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March 2007

Security checkpoints, strap-ons and crocodiles.
perfect together | Tuesday, 03.27.07
FACE DOWN ON THE GROUND YOU PIECE OF SHIT
We've all had experiences with strap-ons. You and your friends are going out for a night on the town, and they ask you to wear a strap-on because you're the most innocent-looking one in the group. It's never a comfortable experience, but you're a good friend, and you're willing to sacrifice your comfort for the good of the group. You don the strap-on. And sometimes, you have to make sure security won't find your strap-on, so you shove it up your ass as far as it will go and... wait, you didn't think I meant that type of strap-on did you? Ew. I meant smuggling exotic fruit over the border or a joint into a show by strapping it to your person, or, in very extreme cases, up your person's ass. Stupid thismayhurt fans, always with the dildos.

I deal with security checkpoints all the time at concerts, so I know the routine. First you remove everything from your pockets, then you get the pat down. This is the bouncer's primary weapon against you, because he's hoping you're stupid enough to remove something illegal from your pockets along with your tic-tacs and your cell phone that Mom gave you for Christmas "in case of an emergency" because you're her fragile little prince. With a pat pat here and a touch touch there, the bouncer is searching for drugs, weapons or a new superweapon that shoots drugs. If you fail the pat down you get the metal detector. If you fail the metal detector, remove your metallic leg from its robo-socket and start swingin' because chances are you won't be seeing your favorite rock n' roll band tonight, gimpy.

I bet crossing the Gaza/Egypt border is similar to getting into your favorite venue. You probably have to put your arms out and turn yourself around, getting poked and prodded by a man who finds great joy in poking and prodding your strangely fat body. He should be careful though, because sometimes your strangely fat body will poke and prod (and bite) back...


A woman with three crocodiles strapped to her waist was stopped at the Gaza-Egypt border crossing after guards noticed that she looked "strangely fat," officials said Monday.

The woman's shape raised suspicions at the Rafah terminal in southern Gaza, and a body search by a female border guard turned up the animals, each about 20 inches long, concealed underneath her loose robe, according to Maria Telleria, spokeswoman for the European observers who run the crossing.

"The woman looked strangely fat. Even though she was veiled and covered, even with so many clothes on there was something strange," Telleria said.
(Yahoo News)

The border police also found two giant pulsating testicles under her robe, because that's the ballsiest shit ever, folks. If only she had read this update before crossing the border she would have learned that shoving the crocodiles up her ass is the only way to smuggle live animals undetected. But, wait, if she read the update before crossing the border, then she wouldn't have been caught, and then I wouldn't have written the update in the first place. This shit's getting confusing now, like that movie Primer. Have you seen that shit? My brain tried to burrow its way out of my skull about halfway though and it would've made it further than my ear canal if I wasn't able to read my brain's thoughts. Or is my brain just telling me that I can read its thoughts... This shit's getting confusing now, like that movie Primer. Have you seen that shit?


In her defense, the woman said she "was asked" to carry the crocodiles, said Wael Dahab, a spokesman for the Palestinian guards at the crossing.

Dhabi said the animals were likely meant for sale to Gaza's small zoo or to private owners. The crocodiles would fetch "good money," even in the impoverished territory, he said.
(Yahoo News)

Ah yes, the ol' "I was just holding these crocodiles for a friend" trick. I wonder if she wrastled the crocodiles before tying their snouts shut, strapping them to her body and singing them lullabies so they would fall asleep. Sure, they were only 20 inches long, but there were 3 of them, so that's like 5 feet of crocodile if they form like VOLCROC. Her and her big sac, battling crocodiles in a pyramid, punching those stupid bastards in the throat... I'm so aroused right now. Anyway, please read the article's conclusion while I hire a team of animators to bring my aforementioned VOLCROC idea to life.


The woman was not the first to try to smuggle exotic wildlife through the Rafah crossing, Dahab said: Another woman tried to bring in a monkey tied to her chest, and other travelers tried to smuggle in exotic birds and a tiger cub.
(Yahoo News)

Awwwww. Monkeys and tiger cubs make adorable smuggled fashion accessories, especially when they're all drugged up and clinging to you because their hands or paws are covered in crazy glue. Or they're shoved up your ass. Seriously, how could you turn away a woman with a drugged monkey strapped to her chest, sleeping like a little baby with footsie pajamas and a little sleeping cap? Security guards at the Rafah crossing, what are you so afraid of? Wacky hijinks? Banana capers? Let the monkey make a run for the border, especially if he's friends with a baby crocodile and they're riding around in a little fire engine. SO FUCKING CUTE JESUS CHRIST SOMEONE HOLD ME.

 
I'm shopping at Wal-Mart and now Nascar makes a whole lotta sense.
whooooooodawgy | Thursday, 03.08.07
I found out that I'm "that guy" at Wal-Mart. You know the guy. He's got his list three inches from his face, he's absentmindedly driving his shopping cart full of domestic items over baby skulls and seeing-eye dogs, and every few aisles he just stops. A United Nation of sighs erupt behind "that guy" as fifteen thousand other shoppers slam into his hindquarters while he rattles off random items from his list to himself: "Plunger. Plunger. Plunger? Ooh, fire extinguisher. Plunger. Shower curtain hooks." In other news, I bought a plunger, a fire extinguisher, and shower curtain hooks at Wal-Mart last night because I'm an adult now and I'm told that adults sometimes buy things like that. I took the items to my empty apartment, threw them on the floor and wept for hours.

I rest my case.
I've never furnished a place before. Usually I only went to huge mega marts to buy video games or snacks, and I'd steamroll at least a dozen of "those guys" out of my way. They're just shuffling along like zombies, dragging one foot behind them, eating the flesh of the living and generally being in the way. What a loser, I'd think, that guy's life is completely empty. He can't even find half of the shit he's looking for and he's three seconds away from a nervous breakdown. Not like me. I came here for video games and snacks. I didn't come for no staplers or tacks. I put this shit on wax, so sit down and relax, or I'll have you pushin' up lilacs. I write brilliant freestyles in my head sometimes.

During my shopping travels, I witnessed a man nearly kill his girlfriend over a toaster oven. There I was, gently squeezing toaster ovens to see which ones were ripe when suddenly a fight is breaking out to my left. "Why don't you just buy the fuckin' most expensive toaster oven they have?" said the man. Now the baby's crying. "I don't need none of this fancy bullshit, just pick a fuckin' toaster so we can get the fuck outta here!" he continued. I grabbed my shopping cart and quickly left the aisle because I didn't want to witness this man caving in his girlfriend's skull with a ToastMaster 5000. Unfortunately I kept getting lost in the aisles, so I passed them about 12 times while trying to escape the Kitchen department. Don't mind me, folks! Just pushin' carts and huntin' bargains and - holy shit that bitch is out cold.

Aside from the aforementioned household-y items, a microwave and my TV, my apartment is a barren wasteland. It's almost beautiful in its simplicity... until I want to sit down. Then it kinda sucks because I have to sit on the floor, or on the kitchen counter like a cool guy. Cool guys always sit on kitchen counters when they don't have a folding chair that they can spin around and sit on backwards. Sitting backwards on chairs is the epitome of cool because, wait a minute, that guy's sitting on the chair incorrectly! That is so fucking cool. I often wonder if guys who sit backwards on chairs also shit backwards on toilets as a great big "FUCK YOU" to society's forward-shitting ways. God I wish I had a toilet; hopefully they're on sale at Wal-Mart.

I always said that I wouldn't shop at Wal-Mart because they run local businesses out of town and then ma and pa have to sell the orphans because their family-owned and operated Yard Stick store is about to go belly up and OH GOD FUCK YOU BIG BU$INESS. But then I remembered that I really don't give a shit about local businesses. Quite frankly, they smell, they're expensive, and I simply don't trust them. Just what are you hiding in that back room anyway? No, I will not leave the store, you're going to show me what's going on back here once and for - oh... so you guys live out of your store, huh? Wow. No heat? Or hot water? And you're selling the orphans to make ends meet? Gee, I feel like a world class heel, let me tell you... I'm so sorry. Um, I'll take $300 worth of yard sticks, please. And an orphan. No, not that one. Not that one, either. Do they come in any other colors?

 

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