Slug Bug

Ever play Slug Bug?
What about Punch Buggy.
Whenever you see a Volkswagen Beetle, you’re supposed to punch someone in the arm and announce the color of the Beetle you saw.
People play this game and others across the world.
Ever play Stab SAAB?
See a SAAB, stab the closest person.
It’s a really messy game. Not as messy as Vomit Volvo, but certainly less fun.
What? You and your friends play Murder Mercedes? Every time you see a Mercedes, you murder someone?
Oh? You murder the driver of Mercedes?
Well, that’s okay then. Fucking Mercedeses.
Can I play, too?


Our modern word candidate comes from the Latin word candidatus, which means white-robed.
Back in Roman times, office-seekers covered their robes in white chalk to stand out in a crowd.
It’s certainly easier than filling out hundreds of forms and gathering up thousands and thousands of signatures on petitions.
We should return to the old style of politics. Instead of suits and dresses, put every one of these fuckers in robes and cover them with chalk.
About thirty or forty tons of it.
Then, pave it over, and let the good people of this country get on with their lives.

Half to death

If you scare someone half to death twice, are they completely scared to death?
Of course not. Because if you scare someone half to death a second time, they’ll be three-quarters to death.
This brings up Xeno’s best-known paradox, which describes motion as a never-ending series of “You go halfway to your destination.” In the end, you never actually reach your destination.
Then he’d dance around and shout “IN YOUR FACE!” in Greek.
Because he was acting like a dick, Xeno was beaten to death by his fellow philosophers.
Not half to death. To death.
Don’t act like a dick.

Basement sleeper

If I fall asleep, I will fall asleep.
And I will stay asleep until the alarm wakes me.
I don’t wake up with the sun because I put my bed in the basement. And I have a backwards schedule. I work at night, and sleep during the day.
It’s cooler down in the basement. Darker.
And when I wake up, I can run my undies through the clothes dryer so they’re nice and warm.
I have to take them off again when I go upstairs and have shower and a coffee.
And again and again at work.
But stripping’s fun.


Dave is a total fuckup. No matter what you hand him, he fucks it up.
And then, after he fucks up, he finds ways to make other people deal with it.
Sometimes, he leaves his fuckups on the doorstep. Then he rings the doorbell and runs like hell.
Other times, he dumps his fuckups in a neighbor’s trashcan. That way, he won’t be fined if the fuckup has a car battery or some other hazardous material in it.
He’s so good at getting rid of fuckups, we tried to put him in charge of it.
Yup. He fucked that up.


Peaches. Peaches.
Fucking peaches.
Motherfucking peaches.
Mother-fucking peaches.
Goddamned motherfucking peaches.
Goddamned, piece of shit, motherfucking peaches.
Goddamned, piece of shit, mother-fucking peaches.
Fucking peaches.
Mother-fucking peaches.
Goddamned, worthless, piece of shit, motherfucking peaches.
Goddamned, worthless, piece of shit, cocksucking motherfucking peaches.
Peaches. Peaches.
Fucking peaches.
Motherfucking peaches.
Mother-fucking peaches.
Shove them up your ass.
Shove them all up your ass.
All the goddamned, worthless, piece of shit, cocksucking motherfucking peaches.
Just shut the fuck up.
And take your
Goddamned, worthless, piece of shit, cocksucking motherfucking peaches
With you
Up your ass.
Up motherfucking ass.
Shoved up your motherfucking ass.


Alvin The Census Taker goes door to door, asking questions and collecting data on his tablet.
He takes notes on the places with decent stuff to steal and without burglar alarms.
His cousin looks over the maps. He tries to mix up his collection route so the cops don’t see a pattern.
“They don’t give a fuck,” says Alvin. “My place got robbed five times, and I never got anything back.”
His cousin coughs, keeps looking over the maps.
He only robbed Alvin once.
Mistook a map to his place for a collection map.
He’s a lot more careful now.

A little something extra

Every year, Mommy tells me to be good so Santa will come and leave me presents.
“And so I can make that son of a bitch take a paternity test,” she mutters.
Yep. Santa left a little something one year.
In Mommy:
The process servers say the North Pole is out of their jurisdiction.
So, Mommy left out a plate of cookies and a glass of milk.
Santa wears mittens, so you can’t get fingerprints, but you can get trace DNA from the glass.
“It’s a match,” says the analyst.
This year, forget the bike.
I’m getting Child Support.

Radical Feminist Christmas Joke

The pastor asked the kids why God made Mary pregnant and had her give birth to Jesus.
One boy said it was to give His son to the world.
Another said it was so Jesus could heal the sick.
One girl said it was so Jesus could die for our sins.
The last girl said it was because God was too much of a chickenshit to go through nine months of pregnancy and ten hours of labor Himself.
“Goddamned feminists,” mumbled the preacher.
The kid kicked and screamed as a pair of burly rectors dragged the kid to “Time Out.”

The knockout reindeer game

The other reindeer made fun of Rudolph and wouldn’t let him play in their reindeer games.
So, Rudolph hung out with ghetto elves on the South side of the North Pole.
Which, if you know your geography, is all around the North Pole.
They had the North Pole surrounded.
When the other reindeer went into the ghetto to get the drugs that let them fly, Rudolph and the ghetto elves played The Knockout Game with them.
Down went Donner. And Cupid. And Comet. And Vixen.
The gang took their fancy harnesses and shiny silver bells.
Silver bells. Ting a ling.