Tag Archives: death

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.

A Pome

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Bobby got into salad bars

lotta heartbreak, lotta heartbreak

that boy from down the road

decided one day that he’d try to dice a radish

just one radish

you know how that is

gateway shit

he started getting into the lettuces

romaine, iceberg, spinach, mixed greens, mother fucking black seeded simpson

next it’s carrots

then cucumbers

olives, croutons, hard boiled eggs, little bits of bacon

he started fooling around with dressings and stuff

ranch, italian vinegrette, thousand island, chunky bleu cheese

things led to things

before he knew it, had a full salad bar operation going in his basement

not a day went by when he didn’t turn to that salad bar to solve his problems

his family never saw it coming

then one day

boom

face down in shredded cheese

little pieces of ham everywhere

because he was dead.

A Drawing I Made In 9th Grade

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This drawing is pregnant with meaningful layers. Like a 7 layer burrito from Taco Bell, if the 7 layer burrito had like 25 layer and one of them was enlightenment. Any yokel worth their weight in beaver pelts will pick up on the satirical narrative concerning Hollywood’s portrayal of Nazi Germany. Daunting simulacra. As Baudrillard would say, it might as well be a ride in Disney World. However I think the more interesting message within this work is contained in the environmental undertones. Here we see an attempt at the restoration of the natural equilibrium in the face of one of the most explosively industrial periods in modern history. Our own subjectivity as a species is highlighted by the fact that the restoration of such equilibrium, while cleansing for one, is apocalyptic for another. You may also notice that the hill on the right appears to be tweaking his earthy nurpple.

Please feel free to provide your own critique/interpretation in the comment space bellow, or zap us an email us at http://www.pbs.org and send us some z-mail to Zoom at Box 350 Boston, MA 02134.

Here’s a previous drawing, if you are so inclined.

My First Suicide Note

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The following is a copy of my first suicide note from April 24, 2007. That was a really dark time in my life, 2007, like Omar from The Wire dark. But my analyst, Dr. Werner Lipschwitz says that it would be good for me to share my experience. Ya know, for catharsis. And since it’s the holiday season it seemed fitting.

Dear Cruel Cunt World,

When are the Cranberries going to come out with another fucking album already?!? Seriously. I get it, you’re on hiatus and want to pursue side projects. That’s fine. I’m sure that’s some great stuff or whatever but don’t neglect the fans that made you who you are. Fans like me. Jerry from Printing is also into “The Sauce.” Give us the real stuff: The Cranberries. Zombie. Linger. All the hits. Shit’s so awesome.

I mean, it’s 2007. They have cameras on phones now.Let’s get that new-new Cran-Cran. Fa really doe. Gotsta has it.

God. Fuck it. I can’t do this anymore. The Cranberries are never going to make a new album. I’m going to off myself. I’m going to off myself so fucking hard.

Love,

Pudding Dickenson

Obviously this suicide attempt was unsuccessful. But, not to fret, because it wouldn’t be my last. Heck, I eat a bottle of my gandmother’s prescription painkillers that she had for her bad knee every time they leave pickles on my chicken sammich from the Chik-Fil-A, when I said clear as day “if there are any goddamn pickles on my motherfucking chicken sammy, I will cut your fucking dick off, shove it in my mouth,  and then put a loaded shotgun to my forehead.”

Lipschwitz was right on the money. That felt pretty good.

A Drawing I Made in 9th Grade

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What you’ll see here is two 1950′s style robots, one of which is wearing a bowler hat, shooting laser beams at who they think to be Puff Daddy. However it’s Tiger Woods. The all white outfit probably lead them to this conclusion. You would think that the golf club and Nike swoosh hat would have given him away. But you thought wrong. Dead fucking wrong. You see, they didn’t have “golf” or “Nike” back in the 1950′s. This drawing is a commentary on American modernization as we entered the Space Age and the system of racial oppression which supported it.