andrewleebowen
At approximately 14:00, in Miami, Florida; Mr. Hasslehoff entered ‘Tyler Booty presents: Mr. Titter’s Jug ‘n’ Chug Emporium’. Inside, Mr. Hasslehoff repeatedly exclaimed profane language and claims he ‘brought down the Berlin wall with his music’ and that he ‘didn’t decapitate Piers Morgan’.
When approached by the bar manager, Mr. Hasslehoff began speaking inaudibly, referring to a 1994 TV weekly cover in his left hand. It featured a picture of Mr. Hasslehoff and had the words ‘Mamma’s Milk Bags’, written in glue and hair, across the magazine’s title.
The bar manager then lead Mr. Hasslehoff to the pole where the female in question was dancing. The bar manager then left Mr. Hasslehoff with a complimentary disposable camera and exited the premises.
As the female began to dance, Mr. Hasslehoff got up on the stage and silently stood on his left leg for approximately 15-25 seconds, slowly raising his right leg vertically. Mr. Hasslehoff then asked the female what the ‘spinning circle things’ on her ‘breasticles’ were. When the female replied a ‘Tassel’, Mr. Hasslehoff then aggresively stared at her for approximately 10 seconds. According to the female, he then ‘contracted his torso like some kind of snake’ and unzipped his pajamas’ flies with the top of his Stetson hat. Mr. Hasslehoff then exclaimed, ‘then this must be my Hassle’ and began gyrating his hips in a violent circular motion.
When the security guards approached, Mr. Hasslehoff leapt feet first through the ceiling, exiting through the premises’ irrigation system. Mr. Hasslehoff then proceeded to the bridge, where Miami Police found him straddling Mrs. Osborne and tearing off parts of her hair with his eyelids. Miami Police drew their weapons and asked Mr. Hasslehoff to lie on the ground. It was then that Mr. Hasslehoff charged the officers, forcing them to discharge their weapons, both shots bruising Mr. Hasslehoff’s elongated eyelids. It was only as Mr. Hasslehoff lain slain, did his irrigation system relinquish Mr. Morgan’s head.
For WTVT-TV/DT FOX 13 News in Miami, I’m Kaytee Burpit.
“Wew…Ah musta bin 2 ears old when ah furrst fer in love with fawing offa fings. My love faw ged’ding hit by tings came latur when pa started drinking. Gurd tams! Bud thar first time yur stand on your roof and fallw frough t’shed roof? Aw’shum! Broked 2 ribs and discrowated meh jar! Lost a buddy o’my doing a rustling move offa 80 feet birdge. Hell, we didnay even check if there were warrer below. We just lurved jumper offa fings. That were some berfday. Gurd tams. Bud ven I saw the monetary possibilities. When I was 6 I was an executive consultant and choreographer on ‘Jackass’. I came up wiv all their shtuff. Ethen gurder tams! And now, I’m exuctive pra do sir and writer faw Rush Limbaugh. Rush is a lot like pa. His fingers smell like his 6th wife, Rosaleetneitz”,
he said, unprovoked; breaking the entire planet’s human population’s almost hour long silence. On screens and in the skies, we then watched that alien close his craft’s doors and them blast back into space in their millions. It’s now day 687 and they have yet to return. Our condolences to Cody Hunt the Big Man of Stunt’s bereaved 4th & 5th wives, Jody & Jodie.
Ian was stirring teriyaki sauce when Sharon arrived home. “Hey?” said Sharon, wondering if he might already be home. “I’m in the kitchen” replies Ian, smiling and adding chicken to the Teriyaki. Sharon was surprised to see Ian both home early and cooking. “It’s not like you to cook…and you’re home early. What are we having?” “Chicken Teriyaki”. “I’ve never heard of it”, said Sharon. “Neither have I” replies Ian. “I was saying to the people at work how exotic it was. They agreed”. “It is” replies Sharon in agreement. She adds, “There was a birthday at work today and I signed a card. I also chipped in for a going away present of £10 Littlewoods vouchers". “That’s really fantastic” Ian replies sincerely. They both smile. Sharon sits down. Ian coughs. Sharon begins reading a glossy magazine. Ian coughs. Sharon starts thinking about cardigans.
With that, the octopus-dragons of Araefneathdigshire crash through the ceiling; spewing fire indiscriminately and demolishing an entire row of houses. “Silence!” screams the darkest dragon. “Thou hath been bequeathed to me and my own divine right, amous and thou shalt santus terribilus, be taken to the darkest of heleths, where no soul shall surviveth.”
In the blink of an eye, Sharon has become entangled in the jaws of octopus-dragon number 6, Megasteezarhamificylon. Flying with paranormal speeds, the octopus dragons take Sharon through the ground, into the Earth below.
Ian stands motionless, looking on in utter disbelief. Suddenly, an idea comes to him. He uses a spoon to summon the Ancient and mystical protectors of Telluria, the 100 Bear army of benevolence – the bearnevollantes; for only they can lead Ian to the centre of the Earth. But it doesn’t work. Ian pauses, and then turns the Teriyaki to simmer.
I virtually melted under the gaze of the 1000 irritated Puerto Ricans. I'd like to say it wasn't my fault they were all covered in faeces, but it was. Women & children screamed as the tidal wave of rats I had inadvertently released swarmed their feet. Behind me, the last of the town hall finally collapsed; its dust and 2000 years of history I accidentally destroyed, stuck to the tar like toffee that covered my naked body. The remains of the monument I stood upon implied a stage and I was the unlucky star.
As the town's giant clock struck midday, I realized I had only been in this land for 5 minutes. Already, I was not merely the talk of the town, I was a pasty threat to it's existence.
Silence. Each vengeful eye pierced my confidence until it hung like the burst balloons above my head. Like me, not 10 minutes ago they looked far more festive. Finally, the disbelief subsided enough for a man in the crowd to scream in anger. One by one, the townspeople joined him in a thunderous roar that desired vengence. As mothers, fathers, bambinos, seniors and senioritas, rush to physically remunerate me for my calamitous entrance, I remember thinking - I wish life had a backspace.
Whilst the precious fire flickered in the darkness of the cave, woman sex stares at sleeping man. Though his resting is the result of a day’s hunt that will provide weeks of sustenance for baby and pet sabre tooth, woman now want fun. Woman find gathering boring and now want excitement. Woman tries to wake man, but man pulls bear skin blanket over head and sleeps more. Woman gives up on man, but not on pleasure.
Woman looks through her gatherings and comes across new fruit never seen before. New fruit is long, yellow like sun and curved like man stick. Woman retreats to cave bedroom and tries new fruit where sun don’t shine. Time later and Woman feel good and satisfied...
...it wasn’t until 60,000 years later than the human race realized bananas could be eaten.
After the little league game, I stood by the bleachers. At first I did not notice I was not alone. The sounds of gentle sobbing eventually became loud enough for me to hear. I looked under the seats to find a little boy crying over his team's defeat. Never one to enjoy seeing a disheartened heart, I wanted to help him. Though I am no sage or guru, I know loss. I know how to make defeat taste better. I kneeled down beside him as the little boy sheepishly lifted his head. I lowered my voice and spoke with compassion, wisdom and a generosity of spirit that belies my day to day nature. In a reassuring voice, I spoke. "A sprinkling of honour, a dash of dignity and 4 heaped spoons of humour, will make both your victories and defeats taste that bit better". He raised his head and held out his hand, before flipping me the bird and screaming "F*ck you, pervert old man", whilst running away. Little wanker.
Mmmmmmmm....donkey balls.
I had just finished work and was walking toward my favourite titty bar, when I noticed a commotion outside of the Target store. Sauntering in for a closer look, the poster above the door became clearer - ‘5pm today - Former President Bush’. Relegated to speaking at discount stores, it turns out not many care to hear the wisdom of a monster that speaks through the hole in his ass. “4:59 and 50 seconds....4:59 and 54 seconds”, I counted aloud. I could barely wait.
A small crowd of American flag bandanas and Midwestern gunts gathered around the stage. Dead on schedule, the inexplicable two-termer came forth to the stand, its mic plugged in to a miniature guitar amp. “Good morning, folks”. Fat folds and crucifix jewellery wobble as the audience greets him. He continues. “The key to being a great president is...”, before he could finish his ironic statement, there was a loud sound. High above the people and aisles, a support beam had fallen, sending several thick cables flying through the air and drawing the crowd’s focus away from the former president. As panic ensues around us, I see one of the airborne wires strike George’s torso and separate his top and bottom halves. Whilst many gasp and stare in disbelief, a second wire whips in to the front of George’s skull, separating the left side of his head from the right...
Well, I guess you had to be there.
There is a spirit that lingers in the stands. The torn up grass suggest the true power of the game. The floodlights stand high in the sky and blaze brighter than the sun. They hide a ghostly graveyard of bitter loss and illuminate a glorious amphitheatre; a place where super human endeavour was always exerted in the name of victory. What an honour it is to set foot on this hallowed turf and share it's memories...Ooh, look! A penny!!
He said he'd never done it before. Said he felt kind of queasy with the thought of it. As I pointed out, he's never worried about her feeling queasy when she's doing it to him. Whether it was on the bed, in the alley, in the club, or even when he's driving; he never spared a thought for what she thought (I only know about it happening in the car because he always gives me rides everywhere. I know that smell and it's not 'new car'.)
I told him if she wants it, he needs to give it to her or risk being an unadventurous old man-olith. Plus, if he could get his head around it; if his mind's spine could bend just that little more, she'd be so grateful. Hell, after an 8 year relationship, I wouldn't be surprised if she bought him a giant blimp with 'It's about damn time, d*ck!' emblazoned on the side.
It had become too much. He'd heard it from her for nearly a decade and now he'd heard it from his best mate. He simply HAD to do it. Presently, he pensively meandered home to see her.
The next day he didn't look too happy. Of course, I imagined as much. He is, apparently, a poor example of a 21st Century Man. But even though his voluble complaints of the coarse hairs that were lodged in his throat became more and more insufferable...I'm Gladiator.
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