LEAGUE OF SUPER RETARDS

"XY CHROMOSOME-MEN" 

WARNING-EXTREMELY OFFENSIVE

What is more dangerous than extremely pissed off grizzly bear? Give up? It's a  high-functioning retard who is fucked-up on a shit load of psychotropic medications. Many people ask why I write a lot of parody and satire on retards. In fact, they ask why I gratuitously use the word retard? I look at it this way. They don't give a shit because they're retarded, so why does anyone else? And they owe society for giving them a carefree, cushy life while the rest of us bust our balls trying to pay bills and put food on our own tables. So why not get a little bit of hilarity at their expense? Besides, they're having nothing but a lot of fucking fun! I'm of like mind with Trey Parker and Matt Stone when it comes to retards. How many retards do you know who are self-supporting, pay taxes and contribute to society, other than George Bush and Kanye West? For many years, I was actively involved in rehabilitation and training programs that were intended to make retards functioning individuals in our society. A very frustrating experience. Just when you thought it was safe to take one of these individuals on a job interview, the kid would start jerking-off in the front of the receptionist. Not a very auspicious start to the job process! And wasting all this money on job training was as pointless and counter-productive as Oprah going on another diet. These guys will never be homeless, hungry or employed anyways, so why bother? If one retard can write me an intelligible and decipherable letter complaining, I will quit writing about them. Until then, fuck 'em. Ah fuck, I went off on a tirade again instead of getting down to the business of parody and satire.


So here is an adventure I am sure you are going to enjoy, especially if you are a sick and twisted individual. I again give my standard warning, if you are offended, I really don't give a shit. There are a lot of other bloggers out there who have really interesting stuff for pussies and faggots. Muriel has one on how she gets up and makes her little darlings muffins before sending them off to school. Just fucking great hey?

CHAPTER ONE

The herd of retards were aimlessly milling about the room, crashing into each other and the walls. They had just completed another day of intensive work training which included watching videos, snack break, more videos, lunch break, nap time, cookie break then more videos. In fact, they had just watched their favorite movie for the 300th time, 'X-Men'. This movie was going to be the inspiration for the deadly and perilous adventure they were about to embark on. Getting sick and tired of this display, the biggest and most imposing retard, Garth, decided to take control of the situation and get the meeting started.

"Okay guys, sit down and shut the fuck up! As the newly elected president of our club, I want to get this meeting started." he screamed. To get their attention, he picked up a chair and smashed it over the head of Ronald. As is typical of any retard, after being smashed over the head, Ronald grabbed his ankle and moaned in pain. Even the other retards were cognizant of the absurdity of this and began howling in laughter.

"Who made you King Retard?" protested Nathan, looking around the room as the other retards nodded in agreement. "And what makes you think you can tell us what to do?"

Garth, who had the personality of a Hun and the diplomatic acumen of Idi Amin, approached Nathan and delivered a crushing blow to the side of his head.

Looking around at the now pacified retards, Garth asked "Does anyone else have any questions?" Seeing that the room was now silent and in total agreement with his self-election as president, he continued. "We had two meetings already. Now we talked about becoming a motorcycle gang but we don't have any motorcycles. We also discussed being movie stars. I talked to my dad and he says they already have lots of retards in the movies like Sean Penn, Nicolas Cage, Robert Downey and Seth Rogen. He says we should be super heroes. And God willing, maybe some of us will get killed. I can't figure it out what he meant when he said that. You guys wanna be super heroes?"

Every hand went up except three. Harold and Ryder were busy jerking each other off. And Reggie's, because he couldn't tell the difference between his legs and his arms. Attempting to raise his leg above his head, he lost his balance and crashed through the window. The other retards raced to the window to see how he was doing. Reggie had crashed through the windshield of the Handicap Bus. By the amount of blood pooling, it was obviously that Reggie was in a serious situation. None of the retards bothered to call to the care-givers for assistance, but instead, returned to the meeting in process.


"Okay you assholes, get back to your seats!" screamed Garth. He was thoroughly disgusted by the fact they had already lost a Super Hero and they haven't seen one day of action! "Tomorrow, I want you come dressed as your favorite super hero."

The retards returned to their milling about the room until Jackson, the biggest and meanest caregiver, came into the room. He dropped the nearest retard to get their attention.

"It's time for you worthless pieces of shit to get the fuck out of my face and get on the bus!" he screamed. Where the hell has Reggie gotten too?" he asked.

They all pointed to the shattered window. Jackson raced to the window and saw Reggie's legs sticking out of the windshield.

"Fuck me! I'm going to be filling out forms for a week!" screamed Jackson as he ran for the door.

CHAPTER TWO 

The next day they met, all decked out in their favorite costume. The obligatory Supermen, Batmen and Spidermen. But there were a few surprises. Leon was dressed as Barbie, Mason was Freddie Kruger. Harold and Ryder were buck-naked and were jerking each other off! They were all chattering and giggling like a bunch of little girls and this was really starting to piss off Garth.


"Guy's! Shut the fuck up and lets get started. I got some really good news. Jamie's dad bought him a police band radio. Know what that means?" asked Garth. Not one of the dough heads had a response. "We can listen in on the cops and find out where the crimes are happening!"

The door opened and Jackson and another care-giver named Orville entered the room. Jackson had a mini-cam in his hand and Orville was carrying a lap-top. Having worked with retards for a long time, neither was surprised by the outfits they were wearing.

"All right, gentlemen. Today is Wednesday, so you all know what that means, right?" asked Jackson.

"Today is YouTube Day!" they all screamed in excitement.

"That's right boys. Time to pair up and start pounding the shit out of each other. And remember, the guys who get the most hits on Youtube by the end of the week, get a whole box of Oreo cookies," explained Orville.


CHAPTER THREE

They were gathered on the roof of a fourteen story building. Gary was showing off the modifications his father had made to his Spiderman costume. Duct taped to each of his wrists was a turkey baster filled with Elmer's Wood Glue. The other Super Heroes were totally jealous. "My dad says I will be able to fly through the air just like the real Spiderman! Shooting out webs and swinging from building to building!" said Gary, bursting with uncontainable excitement.

Garth was enraged by the fact that Gary was in the spot light and was ready to tear the smart-ass, mother fucking mongoloid a new asshole. But instead, he decided to show his leadership by asking Gary to give a demonstration.


Backing away from the edge, Gary took off as fast as he could. Waddling like a duck with a broken leg, Gary ran at full speed. Reaching the edge of the roof, he leaped off the edge and aimed his spider webs at the building across the street. A couple of blobs of Elmer's glue dribbled out of the turkey basters as Gary tumbled over and over again. His death scream could be heard for miles, echoing off the buildings. He hit a transit bus at terminal velocity then bounced 20 feet in the air. He ended up skewered on a decorative fence around the Starbucks. "That's gotta fucking hurt!" said a waitress, setting down a couple of cappuccinos on one of the tables.


CHAPTER SEVEN 

The superheroes were standing just outside the police cordon. They had picked up the news on the police band radio about the hostage situation at the bank. One of the patrolmen had spotted them and had gone to warn his Sarge. "I hate to tell you this Sarge," he whispered, "but those fucking super retards are here."

Glancing over at them, he responded in anger. "I am getting sick and tired of them always showing up at these crime scenes. Those do-gooders and the press may think they're all so cutesy and everything, but I gotta tell you, they piss me off as much as they creep me out. Try and keep them out of harms way, for chrissakes!" he said in exasperation.

The Super Retards were discussing their plan of attack. They were arguing over who was going to get all the glory by saving all the hostages and killing the bank robbers. Finally, Garth decided to make an executive decision. It was going to be Harold, 'The Flame' who was to be today's hero. "Okay Harold, here is the plan. You are going to run in the bank and use your super flame powers to subdue the bank robbers, okay?"

"I will be making everyone very proud of me," drooled the tub of shit in an ill-fitting costume. "Help me get ready, will you?"

Ronald took a five gallon can of gasoline and poured nearly the entire contents on Harold. He then handed him the can. "The Flame's" cheeks bulged out with gasoline as he took a mouth full. Handing Harold a Bic lighter, Garth told him the rest of the plan.

"As soon as you get in the bank, shoot the flames out your mouth and torch the bank robbers. All the hostages will be free to run out. We'll gather around you so the newspaper men can take our pictures. You guys. If were lucky maybe one of the pretty teller ladies will even fuck us," explained Garth, suddenly getting a huge boner as he thought about corn-holing a woman who wasn't retarded enough to eat bugs and shit.

This got the retards to giggling like little girls again. They then began to high-five each other. Each of them pitching a major tent in their costumes!

"Can we count on you Harold?" asked a concerned Garth, "We don't want another fuck up like the Spiderman incident!"

"Don't worry, fellas. You can count on me," he said proudly. He then burst into a coughing fit. "Ah fuck, I swallowed the gas, give me another swig Ronald!"

Reporters, police and witnesses were extremely shaken by what followed. Their recollections were somewhat hazy, except for the fact that the twentyfour hostages and all the bank robbers were burnt to death. But the basic facts were all the same. First they smelled the overwhelming odor of gasoline, then they saw a figure running towards the bank like a retarded duck or goose. Then there was a huge swooshing noise then a tremendous explosion that blew out the front of the bank. The entire structure was enveloped in an inferno.

 "Well men," said a really pissed off Garth, "looks like Harold really fucked up.  We aren't going to be heroes today, goddamn it!"

"I guess we aren't going to get fucked either?"asked Bradley, the crime fighting "Chickenman".Not having the conceptual capabilities to realize the tellers were now just crispy critters.


That's the end of the first installment. In the next excerpt, the boys break into a gun shop and get into an armed stand-off with the police.

JONAZ BROTHERZ FAN KLUB NEWZ

 NEWZ AND GOOZE FROM SUZE!

Hi, gurlz and faggotz, it's Suzey, prez of the Jonaz Brotherz Fan Klub. Here is the latest kewl stuff on our heroes and mega-stars! I've received lots of emails which I am going to share with you. I have also been texting and sexting, gathering the latest info on the dreamy, creamy trio. Here is a pic of me and my boyfriend, Garth. As you can see, he is such a dream-boat! Some of you gurlz have asked me-"How can I find a dreamy guy like Garth?" One of the best places is at the Special Olympics. And they ask how to do keep him? One of the best ways gurlz is to suck their peckers a lot!

FAN MAIL

•  My ex-BFF, Carey-Anne, who is 13 (but acts like a retarded 8), says she read that Kevin lost his virginity in Nick's hand. What a cunt! I'm going to kick that fucking bitch out of our Klub for saying something that nasty.

• This is tooo kewl gurlz! Jessica, 11 and lives in New York, wonders if you have heard the best news ever! Joe has removed his Purity Ring!!! Gurlz, do you know what this means? We can get back to fucking the Seniors in the locker room during recess. Jessica wonders if blow-jobs were included in the "Purity Ring Vow"? No they weren't because the Boyz are totally into blow-jobs.

• La Queeta, who is a 14 year old Afro-Negro, emailed and asked if she can start a Jonaz Brotherz Fan Club in Compton? What do you say gurlz? Do you think the Boyz would want gurlz of other persuasions coming to their concerts? I think as long as they don't go 'jungle' while at concerts and act like real ladies it should be fine. Do send me your emails. Personally, I think it would be sooo kewl and sooo radical if we were into being soooo non-racists.

• Contrary to what that mean, nasty hooked nosed Jew, Howard Stern, told his audience, Joe & Nick haven't been diagnosed with the "latent homosexuality gene". The reason they were seen with their hands in each others pants was cuz they were checking to make sure they didn't have "mumps"!! So there you hooked-nose faggot!

• Britney M. is15 and lives in Montecito, CA, has some scary news about Nick! He recently spent some time in a  L.A. hospital. But don't worry gurlz, he's OK. That fucking jizz-bitch, cum-guzzler, Paris Hilton, played a nasty trick on the Boyz. She planted her bare butt against the window of their Tour Bus. None of the Boyz have seen "pressed beaver" never, ever before. Nick thought for sure it was a 'face-hugger' from that really creepy, scary movie Alien! He was sooooo shocked, the ambulance man said he had to bitch-slap him several times to bring him to his senses. I could just kill that jizz-breath Paris! Who joins me in these sentiments? KEWL! 

• Lacey K., who is 13 and lives in Boca Raton FLA., says that when the Boyz were recently introduced to the super tall, very large Negro, Shaquille O'Neal, Joe really upset the Shaq. "They sure grow the Negroes big in this part of the world! exclaimed Joe. The Miami chapter of our kewl club says Joe should be out of the hospital in a week after reconstructive surgery for a totally crushed skull in this unprovoked "racial incident". Maybe we should reconsider La Queeta's request to start a Club in Compton. We know how violent and sexually aroused these 'people' get when they hear the Boyz play their music. Can you imagine what they would do to the Boyz if they saw them in concert. EEEEEEEEWWWWWWWW!!!!

•  Did anyone see the Boyz on Larry King, Kevin said he felt really sorry for Miley Cyrus. He saw her naked and she must have been in an accident and lost her wiener! 

• Marisa T., President of the NY Chapter, said the Brothers volunteered to do a benefit concert for a major charity next month. The NAMBLA president said they have had to move the event from the the Shriners Hall to Madison Square Gardens because the overwhelming ticket demands from members of the club. The door prize will be a romantic get away with the Brother of choice! They sure sound like such a kewl club.

• Joe called 911 recently telling the operator he might be dead and rigor mortis is setting in. Turned out Joe had his first erection!

Well, my fellow mini-whores, that's it for todays latest on the J.B.s Catch ya all next time. Suzey Scremecheese!!

CRACKERS HONKIES NIGGERS AND COONS

PC HAS GONE HAYWIRE 

The inspiration and impetus for this blog is an interesting phenomenon on Twitter and YouTube that defies logic and reason. I got a lot of flack from Blacks who were really pissed with some comments I made about ex-convict and dog-killer Michael Vick, adulterer Tiger Woods, racist Kanye West and woman beater Chris Brown. Not once did I make reference to race or ethnicity. And I never, ever used the words 'nigger' or 'coon'. If anyone was to read and/or follow my blogs, editorials in major I'm a dog lover and I said that killing dogs is savage. I truly believe in the sanctity of marriage and I disdain adulterers. I dislike people who engage in racial rhetoric and are hypocrites. And I think any man who beats on a woman is a disgrace to all men. Blacks emailed calling me some sweet and endearing names-cracker, fucking cracker, honky, fucking honky, cracker fag, honky fag, honky cracker racist fag, etc. And at the same time, they believed they weren't racist themselves. Fuck em! What I also found extremely interesting, was the fact that all the Black guys assumed because I'm White and was critical of some asshole who happened to Black, I was a faggot. And they all used the same descriptive death wish for me-"I hope you die on a HIV infected dick." Here are the comments and I think they are decidedly non-racist or racially driven. In fact, I think they are extremely accurate and fair comment.

MICHAEL VICK

This picture says it all. I've never met a dog I didn't like. Can't say the same thing about today's 'celebrities'. He has some unique distinctions-

• He is the only NFL QB convicted of felony murder of dogs!

• He's the only multi-millionaire in the USA who is a self-confessed killer and torturer of dogs!

• He is one of the only college graduates who disciplined dogs by drowning and electrocuting them!

• He is the only known NFL QB who owned a mansion that included a drowning pool for dogs!

• In fact, he is the only NFL QB who gets a boner from dog fighting.

• Since Michael had an extremely harsh performance expectation from his dogs, I think that this opens the door for NFL owners. If QBs don't perform to the standard that is expected from someone who gets a $20 million signing bonus plus $6 million a year, they should be held accountable. I'm not saying Jeffrey Lurie should drown or electrocute Vick. Maybe hold his head under water for a couple minutes or taser his nuts for a few seconds!

• The fact that Vick is Black, isn't my fault and it doesn't exclude him from anyone's criticism.

KANYE WEST 

This picture also tells the whole story. Some individuals don't think they have to be accountable for their ignorant and totally unacceptable behavior. Here's an asshole who has gone on national TV twice and displayed his racist ideology. This guy reeks of arrogance and self importance. Fuck me, he's only a hip hop singer. His contribution to society is minimal and inconsequential in the over-all picture of improving society!

• While you are supposed to be making a public service announcement, you instead, use the opportunity to call your President a racist, you better be fucking squeaky clean yourself. Given he fact his father was a Black Panthe, Kanye's racial perspective is probably skewed.

• What the fuck was he thinking when he swaggered and staggered out on stage and destroyed Taylor Swift's moment? Never in the history of awards shows has anyone done something this ignorant! His action weren't racially motivated? Only an inconsiderate, racist prick would do something like this! The fucking arrogance of this asshole. 

• What's with this tough guy macho image. He has this look on his face like he has a peach pit wedged sideways in his asshole. Come on, smile once in a while you miserable prick.

CHRIS BROWN

I don't give a shit about his relationship with Rihanna.  I just made a few comments on his pussy behavior.

• I'm no fan of Rihanna,  but no woman needs a pussy beating on her. And this is what really got me pissed. Women, both Black and White, were saying that Rihanna probably deserved it. That is totally fucked-up. Only pussies, who can't fight a man, beat on women.

• Many of his fans excused him by saying that he was young and immature. This begs the question, didn't his parents provide him with the proper tools when it comes to respecting women? 

TIGER WOODS

There has been enough time, print and air time wasted on this guy already. But I did make some comments on Twitter and YouTube and you would have thought I was blaspheming Jesus Christ himself.

• He was quoted in the paper when his divorce became final-"When you get married, you never expect or consider divorce as being a possibility." But I don't think fucking a dozen or so women is something one does to strengthen thier marriage! 

• Elin had enough grief marrying this low-life. But she received even more from people, mostly Black, who called her a gold digger and opportunist. And maybe she wasn't satisfying his 'urges' when he is at home. You can never satisfy a guy who has some deep seated perversions.

• His attitude and personality on the golf course are disgusting. This was according to a special in-depth article in Sports Illustrated. The reporter was commenting on his foul language and breaking of clubs. And the fact that Tiger has always expected and seemed to think he deserved special privileges and consideration from Tour organizers. Up front money that was supposed to be in the final purse. What a selfish prick!

• How many celebrities have actually resurrected their dead father for a TV advert? This was done in collaboration with Nike. Not to repair his damaged, image but to get his endorsements back in line. What a disgusting prick! And thank you God it didn't work!

I hate doing op-ed and editorials in my blog. I do enough in the many newspapers I contribute to (bet you didn't think that I guy who writes a totally sick blog was capable of being a contributing editor? Well, folks, I do under my real name). I only use this blog as an outlet for my sick and delusional thoughts.

As for the Black guys who keep sending me racist shit? Grow up and quit talking like niggers.

STAND BY ME-PARODY PART II

Thousands of my fans have been waiting with bated breath for the continuation of  'Murder & Mayhem', my Steven King parody. I have been blessed with a new supply of pharmaceuticals to assist with my inspirational writing. Before I start though, have you ever wondered how fucked-up the real Stephen King's childhood must have been? All the little kids in his stories are never into baseball, video games, Scouts, paper routes, etc. No fucking way! The kids in his stories are more interested in dead bodies, starting fires, cavorting with ex-Nazi's, torturing animals and nasty shit like that. This is my homage to the man. Feel free to read any of my blogs to your kids as bed time stories.


BARTLETT, FUNGUS, DIPSHIT & GNARLY GO APE SHIT

Having been suspended from school for 2 weeks for shooting his teacher during 'Show & Tell', Bartlett asked his three friends Fungus, Dipshit and Gnarly if they wanted to see a dead kid laying by the tracks.

"I didn't know there was a dead kid by the tracks", said an excited Dipshit.

"There isn't yet," said Bartlett, bursting into an insane giggle, "but I'm pretty sure the four of us can do something about that! I was thinking of asking that mongoloid, Garth, if he wanted to go on a little road trip down to the tracks. Are you guys up for it?"

"Fucking right!" they all shouted in unison.

Gnarly added, "This is going to be more fun than the time we chained the doors on the old folks home then set it on fire!"

"Okay, this is the plan then, I want you guys go home and round up some supplies. We'll need food, weapons and lots of ammunition."

"Yeah," said an excited Fungus. "Bring tons of fucking weapons. We are definitely not going to get fucked over by bullies like those pussies in the movie 'Stand By Me'. Man this is going to be a fucking hoot. I don't know which part is cooler, seeing a dead kid laying bythe tracks, or being the ones who are going to put it there!"

Half hour later they were back and taking inventory of their supplies. Fungus had a pound of bologna, a loaf bread, his dad's AK47 and 1,000 rounds of armor piercing shells. Dipshit had wieners & beans, buns, a tactical shotgun and a sack full of drum clips. As for Gnarly, he discovered his dad's hiding spot for the .50 calibre Schmauzer, equipped with a laser scope, but he hadn't found any food in his house. So he had walked into Ming Wo's Corner Store and clubbed the Chinaman over the head with an ax handle. He then helped himself to a 12 pack of Budweiser's, a carton of Lucky Strikes and a box of Captain Crunch cereal. Bartlett still had the Smith & Wesson, but for added insurance he decided to bring his fathers Uzi. Bartlett's dad was often fond of saying-"even though you can't trust a Hebe as far as you can throw them, they sure do make a dandy, compact hunting rifle!" Slinging their weapons, they headed out on a adventure that would soon turn into one serious mind-fuck.

As they were walking by the Bangor police station they ran into Chief Walker. "Hey, hey, hey! Wait a second boys, what the fuck are you doing with all these weapons?"

"We're going fishing, Chief!" piped up Gnarly.

"Good for you, for one second there I thought you kids might be up to some shenanigans. I like to see boys taking an interest in a hobby. You wanna know what I think?

"Not really," said Bartlett, "but knock yourself out.

"I think too many of today's young kids are listening to that jungle music and getting fucked up on ganga and causing a lot of problems. Why any White kid wants to go Negro is beyond me. From my experience, even niggers don't want to be niggers," opined the semi-retarded cop. "About your fishing gear, I don't know how you guys can catch any fish with firearms. Me and Deputy Fife usually take a couple of sticks of TNT."

 About to walk away, the Chief was suddenly reminded of a few things he needed to warn the boys about. "Boys, wait a second! I want you to be extra careful and watchful while your out in the woods today. I got word that a mysterious mist is rolling in from that Army Experimental Lab. It's most likely filled with all kinds of weird creatures. And Mrs. Koontz, who lives on the other side of town, has phoned 911 several times in the last hour. Seems a couple of clowns have been luring little kids into the woods. Now, as soon as my officers are finished their coffee break, I'll get them to see what's up with that shit!"

"Wow Chief, clowns killing kids is a low priority call," sarcastically interjected Bartlett.

Oblivious to Bartlett's sarcasm, he carried on. "And you'll never believe what I heard from Chief Connors over in Derry. A couple of UFOs have landed and the place is crawling with Tommyknockers. How the fuck do you think Stephen King comes up with these names? My guess, he was molested many, many times when he was a kid. I got to tell you, this has got to be the craziest fucking place in all the world. I sometimes get this scary feeling I am right in the middle of one of his fucking novels!" said the Chief, fidgeting with his nuts.

"Hate to tell you this Chief, but right at this moment, you're in another one of his novels! And thanks for the heads up," said Dipshit. "By the way have you found the Epstein twins?"

"Not a whiff, but I was talking to that expert with the FBI, and he is pretty sure they ran away and joined the circus with those other 45 kids in this county that have gone missing in the last year. He says about 80,000 kids in the USA run away and join the circus every year!", said an exasperated Chief. "One more thing! Ever see that movie 'The Green Mile'? That super-sized coon busted out of prison before Tom Hanks could fry him in the electric chair!"

Chapter 8

As it turned out, the boys adventure lasted a total of four blocks before they got tired and bored. They decided to see if the rumor was true that old man Robertson and his wife really did have a million bucks worth of gold hidden in their basement. They were now sitting at the old fuckers kitchen table, dividing the loot they had found.

Bartlett was totally pissed as he looked at the miserable take-16 cents, a broken Timex and 4 gold fillings Fungus had removed from old lady Robertson's mouth using pliers.


"Ah fuck it,"explained a resolute Bartlett, "the day's not completely ruined. We can go get that retard and take him to the tracks and off him."

"Not so fast men!" said a very concerned Dipshit. "Look's like this novel we are in, is going full-blown Steven King. There's a very weird looking mist rolling in. And if I'm not mistaken, it's going to be chock full of the weirdest shit in the world!"

Looking out the window, Bartlett surveyed the scene and knew that Dipshit was right on the mark. This was going to be more fun than finding a dead kid. He decided to take control of the situation.

"We better barricade the doors and get upstairs," said Bartlett. "Knowing Stephen King, there is going to be a shit-storm of fucking creatures coming after us".

After barricading the doors and windows on the lower floor, they moved their arsenal of weapons to the upstairs bedroom. Peering out the window the boys tallied up the creatures that were milling about in the mist. There were the obligatory huge spiders Mr. King seemed to get a boner over. They also spotted a couple of rabid St. Bernards, some Martians and a couple dozen clowns.

"Hey," said Gnarly, "the hits just keep on coming! Isn't that Drew Barrymore wandering around over there? What the fuck is she doing? Think she's looking for Tom Green?"

"Jeezus Christ, she thinks she still playing her role in 'Fire Starter'!" said an excited Bartlett. "Fuck me, I have prayed to God for an opportunity like this. Hand me the Schmauzer!"

(In respect to Drew, the descriptive scene of Bartlett blowing her away has been deleted)

 "How do you think that dumb-fuck King thinks up this shit?" opined Gnarly.

"Don't ask stupid questions," laughed Bartlett, "haven't you seen a picture of him?"

"Look over there," screamed Dipshit, "Isn't that your mother trapped in the doorway?" He was indicating the entrance way of the main library, where a woman could be seen cowering in abject fear. There were a couple of clowns, a bunch of spiders and a St. Bernard skulking around her. They were obviously about to go in for the kill.

Bartlett strained his eyes in an attempt to see through the 'Mist' which was blanketing the library. Finally, he spotted his poor mother, frozen in fear as the the abominations continued to circle her.

"Oh, my God! I got to do something!" stammered Bartlett as he shouldered the high power rifle and took careful aim. Squeezing the trigger, the gun exploded with a huge muzzle flash. His mother's head exploded and her lifeless body dropped to the ground. The creatures stood in stunned disbelief wondering what the fuck had just taken place.

"Nice shot," said a thoroughly impressed Fungus as he squeezed off two shots from his tactical shotgun. The first shot cut one of the clowns off at the waist and the spider next to it exploded into a cloud of purple guts.

"Thanks," said Bartlett. "What do you guys say? Should we forget about the retard and stay here and have a little fun with the weapons?"



"Okay, but the monsters are all hiding now", said Dipshit.

"Don't sweat it, I have a great idea," said Bartlett, totally ramped-up in the anticipation of creating a blood bath. He left his mates, walked down the stairs and entered the living room. Still bound and taped to chairs were Mr. and Mrs. Robertson.

"Okay you old geezers, if you want to live another day, you'll do exactly what I tell you. Understand?" asked Bartlett.

"Yes, we will do anything you ask, but please don't hurt us," whimpered Mr. Robertson. "Please go easy on my wife, her heart is........" A backhand from Bartlett cut him short and rocked him off his chair.

"Shut the fuck up and listen!" screamed Bartlett, "Now I want you to go outside and walk to the corner. I then want you stand perfectly still stand under the street light. If you move, I guarantee I will put a fucking bullet in your heads. Got it!"

"What kind of kids are you?" whimpered Mrs. Robinson.

"Don't ask me, ask Stephen King! Me, you, everything around us are a figment of his sick imagination. Now get the fuck out of here!"

Bartlett raced back upstairs to join his friends. The excitement and anticipation in the air was palpable as they watched the old couple nervously creep towards the light post.

"Oh, dear," cried Mrs. Robertson, spotting an evil looking clown riding on the back of a spider. "That doesn't look very good, Norman!"

"No shit Sheila! And what was your first fucking clue, Sherlock?" whined Mr. Robertson.

Scared shitless, the old geezers stopped and looked up at the window, hoping the boys would show them some mercy. Seeing as the boys had these shit-eating grins on their faces, they were resolved to the fact that their fate was now sealed.

"Please boys, don't hurt us," blubbered the Mrs. Robertson, "Me and my husband haven't done you any harm."

"Shut the fuck up!' screamed Fungus, firing a warning shot from the shotgun which took the old ladies leg off at the knee.

Mr. Robertson, in total shock, tried to help his wife to her feet, I mean help her to her foot. Propping her against the light pole, he went back and retrieved her leg. In a vain attempt, he tried to re-attach her leg to the stump. Even going so far as to take out his shoe laces and try and tie it back on.

Hearing the boys laughing uproariously from the window he turned in stunned disbelief. He was just about to yell up at them when he tapped on the shoulder. Startled, he turned and saw a man and a woman. Peeking from behind the woman's skirt was this weird little kid mumbling something about a red rum or redrum.

"Hi mister, can you help us? My name is Jack Nicholson, this cunt (Mr. King's favorite derogatory term for women) is Shelly Duvall and I don't know who the kid is. Have you seen Stanley Kubrick around here? We're supposed to take a ride with him to the Overlook Hotel but we got lost in this fog."

 "Sorry, can't help you," politely replied Mr. Robertson. "But I think you're in the wrong book. Your in the "The Shining", which is the next parody Nils is writing."

(That's right people, I'm working on a parody of the Shining, which is just as sick and twisted as this one)

As he was pulling away in his Volkswagen, Jack yelled out the window. "Hey mister, you better take a look at your wife. Her shoe laces have come undone and her leg has fallen off."

Mrs. Robertson had toppled over and was vainly trying to pull herself up................

I've got to stop for a couple of hours, my brain is hurting me. I am continuously editing and adding to the stories. So check back every once in awhile and see what kind of sick shit I have added. I was thinking of doing an editorialization on Race Relations but that is a really fucked-up topic to write on. I have two pictures here. One is me, the other is my hero, Mr. King. Send me an email with the correct answer and you could win the grand prize. The winner gets to engage in a cluster fuck with Paris, Britney, Lindsay, Drew and a couple of other hot babes.

STAND BY ME-STEPHEN KING PARODY

AN INCREDIBLY FUCKED UP HORROR TALE

Here is part one of Stephen King's 'Stand By Me' parody. Every obscenity, racial slur and nasty word in this parody can be found in Mr. King's novels. Therefore, the fuck heads that have called me a racist, bigot and low-life can go fuck themselves. The only difference between my writing and Mr. King's is about $600 million in sales revenue! I marvel at the fact that this man can fire off at least three books a month, and they don't even have to be good or make sense. "Thank God, America has gone full-retard!" he was once quoted. I hope you enjoy this installment. If not, I don't give a shit! What is really weird though, is that I finished Part II first. I do apologize to Mr. King and I am pretty sure he wouldn't give a shit. I know I wouldn't if I was a multi-millionaire and semi-retarded. P.S. The clown pictured on the left? It has nothing to do with this story. Someone told me that without pictures, you don't have a hope in hell of finding readers.

STAND BY ME-A PARODY

Chapter 1 

The lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating Bartlett's bedroom in a fiery glow. The blinding flash, which was immediately followed by a tremendous clap of thunder, would have startled any kid! Not so with a weird and twisted little fucker like Bartlett. He was totally consumed by his nightly ritual-a penlight held between his teeth, a porno being held up in his left hand and his right hand furiously choking his chicken. An ominous thumping against the wall did get his attention though. His heart began to race and his breath caught in his throat. It slowed when he realized it was only his dad in the next room, fucking the shit out of his mother's dress-making mannequin. "What a fucking douche-bag", said Bartlett, returning to the frantic beating on his cock!

"Now what the fuck was that!" whispered Bartlett. He had heard something much more ominous, and this time it wasn't his dad. There were some scratching and moaning noises coming from somewhere inside his own bedroom. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Dropping his cock and porno at the same time, he held his breath and listened intently, trying to ascertain the exact location of the source. Fuck me, he thought to himself, whatever it was, it's underneath my bed. He was nearly frozen in fear thinking about the only two options left to him. And both had dire consequences. Option one? He took a chance and looked under the bed. Given the fact that this was aStephen King parody, the chance of getting his head torn off were pretty good. The other option was pulling the covers over his head and waiting till morning. The fact that he hadn't bathed in a couple of months, his nut-sack was getting as ripe as a chunk of Limburger cheese left out in the sun for a week.

Pulling the covers over his head was certain death sentence so he opted for taking a look-see under the bed. Slowly peering over the side and giving the covers a gentle tug, he shone the flashlight under the bed. He nearly shit himself! In the glare of the flashlight were eyes filled with terror, staring back at him through sweat soaked hair!

"Fuck me", screamed Bartlett when realized it was his sister Beth. He had forgotten he had duct taped her legs, hands and mouth three days ago and shoved her under his bed as joke. Quickly removing the tape, he sat Beth on the side of his bed.

"Beth, please don't tell mom and dad," Bartlett begged. "I was only having a little fun! Look. I'll make it worth your while to keep quiet.!

Running over to his dresser, he opened the drawer and took out an old cigar box. Lifting the lid, he took out some of his most prized possessions and returned to Beth. 

Through tears of anger, Beth shouted at Bartlett, "How could you do this to me? And how come not one fucking person knew I was missing for three days?"

"Are you kidding", said Bartlett, "we are the most fucked-up family in Bangor. You realize that mom and dad need hangers to find their assholes! These are for you."

He was holding his two favorite marbles, an autographed Babe Ruth baseball card and an ear. He and his three buddies-Gnarly, Fungus and Dipshit-had removed it from this old wino that had passed out behind the 7-11.

"You've got to be shitting me!" said Beth, looking at the measly offerings in Bartlett's outstretched hand. "You gave me $10 not to squeal on you when I caught you corn-holing Cujo! This is going to cost you the hundred bucks I know you stole from the church poor box, asshole!"


Worry lines creased his forehead as he thought of his predicament. If his dad found out, he knew he would get a pretty good shit-kicking. On the other hand, was he willing to part with the money he had worked so hard to steal from the church?

Dejected, Bartlett came to a decision. "Okay, it's a deal. I'll give you the hundred bucks. I hid it in my toy trunk." He lifted the lid and began to rummage around looking for the money. "I know it's in here somewhere."

Getting impatient, Beth walked over and stood behind Bartlett and began to berate him. "Quit fuckin' around Bartlett and han.............."

It had all been a ruse so as to get Beth closer to him. What had only been a blur to Beth, was in actual fact a ball-peen hammer Bartlett had swung with Tiger Woods' like grace. Beth had barely glimpsed the glitter of the hammer in the soft glow of the moonlight as it arced through the air. It had caught her on the temple, crushing her skull like an egg shell. She was dead before her body hit the floor!

(Is this Stephen King or what? Some people say I'm disturbed! They say I write like a man who has some deep-seated mental illness! How wrong they are. My mental illness is out there for all to see. I don't try to hide it. Do they say Stephen is disturbed? No! On the contrary, the weirder he gets, the more they say he has Pulitzer Prize potential! The only difference between the delusional ramblings ofmental illness and Book Of The Month material is a million dollars in sales. I don't fucking understand that).

"Look what you made me do, cunt!" screamed Bartlett. "You should have thought this out a little bit more before you tried to fuck me over! Think about it! If mom and dad haven't noticed you missing yet, they never would have!" laughed Bartlett, rambling on to himself. He then began to stuff her body into the trunk, first re-arranging the bodies of the little Epstein twins who had mysteriously disappeared last Halloween. Whistling a happy tune, Bartlett returned to bed to finish jagging-off. If he was lucky, he might get a few winks in before his dad came in for his bi-weekly molestation of Bartlett.

 CHAPTER 2

Next morning, Bartlett entered the kitchen and sat down for breakfast with his parents.

"What was that strange noise coming from your bedroom last night?" asked his mom.

"Before or after dad molested me?" giggled Bartlett.

"Before, dear," sighed his mother.

"It was only a scary monster, but it ran out the window," smirked Bartlett.

"I was hoping it was your missing sister, what's-her-name," said mother.

"Her name was Beth, mom! But no such luck. I'm pretty sure she said she was going to run away join the Barnum & Bailey Circus. Just like the Epstein twins did last Halloween," chortled Bartlett.

"I must say, those Epstien twins were pretty adventurous and motivated for six year olds." said his mother in undisguised admiration, giving her husband a look of disdain. "Unlike some people I know!" 


"Good for them," said his dad as he put down his magazine, 'Pussies & Knockers'. "I wish I could find a fucking job!"


"Well dear, maybe if you spent as much time looking for work as you do having sex with my mannequin and molesting Bartlett, you'd find work too!" said his wife, with a sarcastic smirk on her face.


"Smart-ass mother fucker," he yelled as his right boot came up and caught square in the snatch. She crumpled to the floor as if she had been hit with a ball-peen hammer.

Casually stepping over his mother's crumpled heap, Bartlett went to the kitchen cupboard and pulled out a gun case. "Hey, dad, do you mind if I take your Smith-Wesson to school?" Bartlett asked as he began waving it in the air.

"Is it loaded, son?" queried his father.

Staring down the barrel and pulling the trigger several times, Bartlett replied, "Shit, I guess the fucking thing is empty!"

"The bullets are in the dresser drawer in me and your mom's bedroom, right next to the dildo. Do you know how to load it son?"

"Why, sure I do dad, who do you think shot those five homeless guys last week?" scoffed Bartlett.

"Why in Heaven's name do you want to take a gun to school for son?" asked his mother, as she valiantly pulled herself into her chair, just in time to catch a thundering left hook from her hubby, which sent her crashing back to the floor.

"Bitches only talk when they are told to!" screamed his pissed off father. "Why do you want to take a gun to school?"

"For 'Show and Tell' pops! First, I'm going to 'Show' it to the kids in the playground. Then I'm hoping they don't 'Tell' on me, when I waste that cock-sucking teacher, Mrs Ford. I want to teach her a lesson on who is a rotten kid and who isn't!" giggled Bartlett.

"That's a good one son. I betcha that fucking asshole Stephen King couldn't write anything this fucking good!" joked his dad as he rolled his wife over and delivered another vicious punch. "Wake up bitch, I need ya to run down to the liquor store and pick me up scotch. I have a busy day, watching TV."

Bartlett ran to the bedroom and rifled through the drawers, tossing out used condoms and a crusty dildo til he found the shells. He quickly loaded the gun and ran down the stairs. Reaching the kitchen, he stopped, not wanting to interrupt his father who had his mother bent over a stool and was just giving it to her.


Sticking the gun into his belt, Bartlett ran out the front door and headed down the street. Passing by the Epstein house he stopped and decided to stop by for a little chat with Mrs. Epstein who was out sweeping the front porch.

"How are you doing Mrs. Epstein?" asked a contrite Bartlett.

She had been devasted by the sudden disapppearance of her twin boys, Ike and Kike. "Well, Bartlett, I am just hanging in there. I sure wish I knew what happened to my boys," she said sadly as tears ran down here cheeks.

"I heard on the radio that two mutilated bodies were found just outside of Derry. Maybe you'll get lucky and it will turn out to be your faggot sons", smirked a loathesome Bartlett.

Mrs. Epstein let out a bone-chilling shriek and sank to her knees, sobbing uncontrollaby.

"Don't sweat it. It will take them months to figure out who they were. There heads were missing," said a suddenly concerned Bartlett.

Mrs. Epstein let out another shriek, jumped off the porch and ran hysterically onto the street. She then got crushed under the wheels of a school bus. It was the same bus that used to pick up her sons.

The irony of this was not lost on Bartlett. He couldn't contain himself and began to laugh until his buddies Gnarly. Fungus and Dipshit came and got him for school.

I gotta quit for now. My pit-bull just came in to tell me that he was watching the Eagles-Redskins game, and that dog murderer, Michael Vick just got creamed and may be seriously injured! This day just keeps getting better and better.

Stay tuned for part two. It's already finished.

GRIZZLY MAN DIARIES/RETARDS NAMED GARTH

RETARD GETS HIS GIRLFRIEND KILLED 

This train wreck has had a lot of press and film based on his experience with grizzly bears. Werner Herzog made a documentary on Timothy Treadwell-"The Grizzly Man". National Geographic/Animal Planet had a 12-part series, "Grizzly Man Diaries" using film and commentary produced by Timothy, spanning the 8 years he spent in Alaska. I became so engrossed with the story I decided to do a blog on him. If anyone were to ask me what was the most memorable moment of the 60+ hours of video I have viewed, which included his extremely close encounters with the grizzlies, the introduction of his girlfriend to the bears and his gruesome death, they would be astonished by my answer. It would be one word-"GARTH" which was the name of the bear who killed him and his girlfriend.  Now I will explain to you the reason for the name 'Garth' is so significant.

GARTH 

Some may be surprised to learn that not only am I an extremely gifted writer, blogger, videographer, author, all round nice guy without a mean or prejudiced bone in my body, I worked for many years in the mental health field. Now some citizens may crudely refer to the type of people I worked with as tardos, mongos, pea-brains, dip-shits, etc. The medical term we professionals use to classify them is "Retards".

Having worked in the capacity as a therapist in several institutes from one coast to the other, I must have come to know literally thousands of retards. For whatever reason, at least 80% of all male retards are named 'Garth' and more surprising, about 15% of female retards are named 'Garth'! Several of my colleagues and I were discussing this fact at a weekend retreat for psychologists.

After an evening of heavy psycho-tropic drug use, followed by copious amounts of vodka and scotch, we tried to hypothesize the reasons and causes of this phenomenon. These were the questions and scenarios we discussed-

• Did the parents know the kid was retarded the minute they laid eyes on it? "Gee, look honey, the kid is retarded! I guess we have to name him Garth!"

• The parents are in the delivery room and the nurse hands them the newborn baby. They excitedly ask-"Doctor, is it a girl or a boy?" The doctor and the nurse both take a good hard look and tell the parents-"We hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it is neither, it's a fucking 'Garth'!  To which the husband replies-"Ah, shit, not another one, we got to quit fucking honey!" 

• Did they have a name picked out prior to the baby's birth? And when the obstetric nurse asked what names they had chosen, they replied-"Yes we do! If its a boy, we are naming him Garth, if it's a girl, she will be called Garth!" And the nurse says-"Hang on for a second I'll be right back. I have to phone the nut house and tell them to expect another client!"

• Or was the name Garth capable of causing retroactive retardation? One of my esteemed colleagues related an actual case he was involved in while working at the prestigious Klinghoffer Behavioral Science Clinic, which is affiliated with the Harvard Medical School. This case involved the son of Marissa and George Heisenberg. In 2006, they gave birth to a son who was a child prodigy by the age of two. What is interesting is the fact that they had decided to wait till he was four years old before giving him a first name. In the interim, he was referred to as 'Baby Hebe' by friends and family. This child was gifted in several fields. He could play several musical instruments by the time he was two. He was fluent in several language and could do complex math and algebra functions. Things came crashing down on this family the day after his fourth birthday. 'Baby Hebe' was sitting at the piano playing Mendelson's Piano Concerto in B Flat, when he stopped and said to his parent-"Mother and father, I want to thank you for the wonderful party you had for me yesterday. And I want to thank for the wonder life you have provided for me. I will make you proud of me and I will repay you by becoming rich and famous. All I ask of you is one more thing. What name have you decided to give me?" Both parents, bursting with pride, decided that it was the perfect time to give him the name they had thought long and hard before coming to a decision. "Son", said his father." your mother and I have decided on the name Garth". And the second the word left his lips, the kid instantly lost all his bodily functions-shitting and pissing his pants, drooling like a mongoloid. He then began to demolish the entire house and contents. Nothing but totally incomprehensible gibberish was coming from his mouth. He was immediate institutionalized, unable to do anything on his own except jerk-off and play with his own feces. Is this enough proof to confirm the retro-active retardation theorem? My colleagues and I think so!

Here is another fact concerning the retards named Garth. They were by far the most vicious and violent patients I have ever worked with. Piss them off and they could tear through doors and walls to get at you. They also possess an innate ability for stalking and hunting targets they wanted to destroy. And this is no exaggeration, I knew this one Garth who could become nearly invisible in a brightly lit hallway. without the benefit of doorways to hide in or furniture to hide behind. You wouldn't know he was there till a thundering punch would completely shatter every bone in your face.

They also have a pain threshold that is off the scale and completely impervious to injury. I have seen 7 or 8 attendants take down a Garth and try to subdue him by putting the boots to his head only to have the Garth jump up with a grin on his face and begin to tear the attendants apart. There is nothing more awe inspiring than to watch two Garths going at it, toe to toe, for seven or eight hours-busting tables, chairs, TV sets over each others heads. In one staged battle, I saw them actually using other patients as clubs to pummel each other.

If the government could train these guys for warfare, you could send 10 Garths out on a Search and Destroy mission and you would be guaranteed a 100% success rate. If Roosevelt had unleashed a thousand Garths on Japan, he wouldn't have had to nuke them back to the stone-age!  

You may have thought I have gotten off the subject and said to yourself, "Man, where the fuck is this guy going with this story?" Everything concerning "Garths" is extremely relevant to Timothy Treadwell's ugly demise. As a clinical psychologist, I have to clarify something that was innate to Timmy's psychological make-up. Here was a man who was born with only one destiny. He was going to find a way to get himself killed. He wasn't going to go out with a whimper either. Nor was he going to take the easy way out like getting killed in a car accident or fucking around with explosives. Nope, Timothy was going to make it one of the most gruesome and ugly deaths you could imagine.

If you have seen any of the Grizzly Man tapes, you will be familiar with the fact that he gave all the grizzlies he came in contact name really cute and/or fruity names. All except one. The biggest, ugliest and most vicious bear was one he named GARTH. And guess what happens? That's right, this totally fucked up and retarded bear named Garth tears Timothy and his girlfriend to shreds. For some unknown reason, Timmy had left his video camera on (thankfully he left the lens cap on so only the audio was available for the ghouls to listen to over and over and over again) and you can hear both Timmy and girlfriend screaming and shrieking in terror-"Garth, please go! Don't Garth! JESUS CHRIST GARTH, THAT HURTS! GARTH, GO JUST GO, GARRRRRRRRRRRTTHHHHH, OUCHHHHHHHHHHH!

Timmy should have had some really serious conversations with us professionals. You don't name anything Garth that weighs a ton and has the capacity to tear apart an Abrams M-1 Battle Tank when its pissed off.

In closing I would like to say that if anything illustrates the reason we should all stay away from bears and Garths is this picture of Al Gore whose parents affectionately called "Little Garth".

That's it for today's blog. I am currently working on my new Hardy Boys book and I am doing a blog on "How to Differentiate Blacks From Niggers"! This is a result of being called a skinny,cracker assed racist honky one too many times!
http://cruderudecomedy.blogspot.com/

PORNOCCHIO THE PUPPET

A VERY OFFENSIVE FAIRYTALE

*See Cruderudecomedy.blogspot for edited and revised versions of this tale.

Geppetto was, without a doubt, the loneliest man living in the village of Cunnilinguini. If anyone were to wander by his cottage at night, peer in the window, they would see the old man seated at his woodwork bench weeping as he held a picture of his late wife, Paloma. It was difficult for him to believe she had been dead for 15 years. Once, they had dreamed of children and grandchildren, but after many years of disappointment, Paloma had gone to the doctor and discovered she would never be able to bear children for her beloved Geppetto. Despondent and withdrawn, Paloma had taken her own life, crushing in the back of her skull with a blunt instrument. How she had managed to do this with her hands tied behind her back was overlooked by the retards who ran the police department.

As Geppetto looked at the picture, he sobbed, "Why, oh why did this happen? You barren cow, I wasted 20 years banging your dried up old figatta. I could have married the whore Angelina Balboa. She's been a popping out the babies like a fuggating rabbit! I could have been a Priest at a Boy Scout Jamboree getting more action then I can handle! Mother fucker!"

In a final act of rage directed at his dead wife, he threw the picture against the wall, breaking it into thousands of pieces. In stark contrast, he tenderly picked up a wooden marionette, who he had named Pinocchio. With a few finishing strokes of his paint brush, the little boy was finished. These puppets were now the replacements for the children he so desperately wanted and it showed in the meticulous craft work.

 "If only you were real, my little Pinocchio" he sobbed. "I wouldn't be so lonely." He put the little wooden boy down and shuffled to the window, looking up at the stars in the sky. "What was it my momma told me when I was a little boy", he asked himself? Asking oneself questions is a common practice of old people who have no friends or family and on the verge some serious psychiatric disorders. "Now I remember, my mother said-Geppetto, if you looked upon the brightest star in the sky and made a wish, than one day it will come true-I never did believe a word that drunken whore ever said." He blew out the candle on his workbench, picked up the latest copy of 'Jugs & Pussies' and headed to the bedroom to jerk-off before going to sleep.

In the corner of the workshop, a tiny cricket named Jiminy, had been intently listening to the forlorn musing of the sad old man. He was a magical creature, conjured up by the drugged addled mind of Walt Disney. Walt was a man who saw lots of shit running around in his house when he was fucked up on drugs and alcohol. And he was an enigma to family and friends alike. If you looked really hard at the stories he wrote you can see the workings of a twisted individual, something like yours truly writing this blog. How about the story of Bambi? What kind of man would have a fawn's mother, along with thousands of other creatures, burnt do death in a forest fire. And then we have Old Yeller, a loving dog who saves a little boys life countless times. And how does Mr. Disney reward him? He gives the mutt rabies and has the little kid's brother shoot the pooch in the head. And that mind-fuck of a scene from Fantasia starring Mickey Mouse on acid. Conducting an orchestra made up of hippos and other animals in a scene straight out of hell!  That is too fucked up. I'm getting way off track here, so let's get back to Jiminy Cricket. He was about to make Geppetto's wish come true and give him a real, live son. Jumping up on the work table, he took out his pouch of magic dust, similar to angel dust but it doesn't make you psychotic, and sprinkled it on Pinocchio.

A miraculous transformation started to come over the little wooden marionette. His eyes slowly opened and his tiny hands and feet began to move. He raised his head and then tried to stand up from the table. Spotting Jiminy, Pinocchio uttered his first words. "Hey cockroach, get a knife and cut these fucking strings off me, I can't move!"

"Jesus Christ, your a nasty little fucker," exclaimed Jinimy, picking up an exacto knife and cutting the strings. "And I'm not a cockroach, I'm a cricket!

"Cockroach, cricket what's the difference, you're still a disgusting insect," said Pinochio. Spotting the pouch in Jiminy's hand, Pinocchio inquired as it's contents.

"This is my magic dust,"explained the cricket. "It has wondrous powers that can make dreams and wishes come true. But it can also be used by bad people to do evil so one must be careful to ensure it doesn't fall into the wrong hands."

"No shit," said the foul-mouthed puppet. "Hey man, what's that behind you?" asked Pinocchio, pointing to the corner Jiminy had occupied just minutes earlier. As the cricket turned to look, Pinocchio brought up a wooden mallet and bonked the cricket on the head, stunning him. The pouch dropped from his hand, spilling it's contents out on the table. Pinocchio dropped to his knees and snorted a couple lines. Now totally wasted, the puppet reeled across the table towards Slutskya, a marionette that a customer had specialy ordered from Geppetto. She was going to be the part of a travelling puppet show in Russia.

As he neared Slutskya, he threw a handful of magic dust on her and she came to life. Pinocchio, in fever pitched frenzy, tore off all her clothes. Staring at her naked body, he marvelled at Geppetto's craftmanship. She had tits to die for and the sweetest little knot-hole a puppet could want.

"Vat are you do ink to me,' cried a very frightened Slutyana, vainly trying to cover up her tits and knot-hole, but unable to do so because of the strings attached to her arms.

"I'm not doing anything you Russian slut, you're going to blow me though!" laughed Pinocchio as he dropped his pants. "Aw shit!" he screamed. Geppetto forgot to carve him a pecker. He had to go and get some more magic dust.

As he bent down to grab some dust, a very pissed-off cricket jumped on his back and put him in a choke hold. With blood trickling down his face, Jiminy launched into a tirade of obsceneties. "Don't you ever fuck with a cricket. I am going to kill you you sawed off little prick!"

In desperation, Pinocchio reached up and grabbed Jiminy by his feelers and flipped him over his head. The cricket rolled off the table and landed with a little thud on the floor. Undetered, he began to crawl up the leg of the table. "No one gets raped while on my watch," exclaimed Jiminy reaching up for the edge of the table.

By this time though, Pinocchio had availed himself of the dust and was swaggering towards Sluskya, sporting a mean looking boner. With a leer on his face, he proudly proclaimed to Slutskya, "You're going to be pulling slivers out of your mouth for a week!"

"Not so fast!" yelled a triumphant Jiminy, holding a nail gun in his hand. "This fairy tale has gotten way out of hand. I think I am going to end it all here and now!" He pulled the trigger twice in quick succession.

Pinocchio was quick but not quick enough. He managed to duck out of the way of the first nail, which impaled itself square between Slutskya's eye's, killing her instantly. The second nail caught Pinocchio in the chest.

Standing over the wooden pervert, Jiminy brought up the nail gun and aimed it at Pinocchio head. "Any last words dick-wad before I kill you?" stammered the injured cricket.

It was nothing but a blur to Pinocchio as the shoe came down on Jiminy and his guts shot out his asshole. Standing over the bench was Geppetto with his shoe raised for another strike on the cricket.

"What is going on here?" screamed the puppet master as he dropped the shoe and lovingly picked up his puppet. "What miracle has brought life to my Pinocchio?" said Geppetto with tears running down his cheeks.

"Daddy," said a totally innocent Pinocchio reaching up with his arms.

The End. I am cutting this tale short because my wife just came in the door and she thinks I am working on my theses-"The Therpeutic Value of Blogging and Its Correlation to Total Insanity!". Doc.
http://cruderudecomedy.blogspot.com/ This is another killer blog site.

MR. PEEPS, THE TARD KILLER-DEAN P. KOONTZY

 WARNING-SATIRICAL PARODY MAY OFFEND SOME


Here are excerpts from Mr. Koontzy new book. He says he doesn't have to have a plausible plot, theme or story line because people will read anything with his name on it. The best thing about writing books, said Mr. Koontz in an interview with Larry King, you can write the most vile, hate-ridden crap and get away with it under the guise of "Freedom of Speech & Expression"! This is his first venture into the comedy/humor field.

THE MAN WHO KILLED RETARDS

     How many tards had he offed in the last five years? Fifty? Sixty? By anyone's standards that was a pretty good start. And who, in the world, would even think that snuffing them such a bad thing? In fact when he was visiting a German auto testing ground, they used to fill an entire bus with tards and ram it into a wall at 100mph. And it had nothing to do with safety features, it was just for entertainment! He also knew in his heart that everyone hated them as much as him. Should he feel any guilt? He's heard the bullshit from the fucking do gooders. Oh, they bring so much joy and happiness into our lives. One time, this dumb fuck tried to convince him that they made a significant contribution to our society, thankfully he had a tire iron in his hand to cut short that conversation. Big fucking deal, so they could breath, eat, shit and make funny noises. A fucking monkey in the zoo can do that and they don't fuck up your lives by cluttering up the aisles in supermarkets, drooling on the bulk items, sticking grapes up these noses, pissing and shitting their pants. And they scare the living shit of kids! And why should they get into theaters and water parks for half price? When it comes to monkeys, they have provided us with many escapades and antics to amuse us for hours. Remember that 911 call on Youtube? The woman screaming, the monkey screaming? Too funny! And at least monkeys generate some tangible income by being the star attractions at every major zoo in the world. Who the fuck doesn't get a kick out of watching them jerking off and throwing turds at tourists.
     Two incidents in Mr. Peeps' life galvanized his hatred and spurred on a psychotic need to rid the world of these creatures. The first was when two mongoloids escaped from the group home and terrorized the neighborhood. By the time the cops rounded them up, they had sodomized seven cats and fourteen dogs, including Mr. Grubbers pit-bull, Molly. Molly had been awarded top dog at the Westminster Dog Show at Madison Square Gardens in 2009. Now she wasn't even good breeding stock. Nine weeks to the day after the 'Retard Rampage', Molly had a  litter of 16 MongoDoodles. Poor, old Mr. Grubber couldn't even give them away. Who the fuck would want to own a completely out-of-control, retarded pit-bull? They were even featured on an episode of the 'Dog Whisperer', the show where Cesar stomped several to death after one of them took a chunk out of his cock.
     The retards had even cost him his job as a teacher when he jokingly asked his students to write an essay on famous retards, excluding all the Bushes-George Sr,. George Jr., Ellen Degenerate, Stephen King and the American Idol panel. Within 48 hours he was out of a job and the principal had mysteriously disappeared.

CHAPTER 2

     Mr. Peeps was nearly a beaten man. There were way more retards than he imagined and this was a battle he could no longer wage on his own. He wasted two weeks trying to recruit fellow assassins and like-minded psychotics to join the "Kill A Retard Club" by placing ads all over the town-on bulletin boards, local newspapers, laundromats and malls. He even rented out the Hyatt Ballroom for $8000 and guess who shows up? Retards! Any thought of branching out and killing the homeless and immigrants was out of the question. He had also heard that police and advocates for the retarded were thinking there might be a connection between the mysterious deaths of the 23 retards in the last 4 weeks. This death rate was up 10% from the same period last year.

CHAPTER 3

     Usually I can ramble on for pages but I have come to the conclusion that I haven't laughed at anything I have written recently. Besides, nobody reads this crap except for some die-hard loyal fans and those who have serious mental issues. I sort of liked my Hardy Boys satire and I loved Se7en Dwarfs, which I thought was killer shit. Instead of blogging, I have been really enjoying myself ripping into black athletes and entertainers on the YouTube site, then perusing the hundreds of emails I get from black people who call me a fucking racist. Because I want to live a bit longer and still want to have access to the computer for blogging and criminal activity, I stay away from insulting people of the Jewish and Muslim faith.My next blog is the meanderings of a genius. Fuck me I am very disappoint in how banal and disinterested  I have become in maintaining this blog. Ah fuck it!!