Tag: dirty

Masturbation

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If you’ve read Fark, you’ve heard the adage: Every time you masturbate, God kills a kitten.
So, every time a cat masturbates, does God kill a baby?
I know the answer. And the answer is YES.
Malnutrition, ad genetics, crib death – the government and WHO make excuses, but you’ll never get the truth out of their reports.
It’s masturbating cats killing all the babies! Damn them!
Very few people know. Bob Barker is one of them.
Why do you think he kept saying to spay and neuter your pets?
It was for the children. It was always for the children.

Financial Advisor

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I got a financial advisor.
He tells me to buy, so I buy.
He tells me to sell, so I sell.
Works out pretty nice.
Then, he tells me to meet him at the diner at midnight.
So, I meet him.
He slides a gun across the table.
He tells me to kill the priest who molested him as a child.
I say no.
He slides a stack of bills across the table.
“I’m here to make you money,” he says. “Go on. Take it.”
I slide it back.
“Invest it for me,” I say, and I take the gun.

Fistfucking The Platypus

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I’ve read every overpriced advice book there is at the bookstore.
Who Moved My Cheese? and Throwing The Elephant didn’t help with my miserable stupid job, meaningless life, and spiritual bankruptcy. I just got shit on more.
So, I decided to write my own overpriced advice book: Fistfucking The Platypus.
I put tons of bad advice between the covers, added crappy drawings that a third grader with two broken hands could doodle up, and then put a twenty-dollar price tag on the hardback.
Despite my not mentioning platypuses, PETA doesn’t like it.
They can just bend over like…
You know.

Haircut Time

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I’m overdue for a haircut.
I’ve got every barber in town calling my cell phone.
They’re bidding on the job.
Some of them are trying to sweeten the deal with things like limo rides, hookers, and a free shave.
This one stylist keeps sending me flowers. Huge flower arrangements.
In fact, when I open the door, the whole front hallway is just flowers.
How he got in here to fill the place with flowers, I’m not so sure.
Kinda scares me.
Maybe I’ll just donate it to those cancer folks.
Or shampoo with Nair and let it all fall out.

The Book Of Roger

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Ladies and gentlemen, please turn your hymnals to Roger Chapter 5 Verse 3.
What? You nay heard about Roger?
Well, I photocopied it up and stuck it in your books, so shut yer traps and read along or yer all going to Hell!
“Two monkeys were fucking on a unicycle the other day, arguing over an ice cream cone.”
What are ye daft? Why are you lot looking at me like that?
Got a problem with the Gospels or something?
This is The Book of Roger. And Roger didn’t mince words like all the other pansies who wrote The Bible.

The Customer

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You know the phrase The Customer Is Always Right?
Bullshit. This guy is an asshole.
For years, he’s been plaguing me with stupid questions, begging for me to help him, screaming that he’s losing thousands of dollars because of me.
It’s because he’s a stubborn jackass. It doesn’t matter what instructions I give to him – he ignores them.
When I read the paper this morning, I saw his name on the front page.
Seems his house burned down and he died in the fire.
I guess he didn’t follow the instructions again.
That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

Diapers

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Kids. They’re so confusing.
All the things you have to do to babyproof your house are they sick are they not sick and so on.
It’s enough to drive a guy crazy.
I mean, for instance – take diapers.
Cloth vs. disposable, I’m not getting into that mess.
The manufacturers have all these commercials with pouring pitchers of water into diapers, sealing the wetness away.
They’re all a bunch of crooks.
I picked up some diapers that said “up to sixteen pounds” on them.
I swear, you can’t even come close to leaving just a pound of baby shit in them.

The Magic Touch

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Dumped. Again.
“I’m a lesbian,” she said.
Dan looked back at his past few girlfriends and realized that each and every one of them was now a lesbian.
A few phone calls confirmed the truth: every one of them was a lesbian, all the way back to his first kiss.
“You’ve got the magic touch,” said his newest ex-girlfriend. She finished packing her stuff and walked out the door.
They’d met on a blind date set up by… the ex-girlfriend before her.
He checked his messages. His friend set up another blind date.
“And make it quick,” his ex said.

Wash Your Hands

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The sign on the bathroom door says: All employees must wash their hands before returning to work.
Lefty McGinty just looks at the sign, clacks his hooks together, and goes back to his desk.
He writes up memoes using speech recognition software, you know.
Talks into a microphone and the words appear on the screen.
He’s got a special mouse for doing edits and that kind of stuff. He’s gotten really good with those hooks.
But I keep thinking of him in the bathroom. Those hooks. And his… his…
Scary stuff.
I guess he’s gotten really good with those hooks.

The Torch

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Damn Chinks killing the shit out of Tibetans pissed off a bunch of folks, so they went after the Olympic Torch with water buckets and fire extinguishers.
I mean, how hard is it to put out a torch that some geeks in track suits are running all over the world?
It’s not as easy as you think, but if you put some effort into it, it becomes a sport in an of itself.
It took a while to get traction, but Torch Dowsing became an official Olympic event in 2016.
Now protesters do their best to keep the thing lit.