Tag Archives: Comedy

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.”

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Toilet Gator – Chapter 28

Professor Elliot rapped his knuckles on Chad Becker’s dorm room.

A few moments passed. A young man’s voice answered. “Who is it?”

Professor Elliot was surprised that anyone had answered. He’d planned to pick the lock and was just making sure no one was in the room first. “Chad?”

“Chad’s not here, man.”

Whoever was talking on the other side of the door, the professor doubted it was a person who was old enough to get the inadvertent Cheech and Chong reference. Even so, the educator persisted.

“I know that,” Professor Lambert said.

“Chad’s dead, man,” the voice said.

“I’m aware,” Professor Lambert said.

“Then why are you wasting my time asking questions you already know the answers to?” the voice asked.

Professor Lambert grew increasingly frustrated. “I’m not…you just…startled me is all. I didn’t think anyone would be in Chad’s room.”

“Because Chad’s dead man,” the voice said.

“Yes,” the professor said. “We’ve established that.”

“Well,” the voice said. “Why’d you come looking for Chad if you knew he was dead?”

“I didn’t come looking for Chad,” the professor said. “I came for…look…are you taking over Chad’s um…business affairs?”

“Maybe,” the voice said. “Who’s asking?”

Professor Lambert looked around to see if anyone was watching him. Seeing no one, he carried on. “Who’s asking me?”

“No man,” the voice said. “I’m asking you who you are.”

“I know,” Professor Lambert. “And I am, in turn, asking who you are.”

“I’m not telling, man,” the voice said. “You sound like a narc.”

“I’m not a narc,” Professor Lambert said.

“You sound old, man,” the voice said. “So old you must have sold out to the man a long time ago.”

“I did,” Professor Lambert said. “Sooner or later we all do but that’s neither here nor there. Do you have the stuff?”

“What stuff?” the voice asked.

“Don’t play dumb with me!” the professor said. “Open this door. I want to see your stuff!”

“Sir,” the voice said. “I don’t swing that way…”

The professor gave up on the conversation. He put his hand on the knob, planning on turning it in vain but to his surprise, the knob turned and the door opened. The professor found himself staring face to face with Paul, the frat’s Beermeister.

“Paul Keneally!” the professor said as he shut the door behind him. “I should have known it was you.”

Paul panicked and began to sweat profusely. “Professor Lambert! What a pleasant surprise.”

“Knock it off,” Professor Lambert said. “Where’s the stash?”

“Stash?” Paul asked.

“I’m not here to bust you, son,” Professor Lambert said. “I just need some Supersonic Chronic?”

“Supersonic Chronic?” Paul asked. “What’s that? I only put wholesome, organic foods in my body.”

“Don’t bullshit me, boy,” the professor said. “I know you’re holding.”

“Holding?” Paul asked. “What is this, ‘holding’ you speak of? I’m just a simple country boy from Kansas, sir.”

“Look kid,” the professor said. “If the school was trying to do you in, do you really think they’d send me?”

Paul looked the professor over, taking in the frazzled side and back head hair, the stained lab coat, the wrinkly shirt that looked like it hadn’t been changed in days. “I guess not.”

The Beermeister opened up Chad’s closet to reveal a virtual black market marijuana dispensary. Hundreds of perfectly organized glass jars, each filled with a different strain of green herb, all labeled meticulously. “Cincinnati Brain Fart.” “Dragon Bite.” “Mental Disarray.” “Kookaburra Candy.” “Mellow Madness.” “The Kushtastic Voyage.”

“I think he’s all out of Supersonic Chronic,” Paul said.

“Aw, Hell’s Bells!” the professor lamented. “Fine. Just hit me up with a half pound of Minnesota Mud Bud.”

Paul grabbed the jar and began dumping its contents into a plastic baggy. He then handed the illicit substance to the professor. “Three hundred.”

“Dollars?” the professor asked.

“No,” Paul replied. “Back rubs. Of course, dollars.”

“That’s highway robbery,” the professor said. “Look Paul, Chad and I used to have a sort of…arrangement.”

“I do not want to hear about whatever creepy sex stuff you and Chad were into,” Paul said.

“Sex stuff?” Professor Lambert said. “No. I would flunk Chad out of my class again and again and in exchange, he’d sell me top notch ganja at a discount price.”

“Yeah, well,” Paul said. “Chad’s not here, anymore, man. And as his best friend, I have inherited his supply.”

“Two hundred,” the professor said. “And I’ll flunk you too if you want.”

“I don’t want,” Paul said. “And why the hell would anyone want to flunk?”

“Oh, you know Chad,” the professor said. “He just wanted his happy go lucky college days to never end. The only problem is you have to be a complete and total dumb ass drooling mongoloid to flunk out of a two-year community college, so he’d give me cheap weed, I’d fail him on his exams and bada bing, bada boom, his parents would pay for another semester.”

“That’s messed up,” Paul said.

“And now that deal can be yours,” Professor Lambert said.

“No thanks,” Paul said. “It’s been my lifelong dream to graduate from a two-year community college within two years. I’m the pride and joy of my family for even trying to achieve such a miraculous feat. I’m not going to throw it all away with six months to go.”

The Professor pulled out his wallet and counted out some bills into Paul’s waiting hand. “Fine! One hundred…two hundred…three hundred. I hope you choke on it, you lousy grifter.”

Paul handed over the baggy full of bud. “Pleasure doing business with you, Professor. I never knew you were a pot head.”

“Oh, son,” Professor Lambert said. “If you’d risen so high only to fall as low as I have, you’d need a little recreational therapy to get you through the day. Trust me.”
The professor tucked the baggy into the inner pocket of his lab coat. “So how the hell did Paul die on the toilet anyway?”

“I dunno,” Paul said.

“He strain too hard and blow himself up?” the professor asked.

“Maybe,” Paul said. “All I know is I was waiting outside when I heard these loud animal sounds…”

“Animal sounds, you say?”

“Yeah,” Paul said. “Like a big roar. And then I walked into the bathroom and a bunch of girls Paul was hitting on were pinned under a section of the stall wall. The bathroom was flooded, the toilet was broken, and Paul, or what was left of him, was all over the walls.”

“Did you help the girls?” the professor asked.

“Shit no,” Paul said. “I got the hell out of there. You think I’m going to stand around waiting to get killed too?”

The professor shook his head. “Well, I’ve never been one to judge others.”

“Weirdest part was the bite marks,” Paul said.

“Bite marks?” the professor asked.

“All over the door,” Paul said. “The news says some crazy guy is running around murdering people on the toilet but…I don’t now any man with teeth that big.”

The professor’s face turned milk white. “Did you tell the cops about this?”

“Hell no,” Paul said. “I never say shit to cops unless I have to.”

The professor stood in the middle of the dorm room, lost in thought.

“Something wrong?” Paul asked.

The professor patted the young man on the shoulder, then exited the room. “No. Thanks for the stuff.”

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Not All of My Posts Can Be Winners

I know, 3.5 readers.  You’ve grown used to finding gold on this amazing blog every day.

But I’m not a machine, you know.  Not all of my posts can be winners.

All I can think of to say today is to follow me on twitter – @bookshelfbattle

That’s it.  That’s all.  Go have a snow cone and do something productive.

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Toilet Gator – Network News One Transcript #3



Network News One Transcript #3
KURT MANLEY (In Studio) – …witnesses on the scene report that they’d never seen such a high concentration of fire breathing midgets in one location and they doubt they ever will again. In other news, New York Governor Brian Graysmith was caught with a ridiculous amount of hookers in a hotel suite. Here to discuss the matter further is our own NN1 Hooker Analyst, Sam McCarthy.

(A scummy looking pervert appears on camera. He wears a Hawaiian shirt and a pair of sunglasses, as well as a bad toupee).

SAM MCCARTHY: Good to be here, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: Sam, you’re one of the world’s most knowledgeable sources when it comes to hookers.

SAM MCCARTHY: Indeed I am, Kurt. Indeed I am. I may or may not have been a customer of various ladies of the evening and I may or may not have learned a thing or two in that time.

KURT MANLEY: Various official reports indicate that Governor Graysmith’s suite at the Swankforth Hotel was filled with a quote unquote ‘ridiculous amount of hookers.’

SAM MCCARTHY: That’s right.

KURT MANLEY: How many hookers is a ‘ridiculous’ amount of hookers?

SAM MCCARTHY: Well, that’s hard to say, Kurt. A ‘ridiculous’ amount of hookers could mean a lot of different things to different people. There are church going folk who would say that even one hooker in a hotel suite is one too many.

KURT MANLEY: What a bunch of prudes.

SAM MCCARTHY: Tell me about it. Now two or three hookers, that’s going to start raising some eyebrows.

KURT MANLEY: Naturally.
SAM MCCARTHY: And even upwards of ten hookers is going to turn the head of even the most experience hooker patron.

KURT MANLEY: Who has that kind of free time?

SAM MCCARTHY: I know, right? Now, in the governor’s case, witnesses disagree on the exact number of hookers involved. No one ever came up with an exact number but what we do know is that there were hookers in the bathroom, hookers in the breakfast nook, hookers on the balcony, hookers in the sitting room, hookers in the bedroom…

KURT MANLEY: My sources indicate there were even hookers in the closet.

SAM MCCARTHY: Exactly. I mean, the place was wall to wall hookers. Hotel staff claim that they couldn’t even get into the room because it was packed to the ceiling with hookers.

KURT MANLEY: That’s a lot of hookers.

SAM MCCARTHY: I mean, I don’t know if there’s any way to know for sure, but if you factor in the square footage of the room combined with the weight and height of the average hooker and I’d wager the Governor had packed his suite with over one thousand hookers.

(Kurt’s jaw drops.)

KURT MANLEY: Now that’s a lot of hookers!

SAM MCCARTHY: Even for me, Kurt. Even for me. I’m all about sampling a broad array of hookers, but a man could kill himself with that many hookers in one sitting. Luckily, the police broke up the hooker party before the governor was able to get in too deep.

KURT MANLEY: Wow. Thank you Sam. Incredibly disturbing news coming out of New York this evening. We take you live to the governor’s mansion, where Governor Graysmith is holding a press conference to address the scandal that has been dubbed, “Ridiculous Amount of Hookers-gate.”

(Cut to a podium where a man in his late fifties takes to the podium. He wears a sharp business suit. His very depressed looking wife stands by his side.)

GOVERNOR GRAYSMITH: Hello, members of the esteemed press. I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to you, to the good people of New York, to my wonderful children, Bob and Nancy, and of course, to my darling wife, Judy, for the ridiculous amount of hookers I hired. Throughout my career as a dedicated public servant, I have done my best to hold myself out as a strong man, a proud man, but at the end of the day, I am also a weak man. I succumbed to temptation and that is what caused me to hire so, so many hookers. I want everyone to rest assured that I will be entering a rehab program for men who are addicted to hiring ridiculous amounts of hookers. I have found Jesus and have had many conversations with him in which he has advised me to stay away from such ridiculous amounts of hookers. I will rededicate myself to my church and to God and to taking each day at a time, making sure I never again hire such a ridiculous, ludicrous, insane amount of hookers. I would like to thank Judy for standing by me throughout this difficult time.

(The reporters flail their hands wildly and demand to have their questions answered.)

GOVERNOR GRAYSMITH: No, no. I will not take any questions about the ridiculous amount of hookers I hired at this time. My dear, sweet wife is suffering now because of this humiliating situation and I’d like to remind you all that if you continue to ask questions about it, then you are the ones causing her pain and not me, the one who hired a bafflingly ridiculous number of hookers. Thank you. That is all.

KURT MANLEY: And there you have it. Governor Graysmith is very sorry for all those hookers he hired.

(Kurt sorts through some papers.)

KURT MANLEY: We turn our attention back now on what is shaping up to be one of the most gut wrenching stories in the entire history of humanity. Yes, I’m saying that if you even were to go back as far as the days of Exodus, when God smote all the non-believers with plagues of locusts, pestilence, and even the deaths of their first born children, this story makes that time look like a walk in the park with a lollipop in hand. I’m talking, of course, about the tragic death of Countess Cucamonga, the world’s most beloved pop star, a talented artist whose songs about her ample hindquarters were loved by all and I’m not ashamed to say that they were even loved by this old newsman. We take you live to…

(Kurt presses his finger up against his earpiece and sighs.)

KURT MANLEY: Yeah, I’m sorry viewers. We’re still trying to work a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties into the mix, but in the mean time here’s Natalie Brock…

(Natalie Brock appears on screen. She wears a cheap blonde wig, the kind that could be found at any thrift store. Her bosom appears much larger. Makeup is caked on her face.)

KURT MANLEY: Holy moly! Natalie! You had a growth spurt!

(Natalie is standing in front of the Geriatric Oaks Retirement Home in Boca Raton, Florida. She appears ill at ease and uncomfortable with her new look).

NATALIE: Um, yes. Hello…Kurt. A…

(Natlie closes her eyes, looks up to God for strength, then opens them and faces the camera.)

NATALIE: A Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties here with a new development in the grizzly murder of Countess Cucamonga. I’m here at a retirement home in Boca Raton where authorities have confirmed to me that retired history teacher Herb Hogan has been murdered.

KURT MANLEY: I mean, that’s terrible, but I don’t think anyone really gives a greasy turtle turd about some old ass teacher, Nat…er…Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties.

NATALIE: Normally, no. But authorities describe a gruesome scene, very reminiscent of the scene in which Countess Cucamonga’s giant ass struck down in its prime.

(Kurt’s eyes widen.)

KURT MANLEY: Whoa nelly! Now if that isn’t a dilly of a pickle. Feed me, Seymour! Feed me!

NATALIE: I’m here with Mr. Abraham Bromstein, a resident of this facility…

(Camera pans out to reveal Mr. Bromstein, standing next to Natalie in his bathrobe.)

MR. BROMSTEIN: Oy vey, can we move this along young lady? It’s very drafty out here and I’m freezing my genechtagazoink off.

NATALIE: Mr. Bromstein, you saw the scene where Mr. Hogan was murdered, is that correct?

MR. BROMSTEIN: Indeed it is, my dear. I have this nurse, you see, Nurse Sheila. She told me to tell her if the rash on my schmeckel got any worse and wouldn’t you now that as soon as she walked out of my room, it did. Now, I’m no medical doctor, but it was all red and doughy, such that I think I may have caught a male yeast infection. Do you want to see it?

NATALIE: Not at this time, no. Mr. Bromstein, if we could focus on the details of the crime scene…

MR. BROMSTEIN: Suit yourself, shiksa. So I go looking for Nurse Sheila and in the process of doing so, I happen upon Dolores’ Nelson’s room. Old Herb and Dolores were quite an item, you know. Dolores loved to brag about how Herb’s tongue whirled around faster than a high-powered blender blade, if you catch my drift.

NATALIE: I catch it, sir.

MR. BROMSTEIN: Cunnilingus!

NATALIE: I gathered.

MR. BROMSTEIN: Anyway, I find Nurse Sheila in Dolores’ room. I tell her about the worsening condition of my schmekel and she tells me she’s sorry but she’s dealing with a situation. I look around. The floor is all wet. The toilet is broken. And Herb’s been splattered all over the walls.

NATALIE: Which leads you to believe…

MR. BROMSTEIN: That either cunnilingus can cause a man to literally explode, which is what I always told my late wife as an excuse to get out of it whenever she demanded I bring my mouth down south, or…


(Mr. Bromstein looks directly at the camera.)

MR. BROMSTEIN: There’s a murderer on the loose!!!

NATALIE: There you have it, Kurt. A situation that’s eerily similar to what happened to Countess Cucamonga.

KURT: Eerily similar indeed. You’re looking good, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties. You’re a credit to our fine news organization, that’s for sure. This new development begs the question, ‘Is there a serial murderer on the loose?’ We have zero answers on that issue at this time, America. However, we here at NN1 feel it is important to advise everyone to drop whatever they are doing. Stop going to work. Stop going to school. Stop going about your regular business. Board up all your windows and doors and hole yourself up in your living room with a shotgun and a urine bucket. Most importantly, stay tuned to NN1 where we will be providing you with the latest updates as to the likelihood that you will be murdered by the horrific serial killer that we can only assume is very real and will not stop until he has killed everyone, especially you. Yes, you. The one sitting there watching me right now.

(Kurt changes camera angles.)

KURT MANLEY: That’s it for the Countess Cucamonga caper for now. And coming up in the next hour, a disgruntled coffee worker was caught masterbating into every fifth coffee ground can to come off of the assembly line. Could there be a little extra cream in your coffee? We’ll tell you which brand to stay away from after sports and weather. In the meantime, sit back and enjoy these commercial messages.

ANNOUNCER: Network News One! The hottest blonde chicks! The biggest titties! Oh yeah, and occasionally we report the news and shit.

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RIP Charlie Murphy

Sad news in the comedy world, 3.5 readers, as comedian Charlie Murphy has died at age 57 from leukemia.

Charlie was the right hand man of his brother, Eddie, working as a writer on many of his films.  He became a breakout success in his own right as an actor on Chapelle’s Show.  His sketches in which he recounted meeting Rick James and Prince were especially popular.

57 is way too young.  Makes me sad, 3.5 readers.  Makes me sad.

Watch Charlie meet Rick James here.

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TV Review – Louis CK 2017

Louie, Louie, Louie, Louie…

BQB here with a review of Louis CK’s Netflix comedy special, Louis CK 2017.

Louis CK’s still got it.  For some reason, he’s out of his standard black T-shirt and in a business suit.  I’m not sure why.  I noticed he was wearing a suit when he hosted SNL too.  Is he retiring the black shirt?  Is he becoming more square as he approaches fifty?  Who knows.  If he wants to wear a suit, let the dude wear a suit.

I don’t want to give too much away.  You want to hear Louis tell his jokes, not me.  Highlights include his take on abortion, the Christian calendar, and how he’d be gay if it didn’t require him to take a you know what up his you know where.

As usual, Louis has a unique ability to take the most cringeworthy subjects and make them uproariously funny.  Check him on out on Netflix.

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Conspiracy Corner with Tin Hat Ted – My First Column

By: Tin Hat Ted, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Conspiracy Theorist


Good day, 3.5 readers.  Tin Hat Ted here.  I’d like to thank Bookshelf Q. Battler for allowing me the opportunity to share my conspiracy theories on his blog.  While I am convinced that BQB is a high ranking official in the lizard people army and his blog is but a mere rouse designed to brainwash 3.5 humans into the ways of the lizard, I’ve got to get my start somewhere and it’s not like any other blogs are answering my many, many, many calls.

First, a little bit about me.  I was but a humble waiter when I first began hearing the alien voices in my head.  You don’t hear them because the average human mind can’t comprehend them, but rest assured those voices are there, telling you to do things you don’t really want to do all day long.  That’s why you eat fast food, buy expensive products you don’t need and watch TV shows that are utter garbage.  The aliens are trying to make you fat, stupid and poor so you’ll offer little resistance when their drop ships arrive full of shock troops.

That’s why I wear this very fashionable tin hat.  It keeps the aliens from implanting subliminal messages into my mind.  It also keeps them from reading my mind.  There are many nuggets of information I don’t want the aliens to have, let me tell you.

In fact, I will tell you.  Here are my latest conspiracy theories.  Just keep this all on the down low because if the various forces behind the scenes ever found out that any of this went public, they’d blow a gasket.  Good thing this blog is only read by 3.5 readers.

Conspiracy Theory #1 – J. Edgar Hoover is Alive and is a Woman

Former FBI Director J. Edgar Hoover is alive and well, having had his brain implanted into the brain of a female test subject, thus killing two proverbial birds with one stone, namely, achieving the director’s ambition to live into perpetuity and to become a woman.  At this time, I have no reason to believe that Hoover is working for or against the government, at least in any official capacity.  My sources, comprised mostly of meth addicted truckers I hang out with at the local Waffle House, indicate that Hoover just wants his Hoover time.  He wants to be left alone to enjoy his long dreamed of vagina, but will strike with the copious files full of dirty secrets he maintains if he is pressed.

Conspiracy Theory #2 – Newspapers are Written By Highly Intelligent Beavers

Print is dead.  The only reason this industry is still alive is the hardworking North American beaver.  By day, these buck toothed rodents build damns.  By night, they write newspaper articles under assumed names.  Don’t believe everything you read, by the way.  The beavers bring their own pro-beaver bias to the news.

Conspiracy Theory #3 – Walt Disney Continues to Run Disney

While Walt Disney was cryogenically frozen, word has it that he is sentient enough to groan loud enough that it can be heard by the scientists monitoring his cryo-chamber.  Walt gets final approval on every film Disney makes.  Studio execs play the latest films inside a little TV in Walt’s chamber, and then he groans once for yes and twice for no.  Witnesses report that Walt’s groans regarding the gay character in Beauty in the Beast were inconclusive, so they just rolled the dice.

Conspiracy Theory #4 – All Important People are Lizards

Most multi-millionaires, celebrities, politicians, business tycoons and other people of import are not people but rather, are lizard people wearing regular people masks.  If you’re ever feeling down about not making it as far as you hoped you would in life, don’t blame yourself.  It’s not your fault you aren’t a lizard.  The lizard people have their own network and if you aren’t in it, then the doors to success will never be unlocked for you.

I’m just confused as to why Bookshelf Q. Battler is a lizard person.  After all, he’s not very successful.

Conspiracy Theory #5 – Candy Rots Your Teeth so Dentists Can Put Trackers in Your Fillings

There’s been a form of sugar that is actually good for your teeth but the government has kept it off supermarket shelves for decades.  That’s because they want you to get cavities so they can put fillings in your teeth.  Sure, those fillings plug up your tooth holes, but they also contain tiny homing beacons that can tell the government where you are and what you are putting your mouth on at all times.

A) Be careful what you put your mouth on if you don’t want to be blackmailed by the government and B) be like me and do all your own dental work.  Oh, Bookshelf Q. Battler’s lawyer tells me to tell you to not do your own dental work but if you ask me, she’s probably part of the grand conspiracy.


Those are all the conspiracy theories I’m willing to share at this time, 3.5 readers.  If you have any you’d like to share, leave them in the comments.  Also, don’t forget to fashion a hat for yourself out of tin foil and wear it at all times.

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Eight Weeks of Toilet Gator Sundays

Destined to become an Academy Award winning picture:


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Top Ten Warning Signs Your Butt Might Have Been Probed By Aliens


Someone’s going to be walking funny tomorrow.

Ahh, aliens.  Those intergalactic science perverts really do a number on the human heiney don’t they?

What exactly are little green men hoping to discover by shoving their high tech, state of the art devices up human butts?  Your guess is as good as mine.  At any rate, it’s not like these space weirdoes will leave you a calling card, so if you want to know whether or not your cheeks have been parted in the name of space science, you better consult this fine list.

From BQB HQ in Fabulous East Randomtown, it’s the Top Ten Warning Signs You Might Have Been Probed By Aliens

#10 – Your Butt Hurts

In theory, this could be due to a number of reasons, including by not limited to:

  • You’re wiping too hard and giving yourself hemorrhoids.
  • You ate an extra large batch of nacho chili cheese fries with extra hot sauce.  That’ll make the old tooter play a symphony for weeks, so get used to the discomfort.
  • You sat on a sharp object.
  • Brazilian wax.
  • Anal bleaching.
  • Someone kicked it.
  • A hobo had his way with you while you were sleeping.  That’ll teach you to fall asleep near a set of train tracks without a chastity belt.

However, if you’ve engaged in none of these activities then yes, it is highly possible that an alien shoved a carefully calibrated human nervous system mapping projectile up your poop chute.  I loathe being the one to have to break this unsettling news to you.

#2 – You’re a Drunken Redneck

According to the Fake Institute for Bogus Statistics, Southerners have a 97% higher chance of being butt probed by aliens than the rest of the population.  Add too much alcohol into the equation and you’re destined for an intergalactic butt inspection.

Why?  Call it discrimination.  Call it bias.  Call it what you will but whenever Jimmy Bob Bo Jim Jack gets on TV with his best trucker hat and “Honk if You Like Big Titties” shirt with the arms cut off and starts railing about the aliens that abducted him so they could have their way with his butt, people just start laughing and assume it’s the booze talking. Aliens know this and they take full advantage of it to avoid being caught.

Sure, the aliens could abduct and butt probe a boozy Manhattanite, but they’re all so uptight that their instruments usually just snap between their firmly clenched cheeks.

#3 –  You Remember Feeling as Thought Multiple People Were Touching You While You Were Asleep but Were Too Tired to Wake Up and Do Anything About It

Maybe you were abducted and butt probed by aliens.  Maybe you’re just the average, run of the mill college student.  The world may never know.

#4 – Your Butt is Pregnant

You didn’t even have sex.  Even more shocking…you’re a man!  Congratulations!  In nine months, you’ll be the proud father of the spawn that alien scientists inserted up your butt.

#5 – They Left the Probe in Your Butt

Look, not every alien scientist is the intergalactic equivalent of Steven Hawking.  Some are lazy.  Incompetent.  Inept.  Some have questionable credentials.  Some got their science diplomas through space mail.  Some have even been known to leave a probe sticking up the butt of a test subject, much like a meat thermometer stuck in the anal cavity of a Thanksgiving turkey.

At least the turkey gets warm, moist, herb seasoned stuffing shoved up there.  By the way, if you find any stuffing up your butt, then maybe you weren’t probed.  Maybe someone tried to eat you but changed his mind after deciding you don’t taste good.

#6 – Your Butt Hurts Twice in One Year

Maybe you didn’t learn your lesson about the nacho chili cheese fries with extra hot sauce earlier.  Maybe the aliens came back to get a second reading.  Again, the world may never know.

#7 – Your Farts Sound Like Electronic Codes

A sure sign that aliens probed you and left behind a microchip that allows your butt to communicate with the mother ship.

#8 – The Aliens Left Behind a Pamphlet

Some of the more considerate aliens have been known to leave behind a pamphlet on the nightstand of their test subjects.  It usually reads something like, “So You’ve Been Probed Up the Butt in the Name of Space Science.”  Topics include, “It Wasn’t Your Fault” and “Be Proud of the Many Scientific Breakthroughs that Will Occur Thanks to Your Butt Probe.”

#9 – Video Of the Inside of Your Butt Has Appeared on Cable

Not gonna lie.  Some aliens sell their probing videos to the highest bidder.  Somewhere amongst the thousands of cable channels out there, in depth footage of your Hershey Highway might being aired right now.  Boggles the mind, doesn’t it?

#10 – Your Butt Glows in the Dark

Some probes include a homing beacon that will flash, thus allowing the mother ship to spot your butt from space.  And you thought your butt was only visible from space because you got off your diet, didn’t you?


Equip your butt with a loud, obnoxious alarm.  Hire armed guards to protect your butt as you sleep.  Never lie down without putting on a pair of iron underpants secured with a sturdy padlock.  Break the key in four pieces and leave each piece in one of the world’s four hemispheres.  Really, people.  This is just common sense.  Protect your butt!

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Stop Sucking with Vinny Baggadouchio – Coping with Sucky Regrets


World Renowned Motivational Speaker/Anti-Suck Expert Vinny Baggadouchio

I’m Vinny Baggadouchio and when it comes to karate chopping suckyness, I’m a black belt.  Perhaps you have read one of my fine anti-suck books:

Who Needs to Suck When You Don’t Have To?

I Can’t Stand This Sucky Feeling

Suck Ways to Saturday

The Suckback of Notre Dame

Suck Out the Suck

Set the Suck Aside

Kiss My Suck and Call It Ice Cream

A Brief History of Sucky Times

All Aboard the Anti-Suck Train

Make America Not Suck Again

Build a Wall Around the Suck and Make the Suck Pay For It

Who Let the Suck Out?

3.5 suckers, I’ve been busy spreading my suck free message across the world, consulting with the rich, famous and powerful and teaching them how to not suck.  And when I’m not busy sucking the suck out of celebrities, I make plenty of time to help poor suckers come to grips with their sucking.

Why, just last week I held the “Tenth Annual Gala to Bring An End to All the Things that Make Poor People’s Lives Suck.”  It was a rousing success and I’m happy to report that I helped a grand total of 10,000 sucky poor people get started on the path to a suck free life.

But enough about me.  Here’s today’s question:

Dear Vinny B,

I’m getting older.  Forty is just around the corner and when I look back on my life, I realize that it really sucked.  Seriously.  It sucked so bad.  All the sucky things in life happened to me and none of the non-sucky things happened to me.

Even worse, I made decisions that sucked.  I didn’t realize at the time how I was sucking up my life.  It didn’t dawn on me until I was able to look back on all the sucky behavior in hindsight.

I regret my sucky past but now I face an even suckier dilemma.  Is it too late to stop sucking?  I feel like everyone judges me based on my sucky decisions.  I’ve woken up and smelled the non-suck, but try as I might, I’m trapped in a suck cycle.  I want to not suck but the weight of all my past sucks weighs me down.

Am I doomed to always suck?


Once a Sucker, Always a Sucker

Wow.  Sorry to hear about all that suck, Sucker.  That really sucks.

Let’s face the sucky truth.  Life has a tendency to suck.  Even worse, when we are young, we are trained to think that it won’t suck.  All the adults tells us positive things and treat us like mush brained dummies when we are young.  It keeps young people from making plans to combat a sucky life.

So, you made some sucky decisions.  You did some sucky things and you had sucky things happen to you.  You can’t let suck define you.  You can’t let suck bog you down.

Yes, we all wish we could take the knowledge we have learned about how not to suck, travel back in time, and give it to our younger selves, only to then find ourselves in a suck free present.  Alas, the state of time travel technology really sucks, so we aren’t there yet.

Still, you are alive and you have time to not suck.  Sure, you don’t have as much time as you wish you had to not suck, but there’s still time to not suck.  Only a sucker doesn’t use all of his time to not suck, no matter how much or how little time is left.  Be your least sucky self, always and no matter what.

You regret how much your past forty years sucked?  That sucks.  Don’t get to sixty and regret not taking steps in the past twenty years to not suck.  You had an excuse to suck when you were young.  You were young and you didn’t know any better.

Now you are older and wiser.  You’ve been knocked around by the sucky world.  You know the ins and outs of suck-dom.  You know how to curtail your sucky behaviors.  You know the suckyness that happens if you don’t.  Sorry pal, but you’re all out of excuses to keep sucking, so grab that anti-suck bull by the horns and ride it for the rest of your life.

“Regrets, I’ve had a few,” Frank Sinatra used to sing.  So, you have a few, or even a lot.  It’s time to wipe the suck slate.

You can’t change your sucky past, but the story of your future has yet to be written.  Will you write it with a sucky pen or will you vow to put an end to all your sucky ways for good?

The choice is yours, Sucker.  Choose to not suck, always and no matter what.  It’s never to late to not suck.

By the way, you can buy my new anti-suck book, It’s Never Too Late to Not Suck at a book store near you that doesn’t suck.

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