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.