The Story of Reggie
Reggie woke up in a groggy haze to the hip hop stylings of 50 Cent playing from his tinny alarm radio. Saturday. 10:30 am. His mouth tasted like a monkey had shat in it, and in his drowsy state, he stopped and considered the possibility that one had.
Though he wished to sleep more and live out his dream life as an OG from the ‘hood, his full bladder forced him irritably from his slumber. He awkwardly stumbled to the washroom sporting a morning half-chud, and went about his business: urinating in the shower while brushing his teeth; usual stuff. He then put on his baggy clothes and gold chains slow and sexy, and spent 15 minutes posturing in front of a mirror. He was a skinny 18 year old male of English descent raised in a middle-American suburb, but in his mind, he was a black man with rippling muscles, hardened by a life of crime in the ghetto.
His phone suddenly vibrated and began playing the song “Candy Shop”, indicating a text message. It was his best friend, Joey. “Hey man I’ll pick you up and we smoke some GANJ! Ye-ah nigga!”
He arrived within a half hour, honking the squeaky horn of his Granny’s car from the street. Reggie went running down the stairs and out the door, ignoring his mother who had made him waffles for breakfast. “Reginald! Where are you going?! I made you waffles!! WHY WON’T YOU EAT MY WAFFLES???!”
“Shut-up, mom! You can’t control me! I’m gangsta! Ye-ah!” He yelled back at her, slamming the door, then flipping her off through the window.
He jumped through the open window of the car, and Joey screeched the tires loudly as he sped off, pissing off their next-door neighbor who had been peacefully enjoying a nice cool glass of tang on his freshly cut lawn.
They found somewhere quiet to park, and Reggie eagerly began to light his marijuana cigarette before Joey stopped him and said, “Reggie… I’ve gotta tell you something…”
“Eh?”
“This isn’t easy to say, but… I’m gay…”
“Uh… what?”
“Gay, Reggie, I’m fuckin’ gay.”
“Hahaha, yeah right, that’s funny shit man.” Reggie dismissed, becoming a little uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry man. I just needed to tell someone…”
“Yo man, you can’t be gay! You always mackin’ on the bitches, dawg! You iz a playa, like me!”
“I only did that to try to be normal, but I can’t lie to myself anymore.”
“Dude, quit messin’ around…”, Reggie said, getting a little mad.
“Sorry dude…”
Reggie paused for a few seconds, taking it all in. “So that’s it, huh? You’re just gonna go suck dick like some fuckin’ faggot now? Is that it?!”
“Well, if I met the right guy, then maybe…”
“What the fuck, man! This is un-fucking-believeable. How could you do this to me? What’s everyone gonna think when they find out I’ve been hanging with some big fucking queer-bait?”
“Reg, listen…”
“No, you listen you little bitch! You keep your fuckin faggotty ass away from me, got it?”
“But Reg…”
“Fuckin’ faggot!” Reggie yelled as he jumped out of the car and ran into the nearby woods, crying like a little girl. He felt as though the seams in the fabric of his reality were unravelling with a velocity that was no less than terminal. He had known Joey since sixth grade, and they had been best friends ever since. Years worth of memories were now sullied with the knowledge that his best friend was, and always had been, a flaming homosexual. His face was marinating in tears; he felt like vomitting. How humiliating.
He emerged from the forest nearby Gilligan’s Beer Store. His refuge. His salvation. He tried to compose himself, wiping his teary eyes on the sleeve of his hoody, and built up the courage to enter where he would face the scrutinizing eyes of the store clerk. Before he knew it, he was back outside with a 40 oz bottle of colt 45. Did the store clerk know already? Had she already made the grim association between him and his blatantly homosexual friend? It was impossible to say for sure.
He began compulsively gulping his beer and wandering around the neighborhood trying to collect his thoughts. Two 10 year old boys with toy laser guns ran past him laughing. “What the fuck are you laughing at? I’ll kick your fuckin’ ass!” Reggie yelled at them. Startled, they ran off and hid in some bushes. “That’s right, faggots! You better hide! This is my turf!”. He postured some gang signs threateningly.
He soon found himself at home, and the bottle of colt 45 was empty. Nobody else was home, so he drunkenly stumbled up to his room to cry. In between bouts of crying, he began to find that the surge of emotions was causing him to become overwhelmingly aroused. He reached into his pants and began tugging away angrily. He thought of Joey wearing a cowboy hat and sucking dick in the back of a pickup truck, then he thought of 50 Cent. He imagined he was kneeling before 50 Cent’s naked and sweaty body, pleasuring him with his mouth. “Ohhhh, I’m such a fuckin’ faggot…” he moaned, “take me to the candy shop, Fiddy!” He was close to climaxing when he heard his mom return home and wander up to his room.
“Reggie? Are you home? What are you doing in there?”
Nevermind that, he thought. Focus on 50 Cent. And with that, he shot a big wad of jizz right into his own eye, then aimed his second shot for his 50 Cent poster; right on 50’s chest. 50 Cent looked pissed off, as always. Just then his cell phone rang. He quickly grapped a grey gym sock to wipe the jizz out of his eye, and, breathing heavily, answered, “h-hello?”.
“Hey man, you sound out of breath. Are you ok?” It was Joey.
“Oh… um… what up?”
“April fools, bitch. Hahaha, you shoulda seen the look on your face!”
“What? So, uh… you’re not gay?” Reggie went to the sink to wash the rest of the sticky gunk out of his eye.
“Dude, come on. How dumb are you?”
“Oh! Shit dude… oh thank god you’re not a fuckin’ faggot!” he said, scrubbing his face red. “Man, I hate faggots. If I were a faggot, I’d fuckin’ kill myself. Now let’s go get some fuckin’ poon tang and beat up some faggots!”
“Kay, I’ll be by in a sec,” Joey responded and hung up.
Reggie turned to the poster, “this is just between you and me, fiddy”. He knelt down and licked his seed sensuously off of 50 Cent.
Just then his mom walked in, “REGGIE!! NOOOOOOOO!!”
“MOTHER!! DON’T LOOK AT ME!! NOOOOOOOO!!”
Just how bad can a band suck?
How about this much?
The Red Room was alive last night with the sound of tonal death to all open ears and minds. Those responsible: Vancouver “rockers” Tarl. Four ne’er-do-wells flopped around on stage representing their lack of individuality by playing the same four-chord “doodooka! doodooka!” songs that a plethora of bands before them have ground into mindless dust while a poorly blinged up frontman wailed about “tonight” and “alright” to an indifferent crowd.
The worst part of it all? Pre-recorded samples of lead guitar and back-up vocals. Solos would come in seemingly before the guitarists were prepared to play them, and on occasion the guilty one would simply turn around in an attempt to hide that he really had no idea what he was doing. Meanwhile those singing back-up were also obviously unprepared, and came in to the microphone too far behind to match what the vocals actually sounded like. It was like watching a whole band of Ashley Simpson.
My only consolation was to laugh at them, instead of with them, though that quickly faded and I was left with aching cheeks and even more sore ears. At least I was drinking.
The most baffling part of the whole yuppie-fest was that the band actually had a decent following (though you wouldn’t know it by the audience), an album and had shared the stage with such “great acts” as Nickelback and Finger Eleven (chortle). My conclusion is that at least two of the band members have really rich dads who are wasting a lot of money and don’t know it yet.
8 amazing things I have done that you should be jealous of because you are essentially inadequate in every conceivable way!
Yes, you heard me correctly, earth-meat. While you have been eating hot dogs and watching Friends reruns, I have accomplished the following, which I shall present as braggartly as I feel is necessary:
1. Played frisbee with a drunk goat, and won.
2. Found a banana that was remarkably reminiscent of Ted Bundy’s penis, and auctioned it on ebay for a hefty sum, despite the banana having aids.
3. Been arrested for juggling wine bottles in downtown Vancouver (i’m really bad at juggling, and had been warned multiple times); I then seduced the guard in order to escape my jail cell, and managed to get arrested again for doing essentially the same thing as before.
4. Jacked off in between two peices of bread and fed it to a homeless person. There’s nothing sluttier than a hungry homeless man.
5. Met the original Lassie (in a dream).
6. Took an 87 year old man’s virginity (also in a dream).
7. Individually married and divorced each of the Olsen twins without them ever knowing it.
8. Constructed a life sized model of the Starship Enterprise entirely out of quack grass and guinea pigs I’d murdered with a hammer, then promoted myself to captain and fought with the Klingons in my mind.
For further re-education, I urge you to order the imagination pills from our online store, and to order my book, Making Love to a Wet Sponge While Operating Heavy Machinery.
The Wizard of Ooze
It was a warm summer’s evening…
A cool breeze gently lifted Dorothy’s pigtails off her shoulders as she sat on the grassy knoll with her travelling companions at either side. Together, Dorothy, Scarecrow, The Tin Man and The Cowardly Lion watched a golden sunset on the far-off hills of Munchkin Land. In the air around them there was a mutual sense of friendship and trust. The four had come a long way along the Yellow Brick Road, and every adventure had built a true sense of fellowship. The group was definitely coming together.
“I wonder how much farther we have to go to reach the Emerald City!” the Cowardly Lion rather shyly blurted out.
“Oh, it can’t be far!” replied Scarecrow in an ignorant effort to assess their situation. “We’ve been travelling for miles! Kilometers even!”
“I just hope that after all this walking the Wizard will give me a heart!” half-sighed the Tin Man.
“And give me some c-c-courage!”
“And give me a brain!”
“And take me home!” uttered Dorothy. It was the first thing she had said since they had sat down on the knoll to rest. She had been staring at the sunset the entire time, apparently deep in thought.
“Oh, Auntie Em. I miss you so much! If only I had listened to you. If only I hadn’t run away! If only I had kept Toto away from Mrs. Gulch’s mean old cat…”
“Say! Where is Toto?”
BARK! BARK!
Dorothy turned to see where the barking was coming from. All four turned to see Toto a ways ahead on the Yellow Brick Road, and in the distance lay the famous Emerald City in all it’s green glory.
“It’s the Emerald City!” they all cried in joy!
No. It was not a mirage beheld by weary eyes, as mirages are often viewed. It was real. It had been right ahead of them all along. It seemed so close. They felt like they could just reach out and touch it, like a medieval castle on canvas, or a grand palace on a tapestry.
“Oh! It’s so close! Look, Dorothy, we’re almost there!” cried Scarecrow jubilantly. He could hardly contain himself.
“Yes, Dorothy! I’m sure we could make it before d-d-dark if we start moving right away!” reassured the Cowardly Lion.
“Yes! And all we have to do is cross that cesspool!” Tin Man pointed and everyone looked.
Yes, there, right in the middle of the Yellow Brick Road, lay a bubbling cesspool, complete with brown steam and floating logs of feces. Toto sat patiently in front of it, seeming to be expecting the others to come after him and carry him across.
“A cesspool? WE have to cross a CESSPOOL??!!” Dorothy screamed in rage and disgust!
“Now, Dorothy, settle down. You’ve got to be rational!” The Tin Man tried to offer what little comfort and reason he could. “Now, I want you to think, Dorothy. How badly do you want to get home?”
“….Really bad.”
“Bad enough to wade in a cesspool?”
“…..I don’t know!”
“Well, think about it. What’s the worst that could happen?”
“….I could ruin my dress!”
“I could rust a little, but it’s nothing a little lubricant won’t fix!” The Tin Man continued.
“Some of my straw could get a little soggy, but it won’t make me smell worse than I did before!” bluntly added the Scarecrow.
“What are you guys worried about stuff like THAT for?” questioned Cowardly Lion. “The biggest thing we have to watch out for is the T-T-T-Thomas!”
“THOMAS?” responded the trio in utter bewilderment.
“What is a Thomas?” the Scarecrow asked in all sincerity.
“I hear they live in cesspools.” Lion answered. “They stay under the surface in complete camouflage until their victims are just within reach. They’re horrible creatures, just h-h-horrible!”
“What do they do?” Dorothy was almost afraid to ask the question.
“Oh, all sorts of nasty things! They jump out of the cesspool and drag you down under, they claw and bite at you, and there have even been incidents of rape!”
“RAPE??!!!”
“And that’s not even the WORST of it! Living in the cesspool, along with other Thomi, they pick up all sorts of diseases and STD’s! You could get infected during an attack!”
“Rabies and scabies and AIDS? Oh my!” frightfully screeched the Scarecrow.
“Well, we’ll stand more of a chance if we go now rather than wait for it to get any darker!” Tin Man thoughtfully added.
“Tin Man’s right! Let’s hurry! Emerald City is just on the other side!” Dorothy exclaimed.
The four quickly, but cautiously, tiptoed down to the pool’s edge. Dorothy picked Toto up and held him close.
“Well, gang, this is it! Either we go in or we can turn back now and try our luck later.” Dorothy skeptically stated.
“It doesn’t look like any Thomi are home!” Scarecrow’s comment meant nothing in reality, considering he had never seen a Thomas. But the effort was understood by all.
“Well, in that case, here goes-”
“MRAAAAAAH!!”
Suddenly, a large humanoid figure burst from the shallows of the cesspool. It stood covered in feces from head to toe, it’s arms spread wide and high in an effort to intimidate those who dared to trespass. His countenance was disgruntled and his odour was unbearable, even in comparison to the environment around him. He screamed and raged as he stood there invincible up to his knees in waste.
“I AM ONE ANGRY BITCH! FUCK YOU ALL!!”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
The four screamed in terror and ran away, never to return again.
“Who was that, dear?” A female head bobbed up from the depths.
“Oh, just some people. You know how they are, Peggy Sue. They don’t understand us. But now that they’re gone, let’s get back to what WE were doing!”
Giggles and groans were heard through the following night air as the day closed in the Magical Land of Oz.
Goths are weenies
Maybe I should just start critiquing every social cliche in existence. I’m a bit of an asshole that way. Perhaps I could get away with it.
Loud electronic music, flashing lasers, cheap booze, introverts. Everything to make any other club scene minus the socializing is there at goth night. Somebody’s wearing goggles like they think they’re in anime. Another person has so much metal in their face they’re a microchip away from being a cyborg. Then again, aren’t we all.
Nobody’s really here to party. They all just want to mope around on the dance floor and fester over how misunderstood and complex they are, going by such monikers as “Bam” and “Steve”. I actually tried to have an intelligent conversation with a “Steve” only to find out he didn’t really want to talk. He just wanted to be the loudest. Former candy kid would be my guess. Another 5 years and the drugs might wear off. I don’t feel the need to wait around ’til then.
The coat check lady is a whore. The first time I ever went she pointed at the tip jar and I asked, “What for?” She responded by emphasizing her already apparent cleavage. I gave her a buck. I wonder if she’d be offended or turned on if I simply put in a penny. Really good whores like it when you treat them appropriately. It’s like a commission to them.
Highlight of the evening: there was free candy. Goths love candy. It rekindles the ever-lasting angsty, malnourished teenager that lives deep inside them and fills their otherwise meaningless life with vitality and zest. They then use that energy to go back on the dance floor and mope. Woe is them.
This Week’s Personals
Hello. My name is Georin, and I would like to cut to the chase about this whole dating ad; you see, I am a man with very specific needs, and I need a partner who can accommodate this. Basically, I want you to take me to the beach and turn me into a sand-woman, like in the photo. Then, you can do whatever you want to me. Play with my sand-nipples, finger my sand twat, or just jack it in my face; I’m pretty much open to any possibility. I know that you’re out there Mr. Right, so now it is up to you to strike while the iron is hot. I’ll be waiting… patiently… like a spider… ready to catch you in my finely crafted web of homoeroticism…
PS – No fatties.
Star Wars Chapter 2: Luke and Obi’s Bogus Journey
Back on SandNStuff, Luke had arrived home with his new robo-sex-bots, and made haste in locking his door and cranking his music.
“Here is Luke!! Rock you like a hurricane!!” he sang, pulling his willy out, and prodding about for the suction button on R-TARD. “Aww man it looks like you got something jammed in here real good…” he said, sticking his face right in front of the nozzle. “Ow, fuck!!” he exclaimed as a big dildo shot out and smacked him upside the head.
Alongside the dildo was a picture of Princess Lulu, spread eagled. Inscribed on the photograph were the words, “help me reach climax Obi-Wank, you’re my only hope…”
“She’s hot!” sputtered Luke, drooling on his sweater vest, “gonna have to get me a piece of that.” And so he taped the photo of the princess to the back of C3BBQ’s head, and gave him 2 minutes of robot anal rape; then, he finally donkey punched the robot, only to realize that, much to his dissatisfaction, donkey punching doesn’t really work on people, much less on robots.
“Well, that was gay. Now what do I do? Oh look, what’s this? Gay pictures of Ovaltine and Diggler? Gross. Well, I’m gonna go to sleep.” And go to sleep he did, but was soon wakened by the sound of rummaging outside his window. “Obi-Wank? What the fuck are you doing out here?”
“Huh?” said Obi-Wank, the wise old sage, pulling his head out of Luke’s trash can, “oh, nothing; nothing at all. Say, you haven’t seen any photos of Princess Lulu laying around, have you?”
“No I haven’t. Now fuck off!”
“Cut the crap, Luke, I know you have it.”
“What’s it worth to you?”
“Well, you could travel with me and learn the ways of my force.”
“I’d rather drink a steaming cup of dog piss,” dismissed Luke.
“But there is nothing for you here. Diggler has already killed your aunt and uncle.”
“Sweet! Get the house to myself! I hate those guys, always making me do dishes.”
“Actually your family is fine. But I could take you with me to Princess Lulu, who has a seriously nice rack.”
“You drive a hard bargain.” conceded Luke, using his dripping spunk to paste Lulu’s picture to his wall next to his Transformers poster.
“Let’s take my hippie van.” suggested Obi-Wank. “I just burnt some sage and my step-dad made some killer ginger snaps.”
“Fuck that heap, I’m driving my sand buggy whether you’re in it or not! That thing kicks hippie ass!”
It was a torturous two hour drive through the desert for Obi-Wank as Luke soared from dune to dune blasting “Run to the Hills” non-stop, singing off-key at the top of his lungs and enjoying every moment. It was after two hours and one minute that Obi-Wank, sand-encrusted, turned to Luke and said, “Do you even know where you’re going?”
As though having never heard him, Luke shouted over the speakers, “So where the hell are we going?” Just then, the sand buggy banged, popped, fizzled and came to a dead stop. “SHIT! Fucking power converters, I just got those things!”
“Looks like we’ll have to take the hippie van after all.” remarked Obi-Wank. “It’s a good thing you just stuck around your back yard like an idiot or we’d have a real long walk ahead of us.”
It was a torturous three hour drive through the desert for Luke and the sex-bots, crawling at a mere 40 km/hr, listening to monotonous drum and bass music and consoling Obi-Wank who was tripping balls on his ginger snaps.
“It’s a good thing there aren’t any roads or traffic, Wank, or we’d all be dead by now!” Luke sniped, holding the steering wheel with one hand and his stomach with the other.
“We ARE dead, man!” uttered Obi-Wank in a profound junkie epiphony. “We’re, like, living but we’re dead, y’know? Like fate or something. I dunno. Are we there yet?” He continued to yank and pull at the steering wheel against the resistance of Luke. “Shit, this thing is so hard to drive.”
“If I’m not needed, I’d like to shut down for a while.” remarked C3BOBO.
“Fuck that! YOU deal with the hippie.” replied Luke. “Get up here and drive, I needs me a PB and blowjob sandwich. R-TARD, get ready for your motherboard to meet my mother load.”
“Beep beep boop.”
“Hey look! A pile of dead sand midgets!” shouted Obi-Wank. “Let’s burn them as sacrifice to our pagan gods!”
“YAAAAAAAAAAAY!” responded Luke and C3. “Beeeeeeeep!” responded R-TARD, spraying backed up semen throughout the inside of the vehicle.
After a good midget burning, they all piled in the hippie van, Obi sobered up and they finally reached their destination: Livewire Cantina. Upon pulling up a cloned sheep approached them and peered inside the van.
“THOSE AREN’T THE SEX-BAAAAOTS I’M LOOKING FOR!” he bleated.
The four stared in puzzled silence.
“Is that what I’m supposed to say? Damn. Why couldn’t I have been an elephant?” The sheep wandered off, mumbling incoherently to himself.
“Livewire Cantina? How come I’ve never heard of this place?” Luke questioned.
“Because you’re too much of a pussy.” Obi replied. “It’s filthy as hell, but the drinks are cheap and the hos are easy. And filthy as hell. Seriously, everything in that building is covered in filth.” With that, the four piled out and stepped inside.
Once inside, Luke was quick to make a complete ass of himself, dancing boisterously to the song “Let’s Get Retarded”, and hitting on everyone’s girlfriends. After pissing off nearly everyone, he joined Obi-Wank, who was busy pretending not to know him at the bar. “Hey Obi-Wank! Check out all the boobs in here!” he yelled, not because the music was too loud, but because he hoped the hot alien sitting a few stools down would hear him and be impressed by his candor.
Sitting next to Luke was Assface and Pigman, who were peacefully enjoying a refreshing drink after a hard honest day’s work.
Luke turned to Assface and said mockingly: “Dude, fix your fuckin’ face!” then burst out laughing and slapping Obi-Wank on the back, who was still pretending not to know him.
“Mreh mreh mreh mreh mreh,” mumbled Assface incoherantly, since he had somehow managed to avoid learning any languages, and had the IQ of a can of chili.
“Do you mind? I’m trying to eat a tuna melt here,” Luke said with his mouth full, little food particles spraying out of his mouth into Assface’s ass face.
“He doesn’t like you,” said Assface’s best friend, Pigman.
“He’s just jealous,” replied Luke.
“I don’t like you either,” Pigman shot back, “you just watch yourself; my friend and I once killed a man… killed him soooo dead…” Pigman made stabby motions.
“As if I’m afraid of you dingleberries. My buddy Wank-meister here knows karate or something, and he’s about to teach you all a karate lesson, isn’t that right Wankster?”
Obi-Wank ignored him and continued making small talk with a hairy balled Bigfoot sitting next to him, who he secretly had a thing for.
“Just forget it,” said Pigman, “we don’t want any trouble.”
“Scared, huh?” said Luke, who began clucking and flapping his elbows like a chicken.
Pigman and Assface then went on to beat the living snot out of Luke, much to the amusement of Obi Wank who was now taking shots of tequila with Bigfoot, and slapping his big hairy ass flirtatiously.
“You asshole,” complained Luke after Ass and Pig finished feeding him his own underwear, “you could’ve stepped in at some point. Gotta stick up for your homies.”
“You laughed at me when I asked if you wanted to be a karate master and learn about my force,” said Obi Wank, “guess I’m not such a senile old fag after all?”
“You still are,” corrected Luke, “but you’re a senile old fag who knows karate, and can teach me to kick some bully ass.”
“Sure, whatever. This sexy piece of Bigfoot here knows Han Slowmo, Intergalactic Jigalo. They have a sweet space ship with lasers and stuff. Pyew pyew pyew!”
“So you’re going to Aldaraan?” asked Hand Slowmo.
“Barring any unforseen incidents, yes,” said Obi-Wank.
“What’s the cargo?”
“Myself, 2 sexbots, 5 philipino boys, 7 buttplugs, a crate of doritos, 11 cases of spiced rum, a banana… and no questions asked…”
“And me too,” Luke reminded.
“Um, yes… of course…” Obi Wank’s eyes darted back and forth all shifty-like.
“What flavor?”
“I’m sorry?”
“What flavor of doritos?”
“What? Why?”
“If we’re gonna do this then I must know everything.”
“Oh… uh… Cool Ranch I think.”
“10 million dollars,” Slowmo blurted out.
“I’ll give you 200 bucks and one of the philipino boys.”
“DONE!” Han was a brilliant negotiator, “Meet me in the docking bay.”
“Pardon me, Han Slowmo?” a bug eyed alien named Steve approached, “This is just a friendly reminder that you have many overdue books from Java’s porn library.”
“I’ll return them tomorrow, quit hassling me.”
“Hey, no pressure. He just wanted you to know you’ve had them a few months now, and uh, you may be subjected to a small fine if they are not returned.”
“Fine, whatever.
“But Java just wants you to know he values you as a customer, an-”.
“You just don’t know when to quit!” Han exclaimed, whipping out his pistol and firing several lasers through the aliens head. After which he proceeded to kick its corpse a few times before peeing in its mouth. “Yeah!! Han shot first!! Who da man??!! Slowmo is the MAN!!”
“Sooo… the docking bay then?” Obi Wank confirmed.
“Huh? Oh yeah, totally,” Han said, taking his balls out of the dead alien’s mouth.
ACTUAL testimonials from people who made friends with me!!
I met Gavin in a hardware store while searching for pliars. He took me out for fondue, where he recounted to me all the various hilarious instances of the Seinfeld reruns he’d been watching. I had to pay for both of us, but I didn’t mind since I was just so happy that he didn’t stare at my lazy eye or make light of my weight problem. Would I go out with him again? Well, it does beat goiing to the trouble of watching the reruns myself, and plus he’s got a sweet ass.”
- Lana Munson
“Gavin and I went out to a children’s baseball because he said his nephew was in the playoffs or something. He bought me a hot-dog and didn’t pull any gay shit, so he’s ok in my books, although i did find out later that he doesn’t really have a nephew. But it’s ok, he’s such a cool guy. If I were a girl I’d totally date him!”
- Gerald Geiger
“I was going through a tough time as I was being charged with mail fraud. Gavin took me out for drinks to talk about it. He was very attentive, and offered general advice about mail. He didn’t hit on me, but I was afraid he was going to.”
-Jenna Libsworth
“I remember meeting Gavin for the first time on a bus on main street. He spent most of the ride explaining to me the various uses he had discovered for fishing line, vaseline, and cast-iron cookware. Nobody cooks like Gavin, that’s for sure.”
-Chris Sivak
Star Wars Chapter 1: The Pleasure Droid Heist
A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away…
“There’s the Rabble space-dingy. Shoot them with our space lasers,” commanded the mighty Darth Diggler, the evil Rabble-killing gum-chewing CEO of the Spacey Death Program.
“But sir, someone could get hurt,” interjected his sidekick, Admiral Jebediah.
“Your lack of faith hurts my feelings,” said Darth, using his evil magic force powers to squeeze the admiral’s balls, “Princess Lulu stole secret pictures of me and Emperor Ovaltine posing nekked and giving each other reach arounds. I want them back soooooo bad.”
Meanwhile, inside the space-dingy, princess Lulu was sexing up the place with her awkward pleasure droid, C3BOB.
“Your highness: I’m sorry, but the chances of me satisfying you are 735 to 1,” said the droid, somehow shitting itself simultaneously from robot anxiety.
“Never tell me the odds”, she said, mentally visualising her sissy brother Luke Cockblocker. “Ah fuck, you’re useless. Where’s that margarita I ordered? And where’s that robot garbage can? My gay dad is here for his stupid space pictures. Fuck I hate that guy. Don’t let him in.”
BING-BONG!
“That sounds like the docking bay! I’ll answer it.” ignorantly replied C3BO, and off he went to open the door.
“Nooooooooo, you fucking useless, oversized vibrator!” screamed the princess, but it was too late, and as the door swung wide a friendly looking French waiter popped in with a single margarita held on a silver platter. He approached Princess Lulu.
“Madame’s alcoholique beverage!” he exclaimed, but as he leaned forward to serve the drink Darth Diggler poked his head in the still-opened door and shot the waiter square in the back of the head with a blaster which he was totally never known for using. Frenchie fell to the floor dead and began to melt and bubble in a festering puddle of grey goo.
“HAHAHA! I love that shit. It’s like fucking a jar and getting paid for it. Triple A! All Around Awesome!” staring at the puddle, “Diggy”, as he was more familiarly known by friends and close associates, began to tease his own nipples until he caught notice of the princess and came about. “Oh yeah. Gimme my pictures back, you whorish bastard bitch cunt whore, a’fore I call my cloney cronies to take you out!” Darth Diggler’s tone was deep and commanding.
“DAAAAAAAAADDYYYYYYYYYYYY!” the princess cried in a high pitched whine. She then proceeded to complain and scream in a well-rehearsed way that she knew worked every time. C3BO took the opportunity to slip away undetected and find the vaccuum robot R-TARD and the stolen pictures.
“There appears to be a ship getting away with some faggy robots inside. What do we do?” pondered Tweedle-Dee, twisting his moustache and pushing random buttons on the control panel.
“We better go check with our manager,” responded Tweedle-Dum-As-Shit, as he took another drink from his hot cup of raw sewage, “Or we could just do nothing.”
“You sir, are a fucking genius,” concluded Tweedle-Dee, and began whiddling a wooden statuette of Tweedle-Dum-As-Shit.
The trip to the nearby planet of SandNStuff was incredibly boring for the robots… until they found a bottle of peach schapps hidden under the driver seat. Drinking commenced and before long R-TARD’s suctioning vacuum nozzle was fastened tightly around C3BO’s pleasure unit. Waking up in the middle of the goddamn desert was quickly followed by a sharp hangover and a deep rooted sense of robot shame and resentment of the other for turning them gay. They decided that they must part ways forever and never speak of the incident again. So off they went, wandering aimlessly through the desert. They wandered about 5 minutes before each getting jumped by sand midgets and brought to a sand midget yard sale.
“Oh fuck, not you again,” said C3BO, smacking his head.
“Beep beep boop,” retorted R-tard.
“That rash was just razor-burn! Now shut-up, No-one must know what we did…”
“Hey Uncle Elmo, check out this pleasure droid! I wannnnt it!!!!” whined Luke Cockblocker, a greasy little farmer’s boy, “And look, that vacuum bot has extra suctioning power! I want that too!”
“No goddammit Luke,” said Uncle Elmo in a heap of frustration, “You already have 2 pleasure droids and a suction bot in your closet, and you hardly ever use them anymore.”
“Are you kidding? I used them like twice last night. But my suction bot is all backed up and dirty. I want a new one.”
“Say, Luke, have you ever thought of joining the Rabbles? I left the application on your desk like a month ago. It might be good for you to get out of the house one of these days.”
“You’re not my real dad! Quit trying to control me!!” screamed Luke, and threw a giant temper tantrum until Uncle Elmo finally gave in to his demands.
Meanwhile, back on the space-dingy…
“This happens every time! You just throw a giant temper tantrum until I finally give in to your demands.” bitched Darth Diggler. “Well it won’t happen this time! Nope, nope nope, nope nope nopey. I want those pictures, I want them in a scrapbook and I want the scrapbook framed in ruffled white lace and that’s final!”
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” cried Lulu.
“Your mother was such a slut. I shouldn’t even have to deal with this.” grumbled Diggler. “Clones, ATTACK!”
A thousand cloned sheep burst through the docking bay, brandishing Swiss army knives between their teeth, they began to slash and stab at the structure of the ship creating deep scratches and light punctures in the more supple materials.
“What? What the hell are you doing? I told you I don’t have those fucking pictures! Get your rabid sheep off my poop deck!” shouted the princess.
“Perhaps once you get your poop of my rabid sheep dick… er, deck. You said deck, right?”
“If it means I won’t have to listen to another of your handicapped jokes, I put the pictures down my panties…” began the princess.
“I still want them!” interrupted the Darth.
“…and had my Super Sucker R-TARD suck them out as a sexual favour.”
“That’s the most DISGUSTING thing I ever heard of! Super Suckers are for men! Where is he?”
“He went THAT-A-WAY!” exclaimed the princess, pointing toward an open bay door that led into empty space.
“3, 7, 12 and 149b, stand by that open bay door!” Darth Diggler called to his sheep minions. The sheep followed orders without question.
P-P-P-PUNT!
With a swift kick the sheep were sent flying into the vastness of space and towards the barren planet of SandNStuff. “Remember, I want LACE on that scrapbook! LAAAAACE!” Darth Diggler’s demands were beyond eccentric.