Tag: sick

Simple Math

411713

The warden got tired of screaming at Governor Jackass about running out of room on Death Row. Simple math: too many walking in, not enough leaving feet-first.
On the day the last empty cell was taken, the warden got word yet another prisoner was coming.
No room. That’s when he took matters into his own hands: Any new prisoner coming in that needed a cell would have to kill a man for his cell.
One in, one out. Simple math.
Eventually, word got out.
Horrified, the governor put a new warden in office.
The old one left feet-first. Simple math.

Accidents will happen

419550

The Wonkavator didn’t work as expected. Instead of flying around the city, amazing the occupants as it danced around the sky, the carriage was smashed to bits against the top of the elevator shaft.
You see, the blueprints called for a sturdy bullet-resistant glass with a steel skeleton on the carriage and an ultrathin shatterglass cap on top of the elevator shaft.
Someone got them reversed, and that got Wonka, Grampa Joe, and Charlie shredded into a bloody pulp.
Strange, orange-faced midgets gathered up the bloody bits, put them in canvas bags, and alerted the factory’s lawyers of the accident.

The Torturer’s Apprentice

358893

So people are whining about prisoners getting tortured?
Big freaking deal.
The problem I have with it is that we’re getting bad intelligence out of these scumbags when we torture them.
The best interrogator can get information out of a prisoner without leaving a scratch or the prisoner even knowing that he’s played his whole hand.
But where’s the fun in that? For what they’ve done, some of these bastards deserve to suffer.
Now pass me the cordless drill and the handmirror. This goddamned son of a bitch blew up a convent and I want him to see his spleen.

Recycling

336324

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.

Oh Lord!

385904

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!

The Running of The Scissors

307484

“Ole!”
Maria yanked the shears from Paco’s hand, slicing his finger.
“These are your father’s shears,” said Maria. “You are still much too young. When you are old enough, you will run with them.”
Paco sucked his finger and scowled. “Luiz is running again this year,” he whined.
“So, what of it?” snapped Maria. “Luiz can lose his other eye.” She handed him a pair of round-edged scissors. “Be content with these.”
By the time Paco’s father said he was old enough to run, Pamplona had replaced the scissors with bulls.
Not that it mattered to the blind, seven-fingered Paco.

Breakfast of Martyrs

352938

Abdul leaned over the cereal bowl and scowled. “What gives?” he asked.
“Notice how the cereal is shaped like shredded Zionist body parts,” said Mohammed. “And the milk turns red.”
“Nice touch,” said Abdul. “What else?”
“Seventy-two raisins in every bowl!” beamed Abdul. “Just as Allah promised!”
“I thought we got virgins,” said Abdul.
“It’s a mistranslation,” said Mohammed. “It’s really raisins.”
“Fine,” said Abdul. “So, we call them Yasser-O’s?”
“They’re flakes, not circles,” said Mohammed. “Resistance Flakes: A legitimate resistance to hunger for… um… freedom? Independence? Sovereignty?”
“Whatever,” said Abdul. “Add a grenade as a prize and we’re ready.”

Skin Deep

247448

Good. You’re awake.
I’d like to explain why you’re laid up in the infirmary, Captain.
Ensign Smith is from Far Colony through a rehab assignment. Among other practices, Far Colony’s customs include the pictographic branding of all criminal acts.
Pointing to his mother’s image and saying “Is that what’s waiting for you back home” is a two-fold insult: reminding him of her murder and suggesting lewd acts with his mother.
Well, three-fold if you consider necrophilia, which they actually still consider a serious no-no.
What?
Well, you can still hold the pen in your mouth to sign the transfer order.

Tastes Like Chicken

286760

Gerald the Geek was famous for biting the heads off of live chickens. I don’t think there’s a county fair that hasn’t had chicken blood drooled by Gerald on its midway.
One day, those wiseasses from PETA knock on my door, yelling all sorts of crazy demands.
“Let the elephants go free!”
“Stop torturing the horses!”
“Does the Snake Lady have an on-staff, full-time herpetologist?”
Blah blah blah. Damn hippies.
They also wanted Gerald fired. So Gerald did what came natural and bit their heads off.
If he gets out, it won’t be for fifty years.
So, want the job?

An ode to Frank J of IMAO

242480

Want to know what’s more fun that a barrel full of monkeys? Watching the idiot trying to put them in there.
Okay, so you put a monkey in the barrel, close the lid, and grab another monkey. Sure enough, the monkey you got in there will escape the moment that lid comes off.
Frank has an easy solution to this: He kills the monkeys.
Sure, you could tranquilize them, but Frank really hates monkeys. And he really likes killing them.
By the time he fills up the barrel, well, he’s had about as much fun as he could possibly have.