It all started when Victor Frankenstein made his monster.
The monster got lonely, so he made a bride for the monster.
But the bride was way too hot for the monster, so he kept her for himself.
This pissed off the monster, so he made another hottie just for him.
But this new hottie was even hotter than the bride, so he kept her as a mistress.
“So, about the monster…”
No way, said the bride.
“Threesome?”
No.
All this time, the villagers sat around with their pitchforks and torches, far too amused at Victor’s shenanigans to storm the castle.
Tag: dirty
Queen
For the longest time, people wondered what The Queen kept in her little purse.
With all the assistants and bodyguards around her, offering her things when she needed them, there really wasn’t anything she needed to carry herself.
There wasn’t anything private in her life, either. Everybody knew everything in her life down to the color of the underwear she was wearing. (If she was wearing underwear.)
So, wild speculation went about with people betting on what was in her purse.
Breath mints?
Gum?
A phone?
A dildo?
It contained, in fact, nothing.
She just liked to fuck with people.
Cyber Monday
It’s Cyber Monday, and here at the server farm, we like to turn the lights off and watch the twinkling network switches flowing commerce through the datacenter.
It’s a beautiful thing when an online store gets their servers, databases, and load-balancers and firewalls tested and ready in time for the shopping rush.
And then there’s the others… the ones we told last year that they needed more memory or more processor power or a load-balancer.
Instead, they ignored our advice, and opted to go for more bitching instead.
Help! They’re losing business!
Good. Fuck the sonsabitches.
Penny unwise, thousands foolish.
War Torn
Abraham Lincoln told his family of a strange nightmare, waking up and hearing sobbing from invisible mourners, seeing a raised platform with a shrouded corpse on it.
“Who is dead in the White House?” he asked.
“The President,” said a guard. “He was killed by an assassin.”
Abe said there was a loud burst of grief that woke him up, but the truth was, he climbed into the coffin with his own corpse and had mad passionate sex with it.
Abe never got the chance to explore his latent homosexual necrophiliac tendencies.
Well, that, and restore the war-torn nation, either.
Sing, Motherfuckers!
His powerful X-Ray Vision, stalemated by another superhero with O-Ray Vision in a game of naughts and crosses.
Faster than a speeding bullet, even faster than a bullet driving sensibly under the speed limit.
He once sued Dr. Pepper for malpractice… and won!
He sold vowels wholesale to Pat Sajak, who resold them on Wheel Of Fortune at a huge markup.
He once crossed an oboe with a bassoon to create an oboassoon, which Keith Richards uses as a bong.
“Grease” became a musical when he stood up in the audience and shouted “SING, MOTHERFUCKERS!”
That’s me, dammit!
SING, MOTHERFUCKERS!
In What Size?
We get a lot of catalogs in the mail.
Especially during the holidays.
Some of them are geek toy catalogs for me, but by far my wife gets more of the furniture, clothing, and fancy stuff catalogs.
Sometimes, I circle something interesting and leave it in her chair.
She does the same to me, circling stuff she might want and leaving it in my workbag.
One day, there’s a Victoria’s Secret catalog in the bag.
I look through it, but nothing’s circled.
Except for the name.
Mine.
It’s my catalog?
I laugh, and write “What size do you want this?”
Conversion
Frank had told Tony and Vinny to beat the punk to within an inch of his life to teach him a lesson.
So when he heard that his goons had beaten the guy to death, he was pissed.
“What the hell did you two do that for?” he yelled.
“Sorry, boss,” said Tony. “Vinny’s trying to teach me this new Metric System they got in France, so we tried converting centermeters to inches and all that, and we kinda went too far.”
Frank hung them both in a meat locker set to minus forty degrees.
Same in Fairyheight and Celtsius.
The Circle Of Not Life
Poor Charlie Brown.
Every Halloween, we’d watch his Great Pumpkin Special, hoping he’d get candy, but he ended up getting a bag full of rocks.
I’d dream of Charlie, waking up before the break of dawn with that bag full of rocks, going from house to house, tossing those rocks through windows and yelling “ALL I WANTED WAS SOME GODDAMNED CANDY!”
Instead, I think he crafted Pet Rocks out of them and made a fortune selling them as Christmas gifts.
People got bored with them, and on Halloween, they’d drop them in Charlie’s bag again.
“SON OF A FUCKING BITCH!”
Candy Corn
Here at Boone Farms, we’ve been bit by this ass-nasty drought just like everybody else.
But instead of just watching our corn and soybeans and other of our traditional crops burn in the fields, we went all-in with a different crop:
Candy corn.
What? You think that stuff gets made in candy factories?
Boy, do you got your shit wrong there, son!
Candy corn grows on stalks just like the normal stuff, but it don’t need rain and sun.
Just corn syrup and coloring.
Plus, those Easter Peeps love this shit.
(But I must admit, I miss the chicken eggs.)
A Tiger In Bed
Things didn’t work out.
We fought, we broke up, and she gave me a kitten her sister rescued.
Although it makes more sense to say “She gave me to the kitten.”
That little rat acted like she owned me.
So, one day, the girl comes back.
You know, to “check on the kitten.”
We wind up in bed.
She’s on top, yelling YES YES YES.. and then screaming.
Kitten was on her back, claws dug in deep.
The girl yelled at me, got dressed, and got the Hell out.
The cat cleaned her claws, curled up, and went to sleep.