Tag: dirty

Hatestorm

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Howard Stern was the least of it. Foul-mouthed juvenile miscreants, amoral priests and vile partisan pundits, spreading filth and putrid rants throughout the ether around the clock and around the world.
You see, Marconi never finished his equations. The Principle of Saturation went unpublished, so the garbage and hatred building up in the invisible spaces between matter and antimatter went unrealized.
Until one day, after a particularly gross midget-sex roundtable on Opie and Anthony, the Saturation point was exceeded.
Clouds of rancor spilled across the skies. Marconi’s worst nightmares realized, a thousand years of darkness.
The fools blamed global warming.

Alone

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My wife, she went out of town. Seven days.
I dropped her off at the airport, tell her I love her, or did she tell me? Both?
I’m so confused.
First day gone, I trip and fall. I can’t move.
My neck’s broken?
How many days has it been?
I’m thirsty. I’m hungry. I’ve pissed and shit myself a bunch of times.
Phone’s ringing. Again. They’ll leave a message.
Yup. Message beep.
I’ve tried to yell, but I’m face down. Doesn’t go far. Muffled cries.
I can weep. But that’s drying me out.
Seven days.
So thirsty. So hungry.
Fuck.

Bellhop

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She was wearing a push-up bra.
Or maybe she wasn’t a she. Maybe she was a he.
It’s hard to tell with sheep.
Yeah, I say I’m the guy who welcomes you to The Ritz and whispers he can get you anything, but I really just say that to get a big tip.
Still, when folks want me to deliver, I deliver pronto.
Some folks take me up on that for girls. Or boys. Or drugs. Or tickets.
This was the first sheep.
I hope it’s the last. I swear, call me crazy, but it’s starting to turn me on.

Recycling

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You’d be surprised at the number of people who don’t come back to pick up their prints.
We used to call them ourselves, but now we let the computer call them.
Still, some folks just don’t care. So unclaimed prints and negatives get kept for a year before they’re tossed in the dumpster.
We really ought to shred or recycle them, but we don’t.
Every day you see someone who looks like a registered pervert go dumpster diving and pull out a box or two.
It’s disgusting, but I guess it’s better than them doing things to the actual kids.

The Phrasebook

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“Good news, everyone!” is not the kind of thing you’d expect in a traveler’s phrasebook, but it’s right there alongside “Can you please direct me to the nearest vapor reclamation chamber?” and “Please do not consume my moltings.”
If you think it’s tough working up a list of common social situations between two vastly different species, then I’m pretty sure your mind will rattle and explode at the thought of having to construct a phrasebook for pandimensional travelers.
The truth is, it’s not hard. “How do I get home” is pretty much all you need.
Otherwise, you’re pretty much fucked.

DIY

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Home Of The Future! they called it.
Every Convenience Imaginable! they claimed.
We moved into our H.O.T.F. and instantly fell in love with it. Everything was voice-control, from breakfast to bed and back again.
I could even control the house by telephone. Just phone Home and tell it “make dinner” or “bubble bath” or “walk dog” and it’s taken care of.
One day, I was running late, so I called Home to delay-record the game.
But I keep getting a busy signal.
I thought it was my wife whispering “Do it yourself” last night, but now I’m not so sure.

Oh Lord!

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Pain… so much pain…
The priest pats my ankle and tells me everything is going to be fine.
No it won’t. I’ve been nailed up here all morning.
All I’ve known in this life has been pain.
And it fucking hurts like Hell.
I wish they’d never found my blood on the Spear of Destiny. With the DNA, it took the cloners four months, and now they’re geared for global mass-production.
Truly, it’s Communion gone mad.
If I were fed pieces of myself, would they turn to wine and crackers in my stomach?
I feel the knife.
Damn you all!

Les vs. The Lesbians

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Les Nessman put the disk in his DVD player and hit Play.
Nothing.
He stabbed the button a few more times.
Still nothing.
He shrugged and wandered off to lunch.
Johnny Fever stepped over Les’ tape-wall, opened the tray, and turned it right side up.
Two hours hardcore of Jennifer and Bailey, all for Les.
He popped out the DVD, ripped a copy of Snow White, and put it in the tray.
Les came back from lunch and tried again.
It worked.
Later that day, Les was slapped twice for saying he thought Dopey’s kiss was the cutest of all.

Les Nessman and the Bandages

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There was a running gag on WKRP that Les Nessman appeared with a bandage somewhere on his body. Richard Sanders showed up one day with a bandage on, and the writers decided to keep it going throughout the series.
Sometimes, the bandage is not easy to spot.
Those are the episodes you can assume that Les had a really bad evening the night before with a crackwhore, and she (or he) wasn’t very delicate with Les’s various important appendages.
Who am I kidding? This is Les Nessman, dammit! No crackwhore will do.
Um… Bailey and Jennifer in a Les Sandwich!

Les Nessman vs. The Martians

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I suppose if Martians had invaded Cincinnati, the public would have turned to Les Nessman for coverage.
After all, Les doesn’t just live and breathe news, but he practically oozes it.
By licking Les Nessman, you might experience a news hallucination, much like thrill-seekers lick certain species of toads for the vision-inducing properties.
No wonder why Johnny Fever was totally out of it. In his off-hours, he licked Les Nessman.
Did he imagine he was licking Loni Anderson instead?
Of course not. That would induce something entirely different. Something which I’ll refrain from repeating here openly, if you don’t mind.