Tag Archives: Comedy

Jun 14 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Network News One Transcript #10

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KURT MANLEY: Witnesses on the scene report that upon realizing that only unattractive people were consumed by the mudslide, emergency service personnel turned around and went bowling instead, allowing all those uggos to die a slow, miserable death via mud suffocation. Yeesh. Mud in the lungs. Gotta hate it when that happens. Lucky for me, I’m Kurt Manley, the most handsome anchor in the news game, so I don’t have to worry about anything.

(Kurt looks to another camera)

KURT MANLEY: Good morning, USA. If you’re just waking up, it’s time to rub the krispies out of your eyeballs, maybe take a shower and brush your teeth because I’m sure you all stink. Don’t forget to put your used diapers outside. We’ve been getting reports here at NN1 that imbeciles all across our great nation have been allowing their used diapers to pile up in their homes until the stench becomes so unbearable that all occupants of the home pass out cold. Yes, America, our long, national nightmare is not over yet. The toilet gator is still on the loose and we’re receiving second hand reports from lesser rival news networks that he struck again, this time at an e-mail spammer convention in downtown Miami. Not sure why our Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties posted in South Florida wasn’t on this breaking story like stink on a monkey but don’t you worry folks, I’ll be chewing her out royally later.

In the meantime, to take your mind of all this, why don’t you put on a fresh diaper and take a load off, because world famous rapper Stank Daddy is in the studio, here to dish about everything from his sadness over the late Countess Cucamonga to his new album. Stank, thanks for joining us.

(Camera pans out to show STANK DADDY at the news desk with Kurt. STANK DADDY wears ten shiny, solid gold chains around his neck, sports a gold tooth in his mouth and wears a purple suit topped off by a leopard print fedora. He clutches a fancy cane with a giant diamond on top.)

STANK DADDY: Yo, what up, K-Dawg? What’s crack-a-lackin’?

KURT MANLEY: K-Dawg. I like it. Thank you for joining us, Stank.

STANK DADDY: It’s all good, cuz.

KURT MANELY: Stank, you’re one of the top artists in the music industry. How are you and your peers coping with the tragic loss of Countess Cucamonga?

STANK DADDY: Aw, shit…we…oops…can I say shit?

KURT MANLEY: This network literally has no standards, Stank. Our late night host is a foul mouthed parrot who gets coked up while he reads funny headlines.

STANK DADDY: Aight, cool. Shit man, losing the Countess hit us all hard. She had one of the phattest asses in the game.

KURT MANLEY: Some say Lady Cyanide’s ass is fatter.

STANK DADDY: Pbbht, fool, please. You could put Lady Cyanide’s entire booty in the lower left quadrant of Countess Cucamonga’s left ass cheek, or at least you could have before that punk ass toilet gator bit it off.

KURT MANLEY: You sound like you’re taking this hard.

STANK DADDY: I am, but I’m just glad I got to work the Countess on “Phat Ass Slapper.”

KURT MANLEY: Music historians I’ve spoken to tell me it is the best song ever recorded about slapping phat asses.

STANK DADDY: No doubt.

KURT MANLEY: If you could say something to the Countess right now, what would it be?

STANK DADDY: Aw, now you put me on the spot, son. I dunno. I’d just tell her to keep on being her and I hope she’s having fun being the finest ass bitch in heaven. Shit, can I say “bitch?”

KURT MANLEY: You sure can. Hell, I say it to every woman I know, from my mother to all of the interns running around the studio. Helps them stay grounded.

(Kurt takes a sip out of his coffee mug, then spits it out in a giant spray towards the camera. He then looks off camera to his left and holds up his mug.)

KURT MANLEY: Bitch! Did you really give K-Dawg instant coffee? You know K-Dawg don’t do no instant coffee, bitch!”

(Kurt sets his mug down on the desk)

KURT MANLEY: Sorry, Stank. Sometimes K-Dawg feels like he’s got to smack a bitch.

STANK DADDY: I hear you, K-Dawg.

KURT MANLEY: Which brings us to another topic. Your critics say your last single, “Smack a Bitch” is little more than violent, anti-female misogyny sugarcoat with a slick, happening beat. What do you say?

STANK DADDY: Bitch, please. I’m one of the nicest, pro-woman mother fuckers around. Can I say mother fucker?

KURT MANLEY: Eh, you’re venturing into a shady territory but I’ll allow it.

STANK DADDY: I’m no woman hater. Everyone knows I treat a bitch right.

KURT MANLEY: Settle the dispute, right here and right now. Is the song “Smack a Bitch” actually about smacking a bitch?

STANK DADDY: As in committing violence against women? No.
KURT MANLEY: Then what is it about?

STANK DADDY: Rising up against the system and turning it up on its ear, man.

KURT MANLEY: The vast majority of your songs have lyrics that seem to suggest violence against women, but you deny that’s what they’re about?

STANK DADDY: I do.

KURT MANLEY: OK. I will now read a list of your past hits and you tell me what these songs are about, if not violence against women.

STANK DADDY: Go for it.

KURT MANLEY: “Kick a Bitch.”

STANK DADDY: Standing up to oppression.

KURT MANLEY: “Punch a Bitch.”

STANK DADDY: Income inequality.

KURT MANLEY: “Karate Chop a Bitch.”

STANK DADDY: Media bias.

KURT MANLEY: Do you think I’m biased?

STANK DADDY: Nah, you aight.

KURT MANLEY: “Shoot a bitch.”

STANK DADDY: Saving the whales.

KURT MANLEY: “Set Fire to a Bitch.”

STANK DADDY: Global warming.

KURT MANLEY: “Blow Up a Bitch with Dynamite.”

STANK DADDY: Historic injustice.

KURT MANLEY: “Cut Up a Bitch with a Chainsaw.”

STANK DADDY: Wall street corruption.

KURT MANLEY: “Drop a Nuclear Warhead on a Bitch.”

STANK DADDY: Putting an end to hate speech.
KURT MANLEY: “Sunlight Sprinkles On a Soft Kitten’s Whisker.”

STANK DADDY: OK, now that one was about smacking a bitch around and I regret that but in my defense, I was in a dark place at the time. You see, I had just broken up with my girl and I…

(Kurt Manley pushes two fingers down on his earpiece.)

KURT MANLEY: Stank, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m receiving breaking news about a high speed chase involving the toilet gator…

STANK DADDY: Get the fuck outta here.

KURT MANLEY: OK, I can only let you have one more F-Bomb, Stank, and then I’m going to have to cut you off.

STANK DADDY: I did it.

(Footage of the chase plays. From the vantage point of Walter’s camera, the Yarikazi Diabo can be seen careening down the highway with the toilet gator close behind, snapping his jaws furiously. KURT MANLEY and STANK DADDY speak in voiceover conversation as the footage rolls.)

STANK DADDY: That is some fucked up shit.

KURT MANLEY: And that’s three.

STANK DADDY: Worth it.

KURT MANLEY: Ladies and gentlemen, what you are seeing is a hot pursuit along Route 199, a highway that runs through the South Florida community of Sitwell, where, as you might recall, a college student was eaten on the toilet just days ago. We can see two men firing shots at the actual toilet gator himself.

STANK DADDY: Those are some crazy ass white people, Kurt. You won’t catch my ass getting anywhere near no toilet gator.

KURT MANLEY: Crazy ass white people indeed. My word, whoever is driving that sports car is doing it rather recklessly, as you can see folks, and…whoa…the car just narrowly missed clipping a cement truck. That would have been nasty.

STANK DADDY: That is one fat ass toilet gator, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: It certainly is. Goodness gracious, that big lizard is just cutting through every car he comes into contact with like a hot knife through butter. Look at the sheer, raw, unadulterated power of this monster.

STANK DADDY: The bullets are just bouncing off his ass.

KURT MANLEY: Yes and…oh my God! A live grenade was just fired at the toilet gator and it didn’t seem to phase him in the slightest.

STANK DADDY: Shit. Those crackas are gonna get their asses ate up.

KURT MANLEY: It seems that way. Hold on, I’m told our own Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Ass Titties is on the line while she’s driving a news van that’s keeping pace with this hot mess.

STANK DADDY: That doesn’t sound very safe to me, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: Indeed it doesn’t. Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties, you’re on the air…

(NATALIE BROCK’s voice sounds garbled as she’s speaking on a cell phone.)

NATALIE BROCK: Kurt, as you can see, Cole Walker, the former police chief of Sitwell, his fellow officer Rusty Yates are engaged in a terrifying, high speed standoff with FBI agent Sharon Walker at the wheel.

KURT MANLEY: Yeah, yeah, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties. But what’s up with you getting scooped on the e-mail spammer story?

NATALIE BROCK: Excuse me, Kurt?”

KURT MANLEY: Our lesser rivals got to the story about the toilet gator eating a couple of e-mail spammers this morning whereas you’ve yet to file a report on it. What’s wrong with you? You got lead in your pants or something?

(NATALIE BROCK emits a violent growl.)

NATALIE BROCK: You know what, Kurt? I’m tired of your bullshit!

KURT MANLEY: Now, now Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties, calm down…

NATALIE BROCK: No! I will not calm down! And my name is not “Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties!” I’m not even a blonde chick with big titties!

KURT MANLEY: You’re not that hot either…

NATALIE BROCK: Fuck you, Kurt!”

STANK DADDY: Oh, snap!

NATALIE BROCK: My name is Natalie Brock and you will call me that from now on!

KURT MANLEY: OK, Natalie. Gee whiz, looks like we caught you at that time of the month.

STANK DADDY: The red menace waits for no man or beast, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: Indeed it doesn’t, Stank Daddy. Indeed it doesn’t. Natalie, maybe you ought to just pull that van over and find a man to drive while you pop a Midol or something.

NATALIE BROCK: I’m tired of your shit, Kurt! I’m bringing you live footage of a high speed chase with a toilet gator and all you can do is…

KURT MANLEY: Whoa, hold on a second. I’m going to need to cut off your blabbermouth, Natalie, as it appears that two tractor trailer trucks have arrived on the scene.

NATALIE BROCK: Yes, Kurt. They’re being driven by Maude Fuller and Burt Hayes, a former dispatcher and current Sherriff’s deputy, respectively.

KURT MANLEY: The trucks are flanking the toilet gator in some sort of pincer maneuver and…oh my God! The left truck just slammed into the alligator and….wow….that had no effect on him whatsoever.

STANK DADDY: He just looks pissed off and ready to snack on some crackas, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: Things are looking pretty dire here, Natalie.

NATALIE BROCK: They sure are, Kurt. This toilet gator has taken all sorts of punishment and he’s still moving.

STANK DADDY: Like my old lady when there’s a cake in the room. You get between her ass and that cake and your ass is gonna get straight up clotheslined, ya heard?

KURT MANLEY: I heard indeed, Stank Daddy. Hot Ass Blonde…er, I mean, Natalie…it looks like the rain is coming down pretty hard.

NATALIE BROCK: Yes, Kurt! It would appear that Hurricane Dakota Rothschild is now upon us.

KURT MANLEY: That’s sure to complicate matters.

NATALIE BROCK: No shit, Sherlock.

KURT MANLEY: You know, Natalie, I don’t think I care for your insubordinate tongue.

NATALIE BROCK: Oh, really Kurt? Funny, that’s not what you said about my tongue the other day…

(Natalie plays the recording Walter made of Kurt’s dirty talk)

RECORDING OF KURT MANLEY: I’ll have a steak, medium-rare. You’ll have a salad that you’ll just play with but won’t eat because God knows NN1 can’t be allowing any porkers on the air and we don’t want you getting chubby. Then you’ll come up to my penthouse. We’ll have a nightcap, maybe dance a little and then you’ll lick my taint.

(KURT MANLEY stares blankly at the camera. His face turns red.)

STANK DADDY: Damn, Kurt! You a straight up freak, playa!

KURT MANLEY: What? That wasn’t me.

RECORDING OF KURT MANLEY: My orgasms will be more of a priority than yours. I can’t go on TV unless Little Kurty has been drained of all his buttermilk.

RECORDING OF NATALIE BROCK: Little Kurty?

RECORDING OF KURT MANLEY: My penis. My big ole famous news penis, the one attached to America’s favorite anchorman. He needs to say hello to your kitty cat.

KURT MANLEY: Ha, ha, Natalie. Very funny. Enough of this clever little parlor trick. What did you hire someone to do an impression of me or something? Because, you know, now isn’t exactly the time to….

STANK DADDY: Shit! You see that?

KURT MANLEY: What?

STANK DADDY: That dude with the one leg just put a new leg on and jumped his ass out the car and now he’s riding the alligator like a damn pony! That’s some old school gangsta shit right there.

(KURT MANLEY straightens his tie)

KURT MANLEY: Gangsta shit indeed.

RECORDING OF KURT MANLEY: Oh I’m sure no one told you but it’s sort of an unwritten rule that each and every one of our Hot Ass Blonde Chick Reporters with Big Titties has to take at least one ride on the wet and wild Kurt slide.

KURT MANLEY: OK, that’s enough! Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to take a brief commercial break while we try to talk Natalie down off her PMS ledge. After that, we’ll stay with the toilet gator chase for the duration. We won’t be going to sports or weather anytime soon and hell, we won’t even make you wait to find out which brand of toilet paper gives you anal scars. It’s Schmelman’s. That’s right. Schmelman’s Brand Toilet Paper will make the inside of your ass look like Beirut. You going anywhere, Stank Daddy?

STANK DADDY: I am not, Kurt. This is the most fun I’ve had in my entire life and I eat cereal out of a platinum chalice on a bed full of bitches every morning.

KURT MANLEY: Stank Daddy and I will be back in a jiff, monitoring the toilet gator chase as it develops.

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

KURT MANLEY (VOICE OVER): Someone fire that bitch immediately!

DAN THE PRODUCER: We’re still live, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: Son of a…

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Jun 13 2017
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Things That Really Frost My Ass

Things That Really Frost My Ass – Amber Rose’s Cooter Pic

By: Uncle Hardass, Official Bookshelf Battle Blog Grumpy Old Man Correspondent

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Hello 3.5 degenerate readers.

Your old Uncle Hardass here.  Still working on your writing careers I see.  Good for you.  Never let reality get in the way of a good daydream.  I’m sure your parents don’t mind subsidizing your hubris until the end of time.

You know what just frosted my ass?  This photo:

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In case you’re not hip like your old Uncle Hardass, that’s Amber Rose who is famous for…uh…well she does…I think she’s on TV or some shit.  She’s a professional hot chick like Kim Kardashian or something.

Also, she does this thing called a Slut Walk which, hey, I’m not complaining.  Hell, twenty years ago I’d of invited all those sluts to take a walk past my front door but today?  Meh.  It’s just like a big lump of taffy down there.  Pull it all day and nothing happens.

Now, I know what you’re thinking.  “Uncle Hardass is mad that a woman posed nude in a photo.”  Nope, nope.  Again, as I just said, twenty years ago I’d of retired to the bathroom with this photo in one hand and a bottle of Jergen’s in the other but, I might remind you, it’s like pulling taffy.  I could yank on it for hours and the only thing would come out is one of those “Womp womp” sounds they play when you guess the wrong price on “The Price is Right.”

It frosts my ass because there’s literally no response that a man can make to a photo like this that a woman would find acceptable.

MALE RESPONSE:                                           FEMALE RESPONSE:

Wow!  What a lovely cooter shot!                   PIG!

I’m outraged at such nudity!                        How dare you demonize the female form?

You’re right.  It’s a lovely photo.                 Pervert!

See?  You can’t win.  All these super hot chicks who are famous for being hot post naked photos of themselves all the time.  And if you’re a man, there’s absolutely nothing you can say about it without getting in trouble with any woman who overhears you.

Really, the only thing you can do is just appreciate the fact that she posted it, then use it to inspire a monkey spanking session except, you know, I have to skip that because…taffy.  Just a big lump of taffy.

Personally, I applaud Amber Rose for posting this photo.  A)  You can’t see it because I had to censor it due to the fact that my nephew, BQB, runs a classy blog (or so he says), but in the original photo, Amber is sporting a serious bush.  Like, a big, giant, overgrowth.  Seriously.  It looks like she’s got Llhasa Apso trapped in a leg lock and try all he might, the little fella can’t budge.

That’s fine by me.  Back in my day, it was the hairier the better.  Hell, breaking out a weedwacker and a flashlight just to find your way to the thing was considered foreplay.  You youngsters and your silky smooth lady parts have no idea what you’re missing.

Secondly, I thought it was pretty cool that Amber wears the same sunglasses I do.  My doctor put those giant boxy sunglasses on me after I had my cataracts surgery and I assumed that only people my age are considered fashionable when they walk around looking like they’re playing a virtual reality game.

In conclusion, men, say nothing when you see these photos.  There’s nothing you can say that will not leave a woman angry at you.  Come to think of it, that doesn’t just apply to this photo but to literally everything else in life as well.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go pull my taffy.  I think I felt a tingle.  Then again, it could be gas.

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Jun 11 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 97

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The sky was gray and overcast as winds whipped the palm trees outside the mall to and fro. Sharon banged a right out of the parking lot, floored it down the mall access road and merged onto Route 199. Cole rocked back and forth in the trunk, sending Angry Barracuda blasts Skippy’s way whenever he found a brief moment of steadiness.

Rusty, on the other hand, pumped bullets at the gator without aiming. The monster was a big enough target that the redhead figured they would land somewhere on that big scaly frame yet they continued to just bounce off.

The NN1 news van pulled up on Sharon’s right. Natalie was behind the wheel, as it was Walter’s turn to shine. The cameraman slid open the side door and with one hand firmly grasping a handle attached to the can’s interior, he leaned out and pointed a camera at the chase.

“Hold it steady!” Walter shouted.

“Me?” Natalie asked as she swerved all over the run. She’d never had a reason to drive that fast before. “You hold it steady!”

“I am!” Walter cried.

Natalie juggled between the wheel in her left hand and her cell phone in her right. She held the mobile device up to her ear and argued with Kurt Manley’s producer. “Do I sound like a give a shit if Kurt’s interviewing Stank Daddy, Dan? Either you patch our feed through now or you get your resume ready because you’ll be the guy that didn’t cut to a high speed chase involving a Goddamn toilet gator!”

“Get off the phone and grab the wheel!” Walter shouted.

“Don’t tell me how to do my job!” Natalie yelled.

Sharon darted through traffic, passing cars left and right. “Passing” wasn’t an idea that Skippy was remotely interested in. He chomped and rammed his way through cars, buses, and trucks, turning them into mere hunks of twisted metal in his wake.

Natalie fell behind but in time, she sped up and kept pace with Sharon.

Cole reached into a duffel bag inside the trunk and pulled out the six-pack. He aimed it at Skippy’s head and pulled the trigger. “Fire in the hole!”

Kaboom! The alligator was briefly set ablaze. He slowed down, shook it off, and soon, was galloping full speed.

“Holy shit,” Cole said. “He’s like a big green tank.”

“Just like the first Mrs. Walker,” Rusty said.

“Rusty,” Sharon shouted. “I swear to God I will throw you out of this car!”

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Jun 11 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 96

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“Felix!” Cole shouted as he pressed the red button over and over. “Why isn’t this thing working?!”

“Errm.”

“Do you know?!”

“Errm, errm.”

“Damn it!”

Cole raised his Angry Barracuda, drew a bead right between the alligator’s eyes and fired. Blam! Nothing. Two more shots. Blam, blam! Nothing.

“I could use some backup!” Cole shouted.

“You got it, buddy,” Rusty said.

The Diablo zigged and zagged around gaggles of people, occasionally taking out a mall kiosk here and there. Sharon zoomed right through a pretzel cart, sending salty treats and hot mustard everywhere.

The sunroof of the sports car opened up and Rusty popped out with SAW in hand. He aimed the machine gun at the gator and spit hellfire at the beast. Every ounce of hot lead simply bounced off of the alligator’s tough skin.

Cole put both hands on the rope and attempted to pull himself in. This was no easy feet, as the car was moving like lightning and swerving about in an erratic manner. Plus, Rusty’s shell casings were popping out into the air and many of them were peppering Cole right in the face.

Skippy plowed through the shopping cart that had been previously pushed by the old lady who was very concerned about…

“My bread and milk!”

The old woman through her purse at Skippy’s head. Enraged, the big green monster turned and gobbled up the old gal in one bite, then charged at various other passersby. Several soldiers spotted the beast and opened fire on it.

“Stop the car!” Cole shouted.

Sharon jammed on the brakes, causing Cole to sail right into the bumper, back first. “Oww.”

“You OK?” Sharon asked.
“No,” Cole said. “Pop the trunk.”

Sharon pressed a button and the trunk flew up. Cole crawled inside. “I’ve got road rash on my balls something fierce.”

“TMI,” Rusty said. “TMI.”

Sharon hit the gas. Skippy, upon hearing the revving engine, continued his pursuit.

Cole pulled some spare rounds out of his shirt pocket and reloaded the Angry Barracuda. He and Rusty bombarded Skippy with a storm of bullets.

“Guys,” Sharon said as the Diablo quickly approached the big glass doors of the mall front entrance. “Hold on.”

“What?” Cole asked.

Rusty took his finger off the trigger and turned around. The mall entrance was coming fast and he pulled himself down into the car just in time to avoid losing his head.

Skippy didn’t show the slightest bit of exhaustion as he pursued the Diablo into the mall parking lot.

“Maude,” Cole said. “It’s time for Plan B.”

“Plan B, on the move, Chief,” Maude said. “10-4.”

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Jun 11 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 95

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Ten minutes passed without a single sign of trouble.

“Come on,” Cole said. “I haven’t got all day, gator.”

“Maybe he found Jesus,” Rusty said.

“What?” Cole asked.

“I don’t know,” Rusty said. “Maybe he had a change of heart and doesn’t want to eat people anymore.”

“I doubt it,” Cole said. “I think he’s just wussing out.”

As soon as Cole said that, the ground shook.

“Umm,” Cole said. “And I still think my human penis is way bigger than his alligator penis.”

“That’s disgusting,” Rusty said. “What does an alligator penis even look like?”

The ground shook again.

“Yup,” Cole said. “That gator won’t dare show his stupid, fat, ugly face around here because he doesn’t have the guts to stand up to a real man.”

The line connecting to the toilet rumbled.

“You know what?” Cole said. “That alligator is just one great…big…giant…green pussy with teeth.”

“Sounds like the first Mrs. Walker,” Rusty said.

“Shut up, Rusty,” Sharon said.

The ground underneath Cole shook uncontrollably now. “Guys, get ready.”

“RAARGA!” Skippy burst through the floor, smashed the toilet to smithereens and clomped his jaws down on the leg that Cole had previously inserted into the toilet.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Cole shouted.

“Now?!” Sharon asked.

“Not yet!” Cole cried as the vicious alligator broke through the stall walls and into the bathroom.

“Now?!” Sharon repeated.

With Cole’s leg gripped firmly between his sharp teeth, the alligator whipped Cole through the air like a rag doll. “Not yet!” Cole repeated.

Skippy dug his teeth into the leg, snarling and growling while Cole showed no signs of physical pain. He yanked off the breakaway pants to reveal that the toilet gator had chomped down on his prosthetic leg…which was encased in a healthy coating of C4.

As Cole was swung around, he pulled a small, black detonator stick and hovered his thumb over the red button on top. “NOW!”

Outside on the mall concourse, Sharon stepped on the Diablo’s gas pedal, bringing it down to the floor. She honked the horn furiously as looters and rabble rousers jumped out of the way just in time to avoid becoming road pizza.

Earlier, Rusty had secured his end of the rope to the car’s bumper. This lead to Cole being yanked by his belt out of the bathroom and into the mall itself, dragged roughly twenty feet behind the diablo in nothing but a black shirt and his tighty whitey underpants.

The alligator was in hot pursuit.

Cole locked eyes with the beast that was snapping its jaws at his heels. “See you in hell, toilet gator!”

He pressed the button. Nothing happened.

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Jun 11 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 93

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At the Swankforth Hotel in downtown Miami, professional spammer Ernie Beck was enjoying a tasty three cheese omelette as he listened to a speaker at the International Society of Junk E-Mail Senders.

Jason Newcomb, the President of the ISJES stood at a podium, lecturing the attendees on tried and true spamming techniques.

“I know folks,” Newcomb said. “It seems like a tired old cliche, but the Nigerian prince scam really works. You’d be surprised how many elderly white people are easily convinced that they are not only related to African royalty, but that turning over their bank account routing numbers to a total stranger in the hopes of procuring a hefty payout is a good idea.”

Justine Cosseau raised her hand.

“Yes,” Newcomb said. “Justine.”

“What about the boner pills scam?” Justine inquired. “I’ve found great success by convincing men that they can add ten inches or more to their length and that the ladies will love them.”

“It’s not bad,” Newcomb said. “But keep in mind you might actually have to mass produce some fake boner pills. That means outsourcing to a sweatshop full of third world child slaves who get whipped repeatedly while they manufacture sugar pills, put them into bottles and then ship them to men with inadequate boners. It’s a total hassle, whereas the Nigerian Prince scam requires very little overhead. All you need is a computer and the willingness to pretend that you are a representative of a Nigerian Prince who, for some inexplicable reason, is related to a plethora of doddering old American white ladies.”

Ernie put down his fork and chimed in. “People, am I crazy, or are we all forgetting about the old phish-a-roo? All you need to do is send someone a bogus e-mail designed to look like it’s from their bank. Write up a paragraph about how there was a security breach and the person needs to follow a link to put in their username and password and bam, you’ve got their dough.”

“My fellow spammers,” Newcomb said. “These are all wonderful spamming techniques and there’s a reason why they’ve been used for years – because they work. How you choose to fleece buffoons who don’t know the first thing about Internet safety is up to you as long as you’re doing it because, and let’s be honest here, if people are dumb enough to not protect their money, then they deserve to lose it and we deserve to take it.”

The ballroom erupted into a chorus of “Here, here!”

“Now,” Newcomb said. “Let’s break up into our brainstorming session groups and really focus on new ideas. I want to hear at least twenty new shakedown methods by noontime.”

The spammers milled about the room, discussing their preferred spamming methods, when suddenly, Beck’s stomach rumbled. There was something about his breakfast that wasn’t sitting well with him, so he made a beeline to the bathroom.

Beck walked into an empty stall, dropped his pants, and sat down on the toilet bowl. “Dang,” he said to himself. “With a hurricane coming and a toilet gator on the loose, I’m surprised they didn’t just cancel this thing.”

“We do not cancel,” came Newcomb’s voice from outside the stall. “We spammers are a proud lot. We may lie, cheat and steal but we never, ever, quit – hurricanes and toilet gators be damned.”

Newcomb entered the stall next to Beck.

“Breakfast got to you too?” Beck asked.

“Yeah,” Newcomb said. “I didn’t think my French toast tasted right.”

“Maybe the cook got cheated on boner pills,” Beck said.

“Justine and her stupid boner pills,” Newcomb said. “She’s such a one trick pony.”

Beck turned on his cell phone and began streaming NN1’s coverage of Hurricane Dakota Rothschild. A Hot Ass Blonde Chick was in downtown Miami holding onto a palm tree as an airborne car blew past her.

“Jason,” Beck said. “Maybe we really should postpone this thing.”

“Please,” Newcomb said. “You know the spammer’s code. Never give up. Never surrender. Always misspell all your spam e-mails so that the people who are defrauded by them end up looking that much dumber.”

“I guess,” Beck said. “But I just don’t want to be blown away by the wind or be eaten by a toilet gator. Is it even safe to be shitting right now?”

“Maybe not,” Newcomb said. “But I’m too proud to run around in one of those diapers.”

“Same here,” Beck said. “But I just…”

“ROAR!”

Skippy interrupted the conversation by bursting through the floor and crunching up the toilet with Beck still on it between his jaws. The walls and doors of every stall in the vicinity fell down, leaving Newcomb exposed and defenseless.

The alligator was feeling cocky and sure of himself, no longer concerned about hiding from humans. Convinced that he was invincible, he took his time as he crunched on what little remained of Beck.

Meanwhile, Beck’s phone, now lying on the floor, continued to stream NN1’s news coverage. Kurt Manley kicked it to a replay of Cole’s challenge to the alligator from the night before.

“You wouldn’t last three seconds against me, but if you want to prove me wrong, meet me in the men’s restroom of the Sitwell Park Mall and we’ll finish this once and for all. Man vs. Alligator, mano a mano, human vs. reptile combat. Fail to show, and I will return to the airwaves to tell the world that you are little more than a giant green pussy with teeth.”

Hearing this sent Skippy into a rage. He roared wildly, then turned and leered at Newcomb, who trembled as he remained still on the toilet with his pants around his ankles, completely petrified.

“Nice alligator,” Newcomb said. “Good boy. You wouldn’t eat a professional e-mail spammer, would you?”

 

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Jun 11 2017
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The Real McCoy

The Real McCoy – “Oh Look At Me, I’m Bookshelf Q. Battler and I Have a New Book”

By: Leo McCoy, the Man Who Once Delivered a Sandwich to James Van Der Beek

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Howdy do, 3.5 readers.  Howdy do indeed.

Boy oh boy, Bookshelf Q. Battler sure is insufferable lately, isn’t he?  He’s walking around East Randomtown with his chest all puffed out like he’s the cock of the walk, telling everyone he sees, “Hey, I just published a book on Amazon and you should go download it for free this weekend.”  I bet the guy will even turn that last quote into a hyperlink.  Dang, BQB, you’re such a predictable tool bag.

Sure, it’s a big milestone for our favorite nerd but holy crap nuggets, you know what else is a big achievement?  Delivering a sandwich to James Van Der Beek but did I go around telling everyone about it?

OK.  Yes I did.  I told like thousands of people and still do to this very day.  But I didn’t write a book about it.  I tried to, but all the publishers I sent a pitch letter to rejected me on account of the fact they didn’t think I’d be able to squeeze more than a chapter out about my chance encounter with JVDB.  (That’s what we Van Der Beek Tweakers call ourselves.)

Joke’s on the traditional publishing industry.  They didn’t think I’d be able to squeeze out more than a chapter?  Hell, I’ve squeezed out an entire lifetime’s worth of satisfaction and happiness out of that one meeting.  Double hell, a freight train could collide with my face tomorrow and I’d shout, “I regret nothing, for I met James Van Der Beek!”

Oh la dee da, all the East Randomtownsfolk are up BQB’s butt with a coconut, peddling a bunch of trash talk about how BQB is now officially the most famous man in East Randomtown because he put up a book on Amazon and gave away a few free copies, which, let’s be honest here, because there’s no doubt in my mind that all the free copies BQB has given away so far are being downloaded by his Aunt Gertie.

Tarnation, I wish I had my own Aunt Gertie.  Maybe then I’d have the self-confidence I need to start my own blog and get my own 3.5 readers.  Nah, that doesn’t mean I’m jealous of BQB.  What’s there to be jealous of?  BQB never met James Van Der Beek.

Wait, do you think BQB will get to meet James Van Der Beek now that he’s a big time fancy pants Amazon Kindle author?  Son of a monkey stink, I better up my game.

I know what I got to do now.  I have got to deliver a sandwich to that kid who played Pacey.  Anyone remember his name?  Aw hell, who could remember anything when you’re mind is clouded with images of JVDB’s flaxen hair and steamy come hither eyes?

Not that I’m gay or nothin.’

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May 29 2017
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Movies

Movie Review – Baywatch (2017)

Boobs!  So many boobs!  Did I mention the butts?

BQB here with a review of Baywatch.

It seems like every generation has a show that is terrible of terms of plot, yet beloved and watched anyway.  And in the next generation, that show is destined to be parodied and adults who used to love the show will love the parody.

The Brady Bunch, for example, was one of the silliest shows on TV in Uncle Hardass’ day. By the time I was a young man, the show was lampooned in a series of films where the Brady Bunch keep acting like they’re in the 1960s but in modern times.

Add Baywatch to the list of TV shows turned movie parodies.  Honestly, the premise of the original show was so silly that it’s hard to believe that it, in and of itself, was not a parody.  David Hasselhoff of Knight Rider fame used to parade his pecs around a California beach while Pamela Andersen and a bevy of other scantily clad beauties would show off their personal flotation devices.  (Psst!  I’m talking about their knockers!  Awooga!)  Somehow, the lifeguards would end up fighting desperadoes and solving beach related crimes in between rescues.

In this reimagining of the show, The Rock flexes his ridiculously awesome muscles as the new Lt. Mitch Buchannon, leader of the plucky young Baywatch crew.  Zac Efron, also packing some fab abs himself (which I noticed purely in a speculative way and not in a gay way although I’m told there’s nothing wrong with that anymore) is new recruit Brody, a once beloved Olympic swimmer who has since hit the skids after an embarrassing occurrence at the Rio games.

Mitch and Brodie but heads throughout the film.  Brody thinks he’s the best swimmer ever and has nothing else to learn.  Mitch points out that Brody has the swimming part down, but needs to work on teamwork and life saving skills.

Also, to Brody’s surprise, fighting crime.  Yes, as the group’s newcomer, he’s shocked to learn that whenever the lifeguards see crimes they don’t just, you know, call the police.  Instead, with no law enforcement training whatsoever, they take it upon themselves to follow leads, track down suspects, and bring down bad guys themselves.  The running joke of the film is that Brody is the only one who finds this odd.

Additional new recruits include Summer Quinn (Alexandra Daddario) and Ronnie Greenbaum (Jon Bass.)  To the film’s credit, Baywatch, whether in TV form or this version, has always been known for putting the hottest beach bodies on TV.  This time, the crew adds Ronnie the tech nerd, the only lifeguard with a flabby physique that requires him to run through the sand with his shirt still on.  Naturally, he’s the comic relief and butt of many jokes because, you know, a nerd could never be just, really awesome and a super important member of the team but hey, baby steps.  They let a chubby guy get a role in a film for beautiful people so you got to start somewhere.

Meanwhile, Alexandra is hot while Kelly Rohrbach is an epic inducer of boners in her reprisal of Pam Anderson’s CJ Parker role.  Boi-yoi-yoi-yoi-yoing!

Cameos by Pam and Hoff themselves.  Pam’s is somewhat humorous.  Hoff’s is as well, though it doesn’t make a lot of sense.

In fact, little of the film does.  Much of it is slapped together simply so you can enjoy the beautiful beach scenery and all of the hot boobs and butts and wonder where you went so wrong that you didn’t hit the gym more and get your ass out to California while you could have.

Hell, if you’re still breathing maybe it’s not too late.  Start working out now and invest in hair dye.  Also, find Pam’s plastic surgeon.  Sigh.  Do you know I don’t think there was a single man in the 1990s who wasn’t tugging it to the Pamster 24/7?  Ahh, memories, like the corners of my mind…

Did I mention there are a lot of boobs and butts?  There’s also a…uh…well I’ll let you see it for yourself but suffice it to say, there is one scene that I was surprised didn’t earn the film a XXX porno rating.

STATUS:  Split decision.  If you came for humor, action, boobs and butts, it’s an A+.  If you came for something serious, you picked the wrong movie.  Personally, I find it shelf worthy due to the boobs and butts.  FYI none of them are uncovered but you know, close enough.

 

 

 

 

 

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May 27 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 59

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A gaggle of Cole’s former police officers, now Grover County Sheriff’s deputies, buzzed around the room that had once served as Cole’s office, packing up and moving out their ex-boss’s belongings. Three deputies carried out the stuffed heads of Cole’s tiger, bear, and wild boar.

Cole stepped out into the main floor, carrying an open cardboard box filled with his possessions. As he did, the officers clapped until Sheriff Hammond whistled loudly.

“That’s enough of that,” Hammond said. “I don’t care what you all did before but there will be no applause for losers on my watch.”

Cole glared at Hammond. “You don’t think the Mayor will turn on you one day?”

Hammond chewed on a piece of gum. “The Mayor plays ball. I play ball. That was always your problem, Cole. You never knew when to sit down and shut up.”

Cole did not feel like prolonging the pissing match. He walked on, only to soon find that Maude was following him, gas tank in hand.

“What are you doing?” Cole asked.

“I only work for the Sitwell Police Chief,” Maude said. “If he’s not here anymore, then it’s time for me to retire.”

“Noble,” Cole said. “But stupid. I can’t let you do this.”

“You’re not letting me do anything,” Maude said. “You think you can stop me?”

The old lady turned around and faced the room full of officers. “This is bullshit! This has nothing to do with the investigation. This is all about sandbagging Cole because that Mayor can’t stop himself from getting behind the wheel while he’s snookered!”

“That’s enough lip outta you,” Hammond said.

“Aww, go sixty-nine the Mayor, flatfoot,” Maude said. “And the rest of you. Are you all going to take this lying down?”

Rusty, who had been standing in a back corner, gulped and stepped forward, joining Cole and Maude.

“This isn’t right,” Rusty said.

“Deputy Yates!” Hammond shouted.

“Cole,” Rusty said. “You say the word and I’ll walk out this door with you.”

Cole stood there silently and said nothing.
“Oh thank God,” Rusty said. “I mean I don’t want you to go but shit, I got overdue bills up my ass, I’m nowhere near retirement age, I’d be throwing away years of contributing to the pension fund.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cole said.

“I won’t,” Rusty said. “Thanks Cole.”

“Pussy,” Maude said.

“Shut up, Maude,” Rusty said.

“Know your place, Deputy Yates,” Hammond said.

“Yessir,” Rusty said as he fell back.

As Cole and Maude reached the parking lot, they found Sharon and Gordon saying their goodbyes.

“It’s not a problem,” Maude said. “You deserve to run lead on this.”

“This isn’t how I wanted it to go down,” Gordon said.

“I know,” Sharon replied. “Buck up. Finish this and before you know it, we’ll be back together in Miami in no time.”

Sharon and Gordon embraced. Cole winced.

“He’s definitely plowing her,” Maude said.

“Thanks Maude,” Cole said.

“Sorry,” Maude replied.

Sharon noticed Cole and smiled at him sheepishly. “I’m sorry about all this. Looking back, maybe it wasn’t right for me to take on an investigation involving your town. I should have recused myself.”

“No,” Cole said. “It has nothing to do with you. The Mayor’s punishing me because I stood up to him and he’s punishing you to get to me.”

Sharon sighed. “America loves to put assholes into office.”

“That it does,” Cole said.

The exes stared at each other for awhile before Cole stepped away. “Goodbye then.”

“Cole?” Sharon said.

Cole stopped in his tracks. “Yeah?”

“What are you going to do with the rest of your day?” Sharon asked.

“The gun range crossed my mind,” Cole said.

“Want to give me a ride down to Miami?” Sharon asked. “Gordon drove me up here.”

Cole felt this was a ridiculously bad idea but he could not help himself from saying, “Sure.”

“I’ll get my stuff and be back and five,” Sharon said as she walked away.

Maude shook her head.

“What?” Cole asked.

“Pussy,” Maude said.

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May 22 2017
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TV

TV Review – Staying Alive – Tracey Morgan Comedy Special (2017)

Tracey Morgan is alive and doing his best to stay that way.

BQB here with a review of Tracey Morgan’s big comeback to standup comedy, now available on Netflix.

We often try to pretend like tragedy and comedy don’t go together but honestly, they do.  The best comics are people who have waded through a sea of bullshit only to make it safely to the other side.  If life has always gone your way, then it’s doubtful you’ve ever had a chance to develop the sarcastic nature needed to point out all of life’s foibles with a sense of humor.

The best comedians have not only experienced tragedy but can turn tragedy into comedy.

Case in point.  Comedian Tracey Morgan of SNL and 30 Rock fame was chilling in a party bus one night when a damn Wal-Mart truck hit the vehicle he was in, leaving him with all sorts of physical damage.

I mean, WTF?  The dude goes from being able to name whatever film he wants to be in to  having to learn how to walk again.

Some people might get so jaded that they just give up on life altogether, but not Tracey.  Not only does he come back with this Netflix special, he pokes all sorts of fun at Wal-Mart as well as the resulting problems the crash caused him.

From the opening scene where he walks around New York wearing John Travolta’s signature 1970s white disco suit with the black shirt and high collar, pulling out wads of cash from a Wal-Mart shopping bag (presumably, his lawsuit settlement in physical form), you know America’s favorite retailer is in for a vigorous haranguing.

But Tracey doesn’t stop there.  Alas, he tells us that all sorts of family members have been crawling out of the woodwork with their hands out.  So many family members are demanding that he pay their children’s college tuition that Tracey laments he might have to go out and get himself hit by a Fed Ex plane.

Throw in all the conversations he claims to have had while he made a brief appearance in Heaven and you’ve got a great comedy special, one where a notoriously funny man took a tragedy and turned it into a comedy.

It’s clear that Tracey is not done with comedy yet and it will take a lot more than a Wal-Mart truck to keep him off the stage.

STATUS: Shelf-worthy.  Stream on Netflix.

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