Monday, June 30, 2008
Friday Shenanigans
Wikipedia
can be edited by all
where's Smeagol's page then?
So I hope Friday's shenanigans did not frighten anyone into never reading my blog again, though in all honesty I can't see how such an adorable fella would scare anyone away... ugh those photos (probably more than 200 of them) still make me shudder...
So I went to Probation and got my photo taken with everyone down there... man I have never gotten so many compliments or accidental (though I do not think they were all accidental, if you know what I mean) palms on my barely-covered ass. This one guy was all like "Man, Stevester, you are a confident man, mmm mmm mm, you are a very confident man" while looking me over, pretty sassy in my book.
I went to the Marshal's office, stopping to let the guards get a look at me, and then they had me stand in front of a camera that went Gawd knows where while some guy guffawed into the radio...
One of the guards tells me to say I am a "self surrender" when I get to the window, and I get back there and there is this guy who looks at me and does not even attempt a smile, I tell him I am a self surrender and I swear to you all, his hand twitched like he was going to shoot me. I was afraid I was going to be put into a jail cell and have to use my one phone call to contact my manager to come and get my silly buns... how embarrassing!
One of the funniest points was I went into the little cafe we have in the building to mess with our janitor, and the lady who was working the counter saw me and doubled up laughing, and stayed that way for a good minute to a minute and a half... just deep gutteral laughs that seemed to shake her whole body, very nice! These 2 lawyers were in there getting food, and they didn't smile or anything, just turned their heads like "ugh this is so disgusting I am just not going to comment", and I once again remembered why I do not like working at the Firm anymore... it seems a lot of lawyers have no sense of humor whatsoever, maybe it is because of all the work they do as associates, because most of the people here used to be lawyers and are pretty funny...
No matter, I go up to the judge's chambers. The first judge I went to was I guess talking to someone on the phone, and when he saw me he goes "Bob, I'm gonna have to talk to you later, there's a large black man wearing a tutu in my office" and hung up without listening to see what Bob had to say about that. He also said I reminded him of something, and uttered the words "drag queen" and "albino stripper", 2 things I never thought a judge would say in my life. I would recount the story, but even if I do not use names I am not sure if I can go to prison or not, so I will keep it to myself.
One of the judges wanted to know where the Tylester's matching outfit was, and if maybe he should not be wearing a yellow one, which I thought was actually pretty sassy kinda classy.
I have video, but with video comes a quandary: I know for a fact these will end up on Youtube, I mean come on...in all honesty if it was one of you I would have already posted it on somewhere... but should I edit out the parts I am not in and if I do that would that detract from the quality of said video? I mean the videos are totally hot but do I really want to see them on NBC's "To Catch a Predator"?
In a word, yes.
I will post the videos because I have no shame, because I have such high self esteem that for the life of me I cannot see why it would not be awesome and hot to watch these videos, maybe emulationg Toboggan Boy by masturbating whilst crying softly, spread eagle on your bed... ugh.
Anyway let me make sure the videos are legally alright, here are a few more photos to whet your insatiable appetite:
Friday, June 27, 2008
I have no words to title this post...
Please not on Youtube
Don't post on MySpace either
no one wants to see.
Please enjoy the above haiku, and the hidden message along with it. and now, what you have all been waiting for:
Don't post on MySpace either
no one wants to see.
Please enjoy the above haiku, and the hidden message along with it. and now, what you have all been waiting for:
Thursday, June 26, 2008
A Promise
A gentle man touch
open toilets, all can watch
downtown drunk tank
Alright, I know you are all waiting with baited (and masturbated) breath to hear more about Gravy and how it turned to her threatening to have me "whacked", and I promise I will get to that story tomorrow. I need to know your opinion on something and I need the honest truth, not like when Will would tell me my parents died while I was on lunch every day and laugh when I called to find them still alive.
One of the practical jokers here is having his 50th birthday celebration tomorrow. It is supposed to be a surprise. Somehow, the higher ups decided while trying to think up an adequate prank to play on him on his special day, that they should contact the Stevester and have me do something.
I created a powerpoint, transposing his face onto one of the rowers rowing Washington across the Delaware, and various other things, and assumed my job was done. Nope.
*sigh*, I really don't want to tell you all this, but I am sure you will be angry with me if you see it on Youtube and did not get the opportunity to see it first.....
Someone VERY HIGH in the food chain thought it would be a good idea if Brown Bear would dress up in a pink leotard and tutu, get wrapped up in a huge gift box, jump out and sing "I am Your Brother" from Renaldo Lapuz on American Idol (Youtube it), finishing the show by doing the worm in said tutu, all while "I'm Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred plays in the background. There will be pictures and full motion video, and thus my quandary: If I post these media jewels on here for you all to see, how can I be sure they do not make it onto Youtube or even worse CNN somehow? I mean the idea of a fat black guy wearing a leotard and tutu doing the worm down a crowded hallway is adorable of course, but should it be internet-video worthy? It's quandaries like these that keep me awake at night, ladies and gentlemen... I put the vote up, I trust you will choose wisely.
By the Way, the Tylester can vouch that not only am I not joking, I am not exaggerating either. I seriously am going to wear a bright pink leotard and tutu ensemble and will sing and dance for the entire company. It's funny, because before this was leaked out to the public only about 10 or 15 people were going to show up, now there's like 40 or 50 (I am not sure of the exact number), including judges, who all intend to come, thus ensuring I do not back out. Everywhere I walk someone is pointing at me and laughing, like that day I wore suspenders to work. I am glad that I am secure enough in my own manhood to wear bicycle shorts with lace on them and this whole getup, especially since the wife offered to pay me to dance in said outfit.
All of this, though, boils down to a central question: Would a pink leotard and tutu, paired with bicycle shorts with lace on them, make me automatically gay? I mean, that's a big step that I might be taking without looking to make sure it's not off a precipice. I mean there was that one time that I raped those dudes in jail but that wasn't gay that was because I was angry, so...
Seriously though does that make me gay (not that there's anything wrong with that)?
Vote bitches!
open toilets, all can watch
downtown drunk tank
Alright, I know you are all waiting with baited (and masturbated) breath to hear more about Gravy and how it turned to her threatening to have me "whacked", and I promise I will get to that story tomorrow. I need to know your opinion on something and I need the honest truth, not like when Will would tell me my parents died while I was on lunch every day and laugh when I called to find them still alive.
One of the practical jokers here is having his 50th birthday celebration tomorrow. It is supposed to be a surprise. Somehow, the higher ups decided while trying to think up an adequate prank to play on him on his special day, that they should contact the Stevester and have me do something.
I created a powerpoint, transposing his face onto one of the rowers rowing Washington across the Delaware, and various other things, and assumed my job was done. Nope.
*sigh*, I really don't want to tell you all this, but I am sure you will be angry with me if you see it on Youtube and did not get the opportunity to see it first.....
Someone VERY HIGH in the food chain thought it would be a good idea if Brown Bear would dress up in a pink leotard and tutu, get wrapped up in a huge gift box, jump out and sing "I am Your Brother" from Renaldo Lapuz on American Idol (Youtube it), finishing the show by doing the worm in said tutu, all while "I'm Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred plays in the background. There will be pictures and full motion video, and thus my quandary: If I post these media jewels on here for you all to see, how can I be sure they do not make it onto Youtube or even worse CNN somehow? I mean the idea of a fat black guy wearing a leotard and tutu doing the worm down a crowded hallway is adorable of course, but should it be internet-video worthy? It's quandaries like these that keep me awake at night, ladies and gentlemen... I put the vote up, I trust you will choose wisely.
By the Way, the Tylester can vouch that not only am I not joking, I am not exaggerating either. I seriously am going to wear a bright pink leotard and tutu ensemble and will sing and dance for the entire company. It's funny, because before this was leaked out to the public only about 10 or 15 people were going to show up, now there's like 40 or 50 (I am not sure of the exact number), including judges, who all intend to come, thus ensuring I do not back out. Everywhere I walk someone is pointing at me and laughing, like that day I wore suspenders to work. I am glad that I am secure enough in my own manhood to wear bicycle shorts with lace on them and this whole getup, especially since the wife offered to pay me to dance in said outfit.
All of this, though, boils down to a central question: Would a pink leotard and tutu, paired with bicycle shorts with lace on them, make me automatically gay? I mean, that's a big step that I might be taking without looking to make sure it's not off a precipice. I mean there was that one time that I raped those dudes in jail but that wasn't gay that was because I was angry, so...
Seriously though does that make me gay (not that there's anything wrong with that)?
Vote bitches!
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
The Gravy Guzzler
I must seek Buddha
for he's copied me too long
Only I'm that fat
Gravy Lady
We had other guards working on the night shift, and I got along with the majority of them really well, laughing and joking and reminiscing of times past... but through it all, Ercie (from now on Gravy) was there, constantly talking about me behind my back and biding her time when she could ruin me, drinking her gravy in anger and listening to herself getting fatter by the second.
Things were not going so well at the security company. The client (a law firm in Kansas City) started claiming that things were coming up missing, and automatically assumed that security was doing it, because of course no one at a law firm would ever steal things. While this logic was shaky at best, we did have a thief. Gravy. Let me explain.
Gravy was a thief. She would randomly come back from her inspection rounds eating or drinking something, and something just like that would be missing the following day when the owner of said beverage or food came up missing. This was annoying, but also funny because apparently a year or so before I started working there her nephew was a security guard who was notorious for stealing things, including from the other guards, prompting my main man McKillin (this is not far off of his real name) to get back at him. You see, this guy was, as all thieves are supposed to be, not liked by anyone who was not a douchebag thief themselves. I know this sounds cruel, but this guy, like Gravy now, was completely oblivious to the their peers' hatred of them, and would routinely steal from the very guards working on his shift and eat or drink their food in front of them.
McKillin informed me (with much enthusiastic "dahniggaaintlyin" from his peers) that he had had enough. He brought in a 3 liter of cheap strawberry soda, which he knew was the nephew's favorite. He drank about half of it during his break, and - now I am not sure he did this in the back stairwell or in the bathroom, as he would have had to walk past said nephew to get to the bathroom, which was the only room back there and might cause some interest in why he would take soda into the shitter, and pissed in it, almost filling it back up. He then placed the soda in the fridge, and went and relieved the nephew like usual.
Well, we all know how this ended up, and the nephew, long story short, quit in disgrace, to become a homeless person who masturbated on passersby in the long tradition of his family.
I said all that to say this: Gravy was a damn thief. At the point this whole saga takes place, 2 good retired veterans had been summarily fired simply based on Gravy's accusations that they had stolen. This caused the ire of not only me, but the other guards as well, as just in the Salem witch trials, she was acting all high and mighty, informing other guards that if they got on her "bad side" (which sounded like it would take a day trip and a couple of oxygen masks to get to) that they might be next. This led to a lot of grumbling, and increased security measures, meaning more work for me. I now had to go floor to floor and relieve each guard individually, instead of calling them while I watched porn in my office (I wish I had been smart enough to watch porn in my office). This led to me being a complete douche back to Gravy, informing her that she was going too slow, that she could only take one lunch from now on, and the like. That's when the Presidential Platter disappeared.
Tomorrow: What Happened to the Presidential Platter? Will the Stevester get in trouble? And... a thinly veiled threat on the nerdiest man alive! Join tomorrow, same time, same address, at.... steveshaikus!
for he's copied me too long
Only I'm that fat
Gravy Lady
We had other guards working on the night shift, and I got along with the majority of them really well, laughing and joking and reminiscing of times past... but through it all, Ercie (from now on Gravy) was there, constantly talking about me behind my back and biding her time when she could ruin me, drinking her gravy in anger and listening to herself getting fatter by the second.
Things were not going so well at the security company. The client (a law firm in Kansas City) started claiming that things were coming up missing, and automatically assumed that security was doing it, because of course no one at a law firm would ever steal things. While this logic was shaky at best, we did have a thief. Gravy. Let me explain.
Gravy was a thief. She would randomly come back from her inspection rounds eating or drinking something, and something just like that would be missing the following day when the owner of said beverage or food came up missing. This was annoying, but also funny because apparently a year or so before I started working there her nephew was a security guard who was notorious for stealing things, including from the other guards, prompting my main man McKillin (this is not far off of his real name) to get back at him. You see, this guy was, as all thieves are supposed to be, not liked by anyone who was not a douchebag thief themselves. I know this sounds cruel, but this guy, like Gravy now, was completely oblivious to the their peers' hatred of them, and would routinely steal from the very guards working on his shift and eat or drink their food in front of them.
McKillin informed me (with much enthusiastic "dahniggaaintlyin" from his peers) that he had had enough. He brought in a 3 liter of cheap strawberry soda, which he knew was the nephew's favorite. He drank about half of it during his break, and - now I am not sure he did this in the back stairwell or in the bathroom, as he would have had to walk past said nephew to get to the bathroom, which was the only room back there and might cause some interest in why he would take soda into the shitter, and pissed in it, almost filling it back up. He then placed the soda in the fridge, and went and relieved the nephew like usual.
Well, we all know how this ended up, and the nephew, long story short, quit in disgrace, to become a homeless person who masturbated on passersby in the long tradition of his family.
I said all that to say this: Gravy was a damn thief. At the point this whole saga takes place, 2 good retired veterans had been summarily fired simply based on Gravy's accusations that they had stolen. This caused the ire of not only me, but the other guards as well, as just in the Salem witch trials, she was acting all high and mighty, informing other guards that if they got on her "bad side" (which sounded like it would take a day trip and a couple of oxygen masks to get to) that they might be next. This led to a lot of grumbling, and increased security measures, meaning more work for me. I now had to go floor to floor and relieve each guard individually, instead of calling them while I watched porn in my office (I wish I had been smart enough to watch porn in my office). This led to me being a complete douche back to Gravy, informing her that she was going too slow, that she could only take one lunch from now on, and the like. That's when the Presidential Platter disappeared.
Tomorrow: What Happened to the Presidential Platter? Will the Stevester get in trouble? And... a thinly veiled threat on the nerdiest man alive! Join tomorrow, same time, same address, at.... steveshaikus!
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
My neck and my back...
Suck a dead dog's ass!
Eat a Polar Bear's asshole!
Rock over London!
(a haiku-ized rendition of "Lick a Bulldog's Nasty Asshole" by Wesley Willis)
Ah, where to start, where to start.... hmmmm.....
Well, my sister is pregnant again, with number 6... I gotta tell you, when you have 1 kid, you are a good planner, 2 kids, a well balanced family, 3 kids, you must have an enormous dong and buns of steel, along with rippling muscles and a rapist wit... But dammit any more than 3 or 4 kids you are no longer building a family, you are having a litter. Past like 4 you should just start numbering them, and having the hospital tattoo their number on their foreheads, just raise them to believe thats how all kids do it, they just put makeup on to cover the numbers.
Anyway, congrats and yadda yadda yadda, on to other business. My middle kid (the ball-puncher) turns 6 today, effectively making me seem even more old and useless, I will have to defeat him in unarmed combat to make myself feel better...
Anyway, updates done, on to the phun tyme!
The year was 2003, and I was working in security (but not for Eddie Murphy). Life was for the most part alright, I mean we were always broke but it was a happy kind of broke, for though we had no cash whatsoever we still ate every day and that put us leaps and bounds ahead of Smeagol, who was still working booty ass overtime and coming home to sit on the couch in his thong until bedtime every night, with no dinner or anything of the sort to show for it but a rash and a nasty itch that no cream could cure.
"Well if you liked your job in security, why were you looking for work, Stevester?" You might be wondering. The short answer is a fat assassin threatened my life, giving the company a valid reason to send me to the butthole of the Midwest, Kansas. At the BPU plant on 12th and Quindaro, to be exact. And another BPU out in the Kaw Valley, which also sucked. Let me explain.
I had been promoted to Supervisor. Stevester and supervisory positions do not mix, because as long as Stevester is getting paid, Stevester does not give a flying rat's ass what you do, and this is the way I managed as well. As long as the work got done, I could care less if the security guards took 2 hour shit breaks, hour-and-a-half lunches or if they went and slept on the table in the conference room, farting and stinking the entire area up in a most awesome way. For most of the evening shift employees, this was awesome - they loved Stevester's "I don't give a shit" mentality and borrowed it for their own models on how to live. All except Ercie.
Ercie was a very large woman. I had no problem with that. Ercie was old. I had no problem with that either. Ercie also hated me because I was promoted over her and I was a third of her age. Yet again, fine with me. but the culmination of all of these shitty qualities led to some issues. I will explain:
Ercie was a thief and a liar, 2 qualities you would rather not have in a security guard. She was also lazy, but then again so am I, so I have to assume that is a desirable quality. She would buy the family meal at Church's Chicken, which usually consisted of 4-5 pieces of chicken, 2 corn on the cob, family sized mac and cheese and mashed taters and gravy, and eat all of it, including literally DRINKING THE DAMN GRAVY after she was done. I would have to endure this, completely disgusted as I watched and listened to her get fatter by the second while waiting for her to go on tour, and as soon as she was done have to listen to her usual "You is lazy Wallace, I don't know how you got to be supahvisah..." and with that she would slip into a diabetic coma I assume, as her body tried desperately to build another roll in which to store all the fat she had just ingested, and failing miserably.
Tomorrow: Part II
Eat a Polar Bear's asshole!
Rock over London!
(a haiku-ized rendition of "Lick a Bulldog's Nasty Asshole" by Wesley Willis)
Ah, where to start, where to start.... hmmmm.....
Well, my sister is pregnant again, with number 6... I gotta tell you, when you have 1 kid, you are a good planner, 2 kids, a well balanced family, 3 kids, you must have an enormous dong and buns of steel, along with rippling muscles and a rapist wit... But dammit any more than 3 or 4 kids you are no longer building a family, you are having a litter. Past like 4 you should just start numbering them, and having the hospital tattoo their number on their foreheads, just raise them to believe thats how all kids do it, they just put makeup on to cover the numbers.
Anyway, congrats and yadda yadda yadda, on to other business. My middle kid (the ball-puncher) turns 6 today, effectively making me seem even more old and useless, I will have to defeat him in unarmed combat to make myself feel better...
Anyway, updates done, on to the phun tyme!
The year was 2003, and I was working in security (but not for Eddie Murphy). Life was for the most part alright, I mean we were always broke but it was a happy kind of broke, for though we had no cash whatsoever we still ate every day and that put us leaps and bounds ahead of Smeagol, who was still working booty ass overtime and coming home to sit on the couch in his thong until bedtime every night, with no dinner or anything of the sort to show for it but a rash and a nasty itch that no cream could cure.
"Well if you liked your job in security, why were you looking for work, Stevester?" You might be wondering. The short answer is a fat assassin threatened my life, giving the company a valid reason to send me to the butthole of the Midwest, Kansas. At the BPU plant on 12th and Quindaro, to be exact. And another BPU out in the Kaw Valley, which also sucked. Let me explain.
I had been promoted to Supervisor. Stevester and supervisory positions do not mix, because as long as Stevester is getting paid, Stevester does not give a flying rat's ass what you do, and this is the way I managed as well. As long as the work got done, I could care less if the security guards took 2 hour shit breaks, hour-and-a-half lunches or if they went and slept on the table in the conference room, farting and stinking the entire area up in a most awesome way. For most of the evening shift employees, this was awesome - they loved Stevester's "I don't give a shit" mentality and borrowed it for their own models on how to live. All except Ercie.
Ercie was a very large woman. I had no problem with that. Ercie was old. I had no problem with that either. Ercie also hated me because I was promoted over her and I was a third of her age. Yet again, fine with me. but the culmination of all of these shitty qualities led to some issues. I will explain:
Ercie was a thief and a liar, 2 qualities you would rather not have in a security guard. She was also lazy, but then again so am I, so I have to assume that is a desirable quality. She would buy the family meal at Church's Chicken, which usually consisted of 4-5 pieces of chicken, 2 corn on the cob, family sized mac and cheese and mashed taters and gravy, and eat all of it, including literally DRINKING THE DAMN GRAVY after she was done. I would have to endure this, completely disgusted as I watched and listened to her get fatter by the second while waiting for her to go on tour, and as soon as she was done have to listen to her usual "You is lazy Wallace, I don't know how you got to be supahvisah..." and with that she would slip into a diabetic coma I assume, as her body tried desperately to build another roll in which to store all the fat she had just ingested, and failing miserably.
Tomorrow: Part II
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Tech Support Shenanigans, Phun Tyme Edition
Linoleum knife!
cuts like a rusty razor!
But can save the World!
I figured I would delve back into the victimless crimes that are the Gateway years, followed by the even better Cap years, great times all.
Horny old Lady
This was not a single person, this was a group designation. These old ladies would call, and spend the entire time trying to talk you into either free phone sex or coming out to live with them, with absolutely no idea what you look like or if you are Jeremy, who let me remind you, was sitting 2 cubes away, his gorgeous breasts glistening with sweat as he fumbled valiantly to remove the condom-like wrapper from his quickly suffocationg Snickers bar.
Anyway I would rather not get into specifics, but the thought of some old lady digging in her irrigation canal while asking me about hard drive specifications and can she get a floppy was enough to, sadly, give me a half mast while still disgusting me (what can I say, I'm a horndog, even thinking of Jeremy oiling up his manboobs almost got some movement....I'm so ashamed!)
The Reader
This was usually some older guy, and I know someo f you will blast me for this, but dammit if you're that fucking old get someone who was born within the last half century to call for you. These Oldie Oldersons will read every fucking thing on the box if you dare to ask a question that is more complicated than YES or NO, example time:
Me: "OK you old fart what OS are you using?"
Jaggoff: "Microsoft Windows XP Professional Edition Versio-"
Me (annoyed): "OK so Windows XP?"
Jaggoff: "No, Microsoft Windows XP Professional Editi-"
Me: "FuuuuUUUUCK!"
They also will read things that have nothing whatsoever to do with the reason they called, like they get you in a corner and will not allow you to answer the siren call of either alcohol or sweet, sweet death to not have to listen to their wrinkled lips crackle as they lubricate them constantly with that little lip smack old people always do...
Picture Painter
This is the guy (or gal) who has to set the mood and explain in excrutiating detail everything that is going on in their lives when all you want to know is if the damn power got plugged in...
Me: So is the power plugged in?
Idiot: Well when I was 11 I ate a pickle. It was delicious, crunchy without being overbearing, and then I noticed a fleet of German Panzer tanks attacking over the grassy knoll, almost taking out what looked like a wily raptor in a green thong trying to steal a lollipop from a kitten wearing a diaper, and losing the battle badly. I got car insurance throug GEICO and last night noticed a rash on my taint and wonder if it had to do with that 11 year old Laotion boy I have hired on as my gardener/ sex slave, or if it was the unsoftened leather that constitutes the bottom half of my S&M leather/steel spike studded thong?
Me:......so, no?
More Monday, I wrote this yesterday but for some reason BLogger was down and it wiped off half of my damn post... so lame!
cuts like a rusty razor!
But can save the World!
I figured I would delve back into the victimless crimes that are the Gateway years, followed by the even better Cap years, great times all.
Horny old Lady
This was not a single person, this was a group designation. These old ladies would call, and spend the entire time trying to talk you into either free phone sex or coming out to live with them, with absolutely no idea what you look like or if you are Jeremy, who let me remind you, was sitting 2 cubes away, his gorgeous breasts glistening with sweat as he fumbled valiantly to remove the condom-like wrapper from his quickly suffocationg Snickers bar.
Anyway I would rather not get into specifics, but the thought of some old lady digging in her irrigation canal while asking me about hard drive specifications and can she get a floppy was enough to, sadly, give me a half mast while still disgusting me (what can I say, I'm a horndog, even thinking of Jeremy oiling up his manboobs almost got some movement....I'm so ashamed!)
The Reader
This was usually some older guy, and I know someo f you will blast me for this, but dammit if you're that fucking old get someone who was born within the last half century to call for you. These Oldie Oldersons will read every fucking thing on the box if you dare to ask a question that is more complicated than YES or NO, example time:
Me: "OK you old fart what OS are you using?"
Jaggoff: "Microsoft Windows XP Professional Edition Versio-"
Me (annoyed): "OK so Windows XP?"
Jaggoff: "No, Microsoft Windows XP Professional Editi-"
Me: "FuuuuUUUUCK!"
They also will read things that have nothing whatsoever to do with the reason they called, like they get you in a corner and will not allow you to answer the siren call of either alcohol or sweet, sweet death to not have to listen to their wrinkled lips crackle as they lubricate them constantly with that little lip smack old people always do...
Picture Painter
This is the guy (or gal) who has to set the mood and explain in excrutiating detail everything that is going on in their lives when all you want to know is if the damn power got plugged in...
Me: So is the power plugged in?
Idiot: Well when I was 11 I ate a pickle. It was delicious, crunchy without being overbearing, and then I noticed a fleet of German Panzer tanks attacking over the grassy knoll, almost taking out what looked like a wily raptor in a green thong trying to steal a lollipop from a kitten wearing a diaper, and losing the battle badly. I got car insurance throug GEICO and last night noticed a rash on my taint and wonder if it had to do with that 11 year old Laotion boy I have hired on as my gardener/ sex slave, or if it was the unsoftened leather that constitutes the bottom half of my S&M leather/steel spike studded thong?
Me:......so, no?
More Monday, I wrote this yesterday but for some reason BLogger was down and it wiped off half of my damn post... so lame!
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Tylester Meets Smeagol, Afternoon Edition
an old, shriveled ass
loud grunts, a toilet ruined
Smeagol's daily job
So today the Tylester got the honor of meeting the Smeags. It almost didn't happen and I was almost glad it didn't, because what if his idea of how Smeagol looked and acted and sounded was way off? What if Smeagol was really a totally normal guy who I had been making fun of this whole time?
Tylester said he lived up to most of the hype, but he might be just saying that to not hurt my feelings.
First, a quick update on his valiant efforts to find someone dumb enough to finance him an automobile (Smeagol, not Tylester):
JJ had the unfortunate task of driving the wily raptor around the city, hopefully not in search of a viable mate in order for Smeagol to lay his raptor eggs inside of...
Every time they passed a car dealershit (not a typo, those dealerships on Truman road are shit, and thus get the new term), Smeagol would want to stop, saying "I bet these guys haven't heard of me, they might finance me niggie!"
This went on for quite a few stops, each time JJ getting progressively more annoyed, each time having to listen to dealers telling Smeagol that even though they say on their commercials they can finance anyone, that they cannot finance a wily raptor like him.
The best one came last, as they stopped at the last car dealership on Truman Road before you get into dreaded Independence. They go in, and Smeagol starts with his "I have 50 dollars to put down, I really need a car, niggie!" and looking at all manner of nice looking, poorly running automobilic manifesto. The dealer comes out, and with a now practised tone informs Smeags "Look, with only 50 dollars to put down and some of the worst credit I have ever seen, I...I just don't see how I am going to be able to finance you. Begone, Raptor!" And waggled a valid credit card in Smeagol's face, hoping the look of success would frighten him into leaving. No, I kid about the begone, raptor part...
Smeagol's face fell, and then an idea hit him. JJ said he pointed at the sign that said "We Finance ANYONE" and was all like "But...but....your sign says you'll finance anyone" he whined, his thong drooping in sadness and from the juice his hot ass and balls extricated like a steady stream of Ugh....
"I know, I know, but I can;t finance you." With that, the dealer turned on his heel and went back inside, like all the others to laugh at that raptor. Sure, it looked like he was a liar, but think about it: They can finance any HUMAN, this was a raptor, one of the most dangerous in the region...no one needed that kind of headache!
Smeagol got back in the car, downtrodden by the ills and burdens of being a raptor in the world today, and had JJ drive him home.
Tomorrow... the rest of the tale!
loud grunts, a toilet ruined
Smeagol's daily job
So today the Tylester got the honor of meeting the Smeags. It almost didn't happen and I was almost glad it didn't, because what if his idea of how Smeagol looked and acted and sounded was way off? What if Smeagol was really a totally normal guy who I had been making fun of this whole time?
Tylester said he lived up to most of the hype, but he might be just saying that to not hurt my feelings.
First, a quick update on his valiant efforts to find someone dumb enough to finance him an automobile (Smeagol, not Tylester):
JJ had the unfortunate task of driving the wily raptor around the city, hopefully not in search of a viable mate in order for Smeagol to lay his raptor eggs inside of...
Every time they passed a car dealershit (not a typo, those dealerships on Truman road are shit, and thus get the new term), Smeagol would want to stop, saying "I bet these guys haven't heard of me, they might finance me niggie!"
This went on for quite a few stops, each time JJ getting progressively more annoyed, each time having to listen to dealers telling Smeagol that even though they say on their commercials they can finance anyone, that they cannot finance a wily raptor like him.
The best one came last, as they stopped at the last car dealership on Truman Road before you get into dreaded Independence. They go in, and Smeagol starts with his "I have 50 dollars to put down, I really need a car, niggie!" and looking at all manner of nice looking, poorly running automobilic manifesto. The dealer comes out, and with a now practised tone informs Smeags "Look, with only 50 dollars to put down and some of the worst credit I have ever seen, I...I just don't see how I am going to be able to finance you. Begone, Raptor!" And waggled a valid credit card in Smeagol's face, hoping the look of success would frighten him into leaving. No, I kid about the begone, raptor part...
Smeagol's face fell, and then an idea hit him. JJ said he pointed at the sign that said "We Finance ANYONE" and was all like "But...but....your sign says you'll finance anyone" he whined, his thong drooping in sadness and from the juice his hot ass and balls extricated like a steady stream of Ugh....
"I know, I know, but I can;t finance you." With that, the dealer turned on his heel and went back inside, like all the others to laugh at that raptor. Sure, it looked like he was a liar, but think about it: They can finance any HUMAN, this was a raptor, one of the most dangerous in the region...no one needed that kind of headache!
Smeagol got back in the car, downtrodden by the ills and burdens of being a raptor in the world today, and had JJ drive him home.
Tomorrow... the rest of the tale!
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Jig films
dance a jig, darkie!
cops say my skin's like mocha
awkward moments pass
I hate jig films. JJ is in love with movies like "Beef", "Paid in Full", and all the others that make up a cornucopia of crap with poor acting and not even enough decency to show full frontal nudity (just the chicks, though, thanks a lot Dewey Cox!). They all in essence have the same stupid plot: Thug A is tired of 'livin' the daily struggle' and decides that there's not enough rappers out there talking about clubbing so decides to join their ranks, becoming the most hardcore gangsta on the streets, lots of scantily clad ladies gyrate against him like Smeagol on a blow up doll, rinse, lather repeat. Soon the thug learns that Thug B, who is the old leader of the gang, is in the same jail as he is and befriends him, vowing to kill Thug C, who stepped on his sneaker or lagoon pounded his mom into compliance, as soon as he gets out. When Thug B gets killed, Thug A turns to the Bible for support, with much negro spirituals being sung in the background, and decides to forgive Thug C and then the credits roll. Whoopdee fuggin doo...I never once finished one of these turd fests and thought, "I'm glad I did that"...
Just a short rant, more tomorrow
cops say my skin's like mocha
awkward moments pass
I hate jig films. JJ is in love with movies like "Beef", "Paid in Full", and all the others that make up a cornucopia of crap with poor acting and not even enough decency to show full frontal nudity (just the chicks, though, thanks a lot Dewey Cox!). They all in essence have the same stupid plot: Thug A is tired of 'livin' the daily struggle' and decides that there's not enough rappers out there talking about clubbing so decides to join their ranks, becoming the most hardcore gangsta on the streets, lots of scantily clad ladies gyrate against him like Smeagol on a blow up doll, rinse, lather repeat. Soon the thug learns that Thug B, who is the old leader of the gang, is in the same jail as he is and befriends him, vowing to kill Thug C, who stepped on his sneaker or lagoon pounded his mom into compliance, as soon as he gets out. When Thug B gets killed, Thug A turns to the Bible for support, with much negro spirituals being sung in the background, and decides to forgive Thug C and then the credits roll. Whoopdee fuggin doo...I never once finished one of these turd fests and thought, "I'm glad I did that"...
Just a short rant, more tomorrow
Monday, June 16, 2008
glah...
Hot sexy oil time!
munch down a bulldog's asshole!
Dances with Wolves sucked
Car chases, explosions, crappy station wagons.
So I figured I would do a short snippet on some of the highlights (lowlights?) of Toboggan Boy's 10 year oddyssey in crackotomy and related drugophenilia... as they had to do with cars.
After the Cavalier caught fire on Independence Avenue (we literally just got out and left it, great times) and the Duster got hit by the Metro (again, he just got out and walked away) Toby needed a fly ride, something that would transport the whole family, but not be nice enough the many dealers sticking it to his woman and kidnapping him would want to drive as collateral for him to pay off his crack debt. It would be almost a year until he got the lawnmower car we all know and love, and he had just gotten his taxes back. What to do? Spend the money on a decent automobile and make payments, while going to work and contributing toward a good and just society? Or go to one of the many used auto dealers on Truman road across from Elmwood Cemetary and pay cash for a 10-15 year old beater that was inexplicably cheap, trusting that the reason was because said car dealer did not know how much they could get for said car?
Hmmmmmmmm......
So Toby brought home a really pretty clean looking 1984 LTD Wagon, which would have been pretty cool but for the few glaring issues, those being
1) the car had just a hair over 200000 miles on it. It also made funny sounds whenever it was turned on, off or walked by
2) all of the speakers were blown out, and the driver's seat would lean back and to the right, in "gangsta" mode. TANGENT TIME! Why is it in order to be cool you have to look like you are completely mentally retarded? I remember Long John getting into the car, and at first being able to reach the pedals and wheel and see over the dash but FUCK THAT! He would tilt the seat back until he could only touch the pedals by stretching his body out, and lean the seat back so far the only thing he would be able to see was the crotch of the person in the back seat, which the entire time we had the car smelled of cottage cheese, pussyfunk and a lighter, more drug induced failure.
And what happened to this fantastic car, you might be asking? It got shot up. In what can only be described adequately in a full motion action scene, with John Goodman wearing a mustache playing my dad, Snoop Dogg playing JJ, Anthony Anderson playing me (even though I would not be in this scene because I had already moved out), and Courtney Cox in blackface playing Janet, this is how the whole thing went down:
They were in North Kansas City, way above their success ratio (I will explain how to calculate that in a future post), and they knew it. Toby was sure he had effectively lost Billy Bill, the most dangerous crack dealer in the region, and was just starting to pat himself on the back for getting some more crack that he had no intentions of paying for, no doubt yearning to get home to beam up to the Enterprise, which for some reason always meant stripping down to sexy skidmarked torn underwear and socks and running around the house looking for nonexistent items, like self esteem or pride.
And then they saw him.
Over the hill, and I can imagine this being played by a homeless wino quartet on their varying degrees of empty Nighttrain bottles, urine soaking the front of their tattered pantaloons as they whistled toothlessly at the night...wait what was I talking about?
Oh yeah, so Billy Bill comes over the hill, and apparently shot the windows out of Toby's car whilst JJ was in the back seat. Did he go to the cops, you might ask? With 400 dollars worth of crack?! Puh-leeeeaze! That Friday I got a call at my house by a Tobboggan Boy who had been kidnapped, and though I forgot what he said, I can still hear those homeless guys serenading the action sequence of that fateful day...
Later: More on the Lawnmower Car
munch down a bulldog's asshole!
Dances with Wolves sucked
Car chases, explosions, crappy station wagons.
So I figured I would do a short snippet on some of the highlights (lowlights?) of Toboggan Boy's 10 year oddyssey in crackotomy and related drugophenilia... as they had to do with cars.
After the Cavalier caught fire on Independence Avenue (we literally just got out and left it, great times) and the Duster got hit by the Metro (again, he just got out and walked away) Toby needed a fly ride, something that would transport the whole family, but not be nice enough the many dealers sticking it to his woman and kidnapping him would want to drive as collateral for him to pay off his crack debt. It would be almost a year until he got the lawnmower car we all know and love, and he had just gotten his taxes back. What to do? Spend the money on a decent automobile and make payments, while going to work and contributing toward a good and just society? Or go to one of the many used auto dealers on Truman road across from Elmwood Cemetary and pay cash for a 10-15 year old beater that was inexplicably cheap, trusting that the reason was because said car dealer did not know how much they could get for said car?
Hmmmmmmmm......
So Toby brought home a really pretty clean looking 1984 LTD Wagon, which would have been pretty cool but for the few glaring issues, those being
1) the car had just a hair over 200000 miles on it. It also made funny sounds whenever it was turned on, off or walked by
2) all of the speakers were blown out, and the driver's seat would lean back and to the right, in "gangsta" mode. TANGENT TIME! Why is it in order to be cool you have to look like you are completely mentally retarded? I remember Long John getting into the car, and at first being able to reach the pedals and wheel and see over the dash but FUCK THAT! He would tilt the seat back until he could only touch the pedals by stretching his body out, and lean the seat back so far the only thing he would be able to see was the crotch of the person in the back seat, which the entire time we had the car smelled of cottage cheese, pussyfunk and a lighter, more drug induced failure.
And what happened to this fantastic car, you might be asking? It got shot up. In what can only be described adequately in a full motion action scene, with John Goodman wearing a mustache playing my dad, Snoop Dogg playing JJ, Anthony Anderson playing me (even though I would not be in this scene because I had already moved out), and Courtney Cox in blackface playing Janet, this is how the whole thing went down:
They were in North Kansas City, way above their success ratio (I will explain how to calculate that in a future post), and they knew it. Toby was sure he had effectively lost Billy Bill, the most dangerous crack dealer in the region, and was just starting to pat himself on the back for getting some more crack that he had no intentions of paying for, no doubt yearning to get home to beam up to the Enterprise, which for some reason always meant stripping down to sexy skidmarked torn underwear and socks and running around the house looking for nonexistent items, like self esteem or pride.
And then they saw him.
Over the hill, and I can imagine this being played by a homeless wino quartet on their varying degrees of empty Nighttrain bottles, urine soaking the front of their tattered pantaloons as they whistled toothlessly at the night...wait what was I talking about?
Oh yeah, so Billy Bill comes over the hill, and apparently shot the windows out of Toby's car whilst JJ was in the back seat. Did he go to the cops, you might ask? With 400 dollars worth of crack?! Puh-leeeeaze! That Friday I got a call at my house by a Tobboggan Boy who had been kidnapped, and though I forgot what he said, I can still hear those homeless guys serenading the action sequence of that fateful day...
Later: More on the Lawnmower Car
Friday, June 13, 2008
Meh
sheets crunchy with jizz
Red pillow spackled with it
I love cheap hotels
First, a tidbit: Apparently, to work off some of the gas money he owes my dad, Smeagol cleaned his house last week. As we all know, this is a stupid, stupid idea. Apparently after he left, JJ came home to find that he was missing all of his computer games, the flight stick controller I gave him and a keyboard. WHat makes this funny, you ask? Smeagol does not own a computer. Why would he take computer peripherals and games when he does not own the required hardware to use them?
JJ went to his house and saw them all sitting on a table and was all like "Uh, hey, those are all mine"... and Smeagol goes "Oh, I wondered where those came from!"
And what is funny about that. you ask?
Smeagol cleaned JJ's house earlier this week, and has already forgotten he stole 300 collars worth of crap! I mean honestly, we all know Smeagol has nothing in his house of worth, all of his possessions are in various pawn shops, hanging in an electrical purgatory for all of eternity. There is no way that wily raptor completely forgot about that, by golly if he ever loans you a dollar he will not let you forget about it, tell you what!
Anyway, with that out of the way, I wanted to share a little more about some of the scams I have been running. I know, I know, but I like them and they are funny. Scammer's in black, mine in blue, thoughts in red:
FROM THE DESK OF MR AMBROISE.J.COMPAORE.
From:
AMBROISE COMPAORE (amj70@hotmail.fr)
Sent:
Mon 12/10/07 7:19 AM
To:
FROM THE DESK OF MR AMBROISE.J.COMPAORE.AUDITING AND ACCOUNTING MANEGER , BANK OF AFRICA (B.O.A) OUAGADOUGOU-BURKINA FASO. PLANE CRASH WEB SITE...http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/859479.stm. ("REMITTANCE OF $12 MILLION U.S.A DOLLARS CONFIDENTIAL IS THE CASE")Compliments Of The Season,Forgive my indignation if this message comes to you as a surprise and may offend your personality for contacting you without your prior consent and writing through this channel.I got your contact from the proffesional data base found in the internet Yahoo tourist search.When i was searching for a foreign reliable partner.I assured of your capability and reliability to champion this business opportunity. After series of prayers/fasting.i was divinely directed to contact you among other names found in the data base Yahoo tourist search.I believe that God has a way of helping who is in need. I am (MR AMBROISE.J.COMPAORE),the Head of file Department in BANK OF AFRICA (B.O.A) OUAGADOUGOU-BURKINA FASO In my department we discovered an abandoned sum of $ 12 million U.S.A dollars ( Twelve million U.S.A dollars) . In an account that belongs to one of our foreign customer who died along with his entire family in (Monday 31st July 2000) in a plane crash. Since we got information about his death, we have been expecting his next of kin to come over and claim his money because we cannot release it unless somebody applies for it as next of kin or relation to the deceased as indicated in our banking guidelines, but unfortunately we learnt that all his supposed next of kin or relation died along side with him at the plane crash leaving nobody behind for the claim. It is therefore upon this discovery that I and one official in my department now decided to make this business proposal to you and release the money to you as the next of kin or relation to the deceased for safety and subsequent disbursement since nobody is coming for it and we don’t want this money to go into the bank treasury as unclaimed bill. The Banking law and guideline here stipulates that if such money remained unclaimed after eight years, the money will be transferred into the Bank treasury as unclaimed fund. The request of foreigner as next of kin in this business is occasioned by the fact that the customer was a foreigner, and a Burkinabe cannot stand as next of kin to a foreigner. We agree that 30% of this money will be for you as foreign partner, in respect to the provision of a foreign account, 10% will be set aside for expenses incured during the business and 60% would be for me and my woman colleague. There after i will visit your country for disbursement according to the percentages indicated. Therefore to enable the immediate transfer of this fund to you as arranged, you must apply first to the bank as relations or next of kin of the deceased indicating your bank name, your bank account number, your private telephone and fax number for easy and effective communication and location where the money will be remitted.Upon receipt of your reply, I will send to you by fax or email the text of the application I will not fail to bring to your notice that this transaction is hitch free and that you should not entertain any atom of fear as all required arrangements have been made for the transfer. You should contact me immediately as soon as you receive this letter. Trusting to hear from you immediately. Your’s faithfully,
MR AMBROISE.J.COMPAOREFROM (B.O.A) OUAGADOUGOU BURKINA-FASO.
GOD BLESSINGS,PROTECTIONS AND GUIDIANCE TO YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY.
(FILL THIS FORM BELLOW PLEASE AND RESEND IT TO ME).
1) Your Full Name.............................
2) Your Age.......................................
3) Marital Status................................
4) Your Cell Phone Number…………..
5) Your Fax Number……………….....
6) Your Country………………..............
7) Your Occupation............................
8) Sex................................................
9) Your Religion.................................
10) Your Private E-mail Adress...........
POST SCRITUM:You have to keep everything secret as to enable the transfer to move very smoothly in to the account you will prove to the bank.As you finished reading this letter call me immediately so that we discuss very well over this business
Meh, same old same old... let's have some fun!
RE: FROM THE DESK OF MR AMBROISE.J.COMPAORE.
From:
Philip McKraken (philip_mckraken@hotmail.com)
Sent:
Mon 12/10/07 6:47 PM
To:
AMBROISE COMPAORE (amj70@hotmail.fr)
Dear Amber:
Thank you for sending me this opportunity, you did not offend my personality and I do forgive your indignation. I am glad that my contact information is in the proffesional data base in the internet Yahoo tourist search. I am very capable and reliable to champion this business opportunity.
Before we proceed any further, I would like to get to know you a little better, as only a complete fool would send out his informations without knowing who he was dealing with; though I know from your email you are honest and sincere, there are a lot of scammers out there, who care nothing about stealing money from hard working Americans. I did have a question, though: do you know a Mr. Abbas Quatara, Director of Telex Cable, Department Bank of Africa? Does he work with you? If so tell him I said "hi". We are working on a completely unrelated transaction, it's such a small world!
I want to tell you a little more about myself before we proceed, then you can inform me of my worthiness to assist in your cause to get the modalities of this consignment. I am Philip McKraken, and I am the managing director of NAMBLA, a child advocate group known throughout the United States for championing the rights of children, especially young boys, right to love whomever they want without the persecution that goes along with some of the stigmas that we seem to revel in here. I head up the Northwestern Missouri chapter, also known as the Thilly Third Bun Brigade, and I am in charge of getting new recruits and also keeping the oppressive local law enforcement from intervening in our heavenly-sanctioned work. I am studying to be a priest, and enjoy many an evening wallowing in the semenary after a full mass and the training of a few of our more rambunctious altar boys. With this money I would like to get some more beds for our training barracks, pay for some better laundry service so that we can finaly beat the blacklight scans, and also get competent legal counsel for some of our upcoming legal showdowns.
As to the answers to your questions, I will put them below. Again, thank you for considering me, and let me know how we proceed from here. Your brother in NAMBLA, Phil McKraken, Chapter President PS - would you like to be an honorary member? I could make you one and send along a membership form, there is usually a 29.95 charge but I will waive that for my most esteemed business partner!
1) Your Full Name............................. Philip Mai McKraken
2) Your Age....................................... 37
3) Marital Status................................ SIngle
4) Your Cell Phone Number………….. 816-561-2600 (ask for me by my stage name, Iama Dildo)5) Your Fax Number………………..... no fax, is this a problem?
6) Your Country……………….............. United States
7) Your Occupation............................ Chapter President of NAMBLA8) Sex................................................ male (and yes)
9) Your Religion................................. Catholic
10) Your Private E-mail Adress........... philip_mckraken@hotmail.com
Red pillow spackled with it
I love cheap hotels
First, a tidbit: Apparently, to work off some of the gas money he owes my dad, Smeagol cleaned his house last week. As we all know, this is a stupid, stupid idea. Apparently after he left, JJ came home to find that he was missing all of his computer games, the flight stick controller I gave him and a keyboard. WHat makes this funny, you ask? Smeagol does not own a computer. Why would he take computer peripherals and games when he does not own the required hardware to use them?
JJ went to his house and saw them all sitting on a table and was all like "Uh, hey, those are all mine"... and Smeagol goes "Oh, I wondered where those came from!"
And what is funny about that. you ask?
Smeagol cleaned JJ's house earlier this week, and has already forgotten he stole 300 collars worth of crap! I mean honestly, we all know Smeagol has nothing in his house of worth, all of his possessions are in various pawn shops, hanging in an electrical purgatory for all of eternity. There is no way that wily raptor completely forgot about that, by golly if he ever loans you a dollar he will not let you forget about it, tell you what!
Anyway, with that out of the way, I wanted to share a little more about some of the scams I have been running. I know, I know, but I like them and they are funny. Scammer's in black, mine in blue, thoughts in red:
FROM THE DESK OF MR AMBROISE.J.COMPAORE.
From:
AMBROISE COMPAORE (amj70@hotmail.fr)
Sent:
Mon 12/10/07 7:19 AM
To:
FROM THE DESK OF MR AMBROISE.J.COMPAORE.AUDITING AND ACCOUNTING MANEGER , BANK OF AFRICA (B.O.A) OUAGADOUGOU-BURKINA FASO. PLANE CRASH WEB SITE...http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/859479.stm. ("REMITTANCE OF $12 MILLION U.S.A DOLLARS CONFIDENTIAL IS THE CASE")Compliments Of The Season,Forgive my indignation if this message comes to you as a surprise and may offend your personality for contacting you without your prior consent and writing through this channel.I got your contact from the proffesional data base found in the internet Yahoo tourist search.When i was searching for a foreign reliable partner.I assured of your capability and reliability to champion this business opportunity. After series of prayers/fasting.i was divinely directed to contact you among other names found in the data base Yahoo tourist search.I believe that God has a way of helping who is in need. I am (MR AMBROISE.J.COMPAORE),the Head of file Department in BANK OF AFRICA (B.O.A) OUAGADOUGOU-BURKINA FASO In my department we discovered an abandoned sum of $ 12 million U.S.A dollars ( Twelve million U.S.A dollars) . In an account that belongs to one of our foreign customer who died along with his entire family in (Monday 31st July 2000) in a plane crash. Since we got information about his death, we have been expecting his next of kin to come over and claim his money because we cannot release it unless somebody applies for it as next of kin or relation to the deceased as indicated in our banking guidelines, but unfortunately we learnt that all his supposed next of kin or relation died along side with him at the plane crash leaving nobody behind for the claim. It is therefore upon this discovery that I and one official in my department now decided to make this business proposal to you and release the money to you as the next of kin or relation to the deceased for safety and subsequent disbursement since nobody is coming for it and we don’t want this money to go into the bank treasury as unclaimed bill. The Banking law and guideline here stipulates that if such money remained unclaimed after eight years, the money will be transferred into the Bank treasury as unclaimed fund. The request of foreigner as next of kin in this business is occasioned by the fact that the customer was a foreigner, and a Burkinabe cannot stand as next of kin to a foreigner. We agree that 30% of this money will be for you as foreign partner, in respect to the provision of a foreign account, 10% will be set aside for expenses incured during the business and 60% would be for me and my woman colleague. There after i will visit your country for disbursement according to the percentages indicated. Therefore to enable the immediate transfer of this fund to you as arranged, you must apply first to the bank as relations or next of kin of the deceased indicating your bank name, your bank account number, your private telephone and fax number for easy and effective communication and location where the money will be remitted.Upon receipt of your reply, I will send to you by fax or email the text of the application I will not fail to bring to your notice that this transaction is hitch free and that you should not entertain any atom of fear as all required arrangements have been made for the transfer. You should contact me immediately as soon as you receive this letter. Trusting to hear from you immediately. Your’s faithfully,
MR AMBROISE.J.COMPAOREFROM (B.O.A) OUAGADOUGOU BURKINA-FASO.
GOD BLESSINGS,PROTECTIONS AND GUIDIANCE TO YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY.
(FILL THIS FORM BELLOW PLEASE AND RESEND IT TO ME).
1) Your Full Name.............................
2) Your Age.......................................
3) Marital Status................................
4) Your Cell Phone Number…………..
5) Your Fax Number……………….....
6) Your Country………………..............
7) Your Occupation............................
8) Sex................................................
9) Your Religion.................................
10) Your Private E-mail Adress...........
POST SCRITUM:You have to keep everything secret as to enable the transfer to move very smoothly in to the account you will prove to the bank.As you finished reading this letter call me immediately so that we discuss very well over this business
Meh, same old same old... let's have some fun!
RE: FROM THE DESK OF MR AMBROISE.J.COMPAORE.
From:
Philip McKraken (philip_mckraken@hotmail.com)
Sent:
Mon 12/10/07 6:47 PM
To:
AMBROISE COMPAORE (amj70@hotmail.fr)
Dear Amber:
Thank you for sending me this opportunity, you did not offend my personality and I do forgive your indignation. I am glad that my contact information is in the proffesional data base in the internet Yahoo tourist search. I am very capable and reliable to champion this business opportunity.
Before we proceed any further, I would like to get to know you a little better, as only a complete fool would send out his informations without knowing who he was dealing with; though I know from your email you are honest and sincere, there are a lot of scammers out there, who care nothing about stealing money from hard working Americans. I did have a question, though: do you know a Mr. Abbas Quatara, Director of Telex Cable, Department Bank of Africa? Does he work with you? If so tell him I said "hi". We are working on a completely unrelated transaction, it's such a small world!
I want to tell you a little more about myself before we proceed, then you can inform me of my worthiness to assist in your cause to get the modalities of this consignment. I am Philip McKraken, and I am the managing director of NAMBLA, a child advocate group known throughout the United States for championing the rights of children, especially young boys, right to love whomever they want without the persecution that goes along with some of the stigmas that we seem to revel in here. I head up the Northwestern Missouri chapter, also known as the Thilly Third Bun Brigade, and I am in charge of getting new recruits and also keeping the oppressive local law enforcement from intervening in our heavenly-sanctioned work. I am studying to be a priest, and enjoy many an evening wallowing in the semenary after a full mass and the training of a few of our more rambunctious altar boys. With this money I would like to get some more beds for our training barracks, pay for some better laundry service so that we can finaly beat the blacklight scans, and also get competent legal counsel for some of our upcoming legal showdowns.
As to the answers to your questions, I will put them below. Again, thank you for considering me, and let me know how we proceed from here. Your brother in NAMBLA, Phil McKraken, Chapter President PS - would you like to be an honorary member? I could make you one and send along a membership form, there is usually a 29.95 charge but I will waive that for my most esteemed business partner!
1) Your Full Name............................. Philip Mai McKraken
2) Your Age....................................... 37
3) Marital Status................................ SIngle
4) Your Cell Phone Number………….. 816-561-2600 (ask for me by my stage name, Iama Dildo)5) Your Fax Number………………..... no fax, is this a problem?
6) Your Country……………….............. United States
7) Your Occupation............................ Chapter President of NAMBLA8) Sex................................................ male (and yes)
9) Your Religion................................. Catholic
10) Your Private E-mail Adress........... philip_mckraken@hotmail.com
Thursday, June 12, 2008
JJ Jail hi-Jinks Mutherfuckerrrrrr!
a swollen river
swift current gives life clean slate
also kills rednecks
Alright first, posts are going to be shotty at best for a few weeks, because IT had to move to a conference room and my manager is sitting behind me with a perfect view of my monitor, and that is not conducive to engaging in the bloggetry you all know and love, but he's out today, so let's blog it up son!
JJ......jail
So my youngest son just turned 2 on the first, and that Sunday we had a little get together to enjoy the love and happiness or whatever for his birthday. I was barbecuing the finest truck vendor meat money can buy, and everyone was having a good time. JJ was on his way, no doubt to have his anus handed to him in a spirited bout of fisticuffs.
After awhile I noticed that up the hill the Ferrelview police officer had someone stopped. I already knew it was JJ by the time his girl called, and grabbed the rodent dog to walk up nonchalantly. It's funny, I get up there and the cop is all putting his hand on the butt of his gun and going "Steven, you go home now, this is none of your concern" like I am going to rape him or something. He took both JJ and his girl to jail, and I went home and enjoyed their portions of the barbecue.
So we start getting the calls to go bail them out, and we all go through the same things we did with Smeagol: everyone trying to "outbroke" everyone else, when we all knew we were going to end up paying it, because that's what family is for. So, so lame.His bail is 800 bucks, so we come up with the requisite bail bond money since no one wants to throw 800 dollars down a well with the knowledge we will never get it back, and go to bail JJ out. Little did we know that he had warrants in Independence as well as Kansas City, so they released him and promptly re-arrested him and put him on a paddy-wagon to Methlab Heaven, Independence for short.
None of that is particularly funny. JJ's experience in jail, however, is a fascinating look into the very secretive life of the Ray County, Missouri prison system. I shall now shed some light on this so that if you ever get sent there you know how to react.
Apparently JJ was in a cell with 2 large bunkbeds, a nasty ass toilet right in between then with a little sinklet on the back of said shitter. A roll of smelly toilet paper rounded out their accommodations nicely. JJ had the unfortunate role of being the newest member of their cadre of incarceration, and thusly got the lower bunk by the toilet. This knowledge will come in handy in a few seconds.
Apparently the food at Ray County, while not bad, does not sit well with all the inmates. JJ said he would routinely be woken up at 2 and 3 in the morning and roll over to almost touch one of the other occupants' hairy leg, slightly uplifted as he tried valiantly to get the best positioning to allow faster flow of shit into and onto the toilet. How awesome is that, waking up to some guy either grunting like a mating bison or angrily hissing "OH GAWD!" while blasting the inside of the bowl with a thick, viscous coating of freshly churned chunky brown get on down?
What could be funnier than that? The talking. See, one of the inmates who would wake JJ up with his loud shitting would also want to talk to JJ for daring to wake up and make eye contact, informing him "Man I don't know if it's the lunch or the dinnah too but this breakfast is *SPPPPPLLLLUUUUURRRGGGLE SPLOP SPLORT* Fuggin killin' me.... oh, ugh...." great times, why would you want to leave a place like that?
Also, JJ is going to tell Smeagol that we want to buy him lunch, I will give details if you all want to randomly "show up" wherever we end up going (and by 'wherever', I mean Gates) and we can all sit around a table and laugh at him and then take turns throwing him to each other and sitting him on our laps while he grunts unhappily, his thong hanging loose as his slightly agape sphincter puckers out another weak ass fart, too loud to be SBD but not strong enough to actually break wind, more like bending it.
swift current gives life clean slate
also kills rednecks
Alright first, posts are going to be shotty at best for a few weeks, because IT had to move to a conference room and my manager is sitting behind me with a perfect view of my monitor, and that is not conducive to engaging in the bloggetry you all know and love, but he's out today, so let's blog it up son!
JJ......jail
So my youngest son just turned 2 on the first, and that Sunday we had a little get together to enjoy the love and happiness or whatever for his birthday. I was barbecuing the finest truck vendor meat money can buy, and everyone was having a good time. JJ was on his way, no doubt to have his anus handed to him in a spirited bout of fisticuffs.
After awhile I noticed that up the hill the Ferrelview police officer had someone stopped. I already knew it was JJ by the time his girl called, and grabbed the rodent dog to walk up nonchalantly. It's funny, I get up there and the cop is all putting his hand on the butt of his gun and going "Steven, you go home now, this is none of your concern" like I am going to rape him or something. He took both JJ and his girl to jail, and I went home and enjoyed their portions of the barbecue.
So we start getting the calls to go bail them out, and we all go through the same things we did with Smeagol: everyone trying to "outbroke" everyone else, when we all knew we were going to end up paying it, because that's what family is for. So, so lame.His bail is 800 bucks, so we come up with the requisite bail bond money since no one wants to throw 800 dollars down a well with the knowledge we will never get it back, and go to bail JJ out. Little did we know that he had warrants in Independence as well as Kansas City, so they released him and promptly re-arrested him and put him on a paddy-wagon to Methlab Heaven, Independence for short.
None of that is particularly funny. JJ's experience in jail, however, is a fascinating look into the very secretive life of the Ray County, Missouri prison system. I shall now shed some light on this so that if you ever get sent there you know how to react.
Apparently JJ was in a cell with 2 large bunkbeds, a nasty ass toilet right in between then with a little sinklet on the back of said shitter. A roll of smelly toilet paper rounded out their accommodations nicely. JJ had the unfortunate role of being the newest member of their cadre of incarceration, and thusly got the lower bunk by the toilet. This knowledge will come in handy in a few seconds.
Apparently the food at Ray County, while not bad, does not sit well with all the inmates. JJ said he would routinely be woken up at 2 and 3 in the morning and roll over to almost touch one of the other occupants' hairy leg, slightly uplifted as he tried valiantly to get the best positioning to allow faster flow of shit into and onto the toilet. How awesome is that, waking up to some guy either grunting like a mating bison or angrily hissing "OH GAWD!" while blasting the inside of the bowl with a thick, viscous coating of freshly churned chunky brown get on down?
What could be funnier than that? The talking. See, one of the inmates who would wake JJ up with his loud shitting would also want to talk to JJ for daring to wake up and make eye contact, informing him "Man I don't know if it's the lunch or the dinnah too but this breakfast is *SPPPPPLLLLUUUUURRRGGGLE SPLOP SPLORT* Fuggin killin' me.... oh, ugh...." great times, why would you want to leave a place like that?
Also, JJ is going to tell Smeagol that we want to buy him lunch, I will give details if you all want to randomly "show up" wherever we end up going (and by 'wherever', I mean Gates) and we can all sit around a table and laugh at him and then take turns throwing him to each other and sitting him on our laps while he grunts unhappily, his thong hanging loose as his slightly agape sphincter puckers out another weak ass fart, too loud to be SBD but not strong enough to actually break wind, more like bending it.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Karate Tournament, JJ in Jail, or Smeagol?
In lieu of a haiku I would like to post what was going through my head while I was sparring Saturday. If you have ever seen "Best of the Best", first, I apologize and will assist in praying for your soul. Secondly, you know the same band that plays at all the hippest 7-11s was brought in at great expense (almost 11 dollars!) to do the soundtrack. Here is what was going through me head, enjoy:
You're the best....of battle!
Nothing's gonna ever keep you down!
You're the bes-WHAPPPP!
It was at this point, gentle reader, that I had forgotten I was sparring with someone and caught a fist on the nose. There was a terrible moment when I touched said nose and noticed it was a big flat glob on my face. This moment passed when I remembered I am black and my nose has always been a huge glob on my face. great times.
Anyhoo, I wanted to post about what all happened during my week off... did you miss me? Did you even notice I was not on here? Answer to both? A no, but a guilty no, and that's all I am going for.
So Smeagol is still looking for a car. Some of you will not believe this, but all of those requests you sent in to fill out a credit application for the Smeagolese have either been lost or misdelivered, because I have been checking my email and still do not see any of those, so please resend.
Anyhoo, apparently Smeagol was still on the raptor prowl, scoping out deals in his budget to affordicate some transportation-time, and he found it: a mid-1980's Toyota Tercel for 475 dollars cash. Note that the windshield said "475 - cash", this information will come in handy in a minute. Matter of fact, write that down. I'll wait...
Got it?
OK, so Smeagol walks up to the no doubt grungy salesman (this is 23rd and Jackson after all), and, according to both JJ and my Dad, informed the gentleman that he intended to make payments on this car and proceeded to tell him how he intended on making said payments, with an initial down payment of 75 dollars and monthly payments of about 30 dollars.
The salesman, perhaps secure in the knowledge that though we are in a recession that this was not 1935, informed Smeagol that no, he did not intend to take payments on a car he specifically priced at less than a down payment to get off his lot in the first place, and with that the bartering game was afoot, or araptor, if you choose. Long story short, Smeagol got the guy to take 75 down, and 50 dollars a month, and with that, he got JJ to drive him around to somehow borrow 75 dollars to make the down payment.
So he finally gets the cash, and goes to get the car, and when they get there, where the car had been sitting is now an oil slick, but for the sake of making the story funnier picture a masturbating homeless person, eyes rolled back in his head in ecstasy, maybe butthole puckered up and his free hand gently tickling around the shit hole... or just picture the oil slick. Jesus, I have to stop writing these right before lunch.
Smeagol raptors up to pay, and the guy informs him that while he was gone some guy gave him 475 dollars and bought the car. Smeagol was angry, nay, furious, and the entire ride home was doing his angered grunt of raptor. Finally he lights on an idea: "Since Stevester will not sign on a car for me' he cooed, 'he will just have to sell me the Escort!" I like how Smeagol feels it is everyone else's job to assure him a life of happiness and comfort, and anyone who does not buy into that is a total jerk.
So Dad told me to expect a call this week from him, as he told everyone he could see no reason I would not give him the escort yet keep the tags and insurance in my name for all time. Awesome.
There was more, but I will have to post on all that later.
You're the best....of battle!
Nothing's gonna ever keep you down!
You're the bes-WHAPPPP!
It was at this point, gentle reader, that I had forgotten I was sparring with someone and caught a fist on the nose. There was a terrible moment when I touched said nose and noticed it was a big flat glob on my face. This moment passed when I remembered I am black and my nose has always been a huge glob on my face. great times.
Anyhoo, I wanted to post about what all happened during my week off... did you miss me? Did you even notice I was not on here? Answer to both? A no, but a guilty no, and that's all I am going for.
So Smeagol is still looking for a car. Some of you will not believe this, but all of those requests you sent in to fill out a credit application for the Smeagolese have either been lost or misdelivered, because I have been checking my email and still do not see any of those, so please resend.
Anyhoo, apparently Smeagol was still on the raptor prowl, scoping out deals in his budget to affordicate some transportation-time, and he found it: a mid-1980's Toyota Tercel for 475 dollars cash. Note that the windshield said "475 - cash", this information will come in handy in a minute. Matter of fact, write that down. I'll wait...
Got it?
OK, so Smeagol walks up to the no doubt grungy salesman (this is 23rd and Jackson after all), and, according to both JJ and my Dad, informed the gentleman that he intended to make payments on this car and proceeded to tell him how he intended on making said payments, with an initial down payment of 75 dollars and monthly payments of about 30 dollars.
The salesman, perhaps secure in the knowledge that though we are in a recession that this was not 1935, informed Smeagol that no, he did not intend to take payments on a car he specifically priced at less than a down payment to get off his lot in the first place, and with that the bartering game was afoot, or araptor, if you choose. Long story short, Smeagol got the guy to take 75 down, and 50 dollars a month, and with that, he got JJ to drive him around to somehow borrow 75 dollars to make the down payment.
So he finally gets the cash, and goes to get the car, and when they get there, where the car had been sitting is now an oil slick, but for the sake of making the story funnier picture a masturbating homeless person, eyes rolled back in his head in ecstasy, maybe butthole puckered up and his free hand gently tickling around the shit hole... or just picture the oil slick. Jesus, I have to stop writing these right before lunch.
Smeagol raptors up to pay, and the guy informs him that while he was gone some guy gave him 475 dollars and bought the car. Smeagol was angry, nay, furious, and the entire ride home was doing his angered grunt of raptor. Finally he lights on an idea: "Since Stevester will not sign on a car for me' he cooed, 'he will just have to sell me the Escort!" I like how Smeagol feels it is everyone else's job to assure him a life of happiness and comfort, and anyone who does not buy into that is a total jerk.
So Dad told me to expect a call this week from him, as he told everyone he could see no reason I would not give him the escort yet keep the tags and insurance in my name for all time. Awesome.
There was more, but I will have to post on all that later.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Funky Sexmilk
naked chewbacca
donning a belt of justice
a ragtag douchebag
Sorry for the lack of postage the last few days. Wait, I'm not sorry. I am on vacation! Why am I even bothering to log in right now? I dunno, I love you guys!
Ah, so much happened I am not sure where to begin... wait, I know where to begin. As always, with Smeagol.
Apparently, Smeagol was not content to attempt to ruin my credit/life. Once his raptor mind came to kung-fu grips with the fact that I did not intend to help him, he turned his raptor sights on easier prey.... my cousin.
My cousin is a great kid. He is also just that - an 18 year old snot nosed punk that looks like Tiger Woods with corn rows. Hilarious. Anyway, we all love the little turd, he just got out of school, is new to the real world, and is trying to come up with enough money to move out on his own. He has a job at Target, and a flawed belief in the majesty of capitalism that somehow his job cleaning poorly spelled restroom poetry (which, truth be told, is where I get the inspiration for most of my haikus) will lead to a life of luxury with a little hard work. The fool!
Anyway, Smeagol swept down on his tiny matchlight of success like The Tylester on a PBR-guzzling nymphomaniac. Seriously, Tylester, my mom said quit calling her, she's too old for you. Smeagol calls my aunt's house to carry out his master plan, to ruin my cousin Vinny's credit once and for all! Mwaah Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha haaaaa!
My aunt said he called and was all like "Uh, hi, this is Smeagol, can I talk to Vinny?" She said it seemed weird, because Smeagol had never spoken to Vinny before, opting to grunt angrilly when VInny dared to initiate conversation with him or look his way. Total douche. So, like any human who knows of Smeagol, she said she put 2 and 2 together and knew at that moment that Smeagol intended to prey upon her baby, who was just starting to build up a decent credit score, and she could not let that happen.
"Listen, Smeagol, if you ever call my house again I am going to knock some teeth back into your nasty ass head" JJ will verify she actually said this and then hung up.
1 hour later, the phone rings again. Guess who it could be? Apparently, my aunt picked the phone up and before she could say anything, Smeagol asked if she was gone yet, assuming it was Vinny. What a douche!
Long story short, 4 calls later it was evident that Smeags was not going to be able to talk to VInny over the telephone. Now any normal person would have quit and tried to get a car another way. But not Smeagol! When the going got tough, the Permed got creative. Smeagol just happened to be there at my mom's house, laying on the couch in his baggy Speedo and letting everyone see that there was more than one kind of crack that emitted noxious fumes, when Vinny came over to visit. He was upon him like.... well... like a raptor on a bowl of kim chi!
He talks Vinny into going to do what he wanted me to do, because Vinny is a nice person like me who is too stupid to say no.
Here is the hilarious part, O non-thonged ones (if you are a thonged one, just act like you are not. I do not want to know)!
They get to the car dealership, and Smeagol has Vinny test drive the car and fill out the paperwork and everything. The guy starts asking Vinny questions, like where he works and for how long. It quickly becomes evident that Vinny has no intention or means to pay for this car, and the car dealer informs him of this. Smeagol, who I can only assume was napping wrapped up pretzel style in the chair next to him while JJ looked on in disgust, piped in and informed the dealer that "He's only signing the paperwork, it's actually for me, niggie (I added the niggie part to make it funnier), I can't get the car in my name because my credit is horrible and my hardship (yes his fucking HARDSHIP) license got taken away.... I'm so tired!"
At this point, the car salesman was looking at Smeagol, completely dumbfounded that this pet raptor talked for one thing, and that he was dumb enough to tell the truth like that for another. JJ said he tore the application up right in front of Smeagol and threw it in the trash. I will get a reaction from Smeagol and post here.
Also, Smeagol's court date was last night, here in the beautiful double-wide trailer that serves as our city hall. He called my mom to inform her that the bailiff called him to tell him court was cancelled and that he no longer owed them money. Guess what that means for Toboggan Boy?!
donning a belt of justice
a ragtag douchebag
Sorry for the lack of postage the last few days. Wait, I'm not sorry. I am on vacation! Why am I even bothering to log in right now? I dunno, I love you guys!
Ah, so much happened I am not sure where to begin... wait, I know where to begin. As always, with Smeagol.
Apparently, Smeagol was not content to attempt to ruin my credit/life. Once his raptor mind came to kung-fu grips with the fact that I did not intend to help him, he turned his raptor sights on easier prey.... my cousin.
My cousin is a great kid. He is also just that - an 18 year old snot nosed punk that looks like Tiger Woods with corn rows. Hilarious. Anyway, we all love the little turd, he just got out of school, is new to the real world, and is trying to come up with enough money to move out on his own. He has a job at Target, and a flawed belief in the majesty of capitalism that somehow his job cleaning poorly spelled restroom poetry (which, truth be told, is where I get the inspiration for most of my haikus) will lead to a life of luxury with a little hard work. The fool!
Anyway, Smeagol swept down on his tiny matchlight of success like The Tylester on a PBR-guzzling nymphomaniac. Seriously, Tylester, my mom said quit calling her, she's too old for you. Smeagol calls my aunt's house to carry out his master plan, to ruin my cousin Vinny's credit once and for all! Mwaah Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha haaaaa!
My aunt said he called and was all like "Uh, hi, this is Smeagol, can I talk to Vinny?" She said it seemed weird, because Smeagol had never spoken to Vinny before, opting to grunt angrilly when VInny dared to initiate conversation with him or look his way. Total douche. So, like any human who knows of Smeagol, she said she put 2 and 2 together and knew at that moment that Smeagol intended to prey upon her baby, who was just starting to build up a decent credit score, and she could not let that happen.
"Listen, Smeagol, if you ever call my house again I am going to knock some teeth back into your nasty ass head" JJ will verify she actually said this and then hung up.
1 hour later, the phone rings again. Guess who it could be? Apparently, my aunt picked the phone up and before she could say anything, Smeagol asked if she was gone yet, assuming it was Vinny. What a douche!
Long story short, 4 calls later it was evident that Smeags was not going to be able to talk to VInny over the telephone. Now any normal person would have quit and tried to get a car another way. But not Smeagol! When the going got tough, the Permed got creative. Smeagol just happened to be there at my mom's house, laying on the couch in his baggy Speedo and letting everyone see that there was more than one kind of crack that emitted noxious fumes, when Vinny came over to visit. He was upon him like.... well... like a raptor on a bowl of kim chi!
He talks Vinny into going to do what he wanted me to do, because Vinny is a nice person like me who is too stupid to say no.
Here is the hilarious part, O non-thonged ones (if you are a thonged one, just act like you are not. I do not want to know)!
They get to the car dealership, and Smeagol has Vinny test drive the car and fill out the paperwork and everything. The guy starts asking Vinny questions, like where he works and for how long. It quickly becomes evident that Vinny has no intention or means to pay for this car, and the car dealer informs him of this. Smeagol, who I can only assume was napping wrapped up pretzel style in the chair next to him while JJ looked on in disgust, piped in and informed the dealer that "He's only signing the paperwork, it's actually for me, niggie (I added the niggie part to make it funnier), I can't get the car in my name because my credit is horrible and my hardship (yes his fucking HARDSHIP) license got taken away.... I'm so tired!"
At this point, the car salesman was looking at Smeagol, completely dumbfounded that this pet raptor talked for one thing, and that he was dumb enough to tell the truth like that for another. JJ said he tore the application up right in front of Smeagol and threw it in the trash. I will get a reaction from Smeagol and post here.
Also, Smeagol's court date was last night, here in the beautiful double-wide trailer that serves as our city hall. He called my mom to inform her that the bailiff called him to tell him court was cancelled and that he no longer owed them money. Guess what that means for Toboggan Boy?!
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