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Showing posts with label sexual innuendo. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sexual innuendo. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Famous Killing Machines: Jules Sylvester

The Killdozer was a giant piece of drivable metal that was created by a man who was fed up with society around him (aka, Granby, Colorado). While we have to refer to the physical manifestation of the vehicle in past tense, the idea and spirit of the Killdozer has been alive since the dawning of man. Ever since there has been a society, there has been a man who has had enough of it and tried to make a killing machine as a last stand. I feel that the healthiest way to educate people about these anti-social cutouts is to describe them in the most glorious way possible. That way, the young kids who read this entry will develop a sense of irony or kill us all.
Jules Sylvester and his Fantasmagorical Gore Oracle

Humble Beheadings
Jules was born in 1875, a decade after the brother killing days of the Civil War were over. This does not mean anything though, as Jules Sylvester killed his brother when he was 7 years old in what appeared to be a horse and buggy accident. Jules was wrought with guilt, and with no one to talk to, he left his house and started his apprenticeship as a shoe cobbler... little did he know that, like these shoes, he would eventually be walking over/on his small Georgian town!

The shoe industry was booming, and by the time that Jules was 13, he started his own business. While he was not personable, he was still a teenager and felt that a business named "Boner Shoes" would have great success. Naturally, according to the Boner Theory of Business or BTOB, his shoes flew off the shelf and he became one of the wealthiest teenagers in his neighborhood. This caught the eye of town cougar Ingrid Belfone, and soon the two were hitched... But what would become unhitched WAS JULES'S GRASP OF SOCIETY

Every crisis comes with an oppurDOOMity
While the century turned, Jules Sylvester was making enough just to get by. When his wife and son died tragically during a dreadful but comical-in-retrospect piano moving accident, Jules could not get his life back together. He continued to cobble shoes, but the market was dwindling due to a recent court ruling that banned shoes, put into motion by the elected mayor and pot-belly pig, Hamilton Hamhock.

In every story of a man pushed to the edge, a face needs to be tied to the evils in society. In Taxi Driver, it was the politician. In Falling Down, it was breakfast menus. To Jules Slyvester, it was that adorable and city-ruling prize hog... But what he didn't know, is that "city-ruling" would soon turn into "BLOODY GRUELING!"

May Impair your Ability to OperHATE Machinery
Using the spare parts of shoes he had lying around his workshop, Jules went to work on an unstoppable suit that he could wear while extracting his revenge on the sinister, yet delicious, Georgian mayor. What he settled on was what looked like a deep sea diving suit, but with meathooks for hands and flamethrowers for nipples. He named it the Fantasmagorical Gore Oracle, because he believed it would cause mass bloodshed and was a sign for the changing of times. Also, he admitted that it sounded pretty fly.

His rampage through the streets of town lasted a little over three hours. Abandoning school and not being taught of all the famous killing machines we can recite by heart today, he made a lot of rookie mistakes. The arm joints took way to much effort to move, and walking just 7 steps completely winded Jules for five minutes. Neighborhood kids started throwing pennies at him, and somewhat worried neighbors nonchalantly got back into their homes and read by their windows, occasionally looking up to see the Gore Oracle. Jules died in the suit three hours after getting into it from dehydration. His dead body stood in the middle of the road for three weeks until anyone noticed.

The legend SHIVS on!
Hamilton Hamhock spun Jules' death march as a salute to the mayor for a job well done. As a result, a statue was created in his honor. Since their are no burial records for Jules, it is widely believed they just dumped the Fantasmagorical Gore Oracle, with his body intact, into concrete. The lore of the town states that it is cursed, and since the statue's presence, every pig mayor of the town has faced grisly, scrumptious deaths.

This story of Jules and Ingrid later became the inspiration for every hot mom anecdote we have today. We can see an allusion to the suit in The Graduate, and the actual statue of Jules Sylvester's Fantasmagorical Gore Oracle has a cameo in Porky's.

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Advice Jackers: Body woes, Jokester foes, House-o's, and Kitten Bows

In the previous entry of advice jackers, Mr. Jones detailed you on the lengths in which I go to acquire letters that are en route to Dear Abby and other such advice gurus. I fear that he has taken my whimsical and sarcastic explanation as hard fact. I do not, in fact, train messenger pigeons to sweep down and steal your precious mail. Instead, I use them as weapons in my war against the postal system for folding an envelop of a very rare poster of Tom Selleck in prestine condition. Now our mahogany-enriched office is tainted by a distinct crease in the defining ornament of our workspace. Sometimes pigeons come back for mail, sometimes they don't. If you are Mark Albright and you are currently wondering what happened to this month's Maxim, I am sorry. If you are Grace Kelly and do not know when your Liberty Medical shipment of Wilford Brimley approved insulin will be coming in, please contact Mr. Brimley and ask for an emergency shipment posthaste.

This is what my pigeons look like, only with a lot more feral rage. Also, switchblades.

Anyhow, here are some people who did not ask for our advice, but will most definently be saved by it.

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DEAR ABBY,

I'm now a junior in high school and participate in numerous varsity sports. Even though I am a competitive athlete, I am still insecure about my body. I constantly worry about my size -- that I am too fat or too small. I am never content about my body. How can I build my self-confidence? -- LAS VEGAS TEEN

Dear LAS VEGAS PIG,

Maybe you are insecure about your body weight because everyone else on the team is in better shape than you? You can try to work and strain yourself further in order to catch up and be normal, OR you can get them to start slacking by replacing their water with motor oil. Not only is it not as nourishing as water, but it really adds the pounds, followed by vomiting more pounds up.

Also, they have schools in Vegas? Do they teach you hookers and blow and how to get mauled by a tiger?

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DEAR ABBY,

Last year my brother's daughter married a horrible man I'll call "Willard." Willard is rude, vulgar and makes constant sexual innuendos. The rest of the family have decided to have nothing to do with my brother's family because of it. We're afraid to invite them to gatherings and holidays for fear that Willard will come with the rest.

We have talked about it with my brother and his wife. They feel that because Willard has become part of their family, he should be accepted whether we like him or not. Another problem: My brother thinks Willard is "wonderful" and says nothing when he's out of line. Is it time for us to also cut them off, or do you have any other ideas? -- TORN IN TUCSON

Dear RIP TORN,

Maybe you should give him a second shot. He seems like a fun guy to hang out with. Sexual innuendos are always funny, especially when they are about your family members. Your brother has the right idea by calling him "wonderful." You were always the wet blanket of the family. Your brothers and sisters, they were always out having fun and scraping their knees. Not you. You were the tall awkward girl who fucking loved reading Redwall. Maybe you should hang out with Willard some more and learn how to not be a big ol' douche about everything? No wonder why Mom and Dad always liked your brother the most.

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DEAR ABBY,

Does a house "burn up" or "burn down"? -- HOT TOPIC IN ASHEBORO, N.C.

Dear HOT POCKET

If we are talking about houses, then the answer is simple: the house can only burn down. Anything else would defy some of the greatest physicists of our time, the Talking Heads.

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DEAR ABBY,

I dress my Siamese cat, "Belle," in clothes and pajamas. (Yes, they make apparel for cats.) I also push her around in a stroller. My friends think I'm crazy, but I consider Belle to be my daughter.

One time, a teenager came up to me as I was pushing Belle in her stroller and asked, "Where's the baby?" I told her that Belle was like my baby.

Is it nuts to treat a cat like a child? -- MOM OF A FUR KID IN N.Y.

Dear DELUDED,

You might be an embodiment of everything I hate. You know that people who dress up their pets are humiliating animals across the world, right? (We know they make clothes for cats, parentheticals make you look like a smartass.) And you also know that crazy cat ladies and crazy cat gentlemen use cats to fill a void that is gaping left from a lack of intimacy? Well, you got a bullseye and a hole-in-one by epically failing at two aspects of life at the same time.

Do you consider Belle your daughter because you pushed her small cat body through your vaginal canal? No? Then why is she your daughter? Because she understands you? And you understand her? And you know all she wants is more cat clothes?

Maybe you should try to tone it back a little. Don't use a carriage. That's just creepy. Instead, try a baby coffin.