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.