Obscene Blog Name

Long time resident, Gerald McFanny, is in serious condition in BiCounty General Hospital after sustaining serious injuries in an apparent bathroom rhinoceros accident.  McFanny was discovered on the floor of the couple’s split-level ranch by his wife Frances.  According to Mrs. McFanny, she heard an unusual commotion coming from the upstairs bathroom.  ”When I heard loud roars and felt the floor shake, I knew something was wrong.  Then I heard Gerry scream.  I ran upstairs and opened the door to find him pinned to the wall by the rhino.  He was bleeding pretty badly and he looked like he was in shock.  I shooed the rhino away and helped him sit.  Then I ran to call 911.  They came very quickly, and Thank God, because he didn’t look like he was going to make it.   I just took a first aid course, but I didn’t know what to do.   He must have slipped getting out of the shower and landed on the rhino.”

Mr. McFanny sustained injuries to vital organs, but none are considered life threatening.  Police experts have been called in to investigate and Inspector Bob Ranko states, “At this time, we’re considering the upstairs bathroom a crime scene.  We’ll see how it plays out. A lot of the time these things turn out to be just an accident, but at this time we can’t rule out foul play.  And no, before you people go starting a witch hunt, we don’t have any suspects.”

Asked about the unusual circumstances of her husband’s accident, Mrs. McFanny said, “It’s funny.  We rarely use that shower since the kids have grown up.”

Jeremy Taser, 14, of 1295 Hope Lange Dr has taken up temporary residence outside the Pump and Scratch Convenience store on Route 87 in hopes of procuring “some smokes”. He plans on asking promising people of cigarette-buying age to score a pack or even a carton for his personal smoking pleasure. “I won’t bother asking any women because they always look at you like they’re your mother. Unless they pretty hagged out from smoking themselves. They might have a heart. Then again, some of the old guys have creeped me out. One guy asked me what I would do in exchange. I’m determined to get some smokes, but not that determined.”

Mr. Taser has had limited success to this point. He spent Tuesday night, all day Wednesday, and part of Thursday hanging out by the side wall instead of near the windows. He estimates that he has asked “about 60” people to buy for him. His only successful solicitation came when a businessman in a tie flicked an incompletely smoked Newport butt at him. “He took my money and went in. When the guy came out, he dropped something so I just waited until he left and casually walked over to grab the loot, but it was only a losing scratch ticket.” Taser admits that a similar scenario has played out more than a few times since he began his crusade. “I only have enough left for a pack of Virginia Slims because they’re on sale. I might have to go home for a little while to do some chores for money. Mom gives me $10 to mow the lawn.”

Taser, who looks older than his 14 years, was disappointed when the attendant at the Pump and Scratch refused to sell him a pack of Marlboros, telling him that he wasn’t old enough. It was that pivotal moment that inspired him to supplement his as-yet not started habit of smoking by begging for cigarettes. “I know that I’ll be successful because I can do anything I set my mind to,” asserts Taser proudly. “No matter how many times I hear, ‘Get lost, loser’, or ‘Stop hanging around here, loser, or I’ll call the cops, loser’ I’m going to find that last good Samerican who’ll help me out.”  When it was pointed out to Taser that buying cigarettes for someone underage was illegal, he responded with a blank stare. “So?”

Some people have even given Taser some advice in lieu of supplying his cigarettes. “Most people ignore me, but some of them try to tell me to save my money for college or they say cigarettes are going to kill me.  They don’t understand.  They don’t know what it’s like to be a kid these days.  You can’t believe the kind of pressure that I’m under.  I’m not twelve anymore.  I’m an adult now.  I can make my own decisions.”

Taser believes that perseverance is the key.  “I can’t give up now.  I’ve invested so much time and effort.  I don’t care how many dirty looks I get from these people.  I mean, they’re going into the Pump and Scratch anyway.  What’s the big deal about doing a guy a solid? There’s always kids hanging around the supermarket asking for money for this and that.   What’s the difference?”

U.S. authorities began proceedings Tuesday to extradite GrzJkhjlsck, the former Michael Gold, 37.  He was indicted on charges of tax evasion and many other lesser charges related to his position as a stockbroker in a South Florida boiler room, operating under the name of Ferris, Chancre, and Tick.

Mr. GrzJkhjlsck is currently residing in the fourth circle of upper Hell where he is employed pushing around great weights for all eternity.  U.S. Attorney Raymond Culp said that, while living, Mr. Gold, along with several others, conspired to defraud investors out of millions using illegal stock manipulation practices.  “Mr. Gold was murdered by a transvestite prostitute in March of 2002, but we intend to prosecute him and all his other co-conspirators to the fullest extent of the law.”

A spokesminion for Satan would not confirm whether Hell would comply with the request since the U.S. has no formal extradition agreement with Hell.  Asmicodemeus the Devourer would only say, “We will review the case and make our decision in the next two weeks.  Mr. GrzJkhjlsck has become a model citizen and we would not unwittingly deliver an innocent soul into the hands of a government which is well known for it’s cruel and inhumane punishments.” 

Culp also said that a U.S. grand jury indicted GrzJkhjlsck on 13 other charges related to the conspiracy including bribery and extortion.  If convicted of all charges, GrzJkhjlsck faces up to 174 years as Khloe Kardashian’s best friend.

Lesbians and Heterosexual males sign pact

At a formal press conference held in Northampton, Massachusetts, at the conclusion of a week long summit of the group AMWATF, leaders for the lesbian and heterosexual male populations announced that they had reached terms for a formal alliance between their two groups should a Battle of the Sexes actually take place.  The pact would call for equal share and control of the combined forces and assets of the estimated 54% of the country’s general population.  The Alliance of Men and Women Attracted To Females claims to have over two million dues-paying members.  Literature published by the group claims that they “speak for women-lovers everywhere”.

Speaking for the heteros, National Organization for Men president, Larry McSwain, announced, “We felt that, should war break out, we’d like to have our Lesbian sisters at our backs when the bullets started flying.”  Echoing his sentiments, Phyllis Drummond of the National Alliance of Lesbians That Like To Carry Weapons added, “It’s clear that if we hitch our wagon to those weak little man-lovers, we’re going to get the short end of the stick.  We have to look out for ourselves.”

Their presentation included plans for a panel of experts to study the weaknesses of the enemy and devise a plan to quickly overcome the defenses of the women and homosexual men without unnecessary bloodshed.  Trying to maintain a politically correct and non-confrontational tone, McSwain admitted, “We’ve determined that most gals and alternative lifestyle fellas don’t have advanced knowledge of modern warfare logistics and tactics.  It would be a short battle.”  Ms. Drummond agreed with McSwain.  “Most of the non-lesbians that I know tend to be a little on the feminine side when it comes to combat.  Not to mention the gay guys.  That’s why we signed this agreement.”  “We acknowledge that there are some kinks to be worked out, but we think we’ve hammered out the big issues and now it’s up to our strategists to flesh out the details”, said McSwain.

The press conference was interrupted briefly by what appeared to be a trans-gender individual protesting loudly, “What about us!?  We can help!”.  He/she was ushered out before the situation turned ugly.

The AMWATF Summit Conference was attended by some of the top minds that were not busy in other more important and productive endeavors in the heterosexual male and lesbian communities.  Leaders of splinter groups under the AMWATF umbrella were in attendance at the press conference and also endorsed the plans.  Spokespeople for Guys Who Go For Girls, Chicks Digging Chicks, The Man’s Man Caucus, Lesbians On Parade, Hooters Corporation, the Association of Black, White and Latino GFs, as well as many others, applauded the efforts of the co-chairpeople McSwain and Drummond.  Tiny Flannell, of Formerly Married Women Turned Off By the Disgusting Habits of Their Ex-Husbands, said “Normally, I can’t stand to be in the same room with men, but that McSwain’s a real charmer.  I couldn’t be happier with the alliance.”

Reaction from heterosexual women and homosexual men on the street was swift and universally negative.  “I wasn’t aware that battle was imminent.  My husband is completely cowed and spineless”, said housewife, Minnie Tappert.  Todd Really, a dancer in the traveling homosexual burlesque troupe “The Girly-Burly Show”, was dumbfounded.  “I’m dumbfounded”, said Really.  Many women expressed disappointment at being betrayed by their lesbian sisters.  Financial Consultant (and non-lesbian) Sharon Tennenbaum complained, “What’s scares me the most is they couldn’t come to us and talk about it first.  They just had to run into the arms of the first man that promised to make them feel good.  I’m not worried about this actually coming to war.  If the hetero men every finish any project they start, it will be a miracle.”

Sociologists theorize that the so-called Battle of the Sexes has been going on for centuries.  Dr. Sharon Engle of the University of Craven offered her insight.  “The origins of the conflict go back to early man and woman.  The traditional gender roles imposed by man using his greater strength and capacity for cruelty have been inured into the collective sub-conscious over the centuries.  From time to time throughout history, repressed anger bubbles up and brings us to a crisis situation such as we are experiencing right now.”

One of her colleagues says history hangs in the balance.  Dr. Jim, controversial host of the popular radio talk show “Man, Oh Man”, rants, “If I could get my hands on the guy who came up with that monogamy scam way back when, I’d break his bony neck.  That’s the reason for all of this.”    His face turning red and holding his index finger and thumb approximately one inch apart, Dr. Jim continued, “They’re this close!  I swear!  They’re this close!  God bless the lesbians.  Hey, I’m kinda worried about us going to war together though.  What if our boys get distracted in the heat of battle, hoping that two of the lesbians might suddenly start making out?”

 So, there are these bees that live behind a shutter on the front of my house. I’ve had a couple of run-ins with bees this summer and I’m getting to be an expert in bee control. One of the nests was in a hole in the ground next to my patio. I sprayed it with a can of bee killer and then stuck a hose down the hole and drowned them. The next nest I found was in my basketball hoop/pole/setup. I used the same combination of hose and spray and I added a street hockey stick to my arsenal for the random stupified bee that I could reach. I don’t consider myself a bee hunter, but I got some skills.

After I finished off the bees on the basketball hoop, I noticed that some flew off toward the house and one landed on the shutter so I watched it for awhile. I love nature shit generally and I had some time to kill that afternoon. I always thought that if you didn’t bother them, they wouldn’t bother you. It’s sort of their live and let live policy. I was counting on that. I assumed that they hadn’t heard about me from any surviving hole-dwellers from the drowned nest. That hole was all the way in the backyard, and I highly doubt that bees have a complicated wiggle dance to communicate this message to strange bees from another colony, “Watch out for the human with the long hose!”

So, I moved the ladder from the hoop and put it next to the house so I could get a closer look at the shutter. It’s not a functioning shutter, it just looks like one. It’s actually screwed to the siding. So, anyway, I can’t move the damn thing and look behind it. I climbed the ladder and used the hockey stick to poke around a little behind the shutter facsimile. Naturally, a few bees came out to see who was rocking their world. I took two awkward steps down the ladder and jumped off the rest of the way. I hurt my toe badly, but it didn’t stop me from bravely flailing my arms around my head and running around in a circle. I sprinted into the garage so I could rub my toe and plot my next move.

I had assumed that the bees were too stupid to put two and two together thereby allowing me the time to escape without being stung. The reality was that they made a Borg-like decision to not sacrifice any individual units on a boob in flip-flops wielding a hockey stick. I grabbed a tennis ball and ran out of the garage. I figured that I’d bomb from a distance to torture the bees some more. I threw the ball about eight times at the shutter, hitting it once. It didn’t have the effect I was looking for.

At this point, I’ve gone into automatic ludicrous child-man mode. It’s like a cruise control. Every action that follows the switch is foolish, futile, and ill-conceived and it won’t end until someone gets hurt or something gets broken. The bees were ignoring me. I knew they weren’t in there making honey behind the shutter and I was kind of pissed that I couldn’t get my peek into the bee society that was taking over my property. So I grabbed the hose. I sprayed the shutter from top to bottom with a concentrated spray that I hoped would maim, drown or otherwise dismember some of the enemy. It was pointed out to me later that the window was open. Some of the bees took flight.

I’m still not sure whether the bees that flew toward me were real or imagined, but I turned the hose on what I thought was an individual bee making a run at me. You know, a stream of water from a hose is not like a light saber, so water can go places that you don’t intend if you twist and thrash. It was pointed out to me later that the window of the van was open. Now I’m in a blind rage and it’s time to get the can.

The can is actually labeled as being effective against hornets and wasps. It seemed to work fine on the bees in the hole and in the basketball hoop pole so I figured that whatever poison was in the can would work on any insect. It probably would work on birds, small rodents and lagomorphs too. But, at this point, I’m ready to use a surface-to-air missile on the sentient beehive-mind that is directing its campaign against me from behind the shutter shield. I went back into the garage to get the poison and backed out slowly so as not to attract attention. I climbed a couple of steps up the ladder and prepared to direct a lethal stream of toxins into the gap behind the shutter.

Just then one of my kids comes out of the garage and says, “Dad, Mom wants you to lift something for her.” I often wonder why she doesn’t ask one of my boys to do this kind of simple task. My oldest son is fifteen and he doesn’t have constant lower back pain. He doesn’t work at all. All he does is watch TV, read, and eat. He can lift a damn Kitchen Aid. But, I said nothing because a mighty bee warrior had taken that opportunity to land on my youngest son’s shoulder. My wife would have a fit if she lost her baby to an apian assassin.

I backed down the ladder, holding the can at the ready. I told him not to move a muscle. We circled each other in a Beat It kind of way. I stared at the bee and that hell-spawned drone stared right back at me. It was a Mexican stand-off. I think. It could have been a Killer Bee from Mexico. I wasn’t going to take chances. I had heard that there were more illegal Killer Bee aliens around lately thanks to our moronic president’s lax border security policies. I told my son to stand still and I backed into the garage. I could see the fear in his eyes as he thought I was abandoning him to a gruesome fate.

I rushed around, stripping off my shirt, and grabbed some duct tape. I duct-taped the can to my back and came out again with my hands up. I was in no mood. I was also not in my right mind. I slowly approached my son, tip-toeing and talking in a gentle tone of voice, not wanting to give the bee any reason to plug my son. I might even have tried humming, I’m not sure. I told him to be ready for anything and to close his eyes. I reached back, grabbing for the can and three things happened. First, I intended to say something appropriate like “Yippy-ki-yay, queen bee fucka!” Instead, out came the incoherent scream of a tortured soul in Hell when some of my back skin came off with the duct tape. Second, my son dived for cover. Third, I pressed down on the button and sprayed a stream of industrial strength chemical pesticide directly into my ear canal. All of that took place in a split second.

It should have been filmed in slow motion. I have no idea what happened to the bee. My eyes were still closed and I was still doing my mental internal health check to see if I was still alive when my son shook my shoulder. With my empty ear, I heard him ask me if I was alright. I signaled that we were safe now by whimpering a little and kissing the boo boo on my palm that was skinned when I fell. I decided that it was time to leave the bees alone.

I learned a lot from my adventure. I was pretty sure that I would never have to worry about Kahn putting one of those worms in my ear like he did to Chekov. I also learned a new respect for hunters. Well, hunters of animals that can kill you, that is. I still think that people that shoot birds out of the sky with shotguns or chase foxes with starving, blood-crazed hounds need a new hobby. Finally, I think that bees are vicious, vindictive, vermin and they can go pollinate themselves.