You Fukin Loadie Stoner

Sometimes it feels like there is a little hammer carving a mural of Hervé Villechaize on the inside of my skull.
Sometimes I like to get stoned and do nothing. Just watch the same thing over and over. And then go eat something. Smoke a little more and then stay up late watching the shittiest movie I can find.
We must eliminate those undesireable things which plague our minds and our society. I, for one, would like to rid my brain of the microscopic bugs feedin and fukin all night.
You fukin loadie.
Your report card looks like shit.
You look like shit.
Your car is a piece of shit.
You took my frozen Rollos
you fukin loadie stoner.
Barker and Trundie just got divorced. They are meeting for the first time since he moved out.
“I’ve missed you huggie poo.” Barker wants to hug Trundie.
“What’s that stink?” says Trundie.
“What stink?” Barker checks himself out. “Oh that? I spent the weekend at Lithium Jim’s.”
“That fukin wino still with the college girl?”
“Yep. Four of them now. Whole place stinks like weed and cornholin.”

New Zoo Powerscrew

A pig’s dick is shaped like a corkscrew. When we would visit my cousins in the country, they had a bunch of randy pigs that they would let loose at the fair. The whole town would be filled with holes by the end of the weekend.
My cousins were cool cause they got to shoot guns and ride horses and drive tractors and huff gas. When I’d visit, my parents would let me go with the cousins and I would get super high and we’d have bb gun wars. We’d make ninja stars out of old cars. We’d hunt squirrels with machine guns.
I feel like a complete mental case when I walk up to the cashier with three jugs of cheap wine. But I learned early that the finer things in life shouldn’t cost more than a dollar a gallon. Spending every day after school in the alleyway with the winos paid off big time when I got my first job. I worked for a liquor distributor. My route lost the most merchandise of any in the city. They put a secret buyer on my route and trapped me. Now I work at the zoo.

Bong Your Lungs Out with Lithium Jim

You’ve got to be an idiot to think that there aren’t any space creatures out there. Whether they are nice or not probably depends on how we end up on this planet. Those fukers are watching. Betting. Waiting. Waiting to see how much the weed costs. And then they’ll come down in ships or get beamed down and they’ll grab all our weed and take it up to where ever they are from.
Even the worst weed that I have smoked is better than the crickets me and Lithium Jim used to smoke. We would put a piece of duct tape out on the sidewalk overnight to collect bugs and then we’d put then into a hookah and bong our lungs out all day long and then Lithium would practice his knee-spins.
I rode my fukin BMX everywhere. Bunny-hopping curbs. Bike dancing. Some ass wipes rode up to me and Lithium and roughed him up a bit. I learned how to make a super good blowgun. So I’d carry it to school in a secret pocket sewn into my jacket. I could ride my BMX with no hands while I blow gunned birds. I learned my lesson when I shot a dart into some dude’s stomach. Luckily before I did it I decided that I didn’t need to put copper rust, which is poisonous, on the tip of the dart. The Pukester and that guy later became good friends.

Dicing Poo for Fun and Profit

What’s the sound of a thousand rabbits shitting in your ear?
Purkin was a nature freak. He could track sparrows by the thickness of the shit on the branches. Everywhere he traveled he would collect turds. He had what was perhaps one of the finest scat collections in the galaxy. That all got ruined when his son wanted a dog. The little guy had to have a dog or he was gonna run away. That dog ate his entire collection the first night he was there. A decade’s worth of work recycled.
Purkin’s son became quite the tracker himself. Though he never did get a handle on the scat reading. Purkin remains to this day probably the fastest crap dicer I have ever seen.

The Pocket Wino

I was just five years old when I got my first kiss by a hot chick. Her name was Leslie. She won best handwriting for the entire grade. My best friend back then was a wino named Jerry. He would come to my class as my pet. And that’s why I think that The Pocket Wino will work. How often have you thought to yourself, “If only I had a wino right now.”
Jerry was super cool cause he could fart the alphabet. That’s how I learned to read. He was a scuba diver so he’d bring home abalone. My dad would buy it all and host a big abalone barbeque. That was when I enjoyed my first hooker. She was twice my age and had a tongue like a gorilla.
One day Jerry was very depressed. I stole a box of Wild Turkey out of the garage. We went to Jerry’s place and he made drinks called Speefnarkles. Thats where I got the name Speefnarkle.
Summertime was the best cause Jerry and I would go shoplifting. My dad would drop us off at the mall and then he’d pick us up a couple hours later and we’d have bags full of shit we stole. I told my dad that Jerry was a millionaire. I had posters on my wall of hot chicks smoking pot. Jerry was always telling me how fun smoking joints was. He really built them up to be cooler than the A-Team. So when I first smoked a joint, I was a little let down. For about five minutes. And then I just started laughing. I ran around the room and tore the front door off. I attacked a tomato bush with a fork. I wrestled sixteen winos at once. Then I got the fukin cottonmouth. I felt like my tongue was being sprayed by quinntuple breasted pixies.
Thats when I first got my true thirst for getting stoned. You laugh at hippies talking about hitting another dimension. The next couple times I smoked doobage blew my mind. Once I was talking to fifteen copies of myself and they were all trying to steal something from me. One of them stole my favorite GI Joe figure. I kicked his ass and made him empty his pockets. It was there under a pencil sharpener. He didn’t know how it got there. Just like I had no idea how that log of shit got in the pool.

Squirrel Fukin' Part 02

Continued from previous day

JEB (cont'd)
(still reading letter)
Now I find out I was just a front
so that you could cornhole
squirrels without being suspected.
Well this isn't the life I dreamed
of when I was a little girl. So
it's over. Goodbye.
Jeb crumples up the letter and throws it down. The door
outside creaks open. K-Bork walks in.
JEB (cont'd)
Is she with you?
Nope. It's all clear. Thanks for
not ratting me out.
Shit. You're my brother in-law.
Were my brother in-law. You want
your suit back?
Look Jeb. We're gonna get you out
of this.
Not this time. I'm going down.
I got one more trick under my
What shit are you trying to pull.
Judge Mensil.
What. You gonna hamstring him?
Blow his car up?
Nope. Chicken fukin'. I got a
picture of him waist-deep into an
angry hen.
Are you fukin with me?
Nope. Tonight I release it to the
news. You'll be walking by
Well shit. I'm getting hungry.
What's on the menu at Betsy's?
Hell, half this town lost their
virginity at Milt's farm.
I know. Sheriff Wattle's gettin
state money to crack down. Speaking
of crack. What's on the menu at
Old Zexxler should be on that
stand, not you. All them squirrels
runnin everywhere. That's
K-Bork. What's on the menu at
Aw fuk. Jeb. Betsy said you ain't
allowed near her place no more.
People won't eat the squirrel stew
if you're around. We could hit
Zexxler's for one last blast.
Who's driving?

Squirrel Fukin' Part 01

Spotlight is on a dude. He walks to the center and
gives monologue.
I cornholed four hundred and thirty
two squirrels last year. Only half
were strapped down. I did all this
because the devil told me to. But
I'm not afraid of my punishment
because I've got the love of a good
woman by my side.
Curtain closes.
Music comes up.
Room dressed like living room. Scattered props.
Title sequence projected onto rear screen.
Projector rises into cieling.
Jeb and MYRNA LOU enter. Jeb takes her coat off. Myrna Lou
runs off the stage.
Jeb turns to audience. Walks toward them. Puts leg up.
Where I come from, when a boy turns
18 they have to perform a rite of
passage in order to be accepted as
a true man in the community. That's
when I got my true taste for the
land mammal.
Myrna comes back on stage with a suitcase.
Did you see the Hendertons looking
at us.
Theres a knock on the door.
Jeb hunchbacks over. His abs have been blown-out from
squirrel fukin'.
He opens the door. K-BORK walks in. It's Myrna Lou's brother.
Come on Myrna Lou, we're taking you
out of here.
(sniffs around Jeb)
Jeezus man, you stink.
Jeb still has the door open. K-Bork checks in the ice chest.
K-BORK (cont'd)
Fukin loser doesn't even have
He pulls out some beer and cracks it and downs it. Pulls out
another. And comes and sits down. Myrna Lou is still
gathering her stuff. She slams her clothes down by her
suitcase. Jeb walks over and pokes through it. He pulls out a
t-shirt. Spreads it out. It says "Lets Get Stoned And Bone".
This is mine.
(pulls out a strap
This is my hernea belt.
(pulls out a toupee)
I bought you this merkin. I'm
keeping it.
She comes back out and grabs the shit and stuffs it back in.
He grabs her wrist.
JEB (cont'd)
That's my shit. You put it back
K-Bork jumps up. Slams his beer can down.
Jeb. You keep your squirrel fukin'
hands off her.
This ain't between you an' me K
Bork. This here's tween me an my
K-Bork pulls out his knife from his bicep harness.
JEB (cont'd)
You pullin yer blade on me?
Jeb lets go of Myrna Lou and pulls out his own blade.
Put yer blade eway K-Bork.
K-Bork sheathes his blade. Jeb sheathes his back into his
calf sheath.
Baby you can't leave. Not when I
need you most.
This whole time you've been out at
the Zexxler farm.
(she throws something at
You told me you were looking for
I was baby. You know I was. I
stopped at Zexxler's once in the
morning just to get coffee.
I don't want to here anymore.
Lets go Myrna.
K-Bork. You stay out of this.
You are a fukin disgrace. You're
out of her life. We're takin her
Jeb pulls out his blade.
Jeb. Now you put that blade back.
There'll be no stabbin today. I'll
be back Jeb, after I take this
stuff to my pa's.
I know you will baby. I only got
forty seven hours left. I want to
spend every single second with you.
Just talking. Holding your hand.
Whispering sweet nothings into your
Thats it Jeb. I'm warning you.
K-Bork. Now I'm giving you my sea
monkeys. Don't make me take your
Like you took those innocent
squirrel's lives.
That ain't fair Bork.
K-Bork puts his blade back. Jeb puts his blade back.
K-Bork and Myrna Lou leave.
Jeb puts on some music and drinks himself silly. He starts
crying. He starts punching the chair. He takes out his blade
and carves her name into his knuckles.
JEB (cont'd)
(stops carving)
You fukin bitch. I gave you
everything I could. I gave you
everything. I wanted to tell you. I
was gonna tell you everything. When
you said I always smelled like
skung. I should have told you the
He sighs heavily. He frantically searches around the room. He
bolts out. Theres a big crash. He runs back in with a
shotgun. He puts the shotgun to his forehead. He can't reach
the trigger. He tries his side of his head and stretches.
Finally he gets his toe into the trigger area. He thinks
about it. Then he looks down and sees a letter. He puts the
shotgun down.
Jeb picks up the letter and leg-ups. He opens it and flips it
out. He tries to read the letter.
JEB (cont'd)
Dear Jeb. I wrote two letters. I
was gonna give you another chance
but you violated my trust one too
many times. So you get this letter.
I want you to know that I still
respect you. You used to make me
proud. When we first got married I
thought I had made the best
decision of my life.
Part 2 continued tomorrow...

Chase Credit Card Employee Gargles Felch

Sometimes I just want to crawl over the phone line and reach down someones ear, pull their dick inverted back through their mouth and yank their balls through so they hang out their eye sockets. I just got off the phone with Chase Credit Card, a guy name William (I can not give you his last name) pretended to help me. If there was a human connected to that voice, I can guarantee you he spends his off-hours playing pogie for the Elk’s Club. In fact, after snooping on the net, I found out that his claim to fame in high school was cornholing possum.
But enough William, let’s talk about poo. What is it about poo that can make me laugh for days. I saw a muscle car burning out in a pile of turkey shit yesterday. Last weekend I had to stop walking, I saw a cat spraying a garden gnome with worms. The gnome had dreadlocks when it was done. On new year’s when we were getting drunk on my friend’s balcony, he launched bottle rockets out of a crusty dog turd. Last summer, when I was staying in New York, a guy was taking a shit on the only grass in two miles. I was watching through a pair of infared binoculars. As he was power splashing, a tapeworm crawled out from some sleeping bum’s ass and straight up the shitting guy’s loaf choker.
I don’t mention these things to impress you, only to impress upon you the importance of keeping a positive outlook on the fine art of shitting. You’re gonna shit every day for the rest of your life. You might as well get good at it. Who knows, you may get good enough to get paid to shit on glass plates in Thailand. Or, if you can really launch a squirrely dump, you may be called upon by the president of Bairog to perform for the royal speed felching championships in Lamb Dick.
I committed myself to these esoteric and taboo arts when I was just a youngster. My earliest memory of dungblast is this story which I have shared before:
When I was little I wore pajamas with the foot bootie attached. One morning I proudly crapped my pants and the log rolled down my leg. I stepped on that log all day, every time I walked, until my mom finaly discovered it.
Well that’s enough about poo, lets talk about pee.

I Sold Marijuana to Mr. T

Barry woke up tied to the rafters of a giant igloo. A penguin with five dicks was getting a manicure in front of him. Another penguin walked in with a wingfull of bamboo spikes and a small cage. It set the cage in front of Barry and then left the room. The first penguin pulled a joystick out from under his bean bag. It started to manipulate the controls. A small robot crawled out from the cage and walked toward Barry. The robot looked somewhat like a praying mantis covered with fur. It sprung up on Barry’s shoulder and started poking in his ear. Something small and noodle-like wormed around inside Barry’s brain.
After a minute Barry saw a flash and then his hearing changed. The penguin with five dicks started talking to him about being short changed in a business deal and how dealing with deadbeat penguins is one of the worst things imaginable.
“I had to take a flamethrower to get the lazy deadbeats out of there,” said the penguin. “Anyfuk, you’re probably wondering why we brought you here.”
“I want my liver back,” said Barry.
“I’m not sure what you’re referring to. But if you perform the task we have in mind for you, you will be a very rich man Mr. White.”
“My name is not Mr. White. And what makes you think I would do anything for you?”
“Well unless you want your cornhole sawed out by my favorite robot, I would suggest you comply with our requests.”
“You have me there. What then would you like me to do?”
“Ice. It has been brought to our attention that you can cook up a pretty mean batch of meth. We’ve got the glass and the ingredients. We need you to cook it.”
“What the fuk? Only thing I know about meth is how to smoke or snort it. I’ve never even shot it.”
“Yes. Anyfuk, we have all the supplies including a huge shipment of pseudoephedrine that crashed into an iceberg.”
“Alright. I’ll supervise it but then I go home with my cash. How much are we talking?”
“Three hundred thousand dollars,” said the penguin. The microscopic she-males giving him a manicure gasped in disbelief.
“Fine. Now can you let me out of this shit?”
The penguin pressed a button. Barry dropped to the floor.
After a huge meal of corned beef hash and crab juice Barry went to examine the laboratory. Everything was there. Iodine, red phosphorous, pseudoephedrine, everything. Luckily along with the supplies was the Dummies Guide to Industrial Meth Production.
Barry got to work right away but soon tired out due to his missing liver. He flipped a secret compartment in his shoe heel and pulled out a curled up joint. The penguin assisting him whipped out a small torch and lit the joint. Barry took a lungful and then passed it to the penguin. It inhaled the grass and smiled.
“It’s good eh?” said Barry.
“Sure as fuk,” said the penguin. “I feel like I could stop a coal train.”
“Just wait till I get this meth going. You’ll actually be able to stop one.”
But that never happened. As soon as the penguin was high enough, Barry ran out of the igloo to the landing pad. An alien with two blue heads was fueling up his space trawler. Barry poked a sharpened shoe horn into his neck and hijacked the trawler.
Within five hours Barry was back at his house. He slid the top off of his coffee table to get to his super rolling board. There were fifty two different blends of weed categorized by THC potency. Barry rolled a joint the size of a baseball bat and relaxed on his couch. He flipped the TV on. The A-Team had just started.

Eat At Earnie's: Featuring the Poontang Skillet

Earnie’s Strip Club Laundromat was Barry’s favorite place to go after work. The women’s field hockey team washed their clothes there. The first night Barry went there he caught the eye of a young philly performing on the pommel horse. He ended up meeting her in the pump room where they exchanged fluids and phone numbers. When Barry woke up the next morning there were scales on his pud. He went to the clinic to have a blood test and an exam. The doctor gave him a cheese grater and told him to scrape the scales off and he would be good as new. She was right.
The second time Barry visited Earnie’s he was so fukin drunk they almost didn’t let him in. But he flashed a large roll of bills and they let him through. He stood at the first row of washers as the professionals did their titillating routines. Barry ordered a magnum of brute and popped the cork at one of the ladies. The fizz went everywhere. Bouncers descended on Barry and beat the turds out of him and threw him into the back alley.
He spent the night passed out against the wall. When he woke up there was a long slice in his abdomen. Someone had given him the blade and stolen his liver. He wandered along the alleyway and saw a wino pounding an economy size Carlo Rossi. Barry found a stick and poked it into the wino’s chest.
“Hey shitdick. Where were you last night?”
“Me and Rosco here stayed at the Benson penthouse. I had the caviar and a fine apertif of sorbets and…”
Barry whacked him in the side of the head. “Very funny. You were here. Did you see anything strange last night?”
“Yeah. Well it was early this morning when I was going to bed. I got my first boner in twelve years. Normally this lazy tube of meat can barely dribble out a piss, but this morning the turgor pressure was phenomenal. It must have been the oxcart of topless chicks that drove by.”
“Did these chicks have sticks with them?” I asked. “Like golf clubs.”
“Yeah. And they had a piece of something on a big fork.”
“Which way did they go?”
“Shit, it must have been five hours ago, they went down to the corner and took a left.”
Barry hobbled off down the alley.
The wino yelled to Barry, “Wait. There was a small blue dude with two heads riding the ox if that helps.”
Barry followed the ox dumps to a small garage in a condominium complex. He worked on the lock with a wire. It snapped open. Barry eased the door open and crept in. He flicked the light. It looked like a chem lab. There were glass bottles, crack pipes, the works. Barry lifted the cork out of a huge bomblike glass piece. It was coated on the rim with crystals. He scraped off a couple into a crack pipe and fired it down. Ice. He scraped the rest out into a baggie and snuck back out.
The taxi burned out on some dog shit. Barry told the cab driver where to go. The cab driver offered him a cigarette. Barry smoked it and instantly passed out.
Part two of story tomorrow.

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