(Or: Scribe and friends sans pants.)
Christmas is coming and our economic goose is getting
cooked! This week Scribe offers to expose his “shorts:” very brief “stories;” some fiction and others not. Enjoy!
Ye Olde Scribe’s Links to Oblivion and Other Fun Places
“Help making your mind into sausage since 1999.”
(The same year the moon blew away from the Earth and traveled the universe. What, you don’t believe it possible. Didn’t you see that “wonderful” documentary, “Space 1999?” Hollywood just painted a fake image in the night sky with the help of ILMCT… Industrial, Light and Stupid Conspiracy Thinking.)
YOS Productions Presents: Christmas Time For Fascistic Boys and Girls!
Richie Rich Junior and his goose stepping siblings ran down the stairs Christmas day, 2008, and started torturing wrapping paper; ripping, shredding, burning… it’s all they know how to do. And they do it so well, though they’re better at it with soon to be dead, innocent, human beings. They cried out with joy…
“Oh, boy, golly gee whilikers, I got a puke gun!”
“I got an ICI! Where’s my grenade launcher Poppy Santa bought for me last year?”http://smirkingchimp.com/thread/19108
“Look! Thank you Daddy, Junior! You gave me a Scream so I can blow the little people’s eardrums for fun!”
Daddy Junior, with a Laurakins Junior laughing beside him with joy, said, “You’re all welcome. We also gave you a 20,000 man army to help you use these great toys. Now fly, my little monkeys, fly! And if you get caught, don’t forget do like Daddy does: hide behind the Bush…es..”
Ye Olde Scribe Presents: The Carnival Ride
“Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee,” the little boy said. “Daddy! Daddy! I want to go again! let me at that Black man!”
The ferris wheel was of an odd design, all the seats point inward. Barack Obama is in the middle jogging on a hamster wheel.
“Yes, Son, but lock and load first.”
We hear the pumps on two 10 gauge guns.
Father and son; dressed in hunting camouflage, climb on board the Left leaning ferris wheel.
“Watch out for the Manic Mad Mouse next to us, Son.”
“That’s where the Right Wingers shoot from, and they don’t give a fuck who they kill, just as long as they kill something and blame it on us.”
Ye Olde Scribe Presents: “Locked into the Limbo Dance,” an Ad
Boys and Girls! Now, back after the long unchallenging eight years… Right Wing Brand Limbo Dance! Now with an impossibly high bar! All our accusations can dance through with ease and Libs and our commiesocialistfaglovinggoddamnmuterfuckinnigger new President who wasn’t born in AmeriKa will never be able to jump over it to avoid our baseless accusations!
Now with more fascistic based FUN.
Note: the right wing is not responsible for feces left clinging to the bar after lowered to septic tank level during our under Lord and Savior’s reign, King Junior. If they splatter you while jumping: GOOD.
Once Upon a Time
Once upon a time slot, a male partisan slut slathered the airwaves with fecal matter. Did Scribe type “once upon a time?” Sorry. “Still” slathering the airwaves, our MPS thought his past words would never come back to haunt him. And unlike Scrooge, he was and is right. Such creeps are never held accountable, like Saint Junior. That’s because the ghost of words past, present and future; better known as Grumpy, Sleazy and F—–ing Asshole will never print the truth, unless it’s about blowjobs. Even then, the MSM lie, helping turn “is” into “never was” by sprinkling urine-based fairy dust all over their papers, turning “all the news that’s fit to print,” into “all the shit that never happened.” But, Scribe, dressed as the ghost of Christmas past, willingly takes up their fourth estate obligations and cries, “Ebesneezer Rush, Ebesneeze Snot Rush. Do you remember when you said…”
“And now the liberals want to stop President Reagan from selling chemical warfare agents and military equipment to Saddam Hussein, and why? Because Saddam allegedly gassed a few Kurds in his own country. Mark my words. All of this talk of Saddam Hussein being a war criminal or committing crimes against humanity is the same old thing – liberal hate speech. And speaking of poison gas, I say we round up all the drug addicts and gas them.”
— Rush Limbaugh, November 3, 1988
Scribe’s List of Questions for Whomever You Worship: God, Jesus, Santa or Fred Flintstone
Here are questions with no answers (yet) If you have any, feel free to share them.
1-How can you tell if a sloth is bipolar?
2-When a politician says “I’ll be brief”, do you look for the Fruit of the Loom label in the front or the back?
3-How many supreme beings are required to replace a burned out star?
4-What percentage of rocks have a sense of humor.
5-Has anyone come up with a better answer for “Why is there air?” since Bill Cosby?
6-If a tree falls on a mime in the forest and the only witnesses are in the federal witness protection program, can they resist the urge to tell Judge Judy?
7-How many colors remain undiscovered?
8-Are there any practical uses for nir?
9-Why aren’t the proponents of intelligent design able to explain Dick Cheney?
10-If there really is a supreme being, why did he put Walmart, obese people, thongs and stretch pants in the same universe?
Roasting… on an Open Fire
An American was touring Mexico. After his day sight-seeing, he stops at a local restaurant. While sipping his wine, he notices a sizzling, scrumptious looking platter being served at the next table. Not only it looked good, but the smell was wonderful. He asked the waiter, “What was that you just served the gentleman at the next table?” The waiter replied, Ah, senor, you have excellent taste! Those were the bull’s testicles from the bull-fight this morning. A delicacy!” The American was momentarily daunted when he learnt the origin of the dish. But then he said, “What the hell? I am on vacation! Bring me an order!” The waiter replied, “I am sorry, senor. There is only one serving a day, since there is only one bull-fight each morning. If you come early tomorrow and place your order, you will be sure to have this delicacy!” The next morning, the American returned, placed his order, and was served the one and only special delicacy of the day. After he finishes them, he called the waiter over and said, “Thanks. They were gorgeous, but smaller than the ones I saw you serve yesterday!” The waiter replied, “Si, senor, I know. But sometimes the bull wins.”
(Many thanks to “Edgar” for this submission.)
Scribe hopes you have a happy Ho, Ho. Just make sure you wipe the filling off your face. Unless your not that hungry. Then have a happy Ho. That’s better than an unhappy Ho. Just don’t drink let her drink too much or you’ll have a “heave Ho.” This chauvinistic message will self destruct in five seconds. 5,6,7,8…