Crotch Cricket Control

Do you or a loved one have crotch crickets? Are you or a loved one embarrassed to pull down your tighty-whities in front of company because of a massively intense infestation of crotch cooties? If so, and if you are desperate to get rid of those little buggers, call Crotch Cricket Control! We will send one of our highly skilled testicle technicians straight to your home. Our technicians are heavily and dangerously equipped with sprays, salves, sauces, semi-solids, solvents, spackles, foams, oils, creams, cleansers, poisons, powders, pungent potions, holy water, gases, goops, lubricants, juices, elixirs, and HPCTs (High Performance Cootie Traps). Throw away that stinky old fly tape you've been hanging on your tool. We use only the finest Concentrated Cootie Cum to lure the prey into our Tantalizing Teste Traps. Say goodbye to cock-critters forever and call now! 1-800-SAC-BUGS

Welcome to the Shit-Show!

Come on down to the Shit-Show! We've got all sorts of awesome fecal matter! Get a lovely golden camel turd for the low low price of two gallons of horse piss! We got screamin' deals on all of our specialty gourmet armadillo turd bars. Don't even think about leaving the shit-show without sampling our Feline Fudgy Cake! Mmmmm, I can already taste the cat shit! Tuesday is Dump-4-a-Dollar Day! Enjoy high-protein llama logs, for just a buck! And no grandmother's birthday is complete without a petrified squirrel shit necklace and matching rat turd bracelet, so come and pick one up! Just wash your hands when you're done. Everything must go, so grab a clothes pin and get your ass down to the Shit-Show!

Deere John, I'm a Belly Dancer

Deere John,

I hope this note finds you well, but I think we need to break up. I've been taking a lot of Egyptian belly dancing courses at the local community college and I think I want to pursue my week-long dream of moving to Egypt and becoming a full-time belly dancer. I have also been smoking a ton of ecstasy and shooting up a lot of weed. I know what you're thinking...."You have a horrible belly! How would you survive in the belly dancing world?!" The truth is, I've been doing a shitload of tummy-tucks lately, plus I shaved my belly, and I think I have what it takes to excel in stomach ballet . If you're wondering what to get me for my birthday, get fucked! Just try to understand that I love you, sorta. Unfortunately, your crotch smells like rotten eggs, and I'm not impressed by your lazy eyes. Please leave me alone and please stop sending me pics of your dirty sack.

Love,

Roger

Befuddled By His Wizardry

Simon could hardly keep his hands out of his pants. The big day was just around the corner. That's right, it was the day before the 1875 Spunk Valley Fishing Contest Extravaganza. Spunk Valley was a small town that nestled in the depths of the Shimmy Mountains. The people who resided here were completely fuckin' nuts. Most of the residents had pet armadillos, pet palatypi, or pet rocks. Simon had a fuckin' shit load of largemouth bass and guppies! He was nuckin futz about fish! He had a certain control over fish that most couldn't understand. He made them do shit that nobody believed. He could make his fish do little back flips and swim in unison like little synchronized swimmers. He was definitely a top-notch fish-tamer. The big day finally came. Simon headed to the river with his dick and fishing rod in hand. All the town's best fisherman registered for the fishing contest. Simon registered quickly and ran to the river for what was surely to be an award-winning performance by the intensely awesome fish-fanatic. With a sinister look on his face, Simon reached in his coat's inner hidden pocket. He pulled out one of his pets, Billy Bass. He whispered something in Billy's ear-hole and tossed him in the water. Simon then casted his neon-yellow plastic worm into the river. Whoa! He got a bite! It was a fuckin' enormous brown trout. He proceeded to slay massive amounts of fish, beyond anyone's belief. The contest was now over, and all the fishermen returned to the weigh-in. Simon won the contest by about 50 kilos. The townsmen were befuddled by his wizardry. That amount of fish had never been caught in one afternoon since the beginning of time. Simon was hoisting the 1st place trophy above his head and yelling and screaming. Just then, Billy Bass flopped out of his pocket and flailed around in front of him like a palsy. "WHAT IS THAT!", exclaimed the townspeople. "Umm, what? Nothing. Nothing at all." One of the townspeople exclaimed, "He's a cheater! A cheater, I tell ya! That looks like a persuasive bass!" Simon exclaimed, "Well, it's not like YOU'VE never used really persuasive bass to do your dirty work for you, is it?" Simon was hung in Townsquare for the use of Persuasive Bass during a fishing contest. This rule was written in the lawbook a century prior to the 1875 Spunk Valley Fishing Contest. Watch your bass. They may even persuade YOU to make bad choices.

Alcoholism is a Disease?

Alcoholism is a DISEASE!? Fuck that! Prostate cancer is a DISEASE! Alcoholism is a hobby, at most. Well, if it is a disease, at what point do you achieve the "Alcoholic" status? If you think about beer all day at work and just can't wait to get home and crack open a smooth frosty one, are you an alcoholic? Well, you might be an alcoholic if you are at work all day thinking about beer smoothies, yelling at people, throwing shit, and crying under your desk. And if all the pain and anger goes away after you fly through the door of your house, punt the dog across the room, smack the wife silly, scream at the kids, shotgun a Pabst, and beer-bong a Coors, then you might be an alcoholic. But there is a fine line between being an aspiring alcoholic, and being a full-blown alcoholic. I, personally, have never been at a bar or party, and heard people talking about their drunk friend having a "disease":

-"Hey Marge, why is George dancing on the table and double-fisting those bottles of Bacardi?"
-"Well, I heard he has a disease, and it's pretty severe. Apparently, this disease he has causes him to consume ethanol and act like a retard."
-"Oh jeez, poor guy."

And it is definitely ridiculous to think that Grandpa has a disease, just because he is funneling Jack Daniels into his gullet at 10 A.M. Some guys are just early risers. Grandpa's old as fuck. Leave him alone. The early bird gets the tequila worm. Remember that.

Crustaceans in Bus Stations

It was a terrible day for the crustaceans of the Gulf of Mexico. Their homes were flooded with large amounts of black goop. None of them ever thought that it would come to this. One day, they are flapping their evolved flagella erratically. Then, the next day, they are ass-deep in petro. Many of the unfortunate sea creatures took ill. Others got the fuck outta there. Now, the brave crustacean survivors of the gulf, A.K.A. The Petro-Radicals, are walking the streets of Mississippi, Alabama, and Louisana. All they want is a chance. They want another chance to be great. Even a job at BP would suffice. Most are willing to hold pretty low positions. Some even claim to know friends with PhD's that are holding the ever-embarrassing position known as "cashier". None of God's creatures should have to deal with such a dilemma. Some reports claim that many of the crustaceans have been hanging out in bus stations, in hopes of snagging a free ticket out of that hell-hole. Some have actually been selling their bodies to seafood restaurants for money for their family. Any way you tell it, the situation is bad. It needs to be resolved before these crustaceans start stealing all of our jobs and all of our women. Beware crabs, beware lobsters, beware crayfish, and especially, beware shrimp! We are on to you. We know that no woman in her right mind can resist a sweet lobster, and we are ready for anything you have to offer. Just don't offer a side of butter, then we're fucked.

Brown Stuff and Air Make Me Smile

Ass noises are so damn funny! Whenever I'm in the bathroom and I hear a loud noise coming from the stall, I have to hold back my boisterous giggles. I actually was in the stall today, and the guy next to me fuckin' exploded! I let out a little giggle and tried to play it off by coughing. When he let out the awesome eruption, I happened to look through the crack in the stall door in front of me, and in the mirror, I saw one of the guys that was taking a leak snap his head over toward the rumble and grimace with fear. That made me get the chuckling farts. I said "Ha! Ha! Ha!" And my ass went "Rip! Rip! Rip! ZZZZZip! Snap! Pop! Splash!" Best poop I've had in a while.

So, why are ass explosions so funny? Well, if you think about it, it is nasty brown shit and air created in your belly from festering food being pushed through your colon and out your anus. That really doesn't seem that funny. But, when a fart comes out, it makes your butt cheeks slap together so fast that it creates a ripping sound, which is hilarious for some reason. And it smells so bad! I seldom smell a fart and smile, unless, of course it is mine, and I am patiently waiting for the other person in the room to notice it, and say, "Oh man! Did you fart!? Ah, no!" I can never EVER hear a fart and not smile, though. :0)

No Animals Were Harmed in the Making of This Blog

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Trendy Urns

Don't pour your grandpa's ashes in some river or lake. Don't flail grandma's ashes into the air from atop Mount Everest. And for God's sake, don't shove your loved one in a tacky eighteen century vase! Bottle up your loved ones in style with "Trendy Urns". We'll make those ashes come alive with vibrant colored, hip, new-age containers!

I thought I had a really good idea for a business while I was walking through the Mega-Mall. I guess I was beat to the punch, though. I typed in "trendy urns" on google and found sites that make urns that are even trendier than I had in mind, which is pretty fuckin' trendy! They have jewelry for sale in which to store your loved one's remains. They even make diamonds out of your loved one's ashes! I can just imagine the fun conversations that take place:

-"Hey Cindy, those are some bomb-ass earrings! Where did you get them!?"
-"Well, actually, this earring in my left ear is made out of Grandpa Jim, and this locket contains the remains of Grandma Beatrice, and my shoes are actually made out of my cat Snickers."
-"Holy Shit! You're trendy!"


"Urn jewelry comes in many styles sure to display your dear ones in a trendy, tasteful way."
-An actual excerpt from a website I found

Celery Spoon

The only reason I eat celery is because it's a great tool for getting peanut butter into my mouth. Some jack-offs are thinking, "Why not use a spoon, Cody?" I would answer such a question by saying, "I don't wanna look like a pig, ass-munch." Yes, it is true that I could use a spoon. But, while I'm amidst coworkers and/or passing judgers, eating the peanut butter with a piece of celery seems to make me feel like less of a fat fucker. Occasionally, there is the witty gentleman who calls me out, and says, "Hey, you haven't bit off a piece of that celery for like ten minutes." And I say, "Ya got me Dan! I'm using this veggie as a fat-fuck-masking-device! Good observation!" Don't get me wrong....there are plenty of other reasons why I shove this garbage called celery into my mouth. In 1994, I heard that celery contains so few calories, that you burn more calories than you ingest just by chewing the nasty shit! I'm getting bored with this. Maybe I'll start dipping my celery in Hershey's Syrup, or FunDip.

Jager Master

I think I'm a Jager Master in the sense that I understand Jagermeister more than the average Joe. Either that, or I am just the only dumbass that decided to write about it, so that it officializes my deep understanding. Jagermeister is fun AND depressing because a person never just casually drinks a glass of Jagermeister. It's always like, "Let's get completely fucked up and do shit we might regret!" My buddy John and I used to drink a whole bottle of Jag between the two of us, and THEN go to the bar. That's like eating an entire pizza, and then saying, "Ullllh, you guys wanna go to Pizza Ranch?" The worst part of this is that it was usually on a Wednesday or something. Advice: just drink the nasty shit. Don't forget the Red Bull, though! What would a black, liquid depressant be without a piss-colored, pseudo-vitamin-infested liquid stimulant!? It's nice to be loaded on Hump Day.