Dammit

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Old wives tales say The Moon is made from green cheese. Apollo missions proved otherwise: rocks and dust.
But it turns out that there’s really one moon out there made from green cheese. We were out by Saturn,farming ions in the ring bands, when we lost control and crash landed on it.
Got my picture taken with my thermal underwear on a post, claiming it in the name of Queen Elizabeth.
Astronomer’s Guild gave it a serial number. I wanted to name it Dammit. Because that what we said when we crashed.
Among other things. But Dammit’s fine by me.

Liquid sin in a St. Arnold’s glass

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Just keep pulling Guinness for me, and if you’re busy Christine, I’m not worried. The longer it takes you, the warmer the beer. And the warmer the beer, the better it is.
Nobody loses, everybody wins. I’m okay with it.
Running out of cold pint glasses? Not worried about that none, either. Same reason. Wouldn’t be right to think otherwise.
World would be a better place if all the little stuff stayed little.
I used to get riled up about that stuff. Forgot I was in Texas.
Everything’s big here. Little stuff is that much more little by comparison.
Amen.

The Wacky Adventures Of Abraham Lincoln 46

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Grant nearly choked on his flask. “What do you mean he wants to know what brand of whiskey I drink?”
“I’m not sure,” said his secretary. “Someone in the press called you a drunk, and Lincoln asked what brand you drink so he can give it to his other generals.”
“So they’ll run out of it?” asked Grant.
“No,” said the secretary. “He’s saying he doesn’t care if you’re a hopeless drunk.”
“Well, it’s about time,” said Grant. “Coming to bed?”
The secretary nodded, and wondered if Lincoln would order his other generals to engage in violent bestial sex, too.

Massively Multiplayer

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Andrew Ian Dodge tells a little tale from his experiences reviewing some online games…

There’s a type of person who inhabits MMORPGS: the ganker or griefer. These types, who are generally male, use every possible exploit they can to make sure they can bully other players; primarily those of a lower level. Any criticism is met with cries of “whiner” or “go play something else”. What these fools don’t care about is the fact they ruin the game for others and in many cases kill off the game they are playing. You see they don’t care that game companies need players to keep a game going. Like bullies; all that matters is their fun.

Me, I stay away from them. Because there’s no reason to pay ten bucks a month to hear others whine.

For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow, The Doctors Say

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Everybody raised their glasses in a toast to me.
“Happy birthday, Willard,” they said.
“No hard feelings about the funny farm thing?” asked Albert.
“None at all,” I said, smiling.
They drank, and the cake was brought out.
By the time the song was over, I learned over the cake and said “I wish you’d all just die.”
Sure enough, as I was blowing out the candles, each guest was either dead or holding their throats, dying.
“How?” choked Albert, the last one alive.
“Poisoned wine,” I said. “It’s a very good year. No hard feelings, Al?”
He didn’t answer.

The Radio Show

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Andrew Ian Dodge looks in his crystal ball and tries to read the swirling tealeaves within…

It is January 17th 2007 at 10pm in the east. A long-haired rocker awaits his cue calmly; while a certain Jewish Texan quips methodically and amuslingly in a studio in Houston. The co-host twitches like a cat in heat in anticipation of launching into his latest rant against Iran. The pair are counted in…5,4,3,2.1…
“It’s the Dodge & Simon Hour from Houston, Texas and the centre of London.”
Andrew and Laurence launch right into the chat they were having off radio; now with a large radio audience.
“So the attack on Iran is imminent?”
“Imminent takes too long…” retorts Simon.

The correct time to remove any warmongering dictator bent on genocide is yesterday.

Despair

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Jim S. falls into a deep, dark despair…

Despair.
Deep, dark despair.
It was a long story but he tried to make it shorter. The woman, the man and the child. It all ends in a deep, dark despair of the type that you only read about in those books with fancy Thor-like men on the cover. She’d left him for a history professor she admired and she had taken his boy.
Anyway, he looked down at the people below and decided that he should make them wait a little longer for the grand finale. Then again, he’d already thrown the baby and the bitch over, why wait?

Yes! The final twist!
A perfect match for this site! Hooray!

Judenhass

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Another classic from Andrew Ian Dodge…

Mr. Halpern wrote to the letter’s page of the Telegraph.

…The UN should make it clear that any unauthorised military strike against Iran by Israel would lead to a boycott of all Israeli goods by the EU and Nafta.

Israel has not right to defend herself; even if attacked? Most UN countries boycott Israel already; the UN are a bunch of Jew-hating cretins. This nitwit went on to claim that since Israel has not signed the Nuclear Non-Proliferation treaty they have no right to complain. I wonder if he knows how moronic his letter reads? Or should that be judenhass?

One day, we’ll get a happy story about fluffy bunnies and hugs from Andrew. I just know it.
Ooooh, and duckies!

Apartment

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Now we learn about Jim’s home life…

It was the same old story. The one that involves wet noodles, dancing girls and a jealous orangutan.
Well, maybe it wasn’t all THAT common, but it was the same old story to me as I laid here in bed, staring out the rear window of my stuffy apartment. I saw the clear blue skies that I wouldn’t be able to stand under and inhale the sweet summer wind for quite some time yet.
Which gave me more than enough time to plot what I was going to do to that wretched monkey when I got a hold of it.

I get the feeling we’ll find out in the very near future.

Work

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Jim S. has returned with a few more stories. I’ll trickle these into the feed so you can savor each of them. They’re really good.

He returned to his work with a renewed vigor not seen by many. Concentrating, he quickly moved through the job at hand. Repetitive and boring as it was, that didn’t matter now. All that mattered was the job.
Left, right, up, back. Done.
Repeat.
Left, right, up, back. Done.
Repeat.
Only a couple more and the job would be finished. The obsession would be quelled… for a little while at least.
Finishing up, he stepped away from the table to admire his work. He sighed and confirmed it in his mind; he WAS the best jumpsuit folder in the prison!

Obsession can be a strange thing.
Record MP3… FTP MP3… make entry… Save… rebuild feed…
Record MP3… FTP MP3… make entry… Save… rebuild feed…