Thursday, December 17, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
My name is Jeff Williams and I am writing this letter on behalf of my friend , The Butcher,(ID 396-21A). This letter is to ask that you vote positively to grant him parole when he appears before the Parole Board, on Nov 30th 2009.
I understand, and I will never forget, that The Butcher was sent to prison for committing crimes that will have lasting negative effects on the lives of many innocent people. I would never disrespect the seriousness of his behavior by offering an excuse to the board members. All I can say is that The Butcher has worked very hard while he has been incarcerated to make himself a better person, deserving of another chance in society.
Should you decide to grant him parole, his family will be there to support, encourage and motivate him through a successful transition and progression into a positive member of society.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Congratulations on your recent release. Feel free to look me up if you need anything. In the meantime.... you know what you have to do.
Have fun out there.
Will The Butcher finally find and destroy Becky B... I mean Wordgirl?
Will Jeff Williams ever improve his grammar and letter-writing abilities??
Is Captain Huggy-face trying to write a letter to PETA by smearing feces on a piece of paper???
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Monday, August 31, 2009
This is the end folks. This is the end of all things good and holy in the universe of nerd. Announced TODAY, sure to be a red letter day in history, Monday Aug 31st 2009, DISNEY TO BUY MARVEL IN A SHARES AND CASH DEAL WORTH APPROX $4BN!
Sunday, August 23, 2009
"What the shit do you want, Lawrence?"
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Officer P.J. Danger-Killer. Animal rescuer! That's what I'm known as here in Canada, in case you didn't know. I help animals when they're in danger.I find them and help them if they want me to or not because I'm just that awesome. I cruise the streets in my rescue-mobile and gingerly place my ear to the ground. I taste the wind like I taste grape juice; passionately and with purpose. I smell the river like I smell a freshly opened packet of bean curd; diligently and straight to the point. I make love to the grass, because it gives me clues and I enjoy doing it to no end. Nature tells me what the haps is in the world of domestic animals, or more specifically, the terror of domestic animals!
Mission File 423b
or as I like to call it:
Roar And Pieces! The redemption of Leon Stolen-Toy.
The afternoon started like an afternoon like any other afternoon. Due to my dangerous line of man-work and my extreme living habits I usually hibernated until late in the afternoon so my days didn't in fact start until well in the afternoon. Afternoons were always very lax, easy and boring much like a lazy summer afternoon. But unlike a lazy summer afternoon I wasn't soaking in my neighbor's kiddie pool letting their dog lick catsup off my stomach. Oh wait I actually was doing just that but I wasn't enjoying it as much as I usually do. No this afternoon wasn't like last Thursday afternoon at all. This afternoon eeked that particular fragrance of doom. Animal Doom.
A pet somewhere was in danger and I knew I wouldn't be able to relax and rub one out until it was safe and out of harm's way. How did I know, half asleep in a warm pool of hose water, condiments and my and Rex's own filth? Let's just say a little bird told me. Yes I can talk to birds.
Before pooing on my head the impudent gull squawked,"Pet Danger! Pet Danger!" Either that or it was asking for tidbits. I usually get those signals mixed up but I wasn't about to take that chance!
That was when she sauntered in. Purring softly like an overweight kitten I heard her say from behind,"Are you Officer P.J. Danger-Killer the abused pet protecter?"
Without turning or wiping the tomato off my sculpted pectorals I casually replied, trying to hide my massive erection,"That depends... can I trust you?"
Silence. Had my mystic nightingale flown away so soon? Perhaps my body was too much for her to handle. It often is with woman. But then relief. A white, mesh-fabric bra drifted through the air, over my head and onto my engorged lap.
"Today is going to be a good day," I murmured. Anxiously turning to view my prize I saw it. The horror. Ho-ly shit. A pregger. 8 months, 1 week by my estimation but no matter how far along it was it still made me sick. I almost threw up in my mouth right there. Luckily the aroma of diluted catsup and wet dog quickly calmed my dry heaves.
"I have a job for you Danger-Killer. And it's not going to be as easy as I am," it said as it lumbered around to face me. Sure it's boobs were gigantic and it had the floozy glint in it's eye but I can't help but wonder now exactly how many ucky faces I must have inadvertently been making toward it. Was it insulted deep down I'll never know for it still managed to squeeze its bloated carcass into the pool facing me, with the utmost whorishness. Poor dog scampered away before it was crushed. Did the preg-o even see it? Does it even feel feelings like us humans?
"I have a job for you Danger-Killer. There's a pet in trouble at my apartment and I need you to save it from a horrible beast."
"Ugh, my services don't come cheap."
It stroked it's gigantic belly and whispered to me, "I think we both know what I'll do for you ... sexual intercourse."
"That's sick!" I wretched, "you're a four alarm pregger! Are relations even possible with you?"
"Not your thing? How about we deliver some mouth babies?"
"I don't even know what that means, you haggard bitch."
I really didn't. The pool was too hot and too cramped for me when I felt a sharp kick to my genitals. But it wasn't it's feet. The beast's mammoth tootsies were resting uncomfortably on either side of my head, stroking my ears.
"Sorry," tramp-stamp smiled, coquettishly. "The bun's almost due from the oven and he's a kicker."
"Is that so?"
"Yes he's very ... ferocious..." Suddenly it snapped, "Are you going to help me or not, Danger-Killer or am I going to have to take my sluttly old vagina to someone who will?"
"You can pay me in dollars, thank-you very much." I had had enough of this twisted game. If there was an animal in trouble I had to brave ALL the dangers, even filthy slappers.
"My address is 666 Kodiak lane. My pet is trapped in the bedroom. Help it and I'll give you you're money you sexy bastard." It rocked to it's feet, snatched it's scuzzy, dollar store brassier and left. Thank fuck. But to my disgust it's largeness had taken a significant amount of ketchupy pool water with it and I was left wallowing in the summer heat and terrible vibes.
I suppose it was time to go to work.