Rush Limbaugh: His Mouth Was Good for Two Things and One of Them Was Spreading Conservative BS

 

Not Tonight

VERSE 1

All I want to do is lay on the couch

Keep the TV on while I’m zoning out

A precious fur baby on my chest

Relaxing this way is truly the best

Any other night would have been okay

Any other night, I wouldn’t want to stay

But for now it’s time to turn out the light

Not tonight, my sweetie, just not tonight

VERSE 2

All I want to do is read my novel

I shouldn’t even have to beg or grovel

I shouldn’t have to debate this with you

I’m an introvert and it’s nothing new

Any other night would be pure bliss

Any other night, I wouldn’t want to miss

But for now this isn’t worth a fair fight

Not tonight, my queen, just not tonight

VERSE 3

All I want is a bowl of ice cream

To satisfy my sweetest sweet tooth dreams

Peanut butter chocolate or plain vanilla

It’d be worth weighing more than a gorilla

Any other night we’d have a healthy meal

Any other night I’d submit to your deal

But for now sugary heaven just feels right

Not tonight, my lady, just not tonight

VERSE 4

You can call me lazy as I swim in gravy

You can call me a child innocent and mild

All I know is that I need my own space

All I know is that I need a comfy place

To rest my head and decompress my mind

Before anxiety crushes me from behind

I’m sure one day you’ll understand my plight

Not tonight, my lovely, just not tonight

Goddamn Dog

As Tim Coleman laid half asleep in bed on a rainy afternoon, he kept wondering why his girlfriend Jade Quinn had “One More Light” by Linkin Park playing on repeat before she left for work in the morning. She wasn’t her usual peppy self. No smiles. No kisses. Not even a hug. Just cold, empty eyes as she left Tim in charge of dogsitting duty. The pouring rain coupled with the dour mood made him curl up against his pillow even more. A pillow was no substitute for Jade, however. He would have settled for Millie crawling up under the blankets. But then…

Something assaulted Tim’s nose like a wrecking ball to the face and had just about as much knockout power. He pulled his nostrils under the blanket, but he could still smell that rancid, god-awful odor coming from the living room. “Oh no…no, no, no…please tell me she didn’t do it…no…no…NO!”

He threw the blankets off of him and stomped out to the living room wearing just his athletic shorts. The harder he stomped, the more rage pumped through his ogre-like body. The odor set his nostrils nearly ablaze as he tried to suppress the urge to vomit. And then he made it to the living room and saw that Jade’s hardwood floors had become a battlefield of landmines. Gigantic, steaming brown landmines with the general herself laying on the ground in guilt. Millie the salt n’ pepper colored Labrador mooed like a cow before unleashing a cloud of toxic gas from her already putrid bunghole.

“Goddamn it, Millie! You stupid fucking goddamn dog!” shouted Tim from the top of his lungs. “I am so sick and tired of cleaning up your fucking messes! You goddamn dog!” Fury and venom poured from the fat man’s lips with every swearing scream. “I’m going to fucking kill you, you stupid dog!” Though he would never go through on such a threat, Millie wouldn’t have known as she guiltily tucked her head.

Tim stomped to the bathroom and fetched the necessary cleaning supplies for a job this disgusting: paper towels, a mop, and a bucket he filled with soapy water. In between retrieving these necessary items, he kept on roaring like the pissed off lion he was. “You goddamn dog! Quit shitting all over the fucking floor, asshole!”

His first course of action was to scoop up all of the dog turds with god knows how many paper towels before flushing them down the toilet separately. Every time he bent over, the odor triggered his gag reflex to where he wanted to vomit himself inside out. While that would be an instant relief to his aching and tired body, it would also mean more messes to clean up. “Goddamn stupid ass fucking dog!” he screamed.

After flushing the turds down the drain, he sat on the toilet seat for a while and wiped the sweat from his body, which poured like the rainy weather outside. Tim took several deep breaths not only to recover his lost energy, but also in a vain attempt to calm himself down. “Stupid dog…stupid goddamn dog!” he screamed, completely destroying his ambitions of nirvana.

Step two of this ultimate cleaning job was to mop the floors as vigorously as he could. A few strokes in and he was already sucking wind. Wind, by the way, that was broken by a sixteen-year-old dog huddling in the corner. “Stupid dog!” Tim screamed again as he scrubbed the wooden floor. No matter how hard he mopped, the air thickened like he was in a burning building. At this point he was genuinely surprised the smoke alarm didn’t go off during this job. “You stupid motherfucking dog! Quit making me clean up after you, you little shithead!”

Once he was certain the shit was completely cleaned up off the floor, he death-marched to the bathroom to flush the mop water down the toilet. His head ached worse than if he had been beaten with hammers. His heart pounded as if a Mortal Kombat character was trying to rip it out. His lower back flared with pain like he had taken a body slam over a pile of razorblades. Tim sat on the toilet and sucked some more wind, confident that his job was finally over.

He had recovered a modicum of his energy before he put the cleaning supplies back in the bathroom closet. Slowly and languidly, he waddled out to the living room and took care not to slip on the wet surface. The only wet surface he had to deal with it that moment was the one on Jade Quinn’s horrified face, an intensification of what she felt when she left for work this morning.

There she was in her business skirt, high heels, and wrinkled dress shirt. She dropped her purse by her feet and stared down Tim’s guilty soul with wetness in her eyes. Her lips quivered as she tried to form a sentence. “T…Tim…did I just…hear you…yelling at Millie?” No response, only a saggy frown to match his guilt. “Answer me!” she cried.

Tim’s own face quivered as he too tried to muster up the words he needed. “Jade, I’m sorry. She…she shit all over the floor and…I panicked…I would never do anything to hurt Millie, you know that, right?”

Pointing her manicured finger at Tim, Jade fought back the rest of her tears in vain as she mumbled, “You…would never…hurt Millie?” Silence hung between the two lovers like a yawning, fiery chasm. “You just did, you insensitive asshole!” Jade dropped to her knees and held her long blond hair in her hands, emptying her eyes of emotional fluids. Millie slowly edged towards her and got a scratch behind the ears from her one true master.

Tim gingerly approached his girlfriend and knelt down to put his massive hand on her shoulder. Jade swatted him away instantly. “Don’t touch me!” she sobbed. “You’ve done enough damage today!” She hugged Millie around her neck and cried into her salt and pepper fur. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I’m sorry he yelled at you like that.”

Tim stood back up not knowing what else to say. Apologizing didn’t work. Explaining his actions didn’t work. Not even a gentle touch of the shoulder could bring his girlfriend out of her sorrowful abyss. He knew he fucked up badly and could do nothing but sit on the leather couch with his pudgy face in his hands.

“You can’t sit there anymore, Tim,” blubbered Jade. “Not after what you did. This was supposed to be Millie’s special day. I was going to take her to the park and get her ice cream after I got off work. And now…all she’s going to remember is you yelling at her…How could you, Tim?”

“Wha…What do you mean all she’s going to remember? Is that why you played that Linkin Park song this morning? Jade, you can tell me what’s going on.”

Wiping away tears even though they wouldn’t stop coming, Jade lifted her face from her hug with the dog and said, “Millie has stomach cancer. That’s why she’s been going to the bathroom on the floor a lot. And you react to this mild inconvenience by yelling those awful things at her?!”

Tim didn’t notice it when he was cleaning, but now that he thought about it, there were small traces of red in Millie’s stool. The guilt choked him up like a noose around the neck. His eyes grew sore, but he did a better job of hiding his sadness than his girlfriend. Even during this dark time he was too proud to fall apart in front of her. But he couldn’t help it. One tear rolled down his cheek while many more cascaded from Jade’s eyes.

“You know, Jade…there’s no reason…why we can’t still get Millie ice cream.” His voice trembled as he etched out those words.

“Yes, there is!” shouted Jade as she stood back up. “She’ll just shit all over the floor and you’ll scream like a little child again as you clean it up! The only reason why you’re sorry is because you got caught! You don’t care about my dog! You don’t care about my emotions! In fact, get your fat ass off my couch and get dressed! I don’t want you here anymore!”

Tim didn’t get up. He sat there and let another tear roll down his cheek. “I’m sorry, Jade.”

“No, you’re not!” cried Jade as she grabbed Tim’s arm and tried in vain to jerk him to a standing position. When he wouldn’t budge, she just crumpled to a pile on the floor and cried some more, prompting Millie to lick her face dry.

“Jade…if you give me the keys to your car…I will go to the supermarket and buy vanilla ice cream for Millie. She loves vanilla, right?”

“Go to hell, Tim!”

“Listen to me!” urged Tim as he cupped Jade’s shoulders in his hands. “If you still want me gone from here, I’ll go. But please let me get the ice cream for Millie. She deserves that much. Right, old lady?” Tim petted Millie’s head and talked cutely to her about what a good dog she was, even planting a kiss on her wet nose. Millie returned a puppy kiss for his efforts.

Tim then held Jade’s hand in his own and begged, “Please…let me get the ice cream. You can even come with me if you want and we’ll listen to One More Light for as long as you want. I love that song too. And Millie can come ride with us. She can stick her head out the window and…”

“Tim, enough,” said Jade while a holding a hand in front of her boyfriend. She wiped away a tear and sniffed snot up her nose. “I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. She’s just going to shit in the car again and you’ll go on another yelling spree. If anybody’s going to get the ice cream, it’s me.”

With that said, Jade and Millie walked out of the house together for a ride in the car while Tim sat on the couch in his shorts sulking it up. A few tears escaped his eyes and he didn’t bother to wipe them away. It was over. It was all over. Not just for him, but for Millie as well. The puppy kiss didn’t even feel like true forgiveness. Knowing his hands were unclean (in more ways than one), Tim Coleman pulled himself off the couch and trudged back to the bedroom, presumably to get his things and go.

And then…he walked past the kitchen and saw something magnetized to the refrigerator door. He pulled down a familiar sheet of glossy paper and studied it for a while before making his final attempt at goodwill towards Jade and Millie. Wasting no more time, he picked up the phone and dialed a number on the sheet of paper. A few rings later, he was patched in.

“Thank you for choosing Pizza Hut. How can I help you tonight?”

“Yes, I’d like an extra large meat lover’s pizza with stuffed crust.” Tim couldn’t contain his sorrow over the phone and it was noticeable.

“Are you okay, sir?”

“Not really. But I’m sure my dog will be happy to see you once you get here with that pizza.”

Dayton Spoke Choir

The ethereal beauty of the choir’s voices haunted Detective Matt McQueen’s mind like a schizophrenic voice. He felt as though he was being lovingly pulled into the center of this heavenly sound, but kept his pistol drawn knowing this was the calm before the storm. He already ventured into the unknown by looking for clues in this dense forest. Every once and a while a spider would land on him and he’d get chills running down his spine before swatting the arachnids away. Those voices. So innocent. So magnificent. They couldn’t have been older than the single digits. What were small children doing all the way out in this secluded nightmare?

Matt took a massive gulp of saliva and wiped the sweat off of his forehead when he found the source of the voices: a broken down church covered in foliage and insects. Another plunge into the unknown. With every one of Detective McQueen’s steps, the choir grew louder and more haunting. His finger tightly wrapped around the trigger, the cop slowly advanced toward the front entrance, which was guarded with little else than a cracked wooden door barely on its hinges. It wasn’t so much the robust structure that kept city folks away; it was the creepiness of it all.

Matt’s eyebrows furrowed and his goateed mouth curled into a dark frown as he kicked down the front door and stormed in on the church screaming, “Freeze! Paulson City Police!” His all-business attitude softened into creeped out jitters when he saw what was inside. He lowered his weapon and asked, “What the fuck?!” He was careful not to drop the pistol, but with his shaky hands, it almost happened.

The children’s choir’s lovely voices were tainted by blue jumpsuits and putty-faced masks with blood dripping down from their mouth and eye holes. Each and every one of them had puppet strings attached to their ankles and wrists, strings that lifted their arms in conformist salute when prompted by their leader.

“Matthew, Matthew, Matthew! It’s so good to see you again. Perhaps you’d like to sing some hymns with us.” Detective McQueen quickly turned around with his pistol aimed at the source of the creepily sensual voice: Reverend Laguna Pearman. No longer was he the trusted member of the Paulson City religious community. No longer was he a donor to the poor and an educator of children. All that remained of Reverend Pearman was a wicked smile and a black choir robe with his fingers tapping together playfully.

“Laguna…I trusted you!” shrieked Matt before bull rushing the preacher and slamming him against the wooden wall. Even with the barrel of Matt’s pistol planted firmly in his jaw line, Laguna’s smile never faded. “I went to your sermons every Sunday. I let my child around you. And this is what you’ve been doing this whole time?! Where’s Caylee?! She better be in here or I’ll blast your fucking head clean off your shoulders!”

“Daddy, no!” shouted a little girl from the choir, who came flying toward her father on puppet strings before clamping around his legs tightly. “Daddy, please don’t kill him! He’s going to take us to heaven to see God! This is our mission!”

“You heard her, Detective. Caylee is much happier here than she was at home. She’s not your child anymore. She belongs to Jesus Christ now,” said Laguna, still not wiping that smug grin off his slender face.

“Shut up, you snaky piece of shit!” yelled Matt before pistol whipping Laguna’s breakable face repeatedly. Caylee begged and pleaded with her father while pounding on his legs with those tiny child hands. The rest of the choir levitated in on their puppet strings to pull Matt off of their “master”. By the time the detective was being held on the ground, Laguna’s visage was covered in blood and bone splinters.

“My face…my beautiful face…how could you do this to me? How could you do this to the face of God?!” sobbed Laguna as he dropped to his knees clutching his shattered mug. While some children held a struggling Matt to the ground, others circled around Laguna and hugged him tightly while crying drops of pink tears.

“Is this what you call leadership?!” bellowed Matt. “This guy’s not your master! He’s not anyone’s master! He’s a false prophet with a child fetish and he needs to be locked up forever!”

“Don’t talk that way about my new daddy!” shouted Caylee with tears running down her masked face.

Matt’s own eyes were sore and swollen from the sorrow of watching his daughter being ripped away from him by this monster. Detective McQueen’s heart felt like it was being put through a juicer. His stomach felt like he’d taken a liver kick from an MMA champion. “Caylee, please don’t say those things,” begged Matt with all of his soul.

“I hate you, Dad! I hate you! I belong to God now!” shrilled Caylee with her fists at her side.

“Oh, Matthew, don’t you ever get sick of questioning things you don’t understand?” asked the bloodied Laguna Pearman rhetorically. “Don’t you ever get sick of taking my name in vain? You should be. It’s a mortal sin after all. And you know how we punish sinners in my church, don’t you?” That last line was punctuated by Laguna gently rubbing his calloused hand across Caylee’s trembling back.

“Don’t touch my daughter!” roared Matt as he struggled even harder to free himself from the choir’s grips.

Laguna spit out some teeth before he reached down for Matt’s gun (which he dropped on the floor earlier) and pointed the weapon at the wiggly detective. “Looks like your beautiful daughter isn’t the only one who belongs to God now. Rest in peace, Detective McQueen!” Matt wiggled his foot free and kicked Laguna in the ankle, causing his gun blast to accidentally strike one of his pupils in the chest. The false prophet along with his choir watched in horror as the child clutched his wound and bled all over the floor, dying a slow and painful death.

“No…no, no, no! Why, God?! Why would you take this innocent child from me?!” shouted Laguna as he dropped to his knees and shook his fists to the sky. “We’ve done so much for you! We’ve done everything we could to make you happy! Why, my lord! Why?!”

The shocked children’s grips were loosened by this sudden turn of events and Matt shoved them off to earn his freedom. He spear tackled Laguna to the ground and wrestled the gun out of the preacher’s hands. Despite the knee-bending pleas from the choir, Matt unloaded all six rounds into Laguna’s already shattered face, spreading his brains and skull all over the wooden church floor. Caylee shouted, “No!” as she watched the preacher’s blood run down a tiny crack in the floor.

What started out as a kidnapping investigation turned into a full-on massacre for Matt McQueen. His hands trembled as he held his now unloaded gun still in Laguna’s splattered face. The cop slowly climbed to his feet and finally holstered his weapon when the realization set in at what he’d done. Still shaky, yet firm to the core, Matt declared, “Alright, kids. It’s time to go home to your parents. This investigation’s over. Enough with the Halloween bullshit. Take your masks off and load up in the van outside.”

With their puppet strings loosened and their heads hung low, the children, Caylee included, removed their putty-faced masks. When they lifted their heads again, Matt’s newfound resolve shattered into trembling fear. Their faces were even bloodier than Laguna’s was. Their frowns were contorted beyond their natural limits. Some of their teeth and eyes were missing. They even had abscesses that peeled off parts of their faces to reveal their teeth.

“Sorry, Daddy. We warned you!” whispered Caylee. The choir formed a circle around the shivering Matt before jumping on him and chewing at his flesh. The detective’s screams were muffled by the blood pouring out of the hole in his throat. His eyeballs squished and squashed inside the maulers of the deformed children. His blood was slobbered up off the ground and his flesh was ripped and shredded. The final munch came when the evilly smiling Caylee devoured her father’s exposed heart like it was a juicy steak. All that remained of the detective were his bones and small pieces of slashed skin.

As the children lapped down the final pools of blood and chewed the last of their meals like animals, one of them asked, “Hey, Caylee! What should we do with Master Pearman’s body?”

The little brat’s grin never washed away from her bloody face when she said, “We’ve already had our supper for the evening….but we haven’t had dessert yet! Come on, everybody! Sing with me!”

As the choir carried the lifeless body of Laguna Pearman away from the church, they sang in their most innocent voices, “I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream!”

McDonald's Prostitute

VERSE 1

Which tastes worse: the blowjob or the burger?

Which is more sadistic: slavery or murder?

Which is more dangerous: the fries or the lies?

Which is more confusing: the whats or the whys?

Stretched so thin like lying on a torture table

Scraping up whatever small change you’re able

Put on the pounds and make orgasmic sounds

Nobody will help you in this selfish town

CHORUS

McDonald’s prostitute, what’re you fighting for?

An economy that doesn’t subsidize war?

A market that doesn’t overpower the rich?

They’ll be the first to tell you that life is a bitch!

VERSE 2

What ice cream do you want: vanilla or chocolate?

Where’s your money: in your purse or your pocket?

Where do you call home: the bridge or the streets?

What’s the ending to this story: victory or defeat?

I would never judge you for your desperation

I would never insult you or give you lacerations

It’s not your fault and you’re not in the wrong

Have my twenty dollar bill and the lyrics to this song

CHORUS

McDonald’s prostitute, what’re you fighting for?

An economy that doesn’t subsidize war?

A market that doesn’t overpower the rich?

They’ll be the first to tell you that life is a bitch!

VERSE 3

A triple bacon burger with onions and pickles

A man in black robes with a sick-looking sickle

The loneliness will kill you before the food does

A disgusting fucking joke is what this all was

Everybody wanted it to go wrong from the start

They vote with their balls and not with their hearts

Now they can’t even fill up their shopping carts

Except with their last possessions and metal parts

CHORUS X2

McDonald’s prostitute, what’re you fighting for?

An economy that doesn’t subsidize war?

A market that doesn’t overpower the rich?

They’ll be the first to tell you that life is a bitch!

Weirdo Alert

In Louise Bradbury’s mind, she could have been paid a million dollars per week and it still wouldn’t have been enough for what she had to go through. Making a decent cup of coffee was the easy part. Dealing with the “loony toons” who waddled through the shopping mall was where she believed she deserved a raise. Old men who couldn’t shut up about the 1920’s, teenagers who laughed like hyenas at every minor occurrence, middle aged men who kept trying to get the baristas’ phone numbers, that kind of shit.

Louise looked absolutely miserable behind the counter of her coffee bar with a hunched over body and a dull expression on her face. Customer service protocol always dictated that she had to have a positive expression, but she just couldn’t fake it anymore. Her attempts at smiles were more see-through than a wet T-shirt. Her engagements in small talk were so boring that she almost fell asleep on the job. And to think, this minimum wage money was supposed to mean something later down the line. What it meant, Louise didn’t know.

When a powerful sneeze sounded off in the background, that was when Miss Bradbury’s “weirdo alert” went off in her head like a police siren. She tucked her head down in her palm at the embarrassing entrance of a regular customer known as Denny Smith (she knew his name from his debit card information).

With a bucket of ice cream in one hand and a tablet in the other, Denny dragged his big ass over to one of the tables closest to Louise’s counter. With ice cream stains on his Snoopy shirt and blue sweat pants, the other customers couldn’t help but stare at him for the longest time. He sneezed so hard that it sounded like he blew his whole sinus cavity out, to which some customers got up and walked away in disgust.

Louise was one of the people looking on in wide-eyed terror as Denny shoveled huge scoops of vanilla ice cream in his mouth with no regard for the sweet treat dripping down his double chin. The big man even coughed up huge wads of snot and then swallowed them again, prompting even more horrified customers to power-walk away. Denny managed to thin the herd even more when he let out the world’s largest fart, which sounded a lot like a shotgun blast.

In between bites of ice cream, Denny said to the leaving customers, “It’s a natural function! I’m an American! I can fart if I want to! What are you going to do, arrest me for farting?!”

Digging deep for a silver lining in all of this, Louise thought to herself that Denny could have been doing her a favor by not making her deal with these other obnoxious customers. But if that was her only positive, then she still had the right to shiver in disgust and gag on snot herself.

Normally, the customer was always right (at least that’s what it said in Louise’s training video). But when her “weirdo alert” was going off in her head, it sounded too much like a schizophrenic nightmare. She clutched her head and gave off a subtle “Ugh!” before racing around the counter to confront Denny.

“Excuse me, Mr. Smith,” said Louise with her hands behind her back in feigned politeness. Instead of undivided attention, Denny gave her another nuclear bomb fart, to which she plugged her nose and shivered like she was having a seizure.

Only then would Denny look up from his ice cream and his tablet and say, “What? What’s your problem? It’s a free country; I’m allowed to fart whenever I want. It’s in the constitution.”

This sense of American entitlement sent Louise into a screaming rage complete with waving hands and a shrill voice. “There’s nothing in the constitution that says you can scare off my customers with your weird ass behavior! If you have to fart so badly, go to the bathroom across the hall! If you have to sneeze so hard that your tiny brain falls out, go to the goddamn bathroom, you fucking weirdo!”

Louise covered her own mouth in shock after dropping that F-bomb, as did several customers who were just passing by. The barista held her hands up in defense and whispered an apology before the customers shook their heads and strolled away.

With her new whispery calm demeanor, Louise patted Denny on the shoulder and said, “Look, all I’m saying is that you should try to act just a little bit normal and be a decent member of society like the rest of us. That way, people won’t want to run away in horror whenever they want to come here for a cup of coffee. You might even get a girlfriend one day, I don’t know!”

“First of all, dumb-ass” said Denny while pointing his sausage finger at the barista. “I can’t help it if I have to fart or sneeze. I’ve had allergies to pretty much everything since I was five years old. You think walking all the way over to that bathroom is going to solve anything? Hell no! Besides, do you think I give two shits and a flying fuck what anyone thinks of me? I’m supposed to conform to everyone else’s system so that I can have a slightly better chance of getting laid? Look at me! This is not the body of a man who goes around stealing women! This is the body of someone who’s addicted to ice cream like it’s crack cocaine, which sugar pretty much is!”

Folding her arms, Louise said, “Look, I understand if you want to be your own person, but come on, is farting and sneezing really a part of who you are? Is that the person you want to be? Do you really enjoy driving people away and being obnoxious?”

“I don’t know, missy, do you like standing behind the counter like you’ve got a stick up your butt?” Louise’s expression softened into solemnity at Denny’s accurate statement. He licked the ice cream off of his fingers and said, “You think I just sit around here every day like a dumb-ass and not notice everything around me? I see your looks of horror. I see you guys walking away like I’m the boogeyman. I guess a simple case of allergies will do that to people. I had no idea that medical conditions were so freakish. You think I enjoy having a runny nose and a snotty throat? Go back behind your counter and do your fucking job. I’ll stay here and do mine.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say something about a job?” said Louise while placing her authoritative palms on Denny’s table. “You mean to tell me that you get paid to shovel ice cream down your throat and make disgusting bodily noises everywhere you go? Shit, if I would have known that was even a career, I would have given up making coffee a long time ago!”

Denny yelled, “You fucking bitch!” while shooting up to his feet and accidentally knocking his tablet over. “Shit, now look at what you made me do! I bet that damn thing’s cracked!”

Louise knelt down to pick it up and waved Denny off while saying, “Don’t worry, it’s not cracked. I’m sure the cover on this thing…” The barista had a wide-eyed expression as she flipped through the photos on the tablet, but for reasons other than Denny’s farts and sneezes. “These paintings are beautiful,” she said. And they were, too. Paintings of armored medieval warriors, lightning elemental dragons, shadow magic-using wizards, and fiery ninjas. This kind of skill could have easily landed Denny a job at a comic book publishing house or even an art museum.

While Louise stared at the paintings with a bright smile she hadn’t formed in years, Denny said, “That’s the job I was talking about. I paint for a living. Well, I’m not really a professional. I’m not much of a marketer. It doesn’t matter how much effort I put into these paintings, because only one or two people want to actually buy them.”

Louise placed a hand on her chest like these paintings took her breath away, but then gave a sullen expression to Denny before saying, “Look, I don’t want to give you a lecture about…”

“I know! I know, damn it!” said Denny. “I know my weird ass behavior is keeping people from buying my paintings. But you know what? Nobody gives a shit about artists anymore. Everyone wants me to be an engineer or some other kind of science nut. As long as people are going to turn their noses down at me, I might as well act as crazy as I want.”

“Denny, I’m so sorry,” said Louise in a sheepish voice with her head tucked.

“Yeah, you’re sorry now that you’ve seen these paintings! You could have been sorry long before you saw them, but no, you had to be like every one of these ignoramuses here at the mall and gag in disgust like a bunch of bitches! Maybe I’ll get over my allergies someday! Maybe I’ll also get over my sugar addiction! But until then, you can feel free to forget about me, because I don’t want to be famous in a city that doesn’t give a shit about art!”

Denny yanked the tablet from Louise’s hands and threw his bucket of ice cream in the trash before marching away. Everything the pudgy man said was right and Louise didn’t want to admit it to herself (regardless of having no choice). The barista sat down at one of the tables and held her face in her hands while sobbing quietly. She chastised this poor man over bodily functions when really he was the most beautiful person in this entire mall. Louise had no artistic talents of her own and those paintings made her jealous. She tried so many times to be as good as Denny, but everyone laughed at her and told her to get a “real job”.

Then she thought to herself, “Fuck this real job!” Louise took off her apron and threw it behind the counter before running after Denny screaming, “Hey, wait up! Wait!” She didn’t know what she would expect once she caught up to the “weirdo”. Would Denny teach her how to be an individual? Would he teach her how to be an artist as good as himself? Would he turn her away like Louise tried to do a few moments ago? No matter what the outcome, Louise Bradbury had to find out before it was too late.

Ice Cream

VERSE 1

I saw you eating the ice cream on TV

I broke up with you so no one would see me

Side by side with a piggish eater

You ranked lower than a careless cheater

I saw you with hot fudge on your face

I saw you with chocolate all over the place

I had to get away, please try to understand

It’s not you, it’s me; I’m breaking up the band

CHORUS

He’s the loser, she’s the victor

If she’s superficial, you don’t have to miss her

To the victor go the spoils

Is that enough to get your blood to boil?

VERSE 2

Join the party, it’s not totally awkward

The host himself made the final offer

He’s keeping his lips tight about the breakup

But there’s still no chance to kiss and makeup

You can read his lips from a mile away

“Let’s sleep together” is what he’ll say

One letter off and you’re like a volcano

Yet she’s the one with the wings and halo

CHORUS

He’s the loser, she’s the victor

If she’s superficial, you don’t have to miss her

To the victor go the spoils

Is that enough to get your blood to boil?

BRIDGE

Hop in the car and get out of the arena

For this disaster, you’ll have to call FEMA

Don’t worry about useless small talk

If worst comes to worst, get out and walk

EXTENDED CHORUS

He’s the loser, she’s the victor

If she’s superficial, you don’t have to miss her

To the victor go the spoils

Is that enough to get your blood to boil?

If this is comedy, your sense of humor is dark

You make slaughter sound like a walk in the park

Just another item on the list of failures

That ship has left and you’re the sailor

The A&W Hotdog Eating Debacle

Whenever I go out on public with Susan, it is a must that I embarrass her front of everyone with my social awkwardness. Whether it’s screaming in pain at a high volume or making crude sexual or death jokes, if someone is around us, they’ll remember it forever. The only way they will ever forget my public antics is either through chugging a bottle of Xanax or EMDR therapy. They might even qualify for social security after I’m through with them, you never know.

One of my favorite ways to embarrass Susan in public is where we’re eating at a restaurant or a food court and I eat a gigantic mountain of meat slathered in all sorts of disgusting sauces. Whenever she sees me eat a cheeseburger with four patties, eight slices of cheese, God knows how many pieces of bacon, and a pound of mayonnaise and olive oil, Susan immediately gets the urge to vomit herself inside out. Her nausea is equivalent to a mixed-martial artist getting kicked in the liver: the oxygen is gone and the acid is boiling inside like a bubbling marsh.

The opportunity presented itself one night while Susan, her daughter Reina, and I ate at A&W for a night of cheeseburgers, fries, onion rings, and middle school toilet humor. Me eating gigantic hamburgers and greasy French fries was bad enough for Susan, but the middle school toilet humor was what really started to make her boil with embarrassment. It wasn’t until I ordered a bacon cheddar hotdog that things really started to get out of hand.

A bacon cheddar hotdog is exactly how it sounds: it’s a hotdog in a bun drenched with fake nacho cheese and sprinkled with sloppy chunks of bacon. It was a cardiovascular dream come true for me and Susan’s worst stomach churning nightmare. From the minute I took the first bite, she started feeling ill and was showing it with the saggy frown on her face and her tongue hanging out. It got from bad to worse when some of the cheese and bacon landed in my Diet Pepsi…and I drank it anyways.

“Can I get my food to go, please?” said a nearby customer who was eating with his elementary school-aged kid. Although the customer didn’t mention the reason for wanting his food to go, it was pretty obvious to me, Susan, and Reina. Me and Reina laughed our asses off while Susan slapped herself on the forehead and shook her head no in shame. Just for reassurance, I asked, “Is he leaving because of me?” Susan not only said yes, but hell yes.

Me and Susan didn’t return to A&W for a while after that night. But one night while I was supposed to withdraw money for her, we decided to go through the drive-through (without Reina this time, so the middle school toilet humor was even worse than before). Susan wanted a root beer float while I ordered three bacon cheddar hotdogs. I repeat: three of them this time, not one.

If Susan wasn’t getting ready to barf all over the steering wheel already, she would be when the nice clerks gave me a free bacon double cheeseburger to go with everything else. The universe must have really appreciated my positive thoughts or something. As for Susan’s negative thoughts to the universe, all she got was a few bites of her root beer float and then she didn’t want anymore. The whole drive home she kept complaining about an aching stomach. Luckily, the car stayed clean for the drive home. If she ever did throw up, it would for sure rival the vomit scene from Poltergeist 2 where the father spit up a hideous demon.

My eating habits at A&W were Hall of Fame worthy when it comes to socially awkward behavior. The diarrhea dump that resulted from those habits was even more disgusting since the entire house smelled like the Bremerton Sewage Plant (that’s Reina’s description, not mine). Whether it’s Susan’s stomach acid or my sloppy shit, if someone was making a reality show out of our lives, it would be rated TV-MA for graphic violence. Suck on that, Human Centipede! Actually, don’t suck on anything, because that would be gross.

　

***WRESTLING QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“I know a lot of you think that the new national pastime in the oral office is swallow the leader. But I can assure you, I did not, I repeat, I did not sleep with that young intern. In fact, I was up all night!”

-Shawn Michaels during the “DX Apology Speech”-

"The New Rules" and "The New New Rules" by Bill Maher

New Rule: ice cream should stay nonpartisan. Some right-wingers came out with an ice cream to counteract the hippies at Ben & Jerry’s with flavors like “Smaller Govern-Mint”, “I Hate the French Vanilla”, and “Iraqi Road”. I know, anything to get Ann Coulter to eat. But these guys are missing the whole point of Ben & Jerry’s. Hippie ice cream is fun because you eat it when you’re stoned.

New Rule: wing nuts have to stop saying that they’re going to boycott Oreos because they made a gay cookie. In fact, this giant blob of vegetable oil and corn syrup is the perfect symbol for gay pride, because when I look at it, I’d rather have a dick in my mouth.

New Rule: couples who make out in public have to bring a bucket for me to throw up in. I didn’t come all the way to Applebee’s to be sickened by your dry humping. I came all the way to Applebee’s to be sickened by the food.

New Rule: parents have to stop telling me that their little daughter is going to be a heart-breaker or that she’s flirting with me. It’s just plain creepy. Plus, it makes me regret having lunch alone at Chuck E. Cheese’s.

New Rule: if churches don’t have to pay taxes, they also can’t call the fire department when they catch on fire. Sorry Reverend, that’s one of those services that comes with paying in. I’ll use the fire department that I pay for, you can pray for rain.

New Rule: if you protest motorcycle helmet laws by not wearing a helmet and you get into an accident, you deserve to die.

New Rule: Chinese restaurants have to stop being judgmental whenever I ask for a fork. It’s not a hate crime. Give me a fork before it dawns on me what the fuck I’m really eating.

These examples are just a few of what you can expect from Bill Maher’s two books “New Rules” and “The New New Rules”. If you need current examples, watch his show on HBO every Friday night. We’re going to overtime!

　

***TELEVISION DIALOGUE OF THE DAY***

MORT: Peter, you’re swallowing those suppositories?
PETER: No, I’m shoving them up my ass. Of course I’m swallowing them!

-Family Guy-