Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Tupac: Legacy of Sexual Satisfaction

I am a cracker. This can not be disputed...


I am a sesame flatbread cracker eaten by Tupac, who is alive and well, wrapped up in a cozy quilt at his cabin in the Yukon. His entourage is small these days, consisting of 3 wolves, 2 Inuit, and a long white bone whom he calls Todd. But Todd isn’t just some random bone. He was once a mighty femur belonging to a headless gorilla that wandered the Pacific Northwest, trying on different heads, going berserk when they didn’t fit. They never fit.

He must have decapitated 300 campers and their families before he died while bathing in a waterfall near Vancouver. You see, his neck hole was always dirty, and it needed to be cleaned regularly. And during a routine hole wash, a sturgeon managed to get stuck in his chuckhole. The thrashing fishtail-headed gorilla choked to death.


His body floated some ways before a group of teenagers found him. They got high and took pictures with the rotting corpse until it wasn’t funny anymore. Then the wolves arrived. They left only bones. The leader of the pack took the femur with him as a souvenir of their rare find. Then it was off to Tupac's cabin.

Tupac likes wolves and wolves like Tupac. And when the lead wolf set the gorilla femur at Tupac's feet, a covenant was undertaken. The wolves signed a 20 year binding contract to serve as the exclusive watch dogs for his Yukon compound. And in turn, the wolves gained studio access and microwave privileges.


Todd received his name on a night when some drunken polar bears were being way too loud, disturbing Tupac's sleep. He grabbed the femur and struck their rowdy bear skulls with graceful flair, receiving oohs and ahhs from caribou nearby. Acknowledging their admiration, Pac bowed courteously and went back to bed, leaving a wake of polar bear blood behind him. Before going to sleep, he thanked the femur for its loyalty, declared it to be his new ally, bestowed the name Todd unto it, and licked the bone clean.

Pac, the wolves, the Inuit, and Todd live in the Yukon to this day, with enough love to fill multiple lifetimes. On the real.


Friday, September 11, 2009

Flashlight Rash Night

I bought a 10-pack of flashlights yesterday at Home Depot. Seriously. As you can tell by the photo, they have since become a burden.


I saw these babies sitting on a shelf by the checkout lane and thought, "Who the fuck needs 10 flashlights ?" And then I saw the price tag - $10, and thought, "I need 10 flashlights!"

I sat alone in my car afterwards, feeling intense buyer's remorse. In fact, it was so intense that I passed out and began dreaming about a faraway place. A place where I'd never have the chance to make idiotic purchases. A place with waterfalls. And loose native women on horseback.

I smile a toothy grin at them, but my teeth are made of little flashlights that shoot beams of white light into their beautiful eyes, blinding them. Another native woman shows up. Except this one looks like the sound of Mr. T's laughter. Peculiar. Oh great, now there's an arrow lodged in my neck. Here comes the blood...

...I was awakened by a security guard knocking on the window of my car. "You can't sleep here, sir. It's midnight. We're closing."


It's been a weird summer.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Fear the Worst: The Truth About Obama (With Action Figures!)

Look how quickly Obama turned into an slouchy, obese, shrugging, plastic faced mute...

Nothing says take me seriously like action figures, masks, and horrible impressions.

Hold on... I get it now. These "birther", "death panel", and "liberty" kooks are essentially teenagers. Teenage minds trapped in ugly, flabby bodies. And they really hate their new black stepfather.


Here's some equivalent translations from kook to teenager:

"He's not an American citizen!" = "You're not my real father!"

"They're trying to take away my guns!" = "They're trying to take away my videogames!"

"I miss Ronald Reagan." = "I miss Kurt Cobain."

"Global warming is bullshit!" = "Hand jobs are bullshit!"