Conspiracy Theory…

I have just uncovered some startling new evidence in the baffling mystery of Sir Elton John’s true origins.

This side-by-side comparison of Elton John and Jack Osbourne proves, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Elton John is the son of heavy metal legend, Ozzy Osbourne.

EltonOsbourne

Unfortunately, this discovery unearths more questions than answers…

Is the relation between Elton and Ozzy a joint coverup by Sony Music Entertainment and Warner Music Group to preserve the integrity of Black Sabbath? Are Elton John and Jack Osbourne the same person, or just hideous twins? If they are, in fact, the same person, is Elton’s “Jack wig” composed strictly of pubic hair, or just mostly? Whose pubes are they? Was the wig made by ventilating the pubic hair, or did he go with the “vintage” weft method? Is it also possible that he combined the two techniques, using a weft for the main part of the wig and then ventilating pubic hair at the edges and partings to give it a fine finish?

Only one thing is certain at this point…Elton John is a dangerous man and he must be executed.

If you encounter this imposter, remember, he received a knighthood from Queen Elizabeth II…and an honorable death for a knight is a swift beheading.

– a word of thanks…

six-word Starbucks reviews (vol. 2)

Green Tea Frappuccino
High calorie, grass flavored icy sludge.

White Chocolate Mocha
High fructose paste in a cup.

Iced Mocha
Lightly sweetened anal discharge, over ice.

Coffee Frappuccino
Coffee “flavor” blended with synthetic byproducts.

Caffè Americano
Snobby way to ask for coffee.

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I missed…

Toilet paper should come in rolls of plush, absorbent, flushable gloves…not awkward, difficult-to-maneuver, foldable square sheets. Each finger on T.P. Gloves™ would provide for easy insertion, allowing you to get in there and really dig out any unwanted brown moisture (or unpleasant crust, depending on how long you typically sit on the toilet reading Cosmopolitan with an open hole)…then again, T.P. Mittens™ would offer a unique scooping alternative for those of us with looser anal cavities.

Most importantly, the palm coverage of these revolutionary new products would prevent mishaps (like the one pictured above) from constantly happening to innocent people around the world.

six-word Starbucks reviews

Lemonade Blended Beverage
Cold, chunky, lemon scented corn syrup.

Grande sugar-free Vanilla Latte, “skinny,” no foam
Muddy water for cuntish old hags.

Mocha Frappuccino
A coffee-esque, toilet flavored McDonalds milkshake.

Starbucks Brewed Coffee
Ground fresh…bagged, shipped…served stale.

Caramel Macchiato
Celebrate your appreciation of tooth decay.

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a light at the end of every flesh tunnel

Have you ever had one of those farts that ripple up your buttcrack and erupt from its crest–instead of just spilling from the designated hole? I had one while I was eating my cereal this morning. My posture wasn’t quite 90 degrees and I may have been favoring the left hemassphere, so I figured I was just sitting wrong…

…and then it happened again at work. While I was standing.

I’m pretty sure my cheeks are in top condition and I haven’t been inserting many foreign objects into my diarrhea faucet in recent weeks…so I have no idea what’s causing this phenomenon.

Part of me finds this amusing…but a greater part of me fears the formation of an odorous brown patch on my lower back.

The solution?

I’ve invested in an economy pack of cotton balls to stuff along my crack, held in place only by the sticky perspiration naturally found within that region after a morning jog.

However, fearing the powerful gust may prove too much for a mere cotton barricade, I’ve also invested in a “picnic pack” of bendy straws that I’m hoping I can rig into an elaborate fart rerouting system. I’ll tape them together, creating a “gas line,” if you will, that would start at the northernmost ridge of my ass, sending the farts up my spinal column, over my right shoulder, down my arm and out the sleeve of my jacket.

Not only would I thwart an unwanted scented “tramp stamp,” this method would also give the illusion that I have magical powers–such as a sprinkling of foul fairy dust from my fingertips, or bolts of rancid heat from my palms. Whenever I feel gaseous, I’ll shake the hand of a coworker, pinch the cheeks of a baby or fingerbang a bedridden elderly woman against her will.

You see, folks…when nature fucks with you, you need to take a deep breath and compose yourself. With a clear head you can turn any negative into a positive, just ask those silly H.I.V. fanatics.

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What a “lovely” day.

I got back to my house 20 minutes from the time I’d left, with a thirst for more than just the morning coffee in my right hand. It is Tuesday, a day in which new music and movies are released nationwide on digital formats for our consumer needs. I hadn’t anticipated any particular new releases, but I knew I’d find something, anything to put further stress on my iPod’s hard drive in no more than thirty seconds of riffling through the iTunes store.

I hit the 128 kb/s jackpot when I discovered AFI had a new album out!

I immediately purchased the album and gulped down my coffee with great anticipation as the songs downloaded to my computer and transferred over to my iPod. I cancelled my 12:30 business luncheon and went out for a long nature walk to really absorb the new songs; to take in every note and become one with the music.

I’d like to share with you my review as it appears on iTunes. I typically write six-word record reviews, but this release is so special, so enchanting…I felt the need to go above and beyond–a reflection, if you will, of the album itself.

(click to enlarge)

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the bear claw

It attacked me from behind, so to speak.

The buildup was fairly steady; there were no complications in the delivery, which was conveniently timed and effortlessly consummated; it had a soft, almost spongy texture and a subtle piquancy…yet, in its wake: a menacing formation…

…a bear claw.

Not to be confused with the pastry delight of the same name…this was more than some inanimate cluster with a coincidental likeness. I’d first believed this to be the gentle paw of some sort of aquatic bear, reaching out to tickle my clean-shaven ball sack…or then, perhaps lacerate it; as a savage, bloodthirsty beast would; and ostentatiously march it back to the darkened sewers of Horseheads from whence he came.

With irreplaceable (not to mention above average in both size and performance) assets dangling within his reach, I ultimately chose not to trust this unknown dweller of the deep and made a harsh, but instinctual move.

As you can see, he fought with every ounce of his life as I flushed the toilet. The claw marks left in the porcelain only hint at the potential damage that might’ve claimed my strapping (yet, given the circumstances: vulnerable) lady pleasurin’ mega machine. Looking back, however…my genitals, ravishing as they are, should’ve been the least of my worries…for I might not have made it out of that Barnes & Noble bathroom alive. I was lucky.

I don’t have any solutions to this problem, shall it surface again…as I, myself, have many questions left unanswered. My only advice for the next time you’re squirtin’ chunks is to keep one eye between the thighs…because you never know just when you’ll have a close encounter of the turd kind.

Six-Word Record Reviews

Gwen Stefani The Sweet Escape
An elaborate prank on gullible retards?

Coheed and Cambria No World For Tomorrow
Impenetrable sex shield for husky virgins.

Kanye West Graduation
Black music for white douche bags.

My Chemical Romance Black Parade
A rock opera without AIDS? Gay.

Ashlee Simpson I Am Me
Art is dead. Fat chicks rejoice.

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SWM seeks thickening agent for pee

When I was a boy, the sound of Doug Craven’s pee stream was epic. It was loud, powerful, intimidating. It sent shivers down my spine–not to mention light splashes against my face as I tried peaking over the bowl to see what all the commotion was.

I couldn’t wait for the bathroom to shake with the impact of my golden thunder.

Now, here I am at the tender age of 27, with a cock bigger than two Christmas hams, and–though my stream has respectable width and passes at a considerable rate–the consistency of the pee itself is a bit light-bodied for my taste…it’s just too thin to make the splash I’d hoped for by this point in my life.

I’ve increased the amount of pectin, arrowroot and carrageenan in my diet, which has aided in giving my urine a velvety smooth texture…but not the rich, thick density that I’m really hoping to spank the toilet water with. I guess what I’m looking for is something to augment the viscosity of my pee without sacrificing its astringency.

I’m open to suggestions. I just want results, and I want them now. When I piss, my neighbor needs to hear it over his snowblower. The guy at the urinal next to me needs to know that my stream could cut him in half. Most importantly, without needing to press his ear against the bathroom door, Doug Craven needs to know his baby boy has grown up a man.

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the proposition

On June 18th of this year, at approximately 10:57 AM, I received the first in a series of emails from a 42 year old Horseheads man that I’m just gonna go ahead and refer to as “Mark”. Mark, evident by the title of this piece, offered me quite an interesting proposition…one that unfortunately, due to the intense preproduction details of Son of a Bitch: Part III, I neglected to take him up on. Though our correspondence sadly ended after a just few short hours–I’m hoping he’s still out there, waiting, reading…and willing, all the more, to pay me for my services. After all, the holidays are upon us, and I could always use some extra cash.

Now, without further ado…our exchange, in its entirety:


Mark:
if your that dude from barnes & noble I would love to spank you. would you say you are small, avg, larger than avg., or larger than avg. i’m for real. might even consider $ to watch you fly solo if you know what i mean. need to be discrete.

ETC:
My penis has been mistaken as a monument downtown for years now.

Mark:
LOL Just what I wanted to hear!! I knew you were hung!! If you knew no one would ever know would you show it for cash?

ETC:
Show it how?

Shake my hips and twirl it like a propeller? Slap it against the inside of a urinal and give it a cold shower? Flick the tip purple? Hold it like a gun and give my best impersonation of Robert De Niro in Taxi Driver? Dip it in spoiled mayonaise? Get a paint set from the dollar store and decorate it like a WWII warplane?

I need specifics, Mark.

Mark:
Just show it. Take it out. At a urinal. In a car. Dressing room somewhere. Your call. If you make it hard that would be great. Macy’s dressing rooms would work. Just go in and I can look under or somethinig. I’ll slide $ in first. can I trust you?

ETC:
My associate (no worries, he lives in Virginia) warns me that I’m walking dickfirst into a rape scenario. That’s a little unnerving. I mean, something like that would require at least another five bucks.

Mark:
I’m not into rape scenes. I understand your apprehensive. this is way out of the box. think about it. let me know what works for you. again my 1 priority is privacy. if I had any idea you would tell someone if you see my out and about in public i would rather die than do this. i can’t make it myself any clearer.

Mark:
let me explain myself. i’m not a wack job. bit of a pervert… maybe. i’m a professional male here in horseheads and privacy is everything to me. i have to stay on the down low and need to be assured that no one would ever know if we did do something like that. if not.. no problem. i’m gone. won’t hear from me again. just willing to pay $ to see what ya got. the more you show the more $$. you have a very unique look and now that i’ve seen your myspace i can tell personality too. not one to “judge” people it seems. that is why i felt comfortable sending you msg. anyway.. consider it. you don’t even have to see me if you don’t want. i’m sure that could be worked out. later.

ETC:
Feel free to bring a headscarf and black ski mask, just leave your sword at home.

Mark:
You got it! i’ll be generous. the better the show the better the $. it would suck if you had a little p p. a chance i’m willing to take.

Mark:
where is the most unusual place you jerked off?


Behind the counter of my most recent summer job…during business hours, Mark. To answer your question. The very location I relished our sole, tender discourse…

Coincidence? Most likely. We never had any customers, which made it quite lonely in there. But hey, you never know what was going on deep in my subconscious…

Look me up.

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shitbag extraordinaire

Yes, this nearly spherical woman (who waddles into Barnes & Noble Café four times a week, always carrying in an unreasonable stack of books she has no intent of purchasing; on average, will sit for six hours, reading as much as she can–as if she were in a library, drinking everyone out of the complimentary water offered at the condiment bar; never puts away the aforementioned books, generally leaves quite a mess behind and rarely leaves until 5 minutes after the store closes) is actually wearing retail eyeglasses–borrowed from a merchandise rack somewhere in the store…complete with sales and security tags almost entirely restricting her field of vision.

It doesn’t get any better than this, folks. God bless America.

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the wipe refusal manifesto

I, Eric Thomas Craven, hereby declare wiping overrated. I’ll let all remaining brown moisture residue and goo chunks dry on their own, for they’ll eventually crust up and flake off as I walk. This new practice will save me time, effort and a few bucks at the grocery store. I may have discomfort, or perhaps even a rash, but at least I’ll have my dignity.

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baby on board

Is it just me, or does seeing “baby on board” in the rear windshield of the car ahead of you make you hold down your horn, speed up, tailgate, pass recklessly on a winding double line, brake-check and toss all your trash out the window at them??

“Oooo, I have a fucking baby!”

Shut the hell up and get off the road! You have no more rights or privileges than the rest of us! Get that ugly little shit out of your backseat and back on your wife’s tit where it belongs!

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vinegar toes

This is my home-style recipe for vinegar toes:

•First, prepare by neglecting to trim your toenails. The longer they are, the more crud will collect underneath them. This is good for aromatic longevity. Once the growth of distal edge on your big toe has reached half a centimeter, you’re ready for the next step.
•DO NOT shower for at least one week. The longer you self-marinate, the more BANG in your tang.
•DO NOT wear socks. This allows you to really soak in spices from the shoe leather. It’s also good for color–you want to go for a low to medium yellowish/brownish hue, if possible.
•Aggressive exercise. This will speed up perspiration rate and causes vigorous shoe rubbing, which is good for calluses that lock in natural flavors.

troubleshooting tips:

•For best results – prepare during the hot, muggy month of August.
•If you’re not getting the desired fragrance, try one of two things: a) If results are too weak – increase the pungency by walking barefoot across the floor of a public restroom, or locker room, if accessible. b) If results are too strong – try urinating on your feet to neutralize the odor.

If you’d like to refer to an unprecedented example of vinegar toes to further improve your own efforts–hunt me down and remove my shoes for a waft of zestiest batch this season.

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