The Apocalyptic Holiday Parade

If you're unfamiliar with some of the characters that have been featured on this blog before or you just want to reacquaint yourself with them again to better understand the following heartwarming holiday story, just click on the following links and enjoy!

For another story about the mysterious Intenso, click here:

The Incident at St. Mary's

For stories regarding Asmodeus, click any of the following links:

Auditions For The Circus
Second Round of Auditions For The Circus
Asmodeus' Astounding Circus

For lovely adventures involving Toadie, click any of these links:

Toadie in "Happy Anniversary"
Toadie in "Road Rage Spectacular"
Toadie in "First Love"
Toadie in "The Christmas Trip" (Part One)
Toadie in "The Christmas Trip" (Part Two)
Toadie in "The Haunted Bordello" (Part One)
Toadie in "The Haunted Bordello" (Part Two)
Toadie in "The Haunted Bordello" (The Final Chapter)

And now, the final story involving all of these wonderful, fairy tale like characters.  

Brandon and his family are at his house, enjoying video games, talking about the economy and pulling food from bags.  The family pet is also busy, in the corner of the living room, licking his pecker like a lollipop.

Brandon just came from the grocery store with his Dad, Mom and dog, Skipper.  Then he, while putting a jar of peanut butter on the top shelf of the kitchen cabinet, heard what he thought was a marching band, just down the street.  Curious as to why there would be one, especially on this day, around Christmastime,
the twenty one year old man went outside the door, turned and saw what was coming his way.  Behind what was coming his way, was a cloud.

This was no ordinary cloud.  The was unique.  It was a deep crimson red cloud that was raining blood from it.  Hot blood spattered the ground and street below, erupting from the cloud in wave after wave.  Steam rose up from the asphalt of the ground and soon, even from where Brandon stood, he saw the blood was eating away the street as if it were acid.  Even the ground beneath what was once road was eroding into nothingness, leaving a wide trough of burnt dirt.

This cloud crackled with a horrifying sound that Brandon thought was a raucous mix of laughter and thunder. It scared away almost all of the animals. Dismembered body parts rained down from this cloud.  Detached heads busted open on the eroding, steaming street.  Arms, legs, torsos followed.

Trumpets made an earsplitting noise in the air.  At the front of the parade, sat the demon, Asmodeus.  The demon was sitting on a throne being carried by men, writhing in agony.  Asmodeus' tongue flicked out of his mouth.  He began laughing.   Intenso was by his side, laughing, while the band played a warped tune that began to make people come out of their houses, screaming.  While screams of laughter and pain filled the air, Intenso saw neighbors staggering out of their houses.

Brandon could see the neighbors' faces then.

The neighbors watched, filled with terror, as some of the participants of the parade were wearing the blood and dead skin of other humans.  Others had simply painted their naked bodies with odd human expressions and symbolism.

Dressed in black, the mysterious Intenso twisted his wrist, suddenly, and through sheer mind control, made the neighbors tackle each other to the ground and fuck like wild dogs.  Afterwards, they forced tree limbs into each other's butt holes.  They both howled and bled, profusely.  They wouldn't stop until they had torn each others assholes apart and bled out, almost completely.

"Tree huggers," muttered Intenso.

A neighbor dog ran up to one of the fat naked corpses on the lawn.  Blood was forming in large puddles around him and his wife.  They had just gotten finished with reading the local paper and suddenly found themselves in the front of their houses, fucking each other with long tree limbs.  The husband was struggling to breathe.  Abruptly, a huge dog, named Pippy, sprinted toward the man and tore out a piece of the man's gaping butt.  The dog, under the spell of Intenso, then ran across the yard, growling, with a slimy chunk of the man's colon in his canine jaws.  The man watched the dog run away with a meaty bit part of his colon, screamed loudly and futilely, then shit himself in a funny sort of way, before breathing one last time.

Intenso skipped forward a bit and began to sang, gleefully...

"Oh, Susannah
Oh don't you cry for me
For I come from Alabama
With a banjo on my knee."

He then turned to the lesbian couple and twisted his wrist again.  "Think you could "munch some carpet" for me?"

One of the women shuddered, seeing what chaotic, violent acts he had made the other neighbors perform.  Still, one of them stepped forward, bravely and said, "You can go fuck yourself."

Intenso smiled and then replied, while twisting his wrist back again, "What you will do for me is going to give me such a hard on."

It wasn't long before the women, under the spell of the maniacal Intenso, stripped off their clothing and began to push each other to the ground.  The smaller one hit the taller of the two in the face, knocking her out.  She took out a small pocketknife and was about to carve up her lover before Intenso decided their deaths would be more humorous if he tried his next trick.  Intenso curled his finger, forcing his supernatural powers to overwhelm the woman with the knife with thoughts that were more sinister than the ones she had before.

Everyone who witnessed what happened with the women began retching, violently.  Skipper the dog, ran out of Brandon's house and enthusiastically chowed down on the steaming piles of vomit.

Towards the front of the parade were baton twirlers, swinging human femurs into the air above and catching them as they came back down.  Blood poured out of their sockets in their heads where they once had eyes.  Their nude, emaciated bodies contorted, every so often, repulsing everyone watching them.  Their ribs would sometimes rip through their thin flesh, with blood spilling down their bodies.  They no longer had the will or strength to scream.

A huge balloon animal was pulled along in the line of the parade.  Even those that were lying on the ground, suffering from torment, looked at the plastic object and chuckled.

People heard Intenso, skipping along, cheerfully singing...

"I had a dream the other night
When everything was still
I dreamed I saw Susannah
A-coming down the hill."

By this time, everyone was out of the neighborhood's houses and apartments, in awe, of course, of the evil, disgusting spectacle being played out in front of them.  When a few people tried running back into their dwellings or attempted using any of their electronic devices, they were instantly incinerated by the power of Asmodeus.

When one man was almost able to reach his cell phone, about to dial the emergency numbers, Asmodeus raised his butt cheek, from where he sat, cut a huge fart towards the man and burnt his victim's off of his shoulders.

Women in strange green clothing, sat on the shoulders of merry men, while the muscular men had deeply planted their hands, then arms in the women's vaginae.  The women, oddly enough, wouldn't scream and only smiled to the passerby.  Some even waved, as if they were on a normal parade float.  Their minds, obviously, had been taken away long ago.

Brandon screamed at the living nightmare all around him.  Body parts were everywhere.  People were torturing and raping each other.  Scenes, too horrific to describe, froze Brandon where he stood. At this point, the marching band stopped playing.

Asmodeus, the demon, raised his clawed hand, signing to all the rest who were involved in the parade, to halt at his command.  With his other clawed hand, he had been munching on a woman's detached boob.  Quickly, he tossed the rubbery nipple off to the side like a discarded, half-eaten gummy bear.  The demon stared at Brandon, angrily and soon the young man was feeling himself slowly catch on fire.

___________

Four blocks down the road, Toadie and Valerie had just gotten married.  After several years of being together, making love and going on several adventures, they cemented their relation by making their love official and on paper.  They came out of the little church, full of happiness, ready to begin their lives as husband and wife.

When the newlyweds looked down the road at the carnage and the macabre parade, the mentally challenged man shouted, "Toadie is hungry for wedding cake!"

Then he farted.

Valerie looked at him, lovingly and held his hand, proud of her new husband.

Asmodeus turned his attention toward Toadie and instantly, Brandon's body ceased catching on fire.  His parents came running up to their son and extinguished little flames on his shirt and pants with their jackets.

In less than a second, Asmodeus was staring down at Toadie, sneering at the apparent fool.

Toadie looked up and giggled at the smoldering red behemoth.

Asmodeus snapped his fingers, without warning and caused Valerie to bleed out of her ears and nose.  Streams of blood ran down her face as she cried out.

Toadie stopped giggling.

Toadie cocked his head to the side.  Intenso ran over to see what the hold up was about, regarding the parade.  He thought everyone was having a good time, so far.

Intenso looked at Toadie and the demon standing toward each other, shrugged and to break the tension, the man cloaked in black garments began to sing...

"Old McDonald had a farm, E-I-E-I-O.
And on that farm he had some chickens, E-I-E-I-O.
With a..."

Intenso couldn't sing the rest of his verse because Toadie had quickly crushed the supernatural being's trachea and shattered his voice box with his right hand.  Intenso grabbed his pulverized throat with both hands, confused and unable to understand Toadie's surprising surge of strength.

Before Asmodeus could take any action, Toadie, with lightning speed, pierced Asmodeus' chest and pulled out the demon's black heart.  Asmodeus slumped to the ground.  Valerie, in that instant, stopped bleeding.

Skipper the dog ran up to Intenso and bit through his scrotum, causing Intenso to wail.  The dog shook his head, aggressively, clamping his jaws down on Intenso's nutsack.  Soon, Intenso's genitals were being escorted off the property by Skipper the dog.  The testes of the mysterious being slipped out of the dog's slobbering mouth and hit the ground.

The cloud behind the parade cleared up.  No more blood rained down.  No more body parts.  The sun came out and the street that was there once before began to reappear again.  People who had once died or were hurt, stood up, healthier than they were before the parade.

The stout, broad shouldered Toadie looked down at Asmodeus and said, "You're no different than any other tyrant.  You feed off of the fear of others.  You either secretly or not so secretly crave attention, fear and adulation from as many obedient people or sheep as you can gather.  If more folks like me took a stand and realized they had capabilities they didn't know they had before and were willing to stand up to pieces of shit like you, you wouldn't exist in the first place.  Love, courage and people using their minds for the greater good will ultimately defeat beings like you.  Oh... and one more thing."

Asmodeus was gasping for breath.  Toadie turned around, pulled down the pants of his tuxedo and farted directly into the demon's face.  Asmodeus coughed, choking on his own retched vomit.  The green, toxic gas ate the demon's flesh off of his face.  The demon's eyes bulged and melted away. Soon, the demon no longer existed in this realm.

Toadie threw the demon's heart high into the air.  Skipper caught it with his powerful jaws and burst the organ in his mouth.

Suddenly, those involved in the parade disappeared, completely.  There were no signs that anything had transpired during the last few hours.

Toadie looked at Brandon and said, "Nothing should be assumed.  That especially includes anything that breathes.  Strange, evil beings, such as the one you confronted, are different, in how they appear and the tricks they can pull off- but that is really the only difference between them and the puppet leaders and ruthless dictators of the world.  Sometimes, regretfully, you have to resort to violence as a last resort with these fuck wads or they will continue their reign of terror and their often successful campaign of fear-mongering."

After this was said, Toadie took Valerie up in his arms and took off in their white rented limo, toward the reception hall.  This would begin a new exciting chapter in their lives.  Together, in spirit and love, they would spend the rest of their lives, making each other as happy as possible.

At the reception hall, everyone drank bourbon, rum and tequila, singing and dancing.  Later, old friends would tell their same old favorite stories, smoked copious amounts of marijuana and had a terrific evening of fun and revelry.  It was an evening of celebration and also a time to reflect on what they could all do to improve themselves and the state of the world.

Everything, miraculously, had been set right again in the land.    

Good Food on 420 Day or Any Other Day

The following is a fictional tale of intrigue and wisdom and stuff.

The three guys were sitting around the living room and enjoying their bowls of stew.  They had just finished smoking a couple joints only an hour ago and they were hungrily gobbling down the contents of their bowls.

Dave managed to stop eating for a moment and said, "What am I eating?  It's fucking delicious!"

Kyle, the dude who cooked the stew, said, without missing a beat, "It's unborn fetuses in a health-minded chunky soup.  The meatier bits were gingerly sauteed and I mashed the undeveloped eyeballs into a paste before adding the hearty broth that I shit from my ass this morning."

Dave nodded his head, understanding.  Then he added, "Well, it tastes great .  Hope you didn't go to too much trouble."

Dig in!

Kyle remarked, "Not at all, my good friends."

Then Kyle, Dave and Rick laughed, simultaneously, knowing that what was said simply wasn't true.  You know, the part about the fetuses, eyeballs and excrement juices.  But Kyle did cook the concoction.

It was actually Kyle's Slow N' Easy Deer Chili that they were eating.  A special recipe he had thought up the night before.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Here, let me give you the recipe.  You can copy it if you like.  But if you don't, I will gut you and use your intestines as a jump rope.  Ha ha.  I'm just kidding.  Look... See the smiley face?  :) People add these to the end of comments to let you know they're joking or that they're trying really hard to be cute or funny or sincere.  I have to add them all the time... on Fartbook, Twitter, sticky notes and sometimes this blog or wherever- because if I don't, some good, yet not particularly intelligent folks might get the wrong idea.  :)

Wouldn't want that to happen.  :)

In any case, if you don't want to eat the meat of Bambi, you can substitute ground beef, ground sausage, ground turkey or semi-fresh finely chopped unborn fetuses.  Also: You will need a Crock Pot or slow cooker.  Don't try making this with the hollowed out skull of a long dead hobo.  The ingredients simply will not fit and will not be cooked properly.

First, the ingredients to this simple, delicious recipe:


2lbs. ground venison
1 1/2  30 oz. cans of tomato puree
A big jar (roughly 24-28 ounces) of medium to hot spicy salsa
A bag of frozen chopped peppers and onions (or, if you're fancy, find the peppers and onions your own damn self and chop them up- fresh)
Add a 15 oz. can or 30 oz. can of chili or kidney beans (optional- depends on how much you want to fart later)
and a 1lb box of elbow macaroni or whatever pasta you want
Add about five to six tablespoons of chili powder 

The basic ingredients

Cook or boil what needs to be cooked or boiled (I hope I'm not making this too complicated for ya) and put it all in a Crock Pot or slow cooker.  Pour water into the mix til it almost reaches the rim.  Leave about a one inch space.  You don't want it to bubble over and make a mess.  I won't help you clean it up.  I'll be busy.  You don't want to know.  :)

Look closely, on the right and you'll see the Pillsbury Doughboy getting his wife, Poppie Fresh, brutally hard, up the ass.  His unique penis has the form and bend-ability of a long white elephant trunk.  But don't let their crazy, lustful actions shake and knock over your kitchen items!  Sometimes, I'll watch them for hours, go at it.   Envy is thy shame!

Lastly, stir it all up with a big fuckin' spoon or your big hairy arm.  Set the cooker on low for 6 to 8 hours. Put the glass cover over the slow cooker or Crock Pot.  Don't forget to take your spoon or arm out!  If you wish, after it's done, mix in a couple tablespoons of pepper sauce.


During your waiting time, be sure to catch up on some important projects you've been putting off.  Masturbate furiously to monkey porn.


And wallah... after it's done, eat up.

MMMMmmmmm.  It really is good.  And hearty.

Have a great day and night, everyone! 

Kelly's Crock Pot Beans Supremo

Eegads! I'm under the gun, tonight, so to speak. I have less than two hours to create a new outrageously fascinating post because of my self-imposed blog challenge. Click the dang darn link back there if you don't know what in tarnation I mean. And why in the heck am I talking like that cartoon character, Yosemite Sam?

Due to time limitations, I'm gonna have to scrap the award post idea for tonight. Award posts tend to take me forever to create. Gary, from the blog, klahanie, was kind enough to pass along an award to lil' ol' humble-as-hell me last night but I was unable to post about it, earlier, because my wife threatened to cut my penis off if I didn't spend quality time with her most of today and tonight. So, in respect to her and to the beloved one eyed trouser snake in my pants, I opted for the "quality time". :) Beats going without a penis, I always say.

Now then, I wish to share with all of you my original, secret crock pot recipe, affectionately called Kelly's Crock Pot Beans Supremo. Pretty fancy title, eh? Impressive, you say? I've been making it for the wife and I for a couple years now. It's MMM MMM good and packed with that extra fart power that you and everyone else is craving these days. Your significant other will especially appreciate this hearty, delicious meal when you both get beneath the sheets tonight. Swear to God!

This is a very real, very tasty recipe- SO PAY ATTENTION, GODDAMN IT! And don't pass this along to anyone. It's a seeeeecret.

First off, you'll need a crock pot. If you don't have one, steal one. Or, I guess you could buy one but where's the fun in that?

Ingredients and Directions

3 cups Great Northern Beans (beans are to be soaked in water overnight)

1 lb. Ham chunks

Diced green peppers, red peppers and yellow peppers (however much you desire)

8 oz. chopped onions

3/4 cup of light brown sugar

1 tablespoon of Emeril's Original Essence

4 tablespoons of sweet n' sour sauce

Make sure there is at least 1 1/2 inches to 2 inches of water covering the top of all the ingredients in the pot. Set crock pot for 10 hours.

That's it. It's a simple recipe. And trust me. It's for real. And it's extremely yummy for the tummy and a blast for the ass. Enjoy!

Ruining A Viagra Moment

Well, Happy St. Patrick's Day and all that rot. Have you heard and seen enough green beer and leprechaun jokes to make you want to vomit green clovers and Lucky Charms? Is so, you're in "luck" and oh so fortunate to have stopped by here because I'll have a few Viagra jokes for ya later in this fine, upstanding post to substitute for all the St. Patty's Day jokes you'll be bombarded with today. I mean, gee, there's not many Viagra jokes circulating around, right? ;-)

Tingling or hard with anticipation? You bet you are.

Over the past weekend, my wife, friend and I went to Clifty Falls State Park in Madison, Indiana. It's a beautiful park with waterfalls, an interesting lodge with plenty of history and trails that vary from being short or relaxing to long or rugged for travel.

Above, is one of the waterfalls close to The Overlook. I have more pictures I took of Clifty Falls on my other, somewhat gentler blog, Pics For Kicks, if you to want to see more.

At one point during our travels in the 1,416 acres worth of park, we stopped at one of the scenic areas, got out of the car and walked next to an curious looking rock wall to look out and see another spectacular view the park had to offer. Behind us, above where we stood, on a large concrete base, was an excellent shelter to stand beneath. In this wooden shelter, was an elderly couple, holding hands.

Below, is a picture of the scenic point and the old couple in the shelter.

A couple times, while standing next to the wall, I looked back and observed how the man and wife gazed into each other's eyes and whispered words to each other that were obviously loving, in nature. I could tell they loved each other very much. It seemed to be a very romantic moment for them. When the older, white haired man kissed his wife, I couldn't help but to smile and hope that my wife and I still felt that way about each other when we reached their age.

During this instant of enchanting romance, my wife let an enormous, rich, bubbly fart erupt from her anus, audibly causing her butt cheeks to flap against each other. The aroma was so foul, it corrupted the air for miles all around us. I dared not look behind me at the old couple. I don't think I could have if I had desired, anyway. My eyes were burning... Really!

Throughout the coughing and wheezing, I wondered if the elder gentleman had went to the trouble to have taken the magical blue boner pill, Viagra, to ensure that his romantic moments in the park would lead to a successful sexual interaction at the lodge nearby. If so, I believe his Viagra moment was ruined. My wife was beginning to titter when I heard somebody clear their throat. Perhaps their throat was being singed with the acrid air or the victim was trying their best not to violently retch. Of this, I'm not sure.

Viagra, if you don't know already, has been attributed in the past and present to enhance the magical sexual abilities of a man. Magic acts in Las Vegas have entire shows centered around this phenomena.

When I looked back at my wife, after she cut loose her awesome anal cloud of death, she was blushing, slightly, with her cheeks (probably both of face and ass) glowing red. She may have seemed embarrassed but I knew better. She can be evil, at times, wishing to take the cherished, loving moments of an elderly couple, going toward the end of their years of life and flinging them into the pooper, so to speak. I'm afraid I've corrupted her, too well, over our two decades of marriage.

My friend, my wife and I, all three, unceremoniously turned around to walk back to the car. My friend said, when he briefly dared to look, that he noticed the old woman was crinkling her nose and wincing a bit. Likely from pain. My friend said he didn't want to glance at the old gentleman.

Meanwhile, as I walked back to the car, I was attempting to not burst from laughter but I quickly proved unsuccessful in the endeavor. As I chortled, uncontrollably, my friend was trying to keep himself from laughing, as well. My wife, on the other hand, God bless her, laughed out loud and proud.

Once upon a time, long ago, she was my innocent-of-heart student of depravity, delightful cruelty towards others and rude behavior. Now... a teacher. I can't help but to feel a little blessed and yes, a little shit-covered, too, my dear friends.

On the way home, after laughing and speculating on the thoughts and welfare of the charming elderly couple in the park, my friend reminded me of my own delightful incident that we had during our morning breakfast at Bob Evans restaurant. Before the three of us had taken off towards Clifty Falls, we were enjoying a scrumptious morning meal at one of our best local eating establishments. Pleasant conversation and delicious, fresh brewed coffee accompanied our meal and all was going well until the old people sat behind us.

The gray-haired group were talking loudly to each other, unable to hear clearly what each member of the group were saying to each other over the clatter of noise from the busy restaurant. My back was to them and I was slightly irritated by their loudness and the fact that one of them had their chair too close to the back of my own. Finally, I cut a boisterous fart of such high intensity, the elderly folks immediately dropped their eating utensils on their plates and left their table.

Serves them right for being so rude with their raised voices, oldness and stuff.

My friend, who was facing their direction at the time, said, "I thought they were going to hurt each other trying to escape." I silently wondered if one them had broken a hip before I went back to enjoying my delicious Western omelette of eggs, melted cheese, bell peppers and sausage with a side order of hash browns. I couldn't be bothered with such distracting thoughts with a breakfast like that sitting before me.

My friend joined my wife and I in a gale of nervous laughter as they left. It was a good start to the day.

Later on that night, before turning into bed, I did ponder what happened with the old married couple after we left the park. Was their romantic interlude completely shattered for the rest of the day? Did they commence lovemaking after all? Did the old fella decide to take another blue pill in order to get his boner back and pork the wife?

Work of Fart

Wow! This kid has talent. Due to writer's block, I am unable to come up with anything so I thought I'd at least leave you with a chuckle. You could also call this a cautionary tale.

Also: I've been told by some of you living outside the U.S. that you are unable to watch the video. I've had trouble with people (in the past), living outside the U.S., not being able to see vids from Spike TV, where this originally comes from. In regards to that, here's a link to the same clip on You Tube. Maybe you'll have better luck seeing it there. It's funny as fuck.

Work of Fart
Tags: Work of Fart

The Psycho Carnival Award For Originality

I'm more than just a little ecstatic and loopy with glee to present my first ever, created-by-me, award. You could say that I'm more excited than a upright-standing, three-legged weasel, twirling a baton and gnashing it's teeth to the beat of Metallica's Master of Puppets. In the three and a half years of blogging, I felt the urge to produce an award that seemed to represent a quality I admire most in a blog... ORIGINALITY.

This award is given to those I believe who stand out in their blogs by showing and offering one of the greatest qualities most of us enjoy finding in a blog- and that is true originality. I'm talking about the kind of originality that you can tell isn't forced to garner attention for attention's sake or some other trivial pursuit but the kind that is apparent, shown by fresh, inviting writing that is displayed simply for the enjoyment of the blog author and any random Internet surfer that is visiting.

It can be a blog of humor, world news, history, paranormal, erotica or one that does not fit with the supposedly normal (but not really) values of a truly fucked up society or a mixture of all of the above and then some. Whew! I think I popped a vein in my forehead getting all that out. For Christ sakes, call 911 or give me a blow job or something. Girls only, though. My swing only goes in one direction.

In the future, I will award other bloggers this fine, you-can't-sell-this-for-magic candies award another time but for right now, I'm going to offer it to these four fine folks. I won't bother handing it to the good folks out there who don't accept awards because there's no point.

Without further ado, I present the Psycho Carnival Award for Originality to the following bloggers, in no particular order (please save for your applause or masturbatory tribute until I've finished reading the recipient's names) :

(1) Rebecca, from the most excellent, humorous satire blog called The Snee: The Sometimes, Never, Eventual, Express. Very original, very clever. You'll ask yourself where she comes up with this great stuff until you finally blow a vein in your head. Then you'll be sad. But if you get your satiric news here, you'll be a happy weasel once again.

(2) Greg, from The De-Evolution of Man. Always some wild, original and hysterical writing to be found here. He can find the humor in the craziest or most mundane of things. Like the routine a man goes through each morning... such as showering, shaving, shitting and dipping a spoon in the soft, wriggly eyeball of a tied up retard who every so often shouts, "Akibba bu dilla!", without warning.

(3) LilPixi, from It's a Lollipop World. Brilliant, off-the-fucking-hook writing and photos can be found here. Laughs are what you'll get when you read her up front, in your face stories and ideas. The very epitome of originality are what you'll find on her site. You'll chuckle uncontrollably until you spooge.

(4) Gary, from klahanie. His blog promotes positivity with his non-abrasive, honest writing that is often spiked with humor, irony and/or kindness. His writing and photos are completely original and that is one of his qualities I most admire. Plus, his farts smell like cabbage. I know. He kindly sent me a jar of homemade farts for Christmas last year. Had a fancy bow on top.

People seem to enjoy making rules up for these awards that are passed around to show appreciation. I've never understood the rules concept in all that. But for fun, and because the devil is dancing and playing the ukulele by my ear, I feel compelled to come up with a few rules you may or may not want to act upon. Or make up your own. Remember... you're creative... and original. Just don't get too creative or the boring, normal ones will lock you up in a padded cell, in leather restraints, with no pants. That way, they can come and bugger ya in your sleep.

Here be for thee... The Magnificent Rules

First- Copy, paste and display these rules and this award upon your blog, if you so desire.

Second- Give this award to anyone who exemplifies originality, in some way, in their blog.

Third and Three Quarters- Answer this most important question: Ketchup or Pygmies?

Fourth- Write an original thought (or something that seems like a rare idea) or display a photo for everyone to stare at, in awe, that will cause the peeps to fall down upon their knees and smile with tears of profound realization. Or just say the first thing that comes to mind.

Fifth- Give a link to the one who bestowed the award to you. No, I don't mean a savory sausage link. That's the image I just saw in your mind. Amazing, yes?

Well, folks... there you have it. The Psycho Carnival Award For Originality. Winning recipients may place this award upon their mantelpieces with pride and enjoy for years to come. I must go now and twirl my baton.

Toadie in "The Christmas Trip" (Part 1)

Despite Rufus and Maggie's objection to Toadie leaving their mansion in Chicago, Toadie ventured out on a trip across the country during the Christmas season to take in the sights of all the decorated houses and winter festivals across America.

Rufus and Maggie, worried for their semi-retarded friend's safety, were at least able to convince Toadie that he should be escorted during his month long adventure. Maggie persuaded her younger cousin, Valerie, to escort and drive the 33 year old mentally impaired man wherever he wanted to go. At first, Valerie balked at the suggestion due to college priorities. Of course, it didn't take much persuasion from Rufus and Maggie since they had only recently become millionaires due to a huge inheritance and were able to offer Val a substantial amount of money for the task.

Fifty thousand dollars for playing a taxi driver for an imbecile wouldn't be a bad deal, she thought. Besides, the college freshman felt she badly needed a break from school. Val was feeling burned out.

A week into the trip, Valerie began to understand Toadie and realize, with in-depth discussions with him, that he wasn't as mindless as some assumed him to be. She could tell that he was just one of those type of people that you had to really talk to, on a one-to-one basis, for a certain amount of time, in order to get what he was honestly all about.

One night, on the way to Birmingham, Alabama, Valeria turned to Toadie and asked, "Well, are you ready to check in at a hotel?"

Toadie, staring straight ahead at the festively decorated lampposts along the street, replied, "Toadie farted." This was followed by a string of saliva dripping from his bottom lip.

Valerie countered, "Yes, Toadie, I know. I could smell it ten minutes ago and I still can."

Toadie wiped the spittle from his mouth and then said, "The smell makes Toadie hungry for the big bowl of chili Toadie ate this afternoon."

Valerie laughed and then said, "Well, it makes me want to puke my chili up on this dashboard."

Both travelers laughed together then, in effect, causing Toadie's penis to become erect, which happened quite often when he laughed. This odd reaction to laughter would sometimes make for awkward scenes at a Chicago grocery store that Maggie would sometimes take Toadie to, in the past.

Whenever Toadie would see someone or hear something he thought humorous, he would chuckle heartily and eventually sport a 14 inch raging boner which would often times peek out from the top of his sweatpants. Maggie would see his meaty manhood sticking out and tell him to think of something sad to deflate the size of his erection.

Normally, when these events occurred, at least one store patron would invariably see his lengthy piss weasel, stop dead in their tracks and point at Toadie's prick. Some people laughed. Some shrugged. One patron actually screamed and had a massive stroke. Her name was Mabel Strausfurg and she had just celebrated her 70th birthday the day before. When the elderly woman collapsed to the floor, Toadie was shocked and began to sob, uncontrollably.

Customers looked down at the woman breathing her last few breaths on the floor, but instead of running to get help or call for an ambulance, they stood around the old woman and twittered and private messaged their friends and relatives.

Several customers took pictures with their camera phones and other electronic gadgets.

One twenty-ish something year old girl texted this message:

Old biddy just up on dropped on the floor. lol. Most excitement I've had all day.

The bored reactions of the customers vaguely reminded Maggie of the true incident in which Bill Nye, "The Science Guy", collapsed onto the floor before reaching the podium at a college University in California. Everyone in the audience, made up of mostly college students, texted and tweeted what had just happened instead of attempting, in any degree, to help Nye.

Maggie immediately took out her cell phone and called the 911 emergency number before rushing off to alert store management. Quickly, before leaving, she turned to Toadie and said, "Put that thing away before you kill anyone else."

This made Toadie even sadder, feeling immeasurable guilt and as was often the case when he was feeling blue, Toadie would comfort himself by masturbating. This time proved to be yet another such occasion. While being so overwhelmed by emotion that he let out a long sorrowful wail, Toadie abruptly pulled down his sweatpants and urgently wanked his willy .

Toadie exclaimed, suddenly, "Toadie sad!"

With his fat, clenched fist, Toadie began pumping up on down on his love muscle until jets of plentiful semen gushed out, hitting the seemingly bored customers' faces while they tweeted. Not fazed by this in the least, a few crowd members decided to sit down on top of the dying woman and continued to text and twitter. Some of them, in fact, tweeted that they thought there could be a leak in the store ceiling.

This is the actual tweet that one of them typed out:

I think there's something leaking from the ceiling here. Something just hit the top of my head or went in my face. Whatever.

Valerie and Toadie pulled into a snow filled hotel parking lot. The area was enduring subfreezing temperatures for the last several weeks, not allowing for the snow to melt anywhere in the city. Because of this, many of the citizenry in Birmingham were angry and frustrated and took it out on each other and city property in bizarre and vicious ways. One such citizen committed the outrageous act of burning down the city's 35 foot tall Christmas tree for it's measly amount of copper. At least, that was his excuse for burning down the tree.

It seemed, during these times, people were declaring war on Christmas trees. For instance, in Germany, the police arrested a man for making a huge six foot marijuana plant his very own Christmas tree. Justification for his arrest, some had trouble figuring out. The old man wasn't hurting anyone, after all. He was just trying to have a merry Christmas the best way he knew how.

Yet another member of the Birmingham, Alabama community jumped from a bridge to his death. Curiously enough, he was a shopping mall Santa in the area. On his way to the rough waters below, he could be heard to shout, "HO HO HO!" Still alive, though taking in large quantities of river water, the man in the Santa suit thrashed about in the river current and pleaded for help, damning himself for his stupidity.

No help was given to the depressed drowning man, of course. The onlookers, instead, messaged to others on their electronic devices that they had just heard something make a splash in the water. Then they continued doing nothing.

After Valerie and Toadie checked into the hotel room, Valerie smiled at Toadie and began to undress. It wasn't long before both road weary travelers slipped beneath the sheets and....

THE NEXT POST (PART 2 of Toadie in "The Christmas Trip") WILL CONTINUE THIS STORY. MEANWHILE, YOU MAY ENJOY THESE PRECEDING ADVENTURES OF TOADIE BY CLICKING THE FOLLOWING LINKS:

Toadie in "Happy Anniversary"

Toadie in "Road Rage Spectacular"

Toadie in "First Love"

TILL NEXT TIME, "HO HO HO AND MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE!"

My Fart Gun Has Endless Ammunition

Ever since my significant other and I chowed down on four monster beef and bean burritos earlier today, we cannot stop friggin' farting. It's like my goddamn butt hole, which in our family, we call our Fart Gun, has an endless supply of ammunition. And these are above average farts, too. Long staccato puffs of methane gas are ripping out of my anus, even as we speak.

Unfortunately, I haven't been able to take a shit yet to help get some of these ass blasting clouds of death out of my bowels. Damn you, El Monterey burritos! Get the hell out of my belly! I think you're killing my cat!

My cat, Victor, has been hiding his little furry face in the chair next to me for hours now. I'm debating on whether or not to check his pulse. I don't see any part of his body rising or lowering to suggest he's still breathing. Hold on a sec and I'll check him out.

Hell, I didn't have to. My wife just cut the cheese, from the bedroom and prompted Victor to poke his head up in fright. Then he looks over at me as if to say, "Is the monster going to get me, daddy?" Before I could respond to his imaginary inquiry, I just blew out a slew of air biscuits, further scaring the shit out of him. I wish somebody could scare the shit out of me right now. I think it would relieve the pressure so I could feel better.

My blinking brown eye is nearly raw and almost bleeding from all the colon calamities that have ensued!

Unfortunately, I don't have any Gas-X pills or that pink stuff, Pepto Bismol. My bloated belly is so loaded down with windy pops and booty bombs that I think I'm going to explode. Lord, help me, please!

Oh goddamn it... There goes another one! What in the unholy hell of Sphincter Turbulence is going on here. Is there no end to this?

Fortune Cookie Among Other Things

My wife had an endoscopy procedure done on her at the hospital, yesterday. Endoscopy procedure, you ask? You know. Tube down the throat with a camera or something that takes images of your throat and stomach. Her doctor wanted her to to have it done because he found blood in her stool. A colonoscopy (camera tube up the poop chute procedure) was done a few months ago and they found out she had a hemorrhoid that was bleeding. No cancer was found but they wanted to do the endoscopy later, anyway, to "be on the safe side". So, reluctantly, to "be on the safe side" I told her she might as well have that done, too though I felt the doctors were wanting to do something unnecessary for extra money or whatever. She didn't really want to have it done, either. We both felt the mystery of the bloody turd was found with the bloody 'roid. And really, if the doctor had just done a bit of poking around down there with just his finger, he could have found it on his own.

I recall, fondly, having a hemorrhoid checked out and my doctor said it looked like a little head of cauliflower sticking out of my asshole. I thought, how sweet. I've got "vegetable ass". My wife was in the examination room and she said it resembled a pink bud, just beginning to bloom. Good thing I was in one of my usual I-don't-give-a-shit moods. I chuckled to myself, with my ass hanging over the metal table, wishing I could cut a nice big fat fart on the both of them. I think they thought I was laughing because of their descriptions.

So they do the endoscopy and the doctor found she has a polyp in her stomach but it looks benign. Nothing cancerous or suspicious looking. Great news!

Four weeks from now, they want to discuss what, if anything, they want to do about that polyp. More medical bills. They're really racking up with my own health visits, procedures and medicines. You'll have to read my earlier posts if you want to know more about that.

After the endoscopy ends, with the whole thing lasting about 3 hours (waiting before the procedure, IV stuck in her arm, paperwork, tube down the throat and her coming out of it and so on), my wife is all doped up on Demerol and some other pain medication. We talk. An hour goes by. We leave, her hand in mine and proceed to our favorite Chinese restaurant. She had fasted close to fourteen or fifteen hours and was starved.

After downing four plates of food each (I know. I'm on a diet but I worked it off the next day. Promise.), the petite Chinese waitress comes over with the bill and a couple of fortune cookies. I eat them both. My wife hates them. The first one has a message that says something like "The sun rises in the morning sky like a hot air balloon". Is that supposed to be a fortune? The second paper from the other one reads:

Others appreciate your sensitivity

I know. It's funny because I'm a bastard. On the other side of the paper it reads:

Learn Chinese- Disease

Then, underneath that, it reads: (bing)

That's when I get up to take a monster shit. Pinching my cheeks together so hard you couldn't fit a credit card in my crack (at least not with that cauliflower in the way), I wobble my way to the restroom. Their toilet is cold, the room is cold and the seat is always wobbly. It's most likely that way because too many four and five plate eating bastards have been plopping their giant redneck white asses on it and causing it to become unhinged from the toilet. Just a guess.

After we get home, we plop into bed, with bellies straining to digest the multitudes of those dumpling things, sushi, peanut butter chicken and god knows what else.

Was that a happy ending or what? Wasn't it worth getting this far down? And haven't we all learned a great deal from this tale?

Mr. Methane: An Artist At Work

A performance, so profound, it blows one's mind.

14 Things That Never Fail To Annoy

1- People that drive too goddamn slow. Pull over if you see a goddamn train of cars behind your annoying ass, goddamn it! If possible, go ahead and drive over a steep drop off over the side of the road. Don't worry- I won't mind.

2- Authority figures that frequently abuse their "authority" such as government officials, cops, supervisors and wives. On second thought, I should probably delete that last example. My wife might see that and chop something off (that I may need in the future) in my sleep.

Then I would be sad.

3- Chairs that wobble.

4- Parents that refuse to take their crying babies out of the theater, restaurant, store or strip club.

5- Tomatoes. WTF is all that crap inside of them? Looks like part of a monkey colon.

6- Fast food drive thru(s). No matter how loudly or how many times I slowly tell the doofus my order, they still manage to screw it up.

7- Women who wear shoes that go clompity-clomp-clomp like a horse. Get the fuck away from me! And while you're at it, pull the top half of your expensive, name brand office suit up over your pasty-with-make up face so I can't see your glasses that have those oh-so-trendy little lenses that every office geek in the world seems to be wearing. And if you get too close behind me at the grocery store or wherever, I promise to bend over and let loose my "special cloud of goodness" directly toward your pompous facade.

And please-

Feel free to suck it in! No charge!

8- Computer errors or repeated crashes that take anywhere from a minute to infinity to figure out how to find and/or repair. How many times have I punched a hole in the wall instead of my monitor? Let's put it this way; a fairly decent outside breeze can topple my wobbly desk chair over in a New York second. That means.... it wouldn't take long, just in case you're retarded, my cross-eyed, befuddled friend.

9- Pajama-bottomed, stinking of excrement, redneck Wal-Mart shoppers. Let me please borrow the shotgun from your rusty pick up truck so that I may gleefully blast you in the face. As a bonus, I might even throw in a laugh or two whilst I dance merrily. Cross your fingers!

10- Those of you who place money, material crap and power above everything else in life. Because of these imbeciles who can't think or feel anything beyond their Almighty Dollar or Egos, the animals and the few good people inhabiting this world slowly die for their greed either by poverty, pollution and/or other means. If you fall into this group of wealthy assholes, don't forget to stop by my place for a complete and bloody beating.

11- Weak and/or decaffeinated coffee. Why don't you just piss in a cup?

12- Reality tv. There's not a bit of reality to be found in this cheaply produced sack of televised shitola. Just the inane mutterings and actions of dorks needing attention. Kill them all!

13- Vegans that lecture to carnivores like me. You are the first I'm going to eat when the food runs out.

14- Nosey people. A peek over my shoulder earns a fork stab in the eye.

Strange Occurrences

SAGINAW, Mich. — A man who police said was arrested for performing a sex act with a car wash vacuum was sentenced to 90 days in jail on Wednesday and ordered to submit to drug testing. The 29-year-old man pleaded no contest to indecent exposure last month.


My opinion: If you really feel the urge to push your stink log into something mechanical or non-human, why not try a nice ripe watermelon, with a hole in it-in the privacy of your own home. After you're finished, why not give the used melon to a friend?


Not that I would do that sort of thing.


NEW YORK– A small political party angry at bonuses paid to staff of bailed out insurance giant American International Group is organizing a bus tour to the Connecticut homes of several AIG executives. "We're all mad at AIG," the Connecticut Working Families Party, a small liberal party, said on its Web site, inviting people to sign up for its "Lifestyles of the Rich and Infamous" bus tour and a rally at the company's Wilton, Connecticut, headquarters, on Saturday.


"Their executives bear a large share of the responsibility for bringing the economy to its knees, and now the same folks are getting hundreds of millions of dollars in bonuses -- at our expense," the website said.

My opinion: Don't forget to bring the napalm!

BRUSSELS - A world record in the length of a queue to a toilet was set on Sunday when 756 people lined up to a latrine in central Brussels to raise awareness for the need for clean water on World Water Day.

My opinion: I'd hate to be the last one. I would be PISSED.


HUNTINGTON BEACH, Calif. - Police are seeking a woman they said used a false identity to get breast implants and liposuction, then skipped town. Huntington Beach police said Monday that a 30-year-old woman opened a line of credit in someone else's name in September 2008 and had the procedures worth more than $12,000 performed at the Pacific Center For Plastic Surgery.


My opinion: Some women will do anything to get a man's attention (and money, eventually). I hope they catch the vain, crooked bitch and she gets her boob balloons ripped out with a rusty pair of pliers.

January 2008, London's The Sun found a practitioner of a new art form in which a design is inked, with a tattoo needle, into the sclera, which is the white part of the eyeball. That volunteer (from Canada) may well be the only daredevil, or one of a tiny number, but Oklahoma state senators were alarmed enough that they passed legislation out of committee in February to ban the practice in their state. "If we can stop ... one person from doing it, we've been successful," said Sen. Cliff Branan. An Oklahoma City tattoo artist told KSBI-TV that the law is useless, in that "common sense" will prevent the problem.

My opinion: Unfortunately, most people don't apply "common sense" to much of anything anymore. I'm waiting for eyeball piercings to come out as the latest fad. The willing participants won't complain about being blind as long as they feel trendy.

LAKELAND, Fla. - An eighth-grader was suspended from riding the school bus for three days after being accused of passing gas. The bus driver wrote on a misbehavior form that a 15-year-old teen passing gas on the bus on March 16 to make the other children laugh, creating a stench so bad that it was difficult to breathe. The bus driver handed the teen the suspension form the next day. Polk County school officials said there's no rule against flatulence, but there are rules against causing a disturbance on the bus.

My opinion: If the bus driver can't handle gagging to the point of vomiting on some kid's nasty rectal bombs, then he shouldn't have become a bus driver.

Couldn't Pull Away From This Clip

This video has an odd plot to it. And it's funny as hell, insane and kinda retarded. It may be a good idea to pour yourself about five shots of whiskey and down them one after another before hitting the play button on this clip. Thankfully, I was able to find a bottle of Bacardi in the cabinet and I had half that downed before finding this gem and checking it out. After the first minute, I was kinda groovin' to it. Drink up. You will, too.

I have this irritating feeling I'm going to be embarrassed for posting this clip tomorrow afternoon. Could be a fart bottled up, though.

My Ode To Farts (Part 2)

Joseph Pujol, a man of singular talent, was born in Marseilles, France in 1857. In his early youth it became clear that he was a natural entertainer, singing, dancing, and performing for his parents' house guests. He had a love for music, and over the years he became handy with a trombone, but it was a different wind instrument that led to his eventual fame and fortune.


Young Joseph became alarmed one day when he was swimming in the sea, and took a deep breath before submerging. As he inhaled, he felt icy cold water entering through his rear end. He immediately returned to shore, and was astonished to see a great deal of seawater pouring from his backside. A doctor assured him that this was nothing to be concerned about, and it seems that Joseph took this advice to heart, exploring his strange new ability with a healthy curiosity.

While in the army, he mentioned his childhood sea-bathing experience to his buddies. They immediately wanted to know if he could do it again, so on a day's leave soon afterward he went out to the shore to swim and experiment. He successfully reenacted the hydraulics of his childhood experience there and even discovered that by contracting his abdomen muscles, he could intentionally take up as much water as he liked and eject it in a powerful stream.

Demonstrating this ability back at the barracks later provided the soldiers with no end of amusement, and soon Pujol started to practice with air instead of water, giving him the ability to produce a variety of sounds. This new development provided even more enjoyment for his buddies. It was then and there, in the army, that Pujol invented a nickname for himself that would later become a stage name synonymous throughout Europe with helpless, hysterical laughter: "Le Petomane" (translation: "The Fartiste").

After his stint in the army, Pujol returned to Marseille and to a bakeshop his father set him up in, on a street that, today, proudly bears the name "rue Pujol." At the age of 26 he married Elizabeth Henriette Oliver, the 20-year-old daughter of a local butcher. Pujol enjoyed performing, so in the evenings he entertained at local music halls by singing, doing comedy routines, and even playing his trombone backstage between numbers. He continued amusing his friends privately with his "other" wind instrument, but only at their suggestion and urging did he decide to turn this parlor trick into a full-fledged act for public audiences.

Pujol worked up a Le Petomane routine, and with some friends he rented a space in Marseille to perform it in. They promoted the show heavily themselves through posters and handouts, but word-of-mouth soon took over and they packed the house every night. Pujol's was a good act by any era's standards, but back then his scatology hit a raw nerve, and hit it hard, at an especially vulnerable time.

He developed the act in the provinces until he reached Paris in 1892. Insisting on seeing no one else, he persuaded the director of the Moulin Rouge, M Vidler, to engage him. From the first night he was a sensation.

He took the stage in a red coat, a red silk collar and black satin breeches. He began by explaining each impersonation that was to follow.

"This is a little girl... this is a bride on her wedding night (small noise) ... the morning after (loud rasping noise) ... a dressmaker tearing calico (ten seconds of ripping cloth) ... and this a cannon (loud thunder)."

The audience were at first astounded. Then there would be an uncontrollable laugh, followed by more until the whole audience was wriggling in their seats, convulsed. Women, bound rigid in corsets, were escorted from the hall by nurses, cleverly placed by the manager so that they could he seen in their bright white uniforms.

Pujol embarked on a highly successful tour of Europe and North Africa. On his return, he split from the Moulin Rouge and formed his own variety company at the Pompadour Theatre.

He continued to top the bill there until Europe was launched into a madness of its own in 1914. World War 1 had started. His sons were mobilised and Pujol never went back on stage. He settled in Marseilles to run his bakeries and then moved to Toulon where he established a thriving biscuit factory. He died in 1945, aged 88, and was buried in the cemetery of La Valette-du-Var, where his grave can still be seen today. The Sorbonne offered his family a large sum of money to study his body after his death, but they refused the offer.

My Ode To Farts (Part 1)

After that last post, I don't want anybody to think my new awards have made my head swell. No siree. I can do that just fine and dandy the normal way. To prove I'm down here, at your level, the "common man", I announce that this post is my "Ode to Farts".

I remember, fondly, of the time I had to go to the shopping mall. I was eating Chinese food at the Courtyard restaurant square. It was tasty, plentiful and a little spicy.

Suddenly, I had the urge to shit. And that wasn't good, considering the men's restrooms nearby were spectacular in their degree of repugnance. Inside you could find the floors blanketed with shit soaked toilet paper and piss covered toilet seats any day of the week. But it was especially disgusting on the weekend. I knew this from past experience. There were often times, after departing from the Courtyard restrooms, when I felt I should I rush to the nearest HAZMAT location to make sure I wasn't infected by something poisonous. While there, they could spray me down with some hardcore bacteria killin' stuff.

Even though I had the urge to drop a load, I was trying to hold it in. I didn't want to go to the Courtyard restroom. Waddling bravely with pinched buttocks, I made my way to the Sears end of the shopping mall and finally, to my restroom of choice. I could depend on it, most times, to be "floor-poop free".

So there I was, squishing a turd out from my colon when I heard two people come in. I hate it when other people are in there, when you're there. It's like an invasion of privacy or something.

A minute passed by.

I made sure my stall door was securely locked by pulling at the latch- so the turd burglars couldn't barge through.At that moment, I cut the loudest, juiciest fart that I've ever let rip in a public restroom.

To me, it had the delicate, heady aroma of a fresh baked loaf of bread. I suspect the other guys didn't smell it that way. I heard coughing from the other side of the stall wall. Hard coughing. Someone was attempting to talk. There was some urgent mumbling. Then I heard choking. One of them shouted, "God, let me out of here!" I heard more mumbling, coughing and choking. I could hear the metal trash can clang on the floor. They sounded desperate, as if they were fighting each other to get to the door first. I had to laugh. And when I did, I farted again. Which made me laugh harder.

When I was ready to leave, those guys were well on their way. Maybe to the hospital.