Friends Say Singer Looked Fine Before Overdosing on a Massive Amount of Drugs

via carabella sands

Screen heartthrob Hambone Sausage was found dead in his bathroom two days ago.  He had taken twenty-seven ExplodoBlast pills.  Used in small doses, ExplodoBlast is great for treating repressed sexual issues.  Take too much of it, though, and you'll blow the fuck up.  Parts of Mr. Sausage are still being peeled off his walls.

Dana Downtrodden, Hambone's on and off girlfriend, was shocked when she heard about the overdose.  "Well fuck me sideways," she said.  "Just think, he looked fine before he went home and took all them pills.  I remember seeing him just the other night.  We paid a bunch of poor people to humiliate themselves for us.  We had this one lady jugglin' three roosters while she painted my toenails.  It was such a good time.  I'd never seen Hambone so happy.  He said he was havin' the time of his life.  Well, here today, gone tomorrow, I guess."

Barclay Barkley, Hambone's best friend and part-time sex slave had this to say: "Imagine that.  Just up and exploded, eh?  I tell you, the night he died he was acting kind of weird, but that's 'ol Hambone for ya.  We were in his living room and he had all these monkeys lined up against the wall, each one bigger than the last.  Well, we were having such a swell dinner I didn't even think to say anything about the monkeys.  See, Hambone was wearing nothing but cowboy boots and a really cute pink bonnet.  He fed me a piece of chicken pot pie every time I answered a geography question correctly.  Well, out of nowhere, Hambone gets up and feeds a small monkey to a bigger monkey.  Oh dear!  He was planning on feeding monkeys to monkeys all night long.  Well I just wished him good night and left.  If he had just given us some sort of sign that he was unhappy."

Hambone Sausage will be missed.  Probably.  By someone.

Christina Aguilera's Private Hell: At Least It Isn't Public Hell

Star has once again sent its team of (on) crack reporters to dredge up the details of another major celebrity real estate investment.  It's nice to see a young person like Christina Aguilera concerned about her future.  Because, like most of us, she's going to hell.  Unlike most of us, she's rich, so she can afford a private hell.

It's interesting that she still has the money for such a big purchase.  We'd heard rumors that her savings were wiped out when she invested in conceptual artist Mrogbot Celciuses' attempt to build the world's largest imaginary friend.  Which explains why, just months after Celciuses took her money and disappeared to the planet Zygotron, Aguilera released a Christmas CD.  "Jiggle Your Raspberry Dome," the first single off the album Jesus Was My Kinda Playa was a flop, though it did become quite popular with construction workers who wear nudie suits.

Who knows?  Maybe she had just enough cash tucked away somewhere.  Most of the top brass here at the Mugwump Corporation have reserved their own private hells.  They know how expensive it is.  Worth it?  Of course.  They know they're going to have their balls smashed by walruses, but who wants witnesses?  Unfortunately for this lowly reporter, afterlife insurance isn't included in our benefits package.

Remember, kids, save your money.  You're probably going to hell.  Do you really want to suffer with all the common people?

New Diet Pill's Side Effects Include Making the User a Complete Asshole

via goodloe byron

There's a diet pill on the market that promises users will lose up to six pounds in just fourteen months.  LayZFux is the newest in a long line of weight loss supplements being pimped by advertisements in horoscope magazines and college dorm urinals.  But you might not just lose a few pounds when you take LayZFux.  You might also lose your dignity and the ability to function in human rationally in human society.

Walrus Coughburg of Fuckstiff, Alabama thought he'd use the product to lose a few pounds before the town's annual kitten tossing competition.  It was, after all, only six months away.  Every day after work he took a LayZFux, lay down on his couch, and watched pornographic sailing shows.

The pills worked perfectly.  For about three days.  On the fourth day, Mr. Coughburg was standing in his front yard wearing nothing but his Lady Gaga boxer shorts and yelling at his neighbor's horse.  He accused Mr. Gummy Snout of being a "genuine walrus fucker."  Coughburg then took his penis out of his shorts and started twirling it like a helicopter and ran around the neighborhood shouting that he could fly, if only someone could give him "a good push."

Coughburg is now in the Alabama Hospital for the Cracked, Mad & Buttfaced.  He told the Mugwump Corporation that he's looking forward to the day when he can "crack some swagger back up in this place."  No, we don't know what that means either.

Dead Celebrities are Cool!

via jaria

A bunch of celebrities have been overdosing lately.  This makes us here at the Mugwump Corporation extremely happy.  Our readership spikes when we report on these things, presumably because people desperately want to feel morally superior.  We were overjoyed when we found out that Digsby Walrusblubber, the internationally famous singer known for hits like "Bubbles are Fun," "You Remind me of a Butt Plug," and "I Baked a Pie for Jesus" died in his sleep last night.  He went fairly quietly into the abyss, choking on his vomit and having violent seizures while thirteen drag queens kicked him in the ribs.

Few people know that Digsby's true passions were building model trains and collecting chef salads.  But, you know, he had that rockstar image to maintain, so he mostly engaged in unprotected sex with groupies and sucked massive amounts of drugs up his nose.  He died a little inside every time he had to yell at his tour manager for allowing the wrong kind of jelly bean in his dressing room.  But it couldn't be helped.  It was all part of the job.

This reporter has always been a fan of Walrusblubber's music.  That's why I was incredibly excited when he finally granted my request for an interview three months ago.  He had just played a big concert in Chicago and invited me to his hotel room.  I was naked and lying on the floor and Digsby was trying his best to squeeze out a stinky loaf onto my chest while I touched myself and sang the My Little Pony theme song.  He was so sweet and gentle to me that night.

While Mr. Walrusblubber will be missed, the Mugwump Corporation hopes to see many more reckless celebrity deaths this year.  We're saving up for a skateboard and an excellent birthday party.  We could use the readers.

via jaria

After Marriage Ban Overturned, California Overrun with Gay Kittens

via carabella sands

Several conservative commentators have observed that overturning California's ban on gay marriage will have unintended consequences.  How true indeed.

Now that same-sex humans can get married, other animals have seen this as an opportunity to promote their own depraved lifestyles.  By far the worst offenders have been the gay, or, more properly, omni-sexual cats and kittens that have flooded into the state in an effort to promote the Kitty Agenda.

Cats are the most sexually depraved animals on Earth.  Even the Jumping Fuckbeasts on the planet Umathurman aren't as savagely horny.  Cats give up the good loving whenever they feel like it, whether the object of their affection wants it or not.  Last week, in Golden Gate Park, there was a frightening public orgy.  Sixteen cats and kittens rubbed themselves on balls of twine, old shoes, a toilet plunger, and a Frisbee, among other items.  A nearby hobo lay in the grass muttering, "All is lost...all is lost..." while two cats licked either side of his cheek.  He later died from injuries related to having no skin on his face.  Goddamn, their tongues are scratchy.

Pauly Poundcakey, the famous kitty cat comedian, was on TV yesterday.  She urged cats and kittens to "go where your rubs will be accepted.  Rub against cats of all sexes.  Sniff their asses.  Be free.  Come to California."

Experts predict that, in mere months, all living beings in California will have been sexed to death.

Catch the Fever

The 2012 Olympics will begin in London during late July this summer and it seems the whole world is catching Olympic Fever. Along with the standard line up of events, this year marks the beginning of many surprising new competitions. The governing body of the Alternative Expressions of Love Foundation will be introducing extreme fucking, complete with events in areas such as ass fisting, Sybian races, deep throating, long distance cumshots, competitive masturbation, anal pole vaulting, genital mastication, marathon fucking and cum chugging, to name a few. In the true spirit of the games, all events are open to both men and women, with the exception of the menses category. Many events require multiple partners.


This addition is drawing the ire from many on different sides of the table. Fred Phelps, of Westboro Baptist Church fame, has already rallied his courageous followers with the chant, “God Hates the Olympics!” Serrif Howell of the Olympic Preservation Committee got his panties in a bunch when he heard the news and threatened to pull funding. Porn superstar Dawn Swallows calls it a “whoring of pornography.”


We were lucky enough to get a few words with Alternative Expressions of Love Foundation founder Jack Wangstrom.

MC: What drove you to bring extreme fucking to the Olympics?
JW: Ahh, you know, it’s like chasin’ a greased pig round and it’s so warm and slippery, just like a wet pussy, you ever notice dat? How can dat be a coincidence dat dat same swine dat give me pig milk can feel so sensual and arousing? Dat pig’s parents deserve my gratitude for creatin’ the perfect specimen. Dey de Adam and Eve and God of my apple gardens. You know what I mean?
MC: I’m not sure I follow. Greased up with what?
JW: Bacon grease!
MC: Of course. I misunderstood. Have you met with much opposition to these new events? Possibly from conservative or religious groups?
JW: Tig ol’ bitties. Some people can’t swallow as much as dem big ‘uns. It’s okay. Dey can’t run as fast as me but we all gettin’ laid.
MC: How do you feel about the media ignoring these new events? It’s been said they may not even get any coverage.
JW: Guys, don’t jack off with Icy Hot. It burns like hell and dere ain’t no way to make it stop. Washin’ it off with water makes it worse. And you ladies make sure you wash your hands real good after handlin’ hot peppers.
MC: Can you leave us with a few words on the primeval beauty of the anus?
JW: Certainly. Despite all those who say there is no God, no supreme being guiding all this, I point out that which is more pure, more holy, more sacred than anything else this side of the cosmic Mississippi; the anus. Look how it diligently stays stretched across that opening which is both attractive and repulsive, making sure the seal is tight, puckering in its efforts as though asking the world for a kiss. It is both form and function, leaving nothing wanting in either regard, though perhaps leaving one’s loins lingering on the illegally glimpsed elegance. The promise and potential of the tightest nerve cluster, when her body has already surrendered to me, my resolve melts. I become a fool to the passion that sweet mysterious hole arouses in me. It is for this hole that civilization and all mankind’s accomplishments have been built. The anus is to thank and to blame for it all.

Vanity Fair Fondly Remembers a Hollywood Without Negros

The newest Vanity Fair cover features, clockwise, Crystal Clear, Alabaster Bodypaint, Aryan Anna, and Goth White.  Don't look too long or your eyes will burn.  Three Mugwump Corporation employees have already lost their sight doing this exact thing.

Earlier today, we asked Vanity Fair Editor-in-Chief Rascal Funnybottoms about this controversial cover:

"Well, uh, you know, this is a tribute to the Golden Shower Age in Hollywood.  Dig?  Right.  Back then, things were very glamorous and very white.  Everyone was white back then, even black people.  Don't blame us.  This isn't the greatest cover in the world.  This is just a tribute.  An homage, see.  We're a liberal magazine, which means we can get away with shit like this.  Just needs some sort of historical context, see.  We can't help it if there was a time in our history when only very pale women were considered beautiful and glamorous.  It was a real classy time, when even strong women couldn't survive without a man.  It's an homage, you stupid pussy farts!  Okay?  Look, just because we can't stand to feature ni--err, nice people on our covers doesn't mean that we're racist.  We're simply fondly remembering a time when it was cool to be prejudiced.  Dig?"

We dig, Mr. Funnybottoms.  Here's to the further irrationalization of the human race!

A Modest Proposal

via goodloe byron

To the troll that lives underneath a bridge near my house:

First of all, I know you're intimidating, being a hairy, other-worldly looking beast and all.  Hell, I'm a big 'ol hairy lumberjack myself.  I know what it's like for people to be intimidated by you.  I mean, I don't even use an axe when I'm working.  I bearhug the trees and pull the entire things out of the ground and then just chuck them into a pile.  I'm a manly musky muscle man.  But, Mr. troll, even I'm scared of you.  Why do you take advantage of the good folks by charging them one gold coin to cross your bridge?  Do you own the thing?  No!  The good citizens of Mugwumpville paid for it with their hard-earned dollas.  You're forcing them to double dip.  And nobody likes a double dipper.

Do you remember when I didn't have the money to pay your stupid toll?  You made me wear a pretty yellow sundress and wiggle my butt in yer face.  As much fun as that was, I have to ask, what kind of freak are you?  You don't make any sense.  I mean, sure, you have a beautiful singing voice and, in the right light, you look like an Italian William Shatner.  Are you still upset that the town failed to issue you a permit for your long-dreamed about eggplant pawnshop?

Maybe.  But I think it goes deeper than that.  You need to be loved, Mr. troll, and I think I can help you.  Though I'm a lumberjack and you're a hair troll, I think we could make this work.  We should get married.  I think we'd be a beautiful couple.

All the best,

Larry the lumberjack

Man in "Life is Good" T-Shirt Tells Poor People to "Just Fucking Smile More"

via goodloe byron

Mr. Vivian Suction, a dapper young man in his late twenties, stood outside the Mugwump Village KFC finishing off the last drumstick in his Lardo Bucket when a family of four ill-kempt proletariats approached.  The mother and father looked tired and sullen, while the two rotund young boys beside them smacked their lips in anticipation of the forthcoming meal.  But before they could walk into the fast food restaurant, Suction blocked the door.  He had something to say:

"Why ya'll look so sad what with yer moping, waddling frames?  Don't you know life is good?  Why, just lookie my shirt.  It says the exact same thing and so it must be true, no?  Dig, the sun's shining on my tail and I'm happy.  You know a little smile, just a small one, can brighten your day, even the worst one.  Whatzzat? You've been out of work?  Yer just eating here because a friend loaned you a bit of money?  Ya'll haven't eaten for days?  Gee, I mean, that's terrible and everything, but, you know, there's plenty of jobs out there for you Proles.  Hell, pick up an application while yer inside this fine eatery, finger fucking those mashed taters.  Look, it's not like I don't understand what you're going through.  When I was starting out, my father's multinational corporation was very small.  But lookie me now!  I'm managing the local branch, and my father says that if I do reals good, I might one day be a regional manager!  Look, I'm even willing to give you a hand up.  I run what you might call an, uh, underground gambling establishment in a warehouse uptown.  Just about every morning the place is completely fucked.  You know how it is.  Vomit and piss and shit smeared all over the walls; sometimes they even look like Egyptian hieroglyphs.  Well, as you can imagine, we've gone through quite a few of ya'll Proles trying to clean the place up in the morning.  All I've gotten is lazy fuckers so far who complain about 'Satan's muck' and other suck silliness.  If you're willing to work hard--whazzat?  What's that you say 'bout human dignity?  Sir, in this world you earns yer dignity.  I used to be like you.  I know how it is.  When I was in college, my Dad made me get a job stocking shelves at the Devil's Mart.  I spent an entire semester working in that hellhole part-time on the weekends!  I WORKED HAAAAARD TO GETS WHERE I IS!!  MY COCK THROBS WHEN I THINK ABOUT HOW ABSOLUTELY HARD I WORKED!!!!  DO YOU UNDERSTAND HARD WORK?  DOES YA UNDERSTAND THE VALUE OF A DOLLA?  I WORKED HARD TO GETS WHERE I IS!!!  NOW SMILE, FUCKERS.  LIFE IS GODDAMN BEAUTIFUL!!!!"

At that very moment, the clouds parted and Vivian Suction ascended to heaven.  He had finally earned his wings.

Planned Parenthood is an Abortion Factory and Should be Stopped!

The Susan G. Komen Foundation has gone back on its original promise to defund Planned Parenthood.  Apparently they caved to public pressure.  We here at the Mugwump Corporation think this was a terrible idea.  Planned Parenthood is nothing but an abortion factory, and should be stopped at all costs.

It's common knowledge that 9999.34322% of all the procedures at Planned Parenthood are abortions.  And really, do they have to use chainsaws?  Okay, we'll put that aside for a second.  Don't forget that Planned Parenthood forces women who come in for anything, even a routine checkup, to sign a pledge saying that they will get "at least one abortion per year during the time they remain fertile."  Would your Grammy trust an organization like this?  Seriously, what would your Grammy do?

The most evil organization in America

And have we already forgotten December 31st, 1999?  It was the day where Planned Parenthood doctors, upset because they were recently fired for failing to meet their abortion quotas, took to the streets of Mugwumpville, savagely killing over six hundred people before finally being stomped to death by a pack on angry brontosauruses.  The local franchise manager, Wally P. Mudermurdermurder said that day that he applauded their enthusiasm, but regretted that none of the six hundred bodies could be put to use because, "adult meat is old and stale," and they would not be able to find buyers for it.

But maybe I'm just biased.  My wife and I were once severely insulted by Planned Parenthood when they refused to honor our "buy one, get one free" coupon and we were forced to pay for our second abortion.  Bastards.

Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Death Machines

Does anyone use the word “tiddies” anymore? I doubt it, since spell-check doesn’t even recognize it. Gmail’s spell-check doesn’t recognize the word “gmail.” That one always bothered me. You think it would be important for the program to recognize its own name. Or would that be too close to it becoming self aware? And so what if it did become self aware? It’s a spell-checker. It doesn’t have the launch codes. Can a spell-checker evolve into an overlord?


Would machine overlords really be such a bad thing? Newt Gingrich doesn’t think so. Newt doesn’t know much about the moon (see his quote in If Elected, Newt Gingrich will Eat the Moon, below) but he knows that before it becomes a state we’ll have to establish bases there. And bases are always up to mysterious things. It would be easier to manufacture and raise a robot army there, far away from the eyes of prying webcams and iPhones than down here with the evil environmentalists meddling in his every move. Earthlings would never even know about it, they would be Newt’s secret weapon. One day a French official would say something about the tastelessness of the First Lady’s new hairdo, the next day there would be Terminators sipping sherry over the bodies of the dead on the Riviera.  Yes, Newt would kill all of France for that mortal insult.


It would be like when the US dropped atomic bombs on Japan, except here the US is Newt and Japan is the entire world. And the machines would fly down just like bombs. They’d jump from the moon and aim for populated enemy territory. Gingrich would command respect via his invincible army. Newt would flex his flabby muscles and the world would flinch. He would teach those other enslaved, communist bastards that they can’t fuck with the Newt! He will be the only one that can control these machines. He must be the only person who can control these machines.

This is the real reason that the internet has to be censored, the real reason behind initiatives like SOPA, PIPA and ACTA. What if someone got their hands on the programming for one of these Terminators? What if they shared it online? Everyone could have Terminators to do their bidding and that would be anarchy! Insuring copyright and patent protection on intellectual property is the only way we can stop the world from destroying itself. Only Newt’s Terminators can help us realize this goal. ISN’T THIS OBVIOUS TO EVERYONE ELSE? I’M YELLING TO MAKE MY POINT.


Exactly what will our new glorious guardians eat? Mostly oil and coal but none of that fancy refined crap. You won’t see these guys sipping from Penzoil jugs like some sort of pansies. They will dine in the oil fields, sucking the crude out of the ground themselves or grinding off sides of mountains to reach those nice, crunchy coal deposits which they’ll garnish with handfuls of endangered species. And that smell? That’s just their nuclear exhaust. That is the smell of progress, safety, the American Dream.

Dinosaurs Are Not Killers, They're Job Creators

via goodloe byron

Yup, of course we've heard ya'll liberals bitching and moaning about the "dinosaur menace" and whatnot.  And on some level, I suppose we can sympathize.  Nobody likes to see people stomped to death, least of all the person being stomped on.  But, economically speaking, where would we be without pissed off brontosauruses?  We can't predict exactly what would happen if they stopped smooshing people, but we know that a lot of people would be out of a job.  And that's something we have to take very seriously in a recession.

Think of those poor souls who have to quickly shovel the victims' poopy and flattened corpses off a sidewalk.  They're doing the Lord's work, if you ask me.  Also, think of the weapons manufacturers.  Sales of rocket launchers and grenade-firing guns would tank if brontosauruses stopped stomping on people.  And who can forget the work of those brave clowns, who stand ready at a moment's notice to hurry to the scene of a dinosaur stomp to distract entertain the gathering crowd of onlookers with juggling, acrobatics, and animal balloons.

But, okay, yeah, I hear ya.  You're thinking, "But what about all the people being stomped to death?  Don't they effectively hurt the economy by being dead and, therefore, unable to work most jobs?"  Of course not!  The economy will be fine!  You know as well as I do that the only people stupid enough to pick a fight with a dinosaur are poor people and the homeless.  And they don't have jobs anyway.  Now that I think of it, a good dinosaur stomping every now and then is a great way to get some of these loafers off food stamps and welfare.  In a way you could say that dinosaur stompings not only create jobs, but also help cut down government spending.  Win-fucking-win if you ask us.