Category Archives: Uncategorized

Aunt Becky’s Casserole

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You haven’t lived until you’ve had my Aunt Becky’s casserole. Seriously. Whatever that shitty fucking excuse for an abortion was that you claimed as your “existence” is all total bullstuffing compared to the life you’re gonna lead after devouring some of Aunt B’s cassie rolls. I mean, this thing will transport you to a whole new world. Like that sluttytits Jasmine from The Little Mermaid. Whatever you thought was right is suddenly wrong. What’s down is up. What was real now seems spurious. Steve Spurious. You thought you knew, but you had no idea. This is the Diary of Aunt Becky’s Casserole.

I recollect the first time my taste buds had the honor of encountering Aunt Becky’s C-Role. I was 7 years old and it was 4th of July weekend. Dad was lighting sparklers and Kentucky Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Das. His eyebrows had been singed clean off. He’d been drinking Bud Heavy and you could see a dark ring of piss around where the tip of his knuckleduster oughta be in his shorts. Aunt Becky was there sucking cigarettes down her stoma barking about how she gobbled on Richard Petty’s nutsack during a pit stop at ‘Dega ’85. She was shoveling casserole onto paper plates and passin’ em around to anybody that would take one.

I remember that first fork full. The clouds parted and a beam of light descended from above -ancient aliens style. Time ceased. Like remember when Zack would stop time on Saved By The Bell and everyone would freeze and he’d address the camera. They call it breaking the fourth wall. SBTB was way ahead of it’s time. They were dicking around with time travel way before Lost. Member when Screech and Zack got in a fight over that twat-trap Lisa Turtle and everybody slurpin on sodie-pops at the MAX was watchin’ like WHAAAT? How could Z-Bird be into Lisa when he knows good and well how much his best bro Dusty ‘Screech’ Diamond wanted to finger fuck that pile of brown sugar? Plus, no offense Lisa Turtle but you are a solid 7.5. Totally bangable but I mean, c’mon, have you seen Kelly? She’s got a pouty little snapper molded out of solid gold, shaved cleaner than Stone Cold Steve Austin’s dome. And Zack was slurpin’ on that ham wallet back in middle school. That whole thing with Lisa was just a fling for Zack. Was it right to do that to Screech? No. Shit’s fucked up. But can you blame him for wanting to get a taste of that dark meat just once? No. A little leg and thigh ain’t never hurt nobody. Diversity is the spice of life. Saved By The Bell addressed interracial relationships way before we  had our black president Obama and Big Willie was kissin’ our white women on our big screens.

Where was I? Oh right. Becky’s casserole was the tittyfuck. After that first bite, I was engulfed in a cocoon of warm light. I found myself floating above, looking down at myself and I could see everything. My beginning. My end. Jesus Christ of Nazareth was there. So was Marty King Junior and Heath Ledger. In that instant my testicles descended and they’ve been there ever since.

I Can Dance If I Want To

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From an early age I realized that to dance was to be free. Free from the chains of expectation. Free from the oppression of stillness. Dance is movement. Dance is fluid. Dance is life. Dance is God. Dance is sex. Dance is death and rebirth. Dance is like getting attacked by sharks but then a pod of dolphins comes up and starts ramming into the sharks with their bottle noses and the sharks are like “These bottle noses hurt like shit. Let’s skidaddle” and then the dolphins let you ride on their backs and you’re having so much fun that you forget you minor shark wounds and then this sexy lady dolphin swims up and is like “Hey boooooy, you cute as hell. Come on over here and give mama some sugar” and one thing leads to another and next thing you know, you’re plowing her blowhole WITH YOUR DICK. Without a condom WITH YOUR DICK. Skin on skin. Like it was Easter Sunday. WITH YOUR DICK. That’s dance. Tap. Jazz. Hip Hop. Ballet. Clog. Square. Interpretive. Break. Pole. When we dance, we become a vessel for the muses. We become something more than ourselves. We become the dance and the dance becomes us.

From an early age, everyone told me I couldn’t dance. They said I didn’t have the moxie. They said I didn’t have the sheer unmitigated spunk.  They said I was a fat cunt with bitch titties whose fanny was hurting for a squirting. Dreaming of a creaming. Hankering for a wankering. Maybe in a way, they were right. Maybe they pushed me to try harder. To prove them wrong. Maybe that’s exactly what I needed.  And prove them wrong I did.

Official Bucket List

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Temporality wakens visions of my own mortality. We only have so much time. We must milk this teet called life. We must milk it dry. Until it squirts out nothing but tumbleweeds and cricket noises. Then we die. Eaten by our own pets.

This is my Bucket List:

1) Leaktite 2 Gallon bucket. 8 quarts. $3.58.

Made of durable white plastic. 9.2 inches depth. 9.5 inches height.

9.5 inches diameter. 0.78 lbs.

 

 

2)Rubbermaid 10 Quart Red Brute Bucket. $9.98

Rugged, injection-molded plastic. Resists acids, alkalis, paint and harsh chemicals.

10.5 inches depth. 10.25 inches height. With graduation markings.

 

 

3) Good Ideas, Inc Bamboo Compost Bucket. $42.28

Excellent little device for composting all your left over food scraps. The smooth, plastic inner-liner creates the perfect digestion chamber to facilitate composting and lets you recycle organic left over from meals. The beautiful exterior is made with real bamboo and will accent any counter top.

8 inches depth. 11.25 inches height. 3 lbs. 5% made from real wood.

 

4) BEHR 1 Gallon Metal Paint Bucket. 40 quarts. $4.98.

This bucket has an all-metal construction for resilience.

6.75 inches depth. 7.75 inches height. 6.63 inches diameter. 0.4 lbs.

 

 

5) Quickie EZ-Glide Bucket on Wheels. 5 gallon. 20 quart. $4.97.

Comes in blue and grey plastic.

Rolls around like a little bitch.

 

6) Ace Heavy Duty Mop Bucket/ Wringer. 21 quarts. $39.99

Commercial grade plastic. Higher back for comfortable wringing. Lower front for easier placing of mop reducing back strain.

18 inches height.

 

 

7) Holiday Bear Bucket. $37.20 per dozen. 3.60 per bucket.

This delightful decorative pail is ready for the holidays.

5.75 inches height. 0.2 lbs.

 

 

8) Smaller Than A Mountain Dew Red Bucket. 

Light weight. Ultra-portable. $11.67 per dozen.

Smaller than a Mountain Dew.

 

9) Hot Chocolate Fire Dog Bucket. $37. 20 per dozen. $3.60 per bucket.

Adorable fire dog.

5.76 inches height. 7 lbs shipping weight for dozen.

 

 

10) Smiling Octopus Bucket. $11.60

Shaped like a fucking octopus. Come on. So cool.

9.7 inches height. 8 legs. 1 smile. Ages 3 years and up.

 

 

11) Mr. Bucket

Buckets of fun.

Where’d You Get Those Overalls At?

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Where’d you get those overalls at? They’re so hillbilly chic. So ironic. So working class. So Rural. So Tom Sawyer-esque. So Alex Mac-ian. So Mario 64-ish. It’s like you’re in that band Dexy’s Midnight Runners.  It’s like, come on Eileen, seriously, come on, those are some nice ass overalls. It’s like you’re a farmer who just got done squeezing on some cow’s big fat titty, squirting it’s milk-cum every whichaway. You know, that’s a lifestyle choice I can respect. There is something dignified about working with your hands, squeezing titties all the live long day. That’s real salt of the earth shit. Sometimes it’s refreshing to just get back to the basics. Back to nature. Just hands and titties. Like Henry David Thoreau or Ted Kaczynski. Yep, dem were simpler times. That was before the google and the Jason Mraz and those shoes that light up when you walk around on em. Long before your Screech Powers’, and your Bawitdaba’s, and your 1-800-COLLECT’S. Back then, you would wake up to the smell of hickory-bacon frying in an open skillet and the crack of logs being split out back. I’d get going right near sun up, put on my burlap sack, some overalls, and drink a warm cup of fresh squeezed milk-jizz. We would all get belly full on hickory-bacon and mama’s grit cakes before we headed out into the fields. Best part was, we didn’t have to wear no shoes, if’n we didn’t want to. Worst part was, if we didn’t pick that cotton fast enough or we stopped to take a sip of water, that old overseer would come beat the shit out of us with a horsewhip. I ‘member one time Erasmus May and me decided it was too hot to work, so we goes and sneaks off into the cantaloupe patch and get us a nice fat melon to snack upon. Long story short, they tied us up and beat the shit out of us with a horsewhip.

S The Coach

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I’m not a gay-lesbian or whatever but I would totally let Nick Saban plow my ass. I mean really plow my ass. Plow it like Brother Hesychia during the Fall Harvest Season. Plow it hard and deep to aerate the soil. Bring those fresh nutrients to the surface so i can cultivate his big fat corn cob dick. Then I’m going to shuck the healthy husk until the kernals pop in my mouth hole with that buttery sensation dribblin’ down my chin.
I want the 2-time BCS National Championship winner to pull my carrot stick up from the roots and nibble like a baby hare until it’s drenched in man ranch (manch).

Concerning the Annual PTA Luau Luncheon

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Dear Don,

Sharon and I just wanted to thank you and Vicki for coming over to our annual PTA Luau Luncheon last Sunday. Your support for the education of the children in this community is much appreciated, of course. However, there is an issue I feel I must address. My wife and I certainly consider ourselves “with it.” We’re no squares. We’re hip to the jive. We’re fresh to death. We call 4-1-1. I smoked a little weed in college with my frat bros and Sharon experimented with her sexuality back in her college days. Still, we considered your behavior a bit unsettling. We offer an array of tropical alcoholic beverages at the luncheon with the assumption that they will be consumed in moderation. Many of our guests agree that your excessive drinking was offensive. We also heard from several parents that you were crushing up and snorting lines of ecstasy on our living room coffee table, as well as smoking doobies in the aviary. This is simply unacceptable. The final straw was when I had to generously loan you a pair of slacks because you soiled your own. The second final straw was when you and  your wife had noisy violent intercourse in Anthony’s tree house within earshot of the everyone at the luncheon. Therefore, we regret to inform you that, because of this behavior, you will be placed in probationary status on the PTA board. Please refer to your PTA handbook or contact me if you have any further questions.

Sincerly,

Dr. Vincent Upchuck

P.S. I would appreciate if you would return my borrowed slacks. They are Izod (very expensive). Also, Sharon and I have decided it would be best to tear down and rebuild Anthony’s tree house because of its recent contamination. I expect that you will contribute to the construction costs.

Dear Dr. Upchuck,

Vicki and I had a wonderful time at the PTA Luau Luncheon that you and your wife graciously hosted. You throw one heck of a shindig. Our enjoyment was certainly influenced by the ecstasy we railed off your coffee table, and although the tropical drinks were not as stout as Vicki and I would have preferred, coupled with the sexcstacy, they did the trick. I whole-heartedly apologize if you found our behavior offensive. We didn’t realize that you and the rest of the parents at the luncheon had pussies for asses. Like, instead of buttholes you just have a vagina that you poop out of. As for my pending probationary status, you and the PTA board can eat mine and Vicki’s dick. And on the topic of Anthony’s treehouse, I will not be contributing to construction costs. It seems like the whole endeavor will be a waste of time. Vince, quit lying to yourself, that corn-holing little queen would rather have a sewing machine than a treehouse. You should learn to accept him for who he is.

Sincerely,

Don Ertwhiszt

P.S. I’ll have Clarissa drop those slacks by your office on Thursday.

Dear Don,

I was under the assumption that we would be able to handle this issue like mature adults, but apparently not. Your response to the incident at the Luau and the PTA decision is appalling and unforgivable, but I would defend to the death your right to say it. That’s because I’m an American. My parents were Americans. My Grandparents. My Great-Great-Great Grandfather served with General Washington when he forced the British to surrender at Appomattox Courthouse. The same can’t be said about your first generation Jew-gasing Kraut ass.  And for the record, Anthony is not gay, he is just eccentric because he is artistic. Ms. Horne has selected a few of his watercolor still-lifes to enter into the state art showcase. We are very proud of his creative and sensitive qualities and I assure you, he is not gay. Just because he’s not as sexually active as your huge 4th grade slut daughter, Alisha, who all the parents know got fingered on the jungle gym by 6th graders, does not make him a homosexual.

Sincerely,

Dr. Vincent Upchuck

Dear Dr. Butt-Pussy,

It’s funny that you bring up that rumor about the 6th graders, because I heard from the other parents that Anthony got fingered on the jungle gym too. In the butt. Because he’s gay. I won’t deny that Alisha is very sexually active. It’s a side effect of her being popular and smoking hot and and always getting invited to go to the movies and pool parties with 6th graders. Unlike Anthony. The only action he has seen since he got in the 4th grade is me and Vicki buttering the skids in his tree house. He’s welcome, by the way. And I’ve seen his still-lifes, they look like bear shit.

Sincerely,

Don Ertwhiszt

Hostage Crisis

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Dear Officer Policeman!

Hey there, mister. I like your hat. I would like to take this opportunity to first thank you and the other fellows in blue for all the hard work you’re doing keeping our streets safe out there. I haven’t gotten rough housed by gang bangers in a coon’s age. I owe that to you guys. So, now that that’s out of the way…I don’t want to get all awkward or whatever but I feel like there is an elephant in the room.  And I don’t mean the Chief’s dumpy assed, brisket and bread lovin’ wife….No, it’s just that….well, there’s no easy way around this….I’m not too proud to admit that I have trapped everyone inside of this here Outback Steakhouse with a deer rifle, 2 packs of Pop Pop Snappers (you know, those little white tadpoles that make for classic outdoor fun), and a clean bomb. In case you didn’t know, a clean bomb is like a dirty bomb except it is made with hand sanitizer instead of radioactive material.

Just a quick role call of who all is in here before I start Pop Pop Snappin’ up in this motherfucker- we got my waitress, Jenny (suckered me into ordering the seared Ahi Tuna with the Baked Potato Walkabout Soup- no regrets! it’s D-vine), three nuns (the sweetest!), The Davises (it’s Jordan’s birthday and they ordered the Chocolate Thunder from Down Under and the staff sang a traditional Ausie birthday song, hate to tell him but the dessert’s name doesn’t come from when you eat it, it comes from the dookiepie splatter bomb that arrives 30 minutes later), we got Trisha “The Cunter” Hunter and the black dude she is cheating on her husband with (Just so you know, I specified that he was black for descriptive purposes. I’m trying to paint a picture. It’s not like I disapprove of their interracial relationship or anything. That’s fine. No problemo, Senor. There is nothing more beautiful than a well-toned African-American man, with his dark skin glistening in the flickering candle light, his dark mahogony flesh beaded with sweat, the pink palms of his hand around her throat as he rapes a white woman. No, it’s not the interracial thing that bothers me. It’s more the fact that ever since Trisha’s husband went into that coma after that Ski-Doo accident, Trish has been getting on more black cocks than AIDs.) We also have Dan in here, who Jenny and I have nicknamed “Fat Bill Paxton” (but don’t tell him I said that because I know he is self-conscious about his weight. I can tell because he ordered the Queensland Salad and a diet Fanta. I mean, he’s not like FAT fat. I mean sure, he could stand to lose like 50 or 60 lbs, but he’s really just got those classic Paxtonian looks so he still does alright for himself, I mean shit, have you seen Spy Kids 2: Island of Lost Dreams?).

Anywho, I’ve prepared a small list of demands if ya’ll get a free moment.

1. I’ve got like $500 in Blockbuster late fees. Jim Varney is partially to blame for this excessive debt. If they honestly expect people to return movies on time, they should think twice about offering the Ernest series. Ernest Goes to Camp. Ernest in the Army. Ernest Scared Stupid. Ernest Goes to Jail for Cooking Meth. Ernest Goes to Jail for Allegedly Raping a 7-year Old Boy. Ernest Goes to Jail for soliciting his longwanger on Craigslist. He. is. too. funny. The way he always gets himself in those classic goof-ups is priceless. PRICELESS. Although, if you were to attribute a price, it would probably be around $500- which is how much they’re charging me. Do you think there is any way you could possibly take care of that for me? Thanks.

2. I want an upskirt photo of Harriet Tubman while she be doing yard work.

3. Three Snickers Ice Cream Bars and a Citrus Cooler Gatorade. Fucking delish! Snacksville, U.S.A.

4. The third season of According to Jim on Blu-Ray.

5. A Blu-Ray player.

6. Go to my house and shut off my mother’s oxygen tank and make it look like a accident so I can inherit her porcelain doll collection.

7. Snatch up a midget and rip his clothes off. Super glue a bunch of Googly Eyes onto his body and a feed him ecstacy. Wait for me to fall asleep and put him in bed next to me. When he is secure, turn on a flashing disco ball and put on the new Rihanna album. Then get the fuck out.

8. I haven’t been fishing in forever! Do you think this weekend or next we could go up to your lake house and cast in a few lines? I could really use a nice weekend fishing trip to just let down my hair- especially after this little soiree. Do you remember the last time we went to the lake? With Sharon and her European boyfriend? It’s like, uuuuuuugh get circumcised already! Aside from that- SO FUN. Ok, so I am officially excited about this weekend!

Thanks so much for everything. Could you try to get everything done in the next 45 minutes? because the new Real World season premier comes on at 9 and the first episode is really important because that’s when you get to meet the whole cast and see clips of their audition tapes! So cool. If I miss that premier I swear to god I will paint the walls of this Outback Steakhouse red with the blood of the every single one of these fuckers. TTYL.

If I Were Stranded on a Dessert Island…

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Seriously? I’m diabetic. What the fuck is wrong with you?

Is Diabetes a joke to you or something? Are my blood sugar levels funny?

You know what? Mom was right about you. You are an instigator and a shit-monger. She says it’s because your parents got divorced and your mom is a trashy dumpster slut with labia that flap like the wings of a manta ray, who spends her nights eating ecstacy and sucking the cream filling out of chocolate eclairs.

She says you can’t come over to our house anymore.