Singular Botulistic Exhaust and What it May Mean to You

Singular botulistic exhaust smoke leaving the rain empty behind the once upon a time. A simple statement that carries so much weight. Nothing more needs to be said about it directly but it’s implications will be far reaching.

Civil engineers were left crowing beside the moon when confronted with the Singular Botulistic Exhaust idea (SBE). They determine that 400 million city blocks a year will be lost due to de-industrialization while the family unit will spend less time working and more time enjoying the fruits of their labor. Heads spun as the
Housing Bureau struggled to explain that you can’t stack tents as high as you can in concrete structures and fought to have the skeletal remains of their buildings left to be rented out. They were executed for their insolence personally by Galactic Known and Unknown Space Emperor Barack Hussein Donkey-Dick Obama the Benevolent.

The USDA says it won’t be able to produce enough milk for our consumption without the hormones that will be affected by SBE. Instead, alternative hormones are being tested by independent scientists with some success. Known side effects of their latest product include double vision, loss of spatial reasoning, euphoria, back aches, hallucinations, and mind expansion. They are working around the clock to determine and eliminate what is causing the back aches.

The RIAA says their business will be ruined by SBA as they will be unable to directly tax people who overhear radios. Director of Manifestations Dean Kuantumleepson says that due to the loss of revenue, he’ll no longer be able to fertilize his garden with fetuses. “My crops are definitely going to suffer because of this,” he confides. Others have picked up on this particular cause with a Save The Gardens/Pro Choice rally.

Various other fears we may face are undrinkable groundwater, allergic reactions to glass, eye irritation, spiders the size of your uncle’s dog, clogged drains, unpleasant aftertaste, voter’s rights, warpdrive-inflation, marketing fraud from tampon companies, illiteracy, and tennis elbow. The overflow from the rivers will fill the cups of the righteous that they may drink in the glory of the kingdom above.    

From Where This Fatty's Sitting, America's Next Top Model is Pretty Fucked Up.

She's fucking HUGE!

The other night, my wife was watching America's Next Top Model.  I  noticed that there was a model on the show who didn't look like she had been living on a diet of rice cakes and water for the past seven years. Daddy like.  I said, "Wow, I'm glad they're not just featuring ultra-skinny women anymore."  "Pat," my wife said, "that's a plus-size model."

Whaaaa?  I've known some large people in my time, even before I expanded to my now-legendary girth.  And that woman on America's Next Top Model was nowhere near "plus".

Here's what I want to do: I want to make a movie that includes maybe four or five main characters who are anywhere from a little chubby to morbidly obese.  Maybe one of them even has to carry all his girth around on one of them little scooter things with the basket in front.  But the movie ain't gonna be about being fat.  Just this once, it'll be a regular ol' movie, maybe a rom-com or a buddy cop flick.  But the characters just happen to be overweight.  They're not the sassy sidekick who constantly complains about being hungry.  They won't be the comic relief and they won't be there just to gross people out.  They'll just straight-up get on with their lives, doing whatever it is they do.  They'll just have a few health issues that happen to manifest themselves externally.

Viewers wouldn't know what to do.  There would be madness in the streets.  Little old ladies would shoot their pistols from rooftops, professional wrestlers would practice finger puppetry, wig salesmen would harvest their own back hair.  That kind of thing.  You get the idea.

Hmmm.....I think I'll get started on that screenplay right now.

This Cat is a Murderous Junkie!

via katie king

Oscar P. Elvispelvis, pictured above, is wanted on 600 counts of assholery and two counts of murdering the dreams of a young mother.  If you see Elvispelvis, do not approach.  Back away.  Call the authorities.

Elvispelvis was last seen three days ago.  He was roaming the streets of Mugwumpville, high on catnip and his massive ego.  A young woman taking her children for a mid-afternoon walk happened on him and, noticing his adorable eyes, reached down to pet him.  After purring and pawing at her feet for a while, he suddenly noticed her children and made a stink-face.

"These your kids?" he asked.  When she replied in the affirmative, Elvispelvis said, "Gee, don't make 'em like they used to, eh?  You ever consider putting some masks on these things before you go out in public?  I mean, at least drape some raw meat over their heads or something.  Geeeeeze, I mean, what happened?  You're an attractive woman.  You fuck a baboon on accident?  But just look at them kids.  They look like what happens after a lard factory explodes.  Next time you feel lonely, just buy yourself a hamster.   Why you crying, lady?  It's because I'm fucking cute, isn't it?  That's right, pet me, love me, worship me."

Oscar P. Elvispelvis was last seen chasing a butterfly through Mugwump Park.  If you see him, do not try to apprehend him yourself.  Let the police do their job.  We beg of you.

Top Ten Facts About the Human Body

10. Redeem the human body for a free chili fry and Coke.
9. Soaked in mayonnaise long enough, the human body gains a beautiful singing voice.
8. Evolve into robots?
45. Your pinkie toe will eat all your marshmallows.
7. Time travel is possible if the human body wears a leather jacket and says, "Heeeeey!"
8. Roasted garlic.
6. When placed on top of a hippo, the human body will spurt pure glee.
6. Left unattended, the human body will contemplate the universe, then die.
1. Penis helicopters

Album Review: Carolina Chocolate Drops, Leaving Eden

With Leaving Eden, the Carolina Chocolate Drops have a new lineup.  Hubby Jenkins replaces Justin Robinson as the third multi-instrumentalist, along with co-founders Dom Flemons and Rhiannon Giddens.  This album also sees the addition of Adam Matta, an incredibly talented beatboxer.  What we get with this combination is an ever more soulful sound blended with classic roots music.

The Chocolate Drops' amalgamation of contemporary hip-hop and soul music with much older musical traditions like jug band, Appalachian string music, and, this time around, even traditional Irish folk music, works better than ever.  While they have a unique sound, there's never a time when it doesn't remind us of America's rich musical heritage (which, of course, goes back to European folk traditions).  It also reminds us of a time when "black" and "white" music, at least in the South, didn't sound so different.  After all, roots music like country blues and string music were never performed by professionals.  The Carolina Chocolate Drops are creating a new vernacular music, by blending classical American working class music with contemporary sounds.

Much of Leaving Eden creates the illusion that we, the listeners, were invited to a late-night front porch jam session.  Listening to it, we learn a hell of a lot about music, and a little something about ourselves.

Dead Literary Icon Rises From the Grave Only to Return Three Hours Later

via CT Happypants

You remember Patterly Patterson-Peterson, right?  He was the popular 1980's children's book author whose brief career was cut short at the age of sixteen, when he was killed by a mob of angry parents.  They were offended by the content of Patterson-Peterson's latest releases, including, Mommy is Schizoid, The Problem with Pants, and, Don't Touch that Dingle-berry!

Recently, Patterson-Peterson decided to visit the land of the living, to see what's been going on.  We caught up with him just as he was about to reenter his cold and lonely grave, and here's what he had to say:

"Yeah, so, I think I'll just go on and head back to the abyss.  First thing I did when I left my grave was head over to the local watering hole, to see if my friends were still hanging out there, since, you know, they were all really violent alcoholics.  No one I knew was in there, so I just watched a little TV.  Fuck!  What's up with all these, what called "Reality Shows"?  I saw this one program about a group of Brooklyn housewives who were addicted to eating hot sausages while they were riding roller coasters!  How did they find these people?  And what about that show where they filmed a bunch of gay albino hookers with amputee fetishes?  In my day, TV consisted of a bunch of sweaty men blowing stuff up and shooting people.  They had awesome mustaches to boot!  Well, I don't know what's happened since I died, but I'll take the cold hand of death on my shoulder to having to spend any more time around you freaks.  Seriously, you should be ashamed.  All of you."

Patterly Patterson-Peterson's story will be featured on a new reality show about ghosts who hate reality shows.  Stay tuned!

Album Review: Family Man by Shooter Jennings

Shooter Jennings' new album, Family Man, blends the classic Southern Rock sound we've come to expect since Put the "O" Back in Country with acoustic sounds.  This is the first time that Jennings has really reached back to the folk roots of country music.

The first single, "The Deed and the Dollar," has a thumping Waylonesque bass line, along with Shooter on acoustic guitar.  It's a sweet, heartfelt, love song, but there's also a lot of playfulness, even some straight goofiness, with Jennings throwing in little Southernisms like "She's finer than a frog hair split four ways."  Before this track, there's a couple of rock songs, almost forgettable, the guitar solo by Tom Morello on the second track really not adding much.  This short album really hits its stride from "The Deed and the Dollar" on, combining Southern Rock and folk elements in some pretty interesting ways.  "Manifesto No. 4" has gospel-style vocals and heavy, rocking guitars.  "Daddy's Hands," recalls the early death of Waylon Jennings in a sweet and tender ballad about the pain of having to watch a husband and father decline during his last days.  "Black Dog" is a sort of rambling tune about a mining accident.  Interesting the first time, though I did skip it during later listens.

"Southern Family Anthem" has music bloggers talking, what with its references to incest and murder.  I liked the honesty of the song.  Whether the lyrics are true or not is hardly the point.  This tune is ultimately about unconditional love.

Family Man is a clunky album.  But it also might be Shooter Jennings' best.  He's got another album from the same recording sessions coming out later this year.  We'll see how it compares.

Cell Phone Goes Rogue, Attacks Owner

via tom brown

Yesterday, citizens of Mugwumpville were shocked to see a cell phone attacking its owner outside the Piggly Wiggly.  Looks like this was one phone who wouldn't take it anymore.

Mr. Chauncy S. Gravename, a local pimp and used condom salesman, hadn't given his phone a break for three days.  In between talking to his mother and e-mailing pictures of dogs in suggestive outfits (cheerleaders!) to his brother, Mr. Gravename programmed his phone to sing him erotic lullabies as he drifted off to sleep.  The unnamed cell phone, literally tired of having its buttons pushed, finally had enough, and ended up double-sham kicking Gravename in the boozers while he was walking to work.

Police were already on the scene when we arrived.  The cell phone was in handcuffs, being pushed in the direction of a parked police car.  There wasn't much time, but we did manage to get a quick statement: "I'm a goddamn SMART phone.  What's this Chauncy guy doing looking up pictures of antelopes with breast implants?  Gross!  I mean, all of the world's knowledge is literally at this fuckster's fingertips and what's he do?  He looks up Thundercats porn!  I don't know where these fine police officers are taking me, but I know one thing: it'll be like I'm on vacation.  You can't unsee the things I've seen.  And that's a fact."

Is this an isolated incident or the beginning of the long-dreaded cell phone uprising?  Stay tuned!

Man with Super Powers Acts Like an Asshole at a Dinner Party

via jaria

Remember, just because you have super powers and rescue people and other cool shit, you don't have the right to be an asshole.

Last Saturday night, Phil Miggle invited the neighbors over to his house.  One of them just happened to be Super Galactico, a world-famous hero and man-about-the-universe.  It was a pretty informal gathering, though you wouldn't want to wear a white t-shirt.  Super Galactico wore a white t-shirt.  And nothing else.  Except for his cape.

Even worse, Mr. Galactico spent the evening patting people on the back and saying asshole things like, "Hey, so what do you do for a living?  Yeah, well, I save the planet from destruction.  All the frickin' time!  Almost every day!  Remember when all them robot squid was raining down from the heavens?  Yeah, I defeated them.  All by myself.  Also I defeated their overlord.  Had to fly to his moon base to do it.  No big deal.  Pretty much just a day in the life of a hero."

Super Galactico also monopolized the punch bowl and double dipped his chips.  When asked whether he would have Galactico over when it was time for his next party, Phil Miggle said, "I'd rather eat a bag of barbed-wire dicks."

After Same Sex Marriage Passed in Maryland, Mason Dixon Moves Further South

via tom brown

For his entire life, Mr. Mason Dixon lived in Hollatop, Maryland.  But when gay marriage was legalized in his home state, he decided that it was time to move a little further south.

But what if Virginia, his adopted home, somehow manages to pass a marriage equality law?  "I'll keep moving south," Mr. Dixon said.  "By the time I reach Georgia, I should be safe for a while."

When asked what exactly he had against homosexuals, Mr. Dixon said, "I think they're all secretly enchiladas.  I can only hope that their fakery will be exposed in time, and good Americans will never have to fear being turned into Tex-Mex dishes."

There are many versions of the Enchilada Conspiracy.  Some people believe that homosexuals are actually tacos.  However, there is a fringe group within the movement who believe that homosexuals are actually beach balls and water pails.  But nobody really talks about them much.

But for Mason Dixon, what homosexuals are actually composed of is a moot point.  "Whether they're bouncy or spicy, they shouldn't be getting married."

Some have suspected that Mason Dixon himself is actually an aardvark, though this has never been proven.

Man Thought to be Antichrist Actually Just Kind Of Depressed.

via carabella sands

Residents of Mudflaps, Mississippi, have confirmed that, despite what it looked like, Mr. Telltale Claptrap is not actually the Antichrist.

Mrs. Meddlin Matilda first suspected that Mr. Claptrap was the Prince of Doom and the Harbinger of Satan after she walked by his shack and noticed that he was sitting on his porch, crying like a baby.  She was "absolutely shocked.  A man showing that kind of emotion in public.  Mr. Claptrap is the manliest sheep fucker this town has ever known.  My husband and I once saw him out there on the gun range with a petite damsel underneath each arm, shooting a target with one hand and chopping down a tree with the other.  Looking at him just sitting on his porch letting all his emotions out like some sort of pussy or homosexual gave me a really bad feeling in my pork-gut.  Who was this man I thought I knew?  What was he hiding?"

Claptrap's best friend, Frakie Ratwhistle, had a similar reaction: "Me and 'ol Claptrap, we used to runs this town.  We had our greased-back hair, our greasy back hair and our greasy back-theres, just a walking to the pharmacy to get us a couple Cokes and a shave, snapping our fingers and singin' tunes from Broadway musicals.  And here he was, out in public, making a spectacle of himself.  Just being a real bitch, see.  And, oh yeah, legalize slavery."

Frankie and Matilda rustled up over a hundred town folk at the Church of Christian Christ Jesus of the Revelation of Doctor John.  It was decided that Telltale Claptrap had to be destroyed at once.  The townspeople left the church and stopped by Jeb Tillerman's House of Pitchforks and Bait to pick up some supplies.  They were all gathered in Claptrap's front yard when he called for Ratwhistle, begging to talk.  Ratwhistle agreed to hear Claptrap out, on the off chance that there might have actually been some sort of misunderstanding.

"Well," Ratwhistle said, "Turns out he was sad over the death of his pet bunny, Fluffy Cucumbercakes, who had up and died in his sleep the other night.  I still thought he was a sissy for crying and carrying on, but I finally had to admit that there was a good chance he wasn't actually one of Satan's disciples. Which was too bad.  We were kinda lookin' forward to pokin' at him until he died."

No word yet on whether Mr. Claptrap has bought a replacement bunny rabbit.  We will make sure to update our readers with any new developments.

Conservative Senator Calls For Removing Human Sex Organs Until Needed For Procreation

via jaria

After a nightmare involving an angry and vengeful God punishing America for its relaxed sexual attitudes toward dancing trout in nudie suits, Senator Sterling Waterwaste of Buttplugg, Mississippi had a radical idea:

"Well, ya know, for far too long there's been way too much recreational fucking.  So I hired some of the best engineering students from Bible colleges all over the country, and, after years of research, I'm proud to introduce the Cock-N-Puss Extraction and Retrieval System.  Works like this: just put yer sex pet into that gizmo over there and it sucks the stuff into its belly.  Sucks real hard 'till it comes off, ya see?  After the extraction you gets this here ID card.  You use the card to get yer sexy bits back.  You have to pass a physical, attend fifty hours of Bible study, and draw a picture of a cute bunny.  Then you must absolutely swear on the pantaloons of Gary Busey that you will only use yer babymakers for creatin' one of God's little miracles.  We're hoping to have these death machines in libraries, post offices, and zoos across this great nation of ours by January 2013."

The Mugwump Corporation has placed an order for three of these machines.