Tag Archives: humor

May 04 2017
Leave a comment
Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator is So Much Fun

Hey 3.5 readers.

BQB here.

I’m having a good time writing Toilet Gator.  For a couple reasons:

  1.  It’s basically me telling stupid jokes – jokes set around the structure of an investigation into a series of toilet murders.  Toilet Gator murders, that is.
  2. All rational thought and logic goes out the window.  No need to think, “Is someone able to do that?”  No.  It’s a zany comedy.  Sure, a toilet gator can get up through a toilet.  No need to worry about how that would be impossible.  Sure, news broadcasters can say “titties” on air a bunch of times.  No rules, for humor rules the day, and if it is funny, then it goes in.

In conclusion, check out this commercial I made through Fiverr for this illustrious project.  Be sure to watch till the end.

Tagged , , , ,
May 02 2017
3 Comments
top ten lists

Top Ten Politically Correct Yo Momma Jokes

groucho-marx-309396__480

Ah, the Yo Momma joke.  What is it about a good Yo Momma joke that can leave an opponent fuming with anger?  Perhaps the strength of these jokes, in an ironic way, displays the love people have for their mothers.  After all, these jokes make people mad because people love their mothers.  You might disagree, but when was the last time you ever heard someone tell a “Yo Papa” joke.  Probably never.

Oh, the happy memories I have of gathering together with my fellow school chums as we made inappropriate jests about each other’s mothers.

But times have changed.  It is necessary to be politically correct now.  Safe spaces.  Trigger warnings.  All are necessary to be a woke citizen of 2017 (or current year.)

From BQB HQ in East Randomtown, it’s the Top Ten Politically Correct Yo Momma Jokes:

#10 – Yo Momma is So Fat…

TRANSLATION:  Sir, your mother is so obese that I considered referring her to a reputable weight loss program.  However, I realized that she’s perfect just the way she is and that I am the one with the problem for thinking otherwise.  Ergo, I will seek a support group for people who are literally Hitler who are trying to stop being literally Hitler.

#9 – Yo Momma is So Poor…

TRANSLATION:  Sir, your mother is so poor and personally, I blame this horribly oppressive capitalist society we live in, the one that, as we all know, is run by the top one percent.

#8 – Yo Momma is So Stupid…

TRANSLATION:  Sir, your mother’s lack of a formal education, though no fault of her own due to our failing public school system, which, by the way, the failure of which is no one’s fault but the top one percent who refuse to poor more money into our nation’s failing schools, is threatening her empowerment as a woman.  If she so chooses, I would gladly recommend a GED program, but I hope she understands I am in no way insinuating that she is somehow less than anyone else who holds a degree of any kind.  After all, we are all special in our own unique ways.

#7 – Yo Momma is So Ugly…

TRANSLATION:  Sir, your mother, while not bearing a strict resemblance to what society  deems to be, quote unquote, “beautiful,” should rest assured that beauty is nothing more than a societal construct, with no actual bearing in reality.  Beauty can mean many different things to different people and therefore, your mother qualifies as beautiful and should not be led to believe otherwise.

#6 – You Momma is Such a Ho…

TRANSLATION:  Sir, I’ll have you know that I heard a rumor that your mother is of a promiscuous character.  However, I shall have you know that I told the gossipy rapscallion that slut shaming is by far one of the most offensive trends to grip our nation and no reputable person of good character and moral decency should be engaging in it.  Promiscuity is a non-existent concept and your mother is of a sound mind and therefore, she should be free to exercise her own free will regarding her sexual needs without fear of judgment from others who have not had to walk in her shoes

#5 – Yo Momma is So Smelly…  

TRANSLATION:  Sir, it has come to my attention that your mother’s hygiene habits may be sub par.  Then again, let he who has never skipped brushing his teeth or taking a bath cast the first stone.  By the way, when I say, “cast the first stone,” I realize that some may construe that statement in a religious context.  I apologize to those who are offended by that interpretation and ask them to understand that I only mean it in a non-judgmental tone.  Further, I understand that one’s intent to offend or not offend should never be considered but rather, if someone was offended, then that is all that matters and an apology most be broadcasted immediately, regardless of a lack of ill intent.

#4 – Yo Momma is So Hairy…

TRANSLATION:  Sir, your mother is so hairy and I for one applaud her for not following traditional constructs of gender specific grooming habits, which as we all know, are perpetrated by the patriarchy, to make all women feel less than.  Women should never be hair shamed into shaving their legs or arm pits and all men who suggest otherwise should be thrown into reeducation camps until they change their insensitive ways.

#3 – Yo Momma is So Crazy…

TRANSLATION:  Sir, it has been brought to my attention that your mother suffers from a mental illness.  Please note that I am here for you and your mother in this trying time and I will gladly help her seek the requisite psychiatric attention required to help her either cure, treat, or otherwise live a functional life despite this mental condition.  Wait, please forgive me, as I now realize that I have offended you and your mother by implying that her mental condition is some kind of problem when instead, it should be considered a blessing because it makes her special and unique.  Please excuse me while I transport myself to a reeducation camp.

#2 – Yo Momma is So Flat Chested…

TRANSLATION:  Sir, some fellows that we are both acquainted with have implied that your mother’s breasts are small and not on par with women with larger breasts.  Fear not, for I informed these fellows that their statements were balderdash, and that it is an illogical fallacy to assume something as ridiculous as the idea that men actually prefer large breasts over small ones.  Everyone knows that love of breasts of any size is just a social construct and that men are fooled into believing they like breasts by an unfair society.  They don’t actually possess any inner desire or instinct to actually like breasts.

#1 – Your Momma’s Glasses are So Big…

TRANSLATION:  Sir, your mother’s glasses are large.  I am glad to hear it, for everyone with vision problems deserves nothing less than quick and convenient service from a reputable neighborhood optometrist.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Apr 30 2017
Leave a comment
Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 29

presentation01
Irving St. John’s penthouse apartment in downtown Miami was ultra swanky. Fine art, fine architecture, fine everything. Even the buxom babes he was cavorting with were fine, although at this particular moment, he wasn’t able to tell, for he was engaged in his favorite past time.

“Jerth schtik ert ifn,” Irving mumbled through the leather gimp mask that covered his face. He was lying face down in bed, with his naked butt sticking straight up in the air.

“Are you sure about this?” asked Heather, a high priced escort, as she stared at a twelve inch dildo that was riddled with bumps. Heather had the looks of a storybook princess, combined with the slutty demeanor of a late night cable TV show character.

Irving unzipped the mouth hole of his mask. “Just stick it in already, baby!”

“No lube?” Heather asked.

“No!” Irving said. “I’ve done this hundreds of times. It’s not a problem…just….YOWZA! That’s the ticket…”

Heather had complied with Irving’s request without warning. Also without warning, several members of a SWAT team, the same one that had apprehended Freddie Milton, broke down Irving’s door and surrounded the agent with guns drawn.

“Irving St. John?” the SWAT team captain asked.

“Who’s asking?” Irving asked with his head buried in a pillow.

“Police,” the captain said. “Put on some pants and take that thing out. You’re going for a ride.”

“What’s this about?” Irving asked.

“Shut up and zip up your mask, freak,” the captain said.

“Umm,” Heather said. “I haven’t been paid yet.”

“Sucks for you, ma’am,” the captain said. “Always get cash up front.”

Tagged , ,
Apr 30 2017
Leave a comment
Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 28

presentation01
Professor Elliot rapped his knuckles on Chad Becker’s dorm room.

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

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

“Chad’s not here, man.”

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

“I know that,” Professor Lambert said.

“Chad’s dead, man,” the voice said.

“I’m aware,” Professor Lambert said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What stuff?” the voice asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stash?” Paul asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dollars?” the professor asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s messed up,” Paul said.

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

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

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

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

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

“I dunno,” Paul said.

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

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

“Animal sounds, you say?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Bite marks?” the professor asked.

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

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

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

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

“Something wrong?” Paul asked.

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

Tagged , ,
Apr 30 2017
Leave a comment
Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 27

presentation01

Big Ray’s House of Fancy Fun Bags was by far the best strip club in all of Sitwell. The joint didn’t earn this credential because it had the most beautiful dancers, or even the most classy adult entertainers. No, it was basically because it was the only nudey bar in town. Thus, Big Ray wasn’t very particular about who he hired. Toothless, overweight, stretch marks, C-section scars, old – it didn’t matter. If you were a woman and were willing to show what God gave you in exchange for sweaty singles pried out of the hands of desperate lechers, Big Ray was happy to hire you.

Even though it was noon on a weekday, there were plenty of perverts lined up by the main stage to check out the next act.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” came the voice of the club’s resident tune spinner, DJ Home Slice. “She’s hot. She’s on fire. No, literally, she’s been reporting a burning sensation when she pees. She’s fifty-five years young and still shaking her money maker. Give it up for Roxy!”

Stank Daddy’s hit rap song blew up the house speakers as Roxy took to the main stage. She was old, much too old for stripping, but she showed up to work on time and Big Ray didn’t have the heart to tell her to take a hike. She trotted down the runway with a cigarette dangling out of her mouth, a palette of clownish makeup slathered on her wrinkly face, and a nicotine patch stuck to her arm.

“Stank Daddy in the house, gonna smack a bitch…”

Roxy grabbed the aluminum pole in the center stage and twirled around and around. She then attempted to climb it, only to huff and puff and fall on her ass. She immediately jumped right up.

“And she’s ok!” the DJ announced. The assorted perverts clapped and tossed dollar bills onto the stage.

One of the perverts looked way too familiar. “Momma!”

Embarrassed, Roxy folded her flabby arms over her giant saggy knockers and leaned in to talk to her son. “Buford! How many times have I got to tell you to never bother Momma while she’s at work!”

“Daddy kicked me out of the house, Momma!” Buford said.

“He did?” Roxy asked. “Why’d he go and do a thing like that for?”

“He said I play too many video games,” Buford said. “Said I gotta grow up and be a man and start making some money.”

Roxy frowned. “Oh son.”

A random pervert was none too pleased at the display. “Hey! I threw a dollar on stage and I expect to see some geriatric titties!”
Roxy let the pervert have it. “Pipe down, ya’ puke! Can’t you see I’m trying to do some parenting here?!”

The stripper ran her hand through her son’s hair. “Baby, maybe you’re Daddy’s just doing what’s best for you.”

Buford started to cry. “Oh sure. Take his side.”

“I’m not taking his side,” Roxy said. “Lord knows your Daddy can be as stubborn as a mule and dumber than a pig but he knows how to make money and, well…”

“Well, what?” Buford asked.

“Look at yourself, son,” Roxy said. “You’re twenty- eight. You got no skills. You got no girl. You’d never be able to support yourself if something happened to your Daddy.”

Buford sniffed. “Momma, I don’t need a lecture. I need a place to stay.”

Roxy appeared startled. “You want to stay with me?”

Buford shook his head up and down. “Uh huh.”

“Oh baby…”

The random pervert squawked again. “Hey, Toots! Either shake that dumper or get off the stage!”

Roxy turned and faced the pervert. “Shut your suck-hole or get ready for a high heel shoe up your ass, pecker head!”

The pervert walked away from the stage in a huff. Roxy returned her attention to the young man. “Honey, we gotta wrap this up. Your costin’ Momma money.”

“I know, Momma,” Buford said. “Please, just let me stay with you.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Roxy said. “I want to and it’s gonna break my heart to say no…”

“Then don’t say no,” Buford said.

“But I gotta say no,” Roxy said.

“Why?” Buford whined.

“Because your Daddy is right about this,” the old stripper said. “You’ll never become a man if you don’t learn how to take care of yourself.”

“But I was meant for something bigger!” Buford said.

Roxy sighed. “Buford Dufresne, you were not.”

“What?” Buford asked.

“Oh I know, it’s a shock, baby,” Roxy said. “Every little boy and girl grows up, thinking they’re special, thinking they’re gonna be all rich and famous when they grow up. You think your Momma thought she’d be dancin’ on stage for a bunch of Looky Lou’s when she was just a little girl?”

“No,” Buford said.

“Well, you’re wrong,” Roxy said. “Because that was my dream when I was young and I achieved it. But not everyone is as lucky as I am, Buford. You need to take all your dreams about becoming famous and stuff them down deep inside your soul and never speak about them again. You need to get out there and work a regular job and be a regular person just like every body else.”

“I can’t believe this,” Buford said.

“There comes a time when every young person lets go of their dreams and settles for less,” Roxy said. “You held onto yours a lot longer than most, and you were able to because your Daddy coddled you but it’s time, Buford. You got to learn how to fend for yourself.”

“But Momma!” Buford said.

“No,” Roxy said. “Besides, you know Momma does extracurricular work at home, entertaining interesting gentlemen and such.”

“I know,” Buford said.

“You get on, now,” Roxy said. “Scoot. And don’t come back until you can fend for yourself, you hear?”

Buford looked sullen, defeated. “I hear.”

“You’ll thank Momma and Daddy for this one day,” Roxy said.

Buford stormed away from the stage. “No I won’t.”

The Stank Daddy beats continued.

“Smack a bitch with a tire iron, smack a bitch with a wrench, smack a bitch with a club until her ass starts speakin’ French…”

“OK, you degenerates,” Roxy said as she twirled around the pole. “Time for Old Roxy to put on a show for you and…ergh!”

The old stripper grabbed her back. She seethed with pain. She looked at the DJ and ran her finger across her throat, in a gesture he took to mean that he needed to cut the music.

“Fuck me,” Roxy said as she stumbled off the stage all hunched over. “Take five, everyone. Old Roxy needs to take her Glucosamine Chondroitin pill.”

Tagged , , , ,
Apr 26 2017
Leave a comment
Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Network News One Transcript #4

presentation01

KURT MANLEY: …witnesses on the scene said that the Secretary of State will be fine and all he needed was a fresh pair of pants and a spatula. In other news, an incredibly depressed man in Wichita, Kansas snapped today. The man, one Joe Allen Babcock, age fifty-nine, lost control, grabbed his gun, and then publicly stated, “Hey, just because I’m fucking nuts and ready to end it all doesn’t mean that all the other people around me have to die as well. Nope, there’s no need for me to take anyone with me while I blow my brains out. No need whatsoever.” Not only did Mr. Babcock not shoot anyone before he shot himself, he even walked outside and shot himself over the fresh, green grass to save a clean up crew the trouble of having to wipe his brains off the walls. A representative of the Wichita police department stated this was by far the most considerate suicide they had ever seen.

(Kurt shuffles some papers and changes camera angles)

KURT MANLEY: In world news, a ceasefire agreement was reached last night in the civil war that has been raging its way through No-One-Can-Pronounce-This-Shitty-Country’s-Name-istan.” UN Secretary General Boodie Boodie A’Mumugavi reports that it was a full five minutes before the “DoWhatWeSayorTakeaMacheteUpYourTaint-tarians” and the “ObeyUsOrGetanRPGUpTheButt-ians stopped trying to stab and explode each others’ taints and butts. Mr. A’Mumugavi believes next time these warring factions may very well go ten minutes before resorting to violence. Sounds like progress to this newshound.

(Kurt changes camera angles again)

KURT MANLEY: Good morning, USA. If you’re just tuning in, I’m America’s favorite news anchor, Kurt Manley and you’re watching Network News One. Yes, that’s Network News One, where he have the hottest blonde chicks with the biggest titties and oh yeah, we occasionally report the news and shit.

You’re no doubt standing by for more news of the unbelievably tragic death of Countess Cucamonga. She was widely recognized as the world’s most beloved pop diva, largely for her catchy tunes about her ginormous bum. Goodness gracious, even this desk jockey wasn’t immune to the Countess’ charms. I know I spent many a lonely night sitting behind this very desk during a commercial break, listening to the Countess sing about her delectable backdoor while flogging my…

(Kurt coughs into his hand and straightens his tie)

KURT MANLEY: And my producer has reminded me that I’ve meandered off the teleprompter. Time to veer this story back on track. Natalie Brock, who I’m pleased to report has been named NN1’s newest Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties is covering this story like stink on a monkey. She’s ready to feed us some more information like the hungry little savages that we are. Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties, are you there?

(The screen switches to Natalie Brock who is standing in front of the sorority house. Her fake wig is still blonde and her bra is once again stuffed with ripe melons.)

NATALIE BROCK: I’m here Kurt. A shocking new development in what the media has now dubbed, “The Great Potty Caper.” A third victim, twenty-eight year old perpetual college student and energy beer drink enthusiast Chad Becker, has died in circumstances similar to those of the other two victims. Like Countess Cucamonga in Miami and Hugh Hogan in Boca Raton, authorities found Mr. Becker’s remains splattered all over the walls of a restroom in this sorority house. The toilet was smashed, a water pipe broken. Four students were knocked unconscious when the wall of the stall Mr. Becker was sitting in landed on them.

KURT MANLEY: That’s incredible, Natalie. While I have no law enforcement experience of any kind and only have a tentative grasp on the facts of this case, based solely on your reporting, I think it is safe for me to conclude that this has got to be the work of a psychotic serial killer, an unstable madman who could lash out at any one of our viewers at any moment and therefore they should all keep their eyes glued on Network News One around the clock for further details on when they can breathe easy again. Have the authorities confirmed this?

NATALIE BROCK: Not as of yet, Kurt. At this time, Sitwell Police Chief Cole Walker has refused to respond to press inquiries, while FBI Agent Sharon Walker, the lead investigator on this case, has stated she will not engage in speculation until the facts are known.

KURT MANLEY: Well she doesn’t sound like fun at all. I believe we have a clip of Agent Walker’s press conference from earlier this morning. Maybe if my producer will pull his thumb out of his ass for five minutes he could roll it for us….Dan? Hey, Dan? Yeah, roll the clip. Holy shit Dan. Maybe spend less time worrying about what I’m doing and focus on doing your job.

(A clip of a press conference rolls. FBI Agent Karen Walker takes questions from the press).

AGENT SHARON WALKER: At this time, I can confirm that the remains of Sally Ann Dubawitz, age twenty-eight, better known by her stage name, “Countess Cucamonga,” the remains of retired history teacher Hugh Hogan, age eighty two, and the remains of Sitwell Community College student Chad Becker, age twenty-eight, were all found in similarly disturbing circumstances.

RANDOM REPORTER #1 – Agent Walker, can you elaborate on those circumstances?

AGENT WALKER: I’m not at liberty to discuss such details during an ongoing investigation.

RANDOM REPORTER #2 – But when you speak of similar circumstances, surely the only conclusion the public can draw is that a serial killer is on the loose?

AGENT WALKER: I don’t think it would be productive for me to entertain conspiracy theories. Believe me, when we have solid facts that can be shared, we will share them.

NATALIE BROCK: Hello, Agent Walker. I’m a Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties, reporting for Network News One.

AGENT WALKER: Hello, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties.

NATALIE BROCK: Should the public panic over the very disturbing possibility that a serial killer is at large and ready to kill anyone and everyone?
AGENT WALKER: Absolutely not. I encourage everyone to go about their daily lives and rest assured that this case is being investigated with the utmost professionalism.

NATALIE BROCK: So the public is not in danger?

AGENT WALKER: I have no reason to believe that the public is in danger.

NATALIE BROCK: Do you have any information to indicate that the public is not, not in danger?

AGENT WALKER: I’m not sure I care for this line of questioning.

NATALIE BROCK: Are you any relation to Chief Cole Walker?

(Agent Walker pulls the microphone attached to her shirt collar off and throws it down on the podium).

AGENT WALKER: This press conference is over!

(Cut to Kurt Manley, back in the studio).

KURT MANLEY: Mee-ow! That Agent Walker seems like one feisty little kitten.

NATALIE BROCK: Indeed, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: Were you able to figure out if she’s related to the police chief?

NATALIE BROCK: Yes, Kurt. A number of gossipy townsfolk with too much time on their hands indicated to this Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties that Sharon and Cole Walker were once married, but they divorced ten years ago. No one was able to give me a clear reason why, but theories ranged from an allegation that Agent Walker is, quote, “a big time clam diving lesbo,” to claims that Chief Walker cared more about alcohol than his marriage.

KURT MANLEY: Wowie zowie. Christmas has come early for Little Kurty because this is the story that keeps on giving. America, if you’re just joining us, Countess Cucamonga is dead. A retired school teacher is dead and a community college student is dead. Normally, we wouldn’t give a day old rat’s ass about those lost two were it not for the fact that they died in circumstances similar to that of the Countess. They were all found with their guts smeared all over the walls of bathrooms like some kind of grotesque Jackson Pollack painting. Their toilets were smashed to bits. The water pipes leading to the toilets were broken. Yes, you heard it here, folks. Three toilets have been broken and authorities have nothing to go on.

NATALIE BROCK: That’s very clever, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: Thank you, Hot Ass Blonde Chick with Big Titties. Now America, even though the lead investigator of this case, a highly trained federal agent, has told the public there is no need to panic, I am going to go ahead and say that you’d have to be a complete and total moron if you didn’t go ahead and panic. I mean, even though we haven’t officially confirmed it yet, two of the investigators involved in this case got divorced because one of them is a deep sea muff diver and the other is a gin soaked rummy. As America’s favorite newsman, I feel confident throwing out those wild accusations, even without one shred of credible evidence in hand to back them up. Panic, people. Panic loud. Panic early. Panic often and be sure to hunker down in front of a television tuned to Network News One. Once your station is tuned to our top notch network, go ahead and break your controller in half so you won’t miss a single bit of information. After all, this is a matter of life and death, people. A serial killer is on the loose, possibly hiding in your bathroom at this very moment as we speak, and you won’t have any idea if you’re safe or not until we tell you, right here on NN1. Thank you, Hot Ass Blonde with Big Titties.

NATALIE BROCK: You’re welcome, Kurt.

KURT MANLEY: We’ll be sticking with the Great Potty Caper as it develops. Stay tuned for the upcoming commercial break and oh, do be sure to buy our advertisers’ wonderful products. Their support keeps us on the air and well, as you might have gathered, without their support, we won’t be able to stay on the air and if we can’t stay on the air then we can’t tell you when you don’t have to worry about a psychopath murdering you while you’re on the toilet. Coming up after the commercial break, we’ll share an adorable viral video of a squirrel making out with a tarantula. Also, have you read the latest study that cookies can give you face cancer? We’ll tell you which brand of cookies that is in the next hour, after sports and weather. But first, these messages…

NN1 ANNOUNCER: Network News One! The Hottest Blonde Chicks! The Biggest Titties! And oh yeah, occasionally we report the news and shit.

Tagged , , , ,
Apr 24 2017
Leave a comment
Tomfoolery

Not All of My Posts Can Be Winners

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

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

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

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

Tagged , ,
Apr 23 2017
Leave a comment
Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 21

presentation01

Although Buford Dufresne was in his late twenties, his hair was still stuck in the early 1990s. No one had informed him that the mullet had gone out of style long ago and no one was about to do so no. When it came to his hair, it was all business in the front and a party in the back.

Even so, he managed to squeeze into the least stained white shirt, pants, and tie combo available and roll into the dealership, where he would hide in his office all day, ignoring any and all customers while he played video games.

And boy, did he have an impressive rig. Two massive monitors attached to a Nantuzasaki Game Tower, complete with a top of the line graphics card, dual core memory, solid state drive, and enough RAM to choke a horse. All of this processing power allowed him to run over pixelized prostitutes with the greatest of ease as he played the most violent video game ever, Car Thief Mayhem.

Knock knock. The Mayor’s fist pounded on the door. “Son?”

Buford sipped from a straw stuck inside a gallon sized cup of convenience store diet cola. He threw a few potato chips into his pie hole for good measure, then returned his eyes to the screen. He clicked a few buttons, causing his character to get out of a stolen car, bonk the prostitute over the head with a lead pipe, then steal all of her hard earned trick money.

The Mayor knocked again. “Buford? You in there?”

The young man clicked more buttons. His character got back into his stolen car, ran over a few pedestrians, and then ended up in a high speed chase with the police.

“Buford!” the Mayor shouted. “You playin’ with yourself in there!”

Buford sighed. “No, Daddy!”

“Then open up the goddamn door, son! I need to talk to you!”

“I’m busy, Daddy,” Buford said. “Come back later.”

Buford clicked a few more buttons. His character drove his car off a cliff and crashed into a helicopter. It was a horrific, fiery explosion that won Buford 10,000 points. The young man celebrated by opening up his soda cup, dumping in the contents of an energy drink can, then closing up cup’s lid and sipping away.

“Buford Bartholomew Dufresne!” the Mayor shouted. “You will open the door for your Daddy this very instant! Don’t you think for one second you’re too big for me to take you over my knee!”

Buford sighed. He felt defeated. He knew his old man had the energy to knock on his door all day. He realized the sooner he got the lecture that was coming his way, the better. He paused his game, got up, and opened the door.
“Buford,” the Mayor said as he stepped into his son’s office. “I got to talk to you. I heard you…”

The Mayor pinched his nose. “Jumpin’ Jesus H. Christ on a pogo stick! This room stinks! The last time I smelled a stench this bad I was digging a latrine in De Nang.”

The old man looked to the corner, where Buford’s trash can was overflowing with used fast food containers, some of them weeks old.

“Who are you, Little Lord Fauntleroy?” the Mayor asked. “You too good to empty your own damn trash can?”

Buford sat back down and unappeased his game. “Sorry, Daddy. I just been busy.”

“Busy killin’ your brain cells on them shoot ‘em up video games!” Buford said. “I never should have bought you that stupid thing. When the hell are you gonna get up off your fat ass and get out on the floor and make a sale?”

A little bit of drool pour out of the right side of Buford’s mouth as his eyes remained fixated on the screen. “I’m working up to it, Daddy.”

The Mayor took off his cowboy hat and dabbed at the top of his bald head with a handkerchief, removing the excess sweat. “You’re working up to it? Shee-it. And I suppose the Lord Almighty is workin’ up to the rapture. That’ll come first before you start earnin’ your keep around here.”

“Come on, Daddy,” Buford said.

“Don’t you come on Daddy, me, you little sack of shit,” the Mayor said. “Look at me, son. I’m Sitwell’s pride and joy. I got a business that employs over a hundred people. I’m a beloved mayor who makes important decisions every day. And what the hell are you doing with the one and only life that God will ever give you? Running over computerized prostitutes instead of doing something, anything, literally anything at all to better yourself.”

Buford mashed the buttons on his controller. His character respawned in front of a hospital, then stole a truck and ran over a contingent of little old ladies, leaving behind a trail of blood and broken walkers in his wake.

“I blame myself,” the Mayor said.

“Aww, Daddy,” Buford said. “Don’t gimme that speech about how you blame yourself again.”

“I will give it to you, boy,” the mayor said. “Your old daddy wasn’t around enough when you were growin’ up. I was too busy wheelin’ and dealin,’ chasin’ that green that I never took the time to teach you how to be a man. Now you’re like a man-child, a little baby stuck in man’s body. You’re more confused than a horny alley cat trapped behind a spay and neuter clinic.”

Burford moved the sticks on his controller. His character performed a drive-by on a nun convention.

“I set your momma up right,” Buford said. “She never had to work a day in her life. I thought she’d be able to take care of ya, teach ya how to behave all proper like but I was foolin’ myself. Old Lurleene was just a simple minded stripper, dumber than a box of rocks and hooked on anything she could snort up her nose or shoot in her veins. Hell, given all that, I’m surprised you didn’t turn out worse.”

Buford took a sip of his soda. “It weren’t all that bad, Daddy.”

The Mayor put his cowboy hat back on. “Son, will you let me be there for you now?”

The young man paused the game and looked up at his father. “What’s that now, Daddy?”

“I know it’s awfully late,” the Mayor said. “I’m a tired old fart and you’re almost thirty. I doubt I got many good years left. Let me teach you how to be a man, how to take care of yourself. You got to learn, boy, because one day your old Daddy won’t be around to take care of you and then what are you gonna do?”

Buford sighed. “I just don’t think I’m cut out to sell cars, Daddy.”

The Mayor sneered at his son. “Look, I’ll tell you what. I’m a silent partner in a number of business I have invested in town. One of those businesses happens to be Big Ray’s House of Funbags, the classiest titty bar this side of Orlando. I’ll talk to Big Ray. He’ll give you a job as a manager. You can squire around the girls and polish their titties with titty wax before they get on stage. You’ll be on your own, independent, doing something with your life.”

Buford shoved some more chips into his mouth. “I don’t want to do that either, Daddy.”

“Are you serious?” The mayor asked.

“Sure am,” Buford replied.

“Son, that’s a primo offer,” the Mayor said. “Oh Lord, you’re not one of them gay fellas, are you?”

“No, Daddy,” Buford said.

“Because you know son, you can tell your Daddy if you’re gay,” the Mayor said. “I don’t approve of that, but all them Democrats tell me I’m legally obliged to still love you even if you’re gay so I reckon I still will.”

“I’m not gay, Daddy,” Buford said. “I just don’t want to work in no titty bar.”

The Mayor took a deep breath. “Then son, what is it, pray tell, that you want to do with your life?”

Buford pressed some more buttons on his controller. His character drove a big rig through a department store.

“This,” the young man said.

“This?” the Mayor said.

“Uh huh,” Buford replied.

“You want to play video games?” the Mayor said.

“Until the day I die,” Buford said.

“Son,” the Mayor said. “How do you expect you’ll earn a living playing video games?”

Buford shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. I’ll get real good I guess. Maybe I’ll compete in some video game competitions and earn some big money.”

The Mayor repeated half of what his son just said, just to make sure he was hearing correctly. “Compete in a video game competition and earn big money? Oh Lord, how I have failed you.”

“Daddy, I’m comin’ up to a real hard part, here,” Buford said.

“I made life too easy for you,” the Mayor said. “You never had to struggle. Never had to fend for yourself. Never had to fight for scraps. I gave you everything you wanted in the hopes that one day you’d outshine me and now look at yourself.”

“Blah, blah, blah, Daddy,” Buford said. “You gonna stand there and yap all day?”

The Mayor lost it. He picked up one of the monitors and heaved it against the wall, smashing it into hundreds of pieces.

“Daddy!” Buford shouted. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Get out!” the Mayor shouted. He grabbed the other monitor and hurled it against the wall. Then he picked up the game station, tossed it on the floor, and stomped on it with his cowboy boot.

Buford grabbed his soda, then ran out into the showroom. His father quickly followed.

“Get the hell off my lot, you no good lazy, loafing son of bitch!” the Mayor shouted.

All of the customers and salesmen turned around to watch the scene unfold.

“Daddy!” Buford shouted. “Why’d you go and break my video games for?”

“So you’ll grow up, you dumb shit!” the Mayor shouted. “No son of mine is going to waste his life the way do for you! Offices are for people who do work! You do one goddamn day of work in your life and you can have it back! Until then, get out and don’t you dare come back here until you do.”

Buford looked around, confused and embarrassed.

“OK I’m sorry Daddy,” Buford said. “Let’s just cool down and we’ll talk about this at home.”

“That’s MY home, boy!” the Mayor hollered. “Don’t you step one foot back there!”

“Daddy!” Buford shouted. “You’re kicking me outta the house?”

“You’re damn right I am,” the Mayor said. “You can either go live with your whore of a mother or you can be a man, earn a living, and find your own place, but I aint gonna coddle you into being a big giant man baby for one day longer, you hear me!”

Buford hanged his head down low and performed the long walk of shame towards the door. “Yes, Daddy.”

“I mean it, boy!” the Mayor said. “You won’t get one more paycheck from me. Not one more hand out, not one more dime until you learn how to become a man. I know there’s something wrong with you, boy. If you aint gay, then it’s something you aint telling me and if you don’t tell me then you’re going to have to sort it out on your own.”

Buford lost it. He threw his soda cup against the wall and it exploded, sending drops of diet cola all over the nearby customers. “I aint gay and there’s nothing wrong with me!”

“There damn sure is something wrong with you, boy!” the Mayor shouted. “You’re not right in the head and any two-bit, half-ass shrink could easily see that from a mile away! Fix yourself and do it pronto!”

Buford threw his father the middle finger. “Choke on a ten foot dick and die, Daddy!”

“Oh!” the Mayor said. “That’s real nice talk! I bet you learned that from your mother!”

“I’ll prove you wrong, Daddy!” Buford shouted. “I’ll be richer and famous-er than you ever were!”

“Good!” the Mayor said. “Then I won’t have to worry about your stupid ass, anymore!”

Buford gave his father two middle fingers. “Fuck you, Daddy!”

The Mayor returned both middle fingers. “Fuck you back, son!”

The young man exited the building and slammed the door behind him. The Mayor looked around at all of the astonished customers. He straightened his tie.

“Sorry about that folks,” the Mayor said. “Tell you what? Ten percent off any car built during the Clinton administration for all your trouble!”

Tagged , , , ,
Apr 20 2017
Leave a comment
Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Chapter 18

presentation01

As Sharon entered the lobby of the sorority house, Cole’s heart did backflips. Sharon was walking normally, but it had been so long since Cole had seen his ex-wife that he felt as though he was staring at her while she was walking in slow motion. Every hair flip took forever, every step seemed like it was a thousand years. It was almost as if his mind was slowing the image of his long lost love down on the premise that he better drink in a good view of her now before he never sees her again.

“Hello Cole,” Sharon said as she gave her ex-husband a brief, polite hug. Cole didn’t return it. He was so surprised to see Sharon that he just stood there in a daze. Oddly enough, he could even hear his favorite romantic cowboy song. He thought that was strange, and wondered whether or not he was losing his mind.

“Oh my old lady…done got up and walked out on me.
And now I’m so lonely, I can hardly even see,
What’s the point of not drinkin’ from now until infinity?
Oh drink, yes I’ll drink, till she’s gone right out my mind.
Toss back that whiskey, till the barkeep calls quittin’ time.
But no matter how much damage I do to my liver,
I’ll try my best to forgive her,
But Lord knows I’ll never forget her.”

Rusty’s voice broke Cole out of the trance. “Sorry,” Rusty said as he poked a button on his phone. “I bumped into the wall and my ass turned on my radio app.”

“Rusty,” Sharon said as she gave the red headed a lawman an equally quick hug.

He threw Cole a confused look. “Sharon.”

“How are you?” Sharon asked Cole.

Cole found a little spot on the floor to poke with the toe of his boot, a tactic that he used to stall for time. “Oh, fine, fine.”

Gordon had been standing off to the side for awhile. He coughed to remind his partner he was still there.

“Where are my manners?” Sharon said. “Cole, meet my partner, Gordon Bishop.”

Gordon and Cole locked eyes and traded angry glares. Neither of them knew why, but they instantly did not like one another. Their hands launched out like two angry sharks, consuming one another in a handshake. Gordon squeezed Cole’s hand tightly. Cole returned the gesture with a hard squeeze of their own. The faces of both men turned red. They gritted their teeth, waiting to see who would bow out first until finally they both caved at the exact same time.

“Gordon,” Sharon said. “This is Officer Rusty Yates.”

Before Rusty even knew it, his hand was being crushed by Gordon’s giant hand.

“A pleasure,” Gordon said.

As soon as Rusty’s hand was released, he shook it to and fro until the feeling returned. “Oh shit…likewise, big fella. Likewise.”

Cole scratched the back of his head. “What brings you big time city folk to our little old neck of the woods?”

“Take a wild guess,” Sharon said.

Cole was too busy sniffing the air. It smelled of Eau de Price Town, the cheap perfume that Sharon had always worn. How he missed it. It was as if each nostril full brought him nourishment.

“Countess Cucamonga,” Rusty said.

Sharon tapped the side of her nose with her finger. “You got it.”

“You got any leads?” Rusty asked.

“Just an idiot who’s cooling his heels in lockup,” Sharon said. “But other than that, not a one. Frankly, we were hoping you’d have some.”

Cole kept staring at Sharon. Suddenly, he realized he’d been staring for too long, so he looked around the room, anywhere he could to avoid eye contact.

“Cole?” Sharon asked.

“Huh?” Cole asked as he stared at the ceiling.

“You got anything?” Sharon asked.

“Oh,” Cole said. He half-looked at Sharon. He couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye, so he focused on the wall just to the right of her. “Not much. Bunch of college kids in the bathroom. The male’s dead. The four females were knocked unconscious and rushed to the hospital.”

“Well,” Sharon said. “We’ll have to talk to them as soon as they wake up.”

Cole nodded.

“What about that old timer in the nursing home?” Rusty asked. “Saw one of the Hot Ass Blonde Chicks with Big Titties talking about it on NN1.”

“Yeah,” Sharon said. “And frankly, I was surprised the media found out about that so quickly. Pretty much the same situation. Man sits on the toilet, ends up all over the walls. No one knows how. No one knows a damn thing.”
Rusty cracked his knuckles. “Sounds like we got the case of the century here.”

“Sure does,” Sharon replied.

“Well, as soon as the state crime lab boys grace us with their presence, we might know more,” Rusty said. “We’ve been cooling our heels waiting on them awhile.”

“Oh,” Sharon said. “I probably should have called ahead and filled you two in. I called the state crime lab off.”

Cole was useless. Still looking around the room. Still smelling the perfumed air.

Gordon chimed in. “Because we can’t trust a crime scene of this magnitude to a bunch of backwater hayseeds, Opie.”

Rusty stepped up to Gordon. “Opie? Who are you calling Opie?”

Gordon was at least five inches taller than Rusty and had fifty pounds of extra muscle. He looked down at his challenger. “You, Opie.”

Rusty’s angry face disappeared. A fake smile emerged. “Oh! Because of my red hair! I get it. Hilarious, man.”

Sharon turned to Cole. “Thank you for everything. We’ll take it from here.”

Cole nodded.

Rusty was irate. “What?”

“The FBI will be running with the ball on this investigation,” Sharon said.

“The hell you are!” Rusty said.

“You got a problem with that, Opie?” Gordon asked.

Rusty gulped a big helping of fear down his throat, then looked up at Gordon. “As a matter of fact, I do, Gigantor. Cole and I have been patrolling this town for going on twenty years now and the one time something happens worth investigating and you two hot shots with your fancy suits think you’re going to waltz right in here and take it away from us?”

“Damn right, Ritchie Cunningham,” Gordon said.

“Ah, hell,” Rusty said. “That doesn’t even count.”

“It counts,” Gordon said.

“No it doesn’t,” Rusty said. “Because Ritchie Cunningham and Opie were played by the same person, so it’s not like you thought of a new insult.”

“You know I did, Ron Howard,” Gordon said.

Rusty pointed a finger at Gordon. “Now, see! That doesn’t count either!”

Sharon inserted herself between Gordon and Rusty, largely because she saw Gordon was getting a crazy look in his eye, a look she’d seen before her partner had gone off on people larger than Rusty and crushed them with his pinky finger.

“Boys!” Sharon said. “That’s enough. Rusty, this case is bigger than all of us. We’re not going to shut Sitwell PD out of this. You and Cole will be a very important part of the task force.”

“Task force?” Rusty said.

“I’ve got a team on the way to set up shop in your department HQ,” Sharon said.

Rusty couldn’t believe it. It was like every word out of Sharon’s mouth was worst than the last one.

“You’re taking over our department?” Rusty asked.

“Don’t be silly,” Sharon said. “Just the building. Miami’s become a madhouse with all the media coverage, so we need somewhere quiet to work. But don’t worry, Cole will still run Sitwell PD.”

“Oh,” Rusty said as he folded his arms. “That’s very kind of you, Your Highness.”

“I don’t like your attitude, Rusty,” Sharon said as she looked to Cole. “Are you going to say something to your boy here?”

Rusty also looked to his longtime partner. “Yeah, Cole. Say something to these carpetbagging bottom feeders. Kick their asses outta here.”

It took a few seconds for Cole to realize he was being spoken to. When he saw Sharon and Rusty staring at him and waiting for a response, he started to walk away.

“Sounds good, Sharon,” Cole said as he pushed the lobby door open. “Let me know if you need anything.”

As soon as Cole was out the door, Sharon stuck her tongue out at Rusty.

“Succubus!” Rusty shouted.

“See you later, Ron Howard,” Gordon said.

Rusty flipped out. “I’m not Ron Howard! Ron Howard is bald! I have a thick, luscious mane of hair!”

The redhead stormed out onto the campus and caught up to Cole.
“What are you doing?” Rusty asked.

Cole walked faster than his feet had ever taken him before, putting as much distance between himself and the crime scene as possible.

“Aww, who gives a shit, Rusty?” Cole said. “They want it? Let ‘em have it. I got more important things to do. I don’t need to be marching all over God’s green earth looking for the fat ass pop star killer.”

Tagged , , , , , , ,
Apr 15 2017
Leave a comment
Toilet Gator

Toilet Gator – Network News One Transcript #3

presentation01

 

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

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

SAM MCCARTHY: Good to be here, Kurt.

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

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

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

SAM MCCARTHY: That’s right.

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

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

KURT MANLEY: What a bunch of prudes.

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

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

KURT MANLEY: Who has that kind of free time?

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

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

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

KURT MANLEY: That’s a lot of hookers.

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

(Kurt’s jaw drops.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Kurt sorts through some papers.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

NATALIE: Um, yes. Hello…Kurt. A…

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

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

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

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

(Kurt’s eyes widen.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NATALIE: I catch it, sir.

MR. BROMSTEIN: Cunnilingus!

NATALIE: I gathered.

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

NATALIE: Which leads you to believe…

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

NATALIE: Or?

(Mr. Bromstein looks directly at the camera.)

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

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

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

(Kurt changes camera angles.)

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

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

Tagged , , , , , ,
← Older posts
Newer posts →