Wednesday, October 31, 2007

The first...

OK, here is the first post, by mmccool...

For your submissions, please specify which prize you would like: a date with Smeagol, a date with Mystery (both come with butt pleasures), or lunch on my dime...

Get these in, I was thinking the deadline for entries will be noon on November 9th, That's next Friday... The winner will be tabulated by a poll, and posted Monday, lunch or the date will be that Friday.

I think mmccool is leaning toward a date with Mystery but I will update with his decision... butt pleasures gives anyone pause!

Note: In order to receive butt pleasures or give them to Smeagol you would have to peel his thong off (or out, as it were) and hold him up, so make sure you can do that... watch CB4 when Chris Rock gets with that chick if you need details on how much strength it would take.

Scam Time! (The Saga Continues...)

Freak Show, the dance floor

Cold Chillin' Ice T is ill

Breakin' rocks the house!

Quick note:
Before I get to the scam for today, I have to tell you guys. I am not sure if you even pay attention to what music I am currently listening to...I don't update it all that often and most of the songs illicit violent diahrrea even at their mention, but I had to share this:

I bought a bunch of tapes off of eBay, I have a tape deck in my car, and one of the tapes was Breakin': the Soundtrack... I put the tape in, and holy hell... Freakshow on the dance floor by the Bar-Kays made me squirt a little sausage flavored mangravy into my pants... this is the most awesome tape ever.

Anyway, my PSA done, on to the scam!

OK so we left the Nationoal Lottery scam last week with me writing in how excited I was that I had won, now it is time for some messing around. Observe, and enjoy:



Your email has been acknowledge in our lottery department of the British American Tobacco (British American Tobacco? That even SOUNDS stupid!),This is to comfirmed that we are in receipt of your email and it was well noted in our department.

You have to be very cleared that the lottery company is not asking you to pay for any transfer fees none delivering changes hence you are pick from the options that best suit you.

Note:That all the document releated to your winnings has been aprroved and signed by the board of directors.

The lottery company is awaiting you to pick from the payment options so that we can furnish you with further informations on how you are to claim your winnings prize.

You are required to pick from the payment option stated below how you choose to be paid by:


1. Bank To Bank Wired Transfer .

2. International Certified Cashiers Cheque Made Out In Your Name And Dilivered To You By Our Affiliate Courier Company.



Yours Faithfully,
Mrs. Colin Murphy

OK so this is from the British American Tobacco Company, Colin Murphy is with the Latin Security Company, which oversees the British Nationoal Lottery and is located not in Latin America, or in America, where we have so much tobacco we export it, but in the United Kingdom.... got it? My response:

From: Philip McKraken
Sent: Wed 10/24/07 11:11 PM
To: Murphy Colin

I would prefer a cashiers cheque made out to me, also, since I am rich now, are you single, Ms. Colin Murphy? You see, I am known as kind of a ladies man, I have thumped many a cheesy camel toe in my day, and would love the chance to discuss this over a nice box of wine or some sparkling grape juice without the sparkle, what do you say? Anyway, enough of that, can you send me a scan of the cheque? Also, you should learn to spell better, it is check, not cheque, that's a country next to Congo or something, over in Europe or something.

What do I need to do? Can you send me a picture of yourself? I also thought the .hk at the end of your email address meant Hong Kong. Are you in Canada, England, Chequelosavekia, or Hong Kong? I just need to know which slurs to use. I am so excited about getting this money, you see my mother suffers from titdrag, a horrible condition affecting older women in which their skin starts drooping in the most inopportune of places, I need about 50000 dollars to get that Botoxed back up so at least she doesn't piss all over her tits while she's on the can, know what I mean?

This no talent ass hat sends me a bill for the courier, watch how completely bugfuck insane I get tomorrow. Don't worry, there are plenty of Smeagol and Dad stories to come, but I feel I have neglected a few of the other characters here, notably Greyskull, so it might wait until Monday to hear from them again.

I am also going through a job scam and another scam, maybe the job thing is not a scam since it came through careerbuilder, but I don't care they get the Jeremy anyway... I am also playing Yoda with this scammer who started bothering me last night, no joke ya'll I am thinking that they see my email in the internet cafe in Lagos and that's why I get a new scammer bothering me every 3 or 4 days (seriously)... awesome.

Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Beat this, bitches

Don't worry, it's work safe... My official Bombay Video ya'll! This is the bar to beat!

Monday, October 29, 2007

The Smeagol Mating Dance

Dance Dance Megamix
I play it for the workout!
tube top? Not my fault!

The Mating Dance of the North American Smeagol...

This was awhile ago, I was still in high school, but thinking about Smeagol dredges up painful memories sometimes.

We were on our way to Smeagol's job, Smeagol JJ and I, to get Smeagol's check so he could pay his car payment so the car dealership would turn his car back on. We were standing on the corner of 39th and Troost, before it is the clean bustling Mega-Metro stop it is today, when it was still busy, but only because of the people getting robbed whilst waiting on the bus.

There is an unwritten code when you are waiting on the bus in the hood if you are a guy, much like there is a code if you are at a urinal, like never go in there and pat the guy's ass who is standing at the urinal next to you; keep that shits on the field yo. Anyway here are the iron clad rules:

1. Do not talk to anyone standing up by the bus schedule. They are embarrassed and are standing there trying to pretend they do not know the bus schedule, like they do not ride the bus.

2. Do not take your shoes off and curl up on the fucking bench and try to "catch a quick snooze" while waiting on the bus, especially during the summer when there are a lot of people watching you.

3. Do not get on a cell phone and start talking about all the money you got, then ask people around you to help you make up the 85 cent fare.

4. NEVER, EVER fucking dance to the music emanating from a car at the stop light. More points are deducted based on what kind of music it is:
Country - -10
Rock\ Metal - -20
Rap - -100
Disco - +30 for some reason...
alternative - automatic beatdown

5. Do not ask anyone for a "slurp of whatever you got there", or ask for a "nibble" on whatever someone else is eating, especially if that is a dude and more especially if you have no idea who that asshole is.

You will never guess which rules Smeagol broke while we were waiting on the bus. JJ and I were following all the rules: we were standing by the bus schedule, a slight scowl for the inconvenience, and trying to make it obvious we had a car, we were just going to pick it up. It was known we did not have a car, but the polite smiles showed us this was protocol and people would deal with it.

Smeagol makes a beeline for the little covered bench, takes his ratty ass shoes off, curls up like a dead cockroach and tries to "catch a little snooze while we wait"... to whom he was talking I am not sure, JJ and I looked the other way and pretended we did not know him. Finally his flatulence annoyed some of the other patrons, as well as the fact that he was taking up pretty much the whole bench and some older lady was making it obvious she wanted to sit down, so he reluctantly got up, put his shoes on and joined us on the corner.

And then it happened.

A homeboy in a mid 70s Monte Carlo pulls up to the light, blaring out Tech N9ne, this was int eh early days when he was still underground, a local guy who enjoyed making the rap tunes. JJ and I looked at each other, and then at Smeagol, who was jittering just a tiny bit, and silently tried to will him not to do what he always did when he heard any kind of music.

It didn't work.

Smeagol broke into full Carlton-meets-Elaine from Seinfeld as he did this kind of seizure-meets-bees in the shirt dance, kind of making this weird hooting sound as he hopped from foot to foot, not unlike what a raptor would sound like probably. JJ tried to reprimand him, telling him to "fuckin' quit that shit", and Smeagol's grin got even wider, the failure emanating from his mouth like the Americans taking the Ardenne at the Battle of the Bulge: unstoppable, a raging force that destroyed all it touched, draping us all in a coat of fragrant halitosis and kim chi.

The guy looked over, and then looked right at JJ, who was still foolishly showing everyone he knew Smeagol by trying to stop him from dancing, failing miserably as Smeagol's claws kept him at bay, I tell you the only way it would have been worse was if Mystery was there, clapping off beat, or if Smeagol had been in his thong, holding one side up as he jittered around like a crackhead who has gone cold turkey.

Tomorrow: Scam time or Greyskull? You choose!

I am trying to get JJ to come up and do the baby no stories, I might just get him to tape them and post that, and soon to come, the Throbbin Rob Chronicles: what happens when 2 immature jerks start writing a novel? You can ask Haggard, he read it, but I will start posting those as well... in chapter format. Don't worry, the chapters are actually a little shorter than my posts appear to be getting... also no takers for the videos by bombaytv? They're free ya'll! Come on, free lunch on the Stevester! Assuming you choose that over a date with Smeagol and/ or Mystery, butt pleasures included (I am not kidding, if you win and want a date with either one of them I will arrange it.)... send em in yo!

The Crack Homes

Oft used subtle phrase,
An answer, quandary solved
Mystery is hawt!

Check out my Bombayvideo at the bottom of the screen, then make one yourself and post, we'll vote on it and the winner will get a free date with Smeagol or Mystery, butt pleasures included! Or I will buy them lunch, either way...

The apartments: DUB Edition

Alright so soon after the "You Ligget Steve!" story, like everything else in life, my dad failed and lost his sweet apartment on Central Avenue, the one where you could get drugs, guns, alcohol and syphilis and still not have made it to the front door leading outside. JJ moved out and in with my mom, he had had enough, and dad and Janet moved to these 100 dollar a week apartments by the downtown airport, sadly kind of a step up from the previous place, though those apartments seem to breed crack smokers (you can interchange 'pole' for crack, it's the same thing), as was evidenced by the 3 or 4 propositions for blowjobs in exchange for the aforementioned commodity on my way to my dad's apartment during moving day. Let me explain: these "apartments" are essentially those hotel rooms the vilains plan their heist in in those really bad movies, the ones where it would actually be brighter in there if you turned on a blacklight from all the different kinds of semen implanted literally everywhere, at least that's how it smelled in there.

Anyway, things went on for awhile there, Dad engaging in cracketry, Janet strangely coming up with crack while he was at work all the time, and then it happened.

Dad had gotten a decent check from work, all of 300 dollars, and it was time to Par-tay! I heard this all second hand, but that, in this case, is better than being there because I would not have helped, I don't like to touch crackheads.

Dad came home with some rocks in a baggie, foolishly holding them in his hand instead of tucking them away under his shirt next to his heart like usual. Jenkins, which is the name I will give the smarmy crackhead who ran up and defeated my dad in a hurried bout of fisticuffs to attain the rocks he had used almost his whole paycheck to acquire, probably had been waiting in a darkened corner the whole time, trying desperately not to jitter and make a noise, possibly holding back some liquidy shit, kind of like Smeagol in a way (and yes people have asked numerous times, Smeagol does not smoke crack).

I came by later that day, as I had purchased his car yet again, and I was there to get the keys. Picture this with a dramatic musical score, not unlike an action sequence: I walk around the corner into the courtyard, Dad is standing in front of his hovel, wearing only tight faux-silk burgundy boxer shorts and house shoes, his pale skin and somehow obscene looking tufts of black hair glistening in the early summer sun with sweat, gently scratching his ass as he reads some book outside.

I try to be quiet, like a deer he will flee if frightened or surprised, and he had not answered his phone all day so I know he did not want to give me that car. WHOOSH! I yell out "Hey Dad!" and start towards him, a brisk walk bordering on a jog. He jumps a bit, and, seeing me coming, closes his front door and runs out of the courtyard toward his car, which I had not noticed until now was parked on the other side of the apartment complex from me. I start to run, but it is too late, the crack has given him the advantage and he is already in his car, starting it up and trying to run, the throaty V8 purring like a kitten as he guns it out of the complex. It would be the first time he has run from me rather than pay me, and would not be the last, though it was the last time he would be able to do it in a car fast enought to get away.... I will always remember though, the Crackhead in the Mist....

Friday, October 26, 2007

On Smeagol - a musing

Yay jeans day is here!
Why can't every day be so?
jeans and halter tops!


So now you have a picture of Smeagol, I wonder if you could imagine him ordering food in a drive through and getting annoyed when they call him "ma'am", curled up sleeping in a booth at Burger King until it was time to work, gently massaging his package through his thong while watching JJ National Geographing it up on his couch almost every night with a different girl, hitting on some chick with human feces on his shirt, getting knocked out by geriatrics, I wonder if those stories are still as funny now that you have a picture to put to that character.

Smeagol is a shitty driver. He buys all of his cars from the same place, a shitty car dealer on Troost, and they have yet to give him a decent car. I remember the only car he had that was not a complete piece of shit was one Mystery's mom co-signed from a different dealership, a 1993 Pontiac Grand Am. He loved that thing and would attempt to race anything out there, including Mustangs, Camaros and the like, always losing but telling us in frantic tones "I almost beat him niggie!"

On this particular day we were on our way to Burger King to work, and we were late, as usual, because at that point I did not have a car so had to rely on Smeagol, who had been out shopping for Hot Wheels all afternoon as he had gotten paid that morning, and had ditched going to work that afternoon like he was supposed to. We were trucking along, and some punk kids pull up even with us on the highway in a Mustang Dominator, the 1986 version that I think came with the 351 Cleveland in it or something, at any rate it was much faster than the usual Mustang fare.

They hit the gas, of course easilly leaving us in the dust, and Smeagol got into "race mode":

Let me explain race mode, because this is the funniest shit you will ever hear, made funnier now that you know Smeagol's face.

1. He would start gyrating in his seat, all the while saying to himself "ahhh shit niggie, it's on, it's on"

2. He would play either "Radar Love" or anything made by Poison on his nifty cassette player, he kept this tape in the deck for just these occasions, which came up often

3. He would smooth back his hair, which was funny because he had such long nails he could not make fists so he would run his hands, completely outstretched, along his bed head, which he always had

4. He would start messing with the shifter, which was funny because it was an automatic, and like I said he could not make fists so he would kind of angrilly massage both the steering wheel and the shifter with his outstretched hands, at this point changing from "aaaahhhh shit niggie" to "you better buckle up, I am gonna smoke these bitch mufuggers"

5. He would stomp on the gas, which I am sure in a car that was well maintained would cause it to surge forward at great speeds, but int his case ended up blowing out a cylinder and blowing the head gasket, making a big couching whump sound and dying by the highway.

Smeagol started cursing then, which sounded like a 12 year old girl who just learned some cusswords howling them at the wall, except not as much strength. I asked him to make a call to BK to let them know what had happened, and he informed me that he did not want to waste any of his minutes on that, I am on my own. He then called Mystery's mom, arranged to be picked up and have the car towed, climbed into the back seat (no joke) and went to sleep, telling me to wake him up when the truck got there...

We get to Burger King later than usual, and get summarily fired. I remember trying not to laugh as Haggard and goiterneck, the managers at the time, tried to let me know right in front of Smeagol that although they were firing both of us, they really only wanted to get rid of Smeagol, who apparently didn't get it.

More Monday, I gots more scams and more Smeagol and a lot more Dad, stay tuned

Thursday, October 25, 2007

Scam TIme! (an ongoing series)

The cool autumn mist
caresses me as I sit
shut the door dammit!

Scam Time!

So I have a couple of scams going on right now, but the one I want to tell you about is the lottery winning. You know how you get those UK lottery emails to inform you that you won a lottery you never entered? I responded, and the amazing thing is they are writing me back! As always, the scammers will be in black, I will be in red.

-----Original Message-----


UK.NATIONAL LOTTERY DEPARTMENT We are pleased to inform you of the result of the just concluded annualfinal draws held on the (22,oct, 2007) by Uk National lottery Your email was among the 1000 Lucky winners who won £850,000.00{Eight hundred and fiftythousand Great Britain Pounds} each in the first draw 1150. with the luckynumbers. However the results were released on the same dayc your email was attachedto ticket number (Uk.05.08.10) and ballot number (:12052006/20)

The onlinedraws was conducted by a random selection of email addresses from anexclusive list of 29,031,643 E-mail addresses of individuals and corporatebodies picked by an advanced automated random computer search from theinternet. However, no tickets were sold but all email addresses wereassigned to different ticket numbers for representation and privacy. The selection process was carried out through random selection in ourcomputerized email selection machine (OPAL) .This Lottery is approved by theBritish Gaming Board and also licensed by the The International Associationof Gaming Regulators (IAGR).

This lottery is the 1st of its kind and weintend to sensitize the public. CLAIMS PROCEDURES: It is our standard practice to allocate accredited agents for the processingofclaims application. It is even more imperative for overseas winners. To begin your claims therefore, you are advised as a matter of urgency, tocontactthe under listed licensed and accredited claims agent for the processing ofyourprize awards winning. Please contact the clearing house (through your claims agent only via the email) the body assigned with the verification of all emergent winner.Therefore all protocols laid down by them must be followed to facilitateyourclaims;

Mr.Colin MurphyE-MAIL:

(1) BENEFICIARY FIRST NAME_______________
(2) BENEFICIARY LAST NAME_______________
(3) NATIONALITY_________________________
(4) RESIDENTIAL ADDRESS_________________
(5) DATE OF BIRTH_______________________
(6) SEX______________________________________
(7) TEL. NUMBER_________________________
(8) FAX NUMBER_______________________________
(9) EMAIL ADDRESS_______________________
(10) AMOUNT WON________________________
(11) BATCH NUMBER_______________________
(12)BAT NUMBER___________________________
(13) REFERENCE NR________________________
(14)SERIAL NUMBER__________________________
(15) OCCUPATION_________________________
(16) MARITAL STATUS__________________________

(YOUR FULLNAMES)___________________

IMPORTANT NOTICE: (a) Note that there exists a periodic condition on all claims process,failing whichwould lead to disqualification and winnings Forfeiture. Winners arethereforeadvised to expedite their claims process. (b) Being one of the lucky winners, you constitute entrant's full andunconditionalagreement to and acceptance of our terms and conditions of claims to avoidanydiscrepancy in the cause of payment of your prize awards winning. (c) To avoid double claims, you are advised to keep your winning detailsveryconfidential, as any discrepancies resulting from a breach of thisconfidentialityon the part of the winners will be covered solely by such winner as ourstaffs arebound by the oath of secrecy taken on employment.

NOTE: In order to avoid unnecessary delays and complications,please remembertoquote your reference and batch numbers in all correspondences with thisoffice.Furthermore, should there be any change of your address, do inform us assoon aspossible Congratulations again from all our staffs and thank you for beingpart of

Yours faithfully,

Sir Jame robinson
Zonal Co-ordinator
(UK.NATIONAL LOTTERY) ________________________________________________

From: Philip McKraken (
Sent: Tue 10/23/07 7:07 PM

I didn't even realize I had entered this drawing! I graciously accept on behalf of Smeagol Sweets, the fudge and assorted confectionary packing plant at which I am a supervisor. How is Nataional different from national?

I will give you a little information to whet your appetite, but I do not want to get scammed. Please promise me this is not a scam and I will furnish you with the rest of the information you seek. How did I get on the list? Was it from me signing up for I signed up for that site for, uh, research purposes a few months ago, let me know so I can send the webmaster a thank you note for getting me so much money. Yay! How do you "sensitize the pubic"? I usually tweak my nipples until I cry out from pleasure, never tried sensitizing my pubes, though it sounds intriguing, please explain. Anyway, please email me back with any questions you may have after looking over my details.


Philip McKraken, OBGYN, D.D.S., PhD.

More on this one tomorrow.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

It's Picture Time!

It's picture time, friends
look at Smeagol, but be warned:
none have lived after

Alright, maybe it is kind of lame on my part, but I still kinda feel bad even though Smeagol treated me like crap for most of my life, hits on my wife all the time, stopped my toilet up once, borrows money and then disappears, calls me first to get bailed out of jail every other month, etc., the list goes on. Maybe I'm a good person. Maybe I am above all of this. Nah. It's good therapy, and though I may feel bad for Smeagol to a very small extent, I still hate Mystery to no end because she can't stand me. Anyway, on to the pics first:

Here is one of Mystery in Smeagol's favorite lair, my mom's sectional couch. Bonus points if you can guess which blanket Smeagol is sleeping under! (really):

Sorry about the size, but I have to shrink them to get all of them in one post... next on our oddyssey, the one, the only, Smeagol, next to my sister's dog, who she said pissed on him not long after this picture was taken:

I know some of you are disappointed, the ones I took with the little camera after the move did not come out too well, apparently Smeagol got his claw up just in time to completely screw up the picture. I do have another pic for right now, a super sexy one for all you single ladies out there:

I gotta tell you I am not sure what the fuck he is doing in this picture, I will leave that up to interpretation. Notice the doubled up socks, apparently the insides of his shoes are to stressful on his feet so he has to have a dual cottony cushion of fabric on his feet so as not to risk horrible injury.

I am not sure I am going to leave these up for very long, but I might because I am not happy with either of them right now. Anyway, I will post the scam letter tomorrow, I am working 3 scams at once, awesome stuff!

Late post today

I will post later today, haiku and everything, I have pictures of Smeagol and Mystery, but the scanner here sux and for some reason will only do black and white so I will do these at home...


Tuesday, October 23, 2007


It's Smeagol! Smeagol!
Sleeping on the couch he is!
funking up the house!

Sometimes these stories write themselves...

So I was wondering what to write about today, maybe something else about my dad? Could be fun... something about my mom and the "mystical retard" she turned into when she was on the rock? Eh.... maybe.... I called JJ because he said he might be able to "acquire" a decomputation device for me from a business associate, whatever that means. I got my story.

JJ had not gotten the computer yet, no big deal I am not in a huge rush, and I ask him if he can locate a better picture of Smeagol, since all the ones I have show him with more teeth than he has now, making me look like a liar. He informs me he will ask our mom when she gets up, but he also has a Sony camcorder he might be able to get some video of the Smeags in his thong laying on the couch (I recently found out there is a difference between bikini briefs and bikini thongs or whatever, and since Smeagol'd underwear have only a thin strip of material in the back it is more of a thong than briefs, thus the designation... posterity is everything) sleeping, and that made me happy. I asked him if Smeagol was there at that time, and he remarked that he was not, but... and I quote here...

"He's going to come by after he pawns some stuff to give me my 100 dollars for this chick."

Read that again. I'll wait...


OK at this point JJ was talking about something else, so I interrupted him. "You cannot leave a statement like that unexplained, give me details!"

Apparently, JJ and AV have this "slutty white girl" who they allow to hang out with them in exchange for butt pleasures and other assorted sexy times with Smeagol, a service for which he pays 100 dollars each time. They then drive over to the house he moved out of (he had not told his landlord, apparently he had not truly been evicted yet, so I apologize for any confusion) and hump on the floor, I am assuming not very far from the maggots and shit water that trail throughout the house.

Smeagol had pawned his PSP, PS2 and most of the other electronics he owned in order to satiate his hot lust over this girl, who I now must see to see if she is as she is in my imagination... but it's kind of funny that he asked to borrow money and/ or my Nintendo DS the other day, boy I swear to holy Vishnu if he had pawned off my stuff I would have punched his perm off!

Why. This is the question that I ask myself each and every time I write a post. Why does this have to be my family. Why does the horrid stench of failure cover most of my family (sadly on both sides, my wife's family is almost as bad, but without the crack/ Smeagol) like a stinky fog, obfuscating any light those of us trying to pull ourselves from the quagmire of idiocy attempt to shine upon the name...

To answer Babbit's question, Smeagol is married to Mystery. Has been since 1997 (he claims he was drunk during the meeting, entire courting process and wedding evening, only coming out of his drunken slumber to see a ring on his finger) to this woman. He is giving his money to, and attempting to hump, another girl who, while it has been told took 5 different cocks in one evening, draws the line at giving the Smeags anything more than tiny tastes of the sloppy seconds (or in this case, fifths) by letting him smell the love milk she leaves in his bed after these encounters. So in a way, Mystery knows this other girl, but they are not one and the same, and to date I have not heard of this girl giving SMeagol more than the gift of her company, which in actuality is not a gift because he gives her cash to hang out with him.

More tomorrow, I have Mystery's pic, I am trying to send it to myself so I can post, check back later today it should be there.

Monday, October 22, 2007

Assorted stuff

Thoughts of yesteryear
fitful sleep, a tired whisper
damn car payments due

Assorted Dementia:

I have gotten the pictured developed of Smeagol and Mystery, and I will scan them this evening. I have a really good one of Mystery, but I guess Smeagol's claw got far enough in front of the camera so as to obscure his face, though you can still kinda see it. I am going to look, I know my mom has a few pictures of him recently with full regalia.

I went to see if she was home (my mom) this weekend, and she wasn't, so I did not get to look at her albums she has recently been compiling, she is fashioning herself to be an amateur shutterbug, which is funny because Smeagol hates getting his picture taken, I originally assumed because he thought it would steal his power, but later found out it's simply because he does not want the whole world to think he is ugly.

I got a call from some check cashing place looking for a reference for him Saturday, funny because he got paid Friday and I was really looking forward to getting paid, since you know everyone else involved with the move got paid, but with both that call and JJ telling me Smeags had a new jersey I knew not to ask him about it, it embarrasses me more than Smeagol when he has to come up with another one of his lame excuses...

I was playing my Nintendo DS, I gots the Castlevania, best series ever made bitches, and Smeagol bird-walks over and exclaims over how he didn't know another Castlevania (In his language "kashlvain") had come out and could he borrow the game? I reminded him that he did not have a DS to play the game on, so no. He then, without missing a beat, asked if he could borrow the whole shebang. I asked where his PSP was, since I had one and would just take a few of his games for collateral, I know I am a jerk for doing that to family but dammit he has stolen from me enough times, and he tells me he pawned all his stuff, that's why he wanted to borrow mine (duh). I looked at him for a minute, to see if the irony of his comment had made it past the activator in his perm, and saw that it had not yet, so walked away.

This bitch has the gall to ASK ME for 10 dollars for gas...WTF?! And no, before you ask, I did not loan it to him... he then starts bragging about his new jersey, which looks just like the other ones, like he got it off one of those ghetto salesmen who sell their shirts in little bodegas by the damn freeway.

As we are leaving, I look over at his car for hte first time, mind you JJ, his girl, and Smeagol were all inside when I got there, they all came out and talked, and all went back in...and I saw Mystery sitting in the front seat of his car, looking out the windshield at a tree across the street, I am guessing....I have nothing else to say... that sums it up.

Anyway, I am going to scan what I gots tonight and post, but I am not leaving it up for long, so I will send out an email or something on that and you can jump on and copy it or something. I do not want that taint or his wife dirtifying my site up.

Friday, October 19, 2007


Bootsy Collins, ya'll
Bootzilla just ain't right now!
Funk so hard it stinks

I don't wanna sound like a queer or anything, but...

I am deathly afraid of fish.

Fucking DEATHLY afraid.

You see, it all started when I was 4. I was a cute young chap, a curly afro (I will scan a picture proving this) adorning my adorable face along with my Dukes of Hazzard mesh shirt and Voltron sneakers, and it was Friday night, which in the 80's meant either Ray Bradbury's theater, Creepshow, Tales From the Darkside or a horror movie. We all got popcorn and sat to wait for the magical hour, 9 o'clock, to watch whatever came on. Well I was fucking 4, so as usual I fell asleep at around 8 and Smeagol and my sister relieved me of my popcorn.

The movie that night was "Pirhana 3D", and my sibling quickly grabbed the 3D glasseswe kept around for just these events. For reasons that will become clear in just a moment, they also turned me toward the TV and put a pair on me.

If you have ever seen Pirhana, a freakishly large fish jumps out at the screen chomping it's incisors as the opening title screen comes up. Smeagol turned the TV up quite a bit and they shook me awake.

I turned to look, just in time to see a 3D fish jumping out of the television chomping it's jaws, the loudest scraping metal sound I have ever heard. I screamed, the loudest, most terrified scream I could muster, and apparently pissed myself before running up the stairs, still screaming. My mom told me I would not bathe for almost 2 days after that, I was so afraid of water.

Fast forward to 1999. I am a strapping lad of 18, it is summer, and I am standing in the warm waters of Smithville lake. I was pretty nice and buff at that point, nice little 6 pack going on there, some sexy guns, and I could see a couple of interested ladies looking my way. I tried to act uninterested, and instead turned to flex so they could see the back muscles, when it happened.

A dead, tiny fish floated by and gently grazed my leg.

The scream of abject terror luckily overcame what was I am sure some very loud fearfarts (check dictionary), and I ran all the way out of the water and up to the car, still screaming like a bitch, or Smeagol when someone steps on his foot. I tell you, if there had been any feces waiting within my bowels, I would have ruined my bright orange hawaiian swimming trunks, which would NOT have been cool.

This fear continues to this day, along with the fear my mother instilled in me about those fountains at malls... I will talk more about that later.

On Smeagol's picture: I will get the film developed and post Monday, I am a lazy fuck so bear with me.

Thursday, October 18, 2007

Damn that Smeagol!

Curse that damn Smeagol!
bad breath, bikini briefs, ugh
how are we brothers?

Smeagol is in full effect ya'll

Alright, so with all of the moving Smeagol and Mystery have done recently, you would think he would, you know, live in his new apartment. Not so! Apparently, they moved in but ran out of money before they got their lights or gas turned on, though they have water and trash picked up by the apartment. What's hilarious is the damn apartment has a 99 dollar move in special, so how is it he could not afford to pay to get anything cut on?

Wellm here's how it went: Smeagol was given 2500 dollars to move by Mystery's mom. He spent 700 on parts for his remote control car, like on a gas engine, body kits and other assorted memorabilia, and also on hot wheels and stuff. He gave me 75 to help move total, which included the 15 he gave me to fill the truck back up. JJ got 150 for his trouble, but I think that was more out of fear than anything else. Smeagol showed up last Monday, and JJ carried out his promise to beat him into an even uglier pulp, or tried to. My mom said Smeagol was standing there talking smack and JJ hit him in the stomach, causing him to "crumple like some of your dad's dirty underwear".... thanks for the visual, Mom. Smeagol then gave JJ more money to leave him alone, and my mom said he stayed there looking forlornly at JJ until he left, in my imagination he was in his bikini briefs, sulking int he corner with a raw fish in his mouth, his weiner hanging aborijine style out because his panties don't quite fit, maybe sulking a little bit, licking his wounds, but mom said he just laid there curled up in a fetal position until JJ lost interest and left, then after hearing his car drive away, got up and started talking smack again.

I guess the question I have is what was Smeagol doing there? He has an apartment, I am sure he has not unboxed anything yet, and where was Mystery? JJ said he left her at the apartment, but there's no lights there! ell, I remember her sitting for 10-12 hours at Burger King out in the lobby, just looking out a window or mulling over the philosophical meanderings of a ketchup packet, so I guess it is possible he just left her at home.

Anyhoo, Smeagol spends all this money on toy car parts, buys some high performance parts for his car, which currently does not run because the engine is seized up, and the rest of the money simply disappears into what I like to call, the Cauldron of Failure. So my mom says he has been sleeping and eating and taking dumps at her house then disappearing during the day, either to go to work or to hide from the piercing rays of the sun, whichever is your guess.

I gotta ask, what is your theory on Smeagol? Do you think if my mom does what she says she will do and gets his utilities tured back on he will stop coming over and mooching/ stopping up their toilet/ eating all their food/ stinking up their furniture?

More tomorrow.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Land Shark

Ode to the Landshark

All hail the landshark!
Scourge of the northern corn fields
preying on black belts

The Shark

I have told everyone before I have a first degree black belt in the K-Rat. This story is the first time it has proven completely worthless to have a black belt in the K-Rat.

I drive a hot rod 89 Escort. I paid 550 dor it almost 3 long years ago. It is an awesome car:

Well it was around October, and thusly getting a little cool outside, and the crappy battery I put in that High output (108 HP vs. 86 beeyotches!) awesomobile was dying. I was on my way home from the K-Rat, and had just gotten to the part where there are no streetlights or civilization, just darkness and woods, when the car died. I rolled it to a stop, and sat there, trying not to let the incomprehensible fear that was trying to escape my body take over. I hated nature, bugs, trees, dirt, the homeless, they all suck and I hate them.

I tried to call my wife, no one answered. Funny since it was 8:30 at night and she had no car, but I digress. I get out of the car and start walking.

Let me explain the situation here: I had just gotten off from karate, so I was wearing my gi, which is a black traditional top and white karate pants, and flip flops. It is a full moon, so I look like even more of a crazy person, especially when you factor in that I am probably not the correct skin pigment to be outside where I was...

It's strange how different the country looks when you are walking along with no streetlights and only the moon to guide you how different everything is... what is during the day the faint rustle of a country breeze gently caressing the wheat or other crops along the prairie, at night is the howling winds of the Lord of the 7th underworld, Vishnaroth, heralding the demons of +4 hellish constitution to attack from all directions. No dogs barking, only the horrid screech of some unseen creature, lurking just past the faint light spell the moon has cast over the street, waiting patiently for the clouds to overtake it so it can rip you to shreds with it's talons and Crushing Screech spell, which is helped by it's bardric mage properties.

Anyway, I was walking along the middle of the road, which is dumb because it is one of those hilly 2 lane highways and I could get hit at any moment, but my fear of all things natural (except boobies of course. Oh!) kept me away from the huge thickets and bushes at the side of the road, the foreboding presence of the tall oaks and other assorted trees casting a stark contrast to the moon's eerie glow.

All of a sudden I hear it: a low rustling in this huge tree sitting way to close to the road, one of those really old trees that was strangely all by itself as if it was one of the tree people in the Hobbit and had walked closer to the road in order to nab unlucky passersby as they attempted to walk home. Luckily a car was coming up behind me, so I rushed by it and then kind of turned so they would know I was there... and apparently drive right past, even speeding up a little so my blackness did not taint their car.

It was at this moment, dear reader, that all of those irrational thoughts that had been held at bay by my Circlet of Sanity broke loose, flooding my brain with non-sensical information. What if werewolves could not tell that the moon was not quite full? How could I be sure that there were not sharks swimming in the little drainage ditches on either side of the road? If a deer came out would it attack me? Could I outrun a racoon/ possum/ squirrel in flip flops? Why do superheros wear their underwear on the outside of their clothes? They already have superpowers, do they have to brag about not having skidmarks too?

I was coming up on a similar tree, one too close to the road, and everything was eerily quiet. All of a sudden, just as I got in front of it, something in there rustled and made a loud, throaty crowing sound. That was enough for me. I began sprinting, and one of my flip flops came off. Instead of going back for it or taking the other one off, I ran the rest of the way home with only one flip flop on.


I later did some research and found out land sharks do exist, nay sayers, and I have photographic evidence to prove it! Also note: This is not a forgery, something copied and pasted via Paint in less than 10 minutes while I was sitting there ignoring Flanders, this is the real deal!

Well, silly E-blogger will not let me upload, so I will have to do it tomorrow

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Scam Time! (ongoing series)

A wistful image

of a warm house in winter

pay your gas bill, Smeags!

Scam Time!

Alright so after I sent out that last email I did not expect anything back, in all honesty it was pretty over the top. My wife informed me that I should not try to be gay, because I oversell the part, no gay man uses terms like "man-gravy" or "man-chowder", though they should, you cannot tell me when you read those two terms you did not snicker just a little bit. Anyway, on to the response and my retort!

Stella H. to Phil M.

Hi,I live in london,after you get the consignment and will come over to meet with you.Canada is where the consignment was met to delivered and you pick the consignment from there.
You must know there that i am not single at all. ouch!

call me as you get this message now.

Wow, short, to the point, and apparently she did not fall in love with Philip's picture like I did when I saw it all those years matter... Phil McKraken never gives up!

Phil M. to Stella H.

Stella, I have received your email and must admit I am a little confused. I thought the original consignment was from Brazil, not Canada? Please explain. I do not particularly want to deal with Canadians, as they have police that apparently mount people, it's built right into their names.

Anyway, I would love to call you, but my Tracfone does not make long distance calls, I am going to look for an AT&T cellular phone, but for now email is the best way to talk to me. I also notice you have not sent a picture. Why? I sent you one, the least you can do if we are going to be business partners is send me one back... do not be selfish Stella. I am also slightly saddened that you are married. How does your husband feel about us doing business? Did he see my picture? What did he say?

And also it is nice to know that you live in London and you are not one of those swarthy African negros, with their strange scents and tangled jungles of love hidden so expertly beneath loincloths, sweat trickling down their taut bodies... Anyway, to business. Is there something I need to sign or something? I really want to get this moving, I got another email from a Mr. Peter Okoye, and he has a similar deal, though it is helping him move 32.4 million dollars that his father left him. I will only need one of these deals, as once it is completed and I am rich I will have no need of the other; I'm not greedy you know.

I also am thinking maybe Peter Okoye can get me Christian Okoye's autograph, which should be worth a lot of money now. So the price went up a little bit, I want 30% of the consignment and an autograph from someone famous where you live... hmmm... who is famous from England...Crikey I have no ideas mate, maybe WInston Churchill or maybe Monty Python... you choose.

Anyway, please write back and send a picture so I know who I am dealing with, that way we can build trust. Also I forgive you for Hugh Grant but we need to work on some kind of reperations for Emo Phillips.

Phil McKraken

PS - would it be easier if I just caught a flight out to London? Do you have roads and the electricity there? I saw Braveheart, and I go to the Rennaissance Festival each year, so I know a lot about England and it's current events. Let's put a shrimp on the Barbie mate!

Tomorrow: back to Smeagol... I need to let these build up a bit.

Monday, October 15, 2007

Scam Time (ongoing series)

The Concorde is nice
But cannot touch the Escort
It's a zombie train

Scam Time II

So I could not believe Stella wrote me with a name like Phil McKraken, but I had not received a response from her so I tried to coax her (him?) from her fear of writing back:

Phil M. to Stella H.

Hey just wanted to touch base and see what was going on with you, I had not heard from you and you wanted this transaction completed within a week. I am looking forward to obtaining my share, I want to get this ball moving so that I can spend some of that money and maybe give you a pearl necklace for your graciousness towards me. Please get back with me soon, I am tearing my chest hairs out in anguish.

...and it worked like a charm!

Stella H. to Phil M.

Mrs. Stella Harrison


Attn: Philip McKraken,

Thanks for your response to my proposal, I and my Colleagues are happy to hear that you are ready to help us in this transaction.
I must let you know here that this whole transaction will take few days if you act accordable to our instructions. The ownership of this Consignment will be transfer to your name as soon as you send the following information’s:
(1.) Your contact address and your direct phone number.
(2.) A copy of your I.D card or International passport. (This should be scan and send by email attachment)
Note that after this is done, the Consignment will be ship from Heathrow airport here in London through a DIPLOMATIC IMMUNITY CARGO to you and it will be delivered to your door step. Another thing is the consignment contents will not be declared as cash but declared as Family Treasure and Valuables..
Bear in mind that you will be in custody of our own share of the Consignment for a period of two months, there after i will be coming over to meet with you to collect our share. In line with this, you are to give a written agreement that you will not fail on your part.
Thank you once again.Expecting your immediate response.Sincerely yours,

Mrs. Stella Harrison

I did not click on the link, and I suggest you do not either. I like how she seems to completely ignore my questions and requests for a picture and forges ahead with her original business plan. Now it's time to go completely insane:

Phil M. to Stella H.

Sounds good! I do not have a passport, but I do have a Price Chopper Frequent shopper card I can copy, it is good for up to 35% off at any participating Price Chopper, would that help? I don't see how it wouldn't, those kinds of savings are insane!

As far as my contact address and telephone number, I am not in the practice of giving out my personal information all willy-nilly to someone I do not know. Tell me about yourself, it would be better so that when you come to pick up your share of the loot- er, I mean consignment (wink) we will already know each other in every way but physical. To make it easier, maybe you could just answer a few questions:

1. Where do you live? After I get my money, can I come by and crash on your couch sometime?

2. What are your measurements?

3. Canadians. Why?

4. If you could be a type of underwear, what kind would you be? (I am banana hammock all the way!)

5. Are you single?

Kindly answer these questions and then I would be happy to move forward with my contact information for the speedy movement of this b.m. (Barrel o' Money) to my home. Also to make things easier, could you send me a recent picture so I know who I am talking to? You can send one like mine if you like or just a normal one, but here in America we like to get an idea of who we are talking to, face to face. I am so excited, I am going to whip up a batch of man-gravy (secret recipe, been in my family for generations) and biscuits to share with you when you get here. You are not allergic to black sausage, are you? It's kind of exotic, but I think it really fleshes out the flavor of the meal... Anyway, I will get to scanning my id and probably get it to you Friday afternoon, please respond soon!

Also, call me Phil.


Phil McKraken, OBGYN, DDS, Esq.

I am giving this idiot every hint in the world that I am not serious about helping, and yet she persists... Tomorrow: Stella Responds! After that I will get back to some Smeagol stories, they have been piling up these last few days, I wish he would take a break so I could catch you all up on his past movings... there is a lot of stuff that happened over the weekend...

Friday, October 12, 2007

Scam Time!

Nigerian scams
your English, like your breath, stinks
your balls are showing

Scam Time!

OK so being influenced by, Haggard and the tales of the Nigerian Scam, also known as the 419 scammer, I decided to start screwing with a couple of scammers, since it's freakin' funny and also because I hate them for clogging my hotmail inbox. I created a couple of names to get me started, forwarded the emails from my self, replied, and waited...

And the wait was worth it... a Mrs. Stella Harrison wrote back about some consignment at Heathrow airport. I will post as new emails come in... bear with me, this might start a little slow. Stella's emails will be in black. My replies will be in blue. My comments will be in red. Ready? Let's begin:

Mrs. Stella Harrison


Dear Mr. Philip McKraken,

I got your address through a local Business directory on the web. I must apologies for taking some of your valuable time to explain a proposal that I imagine will be of utmost benefit.
My name is Mrs. Stella Harrison, a Customs Officer attached to the Heathrow airport here in London and presently in a dilemma about what to do about a large consignment we intercepted at the airport about two Months ago. If I was told this, I would never have believed it, considering the wide spread of scams and frauds rocking UK and other countries alike. After inspection of the seizure, my Colleagues and I discovered it contained a large amount of money believed to have been diverted from the Government coffers by politicians, totaling $32.4 million USD and was on it's way to the Overseas for their cronies.
The beneficiary was a Brazilian businessman who has since denied the consignment. This consignment unbelievably was declared by these faceless people as artifacts. The owners of the loot have since disappeared knowing the implications. However, we have not made our findings open to the public. In fact we have started thinking of taking over the seizure as we feel there will not be any reward after all and will only end up in another man's pocket as has always been the case in this country.
What I want from you is your CONSENT so that we can effectively transfer the ownership of this Consignment to your name and conveniently reclaim it afterwards. We shall make provisions for any inconveniences we may cause you by giving you 30% at the end of this transaction while 70% will be for me and my Colleagues. Honestly such situations have been occurring but I have never witnessed any and I have always dismissed them as scams until now that I have seen it myself. My colleagues and I are working round the clock to effect a hitch free transaction by God's grace.
Please give me your views. Also I have to hold on to other vital information for now for security reasons. This transaction process will be smooth and 100% risk free. I will want us to finalize this transaction within one week if you respond promptly.Thank you once again.Expecting your immediate response. Do call me to confirm receipt of this email.Sincerely yours,

Mrs. Stella Harrison
Phone: 44 704 575 4849

Stevester: Awesome... I had waited so long my original email back to her was... a little over the top. I was afraid after replying that I had scared her away... ask my wife I lost some sleep over it (really)... I reference Steve, because she originally sent the above message to him, and replied to him as well with the exact same message. Here I try to get her to deal only with Phil...

From: Philip McKraken
Sent: Tue 10/09/07 10:07 PM
To: Mrs. Stella Harrison

Thank you for contacting me. I was not sure you would, or that you would give this awesome deal to Steve, who loves smuggling the salami, if you know what I mean. I would love to help you out in this your very intriguing endeavor. First, though, let me tell you a little about myself. I work for a company called Smeagol Sweets, I am the quality assurance advisor over the packing and shipping of fudge and other confectionary products. We are a 1.3 billion dollar a year company, maybe you have heard of us? Our motto is 'Pack a little fudge and smile!'

Anyway, I think it is very important to get to know each other if we are going to go into business together. I am 29 years old, Single (wink, wink) and enjoy Dharma and Greg, This Old House and Tootsie on television. I hate Brazilians, they hurt soo much, yet look so good! Anyway I think if we are going to be business associates, we should at least trade pictures. Here's mine, I was feeling a little sexy, and got to thinking about what you might look like.

Are you married, Stella? Tell me what you look like so I can get a good picture of your face in my head as I read your words. Anyway, on to business, since it's evening, and my posse's on Broadway, you should know that me and Kid Sensation, in our home away from home are in a black Benz limo with a cellular phone. Sadly, the phone is not working, so I cannot give you a call at this moment, though I promise you I will. Anyway, on to business. Tell me what it is you need me to do in order to get this ball rolling, and don't forget to tell me a little about yourself! There are a lot of scams in this world, and I want to be sure I am dealing with a real person, not one of those insurgents I always hear about on the TV.
Never fear, kind reader, despite this picture I REALLY did send to her, she responds back... I will post that one Monday. I asked the Tylester and my wife whether I should be gay or try to get Stella to fall in love with me by pretending I had fallen for her... please vote so I know where we all want to go with this. You all have a stake in this too... I was thinking of asking for a shot of her browneye at some point... trying the "I'm lonely and can't get any ladies but I have a lot of money" route to really humiliate her... I am also thinking of trying to get her to have a sign saying my name, "Phil McKraken"... awesome.

Thursday, October 11, 2007

The Move (part III)

So this is the end
of this intrepid journey
but not of Smeagol

The Move

So I go outside, notice at this point we had been in the house for almost 10 minutes when JJ shows up, and Mystery is sitting in the car, looking at a tree. I hadn't even noticed her when I walked by Smeagol's ride, sure I could smell her stank but really when does Smeagol's car not smell of dried shit and failure? (Don't answer that).

I yell out to Smeagol to turn around, as he is in front of me, and get a photo off on my disposable camera before he can cover his face with his claws, I am going to get the camera developed this weekend and share it early next week. So Smeags and Mystery get in their car and pull out of the driveway, I guess indicating they did not want anyone riding with them. JJ, AV and I pile into my truck and take off.

The ride up to the storage locker pissed me off, because the locker was literally 5 miles from my house, and my car was at home. Smeagol and Mystery had driven from Liberty, about 5 miles away, all the way down south and then made me waste my fucking gas when they could have picked me up. I am pissed... AV tells us he will help move stuff out of the truck, and JJ and I share a knowing smirk, as we both knew once he smelled what had been festering in that hot ass truck for 2 days in the hot sun he would probably pass out, much less help.

We get the truck open, and dear God the smell is impenetrable and almost brings me to my knees. I don't even care at this point, I wrap my shirt around my face so I do not get knocked out by the 1-2 punch of the smell and the sight of those maggots crawling all over everything.... by the way do not read this if you just ate lunch. We get all the stuff moved into the locker, and then, in classic Smeagol style, he informs us that he does not have any money to finish paying us but will next payday. I expected it, as did JJ, and we both nod, knowing we will not see him for a month, which is usually how long he stays away, assuming we forget about his debt and then coming back.

As a consolation prize, though, he does offer to feed us. Oh, before I forget, Mystery attempted to help move stuff, and was literally taking individual books out of a box and walking around the truck with them, her retardedness radiating from each uncoordinated step, and put them in the trunk of Smeag's car. Damn she suxass. Anyway JJ suggests we go, as he had not had a chance to eat dinner. We get into our original configurations and head out, leaving all the crap that fell out of the fridge when I almost dropped it laying on the ground and shitwater and maggots and roaches in the back of the truck, which I take back without cleaning, shit ain't my problem.

So we are at Wendy's. Smeagol tells JJ and I to get what we want, and completely ignores AV, which is pretty low and dangerous since AV is one of those guys who can snap over nothing and get all Chuck Norris on your ass, except he is as dark as Wesley Snipes and has no mustache but I digress... I give AV a 5 and tell him to get something, and I only order a drink, as every time I think of food at that point I think about maggots, great new diet plan huh. So I am waiting with JJ for his food, and SMeagol is curled up on the booth facing the front fucking door, gently rubbing both his foot and his balls through his pants right out in the open. Mystery is sitting there doing her little snort thing because she genuinely hates buying things for us and wants us to know it as much as she can without getting smacked by Smeagol, who is not strong enough to be called abusive but tries his best, bless his heart.

There are fucking kids in the restaurant and this raptor is sitting there, no food in front of him, moaning softly and massaging either his balls or his prostate, I did not look close enough to tell. JJ goes up to the counter and orders his food "to go". As we are walking out, Smeagol asks JJ if he can just go ahead and follow me to drop the truck off, since he did not want to waste any gas and he lived nearby. I am too shocked to call him on either the irony or the hypocrisy. JJ says fine, and we part ways. We get to the house, and I ask if JJ has enough gas to get out there. He informs me that it does not take a lot of gas, and he will be fine. I inform him it is a nice long drive, and he looks at me like I had just got off the retard bus.

"Smeagol told me it was on 35th and Troost.... that's like 2 miles!"
I ask him when he told him that, and he says after Wendy's as we were getting into our respective vehicles. I inform him of where we are going, and the look on his face, priceless. I will update you on whether or not he carries out his threat to knock Smeagol's last tooth out, he was mad last night still and it had been 2 days.

Tomorrow: I have been corresponding with a scam artist for a couple of days, I will post the first couple of letters tomorrow, they are awesome!

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

The Move (Part II)

Kansas City Chiefs
like an ugly girl who blows
I just can't say no

The Move (Part II)

So We get all his crap into the truck, and head out, a tentative good feeling emanating throughout my body as I think about not having to help out anymore. Smeagol wants us to park the truck at my mom's house until Sunday morning, when apparently him and JJ are going to move the stuff into a storage locker. I am thrilled, if I never see that refrigerator again it will be too soon.

I drop them off and get back in my car, and Smeagol informs me that he gets off at 7 PM Monday. I do not pay any attention, as I have no intention of coming back down South for any reason until it is time for work. But as you all now know, if that was really the case there would be no post today.

I call JJ Sunday morning, because like I said the truck is in my name and I would rather not run into any complications or anything due to the truck and Smeagol's hatred of punctuality (and cooked fish). I had told the truck place they would have their truck back at 10:00 AM Sunday, and Smeagol was right there, picking at his face the whole time, kind of looking like a chimp grooming itself, but uglier. I mean really, I'm no catch myself, so I really cannot talk about a lot of people, but Smeagol is one ugly mutha. Anyhoo I tell Smeagol to drive the truck because I am not getting his filth in the driver's seat of my car, a few future posts will tell you why.

Anyway, it is after noon on Sunday, but I am not really worried yet, not until I call back at around 5 PM and Smeagol still had not shown up. The truck company calls about their truck, and I promise it at around 4 PM Columbus day, and tell JJ to let Smeags know that is his crap is still in the truck, I am going to set it on the curb and take the truck back. Fast forward to Columbus day, Monday, and I am picking the house up, intent on playing some Civilization unencumbered by clothing since I have the house to myself. JJ calls and informs me that Smeagol told him he had to work some booty ass overtime Sunday night and that he gets off at 7 PM tonight, so let's all meet at my mom's house at 7:30. WTF?! my annoyance knows no bounds as, along with the Chiefs sucking man chowder through the skin straw Jacksonville gave them, now my whole weekend is ruined.

I go all the way to my mom's house, and Smeagol is there, thankfully fully clothed, curled up in a Ball in a chair sleeping soundly. JJ is nowhere to be seen. Funk dat, I start to sneak back out, since I am not moving all that crap by myself, and I guess Smeagol's Leech alarm went off, like it does every time someone is around he thinks he can leech off of for goods and services and money, and he follows me out, just as JJ pulls up with one of his buddies. I tell his friend, AV, to come along and help, like a jerk not informing him of the stench that now had had a full night to fester in a hotbox in the sunlight for a whole day.

Tomorrow: the conclusion, with special guest, Mystery! Also on the horizon, being influenced by such sites as and our own Haggard's websites, I have set up a special email address to mess with those Nigerian scammers, I have been messing with one for about 3 days now, I will start posting the emails that have been exchanged, they are awesome! If you get a scammer you want me to mess with, please send all of those emails to , or my other address for this, and I will take care of them.

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

The Move (Part I)

Alan Parson's Rocks
I listen in the ghetto
Thugs stare, so jealous!

Glorp, Splorch.....

So I get off of work Friday with a smile on my lips and a song in my heart because I get Columbus day off (Yay!), and skip home happily, not even minding the traffic, though let me go off track for a fucking second here: WHY are there traffic JAMS on the damn HIGHWAY?! I will never understand when there are signs posted every 500 feet for almost 2 miles saying there is only one lane, and at the end of that one lane is another highway, no stop lights to hang anyone up or anything, and yet I sit in line for 15-20 minutes... and when I get to the front of the line there is no reason for the hang up! I know the reason why is people cannot wait and have to jump ahead in line, and the thoughts that go through my head as I watch both them skipping to the front, completely oblivious of the signs, and the morons in the front of the line who let them in, are enough on their own to get me incarcerated. I wish I could personally set fire to each person who hangs the whole line up by cutting in line, and then skull rape them or watch Smeagol teabag them as they die a horrifying death.

So anyway I am whistling along with the music, happy to be alive, and I got the inclination something would ruin it. Like a dark cloud over the horizon, I knew something was on the fringe because the Stevester is not allowed happiness, not for an extended length of time.

I get home, and there is a message from Smeagol on my phone. I knew what he wanted, JJ had tipped me off: Smeagol claimed he had paid his rent and was no longer in danger of getting evicted, but wanted to inexplicably move his things out anyway. WTF?! SO I just never answered the phone. The next day I am at my in-laws house, something we do every Saturday, and Smeagol calls and uses a different name, telling my father-in-law that he is family and he really need to talk to me. The phone is given to me, and I can hear through the toothless whistle he makes when he tries to pronounce the letter S that he is proud of himself. He wants me to help him move a few items. I am a pretty good sport, and in all honesty do not totally mind as I really do love everyone in my family, which is why I make fun of them so hard.

Anyway, all gayness aside, I tell Smeags I will meet him at my parents house at about 3, and I do so. He then informs me that because he has had some problems credit wise, he will need me to use my id to rent the truck. I am pissed but acquiesce, since like I said I try to help out when I can. We go to 35th and Troost, no trucks. 15th and Locust, no trucks. Fifty fucking second and State, not State line, which is not that far, but 52nd and goddamn State, a 35 minute drive since I have no idea how to get there other than to go to State and then go south... and we finally get a truck. We go back to my parents house and pick up JJ, as Smeagol is too weak to be of any assistance and I will be damned if I pick up a refrigerator by myself, and go on out.

Now before I go on, let me explain about Smeagol's cavern. It's kind of funny, it was not too far off from the actual Smeagol's Cave in the Hobbit; his electricity had been off for 11 months (no joke), so it was dank and dark, and everything but the fridge was in the basement, which had a constant drip somewhere and no lights other than a filthy window. I pissed all over his water heater because I'm an asshole, and we moved his dog shit crusted appliances up and out, and it's funny that it had dog shit on it since he had not had a dog for more than 2 years.... hmmmmm......

Anyway, we get to the fridge, which fucking reeks. I, like a gosh darn retard, decide to open the door and see what was smelling so bad, like an idiot forgetting that his power had been off for 11 months and Smeagol is way too lazy to empty his refrigerator of any food that had been in there, I should have known that he would have just called it a loss and moved on, since Smeagol lives off of his own failure.

A fist-sized, no joke a fucking FIST-Sized glop of maggots falls out of the fridge and onto the floor right in front of me. Luckily my K-Rat training had assisted me into jumping back fast enough to not get tainted by the maggots, but not fast enough to not land in the brown viscous fluid that also poured out, getting it all over my feet, which were safely ensconced in a pair of flip flops. JJ almost threw up, and shot me the death look, but decided the shit water on me was bad enough. I went around to the sink to try to wash my feet off, and silly me I should have known his water was also off... the only utility still on inexplicably was the telephone. Sounds fiscally sound, we take the doors off of the fridge. As this is happening, I am standing behind the fridge by the kitchen sink, and Smeagol is on the other side of the was emptying his fish tank, which had been sitting for all this time with shit-sludge water in it.... there is a window between the kitchen and the breakfast nook, and I turn just in time to get a nice pitcher of that shit all over my a-shirt, turning it shit brown wherever the sludge touched....

So we get the truck filled back up, and go to the QT to grab a soda. Fuck it I don't even give a shit I am not putting my nice shirt on over that shit sludge a-shirt, so I head on in with that A-shirt on, get a drink and head back out. I don't know how desperate the ladies are around here, but as I was getting back in the truck this older woman looks at me and licks her fucking lips..... man I got fish shit on my shirt and you are trying to hit on me?!

Every time Smeagol got into the cab of the truck he moaned like it was so physically taxing on him he almost could not take it, which is funny because he only moved 4 or 5 boxes, totaling about 10 pounds (heavens no, not all at once, combined poundage). JJ and I are snickering because he is moaning so pitifully the whole time he is moving stuff around, like he is a ghoul or something. JJ informs me this a lot better than when only himself and Smeagol were there, since Smeagol is so weak he had to have mover assist on almost every box, most of which only contained clothes.... he also put 2 pairs of socks on his hands for some reason. WTF?!

So get this picture as you wait to read part II tomorrow... Smeagol, in his hospital scrubs still, probably tiny flecks of dookie and other assorted fluids on it, or not either way, with huge knee high cotton socks on his hands, trying desperately to pick up a box of t-shirts himself, maybe farting softly in anguished little spurts from all the exertion, moaning loudly like a mystical retard.

Or how about this picture: Me, wearing only a wifebeater, jean shorts and flip flops, standing in some brown viscous fluid, mouth agape looking at the sheer numbers of maggots feasting on the bacon, taco bell, eggs, and other various groceries that had been left to rot in the fridge, trying to wring out the shitty fish water from my shirt, wondering if I can get in a shower hot enough to burn all the filth and failure off of me...

Part II tomorrow.

Friday, October 5, 2007

Holy Shitlickers Batman!

My Haiku Tribute to the funniest Youtube video ever, "Wilkinson's Family Restaurant"

children of the thorn
have to ride the wicked storm
or the zombie train

More Quickies

  • My dad constantly threatened to "whip your goat-smelling ass", even though we both knew I could easily best him in combat even before I got a black belt in the K-Rat. This continues to this day, with everyone still ignoring him completely.

  • My older brother has purchased 11 cars from the same place, and they still put anti theft devices and remote shutdown modules in his cars every time he purchases one. I bought one car and they removed all of these things for me

  • My younger brother is well adept at the entire "Stop-N-Go" approach to evading law enforcement: If he gets stopped, as soon as the wheels stop spinning he goes out the door and as far away as possible. This behavior continues to this day and is on the whole pretty successful

  • Attila tried to breastfeed my son. I still cannot say or write that without vomiting in my mouth a little bit.

  • I taught my son to say "Hey I farted! Shake hands!" Every tme he passed gas a s a joke. He recently got into trouble at school for doing that. He got ice cream and a toy when he got home because I think that's awesome.

  • When I was 8 I actually got my own penis into my mouth. Don't judge.

  • My little brother had a friend named Conneroy who would come over and let our dog hump him while we played Mortal Kombat. Our dog would wait at the front door for him whenever we told him he was coming over. That is gay.

  • One time a homeless man saw a bunch of change in my car when I was working security downtown and waited in the snow and slush until my shift was over to beg for it. I threw a bunch of change toward the gutter and told that loser to dig for it before I tried to peel out and shot snow and crap all over him. That made me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

  • I have no idea what I was dreaming about, but my wife said I woke up once, sat straight up and punched her in the face, then rolled over and went back to sleep. It was at that moment, and also right after I told her when I was 8 I put my penis into my own mouth, that she fell in love with me.

Thursday, October 4, 2007

Just a quick item

I know you have all at one point or another asked for Smeagol's picture. I asked JJ to bring it by yesterday and offered him some free video games to sweeten the deal. He forgot it, or couldn't find one. I will go to my parent's house this weekend and pick up a picture of both Smeagol and Mystery.

Before you vote, think about it: you have a good idea of how Smeagol and Mystery look in your head already... Smeagol, looking like an aborigine, wearing baggy bikini briefs, balls hanging in the breeze, permed hair, constant scowl, and Mystery, tall, dumb, smelly. I am certain the pictures will reaffirm your beliefs, but what if they look so horrid you feel sorry for them? Then the blog will no longer be funny... these are things to think about. They are both assholes and evil ones at that, but I already know that.

Please vote, and enjoy.

My brother, the douche

My brother, the douche
Is it no wonder he smells?
and what's with the perm

So this story is set in that wonderful time when I had pretty much nowhere else to go to escape the crack rock. That magical time when I would walk 4 blocks to a different bus stop in order to hide the fact that I lived in that dump that was the house on 5401 Woodland.

The city had condemned the house we lived in, and though we never paid rent the Smeags also never paid the 800 dollars in back taxes, assuming we could just live there rent free forever and never have to pay for anything else. He also only mowed the lawn once every other month with a fucking sickle. I kid you not, Smeagol, who is all of 5'2, and weighs about 95 pounds, 100 if you count in the grease in his hair and coat of failure he is constantly wearing, along with the thin patina of filth that is always there because he does not bathe regularly, or if he does he misses the same parts every time, is trying to mow our lawn with a 6 foot long grim-fucking-reaper sickle. Now, truth be told, it was king of bent so it was straight along the bottom and kind of resembled a rake without the little talon things on it... but it was still a sickle and that's how he used it, looking completely fucking insane the entire time and usually running out of energy long before he could finish or even put a sizable dent in the yard.

Another reason the city condemned our house was because it was literally rotting. There were these huge gaping holes in the roof, that whenever it rained we had to set out a couple of fucking TUBS to catch it all and rarely did even then. It also served as a local wildlife sanctuary, where all of the stray cats and squirrels and various rodents could get in out of the elements for a few minutes by walking unhampered into the attic, where I would later find someone's tranny magazines (I to this day do not want to know who those belonged to) along with a split beaver magazine, which I did keep as it sounded funny. Yeah, that's why I kept it. Porn Roxxors!

The distinct architecture of the house was situated so that there was the attic, and then a small wooden door that led directly into my room from there, so at any given time during the night (especially in the winter for some reason) I could fall asleep listening to the soothing sounds of various rodents scratching at the door and cats meowing and humping each other long into the night. I tell you it did wonders for my rep with the ladies. I tried to dress it up by constantly having a radio going, but it rained one night and of course soaked the radio, which then promptly fell out of the hole in the back window when Mystery's cat accidentally bumped it while committing suicide. That's right, we found the cat dead behind the house, next to my damn radio, which annoyed me. I didn't care about that stupid cat, I knew he was in a better place, though it was funny seeing Mystery doing her little annoyed snort because another one had escaped.

Anyway, it was warm out, meaning Smeagol had turned his preciousssss heat down finally, as it was 100 degrees outside, and bought a nice little inflatable pool. Pretty sweet, I thought, and I quickly changed into some trunks to go sit in it, as it was about 3 foot deep and sure beat sitting in that hot ass house, the fragrant odors of Mystery & Smeagol's (Look for that brand in your grocer's freezer) sexmilk, ass, stank ass clothes washed in the tub and general BO baking into my clothes and psyche. I mosey on out, and without looking put my leg into the pool.

And feel something that is not water or pool side, but skin.

I yank my foot out, and look in the pool to see Bageera, Smeagol's 16 foot Burmese python, lazily swimming around. Luckily she had eaten recently, so she did not mind so much that I had touched her, but still. Smeagol comes Raptor-walking around the corner of the house, and seeing me standing there in my trunks, starts giggling like a 12 year old bitch. "Tee hee you almost became lunch niggie giggle giggle!"

At that point karma kicked in and Smeagol stubbed his toe on one of the stone steps leading up to the house and began rolling around on the ground howling like, like, well like a mystical retard baying at the moon, waiting for Jesus and his magical skateboard. I like to think of all the cars that drive by and saw this scene: An incredibly buff manstud standing there in bright orange swimming trunks, only one leg and the middle wet so it looks like I pissed myself; a gigantic snake swimming around in the pool; a lawn that is only about 1/5 mowed, a sickle still leaning on the front porch; various wildlife peering out from the gigantic hole in the roof, and what looks like a raptor with a perm rolling around on the ground cluthcing his foot like it had been amputated. What a friggin douche.

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

The Lawnmower car

warm hugs, gentle kiss
autumn brings about snuggles
suck me, beautiful!

The Lawnmower Car

So My grandmother, in her infinite wisdom, decided after the dealers finally got tired of kidnapping my dad and taking his car and just took his car, to buy him a new one. She cosigned for a 1998 Chevrolet Cavalier, brand new (well it had 10000 miles on it but you get my point) to him at least, and I assumed, erroneously, that he was going to turn over a new leaf. He did turn that leaf over, then rolled it up and smoked it after his crack rock supply had diminished.

One of my dad's dealers, V (not for Vendetta), who I briefly spoke about before, was one of the more reserved crack dealers, actually acting pretty respectful while in my mom's house (he sold to both my mom and my dad, which is a feat since they were both with different people at the time, but crack brings the family together, if only to huddle for warmth when the gas gets cut off), though he did call my dad "Steve-o", which my dad would mumble quietly after making sure V was not around he hated. My brother and I started calling my dad Steve-o.

Anyway, as is usual at this point, my dad's love of the rock overtook his ability to pay for it, and the time came for him to become kidnapped again. During this 2 weeks that he had the car, he had also driven over a couple of curbs, making the car kind of run funny. Anyway, he finally went to work and did not come home, and just like on South Park, we all realized aloud that he had been kidnapped again, you bastards.

So after the requisite call home to tell us he was kidnapped and he didn't know what they were going to do to him pray for him yada yada yada, everyone laughing because we had him on speakerphone, I wondered aloud where his car was. Later on that day I see V and Billy-Bill driving his car crazy all over the place, almost hitting a mailbox and generally acting like idiots. This would go on every payday for the next year or two, after I had moved out and gotten a house and everything. Over the months the car got shittier and shittier, the seats would not sit back up, there were.... fluids all over the seats, there was literally ashes coating everything, and crack residue on the console between the seats, which was awesome, and for some unexplainable reason there were newspapers and fast food refuse piled up all over the back seat and trunk, which was clearly visible because someone took the back part behind the headrest out with a knife or something. It also smelled horribly of booty all the time in there as well, which was not cool as V and Billy-Bill told us all the time about their conquests in that car, usually while you were sitting in the seat where just a few hours before they had been completely naked giving some girl the mandarin blood sausage.

One day, I went over to my parents house, Jeff had taken my mom's check and disappeared, Janet was at another crack party my dad was not invited to, so pretty much a normal day. Mom was in full Mystical Retard sway, telling us how spiritual it was that someone bought her some ramen noodles because she hadn't eaten in 2 weeks and they were the best she had ever tasted in her life, and also how she missed Jeff's manpipe, right in front of my dad, as they both sat in the living room smoking crack, reminiscing about loves lost in times past.

I asked where my dad's car was, since he was here and the car was not. A huge grin spread across his face and he informed me that someone thought V was him and blew his brains out all over the inside of the car. My dad informed me this was a stroke of luck, as he had owed V 2500 dollars and now he did not owe it, then quickly returned to the pipe. Mom told me that it was "very spiritual that he died, because he left his dog and I think the dog knew when he died, because he moaned so sadly like he had lost his partner in -a pause as she took a long drag off the pipe- life... I knew he was dead at that point, I sho am glad I don't owe him any money though." And with that she started that retarded moan that meant she was communing with the spirits, or asking Jesus to ride his magical skateboard down to bring her hot wings or whatever it was she was doing, meaning she was done with intelligent conversation for the time being.

Dad informed me he was going to go get his car from the impound and clean the brains out of it and drive it again, still grinning from his good fortune. That's when Billy-Bill knocked on the door, and by "knocked on the door", I mean "walked into the house unannounced and sat on the couch"...

He paused for a moment, was it for reflection? No. He informed my dad that the account he had had with V was now ported over to him, so my dad owed him 4300 dollars, as he already had smoked up 1800 with Billy-Bill on credit. My dad's smile melted, and he sadly gave Billy-Bill all 100 dollars he had promised he would spend on groceries for the 7 of us for the next 2 weeks, and Billy-Bill informed him he would be back when he got paid and left, completely ignoring me.

Throughout this whole exchange mom was swaying her head from side to side in tune to some mystical retard music, eyes closed, completely oblivious to the mortal world. I could have teabagged her and gave her a KC Dirt track (check the dictionary) and she would not have noticed... fuck Smeagol.

More tomorrow, maybe another edition of "Quickies"