Robot Junction When getting off of the bus the other day, there was this middle-aged lady walking toward me. She seems to be having trouble breathing and was grasping for air. I walked up to her and asked her if she was ok. She didn't say anything, she just grabbed her chest and fought for air. I put my hand on her back (like when you burp a baby) and pounded... nothing seemed to be happening so I shook her with my two hands. she seemed to be choking on something... I didn't want to get involved in her -possibly choking to death, so I pushed her to the ground and started running. Once I heard the thud on the ground I turned around. She seemed to be able to breath again and she held up her hand as to say 'thank you'. I didn't want to be thanked for something I didn't want to have anything to do with in the first place. I walked back over to her and began to piss on her like a dog. Once I was done with my dirty business I began to walk away again. She tried to hit me with her purse and I just laughed. She came running after me and tackled me to the ground. She started yelling at me -something about "you pissed on me", "you dirty whore" and "give me your bus Tokens".....I was to confused to comply with her demands so I just took out the baseball bat I was carrying and started whacking her with it. She got away before I could get any really good whacks in. Luckily there was this old man that had decided to go for a walk, standing right in front of me. I laid into him real good. I beat him with the bat relentlessly. Although I started getting this cramp in my leg, I still managed to break both his legs and his arms. That was a day I will never forget. (Written by Vicky) ******************************************************************************************* Freddy Last Friday I ran into this guy I hadn’t seen since I was in highschool. He told me that he was working for a coding company. He said that if I wanted him to tell me more about it he’d have to speak in ‘codes’ so I said ok. He began by telling me about all the people he’d done business with. “I’ve done codes for ‘The spread eagle’ company, the ‘Fat Necked Floozies’, the ‘Jimmy your ass with a Shoehorn’ company”… and a few others that I should not mention here. Anyway. When he got to the part where he was making codes for Tony Danza and Burt Reynolds, I had to interrupt him. I grabbed his shoulders and shook as hard as I could. “You mean you actually do codes for ‘The Boss’??” At which he replied “Don’t judge me! I make an honest living, just like you!” He then proceeded to unzip his pants and urinate on my shoes. I was so disgusted, that vomited on his shoes. (Written by Vicky) ******************************************************************************************* Finding Your Place The other day my sister was talking to this guy from New York. She was asking him about the oldest whore he ever 'took to bed'. He told her that she had to be at least 75 and she only had about 4 teeth. He also said that she smelled a little like hot piss and feet. When my sister hung the phone up, she told me how she'd never been with a man whore or anything and she had always wanted to try it. I was thinking about maybe surprising her with one.... what do you guys think? If you were a 'womany ape', would you like to be surprised with a man whore? (Written by Vicky) ******************************************************************************************* The Abduction of Clotworthy (The Syphilis-Ridden Butler) Clotworthy was in the kitchen polishing the silver one lazy afternoon. Looking down at the knife in his hand, he noticed that there was blood on it. “I say ol’ chap, I do believe you’ve nicked your finger” Looking down at his bloodied finger, he chuckled to himself. “I am ravaged with Syphilis, what do you expect??” Letting out an even heartier chuckle, “Clotworthy, you poor old sod, you can no longer impregnate a woman and you can’t even see your own choad anymore. What the devil will you do with yourself?” Just then the Master walked into the kitchen. “Clotworthy, who the devil are you talking to?” “Why, I’m talking to Clotworthy, Sir…. Clotworthy.” “Are you done with the silver, Clotworthy?” Asked Lord Gavin Pence. “Silver Polish!” Screamed Clotworthy. “Don’t worry, I…corrected the silverware, Sir… and I’ll correct Clotworthy later.” Clotworthy’s dementia has taken quite and effect on his life. He can no longer read and think like a normal servant. He often has conversations with himself in the first person. He sleeps with a bell under his pillow so that he can ring it when he has a nightmare, thinking that when the sound of bells are heard, it drives evil spirits from the circle of meat under his bed. He does not pretend to hide his urination habits with all that he meets. He is often heard to say “Clotworthy is so mad with Syphilis, that he often urinates on the walls to ‘mark his territory’.” Then he scolds himself for urinating so freely. “Oh, good God! Clotworthy, what are you doing? Clean that up before Lord Pence returns from his goat rendering assignmen (A concept by Clint and Billy, written by Vicky) ******************************************************************************************* Janitorial Work There was this guy I knew. He always ran around with skanks and whores, even really ugly ones.... one time when he was 'out and about', he entered a song writing contest at the local scanktorium.... Once he got done pissing on the judges, he ran on stage and tried to ad-lib a catchy tune.... 'The only thing that gets me up, is watchin' my ho's make a score.... changin' the old to the new....'.... it didn't go over to well, the cops threw him out. The good news is he won 4th place for originality... (Written by Vicky) ******************************************************************************************* Poor Ron One time, I went out for a beer with a pretty good friend of mine named Ron. I had not seen Ron for nearly 2 years and I was really excited to go and hang out with him again, just like in the old days. The bar that we had decided to meet at was called “Woody’s” and featured a nice 50’s style jukebox with original 45 speed records in them. It was Ron’s suggestion that we meet there so he could per chance listen to the warm soothing sounds of his favorite singer Willie Nelson on the jukebox. The owner of the bar and it’s namesake, Woody, had known Ron since Ron was very young and always kept a few Willie Nelson 45’s on hand in the old music maker. We met at the bar at around 10:30 pm that night and after exchanging a hug and a few hearty laughs, we engaged in a nice conversation about the old days. Ron seemed to be the same old Ron I grew up with, save for strange new layers of muscles and a brow that was sweating profusely at all times. I was quite surprised to see how bulky and insanely muscular Ron had gotten. Turns out that Ron had been taking steroids for over 11 months. I was cool with this, but was a little unnerved by Ron’s eyes, his corneas now a pale shade of red. Nevertheless, the beer was flowing and the laughs were non-stop. That is until Ron asked Woody to play Willie Nelson’s “Mama Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys”. Woody looked at Ron and seemed a bit nervous. “Ron, I’m sorry, buddy, but I took the old Willie stuff out a couple of years ago”. Ron then kind of chuckled at Woody and said “Aw, come on, Woody, stop screwing with Me, Man. Who the hell gets rid of Willie?!” Woody again seemed almost apologetic in his eyes and quietly lamented “Ron, I’m sorry. I really did throw them out. The kids just don’t listen to Willie anymore. They like to hear all of the 80’s records and all of the disco stuff. The kids like to dance”. “Fuck the dancing, Woody!” Ron said belligerently. “I want to hear some Willie Nelson. Since when is this a fucking disco bar anyway?!” A few more ‘I’m sorries” came out of Woody’s mouth but Ron was deaf to his pleas by this time. I put my hand on Ron’s arm and tried to calm him but Ron pulled his tree trunk of an arm away from Me and nearly threw Me from my stool. Ron’s “Fudpucker’s” T-shirt was now soaked in a cold and distinctively bitter smelling sweat. His fists were clenched so tight that you couldn’t get them open with the jaws of life if you tried. I made one last desperate attempt to calm Ron. “Ron…come on…It…it’s” was all I got out before Ron bellowed out “It’s not the fucking steroids, Dude!!!” Ron leapt from his stool and stood in the middle of the bar, slightly crouched down, and started yelling “Mommy!!! Ahhhhh!!!!!” Most of the patrons wisely cleared the immediate area, but kept a safe distance, goose-necking and desperate to see what would happen next. Ron started squatting up and down in his crouching stance, looking somewhat like a Russian ballet dancer, but not quite as graceful, especially once he started farting uncontrollably. “Sons Of Bitches!!!” Ron was starting to scream now, not quite directed to anybody in particular. Woody panicked as he saw Ron hulking towards his vintage jukebox. “Ron, for Christ sakes, don’t!!” he yelled, but Ron heard nothing but ducks quacking in his head. Ron drew back his huge right meat hook and flung it right through the concave see through glass on the front of the jukebox, right above the turntable. Glass practically exploded around Ron’s body and showered anybody within 10 feet of him. Ron pulled his arm back and it looked as if it had been run through a cheese grater, blood streaming down his arm and splattering Ron’s clothes as well as the jukebox. Ron then began unbuttoning his jeans and nobody knew what in the hell was coming next. After exposing himself to the shocked bar patrons, Ron reached back into the jukebox and grabbed a handful of 45’s then proceeded to stack them like tires onto his member, and began twirling them like a hula hoop. Ron then pulled the jukebox out from against the wall and unplugged it from the wall outlet. Ron them began to urinate on the wall outlet, sending a shower of sparks flying from the outlet, while proclaiming that nobody would ever plug this god damned jukebox in there again. Ron then pulled himself up onto the top of the bar and started doing the ‘mashed potato’ dance while walking along, kicking beer mugs off like soccer balls. Many of the mugs struck bar patrons, cutting faces and knocking out teeth. Woody fled in terror as Ron then jumped down behind the bar and started flinging whiskey bottles all about. Customers continued to gasp as Ron proceeded to stick a seltzer bottle up his own ass, filling it with a fizzy jetstream of wackiness. Ron then ran over to Woody’s beloved cigar store Indian and began to hump on it like a frothing little dog. At the absolute breaking point, Ron kicked the door to the bar open and did the old stop, drop & roll as if he were covered in flames. He kept rolling. And rolling. And rolling. Sadly, Ron was not perceptive enough to see the 1974 Volkswagon Van unknowingly barreling down on him. Ron rolled no more after the van happened upon him. Poor Ron was dead. Funny enough, I ran into Willie Nelson one day at the Holiday Inn in Shreveport, Louisiana. I told him about how much Ron admired him and the tragedy that fell upon Ron. Willie just kind of murmured a bit and he had some coffee cake crumbs in his beard. I think he was stoned. Poor Ron. (Written by Billy) ******************************************************************************************* Mexican Poncho Eugene slowly put the car in park along a small stretch of highway. Once the car stopped he did not move. He simply hung his head and took 2 deep breaths. Then quietly he spoke. “Get my pancho” he said to the woman sitting in the passengers seat. Her face turned quickly to shock as to say ‘no, please not that’ but she knew there was no stopping him. She opened the door and went around to the back of a new 2002 RAV4, opened the back and reached into a medium sized pocket on the door. She carefully pulled out a brightly colored Mexican poncho with the initials ‘ES’ badly hand-sewn on the upper left side. She closed the back and stood just in view of his side mirror. Once he saw that everything was in order, he grabbed a single cigarette and a lighter from the glove compartment and exited the vehicle. He walked slowly around to the back and reached his arms out to the side. She reluctantly turned to face his back. He stood there, with arms spread and head high. Slipping the pancho over his head it proudly draped his arms and flowed down his back. As soon as it was on, he reached around and put the cigarette in his mouth and lit it. After taking 3 puffs he flicked it to the ground and stepped on it. Putting it out with his shoe. “Eugene, lets - ….” His wife started. Raising his hand in the air, he spoke “While I bare this pancho on my back, you shall address me as ‘Julio’ and you will try to ‘bargain for my avocados’. (Written by Vicky) ******************************************************************************************* |
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