Tis the Steven

Potentially Classic Lines Of Movie Dialog That Ended Up On The Cutting Room Floor

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Flushin' A Toilet Fer Jesus

Once our entire clan had all come down with severe chest colds, I knew it was time for a family trip to The Funtime Palace, a new pizza parlor/arcade that had recently opened up in the Monroeville Mall. As Raven and I loaded the kids into the family hearse we instructed them to touch as many things as possible in the arcade, preferably after coughing their revolting germs onto the flesh of their hands. We knew our little, walking germ incubators would do us proud.

The family was in high spirits thanks to several bottles of cough medicine that tasted not unlike a cross between rotting cherries, pruno and gasoline, and as we drove merrily along we all mumbled and rambled on incoherently in our best high-as-fuck Elvis Presley voices. As we pulled into the parking lot the children cheered and and licked the palms of their hands in glee. "Fly like the wind my little phlegm bags!" Raven screamed as the happy children bolted for the entrance.

Once inside, little Otto requested several quarters for the "Fag Basher" game, which required the players to attempt to wallop small plastic homosexual stereotypes over the head with a rubber mallet. Little Lucy went the extra mile and threw up inside of the House of Balls play tent. Within thirty minutes the entire arcade was swimming knee deep in our horrible germs. By the time the management got wind of our nutty antics and had us physically escorted off of the premises, we had passed our sickness around like a box of condoms at a wild sex orgy.

As luck would have it, after being escorted back to our hearse in the parking lot, we were spotted by none other than pop music dynamo, Terry Styles, producer of the top ten hits, "Kissin' Cousins" by Cornhole Calhoun and "Fuck My Booty" performed by former Icelandic ice skating champion, Hans Delbrook and his backup group The Fucksticks. Terry could spot talent a mile away, and he immediately knew our little family had something special. He pitched a record deal in the spot, weaving a tapestry of delights with promises of Partridge Family-style fame and fortune. Moments later we all stabbed him to death with our homemade prison shanks and burned rubber out of the parking lot.

Movie Maniacs

As a little Halloween treat for my friends and myself, I have done a little art project in which I have transformed our little group into famous horror film murderers. Ken Dashner as Leatherface from The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Dan Burr as Fred Krueger from A Nightmare on Elm Street, Rick Popko as Michael Meyers from Halloween and me as Norman Bates from Psycho.

Party Monster

As the song "The Monster Mash" began to play on my stereo again for what must have been the 187th time in a fucking row, I bolted for the punch bowl for another stiff belt of the fruity, spiked concoction that The Phantom of the Opera had brought to my little Halloween party. I was now long past caring that the Phantom lived in a cave in the sewer tunnels beneath the Metropolitan Opera House, and the strength of the punch had finally erased nearly all of my concerns about the sanitary conditions in which the intoxicating beverage had been made. Sewer or no sewer, I just wanted to get shit-faced by that point in the evening.

In gloriously-blurred hindsight it was quickly becoming apparent that my clever plan to throw a "Mad Monster Party" and invite actual monsters was not such a hot idea after all. This was incredibly obvious as I watched in horror as Frankenstein's Monster and his bride danced about clumsily in the living room, doing irreparable damage to my hardwood floors with their fucking gigantic platform boots. The floor had so many black scuff marks that it looked like I'd held a goddamn roller derby in my living room.

An hour earlier The Wolfman had taken an enormous shit in the cat's litter box, leaving behind traces of what appeared to be the remains of my apartment building's doorman as well as those of the cat. After Mr. Hyde had given the Creature From The Black Lagoon some of Dr. Jekyll's pharmaceutical-grade ecstasy, the slimy bastard refused to stop sticking his head in my toilet and flushing it while he screamed that he was caught in an "a-hole". I couldn't tell if he was really freaking out or if he was just tripping and thought it was funny. When I tried to pull him out of the bathroom, he scratched the shit out of my leg with his nasty green claw. Dracula had to vomit after having eight Bloody Mary's, and seeing as how the bathroom was occupied, proceeded to do so in my hallway. Being a little high and tipsy myself, I just got a couple of zombies to help me pick up The Mummy (who had passed out in the hallway) and set him on top of the vomit to make sure nobody slipped and broke their neck. His bandages were very absorbent and worked wonders in soaking up the mess, although he's not going to be too happy about our ingenuity when he regains consciousness. After the Dracula vomit inccident was resolved, I heard noises coming from my bedroom and walked in on Medusa going down on the Headless Horseman...which I guess, technically no longer qualifies him as "headless". Oh, and the fucking It's Alive baby spit up in my hall closet...Blacula is gonna throw a shit fit about his cape.

At least Michael Meyers is low-maintenance...all he does is stand around listening to the theme from "Halloween" on his ipod.

Apparently these "monsters" got the label not from their frightening looks and homicidal habits, but because of their horrible behavior. They're fucking monsters alright! I'm gonna have to just move out when this shit is over. And who the fuck invited Fred Krueger? I don't remember writing "child-murdering pedophiles welcome" on the evite. Happy fucking Halloween! This party sucks ass!

Underpants Juggernaut

"You're a big pile of stinky doo doo diarrhea and you play with your weenie all night long."

I raised an eyebrow. The puerile accusations stung. It had certainly been many years since my last confession but I had no idea that the Catholic Church had lapsed to the point of actually allowing men of the cloth to resort to childish name calling. The confidant on the other side of the confessional suddenly belched loudly and the smell of cheap bourbon wafted through the screen of the partition slot. I heard the click of a cigarette lighter and the smell of cigarette smoke hit my nostrils within seconds.


"Excuse me, father...but is it customary to smoke cigarettes while hearing confession these days?" I asked.

My rather suspicious father confessor was silent for a brief moment...then came the sound of a fart from the other side of the confessional. As I held my breath and fanned the air, I attempted to place the voice coming from the next compartment. I had certainly heard it before, but not in Saint Augustine's Church. It was youthful and full of childish glee...more the voice of a playful scamp than a devoted man of God. I leaned forward, attempting to catch a glimpse of the person on the other side of the confessional through the small screened window in the wall. I caught sight of ridiculously-baggy holy vestments and a what at first glance appeared to be a midget wearing a beard crafted from cotton balls. The face was as instantly familiar to me as the voice had been. I had seen it many times on the sliver screen featured in MGM's "Little Jackie" two reel comedies.

But what on earth was the diminutive child star doing dressed as a priest and sitting inside a confessional booth at Saint Augustine's? As a certified private detective, I felt it was my duty to find out. I decided to play hardball with the little creep and went for the jugular with a line of bullshit about being a star-struck pedophile with a Little Jackie Jones. The kid went all queasy as I pretended too lust for the rotten little bastard. "Little Jackie is the reason I play with my weenie all night long, Father. I feel so dirty, but I just can't help it. Little Jackie is so beautiful! I must make sweet sweet love to him!"

Silence from the other side of the confessional, then finally Little Jackie spoke, this time attempting to make his voice sound deeper. "Uh...well, gee mister, that's awfully horrible. If I'm not mistaken you can get arrested for that sort of thing."

"Yes. I would have to strangle him afterward and dismember his little body and distribute his various body parts in dumpsters around the city to avoid going to the electric chair...but it will all be worth it when I track him down. I think I'll save his penis in a cigar box."

"Jesus Christ, mister!" Jackie said. His voice was now filled with terror.

"I can't wait to suck out his eyeballs!" I said, taking a live duck from my overcoat pocket that I'd managed to catch in Griffith Park. With lighting-quick speed I punched out the screen of the confessional wall and shoved the duck through into the adjoining compartment. Little Jackie screamed as the duck flapped its wigs and quacked frantically.

Before Jackie could bolt from the confessional I made my exit and opened my trusty violin case. I removed the large, nude female doll that I kept inside for just such occasions. When Jackie burst out of the confessional I poked the doll in his face and screamed in a high-pitched voice. "That's the man got me pregnant! That's him! Infected my womb with his syphilis-tainted baby batter! Our baby come out all crazy!"

Little Jackie ran from the church screaming bloody murder, baggy priest vestments dragging behind him, his eyes wide with horror. I smiled and lit a well-deserved cigarette, and then, laughing, dropped my pants and went to the bathroom on the floor of the church.

The End (?)

Low Man On The Scrotum Pole

Don't make this strange disembodied head wearing a green derby bitch-slap you, ho!

To Felch A Rat Carcass And Other Exciting Stories

"Well, bikini-wax my taint!" Grandma said. She'd never seen tomatoes grow so big, or so neon purple for that matter.

"Must be somethin' to do with that weird meteor that landed in Potter's Grove last night is all I can figure." Grandpa said, scratching his forehead. "Saw a squirrel the size of a small child having sex with one of them glowing, red watermelons this morning. And I mean that sucker was really going to town."

"You think that meteor is responsible for that new roller disco in our front yard that mysteriously appeared this morning?" I asked Grandpa.

"Only way I can figure it." Grandpa said.

"Never seen so many faggots in gold shorts and fishnet tank tops in my life!" Grandma said. "If we don't shoo them off we'll be up to our necks in semen by tomorrow!"

The aforementioned meteor had plunged out of the sky last night shooting a trail of hot blue flame behind it as it crashed into the hard earth of Potter's Grove at what I estimate to have been about ten thirty PM. Grandpa and I had driven the truck out to take a closer look and less than a mile from our farm had come upon the strangest site my young eyes had ever seen. The meteor itself looked to be about seven feet around in circumference and was a glowing shade of what I can only describe as a sickly lime green. There was an audible hum emanating from the core of the thing that sent an unpleasant throbbing into our bowels and caused us to crap our pants whenever we came within five feet of its mass. By morning the entire span of Derringer Springs seemed to have been transformed into a kind of freakish, supernatural wonderland. Everywhere grotesque mushrooms sprouted ten feet high in the most repulsive colors and shapes imaginable, and our previously beloved vegetable garden had now been transformed into a twisted jungle of otherworldly mutations. Sometime in the night my cat, Petey had also grown to the size of a mountain lion and sprouted a small humanoid head from his neck that reported the local traffic and weather conditions every hour on the hour. The two-headed monstrosity had stolen a pair of Grandpa's coveralls from the clothes line and put them on, afterward repeatedly asking me if they made its ass look fat.

"Good Gravy! Those used to be my green beans!" Grandma said, pointing at several greenish, oblong-shaped creatures wearing toupees and making love to an upright piano. "Fuck a duck, Joe. You'd better break out the old theremin for this shit."

"Theremin's in the shop, Nancy." Grandpa said, eyeing our apple tree, which was now dressed in a white tuxedo and furiously masturbating to a "Tiny Bubbles, Don Ho's Greatest Hits" record album cover.

"Wonder how far this is gonna spread." I said, noticing that my left foot had mutated into what looked like a fried chicken wearing a lobster bib.

"Bad time to have the theremin in the shop, Joe." Grandma said, then began to perform her own high-pitched humming version of the musical notes of the instrument to accompany the strange goings-on taking place before our eyes.

Honey-Roasted Fetus Kabobs

Dan West: It's another exciting day here at the Dan West Hates You And None Of You Will Be Happy Blog. I don't have many special guests here on the blog, but today I'm less than thrilled to bring back one of my least popular and least favorite: The Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask. Hello, Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask...it's nice to have you back.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Glad to be back, Don.

Dan West: It's Dan.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: What is?

Dan West: My name...it's Dan. I smell alcohol...vodka if I'm not mistaken...I see you didn't disappoint by showing up sober.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Wouldn't dream of it, Dane.

Dan West: It's Dan...nevermind...What would you dream of, Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask?

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Round, brown ghetto booty.

Dan West: Interesting. Well since I don't really have any questions for you, I figured we would simply engage in a bit of free association.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: What...like Jerry's Kids?

Dan West: No, I will say a word or series of words and you simply say the first thing that comes into your mind.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Sounds fun.

Dan West: Are you ready?

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Fire away!

Dan West: Peppermint.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: The objectification of Ethel Merman's cleavage as a masturbatory aid!

Dan West: Gonorrhea.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Playa hatin' with Rabbi Schlomo Feldstein

Dan West: Lobster bib.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: The Hardy Boys and the Case of the Blood-Stained Gloryhole.

Dan West: R&B singing sensation, Peabo Bryson.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: The Hardy Boys and the Case of the Cock-Sucking Jiffy Lube Employee.

Dan West: Iceberg Lettuce.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Catholics simply crave the new nougat-filled Eucharist.

Dan West: Onion.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: The Hardy Boys and the Case of the Shit-Covered Dildo!

Dan West: You really seem to have the Hardy Boys on your mind today.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: The Hardy Boys and the Case of the Diarrhea-Splattered Restroom!

Dan West: Boner.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Brushing your teeth with Ben Gay pain-relieving ointment.

Dan West: Juicy Couture.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: The children like the chewy rat carcass.

Dan West: The A Team.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Please don't ignite Granny's anal dynamite.

Dan West: Flypaper.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Mixin' sexual elixirs in my pharmacy of love.

Dan West: Slap-Happy Pappy.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: The condemnation of the buttock tickler.

Dan West: Butterscotch lovin'.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Tito's taco truck tummy tremors.

Dan West: Well, Weird Man in a Mr. Spock mask...we have thankfully run out of time. It was truly a pleasure having you here today for this session of free association. Thank you so much for stopping by.

Weird Man in a Mr. Spock Mask: Oh, none taken, Dane.

Fistin' The Night Away

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

A Whole Mess O' Jive

Bobby "Blowhard" Chesterfield was certainly a man deserving of his nickname. Bobby blew a mean alto sax and he'd just flipped our collective lids with a non-stop 24 hour-long solo.

Joe "Chubby Digits" Brewster, our bass player, laid it out in four simple words, "Man, this cat's dynamite!" The observation proved nothing short of prophetic, for not only was Bobby dressed in a ridiculous home-made cat costume, but only seconds after Joe had succinctly articulated our delight at his playing, Bobby suddenly exploded into several pieces, showering the bandstand with blood and gore.

Blood rained down on the skins of my Slingerland drum kit as, what I believe was a section of Bobby's lower intestine, smacked, sticky and wet across the top of my head. Moe Brown jumped back startled as Bobby's left foot landed on the keys of his upright piano, pounding out a sloppy lower key blast. Slim Skinny, our guitar player, ducked, barely avoiding Bobby's rib cage as it splattered across the back wall of the bandstand.

Man, what a blast that session was, Jack!

Shit That Would Be Fucking Awesome!!

1.)Robert Goulet singing songs from "The Wizard of Oz" and interjecting inappropriate cuss words!

2.) Dr. Joseph Mengele being torn apart by Holocaust survivors!

3.) Klaus Kinski and Chucky the killer doll from the Child's Play movies battling each other with light sabres!

4.) Mae West's ghost fucking a mummy that's wearing a Colonel Sanders mask!

5.) The dancing fat kid from that viral You Tube video riding a giant Piranha while dressed as Oliver Hardy!

6.) Harmony Korine winning a Best Picture Oscar for his new movie "Trash Humpers"!

7.) George W. Bush getting shit-faced drunk on Country Club Malt Liquor and throwing gang signs while wearing a gold bling grill on his teeth!

8.) Keith Richards killing a werewolf!

9.) Weird Al Yankovic performing "Eat It" for the Pope at the Vatican!

10.) A munchkin being eaten by a giant black widow spider!

Great Forgotten B-Sides To Hit Singles Of The Past

1.) "Stanky Hoe" by Rick James

2.) "He-Man Pajama Party" by Red Sovine

3.) "Gin n' Tonic in My Colonic" by Dean Martin

4.) "The Ballad of Obadiah Von Vander Sloot" by Box Car Willie

5.) "Peppermint Expectorant Mucous" by Al Hirt

6.) "Stabbin' My Baby in the Balls" by Patsy Cline

7.) "Cat Stranglin' the Night Away" by Frank Sinatra

8.) "Underwear Freezer Burn" by Kiss

9.) "I Get Sick On You" by Neil Sedaka

10.) "Kiss My Polish Ass! Oh Yah! Oh Yah! Oh Yah!" by Bobby Vinton

Special Peacock Meat Hamburger Helper For Chongo

Dear diary,

I awoke this morning after my stint in the deprivation chamber to find everyone in my neighborhood now sporting shiny plastic bowler hats, the type that you only find at Walgreen's during the Halloween season. Now afraid to go outside as they will all know that I am not one of "them". Got odd stares through my living room window during routine observation period...heard one elderly neighbor mumble, "Arbitrary...unsatisfactory...disproportionate" as she pointed at my un-hatted visage in the window. Perhaps it is now truly time to arm myself to the teeth. God help us all.

My Current Shit List

1.) Mrs. Butterworth (Whore!)

2.) The entire production team behind the movie "Bring It On : In It To Win It" (Eat a big bag of shit you Hollywood dickwads!)

3.) Anyone named Milton (Fuckers!)

4.) That guy at the funeral home with the sticky hands (Freak!)

5.) Dick Van Patten (Your comedy chops were not up to snuff in the film, "Spaceballs"!)

6.) Mervin T. Bonkers, III (Not a real taxidermist! The aardvark looks like shit!)

7.) Polish singing sensation, Bobby Vinton (nice panties, FUCKFACE!)

Hands Off The Jujyfruits, Fuckstick!

Dear diary,

In my efforts to create a gargantuan version of the puzzle video game Tetris (by employing the use of several dozen midgets wearing colorful boxes with holes cut out for their arms and legs) I have instead created what can only be described as a horrifying bloodbath.

Perhaps dropping them on top of one another from such great heights was not such a clever idea after all. I guess I just assumed that their smaller stature would make them more resilient for some weird reason. Is that racist? They weren't exactly willing participants either. Not one of them was easily coaxed into my horse-drawn wagon cage by my promises of lollipops and pastries. Maybe it was the top hat and the eye patch that put them off...or maybe it was the black cloak and phony hook stuffed into my coat sleeve. I was under the impression that all little people loved sweets...but in hindsight I'm not really certain where that idea came from. Maybe I saw it in a cartoon. In any case, now I've got a massive pile of dead little people to dispose of. Maybe I could take them to a taxidermist and use them to create a life-sized panorama of Munchkinland. At least that would work a lot better than my disastrous Tetris concept...and it's always good to recycle, after all.

Duncan's Rectal Thermometer Theramin

It certainly promised to be an exciting day here at the Dan West Hates You And None Of You Will Be Happy Blog! Today's post was really going to knock the comedic socks off of all the three and a half people who are occasionally intellectually masochistic enough to stop in and read this crap. Today's post was going to be a real humdinger! (Wow! that sounded very pornographic!) It was to be a wild and woolly tale of how I fell off of a ladder while nailing a bra to a barroom ceiling and was suddenly transported (via my imagination) to a magical place called "Tinkletownvilleland".

There, (in Tinkletownvilleland)with eyes full of wonder, I would embark on a wonderful adventure filled with fantasy and just a hint of patricide and methamphetamine abuse. I would meet many characters during my journey: Gelatinous Rudy, "The Pimpster", Skull Head, Skipper The Stripper (Who can't keep up her zipper), He Who Salivates, Mr. Melty and little Taco. Each of these fantastic characters would, in their own way, teach me a poignant life lesson that would enrich my being from the neck up, but do nothing for the nasty bits kept hidden in my colorful, patch-covered pants (except for Skipper).

Together we would all perform a rousing climactic musical number about deadly fungus titled : "Stachybotrys Chartarum, Oh How You Do Me Such Har-um!" Also at one point I would be threatened by a nude and hairy giant who would shake his fist at me and proclaim, "I'm gonna discontinue the living shit out of you! You dick-nosed fuckface!"

But what could such a fabulous blog post be titled? Would it be called "Choo Choo Opts For Breast Reduction Surgery"? Or perhaps, "Consummate The Voodoo Of Your Love"! My mind raced with possibilities: "Twinkie Gets His Groove On", "New Passion Of The Christ Inflatable Punching Bag", "Ralph Singleton's Private Underwear Party", "Wiener Swingin' Jiveass Dance Party", "Ron Cummings Strums The Sexual Banjo", "A Ringworm For Poppy", "Johnson's Nose To Cleavage Adhesive Spray", "Momma Discovers Doogie's Nipple Clamps", "Bananas: Nature's Erection".

Yes, this one going to be one hell of an awesome blog post!

And Now! The Tribute To The Lesser Known Efforts Of The Professor From Gilligan's Island

A funny coconut pirate head!

A goddamn wooden hat!

This thing!

Wicked wooden dildos!

The kickass coconut knocker holder!

A fucking awesome pot pipe!

A Tribute To The Lesser Known Efforts Of The Professor from Gilligan's Island

The above blog entry is a tribute....this is the announcement for that tribute...just like the "Oscars"...it is a tribute to a brilliant innovator and cast member of one of the most renown, intelligently-crafted, thought-provoking American television programs in the medium's history. None of us were actually there that fateful day...when five passengers set sail for a three hour tour...only to find themselves stranded on an uncharted desert isle, but now, through the magic of the "interweb", we can unveil newly discovered creations from Roy Hinkley, M.A., B.S., PhD, aka "The Professor". (See next blog entry for the exciting details!)

Fun Facts!

Boy oh Boy! What a kooky,crazy,mixed-up,tangy,verbose,triangular,sex-drenched,ultra-violent,pinstriped,chewy,new and improved,chocolate-coated,funky fresh,alcoholic,artificially-flavored,downy soft,flammable,ready to eat,pill-popping world we live in! Call me crazy, but it seems like every day more and more kooky,nutzo facts are popping up like pimples on an ugly teenager who eats too much junk food! It's enough to make your head spin! Just like the little girl's did in that movie "The Exorcist!" Boy howdy, let's just take a peek and see what's new in the world of fun and interesting facts!

1.) America's 13th president, Willard Fillmore was nicknamed "Doo Doo Drawers Fillmore" by 12th President Zachary Taylor, due to his nasty habit of never changing his underwear!

2.)Flatulence was invented China in the year 1476, during the reign of the Ming Dynasty!

3.)Impressionist painter Pierre-Auguste Renoir could whistle through the head of his penis!

4.)Carlo Collodi's book, "The Adventures of Pinocchio" was based on the life of Giacomo Florenti, an Italian, peg-legged dwarf who was born an actual puppet!

5.)Styling one's powdered wig with semen was once considered a cure for Lycanthropy!

6.)The human skeleton is not actually made of bone, but consists of a carefully blended mixture or plaster of Paris, sawdust and highly-flammable nitrate film stock!

7.)The people of the country of Serbia nest in trees like birds!

8.)The top hat was invented in 1797 by an English haberdasher named James Heatherington who had a tall, square forehead like Frankenstein's Monster!

An Intervention for Peepers

When I first informed Papa of my aspirations to become a famous Hollywood film comedian he replied, "You'd have better luck shoving a pop tart up your ass and claiming to be a toaster."

Undeterred, I calmly explained my game plan to become my generation's version of the great Charlie Chaplin. "I want to be the next 'little tramp' !" I exclaimed, following my speech.

"Yeah, well you're already halfway there, Junior, seeing as how you're already a goddamn bum. You could just saw your legs off at the knees to meet the height requirement." Papa grumbled, shoving me aside so that he could resume his regular nightly viewing of Knife Collectors' Wholesale Smack Down on the Home Shopping Channel.

"I'm serious!" I said.

"You are? Well that's hardly an ace in the hole for a baggy pants comic, smart guy." Papa quipped, distracted by the shimmering assortment of spring-activated 'Scorpion's Sting' folding buck knives displayed on the television screen. "Oh, man! I gotta get me one of those babies and stab you in the neck with that mother fucker!" he giggled.

"You aren't even listening to the heart-felt dreams of your only son!" I said. Even though I loathed him with all of my heart, I one day longed to be rich and famous and be able to place Papa in a second-rate, or better yet, third-rate nursing home and never visit due to my numerous awards ceremony obligations, leaving him to rot away to a bag of bones in a clouded haze of dementia and suffering from an ever present diaper rash-the result of the laziness and neglect of his underpaid caregivers.

"Fine!" he snarled. "You wanna be Charlie Chaplin? Put on a derby, draw a fucking Hitler moustache on your face and go impregnate some underage girl, you retarded mutant! I'm trying to watch my knife show!"

Papa was "old school". A regular working-class, blue collar Joe who's ideas of elegance and taste encompassed only the rusting double-wide trailer we called home, TV dinners and twelve packs of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. He was hardly a character to embrace my notions of comic genius. "You wanna be funny?" he asked, pitching a half-empty beer can at my skull and hitting me square in the forehead. The blow knocked me backwards into a collection of dust-covered bowling trophies that he'd found in a moulding cardboard box a few years before and had since proudly displayed as if they were his own. "There you go Shemp!" he cackled, referring to the slapstick comedy stylings of the late Shemp Howard of Three Stooges fame. "Now that shit was funny!"

I rose to my feet and carefully extracted the tip of a bowling trophy that had become impaled through my liver during the unsolicited pratfall. Papa howled with laughter. "Maybe you are a comic genius after all, you fucking dipshit!"

My mind reeled as I sputtered instructions for Papa to call 9-1-1. Moments later, I fainted from a rapid loss of blood from my wound.

Two months later I hazily emerged from my coma and attempted to establish my bearings as I stared, dumbfounded, at the ceiling of the Happy Valley General Hospital's coma ward. As my wits returned, I couldn't help noticing that my right leg had been amputated at the knee and my left arm and testicle were missing. It didn't take a rocket scientist to do the math: organ/limb vegetable garden! Nurtured only to harvest my spare parts like some human auto dismantling yard! Papa had sold me down the river after heartlessly wringing laughs from my comic aspirations with his sadistic beer can-tossing antics!

I gazed about the ward, noting that a good number of my comatose roommates were also missing numerous body parts. What a diabolical turn of events! Suddenly the door of the coma ward swung open. I quickly laid my head back on my pillow, again playing the helpless vegetable that I had been only moments before my horrifically rude awakening. A doctor entered the room, followed by a short, elderly man wearing a double breasted suit. "Of course I'm really a doctor! Why do you think I'm wearing scrubs and a stethoscope?" the doctor asked, sounding irritable. The man in the suit cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. "Well I'm just not used to seeing assless scrubs. Your buttocks are hanging out in full view." the man said. "It's a sexy new look for the coma ward staff. Chocolate Love! 100%!" the doctor said, snapping his fingers with a spicy flair.

"But you're white." the elderly man noted.

"Racist!" the doctor snapped.

The elderly man loosened his tie, nervously. "It's just that at Weinerman's Ball Park Franks, we're a bit choosy about who provides the ingredients for our hot dogs." He unbottoned his shirt collar and then wiped the perspiration from his brow with a handkerchief. "If this sort of deal was discovered I would be finished."

"Finished with what?" the doctor asked.

"I would be ruined" the man explained.

"Well perhaps you could buy stock in my new line of assless scrubs." the doctor said.

"That's not the point. The hot dog-eating public might object to a company putting human meat into their franks." The man said.

"Well, they can bite this human meat frank!" the doctor said, grabbing his crotch.

"I'm just not 100% on this deal." the man said.

"Chocolate Love! 100%!" the doctor repeated, snapping his fingers again.

"I'm really going to have to give your proposal more thought. I'll get back to you." the man said, exiting the ward.

"Yeah, well you're a fuckin' pussy, dude! The fuckin' Chicolini Salami Company was all over us like flies on shit, you fag!" the doctor screamed. "One guy even bit this chick's finger off and swallowed it raw to test the product!"

I couldn't believe my ears...or my eyes for that matter. It was all too dreadful to be believed. My meat, and the meat of these other unfortunates harvested for a cheap brand of salami by some sadistic lunatic in assless cotton pants! It was like some awful Vincent Price film! I had to escape..before I was completely ground into some hideous cured sausage.

"Fuckin' bullshit!" the doctor grumbled as he left the ward. I had to work quickly, before the lunatic discovered his next potential customer. Using what strength and dexterity I had left in my weakened body, as well as several lengths of surgical tubing, I tied together several of the other comatose patients, creating a makeshift raft. I then stuffed a corn cob pipe I had found with aromatic cherry-flavored tobacco and struck a match, puffing madly at the pipe to create a thick cloud of smoke. My plan worked, as in the next few moments the emergency sprinkler system was activated, flooding the coma ward with water. As the room was filled by the sprinklers' watery deluge, my human raft was swept through the door of the coma ward and into the hallway beyond. I paddled madly toward the emergancy exit screaming "Freedom is mine! Freedom is mine!" all the while imagining the horrible vengence that Papa was going to suffer at my remaining hand.

Chump Change Charlie Spends The Night In The Haunted Dildo Factory

It was a cool Friday evening in San Francisco and former television game show host, Bob Eubanks and I were settling in for the 4th annual Punky Brewster marathon on BET. Bob and I had been friends ever since he'd splattered that deer all over the highway with his monster truck and we'd exchanged tasty venison recipes and even tastier gangsta rap lyrics. I deeply admired Bob's choice of hairstyle and he in turn confessed a deep respect for my mad skills as a professional cobbler. He knew full well that a career in the shoe repair industry was no bed of roses.

We were waiting for our pizza to arrive when Bob confided in me his disappointment in the fact that he had never seriously pursued a career as a professional bullfighter. This odd confession at least finally explained his habit of wearing an ornate matador's costume on Friday evenings.

"I'm just not Spanish enough." he sighed. "Damn my Dutch and Scottish heritage!"

When I addressed the mystery of why he wore his speedo underwear over the outside of his matador britches he became more cryptic. "Society, the reflections of a child." he said, quoting Charles Manson. "Maybe after Punky Brewster we can pretend that we've invented a time machine." He proposed.

"Sure thing, Bob. I'm certainly looking forward to that pizza." I said. "I truly hope that it will be savory." I added, simply wanting to use the word "savory" in a sentence.

Bob downed the last swallow from his bottle of Heineken and belched loudly. "I was looking at the Oprah's book club blog entry under the rest in peace, Dennis Hopper blog entry below this one and was reminded of how someday I would like to write a book...a great work of fiction."

"I didn't know you had aspirations of becoming a writer." I said. This was the first mention Bob had ever made of his desire to achieve literary greatness and frankly it surprised me.

"Well that particular dream is usually eclipsed by my bullfighter fantasy, but I do possess a rather fertile imagination...especially when it comes to thinking up different and unique ways to murder people. I think that I might do quite well as an author of horror novels or crime thrillers."

I was intrigued. "Anything in the works?"

"Oh sure...a couple of short stories here and there...three unfinished novels and I also write lengthy letters to an unsolicited pen pal in New Zealand that include numerous references to necrophilia."

I cleared my throat, a bit jealous of Bob's uncharacteristically cerebral aspirations, and then began to lie. "Last week I sketched out the storyline for a sweeping historical epic that I've titled 'The Opulence of Moe Moe's Waffle Shack' and I have a great idea for a children's book called 'Wally Gets His Finger Back' " I claimed, attempting to appear as intellectually ambitious as my guest.

Bob raised an eyebrow. "You never mentioned this before."

"Well it's just a hobby, but I'm quite prolific...last week I wrote three novels, 'Sherbet The Clown's Sexual Snake Pit', 'Tiki Tantrum', and 'Whitey and Crackers in Honky Town'...plus a poem titled 'Peppermint Schlong'."

"Why you gotta steal my thunder, homie?" Bob asked, sounding slightly irritated by my insane and colorful boasting. "I say I want to write a mother fuckin' book and all of the sudden you're mother fuckin' Charles Dickens? I suppose you wrote the Bible too, mother fucker! Is that it? You God now?" Bob's mood was turning extremely sour.

Unable to help myself I continued to weave my web of lies. "I've also invented a new bubble gum by mixing previously chewed bubble gum with blue food coloring...I call it 'Chewy Bluey'."

"You're fucking full of shit, you fucking fuckface!" Bob screamed, pulling a knife from a sheath attached to his belt.

I jumped to my feet with lightning quick speed. "Not so fast, Skippy!" I warned, knocking Bob into a glass cabinet full of ceramic clowns with a perfectly executed roundhouse kick to the jaw.

As Bob lay sprawled out on the floor moaning, I ran to my bedroom to retrieve my latest eBay purchase: an ominous, plastic Colonel Sanders Halloween mask. After donning my mask I quickly prepared a syringe full of enough black widow spider venom to kill a rhinoceros and walked back into the living room singing the lyrics to "Give Me Back My Fillet-O-Fish", a catchy jingle that I had recently heard used in a MacDonald's commercial.

"End of the road, Honcho." I said, plunging the needle into Bob's neck and injecting the deadly spider venom.

As Bob convulsed on the floor, foaming at the mouth and turning a pale shade of gray I spat on him. "You just wore out your welcome, smart guy!" I hissed, turning toward the kitchen to get my hacksaw.

R.I.P Dennis Hopper

Okay, Dennis Hopper is really the only guy who could take out the Texas Chainsaw Massacre family (TCM Part 2, a personal favorite of mine). Easy Rider, Blue Velvet, Land of the Dead, River's Edge....Queen of Blood(?)...the guy was BADASS!

Oprah's Book Club 2010 Reading List

1.) A Respectable Citizen's Violent Shell Game of Death by Henry Johns

2.) Makin' Sex the Old School Way: The Glory of Leather Condoms by Gerald Granger

3.) Nancy Drew and the Case of the Cum-Stained Turban by Dianne Turner

4.) A Papal Bull for Dickie Jergens and Mr. Bonkers by Cindy Campbell

5.) The Cucumber of Justice by Jose Gonzalez, Jr

6.) Tinker, Taylor, Soldier, Unrepentant Slut by Alison Barnes

7.) Zebra Costume Fart Smack Down : The Tail End of Vengeance by Eleanor Bailey

8.) Jerry-Rigging the Moonshine Still of the Gods by Terry Henderson

9.)Vaginal Stitches Removed From Neighborhood Idiot by Sheri Santiago

10.) Close But No Cigar, You Elephant-Ridin' Bitch! by Arundhati Adija

11.) Disposable Rubber Briefs and Other Tales of Terror : Multiple Authors

12.) Arno Fassbinder's Cinnamon-Scented Kimono by Slappy Ingram

13.) Funky, Chewable, Forbidden, Mau Mau Straight Jacket by Jo Jo "Fruity" Reese

14.) Comin' to Blows with Jesus by Father Simon Delgado

15.) The Salacious, Jumbo-Sized, Grindhouse Pantie-Shredding Machine by Helen Goodman

16.) Professor Larry Meyer : Genetic Cross-Breeding Dynamo by April Showers

17.) Fisticuffs With Chico The Animatronic Werewolf by Dr. Arnold Strickland, M.D.

This Harpo Marx Wig Smells Of Mildew

Don't make this weird guy dressed in a SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS costume bitch-slap you, Ho!

Finger Lickin' Bad

I have written about this ridiculous mask before on this blog. Take a good look at this stupid thing. What kid (who wasn't suffering from some sort of dementia) would actually choose to be Colonel Sanders, the founder the Kentucky Fried Chicken Franchise, for Halloween?

Batman? Nope. Frankenstein's monster? Nope. How about Spiderman? No...I want to be Colonel Sanders for Halloween. WTF????? And even if the kid didn't make this particularly bizarre choice, what parent would be weird enough to pick this out for their child?

This thing was half of an actual Halloween costume. I know this because I witnessed the strange power of this mask first-hand as a kid. This mask was the catalyst for the only time that I have actually wet my pants from laughing so hard that I truly lost control of my bladder. Imagine being at another child's house, a child that you have just met...the kid busts out a Colonel Sanders mask. Then the aforementioned child, without any warning, puts on his Colonel Sanders mask and proceeds to completely flip out as if he is having a spastic fit, flailing around his room running into things and spinning around screaming as if he is a robot who has gone out of control.

At nine or ten years old...whatever age it was...it was the single weirdest thing that I had ever seen a human being do, and this surprise slapstick comedy attack was so fucking hilarious that I could not stop laughing, and the more I laughed, the more the kid freaked out for my enjoyment. It was either part of a routine shtick he performed for guests or a moment of truly inspired lunacy created on the spot...whichever it was, it remains, to this day, one of the funniest things that I have seen in my lifetime.

For years I wondered if this actually happened...I knew it did of course, but it just seemed so weird that I often wondered if I'd dreamt this up myself somehow. I never saw another Colonel Sanders mask again until last week when I thought to google "Colonel Sanders Mask" to prove that I was not hallucinating way back when. As it turned out, someone just happened to be auctioning off one of these idiotic things on eBay...well guess who is now the proud owner if his own, very real, plastic Colonel Sanders Halloween mask? That's right! I'm that stupid/weird! Lucky me! Maybe I'll have to frame this thing....or better yet...wear it when guests come over and surprise them with a little out-of-control freak out.

Takin' A Wiz!

After sitting through the extremely gay musical "Wicked", I have decided to pen my own musical about the magical land of OZ. My musical will focus on the bloody exploits of "Munchkin Hunter" and cannibal, Grimly McDeathkill. Here, for your enjoyment is the opening song from my new musical. ( Our story begins as Grimly first arrives in Munchkinland ).

Grimly:

It's easy to determine the idiots and vermin
All you have to do is look around

It doesn't take a sermon, or a decade of book-learnin'

to see this is a shithole of a town

There's another fucking midget, who's dressed up like an idjut

did you steal your clothing from a clown?

If I see another munchkin, they're gonna get a punchkin

and a slap upside their little munchkin head

All you candy-colored cuties with your stupid curly booties

better run for cover or your dead!

I'm the munchkin killer, yes indeed

and I've sworn an oath to hunt your breed

I'll chop you up and make you bleed

and then burn down your town!

I'm a munchkin eater, yes indeed

I've sworn an oath to hunt your breed

upon your munchkin flesh I'll feed

I'm here to take you down!

CAST :

He's the munchkin killer, yes he is

and he's not here to see the Wiz

In Munchkinland he'll do his biz

and burn it to the ground!

Grimly:

My one and only function

is the death of every munchkin

a task that I have taken on with joy

I'll catch them and I'll kill them

Then I'll bake and broil and grill them

and then this Munchkinland I will destroy!

I'm the munchkin killer, yes I am

Scarier than Son of Sam

I'll eat you like a leg of lamb

I'm here to take you down!

EVERYONE:

He's the munchkin killer, yes he is

and he's not here to see the Wiz

In Munchkinland he'll do his biz

and burn it to the ground!

A Pocket Full Of Kryptonite

A Pocket Full of Kryptonite. Ever hear that album by Spin Doctors? I detest that pile of shit...I also detest Spin Doctors...and their goddamn lead singer that looked like some happy hippie fuck sixties throwback. Fuck Spin Doctors.

But this post is not about the band who brought the world the equivalent of musical diarrhea with such gems as "Little Miss Can't Be Wrong."...(ever see that video? Absolutely vomit inducing), this is a post about kryptonite. Kryptonite...an element created from the remains of Superman's home planet of Krypton that can actually kill Superman. Have you ever tried to kill Superman? Take it from me it's not that easy.

I think we all have a personal form of Kryptonite...something that has a tremendously adverse effect on us..our Achilles heel, the thing that makes our skin crawl at the very thought of it.

Picture yourself as a super hero. A super hero that has been captured by your arch enemy. What weakness does this arch enemy use against you? I have two personal versions of kryptonite : Chewing gum and mayonnaise...both of which completely repulse me. The thought of either can make me nauseous immediately, but if I had to pick the worst of these two evils, I would have to go for chewing gum... a creation so foul and annoying to me that it literally makes me want to punch people in their gum-chomping jaws, and I won't even go into what evil thoughts I have entertained concerning the idiots who repeatedly pop their gum loudly as if it's some form of toy for their jaws to play with. I have never seen the movie "Saw" or any of it's 5,000 sequels (surprisingly), but I imagine that the fantasies that I reserve for such inconsiderate, oblivious assholes would be something along the line of the horrors depicted in those films. Just the smell of gum is revolting to me. It smells like what I would imagine an evil clown would smell like, like Pennywise from Stephen King's book "It"...it's a sickly sweet stench that I find absolutely repulsive...in any of its foul incarnations, "minty", fruity", etc...they are each a slice of the devil's feces in my opinion.

This would be the element that my arch enemy would use against me if I were a super hero. Luckily, I have always tended to side with the villains so hopefully I will never find myself locked in a room packed with gum-chomping retards.

Grunt Like An Ape For The Sex Fairy!

Last Friday my friend Rick informed me that he was setting up what he called "a treat" for us. "I'm looking into getting us tickets to 'Wicked'!" he announced. "Wicked"...a musical about two witches from the land of Oz...as in "The Wizard of Oz". My first thought upon hearing this was "since when did we become a middle-aged gay couple?"...two men in their forties going to see a musical about two witches from Oz? With no wives or children in tow? Sure sounds as gay as the day is long to me. When I asked what his reasoning was, Rick said "I hear it's really good." Then he reminded me, "besides, you said that you were sexually attracted to the wicked witch on the posters." I did indeed state this fact...which seems all the more reason that I would not really be game for seeing a Broadway musical about the land of Oz...Just because I am sexually attracted to a woman with green skin who looks great in pointy black hat and practices witchcraft, doesn't make me a fan of musicals...I was thinking more along the lines of a Captain James T. Kirk/Alien chick attraction...something kinky...with much more green-skinned sex action and much less singing. You know, something like where I order her to "Sit on my broom stick and take a ride, Baby!"...But noooo, now I have to listen to a bunch of gay songs about Oz for two hours...I bet there are goddamn munchkins in this fucking thing too...Uggggg...I hate munchkins...they should have dropped Dorothy's house on a shitload of those little fuckers...like the Lollipop Guild...

Speaking of the Lollipop Guild, am I high or did they not crawl out of a manhole in "The Wizard of Oz"?...A manhole...meaning that they live in the sewer? I would be hesitant to eat that lollipop if I were you, Dorothy.....maybe I'm mixing that scene up with the "crazies" scene from "Escape from New York"...but I seem to remember the little bastards crawling out of a manhole. Wait...what the hell was I talking about? Sex with witches....midgets who live in the sewer...Captain Kirk...green boobs...sit on my broom stick...yeah...that about covers everything

Dr. Bernie Lipton, DDS : Human Sex Toy

After being informed by my landlady that I am not, in fact, "judge, jury and executioner", but simply a deadbeat who's always bursting at the seams with excuses as to why my rent is constantly late, I was forced to keep the shriveled-up, elderly miser at bay with the temporary (hopefully) loan of my much-coveted oil portrait of Merv Griffin (stolen from his Carmel home by a friend who was high on PCP at the time) and a promissory note for a free bikini waxing/taxidermy lesson.

The fascist hag also made me promise to dismantle my living room "sex morgue" and change the roach traps in the basement laundry room with a set of salad servers duct-taped inside my shirt sleeves so that I would "lack the luxury of the dexterity of human fingers for this particularly unpleasant task". She's also stipulated that I must wear a rubber latex novelty store bald cap "to rob me of my youthful arrogance" and that I must repeatedly curse the traps as I fumble with them (with my salad server appendages) with the specific line of dialog : "You doo doo ca ca pee pee, bad squares! Squares promise the doo doo ca ca pee pee roaches ultimate demise! Yet the doo doo ca ca pee pee roaches still appear!"...apparently she wishes to video tape me doing this so that she can upload the questionably-hilarious results to You Tube.

She may be a sadistic money-grubbing vampire, but I have to admit, if the shoe was on the other foot, I would be making the same bizarre demands. I've since made a mental note to add her to my ever-expanding list of potential Dick Tracy comic villains....I think I'll call her, "Cuntface". I think Chester Gould would approve, especially since he is dead now and can't voice his opinions concerning the direction that his ground-breaking comic strip takes in the hands of a mentally-unbalanced cartoonist wearing a rubber latex bald cap and attempting to sketch his new villain with a yellow crayon clutched clumsily between a pair of salad servers. Take that, "Cuntface!"

Gold Denture Grill Bling Teeth

Last night at the Governor's Ball, California State Senator, Elaine Alquist slipped some wicked roofie-type drug into my gin and tonic. Sen. Bob Huff must have sold it to her during the surprisingly violent and sexually graphic pre-dinner puppet show. Dat shit was off da hook! Genie told me this morning that I kept pointing at Sen. Darrell Steinberg and calling him "Dr. Bootysuck O'Felcher, M.D." and that I also attempted to bite Sen. Jenny Oropeza on the ass and kept screaming that I wanted to see "the governor's balls". Apparently I eventually had to be physically restrained once I had become convinced that I was transforming into a blood-thirsty "sex werewolf". Now that was one hell of a Governor's Ball, baby! (I woke up in our bath tub wearing a leather thong and the mask pictured above. I have no idea where all of the blood I tracked through the house came from)

Gordon Newman : Frequent Condom User

These are my new imaginary friends, Ronald "Peppermint Schnapps" Saunders and Mrs. Alma Whipple of 45 Glenview Terrace West. They reside inside of my mind and keep me entertained during those excruciatingly-long and admittedly-boring sermons that I preach at my new church, The Church of The Later Day Christ Chainsaw Massacre, Part VI : The Final Conflict : Episode I. Goddamn I can drone on and on. "God this", "Jesus that" and blah blah blah. It's not like I believe any of that shit...I just do it for the collection money to keep me in hoes and Country Club Malt liquor.

Ronald is quite the prankster and knows a thousand dirty jokes that often make me laugh out loud at inappropriate moments (Why does Fred Astaire's face smell like Ginger?! Indeed!) and Mrs. Alma Whipple of 45 Glenview Terrace West is a former arm wrestling champion and recovering alcoholic who has followed the acting career of Alan Alda with great interest. She is also a member of the Kiss Army.

Jimmy Jacknife's Jailhouse Jesus Juice

Don't make the Tin Man bitch-slap you, Ho!

Remo Pimplicker's Chicken Fried Vengence

Boobs = Good

R.I.P Charles B. Peirce

Today we mourn the passing of the great, Charles B. Peirce, creator of such cinema classics as "The Legend of Boggy Creek", "The Town that Dreaded Sundown" and the fantabulous "Boggy Creek II" starring the great man himself sporting a pair of very tight shorts.

Heyyyyyyy Abbbbbbbbbbotttttt!!!

I think that my film making partner Rick Popko and I are slowly morphing into Abbott and Costello as we age.