Faggots and Dykes

After yesterday's game, most insensitive observers would assume that the Mayonnaise Cannons' opponents, The Can Nots, consisted of nothing but faggots and dykes. And although the Can Nots did all either act like pussies or look like Amazonians, this appellation would be unfair to the gay and lesbian community, as no group of people, alternative sexual proclivities notwithstanding, deserve to be lumped together with such unmitigated lameness. Not ones for needless slander, the Mayonnaise Cannons were content to think of their opponents simply as huge fucking douche bags.

Capt. Kim Jong Keene summed up his teams feelings, "That was officially my least favorite team so far from either this year or last."

There was cause for some minor celebration, however, as two new Cannonettes were welcomed into the fold.

Red Rocket alumna Fiery Meg Valters brought a level of intensity unmatched by either team, and the talented LeRihanna Thormor brought her glove.

Also deserving special mention was the outstanding defensive play of third base stalwart Emily Biggie Smalls, who played huge as her name would suggest, sacrificing her body to make a run saving tag in a bonecrushing but spectacular play.

"You think that big gorilla barreling into third base scared me?" said Emily of the the play. "I'll take that fucking bitch down EVERY time."

And in a stunning display of competence, Apollo Anton Keene managed to get the jerseys to the game, finally allowing the Mayo Cannons to disply their logos of a symbolic male orgasm proudly on thier chests. Keene even had the foresight to order white cotton t-shirts, giving the male Cannons extra incentive to attend games in wet and rainy weather such as yesterday's.

The Mayonannons bring their sterling 0-4 record to the park next Wednesday to take on some new bunch of undoubtedly lame assholes.

"Like a Fat Fuck Fucking Fatly"

The Mayonnaise Cannons of Arlington take to the baseball diamond today, looking to avoid a repeat performance of last week where they played like the above mentioned simile.

Though surely all winners in the game of life, the Mayo Cannons were spectacular losers in both opening contests of their sophomore season.

Ravid Reene was back at the helm, derelict of duties as always. Though sponsorship was procured this year, Ravid was yet again unable to get the new team jerseys to arrive on time, engendering no confidence in the newest members of Team Mayonnanon.

SoVa transplant He Who Doinks was clearly displeased, "You suck ass, Reene."

SoFla native and fellow Mayo Cannon newbie Jillbert Wadams added, "We never had these problems on my kickball team, Ravid, you pathetic sack of dogshit."

Also new to the Cannons but unphased by the incompetence, possibly due to their participation in the abortion that was the Ravid Reene captained Red Rockets flag football team, were Tara Beara, Emily II part the second, and Dana-na-na-Dana-na-na-Hey-Hey-Hey-Goodbye.

Rounding out the usual slug-spects were Tumas "The Red Blizz" Tranthem, Emily "Biggie" Smalls, Mathers Oglebies, Ah the Ra, Phoney Balooney Maloney, Salty Dave Veedner and Andruw Spay, who, unlike Ravid's 4 base error, knocked in the first ding dong of the season and provided the sole highlight of last week.

Post game festivities were carried out at the Crystal City Sports Pub where unfortunately a lingering pall cast an inescapable shadow of failure over the team. That and it seems some members of the team are simply inveterate Grumpy Guses.

Despite the obstacles, the Mayonnaise Cannons' resolve to triumph in the upcoming season, or at least to get rip roaring drunk should they inevitably fail.

SORRY SO SLOPPY - I TOTALLY GAVE UP ON THIS ONE

Second only to receiving a smoothly administered hand job on his list of things to do to relax, Hagbard maintained watching Jeopardy! as his favorite leisure activity with which to unwind. It was also his favorite show that incorporated punctuation into its title.

Today Hagbard tried to combine his two favorite leisurely activities by watching Jeopardy! with his chesty girlfriend Misty. As the show began Hagbard’s gaze alternated between Alex Trebek and Misty heavy hangers. Hagbard succeeded in his plan but not without some difficulty. Misty insisted on trying to answer the Jeopardy clues whilst off she wacked Hagbard, which led to in the discomforted thought entering Hagbard’s head that Misty might be retarded.

The next day Hagbard tested this theory regarding Misty a little further. NASCAR together and whenever Derryl Ernhardt Jr’s car went by Misty would clap her hands and say “Red car! Red car! Red card!”

Hagbard began paying more attention to what Misty was saying and less on her ample bosom. Pretty much everything she said was dumb. Then came the cake taker: “Oh turn this off, I’m afraid of Alex Trebek,” she said.

“Why?” asked Hagbard.

“Because he raped me.”

“O RLY?”

“JES RLY.”

“Well, in that case, this shit is over.”

“Well I’m just a big idiot and would be better off with someone a lot dumber than you anyway.”

“Yes, that is where eventually I was going with this anyway. Have fun hanging out with dumb asses. You blew it baby. BIG TIME.”

“Yeah well, I already blew it, his penis I mean.”

“Stop talking about Alex Trebek.”

“I’m sorry but I liked the sex we had so much.”

“Then it’s not rape.”

“But I like rape.”

“We are so over.”

I SORBED THE 3 GREATEST THINGS IN LIFE LAST WEEKEND

breakfast: taste it!
lunch: taste it!
dinner: taste it!

A holiday taste sensation!!!!!

Apparently My Parent's Write for the Onion Now

Area Man To Attend Grad School To Find A Girlfriend

Hairy Pooter and the Pisser of Azkaban

Hairy is totally bored and horny during the summer and wants to go to Hogmeat, an all jizzarding village near the Hogballs Academy of Fucking. He is dissapointed by the lack of talent (ie no babes) at Hogmeat and flips out, exploding an old man's old balls with his phallic wand.

Now on the run from the law, Hairy hitches a ride in the Bang Bus where he plows some nice hole and learns that that Seriously Black has been Pissin' on Azkaboobs. Hairy next encounters Cornholio Fudge Tunnel, who doesn't punish Hairy for blowing up old balls, altho Hairy does have to spend some time at the Leaking Oily Discharge Cauldron.

Hairy then goes back to school and plays a lot of his favorite game, Queef-itch.

Hairy also can't get enough of that juicy Hogmeat, going back several times and also frequents the Shrinking Sack, a constantly shrinking house made of testicle skin.

Eventually, Hairy gets into some problems with Professor Lupenis, a were-cunt (tranvestite wolf) and the evil Snapenis and a map and his dead parents and then Hairy goes back in time and saves a Hippospliff named Fuckbeak or some dumb shit.

Finally it is revealed that Black was Hairy Pooter's parent's pimp, who whored them out like a couple of dirty magical hookers. Black then asks if Hairy would like to star in his next movie, Black's Big Stick and Three White Chicks. But Black is jailed for pedophilia before they can get started and writes Hairy love letters from jail every day. What a gay wad.

The End.

Quid Pro Farthammer

Having not played together for over two years and with their lead guitarists head crushed into oblivion by their singer/songwriter, heavy metal super group Farthammer went on hiatus. Members took the time off to go on separate holidays to recharge their batteries and bowels.

Lead singer/songwriter Robocop chose to vacation at the Jersey shore, which may sound counterintuitive given his worst nightmare in the world is to hang out with Italians. However, Robocop spent his time playing skiball and shooting Jersey guidos in the face and throwing their dead lifeless bodies off of piers, so it ended up being quite relaxing for him.

Front man to true metal group Manowar, known as Manowar, took the opportunity of his own bands hiatus to try and poach some of Farthammer’s former members for a side project he called Doctor Thunder/Mountain Lighting. He knew P.P. Pyleman was a deadman, crushed to death by Robocop’s thighs for wanton incompetence, so he instead searched for his younger Brazilian cousin and rhythm guitarist, Junior Pinho.

Manowar found Junior Pinho (peen' hoe) jagging off to the Discovery Channel in his tidy two bedroom apartment in Sao Paulo. Junior covered up (but continued jagging off) and the two began discussing the idea of forming a band. Unfortunately for them the conversation was interrupted by a load crash which was the wall collapsing.

“How did they find me here?” shouted Junior.

“What are they?” asked Manowar.

“Robot Cavemen from the Amazon! Quick let’s get out of here!”

Junior led Manowar out the back door and the managed to escape down the alley, though the Swarm of Robot Cavemen were hot on their trail.

“You’ve got to help me, Manowar.”

“You got us into this mess, Junior, I suggest you get us out.”

Though they parted on amiable terms, Junior didn’t want to have to call Robocop. Thankfully for Manowar, survival trumped potential awkwardness and Junior paged Robocop with a 911 emergency.

Robocop reluctantly blasts off to the Southern Hemisphere with his rocket boosters and locates Manowar and Junior. He arrives with a nice tan, though is annoyed that neither Junior nor Manowar notice.

“What is it the big fucking deal?” he asks.

“We were just talking and Robot Cavemen came after us!” said a panting Manowar.

“From the Amazon!” added Junior. “We managed to escape them for now but they’ll be back. You have to save us Robocop, save us from the Caveman Robots!” cried Junior.

“Well which is it? Caveman Robots or Robot Cavemen?” asked Robocop.

“There’s a difference?” asked a puzzled Junior.

“Yes there is an implied difference you boob. A Robot Caveman would suggest an advanced robotic humanoid that looks and acts like a primitive caveman and considered very dangerous. A Caveman Robot suggests a robot constructed by a caveman which means it is likely extremely crude and composed of twigs and bones and leaves.”

“Um, then I guess it’s the latter.”

“So what is it you need me for? Throw rocks at it and they will fall to pieces.”

“Um, okay.” The search for rocks is interrupted by an explosion as a laser beams shot through the air amidst a din of grunts and ‘ooga boogas’.

“Oh no, Robot Cavemen!” Yelped Junior

“Well why did you not say the fuck so? There is but one way to take down Robot Cavemen.”

“We blast their asses with some blazing hip hop and R&B?” suggested Manowar.

“No, we pound them into smithereens with heavy metal thunder.” Declared Robocop.

So the spontaneously reconstituted Farthammer started playing their heaviest song to date which the all made up on the spot in unison: The Fart (The Fuck Fat).

The Robot Cavemen were vanquished and the scenery reduced to rubble. Robocop and Manowar looked satisfied but something appeared to be up Junior’s ass.

“What is it up in your ass?”

“The music we played.”

“Continue.”

“It rocked hard and all, but it wasn’t good enough. I think it’s too main stream. I prefer really boring obscure music that no one likes. That way I can feel superior.”

“You dolt,” said Robocop, “music is not about feeling superior. Judging music in general is stupid. Would you carry this logic to other forms of art, such as painting or sculpturing? You confuse someone’s personal proclivities for pop music with narrow mindedness, but in doing so your own prejudices are illuminated.”

“You know, Robocop, you’re right, I never thought about it like that.”

“And let us not forget your irrational disdain for electronically produced music, which you erroneously think cannot produce the same organic vibe as a redneck with a banjo.”

“Good point. I suppose if the great classical composers were alive today they would create music with electronically enhanced instruments, as it affords a broader sonic palette and would continue in their tradition of pushing the orchestral boundaries established in their time.”

“Now you are starting to get it the picture.”

“Gee thanks, Robocop, now let’s go make some music. Yea Farthammer!”

“Are you kidding me? You are fucking fired, son. We will be hiring Mike Borden formerly of the band Faith No More to form a power trio to rock off your face like it has never been rocked off before.” Explained Robocop.

“Yeah you fucking faggot,” chided Manowar.

And so Junior left a salty trail of defeat as he cried himself all the way home.

“They may have been a tad harsh, Manowar.”

“I’m sorry Robocop, but each day I wake up and get out of bed knowing that there is shit waiting for me. Each day is a struggle, a battle, and I must prepare for these battles, these wars. I either fight to win or I throw up my hands and admit that I’m fucked. In this spirit I chastised Junior.”

“You have made it well your point. Which reminds me of it a new song to be called Fat Fart Fuck Factory.”

“Let’s do it, Murphy.”

The End.

Farthammer will save this country!!!

According to Alan Moore:

In countries like the U.S., we exist in a wholly sexualized culture, where everything from cars to snack food are sold with a healthy slathering of sex to make them more commercially appealing. But if you're using sex to sell sneakers, then you're not just selling sneakers, you're selling sex as well, and you're contributing to the sexual temperature of society. You're going to get people who, unsurprisingly, become overheated in that kind of sexual environment, and if they attempt to assuage their desires by resorting to the widely available medium of pornography, they're going to have their moment of gratification, and then they're going to have a much longer period of self-loathing, disgust, shame and embarrassment. I think if you were to sever that connection between arousal and shame, you might actually come up with something liberating and socially useful. It seems at least potentially that pornography might be providing an essential pressure valve which we do not have access to. Rather than being able to have a healthy relationship with our own sexual imagination, we're driven into some dark corners by shame and embarrassment and guilt, and those dark corners breed all sorts of monsters.