More Fun Facts!

Jeepers creepers! I can't believes me peepers! This new "Internet" is amazing! Why, all of this useful information is enough to swell your cranium to the size of a large, malformed pumpkin! Just like that creepy mutant that was confined to a wheelchair in the remake of "The Hills Have Eyes"! Did you know that Maximilian de Robespierre, a principal figure in the French Revolution, nicknamed his penis the "The Bananaconda" ? Or that Viking Explorer Leif Erickson first landed on the moon in the year 1000 A.D. ? As an amateur historian, it is my duty to collect and share these interesting historical tidbits with my fellow "knowledge enthusiasts". So here, for your enjoyment and intellectual amazement, I now present an all new collection of fun historical facts to thrill your knowledge-hungry minds!

1.) Artist Claude Monet, the founder of French impressionist painting, achieved some of the most vibrant colors in his work by incorporating a mixture of bloody human feces and vomit in his oil paint!

2.) Despite his death from syphilis in 1870, German philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche went on to write no less than 16 books from 1872-1888, including "Thus Spoke Zarathustra" and "On the Genealogy of Morality"!

3.) American President, John F. Kennedy preferred to sleep in a spiderweb-shaped hammock wearing a month-eaten chimpanzee costume he'd purchased at a flea market in 1952.

4.) Thomas Alva Edison, inventor of the phonograph, also founded the music industry's first hip hop record label, CrazeeAssKillah Records, in 1890!

5.) Film Legend Charlie Chaplin died of shoe poisoning in 1977 after cooking and eating one of his own shoes in an attempt to fight off starvation during a snow storm.

6.) Rock and Roll recording artist, Ted Nugent culled the lyrics for his 1977 song, "Wang Dang Sweet Poontang" from a little known poem written by author Edgar Allan Poe in 1847!

7.) Taco Bell franchise founder, "Taco Titan", Charles Bell was a self-confessed cannibal.

8.) Reclusive, "The Catcher in the Rye" author, J.D. Salinger played a storm trooper in the 1977 box office hit, Star Wars!

Well there you have it! More fun facts to make your head spin! I'll be on the look out for more fun and interesting facts to share in the near future! So until the near future comes, keep learning knowledge!

Gurgles, The Heavily-Medicated Chocolate Lovechild

The mad killer had left a trail of butchered bodies in his wake that brought to mind some kind of awful human chum line shoveled out for the police to follow like hungry sharks. His modus operandi was as unpleasant as his nickname, "The Maniacal Murderous Mutilating Madman of Midtown Manhattan". It was rather an excessively-long nickname, but we'd had a contest down at the 21st precinct where the winner who came up with the best nickname for the murderer won a free dinner at Happy Steak and it just so happened that that one was the most popular of the bunch. Personally I liked my own submission : "Kill-O-Tron X: Blood Hunter From The Future", but I was obviously in the minority on that one. In all honesty we could have just gone with "The Kiss Army Killer" which would have made sense given the murderer's habit of writing the police his taunting letters on Kiss Army stationary, but everyone had their own take on the killer's most suitable moniker...I'm just glad nobody actually voted for "Aquaman", because I'm pretty sure that one was meant as a joke.

The killer's latest victim had been found in the bathtub of her midtown apartment by a worried neighbor after she'd failed to show up for a ventriloquism lesson with her teacher, Jackie "Cap'n Patches" Paulsen.

"She never missed a lesson." the neighbor had explained.

"Ventriloquism was her whole life. That and 'Knife Collector's Showcase' on the QVC shopping channel. She tended to work blue, which I didn't particularly care for, but she was very good. Her comic timing was impeccable....God only knows what will become of Pappy Peanuts now that she's been butchered like that." The distraught woman went on to explain that Pappy Peanuts had been the victim's ventriloquist dummy; an overall-clad country bumpkin type of character with a taste for bawdy wordplay.

"Perhaps he can be donated to one of those creepy ventriloquist dummy museums I've heard about." I suggested.

"What kind of a maniac would do something like this?" She said, holding back sobs.

"A maniacal one." I said. "Yes sir, a real maniacal maniac is at work here. He murders and mutilates...he's a madman alright...who murders in the midtown Manhattan area. Yes siree, that's why we call him The Maniacal Murderous Mutilating Madman of Midtown Manhattan, miss... or as those on the inside call him, 'Mmmmmm'". I observed the mutilated body of the victim closely, making several mental notes...most of which were related to a discussion thread I'd chimed in on the previous night concerning World of Warcraft. My level 20 Paladin quest had given me an awesome new weapon and I wanted to share the news with my fellow dwellers of Azeroth.

"Did you happen to see anyone leaving this apartment carrying what appeared to be a human head?" I asked, pulling a pad and pen from my coat pocket. "Perhaps the man would have had something under his coat that might have made him look pregnant. Maybe in the last few days you've seen something strange like that and thought to yourself 'Hmmm, that man looks pregnant, just like Arnold Schwarzenegger in the delightful comedy, Junior. "

The woman thought for a moment. "Come to think of it, I did see a pregnant man carrying a human head, but I didn't really think anything of it until now" she said.

"Can you describe this man?" I asked.

"Well he looked pregnant...about nine months along I'd guess, and was carrying a human head." she said.

"Well seeing as how he couldn't possibly be nine-months pregnant in appearance and carrying a human head at the same time, this man is obviously an imaginary boogie man concocted by your no-doubt senile and traumatized mind, Mame...I'm sorry, but this looks like a dead end."

"But Pappy Peanuts is missing, Mr. Detectiveman. Wouldn't it be possible that the killer might have hidden the missing dummy in his coat, giving him the appearance of being pregnant?"

"Impossible...if he were nine months along as you claim he would have left behind a telltale trail of slimy ventriloquist dummy placenta...just like a giant murderous garden snail. It's always the afterbirth that nails them. At least that's how it goes with World of Warcraft. No, I think you've probably been reading too many Aquaman comic books, Mame, but for the sake of argument I'm going to have you draw a police sketch of this character that you believe you saw on this pad of paper." I said, passing her my pad and pen.

"But...I can't draw." she said.

"Nonsense. You'd be amazed what you can do when you put your mind to it. It doesn't have to be museum quality, Mame. I just need a little something to follow up on. Throw me a bone here for Christ's sake. I'm trying to apprehend a maniac before he strikes again....possibly in this very building...maybe coming back to cover his tracks by eliminating a potential witness who could put his crazy ass in the gas chamber. Follow me, Granny?"

The old woman gave the drawing her best effort, employing what limited artistic talent she possessed, and then passed the pad back, looking slightly embarrassed. I observed the drawing with a grimace of distaste.

"Well you're no Rembrandt, lady, that's for certain. Is that his eye? Looks like Paul Williams with downe syndrome. Is that an arm or a trombone? Shit, a three-year-old could draw a better murderer than this, but thanks for the effort. I'll make some copies and circulate them around...see if we get any nibbles." I tucked the drawing into my pocket. "Well, forensics will be here shortly to mop up this mess. If you see anymore murders you give me a call." I passed her my business card. "You might want to consider taking a few art classes. I believe seniors get some sort of discount at City College." I tipped my hat and turned to take my leave. "Now excuse me, Mame. I have to go shove an entire watermelon up my asshole." I said.

The elderly neighbor looked horrified by the idea. "I'm only funnin' ya, Granny." I said with a chuckle as I headed down the stairs.

Somewhere, out in the cold New York night, a kill-crazy maniac was running loose. I was just glad that I would be safely indoors playing World of Warcraft.

Lubricating The Buttocks Of Jeremiah Grizzly

The children sat attentively, waiting for me to begin the morning's lesson. I opened the bible on a random page and pretended to read.

"The rain had been coming down in buckets for several hours as Dickie and Pickles desperately attempted to seal their makeshift ark with Elmer's glue. It wasn't so much an ark as it was a big wooden shack nailed to a raft. Several months previous, Dickie had overheard the voice of God speak to his next door neighbor, Noah about his plans for an impending flood and some instructions concerning Noah gathering animals in a giant ark. Dickie and Pickles had been on the fence about taking it all seriously until they'd seen Noah at work with his sons, Shemp and Hambone, building the aforementioned gigantic ark.

"They'd been procrastinating until the weather began to take a turn for the worse and then quickly tried to make up for lost time by gathering all the animals they could get their hands on at such short notice. They'd succeeded in rounding up a dodo bird, a tyrannosaurs rex egg, a chicken, a couple maggots, a ceramic piranha fish from the 99 cent store, a tarantula and some crazy guy wearing a mule costume. It promised to be fairly cramped and unpleasant in their hastily constructed ark, but with any luck they would ride out this storm and curry some favor with the big guy in the sky for their efforts. Unfortunately when God saw unto what Dickie and Pickles were doing he did smote them and did pull off their arms and legs and laughed as they lay dying. The angry and vengeful God did then send them to Hell where Satan took pity on Dickie and Pickles and granted them any wish their hearts desired."

I had been the bible studies teacher at St. Anthony's of the Bloody Skull for over two months now and no one was yet wise to my little game. As a militant Satanist, I'd taken it upon myself to infiltrate the Catholic school system and spread the word of Satan from the inside. I'd previously been employed as an art teacher at Satan's School for Girls but was asked to resign after disrobing in front of my class during a nude figure study lesson. My unemployed status had me up a financial creek as my residual checks from the short-lived sitcom, "Joni Loves Chachi" were getting smaller by the month. No one in their right mind wanted to syndicate reruns of that pile of shit and my last check for $1.25 proved that fact. At my age the thought of auditioning for dead end sitcom pilots and Burger King commercials made my stomach turn, which was fine if I was auditioning for a diarrhea medicine commercial, but the last time I'd tried that sort of method approach I'd crapped my pants in front of the director. By shaking the foundations of the Catholic church from the inside I was killing two birds with one stone. I was speading the word of Satan and picking up a paycheck at the same time. Now I could fuel my lottery scratch off addiction to my heart's content.

One of the children raised his hand with a question. I gestured for the child to proceed. "My dad says that all of your lessons sound like a crazy person made them up." He said. I laughed and then spat on the floor. "Well, your dad's a punk, kid. Sit your smart ass back down and don't talk smack."

Another child raised her hand. "Yes?" The girl stood. "Why are you wearing a diaper over your pants?" I ignored the question and performed a handstand before the students, then placed a black comb beneath my nose to create a makeshift Adolf Hitler Moustache. "Heil Hitler!" I snarled, giving a Nazi salute and then suddenly threw up on my desk. Moments later, as I mopped my shirtfront and tie with a Kleenex, I was surprised by a gentle knocking at the classroom door. I seized the letter opener from my desk to use as a weapon in case of attack and turned to face Father Pat O'Brien, the school Principal, standing in the doorway with a look of great concern. I jabbed the letter opener at the priest as my students gasped with horror. "You'll never take me alive, O'Brien!" I screamed, donning my Darth Vadar Helmet, and quickly jumping out of a window to make my escape. "Hail Satan! You've all been had, fuckers!" I screamed back at the class as I bolted across the playground.

Stealing The Thunder Of Dickie Starchild

The film projector sputtered to a stop. The squad room was silent save for Sergeant McCullough's wheezy breathing. No one seemed to be able to figure out why Captain Hooper had just shown three consecutive episodes of the 1960s cartoon series, "The Archie Show" to the entire vice squad. Hooper stepped forward, standing behind the podium next to the projector.

"Red-haired bastard!" he hissed, obviously referring to the cartoons' lead character, Archie Andrews. "I hate that carrot-topped fuck!" he said and kicked the back of the podium.

Finally Sergeant Turner raised his hand. "What is it Turner? I'm trying to brood." Turner cleared his throat. "Can I use the john? I'm prairie doggin' it like nobody's business over here."

Hooper waved Turner out of the room impatiently. Turner rose from his seat and timidly skulked out of the squad room, leaving the rest of us to brave Hooper's latest insane tirade.

Last week he'd show the vice squad two low-budget horror films about deadly spiders, "The Giant Spider Invasion" and "Kingdom of the Spiders" starring William Shatner. He'd prefaced the screenings as food for thought, a set of hypothetical situations for which we might want to formulate a department strategy in case of such occurrences, no matter how slim the chances of their happening might be. "We must prepare for the impending arachnid threat!" he'd warned us without a hint of irony.

Now this week he was about to sound off about a fictional red-headed teenager that he seemed to have taken a great dislike to. Hooper held up a black and white drawing of Archie Andrews and frowned with distaste. "This guy...this Archie Andrews fuck! He's some piece of work, this clown. Him and his stupid red hair and that souped up jalopy of his." Hooper tacked the picture to the wall and turned back to face us. "Attends Riverdale High School. Known associates are Jughead Jones and Reggie Mantle . Also known to associate with Betty Cooper and Veronica Lodge and a big guy they call 'Moose' Mason. Frequently seen hanging around Pop Tate's Chocklit Shoppe. " Hooper pulled a switch blade from his trouser pocket and popped open the blade. He turned to the picture tacked to the wall behind him and stabbed the blade into the forehead of Archie Andrews. "I want this smug fuck little asshole apprehended toot sweet, and I mean DEAD OR ALIVE!" he said.

I raised my hand. The Captain glared at me, anticipating my usual sarcastic quip. "What is it, Chapman? The comedian's got another Laugh-In catch phrase at the ready, I suppose?" I ignored the jab and pointed to the picture. "What if he's wearing a werewolf mask?" I asked. "How will we know it's really this Andrews character?" Captain Hooper pondered the question for a moment. "I'll have some silver bullets made, Chapman. We can't take any chances."

I stood up and loosened my tie. "I'd better go undercover dressed as a crazy Chinaman on this one Cap...I'll wear huge buck teeth and coke bottle glasses and talk in an offensive Chinese accent. I can apply for a job at Benihana tonight. I'll act just like Jerry Lewis did in his hilarious comedy classic, 'Hardly Working'. We should set up a dragnet...literally...drag a giant net down the city streets and see what and who we catch in that net. We'll post snipers on every rooftop to shoot random innocent bystanders and we'll sell tickets for Farris wheel rides. We can also sell candy and hot dogs and set up a spook house for the kids with a real working guillotine to decapitate the children as they exit. I just hope my DVD copy of 'Deep Inside Annie Sprinkle' still plays with all of that semen all over it."

Captain Hooper was obviously impressed. "Top notch Lieutenant. I like the cut of your underpants." he said. "They're leather." I said. The Captain turned to the squad room's chalkboard and began to scribble squiggly lines of gibberish as he spoke. "I want everyone supplied with a 'Chicken Inspector' badge and large rubber hand glove that gives the appearance that your hand has been run over by a steam roller. I want the SWAT team sharpshooters to wear wooden shoes and dress like the Dutch Boy on the paint cans so they don't draw attention to themselves. We'll tell everyone that it's 'National Holland Day' so they'll simply blend in. This way if they get cornered by a person in a werewolf mask they can fight them off with their shoes."

I cletched my fists in glee. "The Year is One! Hail Satan!" I screamed. The other officers quickly chimed in. "Hail Satan! Hail Satan!"

My Popsicle Nazi Has Shingles

I sat alone at the piano in the living room of my apartment in Rome. Observing the clock on the mantle I was a little surprised to find that it was just past one in the morning. The night had been damp and, thanks to an open window, there was a crisp chill in the air that kept me alert in the early morning hours as I worked.

I was busy composing the opening number to my musical version of "The Fly", a piece that would later become know as "Musca Domestica Suite in G Minor", but was at the time simply called "Eat a Big Bag of Shit, You Fly-Faced Fuck." I was feeling a bit on edge due to the fact that two night previous I been a witness to a brutal murder as I walked home through the Piazza del Popolo with my friend and fellow composer, Dario Simonetti. It was very late in the evening and the two of us had had more than few glasses of wine, making our recollections of the terrible incident more than a little hazy, if not completely unreliable and useless to the police inspector who'd taken our statements. He'd observed us both with a wary eye and raised eyebrow as he'd penned our remarks in a small notepad shortly after his arrival at the crime scene.

We related to the inspector that as we were walking through the piazza an hour before his arrival, we'd been startled by a piercing feminine scream in the distance. Running in the direction from where the scream had come from, we'd spotted the figure of what appeared to be a blond woman splattered with blood in a the third story window of an apartment building which overlooked the piazza. Seconds later the woman was attacked from behind by a dark figure wielding a large butcher's cleaver. The most that we could make out about the assailant from such a great distance was that he was wearing a black or brown fedora hat and a what looked like a dark, shiny raincoat and black gloves. We saved the strangest detail of all for last; the odd and disconcerting music that we'd heard playing far off in the distance just before the screaming began. Surely it could have just been coincidental, but something told us this was not some random detail to be ignored.

"Did you recognize this music?" the inspector had asked. With some hesitation, I admitted that it had indeed been familiar. With even more hesitation I next informed the inspector what the music playing in the distance had been. What we had heard was quite simply one of the worst American parody cover songs in the entire sub genre of comedy-themed music. My face nearly turned red as I explained. "Well there is an American country and western song called 'Achy Breaky Heart'. What we heard was meant to be a humorous version of that song that incorporates lyrics about flatulence." The inspector requested that I elaborate and spare him no detail. I winced in embarrassment and with some trepidation continued my description. "Well, you see...the parody version of that song is titled 'Stanky Stanky Fart', Inspector. It was a big hit with humor-challenged rednecks back in the states." The inspector requested that I repeat to him any of the words of the song that I could remember. I rolled my eyes in disgust. "Well, I believe the chorus goes something like, 'Don't smell my fart...my stanky stanky fart...I think I laid a turd right in my pants...Don't smell my fart...my stanky stanky fart...I tried to clench but I didn't stand a chance.' Or something like that...I really don't remember it that clearly"

The inspector pressed me for more details. "With music please." I asked him to clarify. "Please to sing the lyrics with music." The inspector demonstrated by singing a few bars of an Italian song that I did not recognize. I got the point and with great disgust began to sing the lyrics to the tune of the original song. After I had done so, the inspector called to one of his subordinates and whispered in his ear. Seconds later I was stunned when the officer returned holding a cowboy hat and handed it to me. The inspector cleared his throat. "Now please...if you would humor me...with signing and dancing." My jaw nearly hit the pavement. "To catch this killer...I must have every detail possible concerning this music."

"You want me to dance?"

"Please...If you would be so kind."

I donned the cowboy hat and with all the gusto that I could muster, belted out the lyrics again while dancing around like some hayseed idiot. When I finished, I took a bow and tipped my hat. The policemen at the scene applauded, placing coins into the hat.

"Now how about everyone joining in?" I asked. "Dario will accompany us with boisterous fart noises". The inspector considered this for a moment. "Yes, I think this will be fine." he said. Once again I began my song and dance as the others swayed along to the rhythm, joining in by singing along with the idiotic chorus. This time I went for broke and belted out the tune with a tasty country twang and swing in my step. My showmanship was off the hook as I tore my white button down shirt open to reveal a fringed yellow cowboy shirt covered with sequined musical notes and tore off my simple black jeans to reveal a pair of pink chaps and red cowboy boots. Nobody could put this genie back in its bottle.

"Don't smell my fart! My stanky stanky Fart! I think I mighta sharted in ma drawers! Don't smell that fart! That stanky stanky fart! I got stanky odor comin' out ma pores!"

The group square-danced behind me as I continued. "Don't smell my fart! My stanky stanky fart! I made a caca doody in ma pants! Don't smell that fart! That stanky stanky fart! I went and did the doody diaper dance!"

Suddenly a red curtain lowered behind us as a colorful backdrop and a golden guitar was handed to me by a male midget wearing a diaper and over-sized foam rubber cowboy hat. Glitter began to fall from the sky.

"Don't smell my fart! My stanky stanky fart! The smell'll burn the hairs right out yer nose! Don't smell that fart! That stanky stanky fart! It didn't come out smellin' like a rose!"

The crowd that had assembled to watch out little impromptu hoedown went wild with applause and I was happy to learn that an American tourist who had stumbled upon our show had had the foresight to quickly film the entire number in Imax 3D.

It had been a strange evening and as I sat alone at the piano in the chilly morning hours I reflected back, and thought that it might be wise if I tried to start taking a little less PCP on weeknights. It was then that I heard the music through my living room window playing somewhere off in the distance. "Don't smell my fart! My stanky stanky fart!"

The killer had returned.

(Cue theremin music)