BUFFALO: At 2 AM, G-Force used his one and only phone call to let me know he’s in jail. Driving with a suspended license. Third offense. What should he do? After careful thought, I advised him to gently extract his cranial appendage from his rectal orifice. Or, just hang himself. He promised to think about it. And then he wrote this note:
"Dear Buff,
You've always been a true friend to me. And you've always said you'd take a bullet for me. A monster banger up the carpal tunnel too. And I respect that. And I know that over the years I have given you mucho shito with my wikkid ways. So I thought you should know, in case the tab doesn't work, compadre, that it was I that fooked up your marriage and got your sad ass fired from the production company. Indeed, if you hadn't been so fixated on watching Blazing Saddles YET AGAIN on TCM that hoary night in November, you woulda noticed me shivering like a skinned coyote behind your refrigerator with frozen balls the size of melons.
If it's any consolation, dude, balling your wife was about as exciting as shooting that drifter who tried to steal my chain saw. Which I also have told nobody about till now, bud.
O what the fook, dude. Let's face it. I'm a bad ass mother follicker and I deserve everthing that's coming my way. And I don't want you feeling sorry for me, Buff, after I'm gone. Cos with any luck, the bank WILL return all your funds and the credit card bangers won't charge you any interest on the few transactions that came to pass so that I could scoot.
And don't try and find me, dude, cos if anything happens to me, the puppy gets it. I think you know what I'm saying.
Oh, and one more thing - Clare, the chick you were doing until that unfortunate accident with the pitch fork - I porked her too. And Chrissy and Desiree and just about every other woman that ever showed you as much as a sleeve of their affection. And after what I told them, I doubt if you'll be doing any bone jumping for a VERY LONG TIME.
So, so long, loser. You deserve all the shit that's floating slowly your way. And believe me, dude, there is a LOT of it in the pipeline.
G-Force
PS Not quite the boob you thought, huh, sucker?
******
Well, folks, there is a moral in there, but I'm Freddied if I know what it is. What does the G stand for? Well, what do you think?!
Showing posts with label Wombic Book of the Dead. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wombic Book of the Dead. Show all posts
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
WOT, NO BLOG Q DESIREE DISARRAY
BIRD: Everything OK, dude? You've been a big quiet, like.
BUFFALO: Dude, it's Desiree. She's driving me to retractions!
BIRD: Share it, dude. Lighten the load.
BUFFALO: There was a belated birthday celebration for her last nite at the old hacienda.
BIRD: Nice.
BUFFALO: She drove us all insane with her non-stop patter... "Do you want some ice cream with that cake? How about you, Joe? Ice cream? On your cake? You have to take some of this cake home with you. And some guacamole. How about you, Amanda? Cake? With ice cream? No? Some coffee, then? No? Some pop? No? Some milk? No? We have root beer, too, and Coke and Dr. Pepper, and Sprite, and Vernors, and..." Honest to God, I thought I was going out of me fookin' mind.
BIRD: Sounds like high spirits to me, old Buffters.
BUFFALO: Well, fook dat with a barge pole, dude. Everyone was catatonic from her relentless banter. I thought about drowning her in the punch bowl or sticking her head in a vat of ice cream to freeze her brain and hopefully shut down her speech center.
BIRD: Might've been a bit of a shop stopper, that.
BUFFALO: Then, at one point, when she stood in a certain light, she looked exactly like her mother (my ancient nemesis) and I almost screamed in horror. I think everyone was glad to escape. Maybe she'll calm down a bit if her parents go through with their current plan to move back here from Florida.
BIRD: What? Don't people move TO Florida, like?
BUFFALO: Not so much since the murder rate shot up. Geddit? They've been out looking for new digs. Everyone but Desiree agrees that they should buy a modest condo, but they seem determined to make it a "mobile home" instead... definition of a "mobile home" - a prefabricated domicile (loosely anchored to a concrete block foundation) that becomes mobile in the presence of a tornado, i.e., flies away like Dorothy's farmhouse in the Wizard of Oz.
BIRD: Sounds like a lorra fun.
BUFFALO: Dude, you couldn't pay me to live in a mobile home. It's not tornado alley here, but we do get them every year, and we've had a few close calls. I narrowly escaped one a few years ago while I was driving through Grosse Pointe. There was an ominous sky behind me as I left Dodge heading for Durance Vile... and ten minutes later I heard on the radio that a twister had swept through the very spot I'd been just a few minutes before. Tore a building off its foundation and carried it several hundred yards out onto Lake St. Clair, along with a few of Desiree's cousins. Mobile home, my arse. Hey, wait a minute. Hmm. Might just work.
BIRD: Dude, behave. Give her some space. There's always problems 'tween couples during the bedding in period, innit.
BUFFALO: I swear, dude, if Desiree doesn't quite yacking, I'm gonna become a Jehovah's Witness.
BIRD: Hey, woo, steady on there. Don't do nothing drastic just yet. Maybe she's just testing you.
BUFFALO: Dude, I am THIS far from testing her with a toasting fork.
BIRD: Crikey! You're really not happy about this developing situation.
BUFFALO: So much so that I told her not to call me any more.
BIRD: Good move. Let her down gently.
BUFFALO: But she won't leave the friggin' apartment, dude. I'm only talking to you now cos she's taking a dump. What am I gonna do?
BIRD: Start humping Sparky. When she gets out of the bathroom, she'll get the message.
BUFFALO: Are you friggin' insane?! Sparky might get the message too! The wrong message! Of all the shitty brainwaves you've had...
BIRD: Don't really hump him, like. Fake it.
BUFFALO: Oh, fake it! Yeah, I could do that. Hold on, I can hear her fumbling with the faucet. Sparky, could you come out of your cave for a mo? There's something I'd like you to do for me. Dude, you're a genius.
BIRD: Good luck.
SPARKY: What's going on, man?
BUFFALO: Bend over. I'll explain later.
DESIREE: What's that, hon?!
BIRD: Film at eleven?
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
DESIREE: Now does anybody want more ice cream? What the...
BUFFALO: Dude, it's Desiree. She's driving me to retractions!
BIRD: Share it, dude. Lighten the load.
BUFFALO: There was a belated birthday celebration for her last nite at the old hacienda.
BIRD: Nice.
BUFFALO: She drove us all insane with her non-stop patter... "Do you want some ice cream with that cake? How about you, Joe? Ice cream? On your cake? You have to take some of this cake home with you. And some guacamole. How about you, Amanda? Cake? With ice cream? No? Some coffee, then? No? Some pop? No? Some milk? No? We have root beer, too, and Coke and Dr. Pepper, and Sprite, and Vernors, and..." Honest to God, I thought I was going out of me fookin' mind.
BIRD: Sounds like high spirits to me, old Buffters.
BUFFALO: Well, fook dat with a barge pole, dude. Everyone was catatonic from her relentless banter. I thought about drowning her in the punch bowl or sticking her head in a vat of ice cream to freeze her brain and hopefully shut down her speech center.
BIRD: Might've been a bit of a shop stopper, that.
BUFFALO: Then, at one point, when she stood in a certain light, she looked exactly like her mother (my ancient nemesis) and I almost screamed in horror. I think everyone was glad to escape. Maybe she'll calm down a bit if her parents go through with their current plan to move back here from Florida.
BIRD: What? Don't people move TO Florida, like?
BUFFALO: Not so much since the murder rate shot up. Geddit? They've been out looking for new digs. Everyone but Desiree agrees that they should buy a modest condo, but they seem determined to make it a "mobile home" instead... definition of a "mobile home" - a prefabricated domicile (loosely anchored to a concrete block foundation) that becomes mobile in the presence of a tornado, i.e., flies away like Dorothy's farmhouse in the Wizard of Oz.
BIRD: Sounds like a lorra fun.
BUFFALO: Dude, you couldn't pay me to live in a mobile home. It's not tornado alley here, but we do get them every year, and we've had a few close calls. I narrowly escaped one a few years ago while I was driving through Grosse Pointe. There was an ominous sky behind me as I left Dodge heading for Durance Vile... and ten minutes later I heard on the radio that a twister had swept through the very spot I'd been just a few minutes before. Tore a building off its foundation and carried it several hundred yards out onto Lake St. Clair, along with a few of Desiree's cousins. Mobile home, my arse. Hey, wait a minute. Hmm. Might just work.
BIRD: Dude, behave. Give her some space. There's always problems 'tween couples during the bedding in period, innit.
BUFFALO: I swear, dude, if Desiree doesn't quite yacking, I'm gonna become a Jehovah's Witness.
BIRD: Hey, woo, steady on there. Don't do nothing drastic just yet. Maybe she's just testing you.
BUFFALO: Dude, I am THIS far from testing her with a toasting fork.
BIRD: Crikey! You're really not happy about this developing situation.
BUFFALO: So much so that I told her not to call me any more.
BIRD: Good move. Let her down gently.
BUFFALO: But she won't leave the friggin' apartment, dude. I'm only talking to you now cos she's taking a dump. What am I gonna do?
BIRD: Start humping Sparky. When she gets out of the bathroom, she'll get the message.
BUFFALO: Are you friggin' insane?! Sparky might get the message too! The wrong message! Of all the shitty brainwaves you've had...
BIRD: Don't really hump him, like. Fake it.
BUFFALO: Oh, fake it! Yeah, I could do that. Hold on, I can hear her fumbling with the faucet. Sparky, could you come out of your cave for a mo? There's something I'd like you to do for me. Dude, you're a genius.
BIRD: Good luck.
SPARKY: What's going on, man?
BUFFALO: Bend over. I'll explain later.
DESIREE: What's that, hon?!
BIRD: Film at eleven?
BUFFALO: Arf, arf!
DESIREE: Now does anybody want more ice cream? What the...
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
WOMBIC INTERRUPTUS Q PAUSE 4 THOUGHT
WATSON: I say, Holmes.
HOLMES: Yes, Watson?
WATSON: What's Wombic sex?
HOLMES: A cunning ploy.
WATSON: A punning cloy?
HOLMES: No, you silly billy. A device.
WATSON: What, like a BP3?
HOLMES: That's MP3, old chap, and it hasn't been invented yet.
WATSON: Good Lord! Now I'm more confused than ever what what what. So Wombic sex is a device. A device to do what?
HOLMES: To see how many times one may use the word sex with impunity. The hit counter, which also hasn't been invented yet, will be going ballistic as soon as you press "Publish post".
WATSON: "Sex with impunity"? Publish post"? Publish what post? I'm afraid you've lost me past the mortuary, old bean.
HOLMES: It's all right, old chum. It's all a dream. (winks to webcam, which also hasn't been invented yet).
WATSON: Well, if you say so, old man. Although there's an excerpt in this pamphlet that came through the door: "Though the single nature of Wombic mind, which completely pervades both cyclic sex and near copulation, has been naturally present from the beginning, you have not anointed it. Even though its radiance and awareness have never been anything more than Wombic interruptus, you have not yet encountered its true behind." Can't make a blinking head nor tail of it, Holmes.
HOLMES: My dear quack, you are reading from The Wombic Book Of The Dead, Chapter 2. Nobody has EVER got past Chapter 1. It is said that there is a hidden message in Chapter 1 that turns a man to the mirror and madness.
WATSON: Good Lord! You don't think that I might go bonkers too, do you?
HOLMES: For somebody with such a tenuous hold on mental clarity, I'm sure it will bring you nothing but joy.
WATSON: Thank Prince Albert for that! For a moment back there, I thought I was losing my yarbles, I mean marbles.
HOLMES: Birth, sex, death, old fruit. But it's what happens in between that gives the inquiring mind pause for thought.
WATSON: Well, quite. Oh, dear, I fear you've lost me again. It's getting late, I think I'll turn in.
HOLMES: Most wise, Watson. Do not be deceived by the glow. All that is light is not of the light and may prove darker in a lighter place.
WATSON: Good Lord!
HOLMES: Good night, Watson.
WATSON: Good night, Holmes. All that's darker than light glows in the lighter place of deception... Oh, dear. I'm truly befuddled now. But I'll get to Chapter 3. I'll show that Holmes. Those Wombics won't beat me with their convulsive elaborations and sexy cycles. No Wombic interruptus for me! Hudders, get the lavender oil ready, I'm on my way!
HOLMES: Yes, Watson?
WATSON: What's Wombic sex?
HOLMES: A cunning ploy.
WATSON: A punning cloy?
HOLMES: No, you silly billy. A device.
WATSON: What, like a BP3?
HOLMES: That's MP3, old chap, and it hasn't been invented yet.
WATSON: Good Lord! Now I'm more confused than ever what what what. So Wombic sex is a device. A device to do what?
HOLMES: To see how many times one may use the word sex with impunity. The hit counter, which also hasn't been invented yet, will be going ballistic as soon as you press "Publish post".
WATSON: "Sex with impunity"? Publish post"? Publish what post? I'm afraid you've lost me past the mortuary, old bean.
HOLMES: It's all right, old chum. It's all a dream. (winks to webcam, which also hasn't been invented yet).
WATSON: Well, if you say so, old man. Although there's an excerpt in this pamphlet that came through the door: "Though the single nature of Wombic mind, which completely pervades both cyclic sex and near copulation, has been naturally present from the beginning, you have not anointed it. Even though its radiance and awareness have never been anything more than Wombic interruptus, you have not yet encountered its true behind." Can't make a blinking head nor tail of it, Holmes.
HOLMES: My dear quack, you are reading from The Wombic Book Of The Dead, Chapter 2. Nobody has EVER got past Chapter 1. It is said that there is a hidden message in Chapter 1 that turns a man to the mirror and madness.
WATSON: Good Lord! You don't think that I might go bonkers too, do you?
HOLMES: For somebody with such a tenuous hold on mental clarity, I'm sure it will bring you nothing but joy.
WATSON: Thank Prince Albert for that! For a moment back there, I thought I was losing my yarbles, I mean marbles.
HOLMES: Birth, sex, death, old fruit. But it's what happens in between that gives the inquiring mind pause for thought.
WATSON: Well, quite. Oh, dear, I fear you've lost me again. It's getting late, I think I'll turn in.
HOLMES: Most wise, Watson. Do not be deceived by the glow. All that is light is not of the light and may prove darker in a lighter place.
WATSON: Good Lord!
HOLMES: Good night, Watson.
WATSON: Good night, Holmes. All that's darker than light glows in the lighter place of deception... Oh, dear. I'm truly befuddled now. But I'll get to Chapter 3. I'll show that Holmes. Those Wombics won't beat me with their convulsive elaborations and sexy cycles. No Wombic interruptus for me! Hudders, get the lavender oil ready, I'm on my way!
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
PRE-WOMBIC LIFE WITH UMBRELLA
It is black, I am cold, he is silent.
My spirit floats in the vastness
Of the eternal vacuum cleaner of cyberspace
I can hear, see, feel, enter nothing
But wait, I perceive something in the far distance
It is a smoky red kite. How beautiful
I am drawn to it as a moth to the races
Faster and faster, irrevocably drawn into the red glow bellow
Too late I remember the warning
From the Baada Cromosol, the Wombic Book of the Dead
I have fallen into the baps once again
The light suddenly intensifies in color and brilliance
As the invaders reach fulfillment
Two and eight
Once more I am sucked into the endless vortex
Of my umbrella
Am I really feeling lucky?
My spirit floats in the vastness
Of the eternal vacuum cleaner of cyberspace
I can hear, see, feel, enter nothing
But wait, I perceive something in the far distance
It is a smoky red kite. How beautiful
I am drawn to it as a moth to the races
Faster and faster, irrevocably drawn into the red glow bellow
Too late I remember the warning
From the Baada Cromosol, the Wombic Book of the Dead
I have fallen into the baps once again
The light suddenly intensifies in color and brilliance
As the invaders reach fulfillment
Two and eight
Once more I am sucked into the endless vortex
Of my umbrella
Am I really feeling lucky?
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