2007-04-14 16:24:17 ET

How do you tell if your ball python is male or female? You shove a stick up its ass and see how far it goes.

2007-04-05 13:44:09 ET

Missus Jackson? I'd like to speak to you about your son Charlie.
Why? What's wrong?
Missus Jackson, a few days back your son was given an assignment in class... the teacher asked her students to write a short description of themselves...
Did Charlie not give it in? I know he's had problems doing classwork before. I thought it stopped but...
No, it's not that, Missus Jackson. Charlie handed in his assignment. The problem is in what he wrote.
I... I don't understand.
Missus Jackson, he wrote... he wrote... let me read it to you.... ahem... "Really awesome, pretty interesting, super, titanium."
I... I don't see what's wrong.
Missus Jackson, the first letter of each word spells out R-A-P-I-S-T. Your son just told us that he's a rapist.
My God! But... but that's impossible!
Missus Jackson, as a parent myself, I know that's not something you want to hear but...
No, I mean that's impossible! Charlie doesn't even have a penis!
Well I... wait... what?
He was born disfigured. Penisless. Just testicles and a patchwork of dick nerves.
Oh my God!
We hired the best surgeon. Charlie had no choice. We had a top-notch German faucet implanted on him for a penis. Made of titanium. It's been seventeen years now. He's had a few girlfriends. It doesn't seem to bother them. They say he's their "showerhead". I'm not sure what that means but I figure as long as he's happy...
So your son isn't a rapist?
No. He's a "showerhead" with a precisely-engineered titanium German faucet for a penis.

Public Service Announcement.
2007-04-04 15:21:24 ET

Face it, people, I'm an atheist but you don't have to be one to know that Jesus isn't coming back. That's right. He's up there in the clouds on his God Saucer with a spy glass getting an eyeful of fresh young college titty and he's been doing so for the past two millennia. If you were stuck up there what'd you do? But he won't fucking come down. Oh no. He's got bats to do that for him. Jesus Bats. Next time some kid pulls up along side you steals a seat on the ferry and starts preaching to you about God's love and a flaming sword ask him if he's seen the Jesus bats. Most say no. Why? They ain't true believers. They've never been taken up by bats. You know, those furry fat flying things with salivated fangs and drunk eyes. Something like a cross of a furry hippo with a diseased hummingbird. One'a'God's creatures.

Just like the Seraphim. Those fuckers are bats too. Big fucking bats. That can't fly fucking straight. That's why we call them "angels". "Angels" from the word "angles" because when you do see them they come in flying from all sorta weird directions. Real fucked up angles, yeah? And these fucks are hairier. And they've halos too so they can't turn their heads. It's like blinders on a horse - halos on hairy bat angels.

Contrary to what the Jews might tell you, there is a hell. It's in Michigan. Yes, I know it's a town. It's full of dead people too. You just have to dig far down enough. Back in ancient Jerusalem they had a saying that if you fuck yourself over God will kill you by making your donkey walk under a tree branch. That tree branch hits you on the chest, kills you, and knocks you down to Hell, Michigan.

Hades is real too. But the Greeks were more efficient so they just kept the heads of their dead in suspended animation. It's efficient if it's just heads. You don't run out of room as fast. Yeah, efficient. The Greeks were like Nazis when it came to that. They might have been B.C. Greek in their assfucking but they were early 1940's Germany in their efficiency. And "heads" comes from the word "Hades", yeah? It's all in the language, I tell you.

You might not believe any of this and I'm not going to blame you. Just remember, God's watching you go to the bathroom. And Jesus is up there staring at your tits, stroking his anatomically correct milk chocolate cock.

2007-04-04 14:25:18 ET


I haven't updated this thing in a while.

I'll take care of that soon. Mwahahahaha!

TV idea.
2006-11-13 12:03:45 ET

Alright. Produce a sitcom that focuses on a few friends living in the big city. Make it one of those light-hearted, feel-good, bull-shit sort of jobs. Then, around season three, one of them gets cancer. Hey, that's normal. They always try to throw a tear-jerker somewhere in the middle especially when they feel the ratings are down. It's cliche. Except this time, the cancer spreads - another friend gets it halfway through the season. Oh, what a terrible thing! Two friends afflicted with the disease! Still it's such a common thing. No one expects any connection. Until they all start getting it. One by one.

At this point it's no longer a sitcom. It's a drama. What few laughs remained are hollowed out by the pained but otherwise dead and emotionless eyes of the cancer stricken friends. The remainder of the season is just plain grief.

During the season finale, their tumours take over.

Season four premiers with the sound of popcorn. It is the sound of the tumours breaking free, ripping, popping through the flesh, exploding blood and organs sending out liquid waves of blood and malignant tissue. It infects anything it touches. The cancer has become fully parasitic.

That's the first fifteen minutes. Just blood, torso tumour explosions, and non-stop shrieking. The next quarter hour is the terrified faces of the inadvertent victims - doctors, nurses, family members as they suddenly start to sprout skin tumours. The last shot is of a wall, covered in blood. The wall, a usually inanimate object, has started to sprout tumours too.

The star of season four isn't human. It's the infection. The cancer is an evolved one, a fully autonomous organism. It's feeding off anything around it, biological or not, slowly assimilating organic and inorganic matter. Whole streets, buildings, blocks are taken over. It's terraforming the territory. It's making what is ours its.

The individual tumours begin to join up, molding, and merging, and gelling into one incongruous, conglomerated mass. Soon nothing remains of the city except for one tremendous megatumour. It is the queen. It sprouts children. Cancerous larvae are spit out, mucuous covered and otherworldly. They grow and adapt fast. Their growth is the speed of cancer. They have no constant form, no recognizable organs, but every so often a vaguely human feature floats up to the top. A wrecked mouth, lips inverted, teeth on the outside with tufts of hair where the gums should be. Wheezing, coughing, and every so often something that sounds like a distant laugh.

Season five is a sitcom once more.

2006-11-12 00:32:57 ET


More animals...
2006-10-18 10:31:23 ET

Received three more animals yesterday:

Tarantula - 5" Grammostola rosea (female?).
Scorpion - 5" Pandinus imperator (female).
Scorpion - 0.75" Leiurus quinquestriatus (undetermined).

Only have pics of the Tarantula so far.

Tarantula Pics

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