Who the @#$% Took My Candy?!

Gerald Williams and George Larribas in:

Who the @#$% Took My Candy?!

Gerald Williams loved candy.  He loved candy so much that nobody in the town took notice in his best friend for life, George Larribas, had recently proposed to his girlfriend, a male goat.

George was jealous of Gerald’s candy lovin’ fame.  George wanted comparable fame for his goat lovin’.  He devised a scheme so cockrockulous that he himself would not dare present it to his country club manager, who was to wed George and his goat and his Faun love-child on Tuesday.

Gerald always kept a big ass bucket o’ candy in the bed of his truck.  It was just asking to be stolen, but Gerald was so sure he had enough respekt in the town that nobody would touch it.  However, George wanted to touch it.  He wanted to touch it so badly.  He was a bad person, just like you, only he had a lust for sugar instead of blood.

George approached Gerald’s barrel of candy.  On it was printed: THIS IS MY CANDY, KEEP YO HANDS OF! Yes it said “of” instead of “off.”  Gerald was not the hottest peach in the cobbler.  This was unfortunate because George was not the hottest cobbler in the oven, so by definition, George and Gerald were arch enemies.

George, or Gerald, whichever one is not black, lifted the candy from the back of the truck and proceeded to roll it down the street.  Small children began to chase after George, asking for candy.  George would just respond, “Keep yo hands of!”  One small girl, about eight years old, looked at George and said, “You are a sack of shit!” She meant to say barrel, but whatever.  Do you honestly care?

I don’t.

George had safely made it home by the time Gerald returned to his truck.  Gerald saw that his barrel o’ candy had been jacked from his truck.

“Who the @#$% took my candy?!?!”

A clown appeared from behind a dumpster and approached Gerald.

“A penny saved keeps the clowns away!” said the clown.

“You gonna die, sucka!” yelled Gerald.

The End

Portrait of a Butt Chin

Douglas Bernheimer in:

Portrait of a Butt Chin

Douglas Bernheimer seemed to have it all. He owned land, had some trees of the lemon variety, and drove a Ford Escort that was missing its front bumper. He also had indoor plumbing! Doug was living the life!

He just had one problem: He had a butt chin, and quite a glorious one at that. Well, you have probably seen buttier chins yourself, but you do not understand his situation. Douglas hailed from the small town of Chinless, West Virginia. Nobody there had a chin. They were chinless and grinless. So even the slightest anomaly in a chin would stand out like a China man in a lingerie store.

To make matters worse, Douglas Bernheimer was an avid pudding fan, and a messy eater. Too many times people would tell him that he had a little pooh in his butt crack of a chin. Somebody even made him a miniature roll of toilet paper to wipe his chin with. At the time he cried about it but now he secretly uses it all the time. It is four ply, for less irritation on the chin.

Butter was a problem for Douglas, because it made his butt chin extra shiny.

Someone once suggested to Douglas that he tape some doll feet to the bottom of his chin so that it looked even more like a butt. Or if he so chose, he could turn the doll feet around and form a nice gunt, or frontbutt for short. He tried this once at home, and he was pleased.

As with most social outcasts, small children would often toss fresh produce at Douglas. He really did not have it going on. He would scold the children and flip them off. This would always prompt the children to tell him to stick his finger up his butt chin. He could not because his butt chin was not a legitimate butt.

One day Douglas decided that he was going to change his life. He went to the plastic surgery center in Chinless, West Virginia and decided to get his chin worked on and shaped into a nice, manly chin. It took about four hours for the operation to go down. That’s about as long as it takes your mom to go down.

Douglas came out of the office and inspected his new chin. It totally looked like a vagina now.
The end!

The Lady Who Yelled At Me

Gladys McGillicutty in:

THE LADY WHO YELLED AT ME

Chapter 1: Gladys’ smile could kill a bear!

Once long ago when I was a sprightly young lad, I crossed paths with a crotchety old biotch named Gladys McGillicutty.  She was that type of old lady who had one of them little dogs that kind of looked like her.  She would dress it in the fanciest of hats, which I respected for a while.

Until one day…

Chapter 2: The one day I previously mentioned.

Why do old ladies like rose bushes?  Gladys had hair that resembled that of a lion’s mane.  She would roar like a banshee and chase the smallest of children with a rake.  She had no sould.  She sold her soul to the clerk at Albertson’s when she forgot her coupon for 20 cents off a pie of her choice.  A wise trade?  She seemed to think so.

Kids would often throw eggs at her house, for which she would yell at them and curse them with a mysterious Cajun spell.  One kid claimed that he saw Gladys McGillicutty eat a pineapple whole.  Another kid claims that he saw her get out of a 1982 Buick LeSabre outside of the movie theaters.  She allegedly had gone to see Spy Kids 3D.

Many things Gladys did went without explanation.  Why was there an oil pan in her driveway if she parked the car in the garage? Stupid! Pick that shit up!

Another thing you should know about Gladys is that she only cared for her roses at night.  She believed this to be the correct method for keeping her roses white, and nobody ever bothered to tell her that she had just bought white roses.  This is the same reason she only walked her dog at night, brushed her teeth at night, and waxed her chin at night.

But it was this one particular day in which everything went down the crapper.  You can only take so much of that little dog barking.  It is much like the way you can only take so much of clowns.  They go from slightly amusing to sucking, in a matter of squeaks of the nose.

Gladys and her dog were going down.  And not in that sense, you sick pervert.  How does one oust an annoying dog?  With three pounds of meat and some butterscotch.  And also a lot of time.  It is recommended that you set aside at least eight hours for this.

First I piled the meat in an orderly fashion (that’s what she said) and then I sat and waited.  I waited for that piece of crap dog to catch a whiff of that mighty meat.  It was stacked with pride in that old lady’s back yard.  If you saw this pile of meat from a helicopter or perhaps an aero zeppelin you would sit back and say to yourself, “Wow, that is some fine lookin’ meat.”

Alas!  The small dog appeared from its house, and by “its house” I am referring to the old lady’s house in general.  I hucked the barrel of butterscotch or whatever the hell I said it was earlier at the dog.  A near miss!  All the commotion rousted Gladys from her slumber, in her lumber.  Lumber being her wooden bed.  She came running down her porch stairs and picked up her dog.

“Get the @#$% off of my property!” she yelled.

And that’s the story of the lady who yelled at me.

The End