SOPHISTICATED CANNIBALISM

Ever wonder where the bio waste from hospitals goes?  You know, snipped umbilical cords, liposuction fat, unusable severed limbs, removed organs, etc.   Would you believe me if I told you that cannibalism isn’t JUST for the Congo anymore or practiced in some remote village in the Amazon rain forest, but that it is practiced, openly, in upscale places like Manhattan and Los Angeles?  Yeah right, you say?  Well, I have a cousin named Tristan who so happens to be a facilitator of this bourgeoisie taste of the unwashed masses.   You see, most hospitals have an incinerator somewhere on the premises to dispose of bio waste and material in a safe and efficient manner.  If the hospital is not equipped with an incinerator or that method of disposal isn’t economical they hire companies like Tristan’s to make sure it’s taken care of.  So when Grandma gets a heart transplant and doesn’t need the old faulty one, the star high school football player gets his legs ripped off in a car accident and can’t reattach them, or little Timmy loses three fingers because he thought the pit bull was just like his aunt’s cute Pomeranian, that’s Tristan’s bread and butter.  My cousin is very well connected in New York and particularly in Manhattan.  So much so, that you know how your driver’s license says whether you are an organ donor or not?  When you roll into the hospital near death but potentially recoverable, do you really think, with the back log of patients waiting for heart, liver, spleen, kidney and penis transplants that your philanthropic ass stands a chance of surviving?  Or with Tristan getting his percentage, having paid off the hospital staff already,  that you won’t end up on a dinner plate on the Upper West Side?  Get real brother, you’re fucked.  Even if you didn’t put organ donor on your license you may still be doomed.  Do you honestly believe that if Arnold Schwarzenegger’s daughter is dying of heart failure and needs one, that your plug won’t get pulled so they can send your iced up blood pump hurdling across the country by jet into the warm hands of John Liebawitz, M.D.?  Once again; get real brother, you’re fucked.  Anyways, back to Tristan.  So, when Tristan gets the body parts, blood bags, liposuction fat bags, etc., he takes them to his warehouse where he catalogs and stores them.  He checks his status board which has the various restaurant’s requests and orders on it and when they will need those particular items.  After that he gets in his truck and distributes the people pieces as ordered.  He always does curbside service and the chefs love him for it.  They get some of the freshest stuff anywhere because of Tristan’s impeccable timing, efficiency, and careful packaging.   Timmy, the pitbull petter’s fingers become a delicious pate to be spread on batter fried leg skin crackers.  It's finger food; literally.  Grandma’s heart is ground in a meat grinder, mixed with a red wine and cranberry vinaigrette reduction then packed in between two sheets of egg pasta to make ravioli.  The grandma heart ravioli is then covered in a cheese sauce and diced portabella mushrooms.  Mmmmm… That sounds fucking good, doesn’t it?  What about Mr. All Star quarterback who won’t be doing the LMFAO shuffle any time soon, you ask?  Well his legs got diced into 1 inch cubes and added to the Guinness beef stew to be served with a side of carrot soup and Irish soda bread.  It’s a really hardy meal that even Mr. All Star might say, after eating it, that it was worth losing the legs over.  Look…. I know what you’re saying to yourself right now; “what the…fuck?”.   Remember when you’re Mom used to tell you not to waste those nasty bits of soggy broccoli on your plate because there were starving kids in Somalia, Ethiopia or [insert destitute cholera ridden country]?  Tristan and the cannibal chefs of Manhattan are the solution to that problem; they make delicious food out of a perfectly good and often wasted product.  So next time you shutter at the thought of cannibals dining amongst you, think about the contribution your body parts could make to the culinary world.  You’re saying that you can’t spare a finger or two for the starving socialites of New York City?  Well, aren’t you the selfish one…?

In case you were curious:

Bourgeoisie- The upper crust of a society; that privileged class

The Great Unwashed Masses- You, me and everyone else in society that gets their lives dictated to and are apparently too stupid and undereducated to think for themselves and control their own actions and must be controlled.

LMFAO- are these guys:   http://youtu.be/KQ6zr6kCPj8

PANDEMIC TEAM MASCOTS

I was thinking, the other day, about sports team mascots.  I’d imagine their primary purpose, other than a rallying figure, is to invoke some sort of fear in the competition or to intimidate.  Here are some examples of fearsome sports mascots that just by their very nature, reputation, or look could/should, at least subliminally, induce anxiety in the opposition: 

UC-Irvine Anteaters- may not seem intimidating but think about the wholesale mass slaughter of ants by the 1000’s every time it eats.

Sandiego State University Aztecs- Ripping hearts out of motherfuckers for sacrificial ceremonies I think qualifies as intimidating

Valparaiso University Crusaders- Whoopin’ ass all over Mesopotamia to preserve the faith.

Toronto Raptors- Cause everyone saw what happened to the cow that got lowered into the Raptor cage, as a snack, in Jurassic Park, plus with those talons the raptors, as a species, are phenomenal at basketball.

Watford Football Club Hornets- Can you say anaphylactic shock!  If you’re allergic and hornets come after you, you’re fucked.

Now, I realize that’s just a cunt hair’s worth of examples but I don’t have all day and you get where I’m going with this.  So what if you’re mascot IS NOT bad ass, or is NOT intimidating.  Don’t you think that plays a factor in the team’s and fan’s self confidence and thus, in turn, their chances of winning?  For those lame ass mascots I propose to give them an upgrade.  If you’re goal is to imply that you’re sports team’s intent is to go Mortal Kombat on the opponent and rip their fucking head off or outright kill them then here is my idea.  Use diseases, bacteria, amoebas, etc.  What’s more terrifying than Cholera? How about Malaria or Typhoid? Shit, instead of being called the Nebraska State Corn Huskers, they’d now be the Nebraska State Bubonics.  I mean, the bubonic plague killed upwards of 75 million people in the 14^th century alone, tell me that won’t get your rivals shaking in their boots.   I could go on forever:  Tennessee State tapeworms; the Alabama State Auto Immune Deficiency Syndromes; The New Jersey State Necrotizing Fasciitis’.  If I were to name a newly emerging team I’m pretty sure I’d go straight for devastating diseases.  My team’s intent would be clearly understood by the rival.  You can shoot a bear or an eagle or a corn husker but you better have some serious antibiotics on hand to stop me motherfucker! Even then, I may be an antibiotics resistant strain and then you’d really be fucked.   

BABIES EATING BABIES

 I just gave my baby daughter some eggs this morning for the first time.  As she was eating them I thought about how odd that situation was.  If you think about it, my baby was eating another species’ baby.  Now that wouldn’t be considered cannibalism as that is human on human dining.  I suppose it’d be closer to infanticide than anything, except that my daughter didn’t kill the other baby, my wife did; on the frying pan.  Hmmmm.. . I’ll have to think about that one a little more and get back to you cause I’m at a loss.  If you have any ideas please feel free to comment. 

TAMPON ANNIHILATOR

As you all know, in the beginning of September my brother Dusty cut his own dick off.  Luckily, his wife found him bleeding out on the bed and got him to the E.R.  They replaced his genitalia with a pneumatic penile assembly and saved his life and sex life, as he was quite lack luster in the bed to begin with.  The details of all this are in my post “Pneumatic Erotica 2” from September 12^th.   So anyways, it’s actually pretty lucky for him that he got that new pneumatic penis assembly but at the same time it’s a double edged sword of sorts for his wife.  You see, his wife, Susie, has a hereditary condition called vaginal hyperdontia.  Now, regular hyperdontia is the condition of having supernumerary teeth, or teeth which appear in addition to the regular number of teeth (an extra growth of teeth in your mouth).  So VAGINAL hyperdontia basically translates to her having teeth in her vagina.  Now don’t scrunch your eye brows together in confusion.  What you’re thinking right now is correct.  She has what equates to a mouth pussy.  Not the scary kind of mouth pussy with fangs or K-9 teeth or something like that, they’re more like molars.  She has 10 vagimolars total; five on each side of her vaginal wall.  The problem Dusty has always had is that when he had intercourse it was like getting a blowjob from a girl who’s never done it before and lets too many of her teeth touch your penis shaft.  So imagine pounding a vagina full of teeth.  Not the most comfortable thing but I suppose after awhile you’d build up a callus on your dick so vagimolars didn’t rip your shit apart.  That turned out to be the case, Dusty told me.  His penile skin had the consistency of a cowboy’s leather saddle to handle the constant rubbing and scraping of the pussy teeth.  The problem, now, is that with Dusty having a pneumatic penis, his dick is harder than his wife’s vaginal teeth and his penis is now wearing them down.  She has had to have several vagimolars extracted as they’d been worn down to the root and were causing her severe pain.  If you’ve ever had your wisdom teeth removed you know that it may not be painful because of the numbing shots but it’s a bloody and gruesome event.  A dental surgeon and a gynecologist had to be called in to remove her first 4 vaginal molars.  They performed it in much the same way as you would for wisdom teeth using pliers, chisels, and various other medieval devices to shatter, crunch, and extract the teeth.  By the time the fourth tooth was pulled it looked like she’d been fucked with a chainsaw.  So, after multiple surgeries Dusty’s wife is now down to only 2 vagina teeth, one on either side.   Dusty and Susie are much happier now.   Susie is also grateful because now she can start wearing tampons again.  She couldn’t before because her pussy mouth would tear them to shreds.  When she was a young college student she’d perform tricks at her local bar on Friday nights for free drinks by chewing up whole Maxi Pads with her Clam.  The difficulty was when it wasn’t time to show off it would still act up.  In math class, her pussy ate the crotch out of her brand new Levi jeans.  On a trip to Myrtle Beach it swallowed her bikini bottom, completely, leaving her suddenly naked on the bottom.  Finally, she’ll never forgive herself, or rather her vagina mouth, for severing the tongue off of that poor sophomore kid who just wanted to give her some head.  Susie is grateful that her final surgery for those last two teeth is this next week.  I have high hopes for those two love birds; with Dusty’s pneumatic cock and Susie’s newly tooth-free pussy there’s nothing those two can’t overcome.    

PROFESSIONAL QUADRIPLEGIC CAT JACKER

As you all know I have five cats.  My goal was to have six because that is the lagrangian point between the two sides of being the crazy cat lady (or guy in my case).  If you go to a party and say you have five or seven cats people look at you crazy, yet, if you say you have a “half-dozen cats”; now you’re trendy and everyone wants to get to know you.  As I am a cat enthusiast, I always fantasized about being a rare cat breeder.  One of the most expensive cats is the Asher cat that goes for about $28,000.   I would need to have a viable cat for breeding and selling the babies to make my money back and then a surplus.  I wouldn’t want to be in the hole for 28K just because of a cat; it’s an investment.  You figure you sell the baby Asher cats for $7,000 a piece (which is a steal by the way) and in one litter you’ve broken even.  So about a year ago I went and bought my Asher using the money I got by selling my wife to a Saudi Arabian sheik.  I’ll tell you what; I had tears in my eyes cause this cat was so gorgeous.  I mean, if I was a cat; I’d fuck that cat.  Hell, I’m a human and I wanna fuck that cat cause it’s so bad ass!  Anyways, so I immediately started looking around for someone with a female Asher cat that I could mate my male cat Roscoe with.  Despite the Asher breed being very rare I lucked out and found a woman in Madagascar with a female Asher.  We exchanged information and she was going to buy a ticket to meet in a central location, like France, to let the two cats bump uglies, when a tragedy happened.  I was doing the dishes and had turned on the garbage disposal to chew up the refuse that had collected in the drain.  I always carry a laser light pen in my left pocket for fun time with Roscoe.  The laser pen fell out of my shirt pocket and into the drain while the disposal was going.  The laser light pen was shooting dots all over the ceiling wildly as the pen was being tossed and mangled inside the disposal.  Roscoe, of course, went crazy chasing it and leaped into the air to get the dots that were peppering the overhead like machine gun fire.  While he was hovering in the air over the sink in mid leap, the pen had reached its failing point in the blades of the disposal.  It exploded and laser pen shrapnel came flying out of the sink drain.  I was hit just under my right eye with little injury, but Roscoe wasn’t so lucky.  He took a pen shard to his neck and fell to the ground paralyzed and near death.  A year later, Roscoe is fine but still unable to use any of his limbs and his little cat penis is completely flaccid.  So, even if I wanted to breed him with a female he not only couldn’t mount the other cat, but he wouldn’t even be able to “get it in”.  I sat there deep in debt due to the initial purchase of Roscoe and the subsequent money spent on surgeries after the spinal injury.  I realized what I would have to do.  I needed to jack this cat off.  The problem is that, well, I’m a working man.  My hands are too rough and tough; I’d just end up ripping poor Roscoe’s dick off mid stroke.  I needed someone with dexterous hands, someone that could jack this cat off not too hard, but not too soft.  I also remembered how fast cats fuck.  They are like jack rabbits.  So now I needed someone who had hand dexterity AND speed.  Hmmmmm…. I KNOW!! A violinist! That’s it! They’re perfect for it.  If you’ve ever heard a violinist play Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov’s “Flight of the Bumblebee” you’ll understand why they are ideal cat masturbators.  So I hired Guinness World Record holder David Garrett to be that man.  I now have David milk Roscoe for his white man syrup about every week.  Once I have the tomcat juice I use a taxidermy stuffed Serval cat set in the mounting position to act as Roscoe’s stand in.  In the stuffed cat’s penis I have inserted an injection nozzle which I fill through a hole in its rear end.  Then I bang the shit out the female Asher cats with the stuffed cat busting a nut at the precise moment and voila!  Cat impregnation!  I’m happy, David Garrett is happy, and Roscoe is definitely happy.  It’s a win, win, win situation.

Side Note: The use of "Lagrangian point" isn't exactly correct as it is used in physics to describe the gravitational equilibrium points within the Earth, Moon, and Sun system where if they were out of those spots would potentially start being pulled in towards one another.  I use it, loosely, to describe the equilibrium point in between the two social outcast boundaries of cat lady/guy status.  If you care.

MY ZOMBIE LATINA

When I was 20 years old I met this girl named Lucia.  She was a beautiful and witty Latina girl full of energy and spunk.  We used to go out together all the time as friends and eventually started dating.  Things got pretty serious and we really started to think about our future together; even the possibility of marriage.  I remember we were coming close to our one year anniversary.  I had planned a cruise to the Bahamas and saved up for several months.  I bought the tickets and came home to surprise her.  When I got home early from work she was already there and in bed.  I asked her if she was feeling okay and she said she felt like she was catching the flu and just wanted to rest.  Lucia didn’t look well at all.  She was pale, perspiring and just all around looked ill.  I let her sleep, and in the morning went to work again but didn’t wake her.  She seemed to be deep asleep and I figured she needed the rest.  When I got home that evening I smelled something putrid in the house.  It smelled like rotting trash or a dead animal.  I sniffed around and the smell was coming from the bedroom.  Finally, I came to the bedroom and Lucia was sitting upright in the bed staring out the window.  I said “Hey honey, I’m home.  How are you feeling? Do you smell that odor?  I think it’s coming from in here.”  She didn’t move.  So I went closer until I was within arms reach to tap her on the shoulder.  Just before I reached her she rapidly twisted around and leaped out of the bed at me.  Her eyes were black as coal and skin was deathly pale.  Reflexively, I grabbed her waist and threw her against the wall.  I immediately ran over and toppled the bedroom dresser on top of her to pin her down and then jumped on top to secure it.  At that moment while I was teetering on the cabinet with my girlfriend writhing, hissing and biting underneath I came to a realization.  My girlfriend was now a zombie!  A hot Latina zombie.  I chained her down to the bed post with a bike lock chain and a fuzzy handcuff set so that I could have some time to reevaluate our relationship.  “How do you break up with a zombie?”  I asked myself.  “I still have deep feelings for her though.  I don’t want to break up….maybe there’s a way I can make this work?”  I resolved at that point that this was just a small speed bump in the road of love.  Just as new couples have arguments and fights as they learn to adjust to each other’s quirks and habits they usually end up compromising.  Sticking it out in the relationship long enough to reach that point of compromise is what makes for a strong relationship.  A newly zombified girlfriend?  It’ll just take some getting used to.   

So, fast forward a few months and things actually fell into their own rhythm.  I’d lock her up in the closet in a dog cage with a few chicken wings and go to work for the day.  I’d come home and we’d hang out like any other loving couple.  I’d bring her out and strap her down to the recliner chair with ratchet down straps used for securing furniture to your truck bed.  I’d be in my chair and she in hers and we’d watch I Love Lucy, Jersey Shore or whatever.  I’d have popcorn and she’d have a puppy or gerbil that I either found or got from the kennel.  After awhile she looked a little thin so I started going out to gay bars on the weekends and getting guys drunk and bringing them home.  As they came into the door I’d throw a chloroform soaked rag over their mouth which usually did the trick.  They passed out and I’d roll them into the bedroom with Lucia so she could have a treat.  We were like two peas in a pod; Lucia and I.  I loved her and she loved me; in her own way. 

Now, every couple needs to get out of the house and spread their wings a little bit.  Occasionally, I’d rent a cabin on this large plot of land in the country and Lucia and I would go get some fresh air.  Of course I’d bring a cooler full of beer and sandwiches for me and a trunk full of chloroformed gay men for her.  The best part is we both got to stretch out and relax.  I’d take the guys out and lay them in the grass about 100 yards away from the cabin.  Lucia and I would be on the porch.  As the men started waking up and moving around, still groggy from the chloroform, I’d let Lucia off her chain.  She'd have so much fun chasing around after them and I got some quite time to read my book.  Everything was working out great until one day we came back from our cabin retreat and she got out of the car at a local gas station.  She ran out into the road and a semi truck plowed right into her.  Her body exploded into dozens of one pound chunks of flesh.  Whatever wasn’t stuck to the truck’s grill or had ricocheted off to the sides ended up as paste on the pavement.  The trucker got out in horror thinking he’d killed my girlfriend.  I told him not to worry about it; that she was my zombie girlfriend and was already dead anyway.  He breathed a sigh of relief, got back in his truck and drove off.  I shrugged my shoulders and realized, at the point, that I was just kidding myself trying to keep a relationship going with a zombie girl. 

INTERNET ANSWER FORUMS: THE YARDSTICK OF CIVILIZATION

Alright, I’m sure at some point in your life you’ve needed information about something and had to look it up on the internet.   Do you remember what you used to do before Google?  You’d ask your parents, go to the library and look it up or get advice from your friends that you trusted.  What do we have now?  We have Yahoo Answers, Google Answers, and all the other useless Answer forums out there.   Someone poses a question and a bunch of people post answers in response to that question.  The problem is that the majority of people that post are illiterate morons that throw up any baseless opinion as fact.   Here was the question posed, “Is distilled water better than sterilized water for your baby?”  Here are the responses:

IDIOT #1: “Oh shit, don’t use that distilled water shit, that shit’ll make yer kid go blind!”

ME: No it won’t retard.

IDIOT #2: “You should use regular tap water because it has fluoride in it and it’s good for your teeth.”

ME: Okay, maybe not for newborns and very young children and probably not in large doses but you're probably on the right track.  For those that say the flouride levels in tap water are bad for baby, it can’t be THAT bad.  I had tap water for everything when I was growing up and look at me, I’m sexy as fuck.  So,  this guy isn't really an idiot but I have a pattern going here so fuck off.  I’ll buy that answer…okay..moving on.

IDIOT #3: “You should never use tap water cause your kid’s IQ will rapidly drop and stay down!”

ME: I’m not making this shit up, I swear.  Okay, first off, you are off topic.  It’s sterilized verses distilled, but I understand you are probably responding to idiot #2, which you shouldn't have as IDIOT#2 is infinitely smarter than you are.  I imagine, by the ejaculated nature of your response about the tap water, that you are completely sure of your answer.  What I am positive of, however, is that you have not researched that in any way, and either heard it in passing, and because you’re a retard, took it as fact, or saw it on some bottled water commercial.  If the latter is the case you are an even bigger idiot as you, not only, do not research anything and take things at face value but you allow biased advertisements, whose job it is to dissuade you from tap water to make bottled water sound good, determine your decision making.  Do me and every other person in the country a favor and don’t vote in this next election.

IDIOT #4:  Sterilized water is better because they evaporate it and it condenses on the other end and is really pure because you don’t get the pollutants.

ME: First off, copy/pasting from Wikipedia doesn’t make it correct or you smart.  I thought for a moment that this person had a clue and had just accidentally added "sterilized water" in place of distilled water, which is what he is actually describing, but I don’t like his condescending tone, therefore…. MORON!!   

IDIOT #5: “You should use distilled water because the amount of plastic bottles that sterilized water comes in just ends up on our beaches and in our oceans, harming the environment.”

ME: So do the plastic bottles that distilled water comes in dipshit! Here’s a tip…..of a knife! Go kill yourself!

IDIOT#6:  “You shouldn’t use distilled water cause it can make your kids go blind.”

ME: Hey you illiterate fuck, didn’t you read IDIOT #1's response to the original question.  Way to propagate the myth that distilled water blinds children by the millions, you Fuck.  I guess the grocery stores haven’t caught onto that fact yet. It's terrifying that I could walk into the local supermarket right now and find a shelf with distilled water peppered amongst bottles of sterilized water!  HOLY SHIT! DO SOMETHING! You might grab the distilled water by accident as the only indicator is the sticker on the front that is pink for distilled and blue for sterilized!

IDIOT#7: “You should only get water that is from fresh sources like mountain streams, glacier water, or springs as it tastes better and is better for you.”

ME: IS IT NOW?  How bout municipal sources like triple filtered shit water from your toilet? Cause guess what? That’s where your “Glacial stream” water is coming from.  It’s just called GLACIAL STREAM, the fact that it says “Bottled in Detroit” should tell you something.  Besides, I’ll submit that municipal sources are better for you than your serine mountain stream.   So I’m drinking from a stream that at the top of the mountain deer, moose, owls, and sasquatches have all been pissing and shitting in.  That sasquatch shit water comes down off the mountain and flows into the stagnant algae filled pond that you siphon from.  Now, I don’t know about you but I don’t like Sasquatch piss so I think I’ll go with the over chlorinated, fluorinated and fifty times filtrated municipal water.

This isn’t even close to all of the responses but I figured I’d give you a sample.  It is my opinion that the Google,Yahoo, and other answer forums on the internet are the yardstick of civilization.  The better and more factually accurate responses on those answer forums; the more educated and competent our country’s citizens are becoming.  As for right now…..I think we’re fucked!

RIGOR MORTIS DOG RAMPAGE

I met a man the other day named Faraji.  He is a Swahili man who immigrated to America from Tanzania.  Faraji  used to be in an elite branch of the now struggling Tanzania People’s Defence Force (TPDF), which is basically the country of Tanzania’s army.  We shared the cab fare to the airport and he told me a fascinating story about a very precarious situation he was in during the Uganda-Tanzania War of 1978-1979.  He was recalling how he was stuck on the top floor of a 3 story building in a city called Kimpala.  Out in the streets surrounding the building was a large group of well armed Ugandan soldiers.  He and a couple Libyan troops who were there with him were keeping the Ugandans at bay.  One of the men, however, was shot and soon died and the other was partially blinded by shrapnel.  So it was basically just him up there against a horde of Ugandans who seemed determined to try and wait him out from below.  He noticed that the floor that he was on must have been some sort of pet adoption agency or a kennel or something.  There were small dogs walking around aimlessly everywhere.  Faraji said there were at least 20 of them no bigger than a Pomeranian or a Scottish terrier in size.   After two days of waiting out the Ugandans and tending to the one blind Libyan soldier, the Ugandans grew impatient.  They began hurling bottles of what he described as a pepper spray type agent, but far more potent, in through the windows.  The smell was so intense that he gagged and threw up.  His eyes burned, his nose was bleeding, and his lungs were on fire.  He thought he was going to die for sure as he could barely breathe but didn’t want to give the Ugandans the satisfaction of his surrender.  They pummeled the floor he was on again, and again, and again with bottles of the noxious gas.  Bottles shattering so frequently against every wall and surface around him that it sounded like a hundred thousand coins had been dropped onto a trampoline.  After what seemed like forever the Ugandans abruptly stopped.  The gases slowly started to dissipate revealing the carnage caused by so much toxic air.  His blind brother-in-arms didn’t stand a chance.  He was defenseless against the onslaught and died of asphyxiation.   14 of the 20 small dogs had suffocated or succumbed to the poisonous fumes as well.  Faraji was still determined to stand his ground and held fast for two more days against the Ugandans.  Finally, he ran out of ammunition and was completely out of supplies.  Apparently the opposing force outside must have sensed Faraji’s gradually deteriorating situation; their plan for waiting him out was working.  The officer in charge of the horde outside ordered his men to take the building.  Men clamored up the stairwells, making their way towards his level.  Faraji, in a panic, and defenseless, looked around for a weapon of any kind to use.  He then noticed the 6 dogs that were still alive, but particularly, all the dead ones.  He grabbed one dead dog that was well into the stiffening stages of rigor mortis.  Like reshaping a metal coat hanger he bent all four stiff legs in-line with the body, straightened the back and the head into a point.  He managed to mold seven dogs in that way and was well into finishing his eighth one when the first three Ugandan soldiers kicked the door in.  Faraji wasted no time and grabbed two stiff-as-a-board dogs, one in each hand.  Like a Louisville slugger he cracked the first soldier in his temple crushing in the side of his head with a pomeranian, killing him instantly.  The second soldier died instantly, as well, as a rigid weiner dog spear was plunged doggie-shoulder deep into his chest.  The third soldier attempted to capitalize on the fact that Faraji was occupied with the other two soldiers and lunged at him with a knife.  Faraji saw him and swung around, back handing his throat with a Shi tzu, crushing his wind pipe.  The Ugandan fell to the ground wincing in pain and gasping for air as the few living dogs left pounced on him and ate his face off!  Faraji continued crushing the continuous tide of Ugandan soldiers that gushed out onto the third floor.  He smashed faces,  skulls, and rib cages with each dead dog until there nothing left but a floppy blood sack.  Then he’d toss it and grab the next stiff one and push on.  Faraji, by the end of the day, killed 35 Ugandan soldiers with 8 dead dogs ranging from Pomeranians to weiner dogs.  Needless to say, after a story like that, I paid the whole cab fare when we got to the airport because this motherfucker was either bat shit crazy or the baddest son-of-a-bitch on the planet.  I say screw Chuck Norris, if you can kill a squad of Ugandan soldiers with dead rigor mortis stiff dogs as weapons then you’re on a new level of bad ass.

RANDOMIZER GENIE

I like to frequent retirement homes on occasion for something different to do.  I’m not talking retirement communities where everyone is still pretty lively and beeboppin’ around.  I like the ones where everyone, for the most part, is still pretty coherent but they are wheelchair bound or don’t move around much.  The retirement communities where everyone is still playing golf, bingo and livin’ up their golden years doesn’t appeal to me cause they just don’t have the time for you.  They are still self absorbed in their lives.  The “rest homes” are the types that I like cause those retirees ain’t goin’ anywhere and they’ve got nothing better to do then talk to you. 

                

So I was cruisin’ around inside the retirement home passing by two women playing chess.  On my other side was an old navy war vet relaxing watching television.  Then I came around the corner and I saw him.  He was incredible.  He was sprawled out on a large bean bag chair with his legs apart and kicked out; each one on a bean bag of its own.  In between his legs there was what appeared to be third leg coming out and flopped onto a bean bag of ITS own.  Curious at this odd sight, I went up to investigate.  I said “Hello sir, my name’s Rusty Shrew, I noticed that you have three legs.  Have you always been deformed like this?”  His name was Mr. Jeremiah Walden, and he responded by saying, “Hell, son, that ain’t a leg; that’s mah dick!”  Astonished, I started probing him for details as to how he’d lived such a long life with what looked like a terribly cumbersome appendage coming out from his groin.  It was about 4 ½ feet long and about a Pringles’ can in girth.  He was wearing sweat pants and had apparently needed another sweat pant leg sewn into the crotch section to accommodate his tape worm of a penis.  He told me it wasn’t always that big.  You see, Jeremiah was one of the British soldiers who fought towards the reoccupation of Iraq by the British in the Anglo-Iraq war in 1941.  He remembers a lot of strange things going on out in that desert.  One day himself and three other scouts were patrolling a remote canyon area when they were ambushed by nomads.  The marauders were firing from a top the ravine and killed all three of the other soldiers he was with.  He, himself, was hit in shoulder.  Jeremiah managed to duck into a cave and out of sight.  The bandits eventually lost interest and moved on as it was getting dark and it probably wasn’t worth going down into the canyon just for him.  He gunpowder-cauterized the wound like Rambo.  He then wandered further into the cave to take refuge for the night.  Eventually he came to an enormous cavern opening.  Blades of the day’s remaining light stabbing down through holes in the towering ceiling, the utter silence of the cave, and its soft sandy floor indicated a good place to stop and rest for awhile.  When he sat down however, it was right onto something really hard and sharp that made him jump and then wince in pain from the shoulder pain caused by that movement on his gun shot wound.  Jeremiah grasped the object, which was a brass genie lamp with blue trim and intricate designs.  He mockingly rubbed it a few times, and to his complete surprise, SHAZAM! out came a towering blue apparition of a genie.  The genie was cordial and grateful to be released after millennia of solitude.  The standard three wishes were proposed.  Jeremiah, of course, being young-dumb-and-full-of-cum didn’t think twice about his first wish as he had no doubt he’d be able to get himself back to base camp on his own.  He had remembered a Persian temptress in the town near their camp that he had sex with.  She enjoyed it but said she would be his forever only if he had a much larger penis, as she was not an easily satisfied woman; if you know what I mean.  Jeremiah had fallen completely in love with her yet miserably disappointed in his own shortcomings at the same time; UNTIL NOW!  “Genie, my first wish is to have an enormous penis that will satisfy the woman I love” exclaimed Jeremiah.  “Your wish is my command.  Salabim! Salabam!” The genie chanted with a thundering voice that echoed throughout the cavern.  “It is done, you now have two wishes left” The genie concluded.  Jeremiah grabbed at his crotch but was shocked to find nothing! Nothing at all!  “What have you done you bastard!?  I have no penis at all now! The Genie explained what was happening, “I am not like other genies my friend.  I am Massuliah the randomizer genie.  I have the ability to grant whatever wish you desire but it can either be the exact wish you asked for or the exact opposite.  I have no control over the outcome, it is completely randomized.”  “So you can’t control it at all!?”  Screamed Jeremiah.  “So, if I said something like…. I wish I could be teleported to the inside of a sheep’s asshole then….wait! Oh shit, no! I wasn’t really wishing that…FUUUUCKK!”

Meanwhile, in a small sheep herding community in Cappadocia, Turkey, Ahnwal and his son are petting their favorite sheep Juji.  Suddenly Juji’s lower torso expands rapidly, the sheep screams in excruciating pain. Ahnwal’s son is screaming as blood, shit, and entrails burst out of Juji’s asshole like a geyser.  Then, like a balloon filled with red food dye and macaroni and cheese that’s just been popped, Juji’s entire rear end explodes as the whole of Jeremiah’s body manifests itself in the same space as Juji’s rectum.  Ahnwal and his son run screaming back to the village as a very irritated Jeremiah curses at the sky while lifting himself out of what’s left of Juji’s twitching body. 

“God damnit Massuliah!  I was just using that as an example for clarification! Now I’ve got sheep asshole all over me!”  Screamed Jeremiah.  Massuliah appeared before him again and stated “As I said, it may be EXACTLY what you asked for or the complete opposite; I have no control over it, just the ability to grant it.”  “Alright then, Massuliah, since I only have one wish left I really want that big cock so I’m gonna roll the dice and hope that I’m not doomed to jack off with tweezers for the rest of my life.”  “I wish I had a ridiculously enormous penis!!” Jeremiah chanted a final time.

So, the story ends just about as you might think, almost. Jeremiah gained a ridiculously enormous vagina instead of a penis for his third wish.  He ended up having to drag his new 70 lb pussy out of the cave like you would 5 trash bags full of meat wrapped around your waste.  He had almost lost all hope but luckily he ran across another genie lamp with a regular genie in it who gave him his enormous cock, teleported him back to the base camp, and one wish left over for later.  He also ended up paying Ahnwal for blowing his sheep in half.  He went and married his Persian temptress and banged her so hard her ovaries hurt.  The British ended up occupying Iraq for the second time, and all was well with the world.  Massuliah….well no one really knows what happened to the genie lamp that held him, maybe one day someone else will utilize the abilities of the Randomizer Genie.