Load Up the Mazer Pipes

I swallowed the bag of grass just before the door blew open. Five cops piled into the room. I dropped into the fetal position and they ran past me. My breathing became harder. I crawled behind the sofa and chewed a hole in the upholstery. A plain clothed cop walked in and pointed his gun at me.
“What’s going on here?” he said.
“They went upstairs.” I pointed.
“Yeah. They got who they wanted. I’m asking about you.”
“Oh. I’m just getting my wallet.”
“Don’t move your fukin hands.” He walked toward me very slowly.
“I wouldn’t…”
“Shut the fuk up,” he said. He crouched down and looked into the sofa. An arrow pierced through the back of his head and he collapsed. A dwarf clone of Chuck Norris dove out of the sofa into a ninja roll and then kip-upped onto his feet.
“Where too boss?” he said.
“We’ll take the back exit. Can you drive?”
“Sure boss.”
“Actually, I’ll drive and you man the thermal cannons,” I said.
We slipped out the back door and into the tool shed. I jumped into the driver seat and punched the lift rockets to life. Chorris armed the thermal cannons and loaded up two mazer rifles.
I could hear people running around outside.
“Lets move it,” said Chorris.
I slammed the accelerator to the ground and pulled back on the steering column. Nothing.
“Fuk!” I yelled.
“The parking break.”
I pulled parking release and we blasted through the roof of the tool shed and flew into the sky. When we reached a high enough altitude, I slowed down and aimed toward Baltar Hampoon 35.
“I’m gonna put it on auto-pilot for a second, I got to take a massive shit.”
“Want some prunes or figs?” Chorris pulled out a leather bag filled with all sorts of dried fruit.
“No thanks. But I could use some mineral oil if you have any.”
“Course.” He pulled out a beaker and I pounded 350 ml.
I grabbed onto the hand rails and started my deep breathing cycle. I inhaled for seven seconds, held it for twenty eight, and then exhaled for fourteen. After my third cycle I was ready. I took a huge breath and exhaled as fast as I could. I kicked my right knee up to my forehead and tightened my stomach muscles and a stinging log of dump and plastic bag jammed out my ass into the mesh net. The poo slopped through the holes and my bag of precious weed was left drooping in the net.
“Who wants to get roasted?” I asked.
2) We slowed down as the police cruiser flew in behind us. I turned off the phase propulsion and switched to hover mode. Chorris puffed one more time on his blunt and threw it into the trash port.
“What’s the plan boss?” he said.
“You just keep your cool. Don’t fire unless I say so.”
“Think you can talk your way out of this one?”
“I’m hoping so.”
The officer pulled up next to me and locked onto our engine. He waited a second while his computer printed out our record and then he opened our entry hatch. His holster was unbuttoned.
“License and registration please. And could you have your friend step away from the artillery.”
“Chorris, take a seat.”
“Do you know why I stopped you?” the officer asked.
“No idea. I just came back from my Grandma’s rest home. We were…”
“Yeah fine. Anyway, I stopped you because there was smoke coming out of your solar vent.”
“Oh. We had it open I guess.”
“Yeah. You might have. My spectrometer measured a high concentration of THC in the smoke. Have either of you been smoking hash or marijuana?”
“I have sir,” said Chorris. “I have a lung condition.”
“Do you have records to prove that?” said the officer.
“Sure do.” Chorris slowly reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it up and showed the officer his Bluntmaster card.
“Works for me. Alright. Its probably good that you keep the vent open and remember not to drive when you are high. Unless you were high when you learned to drive.”
“I was not sir,” said Chorris.
“Well you two have a safe trip to wherever you’re going.” The officer closed the hatch and released us from engine lock. I re-primed the phase drive and eased out into space.
“Fukin asshole,” said Chorris, “I should have plastered him.”
“Great. That’s just what we need.”
“It would have made for a better story.”
“Sure. But at least now you’ll live to tell this one. Looks like we got another fifteen hours till we land. Another round of bingers?”
Chorris unlatched the hookah and threw in a brick of white widow. I recharged the cooling chamber and primed the charcoal.
I took a long smooth breath of smoke and kicked the captains chair into zombie position. My feet were resting on the dash and my head was sunk back into the cushion. Chorris tuned the hi-fi to the soul music station and cranked up the bass.
“Quadruple Fudge Pistacio Queefpaste,” I said, loud enough for the concession-bot to hear and it whirred to life. A hose dropped from the ceiling into my mouth and I let the ice cream ooze into my stomach. A couple minutes later I dozed off into a dream.
3) My seat flipped back into operating position and I work up with a start. The monitor flashed twenty five minutes. We were almost to our destination. I shook Chorris but he didn’t move. I shook him again and he fell off the chair. I kicked him and he rolled under the back seat.
“Come on hogg. We’re setting down in a half hour.”
He jumped up and landed in a horse stance. He whipped out a couple panther punches and a round house kick and then sat back into his chair.
“That was pretty good, huh?”
“Not bad. You still have work to do on your breathing though.” Chorris used to be a magician’s apprentice. He’s performed his dead humanoid trick across the galaxy.
We prepared for the landing and then jettisoned the last of our contraband. We had never been to this planet before and we didn’t want to take any chances.

Did somebody say POONGRISTLE?

JT always laughed when Billy said “poongristle.” Sometimes in class, after the teacher asked a particularly difficult question, Billy would raise his hand and bounce in his seat as if he had the answer. The teacher would grudgingly call on him, hoping that this time would be different. Billy would stand up slowly and say, “Could the answer possibly be POONGRISTLE?” and then he would reach into his pants, pull out a handful of shit and throw it at the hamster cage.
Billy wasn’t really one of JT’s friends though. Billy was part of the cool plus crowd. The coolest of the cool. The guys that got the chicks, the chicks, and the fukin chicks. Billy’s dad, Ralf and JT’s dad, Grout were good buddies though. They were on the same bow hunting team.
Last weekend Ralf threw a big party cause they placed third in the national bow hunting championships. Grout asked JT if he wanted to go but JT said he had too much studying to do. Grout told him about all the cool shit in Ralf’s backyard, so JT decided to go.
JT walked around the backyard to find Billy. Billy was in the Jacuzzi teabagging their math teacher, Mrs. Thompson. JT eased into the Jacuzzi and started talking to a girl smoking a hash pipe.
“How’s it going, my name’s JT,” he said.
“I’m Margerie. How do you know Billy?” she said.
“Oh, we’re in the same English class.”
“You go to Weed High?”
“Yeah. Do you?” JT asked.
“No, but I will be next semester. We just moved here.”
“Where’d you move from?”
“Chicago. Billy and I are cousins.”
“Cool. So you’ve known him for a while?” said JT.
“Yep. You smoke hash?”
“Naw. My dad’s here. I mean, I have before. I smoked marijuana. It’s like marijuana right?”
“Yeah. I think it’s better though. Here, I’ll give you a little piece.”
“Cool. I’ll smoke it when I get home.”
Margerie laughed. “It’s not for later. Stick it up your butt.”
“Stuff it in my butthole?”
“Yep. Here watch, I’ll do it. It gives you a raging high.” Margerie ripped off a small piece of hash and stuffed it into her butt.
“Doesn’t it hurt?” asked JT.
“Ain’t you ever been cornholed?” asked Margerie. “I’m just kidding. It’s like taking a reverse poo, it’s no big deal.”
JT stuffed the hash in his butt and then took a drink of his weight gainer power shake.
“What’s cool is if you want to get high quicker, you can shoot it farther up your ass by sitting against a jet.” She hoisted herself up a little and let the jet blast into her keester.
JT stood up and stepped out of the jacuzee. “I got to go to the bathroom.”
“Don’t shit it out. That’s good hash.” She said.
JT stumbled towards the bathrooms and ran into the caterer fixing the chips and salsa.
“Is there any hurl in that salsa?” asked JT.
“What is hurl?” said the caterer.
JT barfed in the salsa bowl and then pissed in the bag of chips.
“There you go,” he said and then walked into the house.
Grout and Ralf were sitting at the bar examining Grout’s latest purchase. A lazer sighted compound bow made of a graphire substrate with a fission powered string equalizer.
“God damm Ralf, are you even gonna need me on your team?” said Grout.
“Of course fukbroiler. That one is for you. I’ve got two more just like it.”
“You’re fukin kidding right?”
Grout noticed JT staring at them.
“You OK son?”
“Oh yeah. I’m great. That’s one mean looking bow Dad. What are you gonna do with your old one?” said JT.
“This thing is for show. It’s not legal for competition. Is it Ralf?”
“Naw. Not yet. But I got some friends working on it,” said Ralf.
“Some ninjas?” said Grout.
“Yep. Straight from feudal Japan. Cost me a fortune, but they should give the league chairman some good reasons to bend the rules a little bit. Every sport has to evolve right?”
“Evolve or die,” said JT.
Everyone started laughing.
“That’s right kid. That’s one smart boy, Grout. One smart boy. You know my Billy from school right?”
“Yeah. We’re in the same English class.”
“How is he doing? I’m always getting calls from my teacher about him disrupting class. Is that true.”
“Oh. No more than anyone else. It’s a pretty lively class.”
“That’s good.”
“Dad, I need to get my bong out of the car,” said JT.
Grout threw the keys and took a hit from his speefnarkle. JT walked out to the car and popped the trunk. He unzipped his backpack and took out all the schoolbooks. His bong was gone. JT played the day’s events back in his head and said the F word out loud. He left his bong at the rec center. He and Dusty were playing bumper pool and smoking bongloads behind the raquetball courts. “Fuk!”
Grout closed the trunk and wandered down the street to the liquor store. The cashier was teabagging his math teacher, Mrs. Thompson.
“Where are your chocco tacos?” said JT.
“Are you roasted?” said the cashier.
“Yeah. I’m frying pretty bad.”
“On acid? Are you seeing trailers?”
“No. I put some hash in my rectum.”
“You keestered hash? Tits. I know the perfect treat,” said the cashier, “Get a couple of those cheap fudge bars and squirt some of that chili on it.”
“Jeezus, are you sure? Sounds like a dog fart on a stick.”
“That’s rich. Trust me. I keester all the time. It’s where it’s at. If you don’t like it, come back and I’ll give you a chocco taco for free.”
“Alright.” JT reached down into the freezer and pulled out the fudge bars. He smashed them into a nachos tray and then squirted some chili onto it. “There’s no way I can eat this pile of fukmunch.” He took a spork and started chowing into it. It didn’t agree with his stomach. He bent over and started breathing heavily. His head started turning purple.
The cashier ran over to help him but he was too late.
JT pulled down his pants and launched a firehose of acid diarrhea all over the cereal boxes. The cashier pulled out a fly swatter and scraped part of the wall. He pulled out his hash pipe and brushed the tomato skins off the hash piece. He ripped into the hash and finished it in one puff.
“That ought to teach you to trust a hash junkie,” said the cashier.

The Fastest Growing Trend in America Today!

The sign said “Thank You for your business!” I wanted to rip that sign down, cut it into ninja stars and give the guy a cannibal turd/ninja star enema. But I did what any controlled, normal member of civilized society would do, I went to my car, took a shit in a bag, found his caddilac, opened the hood and dropped the shit into his air conditioning vent. Then I broke the back window and the alarm went off. When he came out of his shop, I put on my Irish greenskeeper disguise, hid some bushes and waited. He looked at his car and turned off the alarm.
“Excuse me, but do you mind if I play through,” I said jumping out of the bushes.
“What the fuck?”
I took the sand wedge, walked in front of him, dropped my ball, and then golf clubbed him straight in the dick.
“Let that be a lesson to you, fukram,” I said and calmly walked out of there. He dropped to the ground and started foaming at the mouth.
When I got home, there was a message on the machine. It was from some police officer named Officer Jim Warmley. He wanted to speak to me about an assault in a parking lot. I called the number and got him on the phone.
“This is Jim Warmley.”
“Hello Mr. Warmley, this is Archie Bluto, you called me earlier.”
“Yes. I got a complaint from the owner of Jebb’s Tangblast Liquidators. He says you hit him in the penis with a golf club.”
“What? A sand wedge is not just any golf club, its one of the most versatile clubs you can have in your quiver. A real swiss army knife of a hitter. Give me a putter, a three wood and a sand wedge and I can out golf just about any fuck steak on the course.”
“So you did hit him in the penis with a sand wedge?”
“If you’re gonna call a perfect golf swing a hit, then you’re sadly mistaken officer. I did nothing of the sort. Sure I executed an amazing follow through on a master class swing and his dick happened to get in the way. But if you’re gonna stand there and tell me that I hit him in the penis, you’re gonna have to find another sucker to pin this on.”
“Mr. Bluto, I feel like I am not getting through to you. Did you or did you not swing a golf club in the direction of Jebb Jebbstump the owner of a tangblast liquidator this afternoon.”
“Alright then. Thank you for your time.”
“Thank you and go fuk yourself.” I slammed the phone down, cracked a beer and eased the Laz-y-boy into launch position. The topless golf tournament was just about over. I lifted up the armrest and flipped the toggle switch. My six-chamber gravity bong lowered down to my mouth. I pressed the ignition and a bald midget on the roof sparked up the lighter. My lungs filled up with the smoke and I closed my eyes.
I heard the keys in the doorway and immediately hid the bong. The house cleaner comes early on Monday evenings, I had totally forgotten. She was from Quebec and only spoke Portuguese. I snapped up from my Laz-y-boy and went into the bedroom to nap while she did her things.
I was waiting for her to leave when I heard someone else come in the house. It was a female voice so I didn’t get angry. She sometimes has her friend over and they team clean the house. I walked down the stairs and I was totally wrong. It was my ex-wife. She spoke perfect Portuguese and they were chatting on the patio smoking cigarettes.
“Hello Mable,” I said, “what brings you here?”
“I was just in the area and decided to drop by.”
“Cool. I was just watching golf upstairs, can I get you something to drink?”
“Yeah. I’d like a cran and wolf piss,” she said.
“Coming right up. Does Eurvotta want anything?”
Mable asked the cleaning lady in Portuguese. She nodded her head and said something that sounded like “worms and puke”.
“She’d like a turbo blast with a beer back.”
“Sure, I’ll be right back.”
I went to the bar and fixed the drinks and then poured a Speefnarkle for myself.
“You still drinking Speefnarkles Artie?”
“Sure am.”
“You know they played a major roll in ruining our marriage don’t you?”
“Sure do.”
“That and all the grass smoking. You have given that up right?”
“Over my dead body.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said. “Anyway, I’m not here to give you any grief.”
“I’m so fukin relieved,” I said.
“I’m here cause I forgot some stuff when I moved out.”
“Like what?”
“There is a duffel bag in the attic that I left.”
“The one with all the guns?”
“You looked in my personal stuff?” she said.
“Course I looked in it. You’re one month too late though. I got rid of them on eBay.”
“You’re kiddin right Archie. You’re kidding?”
“Yeah I’m kidding. Though I may need one of them. I had some trouble with an asshole salesman today.”
“And you want to kill him?”
“No, just perforate him a little. Teach him about fair business practices.”
“And this is for the good of humanity? You could get in a lot of trouble for shooting someone.”
“Yeah. I know. I probably won’t, but I sure would love to.”
“Well Arch there’s a big difference in doing and wanting to.”
“I know. I know. I already golf clubbed the guy in the dick. I guess that’s enough. I’m still irked though.”
“You know what I do when I’m pissed off,” said Mable.
“You cheat on your husband?” I said.
“Very funny. Seriously though, I’ve found something that really helps in those situations.”
“Well I would love to know what it is.”
“I don’t think it would work for you though.”
“Well I wouldn’t know unless I tried,” I said.
“Have you ever tried a cannibal turd/ninja star enema?”

You Little Fukin Spoil Sport

Henry waited until she got into her car. She was pretty for her age, though that wasn’t Henry’s main motivation. He was attracted to her because of her money. She grew up in the house behind him, though then had never officially met until that night. As she pulled out of the parking lot, Henry started pedaling his bike. When she was at just the right spot, Henry crashed on his bike right in front of her.
“Holy shitfire!” Henry yelled and started kicking his bike tire. “You fukin slimy piece of goddam shitfuck piece of crapdick firetit fukpile of shit. I should throw you off a cliff and shoot you.”
“Are you alright?” she asked.
“Yeah. This fukin bike is always pulling stunts like this. I have never seen such a stubborn piece of scrap metal. Well its gonna take three hours to get home now.”
“Where do you live?”
“Really far, do you know where the Jenkins farm is?”
“You live out there?”
“Farther. I’ll call my cousin. Hopefully he’s not jacked up on hornet killer.”
“Let me give you a ride home.”
“Are you sure, its pretty far. That would be fukin tits if you did.”
“What do you mean tits?”
“It means good. Dandy. Swell. Keen. Sporting. Speaking of which I’m sporting a rig right now.”
“You guys with your slang. Put the bike in the trunk, I’ll give you a ride.”
“Thank you. I’ll never forget this act of kindness.” Henry heaved the bike into the trunk and stepped into the vehicle.
They drove for a while and then she stopped the car.
“What’s the matter.”
“I just remember where I saw you,” she said.
“What do you mean.”
“Don’t you live behind me? Aren’t you Parkey’s brother?”
“Yeah, so?”
“Aren’t you the one that used to spy on me when I was skinny dipping with the soccer team.”
“Aren’t you the kid that used to yell ‘I’m gonna cornhole you Mrs. Heatrix’ over the fence while you flung dog turds into my pool.”
“So what are we really doing?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well are you gonna try to cornhole me?”
“I can’t believe you asked me that.”
“It seems like a legitimate question since I don’t think you live all the way out here.”
“Just take me home would you. I’m another fifteen miles up the road unless you want to let me out here.”
“Now hold on. This was just getting interesting. Listen Henry, have you ever smoked cannabis?”
“You mean marijuana right? Of course, I power at least twelve bongloads every day.”
“Do you know how to roll blunts?”
“I don’t smoke a lot of joints or blunts but I have rolled them.”
“Why don’t you roll one up and we’ll hot box this thing.”
“I really should get home.”
“What are you afraid of? Looks like your better half is interested.” She pointed down to Henry’s weasel.
“Oh Senior Lorax. He’s just got nervous energy.”
“Well Senior Lorax, you gonna let your buddy here chicken out?”
Senior Lorax pushed his way out of Henry’s pants and jumped onto the dash board. Mrs. Heatrix passed it a lit cigarette. Henry rolled up a blunt and sparked it up.
“Jeezus. What’s in this grass?”
“Plutonium waste.”
“You mean from a nuclear power plant?”
“Yeah my family owns a couple of them,” she said.
“Tits. I mean it tastes good. I heard you get a headache from..”
“From nuclear waste? No. Its perfectly harmless. Gives you that mellow buzz that you’re feeling.”
“I’m not feeling any mellow buzz.”
“You fukin pussy,” said Henry’s dick, “YOU FUKIN PUSSY!” Then it started laughing.
“Theres no need to laugh youngster,” she said “Henry’s just going through a little mental adjustment. Henry pass the blunt please.”
Henry passed the blunt over to her and she passed it to Senior Lorax. “After you.”
Senior Lorax took one puff, went limp, and fell onto the floor.
Mrs. Heatrix slowly unbuttoned her blouse and pulled off her bra. “Hows this Henry?”
Henry stared at her left nipple. “I can’t complain.”
“Is the cannabis affecting you yet?” She pulled her tits out of their socket and attached them to the cieling.
“Yeah, that nuclear waste really makes me mellow.”
“I knew you’d like it. Everyone that tries is loves it. Now shall we get down to business?”
“What business is that?”
“Who said anything about cornholin’. I just want to get home.”
“Henry, we both know thats not why you’re here.” She unbuttoned her pants and slid them off her ankles.
“Well I…”
“I know Henry. I feel the same way. You must get awful lonely all the way out here.”
“I don’t really live out here. I was gonna take you to this grain silo and seduce you.”
“Thats an awfully bland word for cornholin’” Mrs. Heatrix reached down between her legs and pulled out her vagina and threw it into the back seat. She motioned to Henry.
“What, you want me to get back there?”
“No stupid, the Lorax.”
“My dick. No way. I don’t know where that things been,” said Henry.
“Fine.” Mrs. Heatrix grabbed Senior Lorax off the ground and threw it into the back seat. It perked to life with a subsonic hum. “Senior Lorax, meet Carlotta. Show him who’s boss Carlotta.”
The viagina started popping up and down on the bearskin seat cover. The wang started climbing up to the headrest.
“Wait.” Mrs. Heatrix pulled her butthole out and placed it on the rear speaker. She put in her Falco tape and turned up the bass. The butthole started spinning and jumped down next to the vagina. The wang made it onto the headrest and then began to pulsate with the music.
“Thats enough,” said Henry, “If you want to humiliate yourself, you go ahead, but I’m not gonna watch this circus.”
“Harry, don’t be such a spoil sport,” said Mrs. Heatrix.
The wang took a big breath and jumped off the headrest toward the vagina. This pissed off the butthole. It pulled out a dart gun and shot three darts into the dickhead. The vagina slid down into the seat crack and crawled into the trunk.
Henry grabbed his dick and threw the darts out the window. He put it back in his pants. “Can we go now?”

Bok Bok Bok Fuk-a-chicken

It was a powerful feeling. J.C. had never killed another human being before. He crouched over the body and ran his hands through the blood. He smeared a little bit on the guys face and then stood up.
“Let that be a lesson to you. Next time you or your brothers try to steal my chickens, you best be armed,” he said and walked away.
The body laid there for a week before J.C. came back and buried it under the chicken coop.
The real estate appraiser came back into the house and told J.C. the good news. The house was worth a shitload should he decide to put it on the market. In fact at the rate they are building in the area, the place could probably be sold within a couple days. J.C. asked if he should clean it up and repaint it. The appraiser said not to bother. It had a real old-farmhouse charm.
Ten days later the house was sold and J.C. was moving out. He had packed everything into a rented moving van. After he put his chickens in the passenger seat he remembered the body. He turned to his favorite chicken.
“What do you think Jarvis?” he said.
“About the body? It will be fine,” said the chicken, “I made sure to crap on it every other day.”
“Thanks buddy, you’re always looking out for me. Remind me to put a couple of crack rocks in your feed tomorrow.”
“I could actually use a couple right now, if you don’t mind. Its a pretty long ride.”
“You need a puff, brother?”
“Does an elf have three dicks?” said the chicken.
J.C. loaded up his crack pipe with his last rocks. The chicken powered them down and passed the pipe back. J.C. finished it up and then hid it under the seat.
“Remind me to stop by Hank before we get on the freeway,” said J.C.
“Are you kidding. As soon as this buzz wears off I’m gonna be fiending.”
They backed up out of the driveway and J.C. hit the gas.
The next morning Smitty and Janice moved in.
“I love it Smitty!” yelled Janice. “It’s everything we always talked about. I’m gonna paint the shed, we can grow marijuana in there. I’m gonna plant a garden too. What do you think about growing lavender? Where is the nearest home improvement center?”
“One thing at a time hon. We got a bit of cleaning up to do still. Why don’t we invite your brother and his wife over for dinner and they can help us unpack.”
“That sack of turds,” said Janice, “I don’t want him over here yet. Not until I take inventory of what we have.”
“You honestly think he’s gonna steal our stuff?”
“He’s done it before.”
“That’s when you were kids. He’s probably grown out of that by now.”
“What about when he stole your speakers.”
“He didn’t steal my speakers, he took the cones out and switched them with his shitty ones. He put them back.”
“Whatever, that’s still stealing.”
“Yeah you’re right. Forget it. I want to check this place out again. I only saw it once when the realtor was with me.”
They walked out into the backyard.
“A chicken coop. How cool,” said Janice.
“Yeah. Fresh eggs every day. What do you think about that.”
“I think we’ll get sick of them.”
“We can give them to the neighbors, or we can throw them at the skunks.”
“Thats funny Smitty.”
“You want to make love in the chicken coop?” said Smitty.
“Hell no, that thing is unclean.”
“You’ve never wanted to make love in the hay? An old fashioned roll in the hay like in the movies.”
“No, but I’ll go for it in the daisies.”
Smitty and Janice cornholed in the flowers until the sun went down. They returned to the house and cleaned the kitchen. Janice cleaned behind the refrigerator. She found a scrap of paper with a checklist on it.
1) Break down ML
2) Body under coop
3) Guns in attic
4) Finish ticket
Smitty walked over to check it out.
“What’s that? It looks like a list.”
“Yeah what do you think ML is?”
“Body under coop doesn’t sound too healthy,” said Smitty.
“What do you think we should do?”
“It could be nothing. I’ll check it out in the morning.”
“Smitty. I don’t like this. Who lived here?”
“I don’t know? Some hick I’m guessing.”
“OK. Some small town person. They all have guns. It may be a dog that he buried or something. These people are real sentimental about their pets.”
“Lets go look.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
“It’s our house now.”
“Fine. Where did we pack the flashlight?”
“Get the one in the trunk.”
Smitty went out to the car and pulled out the flashlight and the tire iron. He went back into the house.
“Unpack one of the big kitchen knives,” he said. Janice pulled out the boner and they walked out the back door.
They unlocked the coop and there was a man’s head sitting in one of the chicken nests.
“Oh excuse me,” it said, “do you know where my friends have gone?”
Janice screamed and threw the knife at the head. It stuck into its ear.
“God damn lady! Can’t a guy ask a simple question?”
“What the fuk are you doing in my chicken coop?” said Smitty.
“Trying to get laid, what does it look like?” said the head.

What Ye Plow, Ye Shall Beef

“Wait one chicken fukin second fukram, what is your sock doing in my glovebox?” said Wilson.
“I was using it to huff the tire inflator,” said Sir Jenkinz.
“Oh. Well throw it away when you are done. If my girlfriend finds that she’ll think I’m back on the huff again and she’ll throw away all the hornet killer.”
“Sorry Wilson, I was pretty fuked up when I got back. Let me look around to see if I left anything else.”
Sir Jenkinz reached under the drivers seat and pulled out a magazine. He popped the trunk and picked up his four foot bong.
“Whoah, some night you had,” said Wilson, “Who was the lucky lady?”
“Can you say eight hookers? I got paid yesterday.”
“Apparently. What, you drive down to the river and have a picnic and then a little plowman’s desert?”
“Very funny. Actually I rented one of those teepees on the Indian reservation.”
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” said Wilson, “maybe I’ll have to get that number from you.”
“Its a piece of cake, just go to the website. There’s all kinds. I ordered the Chief Weaseldick special. Thats six hookers, twenty bottles of wine, a half case of fine blunts, and a fukload of strawberries and cherries and whipped cream.”
“I thought you had eight hookers?”
“Yeah. I warmed up with one one the way. Thats where the dent in the roof came from.”
“Oh,” said Wilson, “don’t worry about that, I’ll have Levi pull it out.”
“I figured you would. When I get my van back, I’ll let you take it out and hump your girlfriend on the roof. There’s a meteor shower coming up next month. Hopefully it will be ready.”
“I told you to go to Golden Joe’s. My transmission was totally fuked up and they rebuilt it for less than you probably spent last night.”
“Oh I doubt that. I got an Entertainment Book from my cousin for Christmas. Probably one of the best gifts I’ve ever gotten. They got coupons for everything.”
“Yeah we always talk about getting one, but not for the hookers. I don’t play that anymore. But I’m seriously considering getting my dick shrunk.”
“Are you talking about getting your dick shrunk again? What does your girlfriend think about this?”
“She’s into it. I figure if I can take it down to two inches stiff then I can save a bundle on underwear and condoms.”
“Really. How much? I mean annualy?”
“At least four bucks a year. Sure that doesn’t sound like a ton, but that shit adds up. If you count all the seconds saved in inconvenience. No more wearing goggles when we make love, no more stepping on it when I go piss at night, no more soggy cieling.”
“Well you do what you have to do, but I would never let anyone near my dong with a sharp object.”
“Oh, they do it with radio waves now. Actually its a very simple process. You can get the home kit on the internet. Its got a DVD and everything. You can see the demo online. Anyway, I gotta finish waxing, I’m taking Marla out tonight.”
“Fresh. If you want that number to the teepees, let me know.”
“Tits bro, I will.”
“See ya.” Wilson turned on the water and sprayed down the car. He applied a fine coat of turtle spunk and polished it with the orbital polish master. Marla walked out of the house.
“Was that Sir Jenkinz?” said Marla.
“Yeah, he just came by to get a screwdriver.”
“Did you let him borrow our car again?”
“No. Baby I’ve got to finish this so that I can take a shower.”
“You did. You let that ratscratcher borrow it. Did he fuk it up?”
“The car is fine. He needed it to take his great aunt to the hospital.”
“Sure. If you believe that tripe than I’ve got a swamp for you to drain in Cleveland.”
“Baby, I’m almost done. I’ll be inside in a couple of minutes.”
“Alright. I’m gonna get ready then.”
“Wait for me to shower, though.”
“Sorry, you lost that privilege, remember,” said Marla. She walked back into the house and turned on the shower. The bathroom steamed up and smelled like rotting farts. Marla closed the door and poured some cold cranberry juice. She tuned the stereo to her favorite station. Radio Poongristle, an eclectic mix queefs and beats. She stripped down to her underwear and laid back on her exercise ball. The song ended and the VJ announced the time.
“Its six forty seven, time for intervals,” said the VJ, “and a one and queef and a two and queef and a one and queef and a three and queef. Now keep going while I switch the record.”
Marla queefed for a bit and then got tired of it. She went into the bathroom and pissed and then got into the shower.
Wilson turned off his buffer and dropped a little water on the hood. It looked good, just like in the infomercials. The water beaded up and slid right off. In fact he could barely see where Sir Jenkinz had dented the roof the night before. Wilson drove the car back into the garage and popped the hood. He opened the radiator and snaked his four foot dick down into the inner workings. At first the car started caughing but then the motor slowly started to purr. Wilson jammed his dick further down and now it was half way to the engine block. He plunged it back and forth and then pulled it out. It was covered with soot and grease but the car was running much better now. He walked out to the curb and spun around in a circle. The grease flung onto the sidewalk and into the street.
Mrs. Knudsoftie slid open her front window and yelled at Wilson.
“Looks like you could use a little cleaning up. Why don’t you come inside and I’ll scrub that appendage till it barks for mercy?” she said.
“No thanks. I’ve got to get ready for my date.”
“Well if you ever get bored, you know where to find me.”
“We both know that will never happen Mrs. Knudsoftie,” said Wilson, “did you still need that crescent wrench?”
“Yeah, I’m still having trouble with the hamster cage. Everytime I fix it, Carlton chews through the wiring again.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
Wilson walked into the house and jumped into the shower. Marla was washing the conditioner out of her hair.
“Honey, the drain is stuck again.”

Before the Clown Stops Queefing

Billy Joe Pooloafer was probably the last guy I expected to see climbing off my wife. Our breakup had started some five years ago. I remember the exact moment, I was headed out of town on a business trip. If you’ve ever had people come to your door to sell you magazines, thats called a mag crew. I ran one of those. I would recruit homeless people, kids who had run away, people with no hope left, anyone who couldn’t get a normal job. I’d drive them to different towns in a huge old school bus that was supplied by my boss. I won’t tell you his name, only that he and half his entourage had been driven out of the country over ten years ago. Currrently he lives in Uruguay on a giant plantation. Anyway, I was leaving to take the mag crew out the next morning so that night I made my wife a nice dinner of breaded chicken and a double size bottle of wine. We drank and mowed through the chicken and then started frolicking on the stove. We turned the burner to low and we were kissing and then I ripped a fart accidentally. She stopped kissing me and started gagging. Earlier that day I had eaten a ton of wasabi peas and a bunch of unripe nectarines. She ran over to the sliding door and opened it to breathe fresh air. When she was done I was laying on the couch with my underwear off. She looked at me with disgust and told me to take a shower and not to forget to shove the soap up my ass. I went to my computer instead and whacked it to some downloaded porno.
We didn’t speak to each other for the rest on the night. In the morning when I was ready to leave she finally said something. “I may or may not be here when you get back.” Well that was some quick thinking I told her and I left.
That night I tried to call her from the road and just got a busy signal. I took it as a sign that we were not on speaking terms so I hit the bar with some of my crew and we kept drinking and drinking. I heard later that I passed out under the pool table. My workers had carried me back to the bus on their shoulders and hosed the puke off my clothes.
The next morning I tried to call again and she answered.
“Jacob, its fuking six thirty in the morning,” she said.
“Baby, first thing, I wanted to apologize for ripping that fart.”
“No you’re not, you were laughing.”
“I wasn’t laughing. I was shaking in embarrassment. Anyway, it’s past. I can’t wait to get back home and see you. You’ll still be there right?”
“Yeah. I’ll be here. We’re gonna have some talking to do though.”
“I know. I’m gonna try and change, its just hanging around with all these losers all day effects me.”
“I’ll see you when you get home. I’m gonna get back to sleep.”
“OK. Bye Snookums.” I hung up the phone and took a swig of menudo smoothee. We had a real good pull that day. A couple people from the crew never returned though. We headed to the next town the following morning.
On our fifth night I took everyone out to dinner at Fuckys Beer & Tits. I had the pelted vartsteak and a huge mug of Fire Piss. One of the crew, Helga, started playing footsies with me. I kept pushing her foot away until she took her shoes off and rubbed my inner thigh. Well I got a little excited an pulled out my pud. She pulled off her stocking and started caressing my wang. I kept drinking and eating and then I busted a nut covering the entire underside of the table. I stuffed the general back in and ran to the bathroom. I heard screaming and clanging iron back in the dining room and when I came out there were three dudes in chain mail armor with swords and crossbows fighting back a huge chlorine smelling white slime. I put a hundred on the cash register and we took off back to the KOA.
The next morning we headed back home. I dropped the winos off with their earnings at the liquor distributors. The junkies got out at the alley behind Safeway. And then Helga and I stopped by the river for some brisk skinny dipping. We replayed the previous night but this time I only felt guilty. I stopped early and told her that it wasn’t right. She got pissed and pulled out a bike chain and started swinging it at me. I grabbed it and ripped it away from her. Her hands were bleeding so I covered them with petroleum jelly and wrapped them with galvanized fencing. She apologized and I dropped her off in front of her uncle’s.
I drove back home rehearsing what I was gonna say to my wife. I didn’t want to apologize anymore. What I wanted to do came straight from that movie with Mikhail Douglas where he opens the door and the girl throws herself at him and he tears her clothes off and she tears his clothes off and they cornhole till the cows come home. It didn’t happen quite like that. When I broke the door down with my dong she was there alright, but she was already partially nude waiting for me. Or so I thought. I ran over and jumped on her. But while I was in mid air a band of gypsies emerged from behind the door and grabbed me and stapled me to the ceiling. My wife was stapled to the floor with a kiwi fruit in her mouth and a celery stick out her ass. The leader of the gypsys pulled his mask off and he had three ears.
“This is your lucky day, Mr. Krevoks. Your wife and I were just talking about you. Now if you’d kindly give us the combination to her chastity belt we’ll be going.”
“Forty seven.”

Water Hawk

Water Hawk. In days of yore and times of pain there lived a giant with a taste for freezer eagle. He woke every morning and pillaged the townsfolk. He pawned off half the shit he scored and then hid the rest in frog holes on the hill behind his house. Every day at noon he visited his smoking chamber and studied his rituals. This giant was a learning machine. He could process information at a rate ten thousand times the average mammal. He had fifty brains placed at strategic locations throughout his body. They were backed up by a cellular RAID system. If brain cells from one brain were destroyed by some ditch weed or poorly synthesized acid, there were already duplicate brain cells moving along the lymph stream to replace them. He read everything he could get his hands on. He inhaled the information like time was running out. In fact it was, and it still is. If you are reading this then you know what I am talking about. Do you ever feel like your life is just wearing down in fast motion? That’s because it is. We are all getting weaker. That’s because there are giants crapping upstream. The river of shit water that we consume on a daily basis is enough to stunt anyone’s development. But at the rate the shit is flowing into our systems now, we are getting weaker faster than we ever have in history. You are watching yourself sufficate in fart. You too feel the weight getting heavier. Its getting harder and harder to dig yourself out of that hole isn’t it? You know when you go to bed but you just sit there running escape plans in your head. Now when I walk into a room, I will know where every potential exit is. I will have plotted two or three escape plans including using my foldable grappling hook. If you’re looking for a real self-confidence builder then you too should carry the newest in grappling technology. This five prong beauty is built to last a life time but still maintains that timeless look that you’ll be proud to wear. Five billion ninjas can’t be wrong!

Hip Joint Went Haywire

“You can take that scurvy dick and your sallow ass cheeks and skittle the fuck back into your shitty car and back to your shitty planet and drink all the beer you want. But on this planet we don’t do that shit in our buddies house.” I was pissed. Charlestone Hughlorf had taken my grandma out on a date earlier that evening. I had driven them to the jacuzzee parlor. When I went back to pick them up there were five police cars outside. I walked in and flashed my badge. What I saw would put anyone back on abstinence. This horndog had plowed the place to shreds. There were pecker holes smashed in everywhere. Supposedly his hip joint went haywire but I still think he’s on speedballs. He and my grandma were sitting in the back of the police car. I went up to the commanding officer and introduced myself. He released the prisoners to me and I drove them back home. Charlestone picked up his things and ran into the backyard and started fucking the garden. Then he grabbed our costco bagel pack and plowed his wang through all three rows. They were inedible now. By the time I finally got him back into the car, the entire garden was gored and he even aerated the new lawn, which, I guess, was a good thing.

Sometimes I Fart, Sometimes Not

Are you one of those paranoid druggees? Are you always checking out the window to see if the cops are ready to bust down your door? Have you ever found a bug hidden in your taxidermy? I have to sweep and pet down all my muskrats before I feel safe enough to pull out my fifteen chamber nitro cooled brain-pounder gravity bong. But when I spark up that first bowl then its all worth it. My mind will laugh. I’ll chuckle and then smile as I inhale the mean fukin weed. Then I’ll rip through a couple more bowls and then put my dick through the cieling and wait for the hookers to sit on it. One of the only benefits of living under a brothel. There are a few more but I won’t get into them here. Sometimes Larry will come over with some angel dust and we’ll make a mushroom angel dust smoothee. Have you ever had your brain freeze on PCP? Mine freezes on arrival. When I’m blasting a nut my brain will actually stop working. I’ll sit there frozen with a strange face and then wildlife will turn around and give me a look of total unsatisfaction. A few times, actually more times than I’d like to admit, I will be sitting there with nut face until my dong wilts. Then I’ll moonwalk across the ceiling and hit the toilet for a piss. It will fork and I’ll be trying to shake the split out. And if I’ve had my daily dose of prune drops I will sit down for a grogan. Sometimes I fart, sometimes not. I’ll be staring at the door to the bathroom grinning. Maybe I’ll float a couple logs and get back into bed. Then I’ll almost instantly fall asleep and then the wildlife will hit the trough. I’ll wake up and all my alfalfa will be mowed to shit. Eventually I’ve learned that its not a good idea to leave exposed grains in your bedroom. I guess thats why they have root cellars.

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