Tick tock, tick tock. That's the sound of the clock running out on Mr. Bradish's legendarily incompetent run as Student Body Vice President, one which rivals only Darth Vader act-alike Dick Cheney. At the very least we are relieved to know that you only have control of Reed College, rather than the country at large. The fact that this man is still in office betrays the apathetic nature of the school's impeachment board. Not only has Mr. Bradish shown unrepentant, endless contempt for even the notion of coherent and intelligible public service, but the scandals in which he has been embroiled display an arrogance towards the student body as a whole. How dare you, Mr. Bradish? How dare you?
Mr. Bradish's downward spiral began at the moment of his birth. Truly he is God's own mistake. But we were not able to truly realize the depths of his cowardice until the first scandal that erupted concerning the locks on the Student Union. The SU is the embodiment of everything noble and righteous about the democratic force of the student body. And you, Mr. Bradish, you locked the doors during scheduled events, ensuring that nobody would be able to get inside unless they were willing to lick your feet like a dog. You like holding the leash, don't you, Mr. Bradish? But I'm afraid slavery has long been outlawed, and your nefarious style of whatever you're doing that you call "leadership" is no such thing indeed. For shame.
But "lockgate," as it is known, only begins to plumb the depths of your infernal reign. And it is deep, Mr. Bradish. One could begin to dig through the human excrement of your administration in January and not finish until the last of the thesis notes are burning in a heap outside the library doors. One small sample of the feces that you call authority is the hundreds of dollars that you skimmed off the top of the student fund. "Quad cleanup," Mr. Bradish? The only thing you cleaned up was the student body bank account. While our beloved Quad still lies in ruins, discarded litter thrown everywhere, you sit like a king on your throne of inflated budgets and no-bid cleaning contracts for your buddies. Who could possibly argue that you even know what the word "fairness" means?
And this is only the beginning of the list that I could expound describing your indecencies, the indescrepencies you have committed while in office. Renting out the canyon to the homeless. Selling art theses for scrap. Silently taking control of the Quest board and forcing out all criticism of your tenure, pushing reasonable discourse to up-the-dial publications like The Pamphlette. In the sense of good decency and the only possible scrap of rational discourse in your tiny little brain, you must resign. Do you have any option left, Mr. Bradish? Can you make any argument for your continued eminence? I submit that you cannot. So resign, Mr. Bradish. After so long, so so long, finally execute the one propitous action that you can and must take. The honor of the school demands it.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Putting it In Context
The country has been rocked by news reports of inflammatory statements yelled by McCain/Palin supporters outside of campaign rallies. Racist statements, threats of violence, and accusations of terrorism are common in these situations. Both McCain and Palin have denied the bloodthirsty nature of their supporters, and many of the rally-goers have come forward claiming that the mainstream media has misquoted them in order to fabricate a story. Today we'll be talking with some of these supporters.
"It's horrible," says Amanda Cavers of Columbus, Ohio. "Ever since I showed up on television, all my Democrat friends are callin' me a racist! I was misquoted!" Breaking into tears, Amanda explained herself. "When I said, 'ain't gonna be no darky president of mine!' I went on to say that I was talking about the dark times ahead if Obama was elected. The liberal media is so unfair!"
James Forrester of Raleigh, North Carolina, tells a similar story. "All I said was 'He's a muslim! He's a muslim! Blast the sand demon!' Now those liberal elites in New York City can spin it any way they want, but I meant to blast him with votes, not violence." When asked if he thought Obama was a muslim, he replied, "Um, well, duh. Everybody knows that." He quickly added, "Now lemme make it clear, I don't hate muslims. I just don't want them worshipping their moon god in the White House."
Allegations of racism aren't the only thing surrounding these Palin supporters, though. Many times the mobs outside the convention centers have threatened violence upon Democratic protesters. According to Mike Keller, however, they didn't mean it. Keller started an organization called "We Meant It Figuratively, Stupid Liberal Media," which is circulating a petition to show how figurative all these threats have been. Keller could not be reached for comment, but his answering machine message told us to "figuratively chop off the figurative heads of any figurative Democrats [we] see."
Possibly the most lasting image of these rallies is from Carrie Atwood of Savannah, Georgia, who stood for ten full minutes screaming "terrorist!" at protesters. We got a chance to sit down with her. "Now look, I was just taken a bit out of context. All I was saying at the time is that those protesters were just bein' a little bit terrorist, you know? All standing out there with their signs. It's a terrorist thing to do. Now I'm not a racist, I just don't want a black man to be president! Is that so bad? Not only is he black, he has black friends, too! Now how terrorist is that? See? It's all perfectly reasonable once you get to talk to me more."
"It's horrible," says Amanda Cavers of Columbus, Ohio. "Ever since I showed up on television, all my Democrat friends are callin' me a racist! I was misquoted!" Breaking into tears, Amanda explained herself. "When I said, 'ain't gonna be no darky president of mine!' I went on to say that I was talking about the dark times ahead if Obama was elected. The liberal media is so unfair!"
James Forrester of Raleigh, North Carolina, tells a similar story. "All I said was 'He's a muslim! He's a muslim! Blast the sand demon!' Now those liberal elites in New York City can spin it any way they want, but I meant to blast him with votes, not violence." When asked if he thought Obama was a muslim, he replied, "Um, well, duh. Everybody knows that." He quickly added, "Now lemme make it clear, I don't hate muslims. I just don't want them worshipping their moon god in the White House."
Allegations of racism aren't the only thing surrounding these Palin supporters, though. Many times the mobs outside the convention centers have threatened violence upon Democratic protesters. According to Mike Keller, however, they didn't mean it. Keller started an organization called "We Meant It Figuratively, Stupid Liberal Media," which is circulating a petition to show how figurative all these threats have been. Keller could not be reached for comment, but his answering machine message told us to "figuratively chop off the figurative heads of any figurative Democrats [we] see."
Possibly the most lasting image of these rallies is from Carrie Atwood of Savannah, Georgia, who stood for ten full minutes screaming "terrorist!" at protesters. We got a chance to sit down with her. "Now look, I was just taken a bit out of context. All I was saying at the time is that those protesters were just bein' a little bit terrorist, you know? All standing out there with their signs. It's a terrorist thing to do. Now I'm not a racist, I just don't want a black man to be president! Is that so bad? Not only is he black, he has black friends, too! Now how terrorist is that? See? It's all perfectly reasonable once you get to talk to me more."
Slow Burn
I came home with the groceries on Friday to find that my house was on fire. My neighbor, a volunteer fireman on the weekends, was excitedly rummaging in the bushes near the burning corner. He noticed me, and grinned as he held up a cigarette butt.
“Yep, looks like this was your problem,” he said, and handed it to me.
“Thank you, Phil.” It was a Marlboro Red, the kind that I smoked.
“No problem at all!” He put his hands in his pockets and squinted at the blaze. “Looks like you’ll need someone to clear that up for you. Just give us a call tomorrow or Sunday. Be glad to come on out.”
“Thank you, Phil.” I walked up the steps to my door and went inside.
The groceries went in the kitchen and I lay down on the couch, in the living room, where I could see the fire. It had taken over the tall plant in the corner. The room was warm. I laid my arm over my eyes and took a nap.
I woke up several hours later to see that the fire had advanced a few inches into the room. Small flames licked at my overstuffed chair near the window. I pulled on the chair and slid it further away from the flame. Some of the fringe was blackened. I could have called the weekday firemen, but Phil was always so excited when the weekend volunteers got a chance. I could wait.
I unpacked the groceries in the kitchen. Brownie mix this week, for my sister, who had called me up and asked me to get it. She was coming over in remembrance of mom’s birthday. She always got so choked up over that sort of thing. Microwave popcorn in the top cupboard, cans of soup in the bottom. I opened my new box of cereal and took the milk out of the fridge. I always had a bowl of cereal before bed.
Saturday I woke up to the low roar of the flames in the other room. I got dressed and lit a Marlboro Red on the living room, taking it outside to smoke. The parts of the lawn nearest the house had turned black, and hints of brown fanned out towards the sidewalk. The corner of the house where the whole thing started had sunk a bit, the burned wood falling apart. If a hole opened, bugs would be able to get in.
From the porch I looked down the street as far as I could. There was Phil, dressed in his fireman gear along with a few of his buddies and the old minivan they had converted into a fire truck. He had a mobile in his hand, and he paced back and forth staring at the unringing phone as the rest of the crew sat by. I needed to remember to call him. My sister pulled up in her silver midsize sedan. I dropped the cigarette and crushed it with my foot.
She got out of the car with her large purse and was distracted by the flames dancing up against the front window.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“The house is on fire, Stacey.”
“Oh,” she said, “have you called the firemen?”
“I’m going to, today, Stacey.”
I motioned her towards the house. She switched her big purse from one shoulder to another and began rummaging as she walked. The doorknob was hot, and I put my sleeve over my hand to open it.
Inside there was only a slim walkway of unburnt floor leading through the living room. My overstuffed chair looked unsalvageable. I probably should have moved it further. Stacey followed behind me, sorting through the things in her bag and giving worried glances around the house.
“Um, did you already make the brownies? It smells like chocolate.”
I looked in the kitchen, and the entire room was up in flames.
“Looks like the brownies are gone, Stacey. Why don’t you put your things in the guest room?”
Stacey looked unhappy, but she carried her purse towards the extra bedroom. She called from the back, “This room is on fire! The bed is on fire! I can’t sleep in this room! What is going on here?”
I sighed. I hadn’t checked the back room. Stacey emerged.
“This is ridiculous. Why haven’t you called the firemen yet? Why is the guest room on fire? Why is the house on fire? This doesn’t make any sense. You don’t have any food, you didn’t get the brownies…”
“I got the brownies.”
“You let the brownies get burned up, what is wrong with you?”
She looked disappointed. She shook her head at me with her mouth gawking. She was going to get choked up like she always does. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I kept silent.
“This weekend was important.” She had the voice that she gets whenever she’s about to cry. I prepared myself for it to come. She reached into her purse again. “Here are some pictures, some new pictures I found in the attic at my place. I think that’s the last of mom’s pictures.” I reached for the pictures and didn’t say anything. She pulled them away.
“I’m not sure I can leave these here with you. I definitely can’t stay here with you.”
She walked towards the front door, pausing by the dining table.
“You’ve left the milk out,” she said, and finally her voice cracked and she began sobbing lightly. She reached for the door handle and recoiled. She used the fabric of her purse to guard her from the heat and opened the door. I heard the sound of her car starting up.
Sunday was uneventful.
On Monday I woke up to the sound of my alarm and the sense that I had forgotten to do something. The walls of my room were covered in small, licking flames. The place was unbearably hot. I had left the door of my room open, and so I looked down the hallway, which was entirely ablaze. I sighed.
Slowly opening the window next to my bed and unlatching the bug screen, I crawled out onto my dry, crunchy lawn. Across the street was Phil, sitting with crossed legs on the sidewalk, staring at my house with a look of betrayal on his face. I crossed the street in bare feet and pyjamas and sat down with him.
“Guess you forgot to give us a call,” said Phil. “That’s… that’s all right. Happens to the best of us.”
“Thank you, Phil.”
My house crackled. Sparks flew up, and smoke covered the street. We could feel the heat from where we were sitting. There was a great yawning sound, and at the same time the front window shattered, leaving bits of glass around the lawn.
“You know, I guess if you need a place to stay,” said Phil, “You can be at my place for a few days. I got an extra room, and, you know, until you’ve got a new place and all.”
“Thank you, Phil.”
The yawning sound repeated, and the main beam holding up the front door collapsed inward. The walls around it followed. One by one the beams fell, and soon, the whole building lay on the ground in a pile. Three days later, the fire ran out of things to burn, and died out.
“Yep, looks like this was your problem,” he said, and handed it to me.
“Thank you, Phil.” It was a Marlboro Red, the kind that I smoked.
“No problem at all!” He put his hands in his pockets and squinted at the blaze. “Looks like you’ll need someone to clear that up for you. Just give us a call tomorrow or Sunday. Be glad to come on out.”
“Thank you, Phil.” I walked up the steps to my door and went inside.
The groceries went in the kitchen and I lay down on the couch, in the living room, where I could see the fire. It had taken over the tall plant in the corner. The room was warm. I laid my arm over my eyes and took a nap.
I woke up several hours later to see that the fire had advanced a few inches into the room. Small flames licked at my overstuffed chair near the window. I pulled on the chair and slid it further away from the flame. Some of the fringe was blackened. I could have called the weekday firemen, but Phil was always so excited when the weekend volunteers got a chance. I could wait.
I unpacked the groceries in the kitchen. Brownie mix this week, for my sister, who had called me up and asked me to get it. She was coming over in remembrance of mom’s birthday. She always got so choked up over that sort of thing. Microwave popcorn in the top cupboard, cans of soup in the bottom. I opened my new box of cereal and took the milk out of the fridge. I always had a bowl of cereal before bed.
Saturday I woke up to the low roar of the flames in the other room. I got dressed and lit a Marlboro Red on the living room, taking it outside to smoke. The parts of the lawn nearest the house had turned black, and hints of brown fanned out towards the sidewalk. The corner of the house where the whole thing started had sunk a bit, the burned wood falling apart. If a hole opened, bugs would be able to get in.
From the porch I looked down the street as far as I could. There was Phil, dressed in his fireman gear along with a few of his buddies and the old minivan they had converted into a fire truck. He had a mobile in his hand, and he paced back and forth staring at the unringing phone as the rest of the crew sat by. I needed to remember to call him. My sister pulled up in her silver midsize sedan. I dropped the cigarette and crushed it with my foot.
She got out of the car with her large purse and was distracted by the flames dancing up against the front window.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“The house is on fire, Stacey.”
“Oh,” she said, “have you called the firemen?”
“I’m going to, today, Stacey.”
I motioned her towards the house. She switched her big purse from one shoulder to another and began rummaging as she walked. The doorknob was hot, and I put my sleeve over my hand to open it.
Inside there was only a slim walkway of unburnt floor leading through the living room. My overstuffed chair looked unsalvageable. I probably should have moved it further. Stacey followed behind me, sorting through the things in her bag and giving worried glances around the house.
“Um, did you already make the brownies? It smells like chocolate.”
I looked in the kitchen, and the entire room was up in flames.
“Looks like the brownies are gone, Stacey. Why don’t you put your things in the guest room?”
Stacey looked unhappy, but she carried her purse towards the extra bedroom. She called from the back, “This room is on fire! The bed is on fire! I can’t sleep in this room! What is going on here?”
I sighed. I hadn’t checked the back room. Stacey emerged.
“This is ridiculous. Why haven’t you called the firemen yet? Why is the guest room on fire? Why is the house on fire? This doesn’t make any sense. You don’t have any food, you didn’t get the brownies…”
“I got the brownies.”
“You let the brownies get burned up, what is wrong with you?”
She looked disappointed. She shook her head at me with her mouth gawking. She was going to get choked up like she always does. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I kept silent.
“This weekend was important.” She had the voice that she gets whenever she’s about to cry. I prepared myself for it to come. She reached into her purse again. “Here are some pictures, some new pictures I found in the attic at my place. I think that’s the last of mom’s pictures.” I reached for the pictures and didn’t say anything. She pulled them away.
“I’m not sure I can leave these here with you. I definitely can’t stay here with you.”
She walked towards the front door, pausing by the dining table.
“You’ve left the milk out,” she said, and finally her voice cracked and she began sobbing lightly. She reached for the door handle and recoiled. She used the fabric of her purse to guard her from the heat and opened the door. I heard the sound of her car starting up.
Sunday was uneventful.
On Monday I woke up to the sound of my alarm and the sense that I had forgotten to do something. The walls of my room were covered in small, licking flames. The place was unbearably hot. I had left the door of my room open, and so I looked down the hallway, which was entirely ablaze. I sighed.
Slowly opening the window next to my bed and unlatching the bug screen, I crawled out onto my dry, crunchy lawn. Across the street was Phil, sitting with crossed legs on the sidewalk, staring at my house with a look of betrayal on his face. I crossed the street in bare feet and pyjamas and sat down with him.
“Guess you forgot to give us a call,” said Phil. “That’s… that’s all right. Happens to the best of us.”
“Thank you, Phil.”
My house crackled. Sparks flew up, and smoke covered the street. We could feel the heat from where we were sitting. There was a great yawning sound, and at the same time the front window shattered, leaving bits of glass around the lawn.
“You know, I guess if you need a place to stay,” said Phil, “You can be at my place for a few days. I got an extra room, and, you know, until you’ve got a new place and all.”
“Thank you, Phil.”
The yawning sound repeated, and the main beam holding up the front door collapsed inward. The walls around it followed. One by one the beams fell, and soon, the whole building lay on the ground in a pile. Three days later, the fire ran out of things to burn, and died out.
World of Warcraft Boss Apprehended
World of Warcraft boss Azergoth was apprehended yesterday following a helpful tip from an intrepid adventurer. For ages, players of the popular online game have tried fighting the world dragon using street violence. Night Elf Warrior xXxDarkSHAdowxXx was the first player who, upon seeing the towering monster, had the forethought to call the police, who showed up on the scene ten minutes later to arrest Azergoth on charges of being a dragon.
We were able to sit down with xXxDarkSHAdowxXx recently. "Some people get into the whole vigilante violence thing. Not me. I believe in law and order. So I saw him and I was like 'holy shit' and pulled out my cell. My friends got pretty pissed at me afterwards because they wanted to fight him. You just gotta leave that stuff to the authorities."
"We've been trying to bag this asshole for years," said sheriff Donald Highland. "He's really been causing a lot of trouble in the area. Check out the list we have on him. Blowing fire on stuff, sixteen charges. Crushing things, two hundred and four charges. Not dropping good loot, five thousand and six charges. A real menace."
The sheriff's office was thankful for the tip. "For some reason we never really thought of arresting him. It makes a lot of sense, you know? We gave the guy who called a medal or something."
According to trusted sources, the medal did not give any particularly interesting bonuses.
This is not xXxDarkSHAdowxXx's first time assisting in bringing villains to justice. "I was the one who got Bowser brought in on kidnapping charges. Turns out he's more afraid of SWAT teams than he is of being jumped on. Oh, also Sephiroth. Turns out he hadn't been paying taxes. Bet he wasn't too happy about that summons!"
Azergoth was not available for comment, but his trial will be in the next month. Without a boss, World of Warcraft is scheduled to shut down by the end of the year.
We were able to sit down with xXxDarkSHAdowxXx recently. "Some people get into the whole vigilante violence thing. Not me. I believe in law and order. So I saw him and I was like 'holy shit' and pulled out my cell. My friends got pretty pissed at me afterwards because they wanted to fight him. You just gotta leave that stuff to the authorities."
"We've been trying to bag this asshole for years," said sheriff Donald Highland. "He's really been causing a lot of trouble in the area. Check out the list we have on him. Blowing fire on stuff, sixteen charges. Crushing things, two hundred and four charges. Not dropping good loot, five thousand and six charges. A real menace."
The sheriff's office was thankful for the tip. "For some reason we never really thought of arresting him. It makes a lot of sense, you know? We gave the guy who called a medal or something."
According to trusted sources, the medal did not give any particularly interesting bonuses.
This is not xXxDarkSHAdowxXx's first time assisting in bringing villains to justice. "I was the one who got Bowser brought in on kidnapping charges. Turns out he's more afraid of SWAT teams than he is of being jumped on. Oh, also Sephiroth. Turns out he hadn't been paying taxes. Bet he wasn't too happy about that summons!"
Azergoth was not available for comment, but his trial will be in the next month. Without a boss, World of Warcraft is scheduled to shut down by the end of the year.
Major Joke of the Week
MUSIC MAJOR A: Did you hear about the guy who heard a melody so beautiful he killed himself?
MUSIC MAJOR B: No! How awful!
MUSIC MAJOR A: The newspaper said he was a suicide Brahmer.
MUSIC MAJOR B: No! How awful!
MUSIC MAJOR A: The newspaper said he was a suicide Brahmer.
Video Games Not Nerdy Enough
Video games once ranked with Dungeons & Dragons, computer programming, and stalking as activities which embodied the soul of nerd culture. However, recent developments in the gaming industry have shown the medium moving away from its roots. Games like The Sims and Mary Kate & Ashley's Sweet 16 have experienced runaway success while being targeted to a wider audience, and many in the geek community feel left behind.
"I just feel like my culture is being taken away from me," said local dweeb Tyler Grokfin. Pushing up his horn rim glasses, he continued, "The Wii came out and I was all excited for light saber battles and casting awesome spells with a magic wand. What do we get? Babies Party. It's a game where you babysit a baby. It has minigames. This is just insulting." Tyler was interrupted when a passing bully pushed him down.
Not all dorks are resigned to disappointment. Spazlord Jared Thorpe began the organization Gamers For Games For Gamers from his living room. "This is an injustice! Those jocks and preps are horning in on what used to be mine! Now I know how poor people feel about gentrification." He continued, "What our organization does is we post on the internet about how nobody should buy these new games with fancy things like '3D graphics' and 'animation'! This is a war of information! Drive out all but the true believers!"
To see if there was a chance that the industry would double back on itself and begin targeting the pizzaface demographic again, we sat down with Electronic Arts CEO John Riccitiello. Electronic Arts has released many of the most popular mainstream games in recent memory, including the Madden series, Battlefield 2, and Caveman Ugh-Lympics. "Oh my god we have so much fucking money," said John. "Like hooooooly shit. Hahahahaha. We have so much god damn money I can't... I just can't fucking believe it. Hahahaha! HA! Look at me! Look, I'm laughing! Oh my god there is just so much money I don't even know what to do with it. I fed Chad yesterday. Not a guy named Chad, I mean the country! Filet-o-Fish all around! Would you like a car?"
After getting up off the ground, Tyler Grokfin expressed further worries. "Not only are non-nerds getting in on video games, now adults are doing it too! My mom just sits around playing Bejeweled now. She said to me yesterday, 'now we can play video games together! I want to try out that Fallout 3 game you were talking about. Isn't postapocalyptica fun? We can play together!' It's weird! I'm a nerd. I was playing video games to escape the world, but now everybody talks to me because they want Team Fortress 2 tips. Being a social outcast just keeps getting harder and harder."
The times ahead don't look good for the lameos who clamor for the old days when video games were relegated to dark basements. Indeed, it looks like the popularity of video games is only set to grow. What this means for greasegoblin culture is yet to be determined. All we know for sure is that somewhere out there, right now, a World War II veteran is levelling up in World of Warcraft.
"I just feel like my culture is being taken away from me," said local dweeb Tyler Grokfin. Pushing up his horn rim glasses, he continued, "The Wii came out and I was all excited for light saber battles and casting awesome spells with a magic wand. What do we get? Babies Party. It's a game where you babysit a baby. It has minigames. This is just insulting." Tyler was interrupted when a passing bully pushed him down.
Not all dorks are resigned to disappointment. Spazlord Jared Thorpe began the organization Gamers For Games For Gamers from his living room. "This is an injustice! Those jocks and preps are horning in on what used to be mine! Now I know how poor people feel about gentrification." He continued, "What our organization does is we post on the internet about how nobody should buy these new games with fancy things like '3D graphics' and 'animation'! This is a war of information! Drive out all but the true believers!"
To see if there was a chance that the industry would double back on itself and begin targeting the pizzaface demographic again, we sat down with Electronic Arts CEO John Riccitiello. Electronic Arts has released many of the most popular mainstream games in recent memory, including the Madden series, Battlefield 2, and Caveman Ugh-Lympics. "Oh my god we have so much fucking money," said John. "Like hooooooly shit. Hahahahaha. We have so much god damn money I can't... I just can't fucking believe it. Hahahaha! HA! Look at me! Look, I'm laughing! Oh my god there is just so much money I don't even know what to do with it. I fed Chad yesterday. Not a guy named Chad, I mean the country! Filet-o-Fish all around! Would you like a car?"
After getting up off the ground, Tyler Grokfin expressed further worries. "Not only are non-nerds getting in on video games, now adults are doing it too! My mom just sits around playing Bejeweled now. She said to me yesterday, 'now we can play video games together! I want to try out that Fallout 3 game you were talking about. Isn't postapocalyptica fun? We can play together!' It's weird! I'm a nerd. I was playing video games to escape the world, but now everybody talks to me because they want Team Fortress 2 tips. Being a social outcast just keeps getting harder and harder."
The times ahead don't look good for the lameos who clamor for the old days when video games were relegated to dark basements. Indeed, it looks like the popularity of video games is only set to grow. What this means for greasegoblin culture is yet to be determined. All we know for sure is that somewhere out there, right now, a World War II veteran is levelling up in World of Warcraft.
Major Joke of the Week
A traveling salesman's car breaks down and he walks to a nearby barn to spend the night. The barn is owned by a psychologist, who says, "You can stay the night, but whatever you do, don't stick your dick in those three holes in the wall!"
The salesman agrees and lays down on a bale of hay. Soon enough, temptation gets the better of him. He sticks his dick in the first hole, and it feels wonderful! He moves on to the second hole and it feels even better! Excited, he sticks his dick in the third hole and suddenly his body seizes up in pain. He blacks out.
The next morning, the psychologist finds the salesman, his dick still in the third hole.
"What the hell is in these holes?" asks the salesman.
"Absolutely nothing!" says the psychologist. "But you've heard this joke before, haven't you?"
The salesman agrees and lays down on a bale of hay. Soon enough, temptation gets the better of him. He sticks his dick in the first hole, and it feels wonderful! He moves on to the second hole and it feels even better! Excited, he sticks his dick in the third hole and suddenly his body seizes up in pain. He blacks out.
The next morning, the psychologist finds the salesman, his dick still in the third hole.
"What the hell is in these holes?" asks the salesman.
"Absolutely nothing!" says the psychologist. "But you've heard this joke before, haven't you?"
How to Cook
This is about cooking, all you people always want to eat and I'm like "Hey!!! Eat something you doofus! Just a little old doofus, that is what you are, doofus!" Eating! You do it.
You all always are asking me for food. It's people on the street, sometimes, asking me. I give them a cracker and say that they should learn to cook. And then I write an article so that they can learn to cook. I have written one thousand articles about how to cook. You'd think they'd learn sometime. What a doofus if you're not reading this. What a doofus!
If you want to cook, start out with some leeks. You go to the store and you buy some leeks. They're in the section with all the apples and oranges. Apples and oranges are the things that are red and green, and also the things that are orange. Then you put the leeks in a pot. Just try putting them in a pot while you're in the store, just to test it out. Does that work? You're on your way to cooking. Superstar!
Then you take the pot and you put it on a stove. Put it on the stove with your hands. Turn on the stove, doofus! It gets pretty hot. Learn about how hot it is. Go to school. Stay in school. Don't smoke cigarettes, either. Those are hot too.
When you have eaten the leeks, they are done. Then you have cooked. Try something else! Cook a souffle. Try it! Do it! Try cooking it! Make a souffle. You're a superstar! Everyone is always calling me on the phone, saying thanks for cooking! You bet I have cooked. You can bet your house!
You all always are asking me for food. It's people on the street, sometimes, asking me. I give them a cracker and say that they should learn to cook. And then I write an article so that they can learn to cook. I have written one thousand articles about how to cook. You'd think they'd learn sometime. What a doofus if you're not reading this. What a doofus!
If you want to cook, start out with some leeks. You go to the store and you buy some leeks. They're in the section with all the apples and oranges. Apples and oranges are the things that are red and green, and also the things that are orange. Then you put the leeks in a pot. Just try putting them in a pot while you're in the store, just to test it out. Does that work? You're on your way to cooking. Superstar!
Then you take the pot and you put it on a stove. Put it on the stove with your hands. Turn on the stove, doofus! It gets pretty hot. Learn about how hot it is. Go to school. Stay in school. Don't smoke cigarettes, either. Those are hot too.
When you have eaten the leeks, they are done. Then you have cooked. Try something else! Cook a souffle. Try it! Do it! Try cooking it! Make a souffle. You're a superstar! Everyone is always calling me on the phone, saying thanks for cooking! You bet I have cooked. You can bet your house!
Major Joke of the Week
Biology Major A: Oh man, I saw the best show on Metabolic TV last night!
Biology Major B: What was it about?
Biology Major A: It really went "behind the scenes" on how my favorite citric acids kick it!
Biology Major B: That's awesome! What was it called?
Biology Major A: MTV Krebs.
Biology Major B: What was it about?
Biology Major A: It really went "behind the scenes" on how my favorite citric acids kick it!
Biology Major B: That's awesome! What was it called?
Biology Major A: MTV Krebs.
Why Being Sick Sucks: An Experiment
STIMULUS: "Hi, I have brought you some cookies!"
HEALTHY RESPONSE: "Thanks!"
SICK RESPONSE: "Aughhhghh"
STIMULUS: "Would you like to have sex? I am very attractive!"
HEALTHY RESPONSE: "Sure! Climb on top."
SICK RESPONSE: "Awuuuoghhhhoahhh"
STIMULUS: "We're going to Las Vegas for some questionable adventures. Want to come?"
HEALTHY RESPONSE: "Wow! And I just finished saving up my gambling nest egg!"
SICK RESPONSE: "Ohhwoooohhaughhhhuhhh"
STIMULUS: "Oh man, you look flush. Are you sick?"
HEALTHY RESPONSE: "Nope! I have just done some awesome drugs!"
SICK RESPONSE: "Ugghhhawwwoooooahhooowoowohhahhhaaaaaupphhhhhhag"
CONCLUSION: Being sick sucks.
HEALTHY RESPONSE: "Thanks!"
SICK RESPONSE: "Aughhhghh"
STIMULUS: "Would you like to have sex? I am very attractive!"
HEALTHY RESPONSE: "Sure! Climb on top."
SICK RESPONSE: "Awuuuoghhhhoahhh"
STIMULUS: "We're going to Las Vegas for some questionable adventures. Want to come?"
HEALTHY RESPONSE: "Wow! And I just finished saving up my gambling nest egg!"
SICK RESPONSE: "Ohhwoooohhaughhhhuhhh"
STIMULUS: "Oh man, you look flush. Are you sick?"
HEALTHY RESPONSE: "Nope! I have just done some awesome drugs!"
SICK RESPONSE: "Ugghhhawwwoooooahhooowoowohhahhhaaaaaupphhhhhhag"
CONCLUSION: Being sick sucks.
Major Joke of the Week
PHILOSOPHY MAJOR A: I am lactose intolerant, and therefore if I drink this milk, I will die!
PHILOSOPHY MAJOR B: That's a valid argument, but... NO, DON'T DO IT! STOP!
PHILOSOPHY MAJOR A: Agggghhh!
PHILOSOPHY MAJOR B: He's gone! At least know we know that his "die o' lactic" argument was true.
PHILOSOPHY MAJOR B: That's a valid argument, but... NO, DON'T DO IT! STOP!
PHILOSOPHY MAJOR A: Agggghhh!
PHILOSOPHY MAJOR B: He's gone! At least know we know that his "die o' lactic" argument was true.
One-Issue Voters
Greg, from Pennsylvania:
HIS ISSUE: "Personally I'm waiting for one of the candidates to come out in favor of digital clocks where you can, you know, subtract time when you set them so you don't have to go all the way around to set it back one minute."
WHO HE'S VOTING FOR: "McCain, I guess. I get the feeling he's a secret digital clock guy. He just can't bring it up with the general public because it's too unpopular."
Sheila, from Ohio:
HER ISSUE: "I can't bring myself to vote for a candidate who sets taxes too high, or too low. That's just wrong."
WHO SHE'S VOTING FOR: "Until I hear something about their proposed tax policies, I'm staying home election day. Why aren't they making this an issue?"
Thomas, from Florida:
HIS ISSUE: "I AM A VIDEO GAME PLAYER, A 'GAMER.' I WAKE UP AND PLAY VIDEO GAMES. I LIVE THEM. I BREATHE THEM. I VOTE THEM. THE DAY MY FINGERS STOP MOVING IS THE DAY I DIE. I HAVE HAD SEVEN HEART ATTACKS."
WHO HE'S VOTING FOR: "Ron Paul '08!"
Cheng, from Colorado:
HIS ISSUE: "Dams. More of them. We need more dams. Stop the water! Fuck the god damn water! How do you like those dams, water? Not so FREE now, are you?"
WHO HE'S VOTING FOR: "Reverend Wright. He's the only one who had it right. God dam America."
Candy, from Arizona:
HER ISSUE: "The only thing that drives me to vote is if the candidate is John McCain. It's immoral to vote for anybody else."
WHO SHE'S VOTING FOR: "Usually John McCain doesn't run, and so I don't vote. This year I was going to vote for McCain until one of my friends told me about this Obama guy. I guess I can bend the rules just this once!"
HIS ISSUE: "Personally I'm waiting for one of the candidates to come out in favor of digital clocks where you can, you know, subtract time when you set them so you don't have to go all the way around to set it back one minute."
WHO HE'S VOTING FOR: "McCain, I guess. I get the feeling he's a secret digital clock guy. He just can't bring it up with the general public because it's too unpopular."
Sheila, from Ohio:
HER ISSUE: "I can't bring myself to vote for a candidate who sets taxes too high, or too low. That's just wrong."
WHO SHE'S VOTING FOR: "Until I hear something about their proposed tax policies, I'm staying home election day. Why aren't they making this an issue?"
Thomas, from Florida:
HIS ISSUE: "I AM A VIDEO GAME PLAYER, A 'GAMER.' I WAKE UP AND PLAY VIDEO GAMES. I LIVE THEM. I BREATHE THEM. I VOTE THEM. THE DAY MY FINGERS STOP MOVING IS THE DAY I DIE. I HAVE HAD SEVEN HEART ATTACKS."
WHO HE'S VOTING FOR: "Ron Paul '08!"
Cheng, from Colorado:
HIS ISSUE: "Dams. More of them. We need more dams. Stop the water! Fuck the god damn water! How do you like those dams, water? Not so FREE now, are you?"
WHO HE'S VOTING FOR: "Reverend Wright. He's the only one who had it right. God dam America."
Candy, from Arizona:
HER ISSUE: "The only thing that drives me to vote is if the candidate is John McCain. It's immoral to vote for anybody else."
WHO SHE'S VOTING FOR: "Usually John McCain doesn't run, and so I don't vote. This year I was going to vote for McCain until one of my friends told me about this Obama guy. I guess I can bend the rules just this once!"
I'm the Barack
Kill the girls and break the world,
For I'm the Barack, I am!
Grind their bones with jagged stones,
For I'm the Barack, I am!
And now the fools elected me
To office of the pres'dency
Set them afloat to sink at sea,
For I'm the Barack, I am!
They thought I was kind, and gentle, and sweet
They thought I could walk without moving my feet
They thought I brought change, but what a surprise,
When I take off my mask and change 'fore their eyes!
"Muslim," they said, but they missed by a mile
So don't try to guess, it might take you a while
John McCain's bad, he campaigns kind of rough,
But he ain't got shit on the billy goats gruff!
And so this old, forgotten troll
Who sat upon the grassy knoll
Who rigged all of the Diebold polls
Who deadened Joseph Stalin's soul
Who melted down the northern pole
Who gave Glenn Beck his TV role
Who funded Mr. Uve Boll
Is ready to enact his toll;
I've risen up to take control,
And turn you all into "clean coal,"
For I'm the Barack, I AM!
For I'm the Barack, I am!
Grind their bones with jagged stones,
For I'm the Barack, I am!
And now the fools elected me
To office of the pres'dency
Set them afloat to sink at sea,
For I'm the Barack, I am!
They thought I was kind, and gentle, and sweet
They thought I could walk without moving my feet
They thought I brought change, but what a surprise,
When I take off my mask and change 'fore their eyes!
"Muslim," they said, but they missed by a mile
So don't try to guess, it might take you a while
John McCain's bad, he campaigns kind of rough,
But he ain't got shit on the billy goats gruff!
And so this old, forgotten troll
Who sat upon the grassy knoll
Who rigged all of the Diebold polls
Who deadened Joseph Stalin's soul
Who melted down the northern pole
Who gave Glenn Beck his TV role
Who funded Mr. Uve Boll
Is ready to enact his toll;
I've risen up to take control,
And turn you all into "clean coal,"
For I'm the Barack, I AM!
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Major Joke of the Week
ENGLISH MAJOR A: So somehow my favorite hen laid her egg right on the edge of the nest.
ENGLISH MAJOR B: Hm? Can you say that again? I didn't hear it.
ENGLISH MAJOR A: And when the egg fell, I was just in time to dive and save it!
ENGLISH MAJOR B: What? Why was the egg falling?
ENGLISH MAJOR A: Oh, let me start over with the egg's position.
ENGLISH MAJOR B: Hm? Can you say that again? I didn't hear it.
ENGLISH MAJOR A: And when the egg fell, I was just in time to dive and save it!
ENGLISH MAJOR B: What? Why was the egg falling?
ENGLISH MAJOR A: Oh, let me start over with the egg's position.
To All Inferior Men: Real Sex
Missionary. Doggy style. Stand and deliver. Ugh, don't make me vomit. You may impress your tight-lipped string-haired liquored up floozy of that slab of mush you call a girlfriend, but don't come bragging to me on a Friday night just because you got her off the meth long enough to orgasm. No style. No style at all. It takes a man's man to submit to such tepid monotony, slathering your turgid pole with WD-40 and slipping it between two flaps of tresca - that's rotten cod if you aren't familiar with the social and cultural advances of the Russians. Then again, it takes a woman's man to just put in a little effort, to produce the sweet smells of dripping romance, delectable and aromatic enough that you might collect it to make a stock for soup tomorrow. In case you weren't paying attention, by the way, two sentences ago I just called you gay.
Because you have the reading comprehension of someone who watched Fight Club and then formed one, I'll tell you plainly: I'm a master of the sexual arts. With the daring-do of an acrobat and the dusky, masculine voice of a thousand hummingbirds flapping their wings to produce the English language, I sweep women off their feet and have them begging for more years after I've finished. They cry out - they want to call my name but all is in vain, for they do not know it. Instead they say "Oh God, oh God," and I find this very fitting. I am the lover who disappears when they turn away for even a second, leaving only a sense of longing. I leave an exhausted woman with the tired smile of satisfaction. I have thirty-seven children whom I have never met. All of them grew up to be kings.
And you wish to know my secrets? Of course you do. Such an oaf you are, to think that you can even lick my sweat off of the floor, to think that your penis is anything more than a primitive tool of reproduction, to think that your balls are worth even as much as the sack of pennies they resemble, to think that your seed is more than the rank poison, carried through the generations by pickpockets, con men, and cowards who would faint at the thought of defending a woman's honor. You disgust me. I am surprised that you manage to speak, as mangled and careless as your diction may be.
And so I will not help you. I will not help you because it pleases me to see you try so hard and to fail eternally, and I will not help you for I am a kind man, and maybe by my actions the world may be blessed by a lack of your offspring. So return, return to your hovel, that shanty that you call a home, hung low with dry rot and almost as many cobwebs as there are in your skull. Return to your girlfriend, and she will open her mouth to say hello, revealing her yellowing teeth and blackened gums so that you might lick off the collected bacteria like a proper parasite should. Return to your life, your day-to-day drudgery, sneaking out with other women so that you can be educated in all the varieties of diseased garbage, pretending that you have enough brain cells remaining for one more swig of cat's piss at the bar, knowing that your greatest contribution in life will be your gravestone, which will mark that any vegetables that grow nearby are not worthy of eating. Return, and return quickly, for I have fucking to do elsewhere.
Because you have the reading comprehension of someone who watched Fight Club and then formed one, I'll tell you plainly: I'm a master of the sexual arts. With the daring-do of an acrobat and the dusky, masculine voice of a thousand hummingbirds flapping their wings to produce the English language, I sweep women off their feet and have them begging for more years after I've finished. They cry out - they want to call my name but all is in vain, for they do not know it. Instead they say "Oh God, oh God," and I find this very fitting. I am the lover who disappears when they turn away for even a second, leaving only a sense of longing. I leave an exhausted woman with the tired smile of satisfaction. I have thirty-seven children whom I have never met. All of them grew up to be kings.
And you wish to know my secrets? Of course you do. Such an oaf you are, to think that you can even lick my sweat off of the floor, to think that your penis is anything more than a primitive tool of reproduction, to think that your balls are worth even as much as the sack of pennies they resemble, to think that your seed is more than the rank poison, carried through the generations by pickpockets, con men, and cowards who would faint at the thought of defending a woman's honor. You disgust me. I am surprised that you manage to speak, as mangled and careless as your diction may be.
And so I will not help you. I will not help you because it pleases me to see you try so hard and to fail eternally, and I will not help you for I am a kind man, and maybe by my actions the world may be blessed by a lack of your offspring. So return, return to your hovel, that shanty that you call a home, hung low with dry rot and almost as many cobwebs as there are in your skull. Return to your girlfriend, and she will open her mouth to say hello, revealing her yellowing teeth and blackened gums so that you might lick off the collected bacteria like a proper parasite should. Return to your life, your day-to-day drudgery, sneaking out with other women so that you can be educated in all the varieties of diseased garbage, pretending that you have enough brain cells remaining for one more swig of cat's piss at the bar, knowing that your greatest contribution in life will be your gravestone, which will mark that any vegetables that grow nearby are not worthy of eating. Return, and return quickly, for I have fucking to do elsewhere.
Difficult Positions
FRENCH CENTRIFUGE: Partner A picks up Partner B under the arms and swings Partner B quickly in a circle. The force of the swinging will force Partner A's tongue into Partner B's mouth.
OLYMPIC DIVE: Partner A lays back with legs splayed. Partner B uses a trampoline or diving board to jump, and aims his/her mouth for Partner A's genital area. The impact is highly pleasurable.
SWISS ROLL: Partner A bakes a giant cake with him/herself inside of it. Partner B attempts to save the life of Partner A, who has just been baked in an oven. If Partner A is still alive, A and B have sex on top of the cake. Variation: Partner A is not alive. This is called a "California Roll"
PAREY-SAINT-CESAIRE: Partners A, B, and C hold hands and jump into a pool together. Partner A remains above the water, taking breaths of air and transferring them, by mouth, to Partner B, who then shares the air with Partner C with passionate open mouth kisses.
WINDY CITY: Partner A sits on top of a ping-pong ball which is situated inside a tube. Partner B blows into the tube as hard as possible, lifting Partner A up in a VERY arousing way.
TELEPHONE SEX: Partners A through G lay on top of each other, with A on top. Partner A humps Partner B in a precise pattern. B then humps C in the same pattern, and so on. When it gets to Partner G, he/she gets on top of the pile and continues.
THE KATHLEEN BEELER: Partner A acts like a HUGE SLUT FUCK YOU KATHLEEN.
OLYMPIC DIVE: Partner A lays back with legs splayed. Partner B uses a trampoline or diving board to jump, and aims his/her mouth for Partner A's genital area. The impact is highly pleasurable.
SWISS ROLL: Partner A bakes a giant cake with him/herself inside of it. Partner B attempts to save the life of Partner A, who has just been baked in an oven. If Partner A is still alive, A and B have sex on top of the cake. Variation: Partner A is not alive. This is called a "California Roll"
PAREY-SAINT-CESAIRE: Partners A, B, and C hold hands and jump into a pool together. Partner A remains above the water, taking breaths of air and transferring them, by mouth, to Partner B, who then shares the air with Partner C with passionate open mouth kisses.
WINDY CITY: Partner A sits on top of a ping-pong ball which is situated inside a tube. Partner B blows into the tube as hard as possible, lifting Partner A up in a VERY arousing way.
TELEPHONE SEX: Partners A through G lay on top of each other, with A on top. Partner A humps Partner B in a precise pattern. B then humps C in the same pattern, and so on. When it gets to Partner G, he/she gets on top of the pile and continues.
THE KATHLEEN BEELER: Partner A acts like a HUGE SLUT FUCK YOU KATHLEEN.
Never Too Busy for Exercise
- Microwaving a burrito! Okay! Ten jumping jacks!
- Writing a paper! Type a letter, run a lap! Type a letter, run a lap!
- Doing your taxes! Lift a barbell for every social program you fund!
- Drinking coffee! Work those throat muscles!
- Spending time with your family! Bench press them!
- Committing fraud! Go skating while you go skimming!
- Taking your children to school! Carry them halfway and make them run the rest!
- Running on a treadmill! Do pushups on top of it! More exercise! More!
- Reading a book! Fuck the book! Time for extreme BMX! Never a moment's rest!
- Sleeping! Never sleep! Midnight is time for squats!
- Physical exhaustion! Work through it! You are never fit enough!
- Crying! No time for crying, loser! You're crying because you're not exercising! Keep going!
- Abandoning your family and friends to exercise! Do a chest press!
- The power is yours! The exercise gives you life! You are a God...
The author was unable to finish this article due to death by dehydration while completing a marathon between each sentence. Our condolences go to his family, who will be too busy running hurdles to attend the funeral.
MAN DOG GETS YOU FIT
WOOF WOOF check it out. Saw this wussy, tryin' to step all over my muscles bein' all "hey I bet your muscles are even not the biggest muscles" but I was like "hey have you seen a muscle bigger than this" and flexed one right in his face and he was like "damn stop flexing that all in my face, it is too big for my face." SMACK DOWN. Some people maybe don't know what it is like to have muscles like a god fucking SHIT shit DAMN man DOG MAN DOG LIFTIN' UP CARS shit DOG and that is too bad. You ain't gotta be a little wussy all the time. Time to sit down for SCHOOL.
One way to get some muscles is to go around liftin' up things. Just be all "hey lady can I lift up your cat a few times, I need to be doin' some liftin'" and she is all "I don't know, my cat is pretty heavy" but then you lift up the cat and she is all "hot damn you are lifting my totally heavy cat, please put it down so I can take off my clothes" but then you keep lifting the cat anyway because there is some CAT LADY MAN DOG FLOOR BUFFERIN' GOIN' ON.
If you want muscles really quick you gotta be goin' around just punching things everywhere. Sometimes you see a police officer and the police officer is all "hey stop punching things" but then you're just liftin' one eyebrow at him, to get him all scared, and then you keep punchin' a building. Just punch that building. Punch the fucking god DAMN holy SHIT fucking BUILDING like a MAN DOG and the police officer is getting all scared some more even, even more scared than he was before, and then you just start yellin' and you keep punchin' the building and the police officer is all "wow hot damn you are punching that building" and then you keep punching the building until he takes off his badge and gives it to you. Another good way to get muscles is to be a police officer.
If you want even more muscles you just gotta stand on your head, then people come by and they say "look at that fool he is standing on his head" but then you are all "I am not standing on my head, pay attention I am holding up the world" then they are all "damn the world is heavy" but you are okay 'cause of your muscles. Just keep doin' that for a while and then your muscles get HUGE. People standin' around, singin' songs about THE DUDE HOLDIN' UP THE EARTH. They go all "oh the dude, the dude holdin' up the Earth, let's all be crazy on him" in tunes and then it is time for some CRAZY POUNDING and you are like "hell yeah."
That is pretty much all the ways you can get motherFUCKING super GOD fucking HUGE crazy DAMN FUCK MUSCLES so you can be all fit and be kicking men in the ass and they are scared because you have so many muscles and because you kicked them. Just don't try to have muscles as big as me because I will flex one right in your EYE and you can't handle that. STEP OFF WOOF WOOF.
One way to get some muscles is to go around liftin' up things. Just be all "hey lady can I lift up your cat a few times, I need to be doin' some liftin'" and she is all "I don't know, my cat is pretty heavy" but then you lift up the cat and she is all "hot damn you are lifting my totally heavy cat, please put it down so I can take off my clothes" but then you keep lifting the cat anyway because there is some CAT LADY MAN DOG FLOOR BUFFERIN' GOIN' ON.
If you want muscles really quick you gotta be goin' around just punching things everywhere. Sometimes you see a police officer and the police officer is all "hey stop punching things" but then you're just liftin' one eyebrow at him, to get him all scared, and then you keep punchin' a building. Just punch that building. Punch the fucking god DAMN holy SHIT fucking BUILDING like a MAN DOG and the police officer is getting all scared some more even, even more scared than he was before, and then you just start yellin' and you keep punchin' the building and the police officer is all "wow hot damn you are punching that building" and then you keep punching the building until he takes off his badge and gives it to you. Another good way to get muscles is to be a police officer.
If you want even more muscles you just gotta stand on your head, then people come by and they say "look at that fool he is standing on his head" but then you are all "I am not standing on my head, pay attention I am holding up the world" then they are all "damn the world is heavy" but you are okay 'cause of your muscles. Just keep doin' that for a while and then your muscles get HUGE. People standin' around, singin' songs about THE DUDE HOLDIN' UP THE EARTH. They go all "oh the dude, the dude holdin' up the Earth, let's all be crazy on him" in tunes and then it is time for some CRAZY POUNDING and you are like "hell yeah."
That is pretty much all the ways you can get motherFUCKING super GOD fucking HUGE crazy DAMN FUCK MUSCLES so you can be all fit and be kicking men in the ass and they are scared because you have so many muscles and because you kicked them. Just don't try to have muscles as big as me because I will flex one right in your EYE and you can't handle that. STEP OFF WOOF WOOF.
Major Joke of the Week
LINGUIST A: The stress is on the first syllable.
LINGUIST B: No, the second!
LINGUIST A: I'm telling you it's the first!
LINGUIST B: No! "I think," therefore iamb!
LINGUIST B: No, the second!
LINGUIST A: I'm telling you it's the first!
LINGUIST B: No! "I think," therefore iamb!
Pullin' Fire Alarms
Welcome back! It's been a whole week and a whole lot of fire alarms so let's get goin'!
Started out Monday by walkin' down the street and dang if there weren't no twitterin', glitterin' fire alarm sittin' unpulled on the side of an office building. And may God call me a liar if I didn't lick my lips, roll up my sleeves, and slowly and seductively pull that li'l ol' lever down.
Mmm-mm! See those in-dus-try workers filin' out of that buildin'. Definitely recommend it!
Wednesday got another chance at a li'l ol' elementary school by the name a' Washington. Saw a chil'ren standin' there, suckin' on his tiny li'l thumb, jus' starin' at that big red throbbing fire alarm. What a pree-cocious tyke if I do declare. I leaned down to that boy n' whispered right in his ear,
"Hey there li'l boy, you wanna pull that lever over there, huh? Now why don't you jus' go ahead an' do it. Jesus loves a boy who pulls a fire alarm all nice n' smooth."
And what do you know, before you could say "mulberry bush" those halls were filled with screamin' munchkin tykes filin' their li'l ol' way to the exits. I ain't never seen such a sight in my blessed ol' life.
It's been a good week, 'cause the lord will provide doncha know. Now don't you readers worry 'bout me, I'm sittin' here with a cigarette in my hand right under the smoke detector and just havin' a grand ol' time. What a blessed ol' life I lead. I sure do love settin' off them fire alarms, maybe next time I won't even set the fires what go along with it!
Started out Monday by walkin' down the street and dang if there weren't no twitterin', glitterin' fire alarm sittin' unpulled on the side of an office building. And may God call me a liar if I didn't lick my lips, roll up my sleeves, and slowly and seductively pull that li'l ol' lever down.
Mmm-mm! See those in-dus-try workers filin' out of that buildin'. Definitely recommend it!
Wednesday got another chance at a li'l ol' elementary school by the name a' Washington. Saw a chil'ren standin' there, suckin' on his tiny li'l thumb, jus' starin' at that big red throbbing fire alarm. What a pree-cocious tyke if I do declare. I leaned down to that boy n' whispered right in his ear,
"Hey there li'l boy, you wanna pull that lever over there, huh? Now why don't you jus' go ahead an' do it. Jesus loves a boy who pulls a fire alarm all nice n' smooth."
And what do you know, before you could say "mulberry bush" those halls were filled with screamin' munchkin tykes filin' their li'l ol' way to the exits. I ain't never seen such a sight in my blessed ol' life.
It's been a good week, 'cause the lord will provide doncha know. Now don't you readers worry 'bout me, I'm sittin' here with a cigarette in my hand right under the smoke detector and just havin' a grand ol' time. What a blessed ol' life I lead. I sure do love settin' off them fire alarms, maybe next time I won't even set the fires what go along with it!
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