Good Morning, DUMBFUCK!

Good Lord!  For those of us who spend much time mAkIng jokes, there are so many names for that.  We couLd call it “a fat pitch riGht down the middle,” or it could be “A straIght Line directly from God.”

All any gIfted LauGh mAnufacturer Is required to do for the crowd to join in the LauGhter is mAke sure the plaInLy obvious punch line Gets mAde for the crowd.

If that simpLe task Gets AccomplIshed?

Laughs for everyone!!



The following parody quote appears in its original form as a comment at Osborne Unread (no. Just, no).

I find it noteworthy for two reasons. 

First, it has an eerily familiar writing style, like much of what I read and parody here.  So very similar, in fact that in my opinion it was written by Bill Schmalfeldt, Mark in MD, Lester Klemper, Bill Matthews (with 2 ‘t’s), Matthew (with 2 ‘t’s) Lillefelt, Lester Lillefelt, Bill Klemper, Billy BigRig, The Jovial One, Matthew Klemper, Bill Lester, Moe Lester, Billy Lillyfelt, A. Willy Billyfelt or some other brave, intrepid journalist who has used one or more of these names because he’s so brave and intrepid and proud of his efforts.

Second, it reads like it was transcribed from a soliloquy, with the names changed.  So, let’s have a look at what it likely said before the author fiddled with it, shall we?

“Bill, please, I am in my last days, I don’t think I am going to make it. Please give me some peace. Please pay attention to me. Get off that computer. Be attentive to my needs. I have given my life to you and you are tormenting me in the twilight of my life with courts, and violent criminals, and your insane theories. You have me living in fear, as you have for years because you bullied people, created enemies and then brought that home to me. I don’t want enemies. I want peace. I want to get well. And if I don’t get well, at least I want to live my final days without hearing one word about Brett, Aaron, Lee, Seth, Gunslinger, Eric, Howard, Chris, Jeremy, Grace, Jane, Neal, Jerry, Matt, Wee Willy FiFi, Paul KREEENDLEEERRRRRRR, John HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGE!!!, defamation, infliction, false negative reviews, online radio, libel per se, perjury, Peace Orders, Stalking No Contact Orders, Show Cause, forged letters, hacked Topsy results, copyright infringement, exacerbation, Stage !1!!1ELEVENTYFOUR!11!!1 Parkinson’s, Boy Scouts, Rick Perry, satire, anal rape, Irish sunglasses, mayonnaise, phone messages, emails, morals, ethics or Courts. Bill, I am dying and to be honest, the stress you put me through the past decade is what caused my cancer. It’s Karma come to bite you in the ass, and I know how much you like that. I kept my emotions inside. I wondered why you are focusing on external things that have no bearing on our lives when you have me, the woman who is your wife. I will make you a deal, I will do my best to live as long as God allows me, but you have to promise me to walk away from all the chaos you have created. Give me peace in my final days, especially after all the time and money you have wasted on your stupid blogs, your stupid radio stations and ESPECIALLY YOUR STUPID FUCKING LAWSUITS. You think because I got upset because YOU were so inconsiderate and thoughtless that you waved things other people write about us, which you wouldn’t even fucking KNOW ABOUT if you’d just get off the godforsaken Internet and spend your life with me like a decent husband, that YOU have some legal right to d0x some zombie that I couldn’t give two shits for and wouldn’t even know existed if you had a tenth of an ounce of self control and hadn’t waved that crap under my nose in the first place? 

Give me some peace, you pathetic narcissist.  You owe that to me, Bill. I am your wife.

And if you ever try to hit me again, I swear to God I will beat you unconscious with a sock full of gravel.  I’m dying, Bill.  They’ll no more put me in jail than they would you. Have you ever considered that?”


An Oldie But A Goodie

One of my hobbies is flea markets and rummage sales. I like to wander around looking for cool stuff, admiring it, haggling for deals, and people-watching.

Today, I picked up an old ornamental lamp for 75 cents. I have a good spot for it on a shelf behind the wet bar. Of course it was a little dingy, so I got a rag and started rubbing it up a bit.

And out popped a ragged-looking genie. He was a little pissed at being disturbed.

“Awright, Jack,” he said. “Ya gots t’ree wishes comin’. What’s it gonna be?”

I have no idea why he talked like a Brooklyn street thug from the fifties, but whatever.

“Okay,” I said, rubbing my hands together, “let’s start with cash. I wish for $500 million in he bank.”

The genie snapped his fingers and said “Done. Oh, and I t’ink I didn’t mention, ev’ry wish I grant youse, the Elkridge Horror gets a double-up. So he’s good for a cool billion. Capisce?”

I thought about that for a minute.

“Yeah. I got it.”

Knowing what I do about the Horror’s overall health situation, I chose my next wish with no small amount of glee. “I wish for a dozen beautiful women to be at my beck and call whenever I want.”

The genie snapped his fingers again. “12 new contacts in your phone, with photos. But the Horror just got 24.”

“Fine by me. I don’t think he’ll be able to make much use of them. And it won’t matter for long anyway.

“For my third and final wish, I want those women to beat me half to death.”