant as a joke.

The killer's latest victim had been found in the bathtub of her midtown apartment by a worried neighbor after she'd failed to show up for a ventriloquism lesson with her teacher, Jackie "Cap'n Patches" Paulsen.

"She never missed a lesson." the neighbor had explained.

"Ventriloquism was her whole life. That and 'Knife Collector's Showcase' on the QVC shopping channel. She tended to work blue, which I didn't particularly care for, but she was very good. Her comic timing was impeccable....God only knows what will become of Pappy Peanuts now that she's been butchered like that." The distraught woman went on to explain that Pappy Peanuts had been the victim's ventriloquist dummy; an overall-clad country bumpkin type of character with a taste for bawdy wordplay.

"Perhaps he can be donated to one of those creepy ventriloquist dummy museums I've heard about." I suggested.

"What kind of a maniac would do something like this?" She said, holding back sobs.

"A maniacal one." I said. "Yes sir, a real maniacal maniac is at work here. He murders and mutilates...he's a madman alright...who murders in the midtown Manhattan area. Yes siree, that's why we call him The Maniacal Murderous Mutilating Madman of Midtown Manhattan, miss... or as those on the inside call him, 'Mmmmmm'". I observed the mutilated body of the victim closely, making several mental notes...most of which were related to a discussion thread I'd chimed in on the previous night concerning World of Warcraft. My level 20 Paladin quest had given me an awesome new weapon and I wanted to share the news with my fellow dwellers of Azeroth.

"Did you happen to see anyone leaving this apartment carrying what appeared to be a human head?" I asked, pulling a pad and pen from my coat pocket. "Perhaps the man would have had something under his coat that might have made him look pregnant. Maybe in the last few days you've seen something strange like that and thought to yourself 'Hmmm, that man looks pregnant, just like Arnold Schwarzenegger in the delightful comedy, Junior. "

The woman thought for a moment. "Come to think of it, I did see a pregnant man carrying a human head, but I didn't really think anything of it until now" she said.

"Can you describe this man?" I asked.

"Well he looked pregnant...about nine months along I'd guess, and was carrying a human head." she said.

"Well seeing as how he couldn't possibly be nine-months pregnant in appearance and carrying a human head at the same time, this man is obviously an imaginary boogie man concocted by your no-doubt senile and traumatized mind, Mame...I'm sorry, but this looks like a dead end."

"But Pappy Peanuts is missing, Mr. Detectiveman. Wouldn't it be possible that the killer might have hidden the missing dummy in his coat, giving him the appearance of being pregnant?"

"Impossible...if he were nine months along as you claim he would have left behind a telltale trail of slimy ventriloquist dummy placenta...just like a giant murderous garden snail. It's always the afterbirth that nails them. At least that's how it goes with World of Warcraft. No, I think you've probably been reading too many Aquaman comic books, Mame, but for the sake of argument I'm going to have you draw a police sketch of this character that you believe you saw on this pad of paper." I said, passing her my pad and pen.

"But...I can't draw." she said.

"Nonsense. You'd be amazed what you can do when you put your mind to it. It doesn't have to be museum quality, Mame. I just need a little something to follow up on. Throw me a bone here for Christ's sake. I'm trying to apprehend a maniac before he strikes again....possibly in this very building...maybe coming back to cover his tracks by eliminating a potential witness who could put his crazy ass in the gas chamber. Follow me, Granny?"

The old woman gave the drawing her best effort, employing what limited artistic talent she possessed, and then passed the pad back, looking slightly embarrassed. I observed the drawing with a grimace of distaste.

"Well you're no Rembrandt, lady, that's for certain. Is that his eye? Looks like Paul Williams with downe syndrome. Is that an arm or a trombone? Shit, a three-year-old could draw a better murderer than this, but thanks for the effort. I'll make some copies and circulate them around...see if we get any nibbles." I tucked the drawing into my pocket. "Well, forensics will be here shortly to mop up this mess. If you see anymore murders you give me a call." I passed her my business card. "You might want to consider taking a few art classes. I believe seniors get some sort of discount at City College." I tipped my hat and turned to take my leave. "Now excuse me, Mame. I have to go shove an entire watermelon up my asshole." I said.

The elderly neighbor looked horrified by the idea. "I'm only funnin' ya, Granny." I said with a chuckle as I headed down the stairs.

Somewhere, out in the cold New York night, a kill-crazy maniac was running loose. I was just glad that I would be safely indoors playing World of Warcraft.

Lubricating The Buttocks Of Jeremiah Grizzly

2011-01-21T13:23:00.000-08:00

The children sat attentively, waiting for me to begin the morning's lesson. I opened the bible on a random page and pretended to read.

"The rain had been coming down in buckets for several hours as Dickie and Pickles desperately attempted to seal their makeshift ark with Elmer's glue. It wasn't so much an ark as it was a big wooden shack nailed to a raft. Several months previous, Dickie had overheard the voice of God speak to his next door neighbor, Noah about his plans for an impending flood and some instructions concerning Noah gathering animals in a giant ark. Dickie and Pickles had been on the fence about taking it all seriously until they'd seen Noah at work with his sons, Shemp and Hambone, building the aforementioned gigantic ark.

"They'd been procrastinating until the weather began to take a turn for the worse and then quickly tried to make up for lost time by gathering all the animals they could get their hands on at such short notice. They'd succeeded in rounding up a dodo bird, a tyrannosaurs rex egg, a chicken, a couple maggots, a ceramic piranha fish from the 99 cent store, a tarantula and some crazy guy wearing a mule costume. It promised to be fairly cramped and unpleasant in their hastily constructed ark, but with any luck they would ride out this storm and curry some favor with the big guy in the sky for their efforts. Unfortunately when God saw unto what Dickie and Pickles were doing he did smote them and did pull off their arms and legs and laughed as they lay dying. The angry and vengeful God did then send them to Hell where Satan took pity on Dickie and Pickles and granted them any wish their hearts desired."

I had been the bible studies teacher at St. Anthony's of the Bloody Skull for over two months now and no one was yet wise to my little game. As a militant Satanist, I'd taken it upon myself to infiltrate the Catholic school system and spread the word of Satan from the inside. I'd previously been employed as an art teacher at Satan's School for Girls but was asked to resign after disrobing in front of my class during a nude figure study lesson. My unemployed status had me up a financial creek as my residual checks from the short-lived sitcom, "Joni Loves Chachi" were getting smaller by the month. No one in their right mind wanted to syndicate reruns of that pile of shit and my last check for $1.25 proved that fact. At my age the thought of auditioning for dead end sitcom pilots and Burger King commercials made my stomach turn, which was fine if I was auditioning for a diarrhea medicine commercial, but the last time I'd tried that sort of method approach I'd crapped my pants in front of the director. By shaking the foundations of the Catholic church from the inside I was killing two birds with one stone. I was speading the word of Satan and picking up a paycheck at the same time. Now I could fuel my lottery scratch off addiction to my heart's content.

One of the children raised his hand with a question. I gestured for the child to proceed. "My dad says that all of your lessons sound like a crazy person made them up." He said. I laughed and then spat on the floor. "Well, your dad's a punk, kid. Sit your smart ass back down and don't talk smack."

Another child raised her hand. "Yes?" The girl stood. "Why are you wearing a diaper over your pants?" I ignored the question and performed a handstand before the students, then placed a black comb beneath my nose to create a makeshift Adolf Hitler Moustache. "Heil Hitler!" I snarled, giving a Nazi salute and then suddenly threw up on my desk. Moments later, as I mopped my shirtfront and tie with a Kleenex, I was surprised by a gentle knocking at the classroom door. I seized the letter opener from my desk to use as a weapon in case of attack and turned to face Father Pat O'Brien, the school Principal, standing in the doorway with a look of great concern. I jabbed the letter opener at the priest as my students gasped with horror. "You'll never take me alive, O'Brien!" I screamed, donning my Darth Vadar Helmet, and quickly jumping out of a window to make my escape. "Hail Satan! You've all been had, fuckers!" I screamed back at the class as I bolted across the playground.

Stealing The Thunder Of Dickie Starchild

2011-01-19T12:58:00.000-08:00

The film projector sputtered to a stop. The squad room was silent save for Sergeant McCullough's wheezy breathing. No one seemed to be able to figure out why Captain Hooper had just shown three consecutive episodes of the 1960s cartoon series, "The Archie Show" to the entire vice squad. Hooper stepped forward, standing behind the podium next to the projector.

"Red-haired bastard!" he hissed, obviously referring to the cartoons' lead character, Archie Andrews. "I hate that carrot-topped fuck!" he said and kicked the back of the podium.

Finally Sergeant Turner raised his hand. "What is it Turner? I'm trying to brood." Turner cleared his throat. "Can I use the john? I'm prairie doggin' it like nobody's business over here."

Hooper waved Turner out of the room impatiently. Turner rose from his seat and timidly skulked out of the squad room, leaving the rest of us to brave Hooper's latest insane tirade.

Last week he'd show the vice squad two low-budget horror films about deadly spiders, "The Giant Spider Invasion" and "Kingdom of the Spiders" starring William Shatner. He'd prefaced the screenings as food for thought, a set of hypothetical situations for which we might want to formulate a department strategy in case of such occurrences, no matter how slim the chances of their happening might be. "We must prepare for the impending arachnid threat!" he'd warned us without a hint of irony.

Now this week he was about to sound off about a fictional red-headed teenager that he seemed to have taken a great dislike to. Hooper held up a black and white drawing of Archie Andrews and frowned with distaste. "This guy...this Archie Andrews fuck! He's some piece of work, this clown. Him and his stupid red hair and that souped up jalopy of his." Hooper tacked the picture to the wall and turned back to face us. "Attends Riverdale High School. Known associates are Jughead Jones and Reggie Mantle . Also known to associate with Betty Cooper and Veronica Lodge and a big guy they call 'Moose' Mason. Frequently seen hanging around Pop Tate's Chocklit Shoppe. " Hooper pulled a switch blade from his trouser pocket and popped open the blade. He turned to the picture tacked to the wall behind him and stabbed the blade into the forehead of Archie Andrews. "I want this smug fuck little asshole apprehended toot sweet, and I mean DEAD OR ALIVE!" he said.

I raised my hand. The Captain glared at me, anticipating my usual sarcastic quip. "What is it, Chapman? The comedian's got another Laugh-In catch phrase at the ready, I suppose?" I ignored the jab and pointed to the picture. "What if he's wearing a werewolf mask?" I asked. "How will we know it's really this Andrews character?" Captain Hooper pondered the question for a moment. "I'll have some silver bullets made, Chapman. We can't take any chances."

I stood up and loosened my tie. "I'd better go undercover dressed as a crazy Chinaman on this one Cap...I'll wear huge buck teeth and coke bottle glasses and talk in an offensive Chinese accent. I can apply for a job at Benihana tonight. I'll act just like Jerry Lewis did in his hilarious comedy classic, 'Hardly Working'. We should set up a dragnet...literally...drag a giant net down the city streets and see what and who we catch in that net. We'll post snipers on every rooftop to shoot random innocent bystanders and we'll sell tickets for Farris wheel rides. We can also sell candy and hot dogs and set up a spook house for the kids with a real working guillotine to decapitate the children as they exit. I just hope my DVD copy of 'Deep Inside Annie Sprinkle' still plays with all of that semen all over it."

Captain Hooper was obviously impressed. "Top notch Lieutenant. I like the cut of your underpants." he said. "They're leather." I said. The Captain turned to the squad room's chalkboard and began to scribble squiggly lines of gibberish as he spoke. "I want everyone supplied with a 'Chicken Inspector' badge and large rubber hand glove that gives the appearance that your hand has been run over by a steam roller. I want the SWAT team sharpshooters to wear wooden shoes and dress like the Dutch Boy on the paint cans so they don't draw attention to themselves. We'll tell everyone that it's 'National Holland Day' so they'll simply blend in. This way if they get cornered by a person in a werewolf mask they can fight them off with their shoes."

I cletched my fists in glee. "The Year is One! Hail Satan!" I screamed. The other officers quickly chimed in. "Hail Satan! Hail Satan!"

2011-01-14T14:18:00.000-08:00

My Popsicle Nazi Has Shingles

2011-01-11T10:25:00.000-08:00

I sat alone at the piano in the living room of my apartment in Rome. Observing the clock on the mantle I was a little surprised to find that it was just past one in the morning. The night had been damp and, thanks to an open window, there was a crisp chill in the air that kept me alert in the early morning hours as I worked.

I was busy composing the opening number to my musical version of "The Fly", a piece that would later become know as "Musca Domestica Suite in G Minor", but was at the time simply called "Eat a Big Bag of Shit, You Fly-Faced Fuck." I was feeling a bit on edge due to the fact that two night previous I been a witness to a brutal murder as I walked home through the Piazza del Popolo with my friend and fellow composer, Dario Simonetti. It was very late in the evening and the two of us had had more than few glasses of wine, making our recollections of the terrible incident more than a little hazy, if not completely unreliable and useless to the police inspector who'd taken our statements. He'd observed us both with a wary eye and raised eyebrow as he'd penned our remarks in a small notepad shortly after his arrival at the crime scene.

We related to the inspector that as we were walking through the piazza an hour before his arrival, we'd been startled by a piercing feminine scream in the distance. Running in the direction from where the scream had come from, we'd spotted the figure of what appeared to be a blond woman splattered with blood in a the third story window of an apartment building which overlooked the piazza. Seconds later the woman was attacked from behind by a dark figure wielding a large butcher's cleaver. The most that we could make out about the assailant from such a great distance was that he was wearing a black or brown fedora hat and a what looked like a dark, shiny raincoat and black gloves. We saved the strangest detail of all for last; the odd and disconcerting music that we'd heard playing far off in the distance just before the screaming began. Surely it could have just been coincidental, but something told us this was not some random detail to be ignored.

"Did you recognize this music?" the inspector had asked. With some hesitation, I admitted that it had indeed been familiar. With even more hesitation I next informed the inspector what the music playing in the distance had been. What we had heard was quite simply one of the worst American parody cover songs in the entire sub genre of comedy-themed music. My face nearly turned red as I explained. "Well there is an American country and western song called 'Achy Breaky Heart'. What we heard was meant to be a humorous version of that song that incorporates lyrics about flatulence." The inspector requested that I elaborate and spare him no detail. I winced in embarrassment and with some trepidation continued my description. "Well, you see...the parody version of that song is titled 'Stanky Stanky Fart', Inspector. It was a big hit with humor-challenged rednecks back in the states." The inspector requested that I repeat to him any of the words of the song that I could remember. I rolled my eyes in disgust. "Well, I believe the chorus goes something like, 'Don't smell my fart...my stanky stanky fart...I think I laid a turd right in my pants...Don't smell my fart...my stanky stanky fart...I tried to clench but I didn't stand a chance.' Or something like that...I really don't remember it that clearly"

The inspector pressed me for more details. "With music please." I asked him to clarify. "Please to sing the lyrics with music." The inspector demonstrated by singing a few bars of an Italian song that I did not recognize. I got the point and with great disgust began to sing the lyrics to the tune of the original song. After I had done so, the inspector called to one of his subordinates and whispered in his ear. Seconds later I was stunned when the officer returned holding a cowboy hat and handed it to me. The inspector cleared his throat. "Now please...if you would humor me...with signing and dancing." My jaw nearly hit the pavement. "To catch this killer...I must have every detail possible concerning this music."

"You want me to dance?"

"Please...If you would be so kind."

I donned the cowboy hat and with all the gusto that I could muster, belted out the lyrics again while dancing around like some hayseed idiot. When I finished, I took a bow and tipped my hat. The policemen at the scene applauded, placing coins into the hat.

"Now how about everyone joining in?" I asked. "Dario will accompany us with boisterous fart noises". The inspector considered this for a moment. "Yes, I think this will be fine." he said. Once again I began my song and dance as the others swayed along to the rhythm, joining in by singing along with the idiotic chorus. This time I went for broke and belted out the tune with a tasty country twang and swing in my step. My showmanship was off the hook as I tore my white button down shirt open to reveal a fringed yellow cowboy shirt covered with sequined musical notes and tore off my simple black jeans to reveal a pair of pink chaps and red cowboy boots. Nobody could put this genie back in its bottle.

"Don't smell my fart! My stanky stanky Fart! I think I mighta sharted in ma drawers! Don't smell that fart! That stanky stanky fart! I got stanky odor comin' out ma pores!"

The group square-danced behind me as I continued. "Don't smell my fart! My stanky stanky fart! I made a caca doody in ma pants! Don't smell that fart! That stanky stanky fart! I went and did the doody diaper dance!"

Suddenly a red curtain lowered behind us as a colorful backdrop and a golden guitar was handed to me by a male midget wearing a diaper and over-sized foam rubber cowboy hat. Glitter began to fall from the sky.

"Don't smell my fart! My stanky stanky fart! The smell'll burn the hairs right out yer nose! Don't smell that fart! That stanky stanky fart! It didn't come out smellin' like a rose!"

The crowd that had assembled to watch out little impromptu hoedown went wild with applause and I was happy to learn that an American tourist who had stumbled upon our show had had the foresight to quickly film the entire number in Imax 3D.

It had been a strange evening and as I sat alone at the piano in the chilly morning hours I reflected back, and thought that it might be wise if I tried to start taking a little less PCP on weeknights. It was then that I heard the music through my living room window playing somewhere off in the distance. "Don't smell my fart! My stanky stanky fart!"

The killer had returned.

(Cue theremin music)

2010-12-14T13:35:00.000-08:00

Tis the Steven

Potentially Classic Lines Of Movie Dialog That Ended Up On The Cutting Room Floor

2010-12-08T13:20:00.000-08:00

1.) "Don't worry, Pickles. These condoms are sugar-free. Now let's wash all of this blood off of toilet"- Cut from : The King and I (1956)

2.) "Checkmate, Sasquach fucker! Let's see you win the hot dog eating contest with no arms!"-Cut from: The Defiant Ones (1958)

3.) "It's okay, Chongo! They found Dr. Butterman's private underwear stockpile! It was his DNA all along!"-Cut from: On The Waterfront (1954)

4.) "You can say that again, Wiggles. It isn't every day that you witness a judge whip out a set of dildo nunchakus."-Cut from: The Verdict (1982)

5.) "And thus, Jesus brought forth a shimmering fountain of diarrhea"-Cut from: The Greatest Story Ever Told (1965)

6.) "Milton was so popular chiefly because of his jumbo-sized weiner, Grandma."-Cut from: The Third Man (1949)

7.) "That's when Schlomo stuck a toilet plunger to his forehead and told the children that he was a magical unicorn."-Cut from: It Happened One Night (1934)

8.) "Archie like his hoes extra skanky!"-Cut from: Fiddler On The Roof (1971)

9.) "Don't mind Bobo. He's always been sexually attracted to tropical fruit"-Cut from: "To Have and Have Not (1944)

10.) "Pimp Daddy gonna bitch slap them round, brown booty mounds, bitch!"-Cut from: The Wizard of Oz (1939)

11.) "Sorry my ass is all wrinkled and shit." Cut from: Days of Wine and Roses (1962)

12.) "I, Colonel Froggy Starchild, claim this vagina for the people of earth!"-Cut from: Casablanca (1942)

13.) "Looks like the chimp went caca in Mrs. Dewson's favorite turban, Inspector."-Cut from: "Sherlock Holmes Faces Death (1943)

14.) "This large Frankenstein's monster mask is for my face and this little one is for the head of my penis."-Cut from: Kramer Versus Kramer (1979)

15.) "No, Binky. There never was a Roman emperor named Cunnilingus"-Cut from: Cool Hand Luke (1967)

16.) "Edible, cinnamon-flavored longjohns...mormons...go figure."-Cut from: Mr. Roberts (1955)

17.) "After frosting her buttocks with chocolate, the killer inserted the birthday candle into Mrs. Peabody's rectum."-Cut from: Man in the Wilderness (1971)

Flushin' A Toilet Fer Jesus

2010-12-01T13:24:00.001-08:00

Once our entire clan had all come down with severe chest colds, I knew it was time for a family trip to The Funtime Palace, a new pizza parlor/arcade that had recently opened up in the Monroeville Mall. As Raven and I loaded the kids into the family hearse we instructed them to touch as many things as possible in the arcade, preferably after coughing their revolting germs onto the flesh of their hands. We knew our little, walking germ incubators would do us proud.

The family was in high spirits thanks to several bottles of cough medicine that tasted not unlike a cross between rotting cherries, pruno and gasoline, and as we drove merrily along we all mumbled and rambled on incoherently in our best high-as-fuck Elvis Presley voices. As we pulled into the parking lot the children cheered and and licked the palms of their hands in glee. "Fly like the wind my little phlegm bags!" Raven screamed as the happy children bolted for the entrance.

Once inside, little Otto requested several quarters for the "Fag Basher" game, which required the players to attempt to wallop small plastic homosexual stereotypes over the head with a rubber mallet. Little Lucy went the extra mile and threw up inside of the House of Balls play tent. Within thirty minutes the entire arcade was swimming knee deep in our horrible germs. By the time the management got wind of our nutty antics and had us physically escorted off of the premises, we had passed our sickness around like a box of condoms at a wild sex orgy.

As luck would have it, after being escorted back to our hearse in the parking lot, we were spotted by none other than pop music dynamo, Terry Styles, producer of the top ten hits, "Kissin' Cousins" by Cornhole Calhoun and "Fuck My Booty" performed by former Icelandic ice skating champion, Hans Delbrook and his backup group The Fucksticks. Terry could spot talent a mile away, and he immediately knew our little family had something special. He pitched a record deal in the spot, weaving a tapestry of delights with promises of Partridge Family-style fame and fortune. Moments later we all stabbed him to death with our homemade prison shanks and burned rubber out of the parking lot.

Movie Maniacs

2010-10-29T13:35:00.000-07:00

As a little Halloween treat for my friends and myself, I have done a little art project in which I have transformed our little group into famous horror film murderers. Ken Dashner as Leatherface from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Dan Burr as Fred Krueger from A Nightmare on Elm Street, Rick Popko as Michael Meyers from Halloween and me as Norman Bates from Psycho.

Party Monster

2010-10-18T15:07:00.000-07:00

As the song "The Monster Mash" began to play on my stereo again for what must have been the 187th time in a fucking row, I bolted for the punch bowl for another stiff belt of the fruity, spiked concoction that The Phantom of the Opera had brought to my little Halloween party. I was now long past caring that the Phantom lived in a cave in the sewer tunnels beneath the Metropolitan Opera House, and the strength of the punch had finally erased nearly all of my concerns about the sanitary conditions in which the intoxicating beverage had been made. Sewer or no sewer, I just wanted to get shit-faced by that point in the evening.

In gloriously-blurred hindsight it was quickly becoming apparent that my clever plan to throw a "Mad Monster Party" and invite actual monsters was not such a hot idea after all. This was incredibly obvious as I watched in horror as Frankenstein's Monster and his bride danced about clumsily in the living room, doing irreparable damage to my hardwood floors with their fucking gigantic platform boots. The floor had so many black scuff marks that it looked like I'd held a goddamn roller derby in my living room.

An hour earlier The Wolfman had taken an enormous shit in the cat's litter box, leaving behind traces of what appeared to be the remains of my apartment building's doorman as well as those of the cat. After Mr. Hyde had given the Creature From The Black Lagoon some of Dr. Jekyll's pharmaceutical-grade ecstasy, the slimy bastard refused to stop sticking his head in my toilet and flushing it while he screamed that he was caught in an "a-hole". I couldn't tell if he was really freaking out or if he was just tripping and thought it was funny. When I tried to pull him out of the bathroom, he scratched the shit out of my leg with his nasty green claw. Dracula had to vomit after having eight Bloody Mary's, and seeing as how the bathroom was occupied, proceeded to do so in my hallway. Being a little high and tipsy myself, I just got a couple of zombies to help me pick up The Mummy (who had passed out in the hallway) and set him on top of the vomit to make sure nobody slipped and broke their neck. His bandages were very absorbent and worked wonders in soaking up the mess, although he's not going to be too happy about our ingenuity when he regains consciousness. After the Dracula vomit inccident was resolved, I heard noises coming from my bedroom and walked in on Medusa going down on the Headless Horseman...which I guess, technically no longer qualifies him as "headless". Oh, and the fucking It's Alive baby spit up in my hall closet...Blacula is gonna throw a shit fit about his cape.

At least Michael Meyers is low-maintenance...all he does is stand around listening to the theme from "Halloween" on his ipod.

Apparently these "monsters" got the label not from their frightening looks and homicidal habits, but because of their horrible behavior. They're fucking monsters alright! I'm gonna have to just move out when this shit is over. And who the fuck invited Fred Krueger? I don't remember writing "child-murdering pedophiles welcome" on the evite. Happy fucking Halloween! This party sucks ass!

Underpants Juggernaut

2010-10-08T16:08:00.000-07:00

"You're a big pile of stinky doo doo diarrhea and you play with your weenie all night long."

I raised an eyebrow. The puerile accusations stung. It had certainly been many years since my last confession but I had no idea that the Catholic Church had lapsed to the point of actually allowing men of the cloth to resort to childish name calling. The confidant on the other side of the confessional suddenly belched loudly and the smell of cheap bourbon wafted through the screen of the partition slot. I heard the click of a cigarette lighter and the smell of cigarette smoke hit my nostrils within seconds.

"Excuse me, father...but is it customary to smoke cigarettes while hearing confession these days?" I asked.

My rather suspicious father confessor was silent for a brief moment...then came the sound of a fart from the other side of the confessional. As I held my breath and fanned the air, I attempted to place the voice coming from the next compartment. I had certainly heard it before, but not in Saint Augustine's Church. It was youthful and full of childish glee...more the voice of a playful scamp than a devoted man of God. I leaned forward, attempting to catch a glimpse of the person on the other side of the confessional through the small screened window in the wall. I caught sight of ridiculously-baggy holy vestments and a what at first glance appeared to be a midget wearing a beard crafted from cotton balls. The face was as instantly familiar to me as the voice had been. I had seen it many times on the sliver screen featured in MGM's "Little Jackie" two reel comedies.

But what on earth was the diminutive child star doing dressed as a priest and sitting inside a confessional booth at Saint Augustine's? As a certified private detective, I felt it was my duty to find out. I decided to play hardball with the little creep and went for the jugular with a line of bullshit about being a star-struck pedophile with a Little Jackie Jones. The kid went all queasy as I pretended too lust for the rotten little bastard. "Little Jackie is the reason I play with my weenie all night long, Father. I feel so dirty, but I just can't help it. Little Jackie is so beautiful! I must make sweet sweet love to him!"

Silence from the other side of the confessional, then finally Little Jackie spoke, this time attempting to make his voice sound deeper. "Uh...well, gee mister, that's awfully horrible. If I'm not mistaken you can get arrested for that sort of thing."

"Yes. I would have to strangle him afterward and dismember his little body and distribute his various body parts in dumpsters around the city to avoid going to the electric chair...but it will all be worth it when I track him down. I think I'll save his penis in a cigar box."

"Jesus Christ, mister!" Jackie said. His voice was now filled with terror.

"I can't wait to suck out his eyeballs!" I said, taking a live duck from my overcoat pocket that I'd managed to catch in Griffith Park. With lighting-quick speed I punched out the screen of the confessional wall and shoved the duck through into the adjoining compartment. Little Jackie screamed as the duck flapped its wigs and quacked frantically.

Before Jackie could bolt from the confessional I made my exit and opened my trusty violin case. I removed the large, nude female doll that I kept inside for just such occasions. When Jackie burst out of the confessional I poked the doll in his face and screamed in a high-pitched voice. "That's the man got me pregnant! That's him! Infected my womb with his syphilis-tainted baby batter! Our baby come out all crazy!"

Little Jackie ran from the church screaming bloody murder, baggy priest vestments dragging behind him, his eyes wide with horror. I smiled and lit a well-deserved cigarette, and then, laughing, dropped my pants and went to the bathroom on the floor of the church.

The End (?)

Low Man On The Scrotum Pole

2010-10-01T17:23:00.000-07:00

Don't make this strange disembodied head wearing a green derby bitch-slap you, ho!

To Felch A Rat Carcass And Other Exciting Stories

2010-10-01T13:47:00.000-07:00

"Well, bikini-wax my taint!" Grandma said. She'd never seen tomatoes grow so big, or so neon purple for that matter.

"Must be somethin' to do with that weird meteor that landed in Potter's Grove last night is all I can figure." Grandpa said, scratching his forehead. "Saw a squirrel the size of a small child having sex with one of them glowing, red watermelons this morning. And I mean that sucker was really going to town."

"You think that meteor is responsible for that new roller disco in our front yard that mysteriously appeared this morning?" I asked Grandpa.

"Only way I can figure it." Grandpa said.

"Never seen so many faggots in gold shorts and fishnet tank tops in my life!" Grandma said. "If we don't shoo them off we'll be up to our necks in semen by tomorrow!"

The aforementioned meteor had plunged out of the sky last night shooting a trail of hot blue flame behind it as it crashed into the hard earth of Potter's Grove at what I estimate to have been about ten thirty PM. Grandpa and I had driven the truck out to take a closer look and less than a mile from our farm had come upon the strangest site my young eyes had ever seen. The meteor itself looked to be about seven feet around in circumference and was a glowing shade of what I can only describe as a sickly lime green. There was an audible hum emanating from the core of the thing that sent an unpleasant throbbing into our bowels and caused us to crap our pants whenever we came within five feet of its mass. By morning the entire span of Derringer Springs seemed to have been transformed into a kind of freakish, supernatural wonderland. Everywhere grotesque mushrooms sprouted ten feet high in the most repulsive colors and shapes imaginable, and our previously beloved vegetable garden had now been transformed into a twisted jungle of otherworldly mutations. Sometime in the night my cat, Petey had also grown to the size of a mountain lion and sprouted a small humanoid head from his neck that reported the local traffic and weather conditions every hour on the hour. The two-headed monstrosity had stolen a pair of Grandpa's coveralls from the clothes line and put them on, afterward repeatedly asking me if they made its ass look fat.

"Good Gravy! Those used to be my green beans!" Grandma said, pointing at several greenish, oblong-shaped creatures wearing toupees and making love to an upright piano. "Fuck a duck, Joe. You'd better break out the old theremin for this shit."

"Theremin's in the shop, Nancy." Grandpa said, eyeing our apple tree, which was now dressed in a white tuxedo and furiously masturbating to a "Tiny Bubbles, Don Ho's Greatest Hits" record album cover.

"Wonder how far this is gonna spread." I said, noticing that my left foot had mutated into what looked like a fried chicken wearing a lobster bib.

"Bad time to have the theremin in the shop, Joe." Grandma said, then began to perform her own high-pitched humming version of the musical notes of the instrument to accompany the strange goings-on taking place before our eyes.

Honey-Roasted Fetus Kabobs

2010-09-24T13:30:00.001-07:00

Dan West: It's another exciting day here at the Dan West Hates You And None Of You Will Be Happy Blog. I don't have many special guests here on the blog, but today I'm less than thrilled to bring back one of my least popular and least favorite: The Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask. Hello, Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask...it's nice to have you back.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Glad to be back, Don.

Dan West: It's Dan.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: What is?

Dan West: My name...it's Dan. I smell alcohol...vodka if I'm not mistaken...I see you didn't disappoint by showing up sober.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Wouldn't dream of it, Dane.

Dan West: It's Dan...nevermind...What would you dream of, Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask?

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Round, brown ghetto booty.

Dan West: Interesting. Well since I don't really have any questions for you, I figured we would simply engage in a bit of free association.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: What...like Jerry's Kids?

Dan West: No, I will say a word or series of words and you simply say the first thing that comes into your mind.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Sounds fun.

Dan West: Are you ready?

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Fire away!

Dan West: Peppermint.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: The objectification of Ethel Merman's cleavage as a masturbatory aid!

Dan West: Gonorrhea.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Playa hatin' with Rabbi Schlomo Feldstein

Dan West: Lobster bib.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: The Hardy Boys and the Case of the Blood-Stained Gloryhole.

Dan West: R&B singing sensation, Peabo Bryson.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: The Hardy Boys and the Case of the Cock-Sucking Jiffy Lube Employee.

Dan West: Iceberg Lettuce.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Catholics simply crave the new nougat-filled Eucharist.

Dan West: Onion.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: The Hardy Boys and the Case of the Shit-Covered Dildo!

Dan West: You really seem to have the Hardy Boys on your mind today.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: The Hardy Boys and the Case of the Diarrhea-Splattered Restroom!

Dan West: Boner.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Brushing your teeth with Ben Gay pain-relieving ointment.

Dan West: Juicy Couture.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: The children like the chewy rat carcass.

Dan West: The A Team.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Please don't ignite Granny's anal dynamite.

Dan West: Flypaper.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Mixin' sexual elixirs in my pharmacy of love.

Dan West: Slap-Happy Pappy.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: The condemnation of the buttock tickler.

Dan West: Butterscotch lovin'.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Tito's taco truck tummy tremors.

Dan West: Well, Weird Man in a Mr. Spock mask...we have thankfully run out of time. It was truly a pleasure having you here today for this session of free association. Thank you so much for stopping by.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Oh, none taken, Dane.

Fistin' The Night Away

2010-09-14T13:17:00.000-07:00

It was October 1st. Raven and I had just returned from a two week holiday in The Land of the Dead and the two of us were unloading our luggage from the back of the hearse when we were approached by an elderly woman who was distributing pamphlets which warned of the dangers of human inbreeding. The cover of the pamphlet read: "Sister and Brother NOT Father and Mother!"
"I sincerely hope that the two of you aren't cousin or sibling fuckers." The old woman said.
Raven assured her that we were not blood relatives and that we only had sexual intercourse with each other and a few of our more open-minded and adventurous neighbors. When asked by the woman if we might know someone in the neighborhood who might benefit from the information detailed in her pamphlets, Raven pointed to a small yellow house across the street.
"Oh the Richmonds at 237. I believe they may be an incestuous couple...their children are certainly grotesque enough to be the horrible result of inbreeding."

The old woman scowled at the house. "Bet they're also into fisting!" she mumbled. As she was about to depart we asked if the elderly woman might assist us by hauling a 200 pound coffin on her back up the long flight of stairs leading to the front door of our creepy mansion.

"It's the least you could do for us." I informed her, not being exactly sure of my reasoning after making the statement.

"Well, I..." the old woman's voice trailed off. "Oh, look! A snowman with a carrot penis!" she concluded, pointing off into the distance to her left. Not seeing the aforementioned vegetable-endowed snowman, we turned back to face her, only to see the elderly woman speeding away atop a tricycle that she'd resourcefully commandeered from a small sobbing child that she'd strong-armed into the gutter during her escape.

As she peddled frantically away, the old woman flipped her middle finger at us. "Up yours, fist fuckers!" she hollered back at us, then cackled with glee. In her haste the old woman peddled the tricycle into the street, failing to notice an approaching school bus filled with screaming children. A man dressed as a clown was holding the terrified bus driver at gunpoint and on the roof of the bus lay what appeared to be a plain clothes police detective holding on for for his life, waving a 44 Magnum handgun in his right hand.

"Look out!" I whispered under my breath, careful not to alert the geriatric tricycle thief of the oncoming danger. Anticipating an inevitable collision, Raven readied her iPhone to snap a digital photo of the carnage to post on Rotten.com, but, much to our disappointment, the shriveled curmudgeon was spared from being splattered across the intersection when none other than Superman himself swooped down out of the sky and plucked the old woman from harm's way. After placing her safely down upon the grass of a nearby front lawn, the Man of Steel quickly turned his attention to the school bus predicament. In mere seconds Superman had not only thwarted the bus kidnapping, but had also effortlessly saved the lives of the terrified children, their bus driver and the brave police detective who had risked his life so valiantly in an effort to rescue the children from certain doom.

"So much for the photo op." Raven muttered, tucking her iPhone down the front of her panties after setting the ring tone to "vibrate". We watched from a distance as the detective shook hands with Superman and introduced himself as Inspector Harry Callahan of the San Francisco police department's detectives' bureau. "'Dirty Harry' by reputation" he added to his introduction. The Detective then turned to the fearful, disarmed clown and cocked back the hammer of the 44 Magnum in his right hand. "Well, Bobo...looks like your days of clowning around with the lives of innocent women and children are yesterday's news...You've already met Mr. Superman here."

"It's just Superman, Harry." Superman said.

"Well, you've already met Superman, Bobo, so permit me to introduce you to another friend of mine...the 44 Magnum...the most powerful handgun in the world and it can blow your head clean off...now the question you have to ask yourself, Bobo is, 'Do I feel lucky?'...Well, do you, Bobo?"

"We might have another photo op in the works, baby." I said.

Raven again readied her iPhone for action.

"Do something, Superman!" The clown pleaded.

"Okay." Superman said, cupping his right hand beneath his left arm pit and pumping his right arm up and down to produce a series of boisterous fart noises. "How's this, Bobo?" he asked.

"Shoot that fist fucker, Dirty Harry!" the old woman screamed.

"Yeah!" the the children saved from the bus kidnapping hollered in encouragement. "Shoot that fist fucker, Dirty Harry!"

Superman began to dance a silly jig, gyrating his buttocks at Bobo while continuing to pump out his hilarious armpit farting noises. As Bobo stood helpless before Detective Harry Callahan and his hand canon, he pleaded in vain for mercy. "Please Callahan...I was an altar boy!" he shrieked.
"Well then give Jesus my regards." Harry grumbled, taking aim and blasting Bobo in the face with his magnum.

"Oh Yeah! That's what I'm talkin' about!" Raven said, snapping photos as the clown's head exploded into several pieces.The children applauded as blood splattered the speechless bus driver who had stood frozen in perplexed awe amongst the chaos since being rescued from the commandeered bus.

Suddenly, in a white-hot flash, Superman's gyrating buttocks resulted in the man of steel letting loose an actual explosion of deadly flatulence. The searing, greenish blast of deadly rectal gas shot from his muscular posterior, instantly igniting the cheering elderly woman standing a few yards away from him and incinerating her to all but a pile of ashes within seconds upon contact with her fragile frame. "Whoopsie!" Superman chortled, continuing his oddball jig and displaying little concern for the deadly flatulence mishap.

"Yeah...FUCK YEAH!" Raven said, snapping her photos excitedly and pumping her fist in the air. "Get in there, baby! We've got to put this shit up on Facebook!" she said, waving me into her line of sight. I quickly extracted one of our vacation purchases from its coffin and maneuvered the rotting corpse into the frame of Raven's iPhone lens, swinging one of its arms over my shoulder and manipulated the other to wave at the camera as the chaos continued in the background. "Mom's going to love these" Raven said.

"She'll probably masturbate to them" I said.

"Knowing Mom, she probably will!" Raven chuckled.

A Whole Mess O' Jive

2010-09-13T13:35:00.000-07:00

Bobby "Blowhard" Chesterfield was certainly a man deserving of his nickname. Bobby blew a mean alto sax and he'd just flipped our collective lids with a non-stop 24 hour-long solo.

Joe "Chubby Digits" Brewster, our bass player, laid it out in four simple words, "Man, this cat's dynamite!" The observation proved nothing short of prophetic, for not only was Bobby dressed in a ridiculous home-made cat costume, but only seconds after Joe had succinctly articulated our delight at his playing, Bobby suddenly exploded into several pieces, showering the bandstand with blood and gore.

Blood rained down on the skins of my Slingerland drum kit as, what I believe was a section of Bobby's lower intestine, smacked, sticky and wet across the top of my head. Moe Brown jumped back startled as Bobby's left foot landed on the keys of his upright piano, pounding out a sloppy lower key blast. Slim Skinny, our guitar player, ducked, barely avoiding Bobby's rib cage as it splattered across the back wall of the bandstand.

Man, what a blast that session was, Jack!

Shit That Would Be Fucking Awesome!!

2010-09-03T16:10:00.000-07:00

1.)Robert Goulet singing songs from "The Wizard of Oz" and interjecting inappropriate cuss words!

2.) Dr. Joseph Mengele being torn apart by Holocaust survivors!

3.) Klaus Kinski and Chucky the killer doll from the Child's Play movies battling each other with light sabres!

4.) Mae West's ghost fucking a mummy that's wearing a Colonel Sanders mask!

5.) The dancing fat kid from that viral You Tube video riding a giant Piranha while dressed as Oliver Hardy!

6.) Harmony Korine winning a Best Picture Oscar for his new movie "Trash Humpers"!

7.) George W. Bush getting shit-faced drunk on Country Club Malt Liquor and throwing gang signs while wearing a gold bling grill on his teeth!

8.) Keith Richards killing a werewolf!

9.) Weird Al Yankovic performing "Eat It" for the Pope at the Vatican!

10.) A munchkin being eaten by a giant black widow spider!

Great Forgotten B-Sides To Hit Singles Of The Past

2010-09-02T16:36:00.000-07:00

1.) "Stanky Hoe" by Rick James

2.) "He-Man Pajama Party" by Red Sovine

3.) "Gin n' Tonic in My Colonic" by Dean Martin

4.) "The Ballad of Obadiah Von Vander Sloot" by Box Car Willie

5.) "Peppermint Expectorant Mucous" by Al Hirt

6.) "Stabbin' My Baby in the Balls" by Patsy Cline

7.) "Cat Stranglin' the Night Away" by Frank Sinatra

8.) "Underwear Freezer Burn" by Kiss

9.) "I Get Sick On You" by Neil Sedaka

10.) "Kiss My Polish Ass! Oh Yah! Oh Yah! Oh Yah!" by Bobby Vinton

Special Peacock Meat Hamburger Helper For Chongo

2010-08-27T23:30:00.001-07:00

Dear diary,

I awoke this morning after my stint in the deprivation chamber to find everyone in my neighborhood now sporting shiny plastic bowler hats, the type that you only find at Walgreen's during the Halloween season. Now afraid to go outside as they will all know that I am not one of "them". Got odd stares through my living room window during routine observation period...heard one elderly neighbor mumble, "Arbitrary...unsatisfactory...disproportionate" as she pointed at my un-hatted visage in the window. Perhaps it is now truly time to arm myself to the teeth. God help us all.

My Current Shit List

2010-08-06T09:15:00.000-07:00

1.) Mrs. Butterworth (Whore!)

2.) The entire production team behind the movie "Bring It On : In It To Win It" (Eat a big bag of shit you Hollywood dickwads!)

3.) Anyone named Milton (Fuckers!)

4.) That guy at the funeral home with the sticky hands (Freak!)

5.) Dick Van Patten (Your comedy chops were not up to snuff in the film, "Spaceballs"!)

6.) Mervin T. Bonkers, III (Not a real taxidermist! The aardvark looks like shit!)

7.) Polish singing sensation, Bobby Vinton (nice panties, FUCKFACE!)

Hands Off The Jujyfruits, Fuckstick!

2010-07-30T15:42:00.000-07:00

Dear diary,

In my efforts to create a gargantuan version of the puzzle video game Tetris (by employing the use of several dozen midgets wearing colorful boxes with holes cut out for their arms and legs) I have instead created what can only be described as a horrifying bloodbath.

Perhaps dropping them on top of one another from such great heights was not such a clever idea after all. I guess I just assumed that their smaller stature would make them more resilient for some weird reason. Is that racist? They weren't exactly willing participants either. Not one of them was easily coaxed into my horse-drawn wagon cage by my promises of lollipops and pastries. Maybe it was the top hat and the eye patch that put them off...or maybe it was the black cloak and phony hook stuffed into my coat sleeve. I was under the impression that all little people loved sweets...but in hindsight I'm not really certain where that idea came from. Maybe I saw it in a cartoon. In any case, now I've got a massive pile of dead little people to dispose of. Maybe I could take them to a taxidermist and use them to create a life-sized panorama of Munchkinland. At least that would work a lot better than my disastrous Tetris concept...and it's always good to recycle, after all.

Duncan's Rectal Thermometer Theramin

2010-07-29T15:35:00.000-07:00

It certainly promised to be an exciting day here at the Dan West Hates You And None Of You Will Be Happy Blog! Today's post was really going to knock the comedic socks off of all the three and a half people who are occasionally intellectually masochistic enough to stop in and read this crap. Today's post was going to be a real humdinger! (Wow! that sounded very pornographic!) It was to be a wild and woolly tale of how I fell off of a ladder while nailing a bra to a barroom ceiling and was suddenly transported (via my imagination) to a magical place called "Tinkletownvilleland".

There, (in Tinkletownvilleland)with eyes full of wonder, I would embark on a wonderful adventure filled with fantasy and just a hint of patricide and methamphetamine abuse. I would meet many characters during my journey: Gelatinous Rudy, "The Pimpster", Skull Head, Skipper The Stripper (Who can't keep up her zipper), He Who Salivates, Mr. Melty and little Taco. Each of these fantastic characters would, in their own way, teach me a poignant life lesson that would enrich my being from the neck up, but do nothing for the nasty bits kept hidden in my colorful, patch-covered pants (except for Skipper).

Together we would all perform a rousing climactic musical number about deadly fungus titled : "Stachybotrys Chartarum, Oh How You Do Me Such Har-um!" Also at one point I would be threatened by a nude and hairy giant who would shake his fist at me and proclaim, "I'm gonna discontinue the living shit out of you! You dick-nosed fuckface!"

But what could such a fabulous blog post be titled? Would it be called "Choo Choo Opts For Breast Reduction Surgery"? Or perhaps, "Consummate The Voodoo Of Your Love"! My mind raced with possibilities: "Twinkie Gets His Groove On", "New Passion Of The Christ Inflatable Punching Bag", "Ralph Singleton's Private Underwear Party", "Wiener Swingin' Jiveass Dance Party", "Ron Cummings Strums The Sexual Banjo", "A Ringworm For Poppy", "Johnson's Nose To Cleavage Adhesive Spray", "Momma Discovers Doogie's Nipple Clamps", "Bananas: Nature's Erection".

Yes, this one going to be one hell of an awesome blog post!

And Now! The Tribute To The Lesser Known Efforts Of The Professor From Gilligan's Island

2010-07-15T16:21:00.000-07:00

A funny coconut pirate head!

A goddamn wooden hat!

This thing!

Wicked wooden dildos!

The kickass coconut knocker holder!

A fucking awesome pot pipe!

A Tribute To The Lesser Known Efforts Of The Professor from Gilligan's Island

2010-07-15T15:46:00.000-07:00

The above blog entry is a tribute....this is the announcement for that tribute...just like the "Oscars"...it is a tribute to a brilliant innovator and cast member of one of the most renown, intelligently-crafted, thought-provoking American television programs in the medium's history. None of us were actually there that fateful day...when five passengers set sail for a three hour tour...only to find themselves stranded on an uncharted desert isle, but now, through the magic of the "interweb", we can unveil newly discovered creations from Roy Hinkley, M.A., B.S., PhD, aka "The Professor". (See next blog entry for the exciting details!)

Fun Facts!

2010-07-15T12:50:00.000-07:00

Boy oh Boy! What a kooky,crazy,mixed-up,tangy,verbose,triangular,sex-drenched,ultra-violent,pinstriped,chewy,new and improved,chocolate-coated,funky fresh,alcoholic,artificially-flavored,downy soft,flammable,ready to eat,pill-popping world we live in! Call me crazy, but it seems like every day more and more kooky,nutzo facts are popping up like pimples on an ugly teenager who eats too much junk food! It's enough to make your head spin! Just like the little girl's did in that movie "The Exorcist!" Boy howdy, let's just take a peek and see what's new in the world of fun and interesting facts!

1.) America's 13th president, Willard Fillmore was nicknamed "Doo Doo Drawers Fillmore" by 12th President Zachary Taylor, due to his nasty habit of never changing his underwear!

2.)Flatulence was invented China in the year 1476, during the reign of the Ming Dynasty!

3.)Impressionist painter Pierre-Auguste Renoir could whistle through the head of his penis!

4.)Carlo Collodi's book, "The Adventures of Pinocchio" was based on the life of Giacomo Florenti, an Italian, peg-legged dwarf who was born an actual puppet!

5.)Styling one's powdered wig with semen was once considered a cure for Lycanthropy!

6.)The human skeleton is not actually made of bone, but consists of a carefully blended mixture or plaster of Paris, sawdust and highly-flammable nitrate film stock!

7.)The people of the country of Serbia nest in trees like birds!

8.)The top hat was invented in 1797 by an English haberdasher named James Heatherington who had a tall, square forehead like Frankenstein's Monster!

An Intervention for Peepers

2010-07-09T08:29:00.000-07:00

When I first informed Papa of my aspirations to become a famous Hollywood film comedian he replied, "You'd have better luck shoving a pop tart up your ass and claiming to be a toaster."

Undeterred, I calmly explained my game plan to become my generation's version of the great Charlie Chaplin. "I want to be the next 'little tramp' !" I exclaimed, following my speech.

"Yeah, well you're already halfway there, Junior, seeing as how you're already a goddamn bum. You could just saw your legs off at the knees to meet the height requirement." Papa grumbled, shoving me aside so that he could resume his regular nightly viewing of Knife Collectors' Wholesale Smack Down on the Home Shopping Channel.

"I'm serious!" I said.

"You are? Well that's hardly an ace in the hole for a baggy pants comic, smart guy." Papa quipped, distracted by the shimmering assortment of spring-activated 'Scorpion's Sting' folding buck knives displayed on the television screen. "Oh, man! I gotta get me one of those babies and stab you in the neck with that mother fucker!" he giggled.

"You aren't even listening to the heart-felt dreams of your only son!" I said. Even though I loathed him with all of my heart, I one day longed to be rich and famous and be able to place Papa in a second-rate, or better yet, third-rate nursing home and never visit due to my numerous awards ceremony obligations, leaving him to rot away to a bag of bones in a clouded haze of dementia and suffering from an ever present diaper rash-the result of the laziness and neglect of his underpaid caregivers.

"Fine!" he snarled. "You wanna be Charlie Chaplin? Put on a derby, draw a fucking Hitler moustache on your face and go impregnate some underage girl, you retarded mutant! I'm trying to watch my knife show!"

Papa was "old school". A regular working-class, blue collar Joe who's ideas of elegance and taste encompassed only the rusting double-wide trailer we called home, TV dinners and twelve packs of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. He was hardly a character to embrace my notions of comic genius. "You wanna be funny?" he asked, pitching a half-empty beer can at my skull and hitting me square in the forehead. The blow knocked me backwards into a collection of dust-covered bowling trophies that he'd found in a moulding cardboard box a few years before and had since proudly displayed as if they were his own. "There you go Shemp!" he cackled, referring to the slapstick comedy stylings of the late Shemp Howard of Three Stooges fame. "Now that shit was funny!"

I rose to my feet and carefully extracted the tip of a bowling trophy that had become impaled through my liver during the unsolicited pratfall. Papa howled with laughter. "Maybe you are a comic genius after all, you fucking dipshit!"

My mind reeled as I sputtered instructions for Papa to call 9-1-1. Moments later, I fainted from a rapid loss of blood from my wound.

Two months later I hazily emerged from my coma and attempted to establish my bearings as I stared, dumbfounded, at the ceiling of the Happy Valley General Hospital's coma ward. As my wits returned, I couldn't help noticing that my right leg had been amputated at the knee and my left arm and testicle were missing. It didn't take a rocket scientist to do the math: organ/limb vegetable garden! Nurtured only to harvest my spare parts like some human auto dismantling yard! Papa had sold me down the river after heartlessly wringing laughs from my comic aspirations with his sadistic beer can-tossing antics!

I gazed about the ward, noting that a good number of my comatose roommates were also missing numerous body parts. What a diabolical turn of events! Suddenly the door of the coma ward swung open. I quickly laid my head back on my pillow, again playing the helpless vegetable that I had been only moments before my horrifically rude awakening. A doctor entered the room, followed by a short, elderly man wearing a double breasted suit. "Of course I'm really a doctor! Why do you think I'm wearing scrubs and a stethoscope?" the doctor asked, sounding irritable. The man in the suit cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. "Well I'm just not used to seeing assless scrubs. Your buttocks are hanging out in full view." the man said. "It's a sexy new look for the coma ward staff. Chocolate Love! 100%!" the doctor said, snapping his fingers with a spicy flair.

"But you're white." the elderly man noted.

"Racist!" the doctor snapped.

The elderly man loosened his tie, nervously. "It's just that at Weinerman's Ball Park Franks, we're a bit choosy about who provides the ingredients for our hot dogs." He unbottoned his shirt collar and then wiped the perspiration from his brow with a handkerchief. "If this sort of deal was discovered I would be finished."

"Finished with what?" the doctor asked.

"I would be ruined" the man explained.

"Well perhaps you could buy stock in my new line of assless scrubs." the doctor said.

"That's not the point. The hot dog-eating public might object to a company putting human meat into their franks." The man said.

"Well, they can bite this human meat frank!" the doctor said, grabbing his crotch.

"I'm just not 100% on this deal." the man said.

"Chocolate Love! 100%!" the doctor repeated, snapping his fingers again.

"I'm really going to have to give your proposal more thought. I'll get back to you." the man said, exiting the ward.

"Yeah, well you're a fuckin' pussy, dude! The fuckin' Chicolini Salami Company was all over us like flies on shit, you fag!" the doctor screamed. "One guy even bit this chick's finger off and swallowed it raw to test the product!"

I couldn't believe my ears...or my eyes for that matter. It was all too dreadful to be believed. My meat, and the meat of these other unfortunates harvested for a cheap brand of salami by some sadistic lunatic in assless cotton pants! It was like some awful Vincent Price film! I had to escape..before I was completely ground into some hideous cured sausage.

"Fuckin' bullshit!" the doctor grumbled as he left the ward. I had to work quickly, before the lunatic discovered his next potential customer. Using what strength and dexterity I had left in my weakened body, as well as several lengths of surgical tubing, I tied together several of the other comatose patients, creating a makeshift raft. I then stuffed a corn cob pipe I had found with aromatic cherry-flavored tobacco and struck a match, puffing madly at the pipe to create a thick cloud of smoke. My plan worked, as in the next few moments the emergency sprinkler system was activated, flooding the coma ward with water. As the room was filled by the sprinklers' watery deluge, my human raft was swept through the door of the coma ward and into the hallway beyond. I paddled madly toward the emergancy exit screaming "Freedom is mine! Freedom is mine!" all the while imagining the horrible vengence that Papa was going to suffer at my remaining hand.

Chump Change Charlie Spends The Night In The Haunted Dildo Factory

2010-06-25T13:08:00.000-07:00

It was a cool Friday evening in San Francisco and former television game show host, Bob Eubanks and I were settling in for the 4th annual Punky Brewster marathon on BET. Bob and I had been friends ever since he'd splattered that deer all over the highway with his monster truck and we'd exchanged tasty venison recipes and even tastier gangsta rap lyrics. I deeply admired Bob's choice of hairstyle and he in turn confessed a deep respect for my mad skills as a professional cobbler. He knew full well that a career in the shoe repair industry was no bed of roses.

We were waiting for our pizza to arrive when Bob confided in me his disappointment in the fact that he had never seriously pursued a career as a professional bullfighter. This odd confession at least finally explained his habit of wearing an ornate matador's costume on Friday evenings.

"I'm just not Spanish enough." he sighed. "Damn my Dutch and Scottish heritage!"

When I addressed the mystery of why he wore his speedo underwear over the outside of his matador britches he became more cryptic. "Society, the reflections of a child." he said, quoting Charles Manson. "Maybe after Punky Brewster we can pretend that we've invented a time machine." He proposed.

"Sure thing, Bob. I'm certainly looking forward to that pizza." I said. "I truly hope that it will be savory." I added, simply wanting to use the word "savory" in a sentence.

Bob downed the last swallow from his bottle of Heineken and belched loudly. "I was looking at the Oprah's book club blog entry under the rest in peace, Dennis Hopper blog entry below this one and was reminded of how someday I would like to write a book...a great work of fiction."

"I didn't know you had aspirations of becoming a writer." I said. This was the first mention Bob had ever made of his desire to achieve literary greatness and frankly it surprised me.

"Well that particular dream is usually eclipsed by my bullfighter fantasy, but I do possess a rather fertile imagination...especially when it comes to thinking up different and unique ways to murder people. I think that I might do quite well as an author of horror novels or crime thrillers."

I was intrigued. "Anything in the works?"

"Oh sure...a couple of short stories here and there...three unfinished novels and I also write lengthy letters to an unsolicited pen pal in New Zealand that include numerous references to necrophilia."

I cleared my throat, a bit jealous of Bob's uncharacteristically cerebral aspirations, and then began to lie. "Last week I sketched out the storyline for a sweeping historical epic that I've titled 'The Opulence of Moe Moe's Waffle Shack' and I have a great idea for a children's book called 'Wally Gets His Finger Back' " I claimed, attempting to appear as intellectually ambitious as my guest.

Bob raised an eyebrow. "You never mentioned this before."

"Well it's just a hobby, but I'm quite prolific...last week I wrote three novels, 'Sherbet The Clown's Sexual Snake Pit', 'Tiki Tantrum', and 'Whitey and Crackers in Honky Town'...plus a poem titled 'Peppermint Schlong'."

"Why you gotta steal my thunder, homie?" Bob asked, sounding slightly irritated by my insane and colorful boasting. "I say I want to write a mother fuckin' book and all of the sudden you're mother fuckin' Charles Dickens? I suppose you wrote the Bible too, mother fucker! Is that it? You God now?" Bob's mood was turning extremely sour.

Unable to help myself I continued to weave my web of lies. "I've also invented a new bubble gum by mixing previously chewed bubble gum with blue food coloring...I call it 'Chewy Bluey'."

"You're fucking full of shit, you fucking fuckface!" Bob screamed, pulling a knife from a sheath attached to his belt.

I jumped to my feet with lightning quick speed. "Not so fast, Skippy!" I warned, knocking Bob into a glass cabinet full of ceramic clowns with a perfectly executed roundhouse kick to the jaw.

As Bob lay sprawled out on the floor moaning, I ran to my bedroom to retrieve my latest eBay purchase: an ominous, plastic Colonel Sanders Halloween mask. After donning my mask I quickly prepared a syringe full of enough black widow spider venom to kill a rhinoceros and walked back into the living room singing the lyrics to "Give Me Back My Fillet-O-Fish", a catchy jingle that I had recently heard used in a MacDonald's commercial.

"End of the road, Honcho." I said, plunging the needle into Bob's neck and injecting the deadly spider venom.

As Bob convulsed on the floor, foaming at the mouth and turning a pale shade of gray I spat on him. "You just wore out your welcome, smart guy!" I hissed, turning toward the kitchen to get my hacksaw.

R.I.P Dennis Hopper

2010-06-02T13:39:00.000-07:00

Okay, Dennis Hopper is really the only guy who could take out the Texas Chainsaw Massacre family (TCM Part 2, a personal favorite of mine). Easy Rider, Blue Velvet, Land of the Dead, River's Edge....Queen of Blood(?)...the guy was BADASS!

Oprah's Book Club 2010 Reading List

2010-05-25T14:41:00.000-07:00

1.) A Respectable Citizen's Violent Shell Game of Death by Henry Johns

2.) Makin' Sex the Old School Way: The Glory of Leather Condoms by Gerald Granger

3.) Nancy Drew and the Case of the Cum-Stained Turban by Dianne Turner

4.) A Papal Bull for Dickie Jergens and Mr. Bonkers by Cindy Campbell

5.) The Cucumber of Justice by Jose Gonzalez, Jr

6.) Tinker, Taylor, Soldier, Unrepentant Slut by Alison Barnes

7.) Zebra Costume Fart Smack Down : The Tail End of Vengeance by Eleanor Bailey

8.) Jerry-Rigging the Moonshine Still of the Gods by Terry Henderson

9.)Vaginal Stitches Removed From Neighborhood Idiot by Sheri Santiago

10.) Close But No Cigar, You Elephant-Ridin' Bitch! by Arundhati Adija

11.) Disposable Rubber Briefs and Other Tales of Terror : Multiple Authors

12.) Arno Fassbinder's Cinnamon-Scented Kimono by Slappy Ingram

13.) Funky, Chewable, Forbidden, Mau Mau Straight Jacket by Jo Jo "Fruity" Reese

14.) Comin' to Blows with Jesus by Father Simon Delgado

15.) The Salacious, Jumbo-Sized, Grindhouse Pantie-Shredding Machine by Helen Goodman

16.) Professor Larry Meyer : Genetic Cross-Breeding Dynamo by April Showers

17.) Fisticuffs With Chico The Animatronic Werewolf by Dr. Arnold Strickland, M.D.

2010-05-25T14:15:00.001-07:00

This guy just crapped his pants.

This Harpo Marx Wig Smells Of Mildew

2010-05-25T14:06:00.000-07:00

Don't make this weird guy dressed in a SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS costume bitch-slap you, Ho!

Finger Lickin' Bad

2010-05-25T12:37:00.000-07:00

I have written about this ridiculous mask before on this blog. Take a good look at this stupid thing. What kid (who wasn't suffering from some sort of dementia) would actually choose to be Colonel Sanders, the founder the Kentucky Fried Chicken Franchise, for Halloween?

Batman? Nope. Frankenstein's monster? Nope. How about Spiderman? No...I want to be Colonel Sanders for Halloween. WTF????? And even if the kid didn't make this particularly bizarre choice, what parent would be weird enough to pick this out for their child?

This thing was half of an actual Halloween costume. I know this because I witnessed the strange power of this mask first-hand as a kid. This mask was the catalyst for the only time that I have actually wet my pants from laughing so hard that I truly lost control of my bladder. Imagine being at another child's house, a child that you have just met...the kid busts out a Colonel Sanders mask. Then the aforementioned child, without any warning, puts on his Colonel Sanders mask and proceeds to completely flip out as if he is having a spastic fit, flailing around his room running into things and spinning around screaming as if he is a robot who has gone out of control.

At nine or ten years old...whatever age it was...it was the single weirdest thing that I had ever seen a human being do, and this surprise slapstick comedy attack was so fucking hilarious that I could not stop laughing, and the more I laughed, the more the kid freaked out for my enjoyment. It was either part of a routine shtick he performed for guests or a moment of truly inspired lunacy created on the spot...whichever it was, it remains, to this day, one of the funniest things that I have seen in my lifetime.

For years I wondered if this actually happened...I knew it did of course, but it just seemed so weird that I often wondered if I'd dreamt this up myself somehow. I never saw another Colonel Sanders mask again until last week when I thought to google "Colonel Sanders Mask" to prove that I was not hallucinating way back when. As it turned out, someone just happened to be auctioning off one of these idiotic things on eBay...well guess who is now the proud owner if his own, very real, plastic Colonel Sanders Halloween mask? That's right! I'm that stupid/weird! Lucky me! Maybe I'll have to frame this thing....or better yet...wear it when guests come over and surprise them with a little out-of-control freak out.

Takin' A Wiz!

2010-05-25T09:15:00.000-07:00

After sitting through the extremely gay musical "Wicked", I have decided to pen my own musical about the magical land of OZ. My musical will focus on the bloody exploits of "Munchkin Hunter" and cannibal, Grimly McDeathkill. Here, for your enjoyment is the opening song from my new musical. ( Our story begins as Grimly first arrives in Munchkinland ).

Grimly:

It's easy to determine the idiots and vermin
All you have to do is look around

It doesn't take a sermon, or a decade of book-learnin'

to see this is a shithole of a town

There's another fucking midget, who's dressed up like an idjut

did you steal your clothing from a clown?

If I see another munchkin, they're gonna get a punchkin

and a slap upside their little munchkin head

All you candy-colored cuties with your stupid curly booties

better run for cover or your dead!

I'm the munchkin killer, yes indeed

and I've sworn an oath to hunt your breed

I'll chop you up and make you bleed

and then burn down your town!

I'm a munchkin eater, yes indeed

I've sworn an oath to hunt your breed

upon your munchkin flesh I'll feed

I'm here to take you down!

CAST :

He's the munchkin killer, yes he is

and he's not here to see the Wiz

In Munchkinland he'll do his biz

and burn it to the ground!

Grimly:

My one and only function

is the death of every munchkin

a task that I have taken on with joy

I'll catch them and I'll kill them

Then I'll bake and broil and grill them

and then this Munchkinland I will destroy!

I'm the munchkin killer, yes I am

Scarier than Son of Sam

I'll eat you like a leg of lamb

I'm here to take you down!

EVERYONE:

He's the munchkin killer, yes he is

and he's not here to see the Wiz

In Munchkinland he'll do his biz

and burn it to the ground!

A Pocket Full Of Kryptonite

2010-05-20T15:22:00.000-07:00

A Pocket Full of Kryptonite. Ever hear that album by Spin Doctors? I detest that pile of shit...I also detest Spin Doctors...and their goddamn lead singer that looked like some happy hippie fuck sixties throwback. Fuck Spin Doctors.

But this post is not about the band who brought the world the equivalent of musical diarrhea with such gems as "Little Miss Can't Be Wrong."...(ever see that video? Absolutely vomit inducing), this is a post about kryptonite. Kryptonite...an element created from the remains of Superman's home planet of Krypton that can actually kill Superman. Have you ever tried to kill Superman? Take it from me it's not that easy.

I think we all have a personal form of Kryptonite...something that has a tremendously adverse effect on us..our Achilles heel, the thing that makes our skin crawl at the very thought of it.

Picture yourself as a super hero. A super hero that has been captured by your arch enemy. What weakness does this arch enemy use against you? I have two personal versions of kryptonite : Chewing gum and mayonnaise...both of which completely repulse me. The thought of either can make me nauseous immediately, but if I had to pick the worst of these two evils, I would have to go for chewing gum... a creation so foul and annoying to me that it literally makes me want to punch people in their gum-chomping jaws, and I won't even go into what evil thoughts I have entertained concerning the idiots who repeatedly pop their gum loudly as if it's some form of toy for their jaws to play with. I have never seen the movie "Saw" or any of it's 5,000 sequels (surprisingly), but I imagine that the fantasies that I reserve for such inconsiderate, oblivious assholes would be something along the line of the horrors depicted in those films. Just the smell of gum is revolting to me. It smells like what I would imagine an evil clown would smell like, like Pennywise from Stephen King's book "It"...it's a sickly sweet stench that I find absolutely repulsive...in any of its foul incarnations, "minty", fruity", etc...they are each a slice of the devil's feces in my opinion.

This would be the element that my arch enemy would use against me if I were a super hero. Luckily, I have always tended to side with the villains so hopefully I will never find myself locked in a room packed with gum-chomping retards.

Grunt Like An Ape For The Sex Fairy!

2010-04-27T15:28:00.000-07:00

Last Friday my friend Rick informed me that he was setting up what he called "a treat" for us. "I'm looking into getting us tickets to 'Wicked'!" he announced. "Wicked"...a musical about two witches from the land of Oz...as in "The Wizard of Oz". My first thought upon hearing this was "since when did we become a middle-aged gay couple?"...two men in their forties going to see a musical about two witches from Oz? With no wives or children in tow? Sure sounds as gay as the day is long to me. When I asked what his reasoning was, Rick said "I hear it's really good." Then he reminded me, "besides, you said that you were sexually attracted to the wicked witch on the posters." I did indeed state this fact...which seems all the more reason that I would not really be game for seeing a Broadway musical about the land of Oz...Just because I am sexually attracted to a woman with green skin who looks great in pointy black hat and practices witchcraft, doesn't make me a fan of musicals...I was thinking more along the lines of a Captain James T. Kirk/Alien chick attraction...something kinky...with much more green-skinned sex action and much less singing. You know, something like where I order her to "Sit on my broom stick and take a ride, Baby!"...But noooo, now I have to listen to a bunch of gay songs about Oz for two hours...I bet there are goddamn munchkins in this fucking thing too...Uggggg...I hate munchkins...they should have dropped Dorothy's house on a shitload of those little fuckers...like the Lollipop Guild...

Speaking of the Lollipop Guild, am I high or did they not crawl out of a manhole in "The Wizard of Oz"?...A manhole...meaning that they live in the sewer? I would be hesitant to eat that lollipop if I were you, Dorothy.....maybe I'm mixing that scene up with the "crazies" scene from "Escape from New York"...but I seem to remember the little bastards crawling out of a manhole. Wait...what the hell was I talking about? Sex with witches....midgets who live in the sewer...Captain Kirk...green boobs...sit on my broom stick...yeah...that about covers everything

Dr. Bernie Lipton, DDS : Human Sex Toy

2010-04-14T19:34:00.000-07:00

After being informed by my landlady that I am not, in fact, "judge, jury and executioner", but simply a deadbeat who's always bursting at the seams with excuses as to why my rent is constantly late, I was forced to keep the shriveled-up, elderly miser at bay with the temporary (hopefully) loan of my much-coveted oil portrait of Merv Griffin (stolen from his Carmel home by a friend who was high on PCP at the time) and a promissory note for a free bikini waxing/taxidermy lesson.

The fascist hag also made me promise to dismantle my living room "sex morgue" and change the roach traps in the basement laundry room with a set of salad servers duct-taped inside my shirt sleeves so that I would "lack the luxury of the dexterity of human fingers for this particularly unpleasant task". She's also stipulated that I must wear a rubber latex novelty store bald cap "to rob me of my youthful arrogance" and that I must repeatedly curse the traps as I fumble with them (with my salad server appendages) with the specific line of dialog : "You doo doo ca ca pee pee, bad squares! Squares promise the doo doo ca ca pee pee roaches ultimate demise! Yet the doo doo ca ca pee pee roaches still appear!"...apparently she wishes to video tape me doing this so that she can upload the questionably-hilarious results to You Tube.

She may be a sadistic money-grubbing vampire, but I have to admit, if the shoe was on the other foot, I would be making the same bizarre demands. I've since made a mental note to add her to my ever-expanding list of potential Dick Tracy comic villains....I think I'll call her, "Cuntface". I think Chester Gould would approve, especially since he is dead now and can't voice his opinions concerning the direction that his ground-breaking comic strip takes in the hands of a mentally-unbalanced cartoonist wearing a rubber latex bald cap and attempting to sketch his new villain with a yellow crayon clutched clumsily between a pair of salad servers. Take that, "Cuntface!"

Gold Denture Grill Bling Teeth

2010-04-14T15:47:00.001-07:00

Last night at the Governor's Ball, California State Senator, Elaine Alquist slipped some wicked roofie-type drug into my gin and tonic. Sen. Bob Huff must have sold it to her during the surprisingly violent and sexually graphic pre-dinner puppet show. Dat shit was off da hook! Genie told me this morning that I kept pointing at Sen. Darrell Steinberg and calling him "Dr. Bootysuck O'Felcher, M.D." and that I also attempted to bite Sen. Jenny Oropeza on the ass and kept screaming that I wanted to see "the governor's balls". Apparently I eventually had to be physically restrained once I had become convinced that I was transforming into a blood-thirsty "sex werewolf". Now that was one hell of a Governor's Ball, baby! (I woke up in our bath tub wearing a leather thong and the mask pictured above. I have no idea where all of the blood I tracked through the house came from)

Gordon Newman : Frequent Condom User

2010-04-14T09:13:00.001-07:00

These are my new imaginary friends, Ronald "Peppermint Schnapps" Saunders and Mrs. Alma Whipple of 45 Glenview Terrace West. They reside inside of my mind and keep me entertained during those excruciatingly-long and admittedly-boring sermons that I preach at my new church, The Church of The Later Day Christ Chainsaw Massacre, Part VI : The Final Conflict : Episode I. Goddamn I can drone on and on. "God this", "Jesus that" and blah blah blah. It's not like I believe any of that shit...I just do it for the collection money to keep me in hoes and Country Club Malt liquor.

Ronald is quite the prankster and knows a thousand dirty jokes that often make me laugh out loud at inappropriate moments (Why does Fred Astaire's face smell like Ginger?! Indeed!) and Mrs. Alma Whipple of 45 Glenview Terrace West is a former arm wrestling champion and recovering alcoholic who has followed the acting career of Alan Alda with great interest. She is also a member of the Kiss Army.

Jimmy Jacknife's Jailhouse Jesus Juice

2010-04-12T12:58:00.000-07:00

Don't make the Tin Man bitch-slap you, Ho!

Remo Pimplicker's Chicken Fried Vengence

2010-03-11T13:54:00.000-08:00

Boobs = Good

R.I.P Charles B. Peirce

2010-03-08T10:33:00.000-08:00

Today we mourn the passing of the great, Charles B. Peirce, creator of such cinema classics as "The Legend of Boggy Creek", "The Town that Dreaded Sundown" and the fantabulous "Boggy Creek II" starring the great man himself sporting a pair of very tight shorts.

Heyyyyyyy Abbbbbbbbbbotttttt!!!

2010-02-19T13:25:00.000-08:00

I think that my film making partner Rick Popko and I are slowly morphing into Abbott and Costello as we age.

WTF???

2010-02-03T16:52:00.000-08:00

Hey kids! Now you can own your very own Jack The Ripper action figure from Mezco Toys! Jesus Christ, I thought I had a morbid sense of humor, but even I find this slightly disturbing.

You've made a terrible impression...now please clean it up.

2010-01-08T15:08:00.000-08:00

About the only thing funnier than a really shitty Halloween mask is a truly crappy celebrity impersonator. I never tire of visiting the websites for these freaks. Most of them look nothing like the celebrities that they are supposedly impersonating, and the sites always include random oddball look-a-likes who's services should never be required for any reason whatsoever. The site that I am currently cackling like an idiot at (New York's UNIQUE Entertainment Corp.) has impersonators who will come to your parties and events to wow people with their thrilling impersonations of John McEnroe (?), Fabio, Dudley Moore (who looks absolutely nothing like Dudley Moore aside from the fact that he is wearing a top hat, like DM did in "Arthur", and its fabulous sequel, "Arthur 2 : On the Rocks"), Andrew Dice Clay, Spike Lee, Jim Croce (Who the fuck is going to need a Jim Croce impersonator, much less one that looks like Jim Croce if he was mentally disabled?), Rosa Parks (????), Damon Wayans....you know what really makes a party? Get that Damon Wayans impersonator! That cat's dynamite! , Henry Kissinger, Sigourney Weaver (who, again, doesn't look a goddamn thing like Sigourney Weaver), Angie Dickinson (WTF???) the list goes on and on. "Hey!" Your party goers will proclaim, "Do my eyes deceive me or is that Jim Croce having a spirited discussion with Damon Wayans and Angie Dickinson?...Hey look! It's Fred Sanford from 'Sanford and Son' faking a heart attack in front of Roseanne Barr and Mini Me! Rosa Parks just threw up on Joel Grey...Wow! What in the fuck is Joel Grey doing at this party???? Did he come with Fabio? Why is Joel Grey wearing his costume from 'Cabaret'? Is that George Burns, Bette Midler and Dr. Evil having group sex in the bathroom? Dr. Ruth and Jackie Gleason just offered me a line of blow! What a crazy party!" And yes, those really are impersonators that you can hire for your next party. Imagine the look on people's faces when they think you know Joel Grey!

They even have a Courtney Love impersonator, and the best thing that I can say about her impersonation is that I'd actually want to sleep with the impersonator, which means she doesn't look a bit like Courtney Love.

I'm having a party! I'd better phone up Connie Francis and George Foreman! Get me George C. Scott as 'Patton' on the line! Is Kramer available this evening? Hey, I know! Let's get Pee Wee Herman and Captain Quint from "Jaws" (now that one was the weirdest on the site).

What the fuck????

Don't Make Billy Barty Bitch Slap You, Ho!

2010-01-07T16:47:00.001-08:00

Evil Cannibal Bloody Vampire Latex Halloween Mask

2010-01-04T13:40:00.000-08:00

And here is the mask that the midget can wear while he or she is filming us having sex in our various sexy masks.

Super-Horror Bloody Mouth Rubber Halloween Mask with Black Hair

2010-01-04T13:36:00.000-08:00

Here's another great mask to wear when you're having sex. Order a pair and settle in for a night of romance!

Rotten Pig Face Killer Rubber Halloween Mask

2010-01-04T13:27:00.000-08:00

I think I'd like to wear this mask the next time I have sex. I'd also like my sexual partner to wear one...and then have my mother walk in on the two of us screaming obscenities in high-pitched Chinese accents. Just a thought.

Sanguinary Teeth Horrific Black Pattern Halloween Mask

2009-12-11T16:41:00.000-08:00

This little baby is the "Sanguinary Teeth Horrific Black Pattern Halloween Mask" and features or is capable of the following :

1.) "The teeth of Horrific Halloween Mask is bleeding"

2.) "An unmerciful skull luminous Halloween Mask with sharp teeth scare people very much"

3.) "With some strange pattern on face and forehead, it is terrible"

Pink Lousy Big Mouth Rubber Little Hair Halloween Mask!

2009-12-11T16:27:00.000-08:00

Wow, the description for this weird-looking thing is WAAAAAYYY Out there. According to the website, the traits of this "Pink Lousy Big Mouth Rubber Little Hair Halloween Mask" include the following :

1.) "Pink Halloween Mask with no two much decoration but is terrible"

2.) "this Lousy Halloween Mask is good gift to coming Halloween"

3.) "You can use it to scare people suddenly deep in the night and it can almost take other's souls away" (????)

4.) "A devil appear when you wear this Little Hair Halloween Mask" (?!)

Regular Teeth Satanic Gruesome Skull Hadean Mask

2009-12-09T16:36:00.000-08:00

Permit me to introduce the "Regular Teeth Satanic Gruesome Skull Hadean Mask for Halloween".

this mask is quite frightening as you will notice when reading the following excerpts from its description :

1.) "The face of Hadean Halloween Mask is horrible skull shape with two lines teeth"

2.) "With black cloth cover SATANIC HALLOWEEN MASK cover you head perfect"

3.) "Hallpween is coming, REGULAR TEETH HALLOWEEN MASK is a hot topic on that night"

4.)"It is suit to adult"

5.) "GRUESOME HALLOWEEN MASK can be use in deep night to scare people"

all self-explanatory really. (it's actually misspelled "Teeeth" on the site...but I did keep "Hallpween"...I have no clue what "Hadean" means...maybe someone was trying to spell, "Hades"?)

Gruesome Halloween Mask Green Face

2009-12-09T16:16:00.001-08:00

I have stumbled upon a comedy goldmine with this shitty website that sells these idiotic masks. Bask in the glory of this " Long Hair and Beard Gruesome Halloween Mask Green Face" and its wonderful description which boasts :

1.) "Perfect wearing this LONG HAIR MASK in All Saint's Day"

2.) "This mask no any harm for you skin" (always a plus!)

3.) "Hair stands on end when you see this GRUESOME HALLOWEEN MASK at the first sight."

4.) "So horrible and gruesome, suitable for the adult people"

5.) "Making much fun with this GREEN FACE MASK, horribed(?) people image see the ghost."

6.) "Inside your face in the mask, you never feel obturation, comfortable of it" (????)

Wow! That is quite a mask!

Evil Spider Horrible Satanic Skull Halloween Mask

2009-12-09T13:45:00.000-08:00

According to the description, this "Evil Spider Horrible Satanic Skull Halloween Mask" offers the following perks :

1.) "The skull makes you terrible when the night and it makes you crazy because it is rather scary"

2.) "It looks as if to eat other people up and it is horrible"

3.) "The HORRIBLE MASK is really horrible and scary as if it's ready to attack"

4.) "Unique design to scare everyone with its evil and ghastly appearance"

5.) "This skull Halloween mask's full-head size fits all most of adult comfortably"

What more could one want from a Halloween mask?

Hell Evil Madness Zombie Halloween Mask Cape Props(???)

2009-12-08T21:15:00.000-08:00

Nothing quite beats a shitty Halloween mask for laughs...EXCEPT one with a shitty cape sewn to it like a bonnet! This baby is eleven million shades of awesome! Ladies and gentlemen, without further adieu, I present to you the "Hell Evil Madness Zombie Mask Cape Props". (????). Aside from the fact that this shitty Dracula mask seems to be actually sewn into the equally-crappy cape, it has so much more to offer the potential Halloween costume buyer as website boasts:

"100% BRAND NEW Halloween mask & in excellent condition, never used before!
This mask with rubber strap is made from high quality durable silicone, very clean and never odor, it can show its horrible outline in dark light! its full-head size fits all most of adult comfortably!
Come with cape, which was made of chiffon cloth! it measures more than 1m long;
Unique design to scare everyone with its evil and spooky appearance, it seems that Day of Satan governing the world came back again!
Excellent collectible scary mask for Halloween or decorating "haunted" house best! Great for trick-or-treating or any Halloween party!
Weight: 210g"

Now who in their right mind wouldn't purchase such a fantastic Halloween ensemble? And don't forget "it seems that Day of Satan governing the world came back again" (?????) and "very clean and never odor."

Rubber Some Hair With Spinous Nose? Really?

2009-12-08T16:35:00.000-08:00

Okay I think something is being lost in translation on this shitty Halloween mask website. This little baby is called the "Rubber Some Hair With Spinous Nose Guileful Halloween Mask". Come again?

Adult Big Sex Mouth With Hair

2009-12-08T16:23:00.000-08:00

There's nothing quite as awe-inspiring or hilarious to me as a really shitty Halloween mask. Mexico produces some of the very worst....and I think this little baby may have crept over the border with a few of its retarded-looking brethren. Ladies and gentleman, I give you the "Adult Big Sex Mouth Halloween Mask With Hair" (?????). That is what this monstrosity is called on the website I found it on. What the fuck does that even mean? Adult Big Sex Mouth Halloween Mask with Hair? This looks like someone who's been run over several times with an automobile.

http://www.last.fm/group/Janet+Weiss+Is+Hot

2009-11-10T20:44:00.000-08:00

And she truly is...

http://www.last.fm/group/Janet+Weiss+Is+Hot

Happy Halloween!

2009-10-30T13:46:00.000-07:00

Gee, there's just something life-affirming about this photo.

Grandma's got the clap! Again!

2009-10-06T13:09:00.000-07:00

These were my final Craig's List Personals posts :

I'm tired of making love to inflatable chicks! Let's get it on! - 39 (castro / upper market)
Date: 2009-10-06, 1:59PM PDT

Hey ladies, I have the recipe for sex that you have been seeking :

1/2 cup of sensuality

2/3 tea spoon of intelligence

1 tablespoon of handsome

3 cups of cool

4 cans of creamed corn

one sheet of blotter acid

2, 40 ounce bottles of Country Club Malt Liquor

I cup candy corn

2 table spoons of I Can't Believe it's Not Butter!

5 pairs of edible underwear

6 gummy worms

1 box of adult diapers

the ability to breathe under water like Aqua Man

2 pairs of Frankenstein's monster boots

3 pounds of badger meat

1 dash of Mrs Dash

3 cans of moustache wax

Sensual sexy surgical glove boob massage from Arnie Jergens - 37 (nob hill)
Date: 2009-10-06, 1:34PM PDT

Hey all you sexy ladies! Arnie's here to provide you with my patented sexy, sensual, surgical glove boob massage. I have the salad oil and the magic fingers to send you somewhere over the rainbow! Lay back on my autopsy table and enjoy the sensual stylings of Arnie's magical digits. I'm like a master pianist, but I play the boobs instead of the piano. Give your boobs the professional "Arnie Touch" (copyright 2009). This time I will even wear pants! Let's nail down a time when my mother isn't home so we won't be interrupted! She does church bingo on Wednesday nights, so that's the best time for Arnie!

Eat Shit September! October is Finally Here!

2009-10-06T09:40:00.000-07:00

Now begins my sacred month of horror film viewing. To welcome the month of October I'm posting one of my favorite images from the Hammer Films Dracula series. Anouska Hempel in all her drop-dead-gorgeous glory.

You Can Be a Garbage Pail Kid!

2009-09-17T15:47:00.001-07:00

My friend Ken sent this to me this morning. It is a police sketch artist's rendering of a stabbing suspect. Apparently the perpetrator's parents were both Garbage Pail Kids.

Seagal Versus Satan

2009-09-09T08:02:00.000-07:00

My new masterwork. Originally this was painted for my series of hideous, fake, Mexican pulp novel covers, but it just didn't seem to fit in with its friends from south of the border. Now it stands proudly on its own, basking in its own horrible glory.

Scary Fine

2009-08-28T16:34:00.000-07:00

This is supposed to be a rubber mask sculpted to resemble of Larry Fine from the Three Stooges. What it really is is a slice of pure terror. This looks to me more like some kind of psychotic axe murderer. There seems to be a horrifying theme running through all Halloween costumes depicting dead comedians. If you put this monstrosity on and hid in some one's closet and jumped out when they opened the door, you would most likely give them a goddamn heart attack or a stroke. This thing looks like some one who would try to rape you in a prison shower room.

You Bet Your Life!

2009-08-28T16:22:00.000-07:00

I found this set of accessories on a costume website. They list this as the "Groucho" set...meaning this is supposed to make you look like comedian, Groucho Marx. In actuality what it will make you look like is infamous "Murder Castle" serial killer, H.H. Holmes.

A Cleavage Sandwich for Bertie

2009-08-28T15:58:00.000-07:00

Call me crazy, but doesn't this Stan Laurel tea pot look a bit like Bib Fortuna from "Return of the Jedi"?

The Land of the Sasquach

2009-08-28T10:18:00.000-07:00

My search for the legendary Bigfoot first began when my previous expeditions to find the Loch Ness Monster and the Abominable Snowman had failed, chiefly due to the fact that I could not afford a plane ticket either to Scotland nor the Himalayas. After my disappointment at these failures had subsided, I decided to hit the local public library to search for a new creature to pursue. Unicorns and griffins didn’t seem to be a viable option. Neither did trolls or leprechauns. Everyone knows that unicorns are extinct, and I’m pretty sure that griffins are as well. Leprechauns were out. No money for a trip to Ireland either! Trolls lived under bridges, but only made their presence known to goats. At first I thought I could try wearing a goat costume and walking back and forth over the bridge down at the creek behind my trailer, but then I reconsidered. It could be dangerous. There were hunters in the area and I wasn’t sure if there was such a thing as “goat season”.

Then, like a bolt out of the blue, it struck me! This was North America! (I think it was anyway, I never learned how to read a compass). I lived smack in the heart of “Bigfoot Country”! Why hadn’t this occurred to me before? Was I an idiot? Everyday I had driven by numerous roadside vendors pedaling statues of the “sasquach” carved out of pine or redwood. Was I too busy admiring the clocks made of varnished burled walnut to take notice of the six foot tall, intricately-carved depictions of the illusive ape-like creature which riddled the main street of my hometown? And why hadn’t I previously noticed the large signs proclaiming the very county in which I resided to be “Bigfoot Country” and “The Land of the Sasquach” ? I guess I was too busy thinking about the Abominable Snowman to realize that I had its legendary cousin running through my own backyard! Come to think of it, I’d always wondered what the hell everyone was doing with all of those plaster casts of gigantic footprints on display in their shop windows. I guess I just couldn’t see the forest through the trees as they say. Tourists around these parts buy some pretty stupid shit. I guess I just figured that plaster footprints were just more stupid shit to sell ‘em. God, I must have had my head so far up my ass it was comin’ outta my mouth!

Well’ now I had myself a creature to find and capture and I didn’t even have to buy a plane ticket or a goat costume! I didn’t waste any time. The first thing I did was truck on down to the local hardware store and buy a shitload of plaster. Jesus, if these things were so stupid that they just stepped into any random hole filled with plaster how hard was it gonna be to catch one? I also bought a fishing net to snare my sasquach in. Now the big problem became bait. What the hell would those suckers eat? I read in my Bigfoot book that I got at the library that they were herbivores and probably ate roots and nuts and berries. I don’t know about roots, but trail mix had a buttload of nuts and berries in it. I didn’t have any trail mix though, but I figured breakfast cereal would be just a good. And it was good! I ate the whole goddamn box before I remembered why I took it out of the cupboard in the first place. Now I didn’t have any Bigfoot bait at all. Sometimes life seems to mock my efforts at acquiring fame and fortune and a hot, gold digger wife with enormous tits. I was not to be discouraged however. Bait was bait, and everybody knows worms are the best kind of bait around. More importantly, they were free and I’d spent the last of that month’s disability check on plaster, a fishing net and two cases of beer. Hell, fish ate worms. Birds ate worms. Cats and dogs got worms. People got tapeworms and ring worms (I know I did!). When you died worms ate your flesh. When I thought about it, I realized that life was just one big worm farm waiting to happen. What Bigfoot in his or her (assuming they had female Bigfoots) right mind would turn down a big bowl of nice juicy worms? Better yet, worms smothered in beer! Everything likes beer! I know I do! And so does my brother, Randy and his friends. Once, I saw this poster on a bathroom wall of this alien holding a beer. Apparently he and his other alien friends had landed on Earth because of the beer because the poster said “We’re only here for the beer”. Shit, if aliens liked beer and they were from outer space, a Bigfoot would love that shit! That poster also meant that if aliens were coming to Earth to get their beer then Earth must have the best beer on the planet!

Once my clever trap was set, and my big hole filled in with plaster, I laid in wait in a makeshift hut made of tree branches. Man, I must have drunk a lot of beer that first night. I awoke the next morning covered with frost. I was horrified to find myself half blind! The left side of my body was stiff and I couldn’t move a muscle. At first I feared that I’d suffered a stroke, but when my panic subsided and my wits returned, I realized that I’d passed out in my pool of wet plaster. Over the night the plaster had set, leaving me partially trapped inside a thick plaster casing. With my right hand I was able to take hold of a large rock and chip away at the trap, slowly but surely freeing the left side of my head. Replaying the hazy events of the previous evening I had to assume that I had wandered out of my hut to urinate and simply lost my footing. There I lay in a drunken stupor as the plaster hardened. After about four hours I was able to free the rest of my body with my trusty rock. It sure doesn’t pay to drink and hunt Bigfoot at the same time.

Turns out this lesson didn’t exactly sink in immediately, because the next night I was back into that blasted beer again. But like I said before, everything likes beer, and “everything” sure as hell includes me! That second night around 2:00 am a shaggy figure appeared in the tree line just beyond my back yard. I watched and waited, closing one eye to keep the shaggy creature in focus. The thing in the woods was tall and gangly, with wild, ragged hair that shot off in all directions like hairy turds. Hair sprouted from its face and hung in twisted, nappy curls around its chin. My nostrils were assaulted by a foul stench, something akin to human body odor masked in a sickly sweet, oily camouflage, obviously a weak olfactory disguise for poor hygiene habits. The smell was nearly unbearable, like a dirty jock strap filled with cinnamon. The full moon revealed a colorful pattern on the creature’s upper torso, a swirl of rainbow colors surrounded what appeared to be a primitive attempt to spell the word “fish”. This turd-haired troglodyte had spelled it “Phish”, but the message was clear. It was foraging in the woods for food. Was this primitive creature’s brain so tiny that it did not realize that the nearby creek was a better place to catch “Phish” than my backyard? I seized my flashlight and shined it in the stinky creature’s eyes. The beast threw up his arms and spoke.

“Hey, man it’s cool” it said. “Just out lookin’ for mushrooms, man” it continued.

I quickly seized a rock and heaved it at the creature’s head. It went down face first into my pool of plaster, where it lay still. Bubbles pooled around the beast’s head. Thinking quickly, I ran to the creature and seized a few of the turd-like tentacles sprouting from its head, pulling it free of the pool. It took in a deep breath and then coughed up a lung full of plaster. I jerked the smelly creature to his feet and demanded to know if he was some sort of strange relative of the Bigfoot creature. Some other missing link previously undiscovered by modern man. The creature was frightened and confused.

“Hey, man, it’s cool. I’m not sure what kind of trip you’re on, but I don’t mean any harm, bro” the creature pleaded. “I was just out lookin’ for magic mushrooms. I didn’t realize I was on your property, man” it stammered.

Magic mushrooms? Was this simple-minded creature possibly some sort of over-sized pixie or brownie who could harness the magic powers of the forest spirits?! When asked if he was a pixie the creature replied, “No, but Kim Deal spat on me once”. I wasn’t sure what this cryptic message had to do with anything so I continued my interrogation. Was he a brownie? With this question the creature seemed to relax.

“Oh, I get it. All tripped out on brownies. You gotta watch how many you eat, man. Too much THC can really wig your ass out worse than acid sometimes” he said.

I demanded to know more about the brownies. He was obviously privy to some sort of forest magic and was playing some sort of mind games to confuse me. I told him I would not be fooled by his pixie trickery.
“Okay, man. You want some more brownies? I got some in my backpack, but from the state you’re in I wouldn’t suggest it” the creature said in a slightly stern tone. He then took three magic squares from his back pack that had been carefully wrapped in tin foil and offered them to me in exchange for his release back into the forest. I asked him about the power of the magic mushrooms. He quickly pulled a large zip-lock baggie from his backpack and shoved it into my hands.
“Here, man. Go fuckin’ hog wild” he said, still quivering with fear. I inquired as to how I was to invoke the powers of the magic squares and mushrooms. “What, are you that fucked up? You eat ‘em, man” he answered. “Are we cool?” he asked, backing away from me slowly.
“Don’t I get a wish or something?” I asked.
“Ah, sure, man. Whatever you say”, he answered.
“I wish to find the illusive Sasquach” I commanded. To which he answered “Uh, sure, okay. You just eat those brownies and shrooms and you see all kinds of crazy shit, man”.

With that, he was off, charging back into the magic forest from which he came. I could hardly believe my good fortune. I hadn’t even thought of trying to capture a pixie or a brownie or whatever the smelly creature actually was. Now in my hands I held the key to locating the illusive sasquach! I quickly wolfed down the three magic squares. They were chocolaty with a strange, bitter under taste that I could only assume was the magic power within. Man, some magic powers tasted bad! Those damn magical mushrooms tasted like horseshit wrapped in a dog shit tortilla! Thank God I had beer to wash them down. I almost puked a few times, but I forced them down, not wanting to waste my gift from the magical pixie or brownie creature. About twenty minutes later those magical powers kicked in big time!

The forest beyond my trailer took on a strange otherworldly glow. The enchanted trees beckoned me forward into the twinkling cupcake mountains and swirling rainbow-hued vampire mind-control robot pudding meadow. The night sky glowed green as leprechauns dripped lemonade love. The faces on the tips of my shoes told me to venture into the woods, for there I would find the illusive sasquach. I followed the floating yellow baby made of butter and the singing purple cobra to the giant mushroom where the dancing skeleton lived. The dancing skeleton led me to the entrance to the cave of the sasquach, giggling and prancing foppishly as pink and blue rabbits flew from the crown of its red top hat and exploded in the swirling green hues of the night sky. The cave was deep within the wobblewood flapjack grove, far from the prying eyes of humankind. The dancing skeleton pointed a bony finger at the vast expanse of the cave’s entrance and then chuckled gleefully, walking into the sky and then disappearing behind a door cleverly disguised as Charlie Chaplin’s moustache.

Cautiously, I entered the cave. The moist, limestone walls dripped with writhing cascades of tiny, naked bodies. I made my way to a large chasm, illuminated by what appeared to be a gigantic, pulsating, red anus growing out of the ceiling of the cave. In the center of this breath-taking labyrinth of stalactites and stalagmites sat the very creature I so eagerly sought. On a throne fashioned of human skulls, flanked on either side by life-like wax figures of actor Burt Reynolds, the sasquach reclined, seemingly distracted, and yet expectant of my unannounced appearance. The creature’s appearance was not what I had anticipated. I had expected to lay eyes on the classic depiction of the beast; an ape-like troglodyte with broad, hulking shoulders and thick, muscular limbs covered with fine, black hair. Instead I beheld a man of average height, dressed in a colorful Spanish matador’s jacket, tiger skin print thong underwear and glitter-covered orange roller skates. His true facial features were hidden beneath a rubber Stan Laurel mask. The only actually giveaway to the creature’s true identity was a large adhesive name tag which read: “Hello, my name is Sasquach”.
“At last we finally meet” it said, it’s voice both dignified as well booming, sending a wave of echoing recourse throughout the chamber, as if I was hearing the voice of some omnipotent being beckoning me from the heavens above. I stood dumbfounded, mouth agape, awestruck in the creature’s presence. Bright bursts of colored light exploded around the creature.

“You would seek to expose me to the world for your own personal gain. You would deny me my freedom for the sake of some pathetic roadside attraction for your own meager personal gain”. Its tone was scolding and yet there was no threat in its voice. The creature’s head expanded to the size of a hot air balloon and floated about the cave.
“All of your life you have sought proof of the existence of so-called mythical beings and beasts” said the disembodied head. “Now you see that magic and myth are but part of the fabric of everyday life, my friend, only hidden below the surface. Hidden from those small-minded, sambo, Nazi, mind control, baby doll rapist, brain police, taco bender, Venus satellite, mind control, exorcism, ham sandwich, Keystone cop, harbingers of straight jacket, mind control death squads” the head continued, now spiraling slowly through the air. The sasquach told me of the futility of my quest and that my eyeballs danced with the soul of Sammy Davis Jr. inside the head of a scarecrow reflected in John Lennon’s glasses.

As the vast expanse of the entire universe spread out before me in a dazzling display of lights and colors, all of life’s mysteries seemed to become crystal clear in this one defining moment. I had been a fool to seek the sasquach and the griffin, the leprechaun and the troll. Some things were meant to remain mysterious and magical, not to be dissected by the cynical public eye. With this realization the entire universe seemed to implode, closing in on itself. My vision blurred to a fuzzy blue-toned fog and then everything went suddenly, blissfully black.

I awoke the next morning somewhere deep in the forest, naked and covered from head to toe with mud. The strange events of the previous evening danced in my head. In my foolishness I would have denied the sasquach his freedom, imprisoning him in captivity to be stared at like a sideshow freak. As I walked back to my trailer, cold and naked, I thought how stupid I had been. I didn’t want Bigfoot or abominable snowmen. What I was really after were sideshow freaks, human oddities that I could put on display to be gawked at by paying tourists. My mind reeled with possibilities for the traps I would set to snare them and the bait that I would use to lure them, and all of the cool shit I was gonna buy with all that money I was gonna make from my new roadside attraction.