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Toilet Gator – Chapter 33
Professor Lambert ripped down the yellow police tape and opened up the door to the sorority house bathroom. He stepped inside and was instantly struck by the sight of the blood stained wall.
“Oh no,” the professor said.
The Professor leaned town over the broken stall wall, which was still lying on the floor. He took out his cell phone and snapped several photos of the scratch marks on the door.
“No!” the Professor said. “Not again!”
The professor pulled out a rolling paper, then sprinkled some Mississippi Mud bud onto it. He then rolled a tight joint, stuck it in is mouth, then lit it up with a cigarette lighter.
“Aww yeah,” the professor said. “That really takes the edge off.”
The professor snapped a photo of the bloody wall. “These people have no idea what they’re in for.”
The bathroom door swung open. Rusty walked inside, sipping on an ice cold frappuccino. The office stopped in his tracks when he spotted the professor standing in the middle of the crime scene.
“This is a restricted area!” Rusty barked. “You can’t be here!”
The professor played dumb. “Huh? Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I seem to have wandered in here by mistake. I’ll get out of your way.”
Rusty sniffed the air, then pointed at the joint. “Is that weed?”
“I don’t know,” the professor said as he pointed at Rusty’s frappuccino. “Is that a frozen novelty beverage that you walked away from your post for, thus allowing a complete and total stranger to tromp all over what is supposed to be a secure crime scene related to a series of high profile murders?”
“Shit,” Rusty said.
“Indeed,” the professor replied.
“I won’t tell if you won’t?” Rusty asked.
“Mum’s the word,” the professor said as he walked toward the door.
“Just tell me what you’re doing here,” Rusty said. “You some kind of pervert with a thing for sniffing college girls’ toilet seats or something?”
“Not at all,” the professor said. “Let’s just say I’m a concerned citizen.”
“And what’s your concern?” Rusty asked.
The professor opened his mouth, then stopped himself. “No. No, I’m sorry but I must locate your superior. You’re just not important enough and I don’t want to tell my story twice.”
And with that, the professor exited the bathroom. Rusty stared at his reflection in the mirror over the sink and sipped on his frappuccino.
“Stupid prick,” Rusty said. “I could be important. How does he know?”
Toilet Gator – Chapter 32
Once Moses was walking upright again, he soothed his pain with another beer while he watched the Network News One Coverage of the Countess Cucamonga murder.
“Round the clock with this shit,” Moses said. “On every damn channel too. I once saw a machine gun nest take out twenty of my brothers in a matter of seconds. No fancy pants hot blonde chick lady reporter with big fake titties ever uttered so much as a peep about that but some famous girl with a fat ass kicks the bucket and boo hoo, here comes the waterworks, America.”
“Yup,” Cole said.
“I didn’t think you’d even be in today what with that college kid that got killed on the shitter,” Moses said.
Cole didn’t feel like explaining why he wasn’t working on the case. Instead, he kept quiet and loaded a new bullet into his Angry Barracuda. Meanwhile, Network News One began replaying Sharon’s press conference from earlier in the morning.
“Whoa nelly,” Moses said as he stared at the screen. “Is that?”
“Yup,” Cole said.
“So she’s there?” Moses asked.
“Yup,” Cole said.
“And you’re here?” Moses asked.
“Yup,” Cole said.
“Lord Almighty, Cole,” Moses said. “You’re a stronger man than I am. I’d eat a bullet from that big ass heater if one of my ex-wives ever became my boss.”
“Tell me about it,” Cole said.
“You and her…”
“What?” Cole asked.
“You talk?” Moses asked. “Do a little fence mendin?’ Maybe a little bridge buildin’?”
“What the hell does everyone want to ask me about her?” Cole asked.
Moses sipped his beer. “Sorry, Mr. Sensitive Sally. I wasn’t tryin’ to pry.”
“She left,” Cole said. “Nothing I can do or say will change that. She’ll be here awhile for her job, then she’ll be gone. No used talking about things that can’t be fixed.”
Moses pointed at Cole. “Damn right. You ever say one thing that lets a woman think she’s still got her hooks in you and she’ll abuse that power. Guaranteed.”
Cole ignored Moses. Something came on the TV screen that was way more interesting. Natalie Brock, or, a “Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties” as her viewers had come to know her, was standing inside the Sitwell Mall next to Mayor Dufresne. They both stood in front of the Mayor’s red sports car.
“Kurt,” Natalie said. “I’m here at a run down, suburban mall in Sitwell, Florida, the town where the Toilet Killer’s third victim, Chad Becker, met with a gruesome end while he was emptying out his end. Here with me as Mayor Beaumont Dufresne, who informs me that he is very concerned about the course of the investigation.”
The Mayor grinned like a hyena as he spoke into the microphone. “Yes indeed, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties. Why, I’m here on the set of my latest commercial, one in which I’m about to notify the good people of Sitwell that if they stop on by Mayor Beaumont Dufresne’s Slightly Used Car Emporium, conveniently located off of Exit 33 off of Route 199, they can enter a drawing for a chance to win this fantastic Yarakazi Diablo, the finest product to ever come out of Japan outside the spicy tuna roll.”
“Yes,” Natalie said. “But Mayor, if we could turn our attention to the recent spate of murders…”
The Mayor phoned in his sad face. “Oh yes, Ma’am. Terrible business, that. If there’s one thing that my administration has stood for, it’s the God given right to take a shit without being murdered. I mean, what kind of animal murders someone on the toilet? Lord knows I don’t sanction murder in any way, shape or form but if you gotta kill someone, at least take a minute to allow the victim to wipe and pull up his drawers before you do the dirty deed. That’s just basic kindness.”
“Mayor,” Natalie said. “Do you think the people of Sitwell should be concerned?”
“Is that some kind of trick question, girly?” the Mayor asked. “Of course they should be concerned. I mean, Holy Burnt Cheese Biscuits, a Goddamn maniac is running around hacking people into pieces while they’re shitting. However, my wonderful, God fearing constituents should rest assured knowing that Mayor Dufresne is working hard on their behalf, doing everything he can and working his fingers to the bone, making sure that Sitwell gets back on track to being a place where it is safe to take a shit again.”
“Do you think the investigation is going well?” Natalie asked.
“Oh Missy,” the Mayor said. “I’m not sure that’s a question in my wheelhouse. As Mayor, all I can do is make sure the various law enforcement officers involved are getting what they need to see that this madman is brought to justice.”
“So you have the utmost confidence in Agent Sharon Walker?” Natalie asked.
“Miss Walker was one of my constituents here in town quite a spell ago,” the Mayor said. “But to be honest, I don’t know her that well, darlin.’ I suppose she’ll do just fine.”
“What about Police Chief Cole Walker?” Natalie asked.
Back at the gun range, Cole watched the Mayor grin like the proverbial cat that had just caught the canary. “My dear, I thought you’d never ask.”
“Do you think Chief Walker is up for the challenge?” Natalie asked.
“Dear,” the Mayor said. “How many folks you reckon are watching this program?”
“Millions,” Natalie said. “All over the world.”
“That’s what I figured.” The Mayor looked directly into the camera. “I hate to say this, I truly do because you know, I’m nothing if not a good Christian and my Momma always told me that if I can’t say something nice about someone then I shouldn’t say anything at all. However, with the public safety at stake, I’m gonna have to disappoint my Momma. Cole Walker is by far one of the dumbest, most ignorant, most incompetent police officers I have ever laid eyes upon.”
“Really?” Natalie asked.
“Indeed,” the Mayor said. “In fact, I recently began looking into the possibility of allowing the Grover County Sheriff’s Office to absorb all of Sitwell Police Department’s law enforcement functions, simply to rid the town of Chief Walker’s bumbling idiocy once and for all.”
“Interesting,” Natalie said. “What do you think about the fact that Agent Walker is Chief Walker’s ex-wife? Will their relationship have any bearing on the outcome of the case?”
“Well, I don’t suppose it’s any good for a couple of exes to work together in any capacity,” the Mayor said. “Again, as you know, I’m a Christian so I hate to speak ill of others, but I can’t imagine Chief Walker feels very good about himself at the moment while his fancy Federal agent ex-wife has clipped off his balls and shoved him in a mason jar and is now turning Cole into her personal step and fetch bitch.”
Without thinking about it, Cole aimed his Angry Barracuda at Moses’ flat screen.
“Mr. Mayor,” Natalie said. “Why did Agent and Chief Walker break up? I’ve asked around town and have yet to get a straight answer out of anyone.”
“And I’m afraid you won’t get one out of me either, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties,” the Mayor said. “For as you know…”
“You’re a good Christian,” Natalie said.
“Indeed,” the Mayor said. “But between you, me, and your millions of worldwide viewers, I am almost certain the Walkers went their separate ways due to the size, or lack thereof, of Cole’s penis.”
“Pardon?” Natalie asked.
“Police Chief Walker has a minuscule, micro-donger, young lady,” the Mayor said. “I can only imagine the gut wrenching sadness when Miss Walker saw that scrawny little thimble on her wedding night. Probably looked like a sad half-stack of pennies between two of them tiny little meatballs, you know, the one you get at that Scandinavian furniture store?”
“And you have confirmation of this?” Natalie asked.
“I’m not about to give away my sources,” the Mayor said.
“But who told you this?” Natalie asked.
“People,” the Mayor said.
“People?” Natalie asked.
“What, am I on trial here, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties?” the Mayor asked. “Yes, people! I can’t remember their names right now but many, many people have told me, Mayor Beaumont Dufresne of Mayor Beaumont Dufresne’s Slightly Used Car Emporium, that Police Chief Cole Walker has such a tiny pecker that it caused his wife to run as far and as fast as her feet would carry, most likely right into the arms of a man with a great, big…”
BOOM! Cole fired the hand cannon, putting a bullet right through the televised Mayor’s head. This caused Moses’ flat screen to explode into hundreds of tiny little pieces, all of which rained down over the interior of the gun range building.
“Holy shit!” Moses said.
“Sorry,” Cole said. “It’s just…you have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to shoot that asshole.”
“Understood,” Moses said.
“Send me a bill for a new TV,” Cole said.
Cole and Moses stepped forward to inspect a giant hole in the wall where the TV had once been mounted.
“Bill me for that too,” Cole said.
Toilet Gator – Chapter 31
“Look at that beauty,” Moses said as he admired Cole’s hand cannon. “Foot long barrel. Point five hundred caliber rounds. Chrome shinier than a nun’s beaver during Lent. You gotta let me shoot it.”
“How many years have you been asking that?” Cole asked.
“Shit, I dunno,” Moses said. “Decade at least.”
“And how many times have I said, ‘No?’” Cole asked.
“Every time,” Moses said. “And frankly Cole, I’m painfully offended that you don’t think a marksman with a resume of confirmed enemy kills as long as my arm wouldn’t be able to handle such a splendiferous piece.”
“It’s nothing personal, Mo,” Cole said. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Me, get hurt?” Moses asked. “Please.”
“Hell,” Cole said. “First time I fired this thing it knocked me on my ass.”
“That’s ‘cuz you cops only know how to handle those little baby service weapons they give you,” Moses said. “You gotta be a real swingin’ dick to handle the big shit. Come on, give it here.”
“No,” Cole said.
“I need to fire that metal masterpiece Cole,” Moses said. “Shit, ever since you brought that bad boy in here I’ve been obsessed with it. Do you know there’s a video on the inter webs where a dude shoots a charging bull elephant in the face at fifty paces and drops the sucker like its nothing?”
“I don’t do the Internet,” Cole said.
“You should,” Moses said. “Lot of top notch stuff on there. Did you know that the UN is conspiring to give us all ball cancer so that we’ll be too sick to fight their new world order shock troops?”
“I did not,” Cole said.
“Yup,” Moses said. “Read it on the inter webs and you know, if it’s on the inter webs, it must be true. Give it here.”
“Nope,” Cole said.
“Anything, Cole” Moses said. “I know. Asking to touch another man’s gun is the virtual equivalent of asking that man to let you stick three fingers up his wife’s heiney hole but seriously…I’ll do anything.”
“No,” Cole said.
“I’ll suck your dick,” Moses said.
Cole recoiled with revulsion. “What?”
Moses laughed and lightly punched Cole in the shoulder. “Ha! Got you, ya’ dumb shit! You really think I’d suck your dick?”
Cole expelled a deep breath and laughed. “Yeah, you got me.”
Moses slapped his knee. “Yeah, I sure did.”
The shooting instructor straightened up his face and looked at Cole. “But seriously, is that not on the table?”
“Of course it’s not on the table,” Cole said.
Moses laughed again. “Bah ha, got you again, dip shit!”
“Yeah well,” Cole said. “If you’ll excuse me…”
“Free shootin,’” Moses said.
“What?” Cole asked.
“Your gun range fees?” Moses said. “Free. On me. For the rest of your life. Just let me squeeze one off on that sexy son of a bitch.”
Cole was still concerned for Moses’ well-being, but he was no dummy. Free gun range fees meant he’d be able to shoot his massive revolver for free whenever he wanted. That was important to him, seeing as how it was the one activity that ever de-stressed him.
“Deal,” Cole said as he handed the butt of the big gun over to Moses.
Moses marveled at the weapon. “Shit. It’s got some weight to it, huh?”
“Sure does,” Cole said.
“It’s heavier than my dick,” Moses said.
“Nah,” Cole said. “Nothing’s that light.”
“Well, look at you,” Moses said. “Mr. Serious making a funny.”
“Happens maybe once a year,” Cole said. “I’m good now until January.”
Moses aimed the gun at the target and closed one eye. “Damn it. I’ve been looking all over for an Angry Barracuda. Every dealer I know says this puppy is hard to find on account of it was discontinued after that big lawsuit where that kid blew his Daddy’s nuts off. Cryin’ shame that more parents don’t educate their younguns on the ins and outs of proper gun safety protocol if you ask me. You could make a pretty penny if you sell it. Shit, I’d give you nuts and Felix’s nuts for it.”
“Not for sale,” Cole said.
“No,” Moses said. “Shit, I don’t blame you.”
Moses cocked the hammer and hovered his finger over the trigger.
“Careful,” Cole said. “It’s got a kick to it.”
“I’m sure it does, Cole,” Moses said. “What, you think I’m some geek off the street that’s never fired a gun before? I was in the shit.”
“I know,” Cole said.
“Were you in the shit?” Moses asked.
“Just some local shit,” Cole said.
Moses sighed. “Yeah, I know and you’re going to milk that shit forever, Cole. ‘Boo hoo freakin’ hoo! My name is Cole and I got no damn leg so now I’m depressed and moodier than a teenage girl all the time.”
A moment of silence passed.
“Cole, I’m sorry,” Moses said. “That felt like too much. Was that too much?”
“Don’t worry about it.” Cole walked six feet to the left. “I’m just going to stand over here.”
“Don’t blame you,” Moses said. “I wouldn’t want to see another man handle my gun better than I ever…”
BOOM! The paper target disintegrated as Moses flew ten feet backward through the air until he crashed into the wall. Cole sauntered over and offered the marksman a hand. “I tried to warn you.”
Moses looked happier than he’d ever been before. He grinned like an idiot and sniffed the smoking barrel. “Hooo-wee! Smells better than pussy!”
Toilet Gator – Chapter 30
Freedom Firepower. It was Sitwell’s top gun store/shooting range. On any given day, many a Sitwell resident could be found plugging paper cutouts of bad hombres full of red hot lead.
The owner was used to it. He loved the sounds of gunfire and the smell of gunpowder. Although he wore a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses, a trucker’s cap and a sleeveless T-shirt, he walked with perfect posture. He took a sip of beer, then enjoyed the cool feeling of a frosty can in his hand.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the owner said. “I am Gunnery Sergeant Moses T. Malone, United States Marine Corps, Retired. In my day, I took many a pile of cow shit dropped off on my doorstep by Uncle Sam and turned them into bloodthirsty killing machines. I’m talking trained killers who devour their enemies in one bite and then laugh in the glow of the moonlight as they shit out their bones.”
Moses looked to the clerk standing behind the counter near the door to the gun range. “Felix!”
Felix was half the size of Moses. His hair was brown and bushy, completely untamed. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in months and wore a black patch over his right eye. He was a man of few words. “Hmm?”
“Have you collected the requisite entry fee of eight-hundred and seventy-five dollars from each and every one of these pupils?” Moses asked.
“Affirmative,” Felix replied.
“Excellent!” Moses said. He clasped his hands behind his back and paced back and forth in front of his class.
“You unsavory ass maggots are in the gun range section of my humble establishment,” Moses said. “Here, you will learn how to fire with great precision and acute accuracy, for a true shot is, more often than not, the only thing standing between the protection of your life and the lives of those who love and a gruesome death at the hands of a crack pipe hitting lunatic criminal, the kind of which all those commie pinko hippies will gladly fill the streets with if they get their way. Isn’t that right, Felix?”
Felix nodded. “Mmm hmm.”
“Felix, my hetero, non-gay life mate and I saw a whole heap of shit in the war,” Moses said. “And God knows I’d be lying if I said we didn’t bring some of that pain back with us. I don’t know how Felix deals with his doldrums because he doesn’t talk much and frankly, that’s why we get along.”
Moses took another sip of beer, then drew a pistol from a holster on his belt. He walked over to an empty booth on the range, pointed his weapon at the paper target down range, then fired over and over again until the target’s head was blown completely off. “As for me, I get my kicks taking little sissy fairies like yourselves and turning you into stone cold killers.”
The instructor holstered his women. “Any questions?”
Multiple tiny hands shot up into the air.
“Yes,” Moses said as he pointed to a little girl with pigtails. “What is it,
Chloe?”
“My Momma said she’s gonna divorce my Daddy for signing me up for Gun Scouts ‘cuz she says guns are bad,” Chloe said.
Moses laughed. “Young lady, no offense, but your mother sounds like a radical left-wing lesbian who daydreams all day about crawling inside Hillary Clinton’s vagina and taking a nap. If she’s really going to divorce your father for enrolling you in a fine organization like Gun Scouts, then he should thank his lucky stars that he won’t be wasting another day of his precious life with such a contemptible shrew.”
A little boy raised his hand.
“Yes,” Moses said. “Kevin.”
“What was the war like?” Kevin asked.
Moses chuckled. He looked to Felix. “You hear this kid? ‘What was the war like?’”
Felix smiled, then picked up a remote off the counter. He pointed it at the big flat screen TV mounted on the wall to the left of his work area and turned on NN1. Countess Cucamonga coverage, as usual.
Moses put his hand on the little boy’s arm. “Son, if there’s one universal truth of life, it’s this. It is impossible to explain what something ‘is like’ to someone who has never experienced it. An astronaut can’t adequately describe to me what it is like to be shot up into this space because I’ve never been there. Therefore, it stands to reason that I can’t tell you what it’s like to gut a man with a rusty razer blade, then pull his rotting carcass on top of my body in order to hide from a roving enemy patrol. No, young man, I could never explain to you what it was like to stare into the cold, motionless eyes of a dead man for three days while being scared out of my mind that I was about to be just like him. I can’t tell you what sorrow I felt as I stared into that man’s eyes and thought about that man and what he must have once been as a human being – how he once had a family, probably a wife, children, how he had hopes and dreams and with one quick flick of a sharp piece of steel, I took that all away from him and turned him into a human shaped pile of trash for me to burrow under like some kind of two-bit junkyard dog.”
“Oh,” Kevin said. “OK.”
“Any other questions?” Moses asked.
Billy, a chubby lad, raised his hand.
“God damn it,” Moses said. “I’m gonna have to make you do some push ups, boy. What the hell do you want?”
“Mister Moses, sir,” Billy said.
“That’s Sergeant to you, pork rind,” Moses said.
“When do we get to shoot the guns?” Billy asked.
Moses guffawed. He looked towards his hetero life mate. “You hear this kid?”
Felix smiled. Moses looked at Billy and mimicked the boy’s squeaky voice. “‘When do we get to shoot the guns?’ That’s you. That’s what you sound like.”
“Well,” Billy said. “When?”
“Son, your Momma must have ingested a heaping helping of crystal meth while she was cooking you up in her baby maker because you sound like a meth baby to me,” Moses said. “Are you a meth baby?”
“No sir,” Billy said.
“You think I’d just hand you a gun on your first day, when you don’t know Jack Shit about anything?” Moses asked.
Billy shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah?”
Moses shot the boy a sour look, then smiled. “You’re Goddamn right I would!”
The instructor turned to the clerk. “Felix!”
“Hmm?” Felix asked.
“Take these little patriots out around back to the kids’ gun range,” Moses said. “Give ‘em each a man stopper and show ‘em what to do.”
“Hooray!” the kids shouted in unison. They all swarmed around Felix’s ankles as the quiet man ushered the students out the door.
“You kids listen to Felix, now!” Moses shouted. “I have deputized him with all my powers and authority as a licensed gun safety instructor! Just be sure to stay on the side of his good eye so he knows what the hell all you little shits are up to!”
As soon as his class was gone, Moses smiled. “Aww, kids. They grow up so fast.”
The instructor paced the length of the gun range, critiquing the stance and technique of each customer all the way.
Blam! Blam! Blam! A little old lady pumped multiple rounds into her target’s chest.
“Worst grouping I have ever seen in my life, Ethel,” Moses said.
“I’m trying, Sonny,” Ethel said.
“Yeah,” Moses said. “You know who else is trying? The gangbanger whose soul purpose in life is to break into your house and have his way with every one of your orifices! Are you going to let him get away with that shit?”
Ethel got mad. She pointed at the target and squinted. Blam! She put one right in the target’s head.
“Atta girl, Ethel,” Moses said. “No one’s touching your old lady parts without your say so, that’s for damn sure.”
Moses moved on. A bespectacled geek in a polo shirt was aiming his gun with his hand tilted to the left, gangster style. He squeezed off a few rounds, but his bullets flew past the target.
“Son of a bitch, Clyde!” Moses said. “What in Sam Hill are you doing?”
“I…I don’t know, Moses,” Clyde said.
“Why don’t you just do yourself a favor and go back to your restaurant, take all your money out of the cash register and wave it around in the air and shout, ‘Come and get it, lowlives! I’m a failure as a man and I’m literally powerless to stop you from depriving me of my livelihood!’”
Clyde hanged his head low. “I’m sorry.”
“Shit,” Moses said as he grabbed Clyde’s wrist and turned his hand straight. “Don’t apologize to me. Apologize to yourself. What is this shit you’re doing?”
“It’s gangster style,” Clyde said. “It’s how Tupac and Biggie used to shit.”
Moses scoffed. “Oh, you want to shoot just like Biggie and Tupac?”
“Yeah,” Clyde said.
“Yeah, well, don’t,” Moses said. “Maybe if Biggie and Tupac had held their guns straight they’d of iced the punks who capped them and then they’d still be out there putting out albums today? Ever think of that?”
“No,” Clyde said.
“That’s the problem,” Moses said. “None of you young people ever think at all.”
Moses pointed Clyde’s hand directly at the target. Blam! A hole opened up in the target’s shoulder. Clyde smiled. “I hit it! I actually hit it!”
“That’s a shitty hit,” Moses said. “Your perp could still steal your cash with his other hand and if he were so inclined, could probably still have the strength to push you down and have his way with your man hole but…at least it’s progress. Keep it up kid, and you’re be popping heads like ripe casaba melons in no time.”
Clyde threw his arms around Moses. “Thank you, Moses! Thank you!”
Moses extracted himself from the hug. “Whoa, whoa, hold the phone, Jack. What do you think this is, some kind of homosexual love shack?”
“Huh?” Clyde asked. “No. No, I was just so happy that I…”
Moses walked away. “Keep it in your pants, compadre. The only thing that will ever go near my butt is the colonoscope of a trained medical doctor and even then I’ll have my reservations.”
Blam! Blam! Blam! As Moses reached the last booth on the rang, the “blams!” grew deafeningly loud. “Well holy shit, if it isn’t Cole Walker!”
Cole pulled off his protective ear phones and nodded at Moses.
“I knew I heard the sweet siren song of an Angry Barracuda,” Moses said.
Cole flipped open the chamber and dumped his spent casings all over the counter in his booth. Moses held his hand out. “May I?”
The chief handed over his massive hand cannon. Moses hovered his nostrils over the barrel and sniffed away. “Mmm…mmm…oh how I love the smell of an Angry Barracuda in the morning!”
Top Ten Politically Correct Yo Momma Jokes
Ah, the Yo Momma joke. What is it about a good Yo Momma joke that can leave an opponent fuming with anger? Perhaps the strength of these jokes, in an ironic way, displays the love people have for their mothers. After all, these jokes make people mad because people love their mothers. You might disagree, but when was the last time you ever heard someone tell a “Yo Papa” joke. Probably never.
Oh, the happy memories I have of gathering together with my fellow school chums as we made inappropriate jests about each other’s mothers.
But times have changed. It is necessary to be politically correct now. Safe spaces. Trigger warnings. All are necessary to be a woke citizen of 2017 (or current year.)
From BQB HQ in East Randomtown, it’s the Top Ten Politically Correct Yo Momma Jokes:
#10 – Yo Momma is So Fat…
TRANSLATION: Sir, your mother is so obese that I considered referring her to a reputable weight loss program. However, I realized that she’s perfect just the way she is and that I am the one with the problem for thinking otherwise. Ergo, I will seek a support group for people who are literally Hitler who are trying to stop being literally Hitler.
#9 – Yo Momma is So Poor…
TRANSLATION: Sir, your mother is so poor and personally, I blame this horribly oppressive capitalist society we live in, the one that, as we all know, is run by the top one percent.
#8 – Yo Momma is So Stupid…
TRANSLATION: Sir, your mother’s lack of a formal education, though no fault of her own due to our failing public school system, which, by the way, the failure of which is no one’s fault but the top one percent who refuse to poor more money into our nation’s failing schools, is threatening her empowerment as a woman. If she so chooses, I would gladly recommend a GED program, but I hope she understands I am in no way insinuating that she is somehow less than anyone else who holds a degree of any kind. After all, we are all special in our own unique ways.
#7 – Yo Momma is So Ugly…
TRANSLATION: Sir, your mother, while not bearing a strict resemblance to what society deems to be, quote unquote, “beautiful,” should rest assured that beauty is nothing more than a societal construct, with no actual bearing in reality. Beauty can mean many different things to different people and therefore, your mother qualifies as beautiful and should not be led to believe otherwise.
#6 – You Momma is Such a Ho…
TRANSLATION: Sir, I’ll have you know that I heard a rumor that your mother is of a promiscuous character. However, I shall have you know that I told the gossipy rapscallion that slut shaming is by far one of the most offensive trends to grip our nation and no reputable person of good character and moral decency should be engaging in it. Promiscuity is a non-existent concept and your mother is of a sound mind and therefore, she should be free to exercise her own free will regarding her sexual needs without fear of judgment from others who have not had to walk in her shoes
#5 – Yo Momma is So Smelly…
TRANSLATION: Sir, it has come to my attention that your mother’s hygiene habits may be sub par. Then again, let he who has never skipped brushing his teeth or taking a bath cast the first stone. By the way, when I say, “cast the first stone,” I realize that some may construe that statement in a religious context. I apologize to those who are offended by that interpretation and ask them to understand that I only mean it in a non-judgmental tone. Further, I understand that one’s intent to offend or not offend should never be considered but rather, if someone was offended, then that is all that matters and an apology most be broadcasted immediately, regardless of a lack of ill intent.
#4 – Yo Momma is So Hairy…
TRANSLATION: Sir, your mother is so hairy and I for one applaud her for not following traditional constructs of gender specific grooming habits, which as we all know, are perpetrated by the patriarchy, to make all women feel less than. Women should never be hair shamed into shaving their legs or arm pits and all men who suggest otherwise should be thrown into reeducation camps until they change their insensitive ways.
#3 – Yo Momma is So Crazy…
TRANSLATION: Sir, it has been brought to my attention that your mother suffers from a mental illness. Please note that I am here for you and your mother in this trying time and I will gladly help her seek the requisite psychiatric attention required to help her either cure, treat, or otherwise live a functional life despite this mental condition. Wait, please forgive me, as I now realize that I have offended you and your mother by implying that her mental condition is some kind of problem when instead, it should be considered a blessing because it makes her special and unique. Please excuse me while I transport myself to a reeducation camp.
#2 – Yo Momma is So Flat Chested…
TRANSLATION: Sir, some fellows that we are both acquainted with have implied that your mother’s breasts are small and not on par with women with larger breasts. Fear not, for I informed these fellows that their statements were balderdash, and that it is an illogical fallacy to assume something as ridiculous as the idea that men actually prefer large breasts over small ones. Everyone knows that love of breasts of any size is just a social construct and that men are fooled into believing they like breasts by an unfair society. They don’t actually possess any inner desire or instinct to actually like breasts.
#1 – Your Momma’s Glasses are So Big…
TRANSLATION: Sir, your mother’s glasses are large. I am glad to hear it, for everyone with vision problems deserves nothing less than quick and convenient service from a reputable neighborhood optometrist.
How to Make Big Money in Self Publishing
Hey 3.5 readers.
I’ve been studying the topic of self publishing a long time now. I don’t want to call myself an expert, but I have figured a few things out.
Specifically, I have come up with an amazing system that you can use to be super, filthy, mega rich. Make boku bucks and stay at home, doing what you love – writing!
Write faster. Write better. Write smarter and better yet, get rich while you’re doing it!
I know. It sounds too good to be true but, would your old pal BQB steer you wrong? I don’t think so.
Anyway, enough out of me. If you want to learn how to get rich quick in the world of self publishing, click here.
Top Ten Reasons Why Yetis Make Terrible House Guests
The International War Criminal/Incredibly Boring Snow Monster Known as the Yeti. He’s been my houseguest at BQB HQ for years now and let me tell you, he’s the worst.
From BQB HQ in Fabulous East Randomtown, it’s the Top Ten Reasons Why Yetis Make Terrible House Guests:
#10 – They Are Incredibly Boring
Even worse, the boredom rubs off on you. Before you know it, you’re counting the number of fibers in your carpet and having a good time doing it.
#9 – They Eat All the Food
On a diet? Invite a Yeti to live with you. You’ll never eat again because the Yeti will get to it first.
#8 – They Bogart the Remote Control
I haven’t watched anything I wanted to watch since that furry bastard arrived.
#7 – They Smell Bad
Never stand downwind of a Yeti. Or upwind. Just don’t stand near a Yeti. Also, never pull a Yeti’s finger.
#6 – They Always Want to Conquer Something…
…but luckily they are incompetent and therefore easily defeated. Still, they are very disloyal. They will pretend to be your friend one minute, then claim your house as an independent nation under their control the next.
#5 – Guilt Trips
Then, just when you’ve had enough and try to kick them out, they’ll make you feel bad. So they end up staying, eating all your food and coming up with more schemes.
#4 – They Snore
You’ll have to buy everyone in the neighborhood ear muffs. It’s only fair. You’re the one with the Yeti.
#3 – They’re Super Fat
Which, I know, is not a nice thing to say. We’re all about ugly rights here on the BQB blog. However, I’m talking like, they’ll crush your furniture or knock holes in your wall if they lean on them for too long fat.
#2 – They Stare at You While You’re Sleeping
It’s very weird. Often, I wake up in a cold sweat, fearful someone is staring at me. Sure enough, there the Yeti is, eating a sandwich and drinking a Diet Coke with his eyes fixated on me….which leads me to believe…
#1 – Yetis are Perverts
In theory, yes, but in reality, not so much, as they are fat, slow moving, and not really able to do anything perverted. They think about it, then they give up and watch TV and eat more food.
Toilet Gator – Chapter 29
Irving St. John’s penthouse apartment in downtown Miami was ultra swanky. Fine art, fine architecture, fine everything. Even the buxom babes he was cavorting with were fine, although at this particular moment, he wasn’t able to tell, for he was engaged in his favorite past time.
“Jerth schtik ert ifn,” Irving mumbled through the leather gimp mask that covered his face. He was lying face down in bed, with his naked butt sticking straight up in the air.
“Are you sure about this?” asked Heather, a high priced escort, as she stared at a twelve inch dildo that was riddled with bumps. Heather had the looks of a storybook princess, combined with the slutty demeanor of a late night cable TV show character.
Irving unzipped the mouth hole of his mask. “Just stick it in already, baby!”
“No lube?” Heather asked.
“No!” Irving said. “I’ve done this hundreds of times. It’s not a problem…just….YOWZA! That’s the ticket…”
Heather had complied with Irving’s request without warning. Also without warning, several members of a SWAT team, the same one that had apprehended Freddie Milton, broke down Irving’s door and surrounded the agent with guns drawn.
“Irving St. John?” the SWAT team captain asked.
“Who’s asking?” Irving asked with his head buried in a pillow.
“Police,” the captain said. “Put on some pants and take that thing out. You’re going for a ride.”
“What’s this about?” Irving asked.
“Shut up and zip up your mask, freak,” the captain said.
“Umm,” Heather said. “I haven’t been paid yet.”
“Sucks for you, ma’am,” the captain said. “Always get cash up front.”
Movie Review – Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme…etcetera, etcetera…
BQB here with a review of Disney’s latest adaptation of a classic story about bestiality and Stockholm Syndrome.
3.5 readers, do you what the hallmark of a great salesman is?
The ability to sell you something you’ve already bought before.
Animation was once the last true bastion of creativity. If you could imagine it, animators could draw it, no matter how ludicrous. Today, that’s all changed thanks to CGI as it is now possible to make live action films that are just as ingenious as their animated counterparts.
And with live action remakes of their classic animated tales (Cinderella, Pete’s Dragon are just two recent ones that come to mind), Disney is making big bucks.
I presume that the cryogenically preserved head of Walt Disney, which still runs the company by the way, is laughing his way to the bank…or at least he would…if he weren’t just a head.
Anyway, at the outset, this movie is beautiful. Emma Watson shines in her first really big post Harry Potter role as Belle. Yes, I know she’s been in films since Harry but honestly, can you name any of them? Didn’t think so. Between this and The Circle with Tom Hanks, Emma is having a good year.
Kevin Kline, a blast from the 1980s past when he and his mustache were big and second only to Tom Selleck, is great as Belle’s father, Maurice.
Meanwhile, it’s a veritable Who’s Who of British celebrities playing French servants because our American minds here a British person speak and we instantly think, “European” and therefore it doesn’t matter if the actor is not French.
Highlights of the servant turned household item cast include Ian McKellan as Cogsworth, Ewan McGregor as Lumiere and Emma Thompson as Mrs. Potts. German actress Audra McDonald brings her musical stylings to the singing wardrobe, Madame Garderobe while Stanley Tucci plays the piano (as in he literally plays the role of a piano), Maestro Cadenza.
Yes, it’s a tale as old as time, but new life is breathed to the animated cartoon. We’re given a little bit more of an understanding as to why Gaston is such a villain, as well as more of an explanation as to how a beautiful young woman falls in love with a giant frigging hairy sasquatch man.
Luke Evans captures Gaston in all of his “in love with himself” glory. Meanwhile, Josh Gad plays a super gay version of LeFou. Whereas in the animated cartoon, LeFou was just a sniveling toady to Gaston, this version of LeFou clearly wants access to Gaston’s butt.
What? What?! That’s not PC to say that? Sheesh. I can’t keep up with all the rules anymore.
I mean, obviously LeFou doesn’t come right out and ask for access to Gaston’s butt. However…the back rubs, the ear massages, the longing stares…LeFou wants Gaston’s butt.
This actually leads me to think maybe Walt Disney’s frozen head isn’t in charge anymore, as he probably would not approve of such a thing.
It’s an interesting development to say the least. As far as controversies go, this one kind of fizzles out. Gaston and LeFou don’t come right out and play a game of pitcher vs. catcher or anything, but it’s definitely a shot across the bow from Disney in which they are testing the waters to see whether or not all hell would break loose if they were to make a movie with a gay lead character.
As this is a not a political blog, I’m not going to touch that one. All I know is…LeFou wants Gaston’s butt.
Arguably, LeFou wanting Gaston’s butt is not even the most controversial part of this movie. After all, it is a story about a kidnapped woman who falls in love with her captor, a dog monster, thus promoting Stockholm Syndrome, abusive relationships, and bestiality.
Also, and I can’t say this enough, Gaston is the true hero, both in the animated version and the live action adaptation. I mean, all the dude wants to do is slay the Beast and knock boots with Belle. Belle gets kidnapped by a hairy dog monster and she doesn’t even thank the guy that’s trying to rescue her. The nerve of some people.
Still, the tale that is as old as time does hold up after all these years. Ultimately, the message is to not judge a book by its cover. A handsome prince who treats ugly people like crap gets his comeuppance by becoming a super ugly beast, suffers for years as an ugly beast, learning how all the ugly people must have felt when he treated them like crap. Eventually, he learns to not be such a jerk face and is rewarded with the love of a hot studious French chick.
Sadly, like most things in life, it falls apart after closer inspection. Are we really to believe that Belle would love the Beast if there wasn’t a chance that he might turn into a handsome Prince? Would Belle still love the Beast if he weren’t rich as all get out and the owner of a fat ass castle?
I mean, hell, women say they’d never touch an ugly guy all the time but then they usually do if the ugly guy has money. Something tells me Belle wouldn’t stick around if the Beast was destined to remain a Beast forever while living in a rent controlled inner city apartment or in a trailer park in the middle of nowhere.
But then again, I am cynical. Perhaps I am like the Beast, super jaded for no one will ever love me due to my super ugliness. Maybe we are all like the Beast in one way or the other.
STATUS: Shelf-worthy. Worth a trip to the theater. LeFou wants Gaston’s butt.
Bookshelf Battle 