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Tuesday, February 17, 2004
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TODAY'S LOVE NOTE
(Introduction)
Since you are my sunshine and I am your raindrop, together we can create an everlasting rainbow of love.
posted by Harvey at 8:32:06 PM permalink HOME
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TODAY’S GRAFFITI
CURRENCY
In the grips of an irresistable redecorating frenzy, LeeAnn
re-does her kitchen, her blog, and was just starting in on the money in
her purse before the GM1 could finally persuade her to sit down, relax,
and have a Buttery Nipple.
posted by Harvey at 8:30:08 PM permalink HOME
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WIZBANG'S WEEKEND CAPTION CONTEST WINNER
Oh, you've just gotta see this one.
A bunker-buster indeed.
Super-Atomic Drink Alert in effect.
posted by Harvey at 8:07:31 PM permalink HOME
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SONG WRITTEN, PRODUCED, AND PERFORMED BY ELTON O'BLACKFIVE
Matty's got a Candle in the Wind song parody up, with Howard "Howler Monkey" Dean being the subject. Here's the first verse:
Goodbye Howard Dean
Never winning a state at all
Screamed like you were on fire
Your campaign began to stall
D.F.A. imploded
And it whispered into your brain
You thought it was inconceivable
That you'd lose a campaign
The chorus is at his place.
He's also asking for help writing the second verse. I don't know the
song well enough to oblige, myself, but feel free to take a crack at it
if you're so inclined.
posted by Harvey at 8:03:34 PM permalink HOME
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ON TO BETTER PROJECTS
Now that Kalat, the Iraqi artist who was forced to waste his talents
making statues of Saddam, is free to do as he pleases, he has created
one of the most touching bronze pieces I've ever seen. This would make
a great Iraq War monument.
John of Argghhh! has the picture & description.
(link found via Lynn of Reflections in d minor)
posted by Harvey at 8:00:19 PM permalink HOME
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KING OF THE BLOGS TOURNAMENT RESULTS
Apparently beal
causes more than just writer's block - it's causing poster's block
(where thought you posted an entry, but it's just sitting there in
draft mode, mocking you). Happened to me at Alliance HQ, had a posting
failure a couple days ago right here, and now at KotB.
Nevertheless, the results are finally up.
Walloworld is the new King of the Blogs, and, as I predicted, his self-absorbed narcissism will serve him well as he rolls the betrayed and murdered corpse of Christweb off of what is now HIS throne. I expect he'll link himself at least a dozen times in his acceptance speech.
As for the reviews themselves, it's nice to see Marty of Vigilance Matters
back in the thick of things, swinging his Louisville Slugger around.
He's always been the Oscar the Grouch of the Judge's bench, but I think
someone whizzed in his Wheaties the morning he wrote his reviews. He
seemed slightly more uncharitable than normal.
Susie's a little more descriptive than usual, and spent a little time fawning over Charlie's gratuitous ass-kissing.
Mr. Dodge - still stuffy.
Pietro - well, for all his Fozzie-bashing, I was shocked at how kindly & supportive he was when doing Charlie's review. Elsewhere, he gave a detailed breakdown in the whole-blog review section that new KotB participants will want to pay close attention to. I think I'm gonna like working with this guy.
Rick & Dawn were probably out drinking all weekend & missed the review submission deadline. Pity, that.
Coming later this week, while Good King Bill sits on his throne, idly
tossing stones & knives at his Royal Lackeys for his own amusement,
there will be a free-for-all amongst a select list of next week's
potential King of the Blogs participants: The Royal Rumble.
Participants will all answer a single question in 150 words or less,
the top 5 entrants will advance to do battle with the current King of
the Blogs in the next tournament.
The losers? - back to the end of the line.
More news on that as it becomes available.
posted by Harvey at 7:58:16 PM permalink HOME
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NOT MY VIRGINS
(A PRECISION GUIDED HUMOR ASSIGNMENT)
"-ake that, you filthy infidel American pig dogs!", cried Abdul
Al'splosion, finishing the sentence he had begun before setting off his
Kufr-Killr Bombr Belt (TM).
He paused, examining the barren, blackened, sulphurous landscape.
"Where the hell am I?" he asked himself, as he tucked the dangly
remains of his intestines into his now-combustion-stained Sans-A-Belt
slacks.
"Funny you should ask it that way," said a voice. As Abdul turned to
look, a short, red, goatee-faced man with horns atop his head the color
of hillbilly teeth pulled up in a small motorized vehicle. The words
"EvilMobile" were painted on both sides in neatly flowing
Coca-Cola-esque script. It looked suspiciously like a golf cart, with
the exception of a heavily modified engine.
"Hey," asked Abdul, "that thing got a Hemi?"
"By technical specifications, yes. But it's actually fueled by the
agony of tormented souls instead of gasoline." The strange man exited
his cart, and cloven-hoofedly trotted up to the confused
ex-Islamofascist. His leering face leaned in close to Abdul's, invading
his personal space.
"Hi," he said, his breath redolent of Limburger ravioli. "I'm Satan."
Abdul gazed at the legendary hell spawn, who, at 3'6", towered menacingly over nothing.
"Somehow I always thought you'd be..."
Satan's face blazed with an insane rage rarely seen outside of a Howard Dean campaign speech.
"YES! TALLER! I KNOW!" he shrieked. Calming slightly, he continued, "Do you think this is easy
for me? Ya know, when I used to be an Angel of Light, I was SEVEN
FREAKIN' FEET TALL! I was the star of Heaven's basketball team! I could
out-dunk that punk-ass Daddy's-boy Jesus six ways to Sunday! But after
The Fall, well... let's just say that gravity was a bitch and it was a
hard landing."
"But," Satan continued, "at least I'm not the one
who mistook dynamite for a cummerbund." His smug visage beamed with the
all bitter joy of Maureen Dowd typing the word "AWOL".
"But... but... I don't understand!" Abdul protested, nervously toying with his dangling left eyeball, "This is supposed to be Paradise! There were supposed to be 72 nubile virgins eager to satisfy my every whim!"
"HA! HA! HA!" Satan's laughter boomed pipsqueakily, "I can't BELIEVE
how gullible you are! Did you actually think that the reward for
the bloody murder of innocents was going to be a bevy of pre-stardom
Britneys?"
"But the Koran said..."
"That part of the Koran was
written by the same people who wrote those "Add 3 to 5 inches
guaranteed" spam e-mails. I suppose you responded to THOSE, too?"
"I... YOU SHUT UP! Do not mock my AAA Duracell of love!" screamed Abdul
defiantly, cowering like a Frenchman and wetting himself with fear and
embarrassment.
"Heh. Don't worry about it Splodey. Can I call you Splodey? Look, Splodey, I get a lot of you teeny-weenied sand-monkeys down here. For some reason, you all think that a big boom will make up for your tiny toothpick. I can't imagine how you figure you can satisfy 72 love-hungry sex-wenches when you vaporize even the itty-bitty hump-stump Allah saw fit
to grace you with in the first place. But that's
not my concern." Satan rubbed his scabby, taloned hands together with
the eagerness of Michael Moore contemplating a hog trough full of
Twinkies. "My concern is... torture."
Abdul gulped and darkened his slacks to the cuffs. "Torture?" he squeaked?
"Yes, torture!" Satan squeaked back in a mocking, high-pitched, girly voice, which was indistinguishable from his normal one.
"What... what are you going to do to me?" asked Abdul miserably, as
"French surrender-biscuits" slid down the back of his pants and piled
up by his heels.
"Well," said the diminutive Prince of Darkness, "ya got your choice. Either an eternity of pineapple enemas..."
"EEP!" said Abdul, his chute clenching in anticipated torture and shutting off the biscuit flow.
"OR..."
"or?"
"Or... you can return to Earth
and live out the remainder of your natural life." finished Satan, an
odd little used-car-salesman's smirk gracing his lips.
"There must be some sort of catch," said Abdul as he grabbed his left
eye so that he could point it at the vertically-challenged imp to look
at him suspiciously. "You're going to send me back all torn apart like
I am now, aren't you?"
Satan put on his best "Clinton at a deposition" face and acted hurt. "How could you even suggest
such a thing?" he pouted, biting at his lower lip. "I've been nothing
but honest with you since you got here." Crocodile-shaped tears
trickled down his face.
"BULLSHIT! You're the FATHER of lies!"
Satan shrugged, "The results of that paternity suit were inconclusive, at best."
Manually eyeballing Satan warily, Abdul asked, "So... I really get to go back? No weird little Twilight Zone twist?"
The Underworld Overlord's undersized face relaxed into a broader,
insurance-salesman-style grin. "Well, ok. I have to admit that there is
one small catch."
"HA!" shouted Abdul with the overconfidence of Al Gore counting the
popular vote, "I knew it! What evil trick do you have in store for me?"
Satan's cheeks puffed out briefly and collapsed back as he stifled a
guffaw of triumphant laughter - hook, line... - "you'll go back as a
bunny rabbit".
"Hmmm..." mused Abdul, pointing his dangly left orb upward to
contemplate the possibilities, "sunshine, green grass, lots of
mating... Ok. Bunny rabbit it is."
"Sinker." muttered Satan, smiling inwardly.
"What was that?"
"Oh, nothing," said the unimposingly-proportioned antithesis of
goodness, "Just wishing you all the best." He waved cheerily, and
thusly dispensed Abdul to his new fate.
"MUAHAHAHAHAHA!" cackled the puny Beast of Revelations, as he jumped into the EvilMoblie and turned the key.
[click]
"AWWWWW CRAP! I left the headlights on!"
...Meanwhile, on the set of Steve Irwin's Crocodile Hunter show...
"...And what do crocs love to eat the best?" hollered an ebullient Irwin to the bus-load of third-graders who were taking the behind-the-scenes tour.
"Squirming fuzzy bunnies!" returned the bloodthirsty youthful chorus.
"They sure do! Now my lovely wife, Terri, will 'and me one of those tasty morsels... Thanks, luv... Crikey! This one's a frisky little bugger! Look at 'im wiggle! It's almost like 'e knows what's comin'! 'E's makin' a lot
of noise for a rabbit! Almost sounds like 'e's saying "pineapple" over
'n over... Well, enough 'rigglin' & squigglin' - into the pond with
ya, snack chip!"
After an exaggerated wind-up, Irwin arced the furry dumpling into the containment area.
"Crikey!" shouted Irwin admiringly, "that 'ungry croc nabbed 'em on the first bounce! What a catch!"
"Now kiddies," Irwin explained, "although this may seem 'arsh and
cruel, it's just nature's way of keepin' down the population on those
pesky, floppy-eared buggers. Blokes like me what keeps crocs fed for a
livin' even got a little sayin' to help us keep our perspective:"
SIC SEMPER T' RABBITS!
posted by Harvey at 7:17:07 PM permalink HOME
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COME GET SOME
Comment party at Madfish Willie's continues unabated. Currenty at 53.
They're breakin' out the Mardi Gras beads now, and you know what that means, right?
Buttery Nipples!
posted by Harvey at 7:33:49 AM permalink HOME
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© Copyright 2005 Harvey Olson.
Last update: 9/10/2005; 5:12:33 PM.
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MAIN ARCHIVES
CATEGORY ARCHIVES
GRAFFITI CURRENCY
200 WORDS OR LESS
FILTHY LIES
LOVE NOTES
PRECISION GUIDED HUMOR
KING OF THE BLOGS
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