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"...a very, very sick person." - She Who Will Be Obeyed

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Bad Money

  Sunday, February 22, 2004


Reduce, reuse, recycle, I always say. So once you catch one of these nasty little terrorist buggers, don't let him rot in a jail cell, put him to good use:

Combination parachute tester and laser guided missile target.

Mobile radioactive waste disposal unit

McDonald's quality control tester. Pour a cup of coffee on his crotch to see if it's too hot to serve to customers.

Shove a magnet up his ass & use him for a metal detector.

Attack dog training dummy. No more wear and tear on delicate and expensive foam pads.

High voltage power line tester. *ZORCH!* Yup, that one was live.

Fear Factor stunt viability checker. Trying to find sewing needles in a tub full of rattle snakes – Good idea? Bad idea? Only one way to find out…

Testicle vise calibrator – and remember, this is for posterity, so please… be honest. How do you feel?

Michael Bolton's sound board technician... No... too cruel.

How many licks DOES it take to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop? The world will soon know. Oops! That's not Tootsie Roll in the center...

Sammy Sosa super-corked batting practice.

New proctologists have to start learning somewhere.

Nipple piercer to the stars. First up, Michael Moore.

Porno movie set mop boy. Damn! Can't find the mop. Well, just squeegee up what you can with your hands and tongue-wipe the rest. Oh, and Mr. Jeremy needs fluffing.


posted by Harvey at 10:14:37 PM  permalink  comment [] trackback []  HOME

  Tuesday, February 17, 2004


"-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... 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.


"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:"


posted by Harvey at 7:17:07 PM  permalink  comment [] trackback []  HOME

  Tuesday, February 10, 2004


Somewhere in the dusty, rock-strewn desert of Afghanistan, Ahmed sits in a ragged tent, processing new Al Qaeda recruits…

Ahmed: Next!

Mohammed: I am Mohammed.

Ahmed: Geez, ANOTHER one? This is a beautiful land full of a proud and wise people. Why the HELL can't we name our children something besides freakin' MOHAMMED? What's wrong with Frank or Matt or Josh? I swear by Allah that if I have to write "Mohammed" on one more form I'll shove a scimitar up my own ass just to end the pain!… But enough of my troubles. What brings you here, dear friend?

Mohammed: I saw your ad for new Al Qaeda recruits laying in the camel-dung outside my hovel, and I am eager to lend my support for this noble cause. Such stirring words you have written!: "Wanted: Brave and intrepid soldiers to wage holy war on infidel American Satan-dogs. Help drive this cursed blemish from our sacred lands. Rewards are great, risks are small, and even if you die… Hey! 72 virgins! Let's hear a big WHOO-HOO for Allah!"

Ahmed: Yes, well... you have to understand... that was written some time ago, and certain… circumstances… have changed.

Mohammed: You mean we are no longer battling the blight of the kufr oppressors?

Ahmed: Oh, no, we are still battling. It's just that, well… ever since the victories… uh, TEMPORARY victories of the Americans in Iraq, we've had to make certain… er… cutbacks.

Mohammed: Cutbacks? I don't understand.

Ahmed: Well, with Saddam out of the picture, we've lost a major source of funding for training and equipment. Even the Saudi princes are afraid to support us for fear of angering the fearsome cowboy desecrators of all that is sacred.

Mohammed: Cowards! After we drive the Western Crusaders from our beloved sand, we shall slaughter the collaborators like pigs!

Ahmed: It is well to hear you speak so bravely! We are in need of such fearless men as yourself. On this, your first day of training, we will be teaching you how to fly a plane.

Mohammed: Yes! I will be proud to martyr myself by toppling another of Satan's towers with one of their own airplanes! ULULULULULU!

Ahmed: That's the spirit. Now, we used to have a 747 in Iraq to use for training. Sadly, it is now out of our hands. Uh… TEMPORARILY! Meanwhile, you will be using, uh… alterative training methods. Here… take this.

Mohammed: A piece of paper?

Ahmed: Yes. Now… fold it like this… and this… and back… and this part goes over here… no, the other way… yes… and one more… THERE!

Mohammed: A paper airplane?

Ahmed: We like to refer to it as a "budget-friendly training device". Now… imagine that you're piloting this…

Mohammed: But I don't know how to fly a plane!

Ahmed: Later, shahid, after we've untemporaried the 747… which will happen much sooner if you'll just SHUT THE F*** UP AND DO AS YOU'RE TOLD BEFORE I BITCH-SLAP YOU WITH THIS KORAN!

Mohammed: A thousand pardons! I defer to the painful-looking leather-bound wisdom of Allah!

Ahmed: Better. Now... imagine that you're piloting this, and use it to destroy this scale model of the Empire Satan Building.

Mohammed: It's just a pyramid made out of empty plastic cups.

Ahmed: [bitch!][slap!] ARE YOU QUESTIONING ALLAH'S WILL?

Mohammed: OW! No, no! I will fly as Allah directs!

Ahmed: And make little airplane sounds while you do it… BBBBBBPPPPPRRRRBBBB!

Mohammed: Air…airplane sounds?

Ahmed: [raising the already spit- and blood-stained holy book] Koran 3:16 says MAKE THE DAMN SOUNDS!

Mohammed: Yes! Yes!… uh… bpppprpprrprpbbbp…

Ahmed: LOUDER! This is a 4 engine Boeing, not a damn Lawnboy! Put your lip into it, man!


Ahmed: Better, better… now, DESTROY THE SYMBOLIC PENIS OF SATAN!

Mohammed: BBBBBBPPPPPRRRRBBBB! […tap…][sound of empty plastic cups
hitting the desert sand]

Ahmed [raising Koran menacingly]: mmmm?

Mohammed: uh… CRASH! BOOM! AIEEEEE!

Ahmed: Excellent! Excellent! We'll make a martyr out of you yet.

Mohammed: Yes! I can almost feel the 72 virgins promised by Allah caressing my tiny withered loins already!

Ahmed: Uh… Mohammed…

Mohammed: Yes? ([fantasizing] mmmm… that's right my sweet nymphs… fondle my
mighty sewing needle… uh, SWORD!)

Ahmed: About those 72 virgins… it seems the Americans have been slaughtering us like dogs lately, and…

Mohammed [coming cloudily back to reality]: Hmmm… What?

Ahmed: Uh… I mean... many, MANY brave martyrs have earned their promised reward in the last few months, and… well… we're a little short on virgins right now…

Mohammed: I won't get 72?

Ahmed: No, no… it's not that. You'll still get 72, except they're not quite virgins…

Mohammed: Well, perhaps it IS better that they have a LITTLE experience in the ways of man-pleasure. 72 young, nubile…

Ahmed: Uh… neither, actually.

Mohammed: Slim? Flexible?

Ahmed: Not so much…

Mohammed: Just what will I be getting.

Ahmed: 72 French whores.

Mohammed: I've never been to France. What are the women like there?

Ahmed: Hairy, snaggle-toothed, and they smell like ass.

Mohammed: Ah! Then it will be just like making love with my sweet Fatima

Ahmed: Your wife?

Mohammed: My camel.

Ahmed: Ah, yes. Nothing beats "bumping the hump".

Mohammed: That's good enough for me. I'm in.

Ahmed: Praise Allah!… Ali! We have another recruit! Take Mohammed out back for small arms training.

Ali: Very good. [as they walk away] Now, take this stick, point it at that rock over there, and shout BANG!

Ahmed: NEXT!

Mohammed: I am Mohammed, and…

Ahmed: awwwww CRAP!...


posted by Harvey at 7:05:03 PM  permalink  comment [] trackback []  HOME

  Wednesday, February 04, 2004


I see you jumping on the stage
To crap upon our clean web page
Bitter twit, you whine and snivel
Plaguing us with thoughtless drivel
Stupidly you spew and sputter
Vapidly you blurt and mutter
Garbage vomits from your keys
Annoying us like bites from fleas
Saying nothing good or true
Asshat lies and trash you spew
Grammar poor, ideas dull
Reflect your empty, worthless skull
"I'll hurt your feelings with my screed!"
"Fear my wrath! I'll make you bleed!
"I am kafka, hear me roar!"
Frankly dear, you're such a bore
Baboon flinging monkey poo
Here's what the Alliance'll do to you
Give you love, give you attention,
By mocking you, and did I mention
That you are just a joke to us
A moron who rides life's short bus
Leave us now, you mindless fool
You floating turd in our swimming pool
You warthog-faced retarded putz
You dripping sore upon our nuts
You feckless, brainless, drooling mass
You feeble, filthy, ignorant ass
Sic Semper Tyrannis, and fare thee well
Now f*** off, troll, and burn in hell.

posted by Harvey at 7:42:18 PM  permalink  comment [] trackback []  HOME

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