Tag Archives: Jews

If I Had a Bike

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happybike

Where I come from, you’re a stinking nobody unless you have super tight ass bike. You’re a stinking fucking nobody. You’re a stupid stinking fucking nobody with a skinny little angel hair pasta dick. With Alfredo sauce all over your soft angel hair dick. With flaky garlic bread for your balls. And Parmesan pubes.

Where I come from, there’s no way you’re ever going eat a single morsel of pussy if your cruising around on a Razor. Cuz scooters are whack and eating pussy is cool. That’s why I need a bike. So I can eat pussy all day everyday. I’d eat pussy all over the place: the bathroom at Quiznos, in line at Subway while I’m waiting on them to toast my $5 roastbeef sammy, under the table at Panera Bread after I finish my Bacon Turkey Bravo. I’d even put some pussy in the front basket of my bike and then I’d eat it just like how Eliot ate E.T.’s pussy. E.T. Phone home? Fuck that noise. E.T. BONE hoes.

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If I had a bike, shit would be raw as tits. Raw like WWE Monday Nights. Raw like John Cena’s buttflaps after Stone Cold Steve Austin wraps his own dick in sandpaper and pounds Cena’s keister til he taps out. Raw is War. Shit would be STUUUPID fun. I’d get 5 Cent Frankie behind the 7/11 to show me how to pop a wheelie. See, bitches in my town won’t fuck unless you know how to pop wheelies. I’d roll up to the Drive-In while Becky and her new boyfriend Stash are watching Gone in 60 Seconds 2: Gone in 120 Seconds and be like “Check this shit out, Becky, you bitch” then I’d pop a major wheelhouse and watch her skinny jeans overflow out the top with bubblin’ clam chow-chow all over Stash’s front seat. That’ll teach her. I’d ride over to Mrs. Greenberg’s house and yell from the street, “Give me an F in Geometry? Who wants to F now, you fucking bug-eyed twat?!” and bust a wheelie right in her goddamn face and watch her rip off her turtleneck and press her dumpy Jew-tits against her kitchen window. Fuck yeah.

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If I had a bike, I’d have permanent lockjaw from all the teenage box I’d be eating. I’d stay eatin’ more box than a starving homeless man. The thing about ownin’ your own kickass Huffy is: GIRLS WANT TO FUCK YOU RIGHT ON YOUR DICKHOLE. It’s that simple. What’s that Megan? You wanna ride on my handlebars and every so often I can lean my head forward and get a whiff of that buttcrack pokin’ out them Juicy sweatpants? Done. Excuse me, Veronica? You want me to ride no-handsies, so I can use my hands to pinch your left nip while I fingerplow your stickcave? Done. It’s not rocket science, guys. It’s easy. Bike equals Pussy Tsunami.

If I had a bike, I would decorate the spokes with beads, so that when I hopped a curb and got mad air, my wheels would look fucking bonkerzzz. I’d also put one of those floppy flagpoles on the back but instead of a flag it would have a raccoon’s tail. When sluts see that raccoon’s tail flapping in the wind they will know that it symbolizes my love for nature and all things natural.

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Cuz like, I want to be a marine biologist or whatever. And I’ve got a serious soft spot for all of God’s creatures great and small. Like especially but not limited to marine creatures because marine creatures are really misunderstood and everything. Plus my bike is going to have pegs on the back so I can grind down super slick rails or so my cousin Denny can ride on the back. He’s special needs and probably won’t have the chance to have a bike of his own. He’ll never know the freedom and/or the sweet taste of pussy that comes with riding a bike. But because like I care so much about my family and people with special needs, I’ll be like “Hey D-Bones, peg it up. You’re riding co-pilot braaaaaash.” And when all the Bettys and Veronicas around town see me riding with beads, a raccoon tail, and a retarded kid on my pegs, they are going to want me to eat their whole entire pussy.

Funny-Lycra-Cycling-Pants

Letter to Adam Sandler

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Dear Adam a.k.a The Sand Man

I love The Honukkah Song! It’s seriously like one of my top 3 favorite songs. It goes, in no particular order, The Honukkah Song, Linger by The Cranberries, and Fuckin’ In The Butt by David Allen Coe. But seriously, Honukkah Song is the nipples. Like, the part where you start naming all the famous people that are Jewish? Love it. LOVE IT. How’d you think of that anyways? You’re so creative and funny. You must come up with so much wacky stuff. That’s probably why you are a famous movie star and everything. I mean, I’m not technically Jewish or whatever but you seriously make it look like so much fun. So jeal. Thanks for everything.

Love,

Pud D.

My Diddy Says

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My Diddy says marriage is between a man and a woman and that gay marriage ain’t real marriage. He says, cuz marriage is hard work. It ain’t no fun boys club. He says, if he could hang out all day with Mr. Frank and Big Jimmy, eating pork sandwiches, listening to Steely Dan, talking about Project Runway, maybe rubbin each others’ feet, and getting fancy haircuts- he would in a goddamn heartbeat. But that just ain’t marriage. It just ain’t. Marriage ain’tsposed to be fun like that. And there’s no good reason why one man should ever jaculate while looking into the eyes of another man, unless you’re watching the Alabama game and Saban is on the screen. Got 14?

My Diddy says Lennie’s mom’s juicebox shoots out hot fire. And that ever since Mumma passed last year from the die-beats, he’s had to find solace in the arms of another woman. He ain’t proud of it. But he’s a man, he says. With needs. I don’t judge him for that. I don’t think Jesus Christ Our Lord, Amen would either. And I’m pretty sure Mumma’d be ok with it. I can see her now, upstairs in heaven’s kitchen, looking down on Diddy as he takes Lennie’s mumma to the dick rodeo, smiling, sayin’ “That’s my Terry, still hasn’t lost his touch.” ‘Sides, it’s her fault for eatin’ so much Ladyfingers and dyin’ and leavin’ us to fend for our lonesome.

My Diddy says Obama is a Muslim and we don’t like Muslims cuz of the twin towers. He says that’s why we went to Iraq. Says if Reagan were still president, the 9/11 would have never happened, that it was all Obama’s fault. He says Reagan would have caught those Muslims and beat their asses blue as a baboon and then cut em up into little pieces while all of America watched and let blood spray all everywhere like a fountain and then he’d pop their eyeballs out and let the secret service and everybody take turns fuckin’ their eye sockets til they cum a bucket-full and then he’d bury em under the crawl space of the White House in garbage bags. Kinda like in Dexter, he says. Diddy loves Dexter.

My Diddy says condoms are gay.

My Diddy says Cam Newton took that money. No matter what the NCAACP or whoever says. He says cuz Auburn has got a crackerjack team of Jews that did a real good job of hiding all that money so nobody would find out. Jews are real good with money, he says. They just sit around all day counting it and rolling around in it and putting it in their mouth holes cuz they like the taste. He says Jewish men menstruate. And the Jews and the black people (like Cam Newton and Obama) made an unholy alliance to work against the white people to destroy college football. It ain’t right, he says.

My Diddy says he’ll kill Mr. Dickenson, my biology teacher, if he tries to teach evolution again. The one true way, truth and the light, God The Father Almighty created heaven and earth and that anybody that says different is searchin’ real hard for a swift kick to the dicks and balls, he says. If Mr. Dickenson is so smart then how come he says his grandiddy was a monkey? Monkies ain’t smart. My diddy says if Mr. Dickenson wants to make evolution sound more logical he should have picked a smarter animal to be his grandiddy. Like a dolphin. My diddy says dolphins are smart like us people. If they had robot voice boxes, like Steve Hawking, they’d be able to speak their minds just like the rest of us. Says they are the only other animals on Earth that have gay sex for pleasure and plus, if we all came from monkeys, then we’d all look like blackies. They may have descended from monkey’s, Diddy says, but us whites were put here by The Lord God after he made us outta clay, breathed life into our lungs, and Adam and Eve did the ol’ slide in to home plate and super-soak the catcher’s mit.

My Diddy says liking Tracy Chapman ain’t a crime. And don’t let anybody tell you it is. Just cuz it’s dyko-rock don’t mean it don’t got no musical quality. He says lesbians have great taste in music: Bob Segar, REO Speedwagon, and of course the one, the only, 4 Non Blondes. Diddy says the first time he saw 4 Non Blondes was at the 1993 MTV Spring Break Beach House. He was loaded up on cocaine and vodka-frescas but when they performed their acoustic version of “What’s Up?” it penetrated his soul like a flaming javelin of truth.  Said he never really listened to music before that moment. Sure he had HEARD music but he never really LISTENED. Not like he did on that faithful day. He absorbed those butchy sounds with every fiber of his being and let the music flow within him and without him. And he didn’t get enough neither. Followed ‘em all the way to the Lilith Fair. He said those lesbian women opened his mind to how society could be if the testosterone fueled patriarchy would quit gagging the world with it’s throbbing veiny cock. He says that’s a metaphor. Yep, Lilith Fair changed em something powerful. He even got to go backstage and meet Jewel. Never been more nervous in his life. Diddy says her teeth are even more fucked up than they look on the TV. Like somebody curb-stomped her Canadian ass. You’d think that after selling billions of cassette tapes all around the world that she could afford at least some of those invisible Invisalign braces. Guess she’s too busy winning Grammy’s for all that.

Ain’t No Hollaback Girl.

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Seriously. For the last time. I’m not going to say it again. I ain’t no hollaback girl. Honestly, I don’t know how many more times I have to say it before you get it through that thick skull of yours.  I strongly resent all these recent accusations that I am some sort of hollaback girl. What have I ever done that would lead you to that conclusion? I mean, this shit is just completely bananas. B-A-N-A…I don’t need to spell it out for you. You know how to spell bananas. And I don’t mean like literally that my shit is made of bananas. Like I ate half a bushel of nay-nays and now I’m dumpin’ out pure naner puddin’. I mean that it is just crazy! Sure, I’ll have a banana or two every once in a while. Guilty as charged. It’s a delicious fruit. But it’s not like my diet completely consists of bananas. I guess if we were going to be more specific we could say that my shit is partially bananas but it also contains healthy amounts of chicken mcnuggers, doritos, hummus, waffles, froyo, yoplait, dannimals, gogurt, etc. After further analysis, I think it’s safe to say that, for the most part,  my shit is yogurt. Y-O-G-U-R-T. God! do you really have to over-analyze every little detail?! The consistency of my shit is not the point, the point is that it’s absurd to even think that I am in any way, shape or form some sort of hollaback hootchie cootchie.

Sometimes I feel like you are just deliberately trying to hurt my feelings or something. My analyst, Dr. Werner Lipschwitz, says it’s cuz you’re jealous of me and mines. Look, it’s not my fault my dad makes like a Jake-Jillion dollars a day and bought me the 2011 HYBRID Range Rover and Wiz Khalifa came to my MTV Super Sweet 16 party at which I gave Derek an old fashion herky-jerky in the broom closet. He got so much jerky in there that people are going to have to start calling him Slim Jim. Or Jack Links. I’ll tell you one thing, if we were to say that  Derek’s schlongdong was the illustrious Sasquatch, then I’m here to tell you that the ‘squatch exists and that he is living in Derek G.’s khaki cargos. Except unlike the squatch popularly known in lore, this squatch is shaved clean as a dutch whistle. Like porpoise skin. It’s the 21st Century Sasquatch. The kind that shaves every morning, dons a business suit, grabs a cup of coffee, and heads to the office downtown. The commute from his forest cave is not bad as long as he can beat the school traffic. And let me tell ya, he busts his ass out there from nine to five, crunchin’ numbers like it’s nobody’s bidness. Sure coworkers are always curious about his large projecting brow, mammoth hands and feet, failure to use article adjectives or proper pronouns, and the dead squirrel he brought for lunch. But after he calmly adjusts his spectacles and explains that he was brought over from the company’s Ukraine sales branch and that he was originally from in Dniprodzerzhynsk, their suspicions that he might be a shaved Sasquatch are quelled. No questions asked. It’s the perfect alibi because Ukrainians are huge, hideous, and uncircumcised- and that’s just the women.

And did you hear the one about the Ukrainian man that wanted to buy the Ukrainian meat tube? So this man walks into the store and says to the clerk “Excuse me miss, my name is Fjodor and I’d like to buy your finest Ukrainian meat tube and I would like it garnished with ketchup and pickled relish. Then I’m going to gobble it up like a ….”

The clerk eyed the man and asked “I take it you’re Ukranian?”

The man gawked offended-like and replied, “What just because I want a delicious Ukrainian meat tube, you assume that I’m Ukrainian? That is so judgmental of you. You’re a fucking cunt. If I asked for a Polish sausage would you assume that I was Polish? If I had ordered a German Bratwurst would you assume I was a Nazi? If I requested a kosher weenie would you accuse me of killing Jesus and ask me to do your taxes? If I wanted a taco would throw me out of you’re country and build up a wall over hundreds of miles of our shared border to prevent my reentry? If I asked for some cornbread and collard greens would you try to get me to play on your basketball team? If I wanted some Faygo would you assume that I was a fan of the Insane Clown Posse? Would you? Would you call me a Juggalo, you racist bitch? Answer me goddamnit.”

“….Well, no…not necessarily” she responded timidly.

“Well then why you trying to play me like that, esse?”

“….It’s just because this is Old Navy. We only sell sweater pants.”

That’s just a classic joke that displays how dumb and ugly Ukrainians are. They’re half-wits. Thick-headed. Harebrained. And other similar adjectives. To be honest, we only brought up that joke because we are sponsored by Old Navy and contractually obligated to mention Old Navy sweater pants. They’re comfy and snug. It’s like having hamsters glued all over your legs. You’d have to be as dumb and ugly as a Ukrainian to not go out and buy a pair today at your nearest Old Navy Fashion Center. But that decision is up to you.

As for me? If I said it once, I’ve said it a Jake-jillion times: I ain’t no hollaback girl. I mean honestly, take this pink ribbon off my eyes. I’m exposed and it’s no big surprise. I’m just a girl. If that makes me some a weirdo, then fine. But seriously, I’m a just a girl in the world. Guess I’m some kind of freak. Didn’t you’re mom ever tell you “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t speak.” Don’t tell me who to be. Don’t tell me cuz it hurts. And if another one of you droopy-balled cum-marinaters calls me a hollaback girl, then I will slash your eyelids with a scalpel and pour vinegar in your face while my husband, Gavin Rossdale, kidnaps your kids and violently rapes them in front you.

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

Eulogy for Pappers

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Good Evening.

To tell you the truth, I had a hard time explaining all the great things about my grandfather, Leonard Pudding Dickenson or as I called him “Pappers,” into writing. I mean, how do you sum up all of the achievements of someones life in one speech? I know I can’t do justice to his tremendous legacy, but I want to offer us a chance to remember just some of those things we loved about Pappers.

Pappers was a lot of things to all of us: a father, a grandfather, a husband, a World War II veteran, a gunowner, and a sperm donor. Pappers was all of these things and I know he touched our lives in a number of ways. My earliest memories of Pappers were of those summer afternoons when my mom and dad would drop me off at his house. I remember walking into his study where he was asleep in his old leather chair with the newspaper on his lap. I always thought he might dead- I would panic trying to decide what to do with the body- but he always woke up with a little jerk and would shout something about the Jews, before he realized he had only been dreaming. Pappers was a dreamer, that’s for sure. I remember his study always smelled like pipe tobacco- that was Pappers for ya. Those afternoons were filled with me sitting on his knee listening to his stories about how the Jews put cameras in urinals. Or how the Jews created diabetes. Or how Jewish men menstruate. Or how the Jews control all the abortion clinics and harvest the dead fetuses to eat so that they could stay young forever. He used to always tell me, “there’s Jew warlocks out there that have been alive since the Middle Ages, surviving off nothing but the marrow of the dead fetuses of teenage whores.” What I’m trying to get at is that he really, really hated Jewish people.

I remember playing all sorts of games those afternoons. Chess, model cars, puzzles, M.A.S.H., truth or dare, spin-the-bottle, Big-Nosed Heeb, you name it. He had such a lively imagination for an old timer. Pappers’ favorite game was always “puppet show.” That’s when we would take turns inserting our hands, up to the wrist, into each other’s buttholes and pretending that we were puppet and puppeteer. He always enjoyed it a little more than I did- must have been a generational thing. I’m sure all those videos of our puppet shows are around here somewhere.

One of my fondest memories of Pappers were those weekend fishing trips as a kid. Yeah, sometimes he drank a little too much. Yeah, sometimes he’d shit himself and pass out for 6 hours. But we always had a memorable time on the lake. I remember the look of excitement he would get when his cork went under. “Fish on!” he’d shout and reel it in like he was 18 again. He’d pull that fish into the boat and proceed to grab it by the tail with both hands and hold it against his crotch like he had a big fat floppy fish dick.  Sometimes he’d slap you in the mouth with it and say “suck my fish dick, suck my fish dick.” Then he would jerk off his fish dick, grunting like only a man jerking off a fish dick could. At the peak of his fish-gasm, he would scream at the top of his lungs and throw the fish back into the water as if he cummed his fish dick clean off. Then he’d say “Boy, looks like I cummed my fish dick clean off!” and put another worm on his line. Yep, those were the days.

Although he never got the chance, I think in his own way he was able to show us how important we all were to him. We’ll always have those memories of Pappers- memories of pipe tobacco, his fist in my ass, and getting slapped in the face with his fish cock. He’ll always have a special place in all of our hearts. I know he’ll always be in mine. Let’s just be thankful that we got the opportunity to know someone as loving, compassionate, anti-semitic and special as Leonardo Pudding Dickenson. Or simply…Pappers.

Kill/Boff/Marry pt. 3

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Marry

Blossom

Now when you are contemplating marriage material, you have to take a lot of factors into consideration. You are looking for a life partner, someone you can share your everything with, someone that you’re not afraid to hear to you poop after you’ve been to CiCi’s and got the sprays. I mean, you really need to know each other inside and out. Like, deep inside. I’m talking Butt Spelunking. With a tape measurer. One needs to be aware of the circumference, depth, cubic mass, humidity, and temperature of their spouses cavern.

So who are we choosing to marry? No Brainer, Blossom Russo from TV’s Blossom. She’s sweet. She’s smart. She listens. She’s creative. She loves life. She’s got a real old soul. And she’s seen stuff, man. Her mom left. Her dad is a musician which means he does heroin. Her best friend is a whore.

I love that she’s got got her own unique style too. Those big floppy hats really accent her big Jew nose. Now, I know a lot of Jews prefer to stick to their religion when it comes to marriage. I’m not positive if Blossom follows this rule, but I would be willing to do whatever it takes to be with her because she is my soul mate. And ain’t no Hebrew God going to stand in my way. Go ahead, circumcise me. I’ll do anything. Sure, I won 3rd place five years in a row at the County Fair’s Mr. Foreskin contest. And it would have been six in a row if Wade Quackenbush hadn’t showed up with that anteater snout he calls a penis. Still, you better believe I’d give all my awards back in a heartbeat to take Blossom’s hand in marriage. Shit, we could use my foreskin as the wedding ring if our Rabbi was okay with that.

You know, I’m even kind of excited about becoming a Jew for Blossom. It’s like my grandfather always said “Behind every good man, there’s a great Jew” and I think he is right on the money. Jesus, Woody Allen, Gertrude Stein, Groucho and Karl Marx, the cast of Seinfeld, Jean-Paul Sartre, Willow from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the secret committee that tells the President what to do, and my analyst Dr. Werner Lipshwitz. I would be honored to enter that circle of Jewdom.

And for any of you out there who are thinking “Blossom is sooo in love with Vinnie, you don’t stand a chance old man, with your undescended testicle and your IBS.” Well, ya know what I say to that bullshit? Fuck Vinnie. Vinnie couldn’t hold my jockstrap. Not out there on the ice and not when it comes to Blossom Russo. And I know some of you gay ass lesbians in the crowd are saying “Blossom is totally eating Six’s wafting meatlocker,” I got news for you, Blossom and I have already discussed that. It was just a phase she was going through. It’s over. She made a great point. She said “The best part about being a woman is the perogative to have a little fun.”

<br /> (via phillymag.com)

And I think she is absolutely right. I mean, everybody’s a little gaybear sometimes. Right? Ok, can I be honest with you? Like reeeaaally honest? You can’t tell Bloss. Or Vinnie. Or any of the guys cuz they’ll call me a dicksitter, but…Ok….I’m really just marrying Blo-Blo to get to Joey. He’s soooo fooooine. That retard can make this little boy say “Whoa!” anytime he wants. Ha! Listen to me. Man, I feel like a woman right now. Seriously.  But, he makes me wanna doo-doo his babies. Lets just say that I would like to have his boots under my bed.

I’m fa realz though. I would marry the tits off of Blossom. If only to pick her brains about those hats! Y’all remember when Six had a drinking problem? Or when she dated the married man? Or when she thought she was preggers? Yeah, I know. What a slut!