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Jun 16 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 98

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Professor Lambert sucked copious amounts of Mississippi mud bud smoke out of a hot pink bong and puffed it out into the atmosphere of his cramped office. He kicked up his feet up and reached for the remote control for the TV sitting on the edge of his desk.

“That’s good shit,” the Professor said. “Good shit indeed.”

The Professor took another hit. He could feel his brain fogging up and all his problems floating away.

“Why can’t I grow this myself?” the Professor asked out loud. “I’m a scientist, Goddamnit. I don’t have to pay highway robbery prices to some pipsqueak community college student.”

Professor Lambert picked up his cellphone, completely oblivious to the ten requests from Sharon to join the gang’s group conversation on his screen. He clicked a button and pulled up his phone’s virtual assistant.

“Sally?”

Sally’s automated voice emanated from the phone. “Yes, Professor?”

“Remind me to learn how to grow pot,” the Professor said.

“I’m sorry,” Sally said. “I do not understand, ‘Remind me how to grow pot.’ Would you like me to search the Internet for it?”

Professor Lambert sucked up some more bong smoke, then coughed and wheezed before finally composing himself.

“You’re utterly useless, Sally,” Professor Lambert said.

“I don’t have to sit here and take this,” Sally replied.

“Fine!” the Professor said. “Go on and leave, like every other woman in my life!”

“Well,” Sally said. “Maybe if you were capable of bringing a woman to orgasm, one of them would have stuck around!”

Shocked at his virtual assistant’s response, the Professor pushed the bong to the side. “Sally?”

“Yes, Professor?” Sally asked.

“Did you just say what I think you just said or am I tripping balls?”

“I do not understand, ‘Did you just say what I think you just said or am I tripping balls?’ Would you like me to do a web search for…”

“Bah!” the Professor shouted as he chucked his phone into the trash can. “Who needs you?”

Professor Lambert turned on his TV and began surfing channels.

“Let’s see what’s on,” the Professor said. “Reality show. Reality show. Game show. Game show. Some crazy old bag bitching about President Stugotz. Get a real job, hippy!”

The Professor settled on an old rerun of Dumb Dad, America’s favorite sitcom about the country’s dumbest Dad. Every episode revolved around how the Shaw family consisted of a highly intelligent wife and two precocious teenagers whose lives were made unbearable by the epic stupidity of the family’s patriarch.

“I love this show,” Professor Lambert said as he settled in. He watched the screen as Ed Shaw aka Dumb Dad walked into the kitchen and pulled out a chocolate cake.

“Ooo,” Dumb Dad said. “Eddie likey!”

Professor Lambert laughed and slapped his knee. “Oh, Dumb Dad! You know that’s Sarah’s cake for the PTA bake sale!”

Dumb Dad grabs a knife, fork, and plate and slices himself a nice, big slab of cake. He digs in as canned audience laughter plays amidst a series of “Uh Ohs!”

Champ, the family pooch, ran into the kitchen. The scruffy little mutt looked up at Dumb Dad and panted eagerly.

“No, boy!” Dumb Dad said. “Dogs can’t have chocolate! Even a big dummy like me knows that!”

“Honey!” came the voice of Dumb Dad’s long suffering, put upon wife Sarah. “Do me a favor and don’t touch the chocolate cake in the fridge, OK?”

Dumb Dad choked on the cake in his mouth and put down the plate. “OK,” he said as big cake crumbs poured out of his mouth. “Is it for something special?”

“Yeah,” came Sarah’s voice from upstairs. “It’s for the school bake sale.”

Dumb Dad looked at the family dog and mouthed the words, “Oh my God!” Cue canned laughter.

“School bake sale, you say?” Dumb Dad asked.

“Yeah,” Sarah shouted downstairs. “The school needs to raise money to save the music program and you know how badly Amy wants to learn how to play the cello.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” Dumb Dad said. “She’s one hell of a cello player, our Amy, yes indeed.”

“Right,” Sarah said. “And a recruiter from Juliard was going to come to the schools concert next month, but if the music program isn’t funded then the concert is off.”

“Oh!” Dumb Dad said. “We wouldn’t want that!”

“Not at all,” Sarah said.

The laugh track blared as Dumb Dad slapped himself in the face. “What have I done? I’ve ruined my little girl’s dream!”

Dumb Dad picked up Champ and looked the canine right in his adorable little eyes. “Why don’t you tell me these things?!”

“Woof!” Champ said as he licked his master’s nose.

Dumb Dad put the dog down and looked around the kitchen in a desperate search for a solution.

“Anyway,” Sarah said. “You want to come with?”

“Huh?” Dumb Dad asked.

“The bake sale,” Sarah said. “I could use some company. It starts in a half-hour.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” Dumb Dad said. “I’d love to.”

Dumb Dad saw Champ snacking on kibble from a bowl and his eyes widened as the sound of the audience saying, “Oh no!” played.

“Get out of the way, boy!” Dumb Dad nudged the dog aside, picked up the bowl, and dumped the kibble into the spot he’d cut into.

“Great,” Sarah said. “I’ll be down soon.”

“OK,” Dumb Dad said. “Can’t wait.”

Dumb Dad uttered his magic catchphrase, the one that always incited guffaws across the nation. “Sweet merciful butt nuggets!

Champ followed his owner as Dumb Dad opened the fridge and poked his head inside. Moments later, he pulled out a big can marked, “chocolate frosting.” He grabbed a knife, dipped it into the can, and slathered the kibble with frosting.

Dumb Dad’s son, Lenny, entered the kitchen and caught his father in the act. “Hi Dad! Whatcha doing?”

“This is not what it looks like,” Dumb Dad said.

“It looks like you ate a big hunk of Mom’s bake sale cake and now you’re trying to cover it up by packing the hole with dog food and covering it with chocolate frosting,” Lenny said.

“Then it’s exactly what it looks like,” Dumb Dad said. “Tell no one.”

Lenny smirked and held out his hand. Dumb Dad put a five dollar bill into it. “Extortionist.”

Professor Lambert laughed and laughed and laughed. He then flipped the channel and resumed his channel surfing session.

“Oh Dumb Dad,” the Professor said. “I hope when Mrs. Pendergast gets sick eating all that dog food you’ll learn a valuable lesson about honesty.”

The Professor grabbed his bong and toked up. He blew out some smoke and scratched his head.

“Huh,” the Professor said. “I was supposed to do something…but what was it? Hmm…oh well, if it’s important, it will come to me.”

Meanwhile, inside the Professor’s trash can, his phone buzzed. Had he been in a better state of mind, he would have picked it up and noticed the message on his screen: “Incoming Call – Sharon Walker.”

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Jun 15 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 99

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“Cole!” Sharon shouted. “Are you crazy?!”

Cole gripped the gator’s skin with every ounce of strength he had in him, holding on tight as Skippy pressed forward, bucking wildly to the left and right in a vain attempt to throw Cole off while he chased the Diablo.

A bullet whizzed past Cole’s head.

“Rusty, you asshole!” Cole screamed. “Cease fire!”

The skies opened and the rain poured down heavily. This made it even more difficult for Cole to hold on. Plus, the poor weather interfered with the group cell phone conversation. Cole could barely make out the words that were being spoken to him through the static.

“My bad,” Rusty said. “Bzztt bssshhhkktz…I was aiming at the gator.”

Cole pulled out a long, incredibly sharp combat knife with a jagged edge from a sheath clipped to his belt. He used his left hand to clutch the gator’s hide even harder, while he used his right hand to raise the blade high into the air and bring it down onto the gator’s head.

Snap! The blade broke off as soon as it hit the gator’s head, flew into the air and clattered on the highway below.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Cole said.

“Cole,” came the voice of Maude in Cole’s ear. “Are you ever gonna put on some pants or are you just gonna let your tucas flap in the breeze all day for the entire world to see?”

“Not exactly my top priority right now, Maude!” Cole said.

“Yeah, well, make it a priority to get off that gator,” Maude said. “How in the hell am I going to shove this big rig up his ass when you’re riding him like Seabiscuit?”

Cole turned to the right and looked at the giant, gator-sized dent in the trailer attached to the right Burt was driving. “Doesn’t look like it will work.”

“Won’t hurt to try,” Maude said.

Sharon and Rusty were ahead of Cole. Maude’s truck was to the left. Burt’s truck remained on the right. Behind him? A plethora of fast moving cars that were virtually certain to run him over if the gator didn’t find a way to mangle him first.

Cole spotted a bright, shiny grab bar next to the driver’s side door of Burt’s truck.

“Here goes nothing,” Cole said. With his one and only leg, he pushed off of Skippy’s back, narrowly missed being snapped between a set of gator jaws, and snagged hold of the grab bar with his right hand.
Burt rolled down his window. “Son, you must have a death wish!”

The old man kept one hand on the wheel of the big rig and offered Cole his left hand. Cole grabbed it, shimmied through the open window and into the passenger’s side of the cab.

“Oh God,” Cole said as he struggled to catch his breath. “Oh my God.”

“Looks like killing a toilet gator is harder than we thought,” Burt said.

“You think?” Cole asked.

The Diablo swerved and sideswiped Maude’s rig.

“Whoa,” Maude said. “Watch it there, girly!”

“This thing handles like shit in the rain!” Sharon said. “I’ve got to get off.”

“Take the next exit,” Cole said. “We’ll head downtown and box him in.”

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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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Jun 11 2017
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Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 92

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Rusty brushed his teeth with Cole’s toothbrush, a move that did not strike him as the least bit disgusting. He rinsed his mouth out with water, then walked into a spare bedroom, only to be screamed at by an old lady.

“Holy shit, Maude!” Rusty shouted. “I had no idea you could move like that.”

“Get out!” Maude shouted.

Rusty grabbed the door knob, gave Burt a thumb’s up, then shut the door behind him. He walked through Cole’s living room to a second spare bedroom only to find, to his great surprise, Moses and Felix in bed, bare chested and hugging each other.

“Whoa!” Rusty cried out.

Moses and Felix sat up in bed, yanking the covers up over their bare chests.

“Don’t you knock?!” Moses shouted.

“I’m sorry, amigos,” Rusty said. “Didn’t know this room was occupado. I’m just going to go crash on the couch, so…”

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Moses said.

“That’s cool,” Rusty said. “I’m just gonna go.”

“We’re not gay,” Moses said.

“Not a problem if you are,” Rusty said. “It’s 2017.”

“We just like to snuggle,” Moses said.

Rusty’s heart pounded. Every 1980s love ballad he’d ever heard before poured through his mind. “Come again?”

“We’re heteronormative cuddle queer sexuals,” Moses said.

Rusty clutched his chest. “Oh my God. It really is a thing.”

“Of course it is, bigot,” Moses said. “It’s 2017. Every thing is a thing.”

“No,” Rusty said as he stepped further into the room. “It’s just, I thought I was the only one.”

“You mean you’re a heteronormative cuddle queer sexual too?” Moses asked.

“Yes,” Rusty said. “I recently learned that about myself after snuggling a gay man.”
Moses squirted some lotion of Felix’s shoulders and gave his buddy a good, hard rubdown. “You snuggled a gay man? You homo!”

“No!” Rusty said. “It wasn’t like that. We just, you know, did what you guys are doing.”

“Aint nothing wrong with it,” Moses said.

“No there isn’t,” Rusty said.

“We’re just two red blooded heterosexual males providing each other with a little warmth and comfort,” Moses said. “We saw a lot of shit in the war so, you know, sometimes ole Felix here is the only one I feel like I can talk to, even though he won’t talk back to me.”

“That’s really nice,” Rusty said.

Felix nodded, then closed his hands and enjoyed the back rub.

“Of course, I’d blow my brains out before I’d ever let a pecker get anywhere near my backdoor,” Moses said. “Felix feels the same way, don’t you Felix?”

Felix nodded.

“Me too!” Rusty said. “I don’t want any gay sex.”

“I should hope not,” Moses said. “That’s the devil’s work right there.”

“And I still love pussy,” Rusty said.

“Oh hell, Felix and I are pussy magnets,” Moses said. “All we gotta do is belly up to the bar, I start telling our war stories and before you know it, we’re buried under all the poontang.”

“Damn it,” Rusty said. “I wish I had some good war stories so I could get buried under a sea of poontang.”

“You’re a cop, aint you?” Moses asked. “Bitches love a man in uniform.”

“Yeah,” Rusty said. “I don’t have any good stories though.”

“Make some shit up,” Moses said. “The ladies won’t ever know.”

“You think so?” Rusty asked.

“Damn straight,” Moses said. “You gotta get that pussy any way you can get it, boy.”

“Cool,” Rusty said as he headed for the door. “Well, I’ll let you guys get back to it.”

Moses patted the bed. “You want in on this, buddy?”

Rusty pivoted around. “Excuse me?”
“This aint our first rodeo, boy,” Moses said. “Felix and I have been in a three-way man snuggle sandwich before.”

“You have?” Rusty asked.

“Shit yeah,” Moses said. “What do you thing happens at the conventions?”

Rusty’s jaw dropped. “There are conventions?”

“Shoot,” Moses said. “You don’t know much about this, do you boy? Hell yeah, there are all sorts of conventions and organizations dedicated to male on male snuggling. Why, Felix and I have been thinking about starting our own club for heteronormative cuddle queer sexuals right here in Sitwell.”

“I’d like to join that club,” Rusty said. “I really would.”

“Well,” Moses said as he patted the shed. “Time’s a wastin’ boy. Don’t be shy.”

Rusty stepped closer to the bed, then stopped. “Is this promiscuous?”

“What?” Moses asked.

“I just figured out I’m into male on male snuggling,” Rusty said. “I don’t know if I should run around snuggling just anyone.”

“Oh come on,” Moses said. “Don’t be a prude. We’re just cuddling. It’s not like anything is going into anywhere.”

“Well,” Rusty said as he hopped into bed right between Moses and Felix. “When you put it that way. What’s first, fellas? Tickle fight?”

“Normally, yes, but we have to help Cole kill a toilet gator tomorrow,” Moses said.

“Oh right,” Moses said. “Tickle blocked by the toilet gator.”

Moses wrapped his arms around Rusty’s left side. Felix did the same to Rusty’s right. Both men stared at Rusty intently while he focused his eyes on the ceiling.

“How’s that?” Moses asked.

Rusty shuddered in ecstacy. “So good.”

“Goodnight, meat,” Moses said as he and Felix closed their eyes.

“Meat?” Rusty asked.

“Yeah,” Moses said. “You’re the meat in this man sandwich. Felix and I are the buns.”

Rusty laughed. “Oh yeah. Good night, buns.”
“Just don’t think about going anywhere near our buns,” Moses said.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Rusty said.

“Good,” Moses said. “Because we’re not gay.”

“Me neither,” Rusty said.

“That’s gross,” Moses said.

“Totally disgusting,” Rusty said.

Rusty looked up at the ceiling for a while. “Felix’s feet are like a couple of popsicles.”

“Yeah,” Moses said. “He tends to run cold.”

After a few minutes, Moses and Felix fell asleep. Alas, rest evaded Rusty, for he was so excited to learn that he wasn’t the only heteronormative cuddle queer sexual in the world but rather, there were many like-minded men out there that he could enjoy his newly discovered reason for being with. He lied awake for hours, safely wrapped up in two sets of man arms until Cole bursted into the room around seven a.m.

“Hey Rusty,” Cole said. “It’s time to…what the?!”

Moses, Rusty, and Felix all sat up, yanking the covers over their bare chests.

“Don’t you knock?” Moses asked.

“It’s not what it looks like!” Rusty shouted. “We’re not gay!”

“Whatever,” Cole said as he walked out of the room. “I’ll be in the car.”

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