The Janitor’s Great Adventure

The first time I saw the lady, I knew my life was over. But why start the story at the end? Let’s start from the beginning…

It was Saint Patrick’s Day, and everyone was drunk. That’s when I was made. Ain’t it grand? Anyway, I got born. Momma said I’d be a good janitor. Dadda said that I’d make a good towel rack. So I did what I thought I should do for a career. Be a janitor. Momma always liked it when I helped her work at home. She was a homework maker. The type of person that makes homework worksheets for schools and lazy teachers to use when they didn’t want to make their own.

Annnnnyyywayyy….my parents named me when I was old enough to go to college, even though I would never go to college. They named me after their favorite restaurant. Burger King. Burger King was a strong, forceful name, Dadda said. Dadda never married Momma. That meant Dadda could go out and hump the grass whenever he wanted. Dadda and Momma wanted to get married, but unfortunately, they were waiting for me to make income before they could use my money to get married, and give 5 dollars to all the dancers that would come. They were planning a grand marriage. One that would never come, because a freak accident happened to them. An invisible man came over and chopped their heads off, while they were getting stoned.

Poor unfortunate parents…

ANYWAY. I got hired at a school, and was treated with respect, people were so nice to me, saying hi to me then walking away laughing. I’m glad I made them happy. I think it was my smell that did it.

One day, I heard a rumor from one of the loser kids I became friends with, and sometimes buy alcohol for so he can give to other people, that a teacher was all high on heroin, and was raped 56 times up the ass. Of course it was a rumor, it wasn’t true…

Or was it?

I will never forget that day…February 31, 2009. You may say “hey wait a minute, February doesn’t have 31 days!” Well, I say to you “WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG WRONG!!!!!!” In the year 2009, the inhabitants of Bahrain got pissed off that February only had 28 days, and 29 days for some years, that they made a proposition at the United Nations to change that. Europe was in an outrage, and so was the Americas. But, China and India got behind Bahrain. The world made war on itself over the issue. Eventually a smart man said, “lets jus thave 31 days in February.” And everyone said, “ok” and stopped fighting. Treaties were signed, movies were made, history book writers were bored, and everyone went back to their boring old jobs.

Besides the fact that only a puppy lost his life from natural causes during the war, it was about time that…um…whatever…

Anyway, that teacher I told you about? 9 months after I heard that rumor, I saw her wobbling down the hallway, all fat and shit, and she shoulda been teaching her damn fangled Social Studies class. That bitch. She was screaming something about her water breaking to me, but I looked at the drinking fountain and it looked fine to me. Then she shook me by the collar screaming, “take me to the hospital, you assholeeeeee!!!”

I never been to a hospital, so I grabbed her, and got into my janitor car thingy, and shoved her in it too, driving down the main road in town, hoping to find the thing she was talking about.

I saw a big blue sign. Momma said that hospitals have big blue signs so I assumed it was the hospital, so I drove through the windows but when I crashed through it, everyone was sitting down at tables…eating pancakes…since when did hospitals have pancakes? But…I was wrong. Dead wrong.

The teacher was pissing all over the place, tossing baby poop, baby pee and babies all around the place,and people got pissed off and threw up, and tossed their pancakes at the waiters. Of course the waiters were getting mad, so the waiters charged the customers more money. We were smack dab in the middle of an IHOP. Don’t blame me, I’m just a janitor…

The End.


So Goes the Mob

“It’s been two years since I joined the mob, but it feels like forever. I ain’t that good at this sort of stuff so don’t be all up in my face about being weird OK?” says Patrick to the psychologist. “I’ve only just begun to talk about my life so just whatever you do, do not interrupt me.”

“Alright, I won’t say much, but every once in awhile I might need to intervene and talk to you about this and that. But please continue. Tell me how it all started.”

“It started like this”

‘I was thirteen; just became a teenager. I saw these weird mimes. All they did was just stay in this invisible box. They were really dumb. Then I saw some guys in black coats. All of a sudden they took out machine guns and killed the mimes. It was kinda funny only because the mimes were still trying to be in the box and were still smiling when they died. Later I learned the mimes were actually a part of the infamous gang, the Evil Mime People, EMP.

‘I didn’t like those mimes, so I joined the Evil Mime People Killers, EMPK. They were another gang devoted to killing the EMP. I only started when I finally got to kill my first EMP. The problem was that my partner was a stupid parrot who could hold a nail in his mouth. The parrot’s name was Squacky.

‘He talked too much, and all he talked about was how his beak was the color purple, though it was actually yellow. I made friends with a magical blue dwarf, whose name was Bob. Bob likes monkeys, so he got one. The monkey can only say “monkey”, but it’s a really funny monkey. The monkey ate Squacky, so I really like the monkey now.

‘Bob, his monkey Bobby, and I went out to get our mime. The mime’s name was Fishydaft, a common mime name. We saw Fishydaft at the movie theater and he was on a break, eating a moose sandwich. We got out of the car and Bob went to the right, Bobby went to the left, and I went straight forward. Fishydaft saw me, and he took out a big thingy that looked like a boot. It was. I ran forward and so did the others.

‘BAM! We all hit Fishydaft with our remote controls. Bobby then ate Fishy’s moose sandwich. Bob reported to base and we got 500 dollars each. It was in monopoly money, but it’s better than nothing. We went out to celebrate.

‘I called the Mooseycheesemuffin Restraunt. I ate a cheese sandwich, Bob ate a muffin, and Bobby ate a moose sandwich, again. We paid with our monopoly money and they sent us to the back to wash dishes for our payment. While we were washing, I saw a mime out side. I told the other two, and we stopped washing and went for the door. The mime was easy to catch, and we put him in our car and took him to base.

‘Our scientists conducted experiments on him, and found out that the EMP were planning to go to the Really Big Carnival Thingy and mime there. We were put on this mission and took some super mime eating binders. While going to the carnival, we saw a cow. We decided it should come with us to go on some rides. Her name was Cowie. She ate Bobby, but we got over it. Now we were at the carnival when this funny thing happened. I had to eat a duck for some reason. So, I went to the duck stand and bought one. I ate it and it tasted like a gooseduck, a crossbreed of a goose and a duck. I was infuriated. All I could do was kill the guy who sold it to me. Then I was arrested for having a cow that could eat monkeys, but I got out for being a member of DA, Doughnuts Anonymous.

‘We now could get those EMPs. I was the first to see them. They were doing that stupid box thing and I yelled, “Get down on the ground and drop those invisible fish.” Bob said, “Eat magical blue dwarven phones.” Then suddenly a moose was being chased by a gangster of the cheese Mafia. Cowie said, “mooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooose.” I noticed that he was Moose D. Cloun; the famous circus idiot.”

I asked him for his autograph and he said, “Duh, OK. Let me eat my cheeeeeeeeeese first. There you go. Bye.” Bob had already phoned the mimes to death, so I ate a cheese poof; it was the best I have had in one week. I then went to the Mooseycheesemuffin Restraunt. Bob and I had the same as last time. But then it happened. There were 50 EMPs and only 2 EMPKs. We were outnumbered and outfishied. They stormed in and started doing their stupid box thingy once again. That just made me mad; as mad as a moose who sees a cheese covered Muffinman. I pulled out a big Algebra book and started to kill them by reading algebraic equations. That made them even worse. They then tried, poorly I might add, to climb and invisible rope. I was, along with Bob, so scared I peed my pants, and said, “Nooooooooooooo, not that, anything but that. Fortunately, I had a spare mime eating binder left from the Really Big Carnival Thingy. What a relief, now I could sit back, eat my cheese sandwich- mmmmmmm, cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeese- and enjoy the melodic sound of mime eating binders doing their job. Uh oh. 3 mimes got away. Cowie, Bob, and I chased after them.

“You won’t get away this time,” I yelled. “Wait, I know. I can attract them by singing their favorite song ‘Monkey Go Poof’.” And so I sang and sang and sang and sang and sang and sang till I had to stop and take breather. Both my team and the mimes waited until I had my breath back. After 30 minutes I asked the others if they wanted to watch a movie. They responded with a gracious and humble yes. So I took them all to see Barney (the stupid guy in a dinosaur costume finally stops singing ‘I love you’ and starts to work on Sesame Street).

“It got two thumbs down. It’s supposed to be really stupid. So what are you waiting for, let’s go in.” When we get in, we are the only people there and the mimes say in sign language, “Lets sit in the front row and look up the entire time.” We all agree to this, of course. The movie starts and we start booing for no reason what so ever. Barney says, “Can I be on Sesame Street.” And that weird red thing called- oh, what is his name. It ends in o, but I can’t remember the other letters. Oh yeah, Elmo- Elmo says, “OK” Then, the movie ends. We all say, “Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. That was the best Barney movie ever.” After we get our picture taken with Barney, Cowie kamikazes the mimes, killing herself. Bob and I say, “Awwwwww, Cowie died. Yaaaaaaaaay, she killed those stupid mute mimes.”


“Who said that?”

“I did”

“Oh ok”

Now that it was only Bob and I, we had to make do with out a companion. As long as we could just kill the EMP leader, we could go into an early retirement. We thought ‘yay’, no more stupid work. After we thought about that a little more, we went to a bathroom. We really needed the break. I was cleaning my hands when I noticed that a mime was in stall number 4. So you now what we did? We took him to a BSB concert, and boy did he scream. All he did was scream the whole time. After like thirty minutes of screaming, the singers stopped singing to kick the idiot to death. The group made t bucks from that concert. “Finally they might stop singing now that they know they suck,” Bob said.

“I ain’t afraid of no boy band”

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha no.

“What you talkin’ ’bout Willis. Show me the money! Aye carumba! I wish I could make up an awesome catch phrase like those,” I said. “Well maybe one day you will,” said Bob. Back to the story now. After that awful BSB concert, we had one last dinner at the Mooseycheesmuffin Restraunt. I say it was my last, because it got blown up after what happened next. What happened in the Mooseycheesemuffin was so undescribingly awful that I have to say one thing, “Put your kids away and never let them out until half an hour after I finish this part of the story. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Now, when I say scary, I mean SCARY. I started off with a moose sandwich, and Bob had a cheese sandwich. While we were eating our sandwiches, one thousand EMPs entered the room and totally thrashed the place. See I told you it was scary. Well, as you should have already figured out, we tried to kill all the mimes we could but they kept coming back to life somehow. But then I noticed a sudden UFC- an unidentified flying candy-flying through the air. It killed every single mime with the exception of one, the leader of the EMPs. He was the biggest mime I had ever seen, not to mention the ugliest one, too. He had two heads, one good, and one bad. The good one said, “I am happy,” and the bad one said, “I am not happy.” So the bad one killed the good one, which also killed the mime. “Yay” we said, “no more stupid mimes. Now we get an early retirement.” And we riverdanced the night away. “And so ended the evil killing spree of those stupid mimes. So what do you think? Was it a good life or what?” I asked.

“Mr. Dwagalad,” Jeff said, ” nowhere in your incoherent babbling did you even get close to a good life story. I mean, even an idiot could make up an average story, but you actually did all this stuff. I’m just appalled.” Jeff went on and on and on and on until I killed him too; he started looking like a mime.

The moral of this story is that you should never go to a restraunt called the Mooseycheesemuffin.





GODZILLA Rampage in Ida, Michigan

Oh no! Godzilla is on a rampage in downtown Ida, Michigan! There is no way to stop him! “Well, actually,” said the really smart scientist guy, “there is a way to stop him.” “Really? Hmmm…no, I don’t believe it,” said the big mean general guy, “I say you are a dumb scientist who doesn’t know anything. I think we should blow him out into orbit with my new nukes I got!”

“NO!! You’ll KILL US ALL!!”

“Shut up, you crazy scientist whose plans never involve using my new nukes I got two weeks ago,” said the general. Then he put two fingers in the scientists face and said, “Two!… you see? Thats two weeks! Thats a lot of days! Do you realize that I could have had breakfast fourteen times in that span of time?? ….Actually, I did…that just shows you how long that is!”

“Alright, alright,” said the scientist, “you can use your nukes but as soon as they don’t work, I get to do my plan.”

“Yeah, we’ll see….”

They both jump into the general’s suped up “Hummer” and peel out of the trailer park. Suddenly the general stops the car. “That’s far enough, scientist boy. I didn’t buy this hummer so I could chouffer dumb scientists around. I’ll come back if my plan fails. …maybe,” said the general as he pushed the scientist out of the car.

The general (whose name was Bob) sped down Main Street really fast. He was probably going really fast, but he didn’t know for sure because his speedometer was broken. He knew he had to kill Godzilla before Godzilla destoryed the world…or at least downtown Ida. Bob smiled to himself. He didn’t really have any nuclear weapons. He was suprised he fooled the scientist (whose name was Albert).

“I thought scientists were supposed to be smart!” said Bob, “Or at least the smart ones should be…” This puzzled Bob. Why had the scientist smiled? Did he smile? Maybe the scientist had just pretended to smile, just to fool Bob. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” said Bob, as he pulled over next to Godzilla.

Meanwhile, back at the trailer park…

It sure was a long walk to Godzilla, but Albert knew a shortcut….no, he actually didn’t, he just likes to have a positive attitude. He had walked one mile already, and he was only halfway there. he could be there in half an hour, if he walked slow.

Half an hour was exactly how long Bob needed to fill his car’s gas tank with nitro glycerin. He would then offer Godzilla his car, and as soon as Godzilla turned the key…BOOM!! …Or he would just make Godzilla step on the car. The general smiled at himself and thought, “What am I smiling about? Maybe I’m just a happy person.” Just then the general finished filling his car with nitro glycerin. Now all he had to do was make Godzilla step on it.

Just then Albert came over. “I guess I made it just in time, right Bob?” said Albert. “Don’t call me Bob,” said Bob.

“We have to stop Godzilla before he destroys the world!”

“I know that! Now get on top of my car and use this megaphone to talk to Godzilla.”

“Talk?? But…what? What should I say?”

“Talk scientist babble.”

“Umm…okay…ahem,” said Albert into the megaphone.

Godzilla looked over at them.

“Yes, well…,” said Albert, “Um….did you know that the gravitational pull-”

Albert was cut off by the giant explosion that occured when Godzilla jumped on top of the scientist and blew up the car. Bob was kind of smart. He knew that any giant monster hates scientists that want to kill them. They especially hate it when the scientists talk.

Bob, Albert, and Godzilla were all killed in the blast. (or at least Godzilla was, the other two were probably killed when Godzilla jumped on them)

The End


Moose D. Cloun and the Evil Dr. Muffin

Chapter 1 Moose D. Cloun

The year is 1996. We are in a small town outside of New York,

the site of a small traveling circus. Let’s go inside…


“I want to hear them LAUGH!!! Got that Moose?! I want to hear them laugh so hard their stomachs come out their mouths….. literally! Okay?!” yells the Circus Manager.

“Duh, should I make a cheeeeese joke, coach?” asks Moose.

“Yeah, whatever,” mumbles Coach.

“Duh, oh happy day,” says Moose

Moose enters the ring. Everyone “boos” loudly, but Moose still has the same dumb expression on his face, his eyes glazed over, and his tongue hanging out. He runs right into the diving board ladder and bounces over to the tiger cage where he slams his face right between the bars. (This was not in the act!) Moose starts screaming as the tiger eats his fake nose, takes a bite out of his hat, and when it was about to devour moose’s right ear, Moose gets out. The crowd is roaring with laughter. Moose then stumbles around until he remembers what he is supposed to be doing.

“Duh, oh yeah, why did the chicken cross the road?” says Moose.

“Why?” the whole crowd says at once.

“Knockity knock knock!”

“Who’s there?” yells the crowd together.

“Gaaa! Who’s there!” yells Moose.

By the time Moose was going to sing his song, everyone was either gone or leaving.

“Duh, where did everybody go?” says Moose after his act was over, “I wanted to do my cheeeeese joke!”

” They’re all gone,” says the Coach, “oh well… To the next hopeless town, Moose!”

“Duh, oh boy! Maybe I’ll get to say my cheese joke!” says Moose happily.

“Yeah, whatever, I need some new clowns,” mumbles the coach.

Chapter 2 The Cheese Mafia

Now we travel to an abandoned warehouse somewhere in Texas…

There is a cute little squirrel sitting at a table. Across from him is Dr. Muffin, a mad scientist bent on global domination. In front of him is Squack, the normal one.

“Soon I will rule the world! Hah, ha, ha, ha , ha, ha, ha, and ha!! I just need one more piece for my giant cheese Electro magnet! Then, once I have all the cheese in the world, my plan will be complete! Mwah ha, ha! Ha! Ha!…..ha!” laughs Dr. Muffin. “The only problem is how to get a 30 ft lima bean……… I mean a clown that likes cheese…”

“Um, sir, maybe I could be of assistance,” says Squack, “I know of this certain traveling circus. I think it might have the perfect clown for us. His name is Moose D. Cloun. He is smart enough to breathe, but that’s about it. He’ll never suspect a thing.”

“Hmmm, I like it… Yes perfect! Ha!” laughs Dr. Muffin

All of a sudden Squack and Dr. Muffin start laughing, “HAAH, HAA, HAA!!!! HA, HA, HAAAAAA!!!! Hee, hee…….HAAAA!!!! HA, HA, HA, HA….” And so on.

Little do Dr. Muffin and Squack know, but the cute little squirrel (named Moo) had sneaked out. Don’t worry, Moo has big eyes, that means he’s good.

Chapter 3 Why?

You may be asking who is Moose? Well, he is a clown. Got it? Okay, you may also be wondering why Dr. Muffin needs a clown for his magnet. Well he just does. I hope that answers your questions!

Chapter 4 Moose says Moo

“Moo,” says Moose.

Chapter 5 Moose Meets Moo

Moo runs as fast as he can. He has to warn someone of Dr. Muffin’s plan! (Wow, that rhymes. I have a lot of dimes. I use them to buy wind chimes. Ha, ha! Oh, uh, back to the story.) Moo runs and runs. Finally he sees a giant tent with red and white stripes.

“There must be people in there!” thinks Moo.

Moose was just in the middle of ruining the third act when he saw the little squirrel run into the ring. Moose at once knew something was wrong. He rushed over to the squirrel and listened to what it had to say:

“Squeak- chatter!” says Moo

“Someone’s been stealing your acorns? I’m sorry to hear that little squirrel,” says Moose.

“Chatter- squeak!!”

“What, there’s more? …You say there is an evil doctor? And he’s going to- Wait a minute, does this have anything to do with 30ft lima beans? No? Okay sorry. He has a giant cheese Electro magnet and he’s going to do WHAT with it?!! Not that! He can’t! No! Nooooooooo!!!!!” screams Moose, “Duh, what are you still doing here?………………….Oh, right. Tip.”

Chapter 6 Evil People

Back to the warehouse…

“There is just one problem, Squack. How do we persuade this clown to come with us?” Asks Dr. Muffin.

“Um, sir, maybe I could be of assistance,” says Squack, “You see, I have these connections-”

“What kind of connections,” asks Dr. Muffin.

“Well you see-”

“See what, I don’t see anything.”

“Well I have these-”

“These what? Speak up!”

” Well you see! Sir! I have these connections with the-”

“With the what?”

“Sir would you please let me finish!!”

“Okay, fine, have it your way. Nyah. You think you’re so cool, mumble mumble, mumble..”

“Well the point is, I have these connections with the WWF.”

“Hmm, what kind of ‘connections’, Squack?”

“I am very good friends with (dun, don, duunn!!) ‘THE ROCK’.”


“Yes, it is pretty impressive.”





“Alright, shut-up.”

Chapter 7 Battle Scars for Hollywood Stars

We are now on a giant black cruise ship. It has big red fangs on the front. The sort of ship only very evil people would have. Guess who is aboard? That’s right, none other than (dun, dun, duunnn!!) the evil Dr. Muffin!!! (Evil guitar solo.) Okay, that’s where we are……….yep. Okay. Right.

Dr. Muffin and ‘The Rock” are talking business. I don’t mean good business, I mean bad business. Real bad. In fact, it’s so bad it’s evil. Very evil. Yes.

“The Rock is a Hollywood wrestler, exclaims The Rock! The Rock is a star, yells The Rock!” yells the Rock, “Why would The Rock want to do something stupid like that, questions? This angers The Rock!!”

The Rock breaks off a leg of the nearest table.

“You will pay for your insolence!!” shouts the Rock in a Darth Vader kind of voice.

He is using the leg as a kind of bat.

Dr. Muffin is hiding behind Squack. He is holding him like a shield from the Rock.

“Please don’t hurt me!” squeals Dr. Muffin.

“I am going to rip off your arm off and beat you to death with it, yells The Rock!” shouts the Rock, “I am going to do to you what I did to that table, shouts The Rock! The Rock says that he is going to squeeze you so hard your guts come out of –”

“Okay, okay! I get the point already!” says Dr. Muffin, ” Sheesh!”

Just then the Rock let out a viscous war cry and slammed the leg on Squack’s head. It launched him off the ship and into the water. Immediately after Squack hits the water a giant 747 crashes right on top of him. Then both the plane and Sqack sink down



“Now that was a freak accident,” says Dr. Muffin.

“Yeah… weird,” says the Rock.

Suddenly Dr. Muffin remembered the bazooka he kept in his back pocket. He pulled it out and pointed it at the Rock.

“Okay buddy it’s my way or the freeway…… or something,” says Dr. Muffin.

“Okay, okay. The Rock will kidnap the clown for you,” says the Rock.

“Good, good…Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!!!” laughs Dr. Muffin.

Chapter 8 Achoo (gezuntight)

We find Moose in New York, walking up and down the streets

looking for Dr. Muffin. He is mumbling to himself:

“Mumble, mumble, mumble… duh, guhh, umm, mumble, mumble. Giant cheese Electro magnet. Lima bean. Whee! Sledding on pudding.”

He walks in front of a weird shop called:


Hippie Heaven

-It’s Quacktastic!-

A man with purple glasses, long hair, and flowers on his clothes jumped out and said:

“Whoa, dude! Are you some sort of hippie master? Whoa! All bow down! Whoa!”

“Duh, my name is Goose, no Moose. He, I, someone is looking for- I like cheese,” said Moose.

“Whoa… uh, cool. I’m Achoo. This, my friend, is the I.T.C.H. The International Thing for Cool Hippies. We like flowers and stuff… it’s fun.”

“Oh right… there’s something I need to tell you.”


“Don’t do drugs.”

“No, seriously. I am a hippie.”

“Duh, okay.”


“Where’d that come from?!”

“Excuse me. Duh, do you know where a phone is?”

“There’s a payphone right around the corner.”

“Corn- ear?”

“That way.”

Chapter 9 Payphone Rage

Moose walks up to the payphone.

“Dang, no shiny thingys,” says Moose, “Got to find 35 c’s.”

“Anyperson gots any c’s?!!”yells Moose.

A burglar that was stealing an old lady purse yelled back:


“Umm, I need thirty- five c’s so I can make a phone call.”

“Oh, you need thirty- five cents,” said the burglar.

“No, actually, I need thirty- five c’s.”

“Well, um… take this shiny thingy and this other shiny thing. Hello! Duh, I’m an idiot! Duhhh! Duh! Duh! Duh!”

Moose is angry. (You would be too!)

“Argh! PAYPHONE RAGE!!!” screams Moose. Moose starts kicking the phone, “Ow!” Moose is jumping around in circles screaming and looking like a complete idiot, “Duh, stupid phone!” says Moose as he spanked the phone.

Moose dials a number.

Chapter 10 Squack Returns

“Um, hello?” says Moose.

“Hello, this is ‘We Let You Borrow a Car then You Give it Back to Us Later Along with Fifty Dollars Place’, how may I help you?”

“Duh, I want to rent a car,” says Moose.

“Okay, we’ll have one there in less than five minutes, or your money back!”

“Um, okay,” thinks Moose.

After about five minutes a car pulled up and a man covered in bandages stepped out. Moose is still on the phone.

“Did you ask for a car?” asks the man.

“Duh, yeah,” says Moose, still talking into the phone.

“Well take it.”

“Um… okay…”

Moose tries to get into the phone by the coin slot.

“Are you looking for the evil Dr. Muffin?” asks the man.

“Um, yes,” says Moose in a nervous voice.

“He’s in Meanietown, Texas in an abandoned warehouse.”

“Uh, thank you…”

“What?! I don’t look that weird with all these bandages do I?”

“No… of course not… Uh, thanks again.”

“I’m Squack. A plane fell on me. Here,” says Squck as he hands Moose a bomb belt, “Take this.”

“Okay, bye.”

Moose drives off, “Don’t do drugs,” Moose says to himself.

A Porsche skids out in front of Moose and slows down a lot so Moose slams into it. Then it drives off.

“Duh, hey! That wasn’t very nice!” says Moose, “Do not try to get away- ‘resistance is futile’!”

Uh, oh! The after affects of payphone rage- ROAD RAGE!

Chapter 11 I am The Rock

We find The Rock at a wrestling game in Hollywood fighting “Mr. Happy Guy”

“I am going to win states The Rock!” states The Rock.

“Yeah? Well I’ve just got one question for you,” says Mr. Happy Guy, “Do you like my costume? I just love pink!”

The Rock’s cell phone rings.

“Yeah, whatever. Hang on, I’ve got a call,” says The Rock as he picks up his phone, “Hello?”

“What are you doing?! You’re supposed to be kidnapping that clown!”

“Oh, hi Doctor. Yeah, I’m working on it. Okay. What? Fired? Why you- oh well… Okay, bye,” says the Rock, “Argh! That guy makes me angry exclaims The Rock!” exclaims The Rock.

“Hey, maybe we should talk this over, or have a group hug… uh- oh,” says Mr. Happy Guy.

The Rock picks up Mr. Happy Guy and throws him far out into the crowd.

“The winner!” shouts the announcer, holing up The Rock’s arm.

Chapter 12 New Allies

We find Moose on a main street trying to shove the Porsche driver’s head into his exhaust pipe

A monster truck pulls up next to Moose. The Rock steps out of the car.

“Ahhh!!!” screams the Porsche driver, “Okay! I give up! Take the car! Ahhh!!!”

“Okay, bye,” says Moose.

“Okay Moose! The Rock states that we are going to get that Dr. Muffin! The Rock argues that no one fires The Rock! Right, questions The Rock! Let’s go, Moose!” shouts The Rock.

The Rock takes out a giant chaingun and starts shooting it in the air like a maniac. He is screaming and foaming at the mouth.

“Uh- oh… PYCHO!” thinks Moose.

They both speed off to Dr. Muffin’s hideout.

Chapter 13 Hideout

Moose and The Rock pull up to the warehouse (Dr. Muffin’s hideout). There is one guard in front

of the warehouse. He has a monkey puppet on his hand. The puppet is holding a little spear.

The guard is throwing his voice so that it sounds like the monkey is talking. It talks in a voice exactly like Elmo (from Seasame Street). We can hear the monkey talking: “Well personally, I think a giant cheese Electro magnet is a wonderful idea!” says the monkey.

“I still don’t see how getting all the cheese on Earth is going to get him to rule the world. Also, why does he need a clown?” asks the guard, “What does that have to do with an Electro magnet? And how does the magnet attract cheese? How does- ”

“Oh shut up! You see it all works like this-”

The monkey stops talking and looks at Moose, who has just gotten out of the car and walked up to the guard.

“- Halt! You can’t go in there! Go away!”

“Duh, umm. Um, duh umm, umm. Uhhh…-”

“What the clown is trying to say,” says The Rock, “is…. Die!!!!”

The Rock takes out his chaingun and – ***

” – I is a person that Dr. Muffin wants to see… yes,” says Moose.

“Oh! Well why didn’t you say so! Right this way!” replies the monkey.

The guard leads Moose up to Dr. Muffin’s office.

“Ahh, Moose! I see you have come just as I suspected,” says Dr. Muffin in an evil voice.

“You knew that?!” says Moose, astonished.

“Well, um, OF COURSE! I am The Brilliant Dr. Muffin!”

“I thought it was the Evil Dr. Muffin.”

“Well, it was… but now it’s not!”

“Oh,” says Moose, “Let me ponder this for a while…”



*** Whoops! got a little carried away, there! I had to edit that part out, too violent. The Rock has left to go fight “Stone Cold”.

Chapter 14 Ponder


Chapter 15 Boom Ha, Ha

“Moose it is time for you to go into my giant cheese Electro magnet so I can rule the world!” yells Dr. Muffin.

Moose knows what he must do. He has to set off the bomb once he is inside the magnet.

Dr. Muffin leads him to an enormous magnet. They walk up to the door. Dr. Muffin is about to push Moose in, whet Moose takes off the bomb belt from under his shirt. He shoves Dr. Muffin in and throws in the belt after him.

The bomb is about to go off! Moose was planning on running away, but instead he just stands there and laughs at Dr. Muffin.

“HA, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!!!”

The bomb goes off and Moose, Dr. Muffin, and the guard all die.



Chapter 16 Stuff

The Rock-

“I am the rock, states The Rock!” states The Rock! “AHHH, HA HA, HA, HA!!!”

The Writer-

Hello! Nya, nya, nya!


The Baked Beans Story

Once upon a time, there lived a man who had a terrible passion for baked beans. He loved them, but they always had an embarrassing and somewhat lively reaction on him. One day he met a girl and fell in love. When it was apparent that they would marry, he thought to himself, ‘She’ll never go through with the marriage with me carrying on like this, so he made the supreme sacrifice and gave up beans. Shortly after that they were married.

A few months later, on the way home from work, his car broke down and since they lived in the country, he called his wife and told her that he would be late because he had to walk. On his way home, he passed a small cafe and the wonderful aroma of baked beans overwhelmed him.

Since he still had several miles to walk he figured he could walk off any ill affects before he got home. So he went in and ordered, and before leaving had three extra large helpings of baked beans. All the way home he putt-putted. He putt-putted down one hill and putt-putted up the next. By the time he arrive home he felt reasonably safe.

His wife met him at the door and seemed somewhat excited. She exclaimed, “Darling, I have the most wonderful surprise for you for dinner tonight!” She put a blindfold on him, and led him to his chair at the head of the table and made him promise not to peak.

At this point he was beginning to feel another one coming on. Just as his wife was about to remove the blindfold, the telephone rang. She again made him promise not to peek until she returned, and she went to answer the phone.

While she was gone, he seized the opportunity. He shifted his weight to one leg and let go. It was not only loud, but ripe as a rotten egg. He had a hard time breathing, so he felt for his napkin and fanned the air about him. He had just started to feel better, when another urge came on. He raised his leg and rriiipppp! It sounded like a diesel engine revving, and smelled worse. To keep from gagging, he tried fanning his arms a while, hoping the smell would dissipate. Things had just about returned to normal when he felt another urge coming. He shifted his weight to his other leg and let go. This was a real blue ribbon winner; the windows shook, the dishes on the table rattled and a minute later the flowers on the table were dead. While keeping an ear tuned in on the conversation in the hallway, and keeping his promise of staying blindfolded, he carried on like this for the next ten minutes, farting and then fanning each time with his napkin.

When he heard the phone farewells (indicating the end of his loneliness and freedom) he neatly laid his napkin on his lap and folded his hands on top of it. Smiling contentedly, he was the picture of innocence when his wife walked in.

Apologizing for taking so long, she asked if he had peeked at the dinner table. After assuring her he had not peeked, she removed the blindfold and yelled, “Surprise!”

To his shock and horror, there were twelve dinner guests seated around the table for his surprise birthday party.


Boyfriend vs. Girlfriend


During the past year I have tried to make love to you 365 times. I have succeeded 36 times, which is an average of once every ten days.The following is a list of why I did not succeed more often:


54 times the sheets were clean

17 times it was too late

49 times you were too tired

20 times it was too hot

15 times you pretended to be asleep

22 times you had a headache

17 times you were afraid of waking the baby

16 times you said you were too sore

12 times it was the wrong time of the month

19 times you had to get up early

9 times you said weren’t in the mood

7 times you were sunburned

6 times you were watching the late show

5 times you didn’t want to mess up your new hair-do

3 times you said the neighbors would hear us

9 times you said your mother would hear us

Of the 36 times I did succeed, the activity was not

satisfactory because:


6 times you just laid there

8 times you reminded me there’s a crack in the ceiling

4 times you told me to hurry up and get it over with

7 times I had to wake you and tell you I finished

1 time I was afraid I had hurt you because I felt you move



I think you have things a little confused. Here are the reasons you didn’t get more than you did:


5 times you came home drunk and tried to screw the cat

36 times you did not come home at all

21 times you didn’t cum

33 times you came too soon

19 times you went soft before you got in

38 times you worked too late

10 times you got cramps in your toes

29 times you had to get up early to play golf

2 times you were in a fight and someone kicked you in the balls

4 times you got it stuck in your zipper

3 times you had a cold and your nose was running

2 times you had a splinter in your finger

20 times you lost the notion after thinking about it all day

6 times you came in your pajamas while reading a dirty book

98 times you were too busy watching football, baseball, etc. on TV


Of the times we did get together the reason I laid still was because

you missed and were screwing the sheets. I wasn’t talking about the crack in the ceiling, what I said was , “Would you prefer me on my back or kneeling?” The time you felt me move was because you farted and I was trying to breathe.


Actual (Stupid) Label Instructions

In case you needed further proof that the human race is doomed through stupidity, here are some actual label instructions on consumer goods:

– On Sears hairdryer: “Do not use while sleeping”. [Gee, that’s the only time I have to work on my hair]

– On a bag of Fritos: “You could be winner! No purchase necessary. Details inside”. [Evidently, the shoplifter special]

– On a bar of Dial soap: “Directions: Use like regular soap.” [And that would be how…?]

– On some Swanson frozen dinners: “Serving suggestions: Defrost.” [But it’s *just* a suggestion]

– On Tesco’s Tiramisu dessert (printed on bottom of box): “Do not turn upside down”. [Oops, too late!]

– On Marks & Spencer Bread Pudding: “Product will be hot after heating”. [As sure as night follows the day…]

– On packaging for a Rowenta iron: “Do not iron clothes on body”. [But wouldn’t this save even more time?]

– On Boot’s Children’s Cough Medicine: “Do not drive a car or operate machinery after taking this medication”. [We could do a lot to reduce the rate of construction accidents if we could just get those 5-year-olds with head-colds off those forklifts.]

– On Nytol Sleep Aid: “Warning: May cause drowsiness” [One would hope]

– On most brands of Christmas lights: “For indoor or outdoor use only”. [As opposed to what?]

– On a Japanese food processor: “Not to be used for the other use”. [I gotta admit, I’m curious].

– On Sainsbury’s peanuts: “Warning: Contains nuts”. [NEWS FLASH]

– On an American Airlines packet of nuts: “Instructions: open packet, eat nuts.” [Step 3: Fly Delta]

– On a child’s Superman costume: Wearing of this garment does not enable you to fly”. [I don’t blame the company. I do blame parents for this one!]


Interesting Facts

1. The citrus soda 7-UP was created in 1929; “7” was selected because the original containers were 7 ounces. “UP” indicated the direction of the bubbles.

2. Dentists have recommended that a toothbrush be kept at least 6 feet away from a toilet to avoid airborne particles resulting from the flush.

3. The liquid inside young coconuts can be used as substitute for blood plasma.

4. American car horns beep in the tone of F.

5. No piece of paper can be folded more than 7 times.

6. Donkeys kill more people annually than plane crashes.

7. 1 in every 4 Americans has appeared on television.

8. You burn more calories sleeping than you do watching television.

9. Oak trees do not produce acorns until they are fifty years of age or older.

10. The first product to have a bar code was Wrigley’s gum.

11. The king of hearts is the only king without a mustache.

12. A Boeing 747s wingspan is longer than the Wright brother’s first flight.

13. Venus is the only planet that rotates clockwise.

14. The first CD pressed in the US was Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the USA.”

15. Apples, not caffeine, are more efficient at waking you up in the morning.

16. The 57 on the Heinz ketchup bottle represents the number of Varieties of pickles the company once had.

17. The plastic things on the end of shoelaces are called aglets.

18. Most dust particles in your house are made from dead skin.

19. The first owner of the Marlboro company died of lung cancer.

20. Barbie’s full name is Barbara Millicent Roberts.

21. Betsy Ross is the only real person to ever have been the head on a Pez dispenser.

22. Michael Jordan makes more money from Nike annually than all of the Nike factory workers in Malaysia combined.

23. Adolf Hitler’s mother seriously considered having an abortion but was talked out of it by her doctor.

24. Marilyn Monroe had six toes.

25. All US Presidents have worn glasses. Some just didn’t like being seen wearing them in public.

26. Walt Disney was afraid of mice.

27. The sound of E.T. walking was made by someone squishing her hands in jelly

28. Debra Winger was the voice of E.T.

29. Pearls melt in vinegar.

30. It takes 3,000 cows to supply the NFL with enough leather for a year’s supply of footballs.

31. Thirty-five percent of the people who use personal ads for dating are already married.

32. The three most valuable brand names on earth: Marlboro, Coca Cola, and Budweiser, in that order.

33. Average life span of a major league baseball: seven pitches.

34. A duck’s quack doesn’t echo and no one knows why.

35. Rubber bands last longer when refrigerated.

36. Peanuts are one of the ingredients of dynamite.

37. There are 293 ways to make change for a dollar.

38. The average person’s left hand does 56% of the typing.

39. A shark is the only fish that can blink with both eyes.

40. There are more chickens than people in the world.

41. Two-thirds of the world’s eggplant is grown in New Jersey.

42. The longest one-syllable word in the English language is “screeched.”

43. On a Canadian two dollar bill, the flag flying over the Parliament building is an American flag.

44. All of the clocks in the movie “Pulp Fiction” are stuck on 4:20.

45. No word in the English language rhymes with month, orange, silver, or purple.

46. “Dreamt” is the only English word that ends in the letters “mt.”

47. All 50 states are listed across the top of the Lincoln Memorial, on the back of the $5 bill.

48. Almonds are a member of the peach family.

49. Winston Churchill was born in a ladies’ room during a dance.

50. Maine is the only state whose name is just one syllable.

51. There are only four words in the English language which end in “dous”: tremendous, horrendous, stupendous, and hazardous.

52. Los Angeles’ full name is “El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora la Reina de los Angeles de Porciuncula”

53. A cat has 32 muscles in each ear.

54. An ostrich’s eye is bigger than its brain.

55. Tigers have striped skin, not just striped fur.

56. In most advertisements, the time displayed on a watch is 10:10.

57. Al Capone’s business card said he was a used furniture dealer.

58. The characters Bert and Ernie on Sesame Street, were named after Bert the cop and Ernie the taxi driver in Frank Capra’s “It’s a Wonderful Life,”

59. A dragonfly has a life span of 24 hours.

60. A goldfish has a memory span of three seconds.

61. A dime has 118 ridges around the edge.

62. It’s impossible to sneeze with your eyes open.

63. The giant squid has the largest eyes in the world.

64. In England, the Speaker of the House is not allowed to speak.

65. The microwave was invented, after a researcher walked by a radar tube, and a chocolate bar melted in his pocket.

66. Mr. Rogers is an ordained minister.

67. The average person falls asleep in seven minutes.

68. There are 336 dimples on a regulation golf ball.

69. “Stewardesses” is the longest word that is typed with only the left hand.

70. Did you ever notice when you blow in a dogs face it gets mad at you but when you take the dog in a car it sticks its head out the window?

71. Sometimes…when you cry, no one sees your tears. Sometimes…when you are happy, no one sees your smile. But fart just one time….

72. If you think nobody cares, try missing a couple of payments!

73. Ever wonder about those people who spend $2.00 apiece on those little bottles of Evian water? Try spelling Evian backwards: NAIVE.

74. David Duchovny was in a porno series called the Red Shoe Diaries where he read letters from people telling him a story, reading it aloud for his dog. He never got any, actually, in the show.

75. The main character from Pay It Forward died from a stomach wound

76. Dacky was made in paint by Fajita Bum

77. You CAN get into trouble for calling a white guy Aunt Jemima and calling him that name 10 times a day for a year

78. The AAA DOES NOT care about right triangles

79. Tiger’s Hit Clips don’t play the whole song. You buy less than a song

80. The cards in Guess Who? don’t actually talk

81. All the pets in really old movies over 10 years, are all (most likely) dead

82. Tagalong Girl Scout cookies cost 20 cents a cookie, at $3.00 a box of 15


The Top 10 Rejected Motel 6 Slogans

10. We’re working on that smell thing, too.

9. Because you deserve better than the backseat of some car.

8. As seen on “COPS.”

7. If We’d Known You Were Staying All Night, We’d Have Changed the Sheets.

6. We left off the 9, but you know it’s there.

5. You rented the room, now buy the video.

4. We’ll leave Lysol for ya!

3. We don’t make the adultery. We make the adultery *better*

2. Official Lodging of the 1998 Florida Marlins.

…and the Number 1 Rejected Motel 6 Slogan…

1. We put the “Ho” in Motel.


30 Things to Do On an Exam When You Know That You Are Going To Fail

1. Get a copy of the exam, run out screaming “Andre, Andre, I’ve got the secret documents!!”

2. Talk the entire way through the exam. Read questions aloud, debate your answers with yourself out loud. If asked to stop, yell out, “I’m SOOO sure that you can hear me thinking.” Then start talking about what a jerk the instructor is.

3. Bring a Game Boy. Play with the volume at max level.

4. On the answer sheet find a new, interesting way to refuse to answer every question. For example: I refuse to answer this question on the grounds that it conflicts with my religious beliefs. Be creative.

5. Run into the exam room looking about frantically. Breathe a sigh of relief. Go to the instructor, say “They’ve found me, I have to leave the country” and run off.

6. 15 min. into the exam, stand up, rip up all the papers into very small pieces, throw them into the air and yell out “Merry Christmas.” If you’re really daring, ask for another copy of the exam. Say you lost the first one. Repeat this process every 15 min.

7. Come into the exam wearing slippers, a bathrobe, a towel on your head, and nothing else.

8. Come down with a BAD case of Turret’s Syndrome during the exam. Be as vulgar as possible.

9. Bring things to throw at the instructor when s/he’s not looking. Blame it on the person nearest to you.

10. As soon as the instructor hands you the exam, eat it.

11. Every 5 min. stand up, collect all your things, move to another seat, continue with the exam.

12. Turn in the exam approx. 30 min. into it. As you walk out, start commenting on how easy it was.

13. Get the exam. 20 min into it, throw your papers down violently, scream out “Fuck this!” and walk out triumphantly.

14. Arrange a protest before the exam starts (i.e.. threaten the instructor that whether or not everyone’s done, they are all leaving after one hour to go drink.)

15. Show up completely drunk (completely drunk means at some point during the exam, you should start crying for mommy).

16. Comment on how sexy the instructor is looking that day.

17. Come to the exam wearing a black cloak. After about 30 min, put on a white mask and start yelling “I’m here, the phantom of the opera” until they drag you away.

18. If the exam is math / sciences related, make up the longest proofs you could possible think of. Get pi and imaginary numbers into most equations. If it is a written exam, relate everything to your own life story.

19. Try to get people in the room to do a wave.

20. Bring some large, cumbersome, ugly idol. Put it right next to you. Pray to it often. Consider a small sacrifice.

21. During the exam, take apart everything around you. Desks, chairs, anything you can reach.

22. Puke into your exam booklet. Hand it in. Leave.

23. Take 6 packages of rice cakes to the exam. Stuff at least 2 rice cakes into your mouth at once. Chew, then cough. Repeat if necessary.

24. Masturbate.

25. Walk in, get the exam, sit down. About 5 min into it, loudly say to the instructor, “I don’t understand ANY of this. I’ve been to every lecture all semester long! What’s the deal? And who the hell are you? Where’s the regular guy?”

26. Do the entire exam in another language. If you don’t know one, make one up!

27. Bring a black marker. Return the exam with all questions and answers completely blackened out.

28. Every now and then, clap twice rapidly. If the instructor asks why, tell him/her in a very derogatory tone, “The light bulb that goes on above my head when I get an idea is hooked up to a clapper. DUH!”

29. From the moment the exam begins, hum the theme to Jeopardy. Ignore the instructor’s requests for you to stop. When they finally get you to leave one way or another, begin whistling the theme to the Bridge on the River Kwai.

30. After you get the exam, call the instructor over, point to any question. Ask for the answer. Try to work it out of him or her.


Top 15 Reasons for Being Fired from Toys ‘R Us

15. A little too much joie de vivre while demonstrating the erector set, if you know what I mean.

14. Every time you’re passed over for a promotion, you stick your head in an Easy Bake Oven and threaten to “end it all.”

13. You got caught adding a garage to your house using embezzled Lego bricks.

12. Numerous parental complaints about your “Tickle Me Carl The Stockboy” display.

11. You went overboard with your GI Joe Militia display by adding the Tonka truck full of fertilizer.

10. Cross-dressing the Ken and Barbie dolls and telling kids they’re the new “Jerry Springer” edition.

9. The “My Little Taxidermy Kit” (with starter squirrel) is not selling.

8. Impromptu demonstrations of why Malibu Ken is not anatomically correct.

7. Got caught doing your Dolly Parton impression with basketballs again.

6. Source of reefer smoke finally traced to “nostrils” of Geoffrey the Giraffe.

5. Jaws of life needed to pull your knees out of your chest after you jackknifed a Big Wheel.

4. Caught hocking phlegm into tykes’ hands and telling them it was “homemade Gack.”

3. Your sales display, “Barbie’s Struggle for Survival in Post-Nuclear Holocaust Malibu” was not exactly an overwhelming success.

2. Too many reports from people who swear they saw Geoffrey the Giraffe in a leather bar.

1. Regardless of the question, you answer, “Bite me, kid — I’m on break.”


Dr. Squackle

Medical advice from your favorite pals at!

How do you cure Amnesia?

davepoobond, Ph.D.: say they are a clown and they work with a trapeze man that snuffs chalk dust. Then dress them up with purple clothes and send them on tour

How do you cure the antisocial personality disorder?

davepoobond, Ph.D.: bust a cap in their ass

Leroy was hit in the head by a moving swing and was knocked unconscious. Since it was a very hot day, his friend Eddie moved him into the shade before going for help. What do you do?

davepoobond, Ph.D.: dump cold water on him and see if he wakes up. if not, bury him cuz he’s dead

elmoisfurry, M.D.: chop off his legs, give him apple juice

When Liz was babysitting for the Jacksons, two-year-old Timmy drank some liquid from an unlabled bottle. When Liz found him, Timmy was pale and sweaty, with stains from whatever he drank around his mouth. Liz immediately gave him some syrup of ipecac to make him vomit. Then she called the poison control center. What do you do?

davepoobond, Ph.D.: slap Timmy around and tell him he’s a bad boy

elmoisfurry, M.D.: give him some LSD and have him think he’s on a pony ride

While Jose and Ben were sledding, Jose was thrown from his sled, hitting his head on a rock. Although conscious, he felt nauseated and too dizzy to walk. Before going for help, Ben covered Jose with his coat and gave him some hot chocolate from their thermos to keep him warm. What do you do?

davepoobond, Ph.D.: kick him once for good luck

elmoisfurry, M.D.: tie his legs and beat his stomach!

Nancy and Kyla were in the park, eating hamburgers and talking. Kyla who had been lying on her back while she ate, suddenly jumped up and made strange wheezing sounds as if she couldn’t breathe or speak. Nancy saw that Kyla was probably choking and ran to get some water for her.

davepoobond, Ph.D.: throw the water at her shoes, then give her the Heimlech Manuever. Now for home base…

elmoisfurry, M.D.: do the Hokey pokey and turn yourself around that’s what choking is all about

Jane is a 25-year-old black woman who is pregnant for the first time. Her husband’s uncle has sickle-cell disease. Should Jane and her husband consider genetic counseling?

davepoobond, Ph.D.: no, Jane needs a psychologist, because she don’t know how to pick the right fucked up men.

elmoisfurry, M.D.: who cares about the husband’s uncle. Smack the baby around and call him Nancy for all I care

Lisa is 42 years old and wants to have a second child. Lisa’s husband is 39 years old. Should Lisa and her husband consider genetic counseling?

davepoobond, Ph.D.: what a dumb bastard for marrying someone 3 years older

elmoisfurry, M.D.: god damn old people shouldn’t have sex. They’re old and wrinkled

Maria is 30 years old and pregnant for the fourth time. She and her husband already have three healthy daughters. They want to know if this baby is a boy, should Maria and her husband consider genetic counseling?

davepoobond, Ph.D.: GOD DAMN! Four fuckin’ times? Close your legs, whore!

elmoisfurry, M.D.: ::stab stab stab::

Stacy is 23 years old and married. She is pregnant for the second time. Her first baby was healthy and normal. Stacy’s sister just gave birth to a baby with cystic fibrosis. Should Stacy consider counseling?

davepoobond, Ph.D.: hahahahahaha….aha hahahahahahahaha

elmoisfurry, M.D.: cystic fibrosis? Cystic fibrosis? Don’t gimme no cystic fibrosis. You should be more worried about her baby’s daddy sneaking around with Billy Ray the transvestite gardener from Hungary

Angela is anxious to have a child. Her last two pregnancies ended in miscarriages. Angela is 28 years old and her husband is 30 years old. Should Angela and her husband consider counseling?

davepoobond, Ph.D.: dumb bitch!! Adopt!!

elmoisfurry, M.D.: why do you people always ask US. Its not like we’re doctors…oh wait…we are…bye

You are babysitting for the Johnson twins. Jimmy Johnson comes up to you crying. He has punctured the skin on his hand on a rusty nail. The wound is bleeding badly. What do you do?

davepoobond, Ph.D.: hang the kid for being a dumbass, or leave him be…either way, same result

elmoisfurry, M.D.: um…spank his ass and call him Sally

You are camping with your best friend Sharon. She decides to feed a raccoon some bread crusts. The raccoon, frothing at the mouth, bites Sharon’s finger. The cut is not to deep, but something about the appearance and behavior of the raccoon bothers you.

davepoobond, Ph.D.: shoot the raccoon and eat it for dinner

elmoisfurry, M.D.: if Sharon has rabies, shoot her and eat her at breakfast

Your next door neighbor is a chef at one of the restaurants in town. Four weeks ago, he returned from a seven-day vacation, during which he enjoyed plenty of seafood. For the past few days, your neighbor has stayed home from work. He has a fever, and complains of a pain in the abdomen. When he returned from his vacation, you noticed a yellowish tinge to his skin; at the time you assumed he was merely tanned. The “tan” hasn’t disappeared. What do you do?

davepoobond, Ph.D.: poop on his face. Give him a REAL tan.

elmoisfurry, M.D.: uhhhhhh….what?

Dr. stimpyismyname: stick him in a dark room and smack him with an ugly stick

These are other health related funny things, not directly related to “Dr. Squackle.”:

I’ve heard that cardiovascular exercise can prolong life. Is this true?

Your heart is only good for so many beats, and that’s it… don’t waste them on exercise. Everything wears out eventually. Speeding up your heart will not make you live longer; that’s like saying you can extend the life of your car by driving it faster. Want to live longer? Take a nap.

Should I cut down on meat and eat more fruits and vegetables?

You must grasp logistical efficiencies. What does a cow eat? Hay and corn. And what are these?vegetables. So a steak is nothing more than an efficient mechanism of delivering vegetables to your system. Need grain? Eat chicken. Beef is also a good source of field grass (green leafy vegetable). And a pork chop can give you 100% of your recommended daily allowance of vegetable slop.

Is beer or wine bad for me?

Look, it goes to the earlier point about fruits and vegetables. As we all know, scientists divide everything in the world into three categories: animal, mineral, and vegetable. We all know that beer and wine are not animal, and they are not on the periodic table of elements, so that only leaves one thing, right? My advice: Have a burger and a beer and enjoy your liquid vegetables.

How can I calculate my body/fat ratio?

Well, if you have a body, and you have body fat, your ratio is one to one. If you have two bodies, your ratio is two to one, etc.

What are some of the advantages of participating in a regular exercise program?

Can’t think of a single one, sorry. My philosophy is: No Pain – Good.

If I stop smoking, will I live longer?

Nope. Smoking is a sign of individual statement and peace of mind. If you stop, you’ll probably stress yourself to death in record time.

Aren’t fried foods bad for you?

You’re not listening. Foods are fried these days in vegetable oil. In fact, they’re permeated in it. How could getting more vegetables be bad for you?

What’s the secret to healthy eating?

Thicker gravy.

Will sit-ups help prevent me from getting a little soft around the middle?

Definitely not! When you exercise a muscle, it gets bigger. You should only be doing sit-ups if you want a bigger stomach.

Is chocolate bad for me?

Are you crazy? Cocoa beans… Another vegetable. It’s the best feel good food around!

The following is by malaky:

Dear Dr. Stinky, Should I drink Coke or Pepsi?

Dear Sir or Madam, You will drink from the blood of an old donkey at the next full moon because I tell you to do so. I will sacrifice your mother so that the pigeons will live on. At the sacred alter, Taewon, the ice demon, will be summoned to sacrifice you and all of your pagan fertility gods. Milk will rain from the sky, but the land of chocolate will be moved to the magical valley east of Chicago. The answer to your question lies not only in the defeat of the brave, but also in the land of the innocent that will fall. On the other hand, you could try Dr. Pepper.

Dear Dr. Stinky, My girlfriend is pregnant. If I open up her belly, will I find the magic caramel inside?

Dear Sir or Madam, Not only will you find the magic caramel, you may even open another dimension. Though you may see blood, guts, and an unborn fetus, I assure you that if you dig long enough, you will go through a tunnel and find a completely different universe. You may also find the strength that was in you all along.

Dear Dr. Stinky, On your third album, “Stronger Than Gandhi,” there are some lyrics that confuse me in your song, “I Lick Tricycle Oil.” What do you mean by, “The time is coming when mankind will see the mistake of the Master Creator?”

Dear Sir or Madam, In that particular song, I’m writing about my inability to find the right doughnut, and the mental anguish that goes along with it. Are there too many sprinkles? I don’t know. Is there too much jelly in the middle? Only a pervert could tell. As my thoughts on this continued, I began to wonder why society holds farmers to certain standards while John Stamos runs free in the streets. The Canadian Government is involved in a massive conspiracy, you know this.  What you don’t know is how many doughnuts they withhold from you per year at the expense of the farmers.  If you don’t know that John Stamos is the Prime Minister of Canada by now, open up your eyes and grab your guns.  I also have a raging fear of Automatic Teller Machines.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Is Rhode Island a figment of my imagination?

Dear Sir or Madam, There are many schools of thought on this subject, but unfortunately, I am not a school of thought.  Instead, I am a free fish that likes to visit my friends at the aquarium.  People try to tell me that I am actually a wolf and that I must wear clothing and that I must not “stick that there,” but the sooner you realize that I am a fish seeking drugs, and possibly happiness, the sooner you will know the pain I feel every day from carrying your children.

(Dr. Stinky does not have the Ebola virus, but he knows where you can get some.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, Am I a bean sprout?

Dear Sir or Madam, Just because you ski down the sides of wild elephants, you are not a bean sprout.  If you were oxygen-based and soy-related, I would give you some drugs and beat you like an oriental car waxer. Long live King Boston Stalin and the rest of the Stalinists!

Dear Dr. Stinky, Is there any truth to the rumor that you will be on the new Survivor?

Dear Sir or Madam, If you were Jewish, I would be on the new Survivor.  Unfortunately, you are not Jewish, and for this reason, I will grind you up in my giant blender, which happens to have 12 recipes for Pina Coladas, and I will serve your precious juices to the Bushmen of Indonesia, or failing that, President George W. Bush. Later, I will be the weatherman for KWAK in Boise, Idaho in order to fulfill the 12th prophecy of Nostradamus. Failure in this matter will lead to the execution of a Haitian midget.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Are you having sex with my 15-year-old sister?

Dear Sir or Madam,
We could sit here and talk about legality all day long, and the only thing we would get is a giant wedgie.  The age of consent in 60 of our 359 states is 12, which to me is like 5 minutes out of the womb.  The fact is, I am having sex with your sister, your mother, her three other sisters, your father’s stepmother, and your dog Sophie.  In spite of this, I consider the nuclear warheads that Santa Claus is building in the North Pole to be a far more important issue.  If we are to stop the “Big Brother”-like reign of terror under which Santa Claus keeps us, we must burn down the North Pole and steal a few penguins from the South Pole in order to keep heating costs down.  In conclusion, I recommend the mass murder of several thousand elves in order to strike back at capitalism.  The future is now, and the underground must remain strong.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Are you inhaling Styrofoam again?

Dear Sir or Madam, I have inhaled many things in my lifetime.glue, paint, oil, George Washington.but I deny now, and I will continue to deny the fact that I have ever inhaled Styrofoam.  And it’s not like you should judge me for inhaling Styrofoam either! Would you be able to resist its allure? It sits there in the corner, all alone, just like some seductive Nigerian woman.  It calls to you, saying, “Sniff me, feel me, enlighten yourself in my angry bladder oil, which is a result of my silken femininity!” Are you so strong ? Could you honestly stand before me and say that you’ve never been to the edge of your own sanity while fantasizing about Barbra Streisand? I know that I snore, and it is for that reason that I find the love inside me to bake cookies at 8 in the morning.

(Dr. Stinky is not arranging the mass execution of several million ducks. Stop being so nosy.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, They stopped selling my favorite beer. This has left me feeling very self-conscious and alone. What can I do to eliminate these feelings?

Dear Sir or Madam, Normally, I would suggest that you freely indulge in sadomasochism, which is a fine substitute and result of beer, but I’m feeling saucy today. Instead, I encourage you to walk across hot coals, smack yourself on the buttocks, and then cover yourself in motor oil while singing the Carpenters’ “Close to You.” If nothing else, this should make you feel like a zebra, and they’re pretty happy creatures, right?

Dear Dr. Stinky, I do not believe that we should go to war, but President Bush keeps pushing that on his agenda. What can I do to make my opinion heard?

Dear Sir or Madam, Let’s get down to the real problem here. You’re upset because George keeps hogging all the covers at night.  Perhaps, the gun he sleeps with keeps going off as well. I should know, as I’ve been shot a couple times myself, and I lost three gerbils last year alone because of this. If I were in your place, I would freeze my body after I die so that I could re-emerge in the year 3020 to take over the powerful machines that already have enslaved us.  Embrace your captors or more blood will be shed.

Dear Dr. Stinky, I married “Harold” a month ago. We are quite happy, but lately he keeps saying things like, “Damn, your sister is hot,” and, “What do you think about politics?” Should I be concerned about this behavior?

Dear Sir or Madam, Harold is trying to express his deepest inner feelings to you, and he expects you to cook him a hamburger while you listen. When he says that your sister is hot, it means he wants to sleep with your mother, but that he’s already slept with your father. When he asks your opinion about politics, it means that a powerful kangaroo has just kicked him in the balls, and a pastrami sandwich would make him feel better. You need to look beyond the surface to see what Harold is really saying, but I suggest that you become Jewish so that I can legally harass you.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Should I take daddy’s gun and play with it in the street?

Dear Sir or Madam,
You may think you are playing, but this is no time to be playing games. Each car that passes you in the street is actually an alien bent on eating the world’s supply of ice cream. You must shoot at every passerby!  The world’s fate depends on it! Afterwards, if mommy wants to touch you in all the wrong places while daddy gets the videocamera, smile! This means you succeeded. Godspeed young one!

(Dr. Stinky is a certified license-plate maker from the Ohio State University)

Dear Dr. Stinky, My husband left me and took my kids.  He also cleaned out my bank account and de-virginized my cat. Is there any legal recourse I can take against him?

Dear Sir or Madam, Your husband is in violation of the Jack-in-the-box Laws of Central Prussia, which state that any caterpillar that steals the belongings or children of a lemur is to face penalty of death upon return to the dark fortress at Newburg.  If, however, you are not a lemur and your husband is not a caterpillar, then I shall dance in the wicked waters of Lake Erie to celebrate the de-virginization of your cat, and I shall barbecue you a pig for compensation.  As for your children, I shall make them one with the Nazi Party, and your husband shall bark like a dog at the command of the head of Adolf Hitler.  In the meantime, the rhinoceros will seize power, and he will subject the population to constant reruns of the Molly Ringwald movie, “Pretty in Pink.”

Dear Dr. Stinky, Let me be the first to call for the destruction of the Christian Science religion.  Can I count on your support in my most current endeavor?

Dear Sir or Madam, While I fully support the destruction of the Christian Science religion, I am enraged by your failure to do anything about the Mennonites, the Lennonites, the Leninites, the Stalinites, and the dog that barks outside my window at night. If you are to achieve your goal of world domination, the road runs through Yankee Stadium, as well as the urine on the streets of New York.  I will not support you in your endeavor, but I will make you a very nice hot dog because that’s what Babe Ruth would’ve wanted.  Your batting average needs to pick up though, if you are to defeat the Yankees of today. You want a playoff spot? Slugger, you better start looking in the minors for talent, because your team is short on it. Speaking of short, I screwed your girlfriend the other night. AND THERE WILL BE NO MUSTARD ON THAT HOT DOG!

Dear Dr. Stinky, Ever since my stepmom died, I’ve had the urge to break things against my wall. I feel like I’m losing control. Can you help me?

Dear Sir or Madam, I need a friend to help me renovate my house, and I think I will choose Minnie Mouse. I like her sundress and how it flaps wildly in the breeze. I like the thongs she wears for me. If you ever felt that thing, you’d know that Minnie has a really nice ass.  Sometimes, when the lights go down at night, we like to spoon in each others arms, conscious of the fact that we love each other so much, and that Mickey won’t be home for another 3 hours. When she divorces Mickey, I’ll certainly own the Anaheim Mighty Ducks, and I think I’ll chop up Goofy and sell him to the Chinese.  He shouldn’t have been walking on two feet anyways, if he’s a dog. So, to answer your question, yes I use deodorant, but I don’t use condoms to shave my skin bare at night. That is a task I leave to my followers.  Embrace your freedom!

Dear Dr. Stinky, Is there a labor crisis in America today?

Dear Sir or Madam, If, by crisis, you mean a string of dynamite-related arsons in my neighborhood, then yes, I am a Communist.  Am I responsible for the explosions? That is for a vengeful Buddha to decide.  Pray for peace between the ducks and the snakes though. Their conflict has had many bitter casualties, but the violence will not end until Rush Limbaugh is dead. I will now smoke my waterbed and sacrifice another machine to Groucho Marx to prove to you that my intentions are banal, if not capricious.

(Dr. Stinky is planning to tie you up and blindfold you, but you won’t know when until it’s too late.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, My girlfriend tied me to a chair, shaved my head, and has persistently beaten me for 5 weeks straight. Is she in love with me?

Dear Sir or Madam, Your girlfriend is merely testing the waters of your relationship. She wants to know important questions about you, including where you came from, what you do in mosh pits, and who your favorite talk-show host is. By regularly beating you, she is trying to find the real love that she knows exists between you, her, and several HIV-infected camels. Continue to allow the beatings, and don’t retaliate when she sticks a piece of spam into your neck.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Should I be concerned about global warming?

Dear Sir or Madam, I am currently drilling a giant hole to let all of the delicious caramel and milk chocolate out of the Earth. As a result, the Earth will collapse onto itself and float gently into the giant furnace that we call the sun. So if I were you, I’d kill a bunny while you have time.

Dear Dr. Stinky, My mom says that if I pick at my eyeball enough, it’ll fall out. Is this true?

Dear Sir or Madam, Of course not. You see, the human body is made up of silly putty. When you pick at a piece of flesh, or a specific body organ, it will only stretch and contort into weird shapes and sizes! Your eyeball actually can be plucked out in case of a lost golf ball. You can also cook your eye in stew, eat it for dinner, and it’ll return to the exact same spot by evening! I happen to be an expert on the subject, and I can tell you that I had hours of fun not only creating Japanese people, but also putting them back together after I dropped the atomic bombs on them!

Dear Dr. Stinky, Can you hear me now?

Dear Sir or Madam, Unfortunately, I cannot hear you because I lost my ears in a tragic farm tractor accident back in 1976, the year I also won the International Disco Championships. However, recently I have noticed that my ears seem to be regenerating just outside of my sexual organs. I think that’s what I get for living inside of a nuclear cooling tower for 11 years. In any case, I am grateful for any regeneration, although during sex, I now inexplicably make airplane noises.

(Dr. Stinky is a distinguished professor in the field of Sloppy Joe Making at Northern Illinois University.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, I’m in Australia and it’s February, but it’s not cold, it’s hot! What’s going on?

Dear Sir or Madam, The problem is easily identifiable. Oprah Winfrey has attempted to light one of her farts again, and the resulting conflagration of Methane Gas has settled over the skies of Australia. In the meantime, I suggest you sacrifice your child for the good of the dingoes, swim amongst the Tiger Sharks near Sydney, and plan to be on Oprah’s next show, entitled “Dr. Phil is actually a lesbian porn star!”

Dear Dr. Stinky, Are you training a giant army of sloths to take over the world?

Dear Sir or Madam, I’ve received a lot of letters about this, so I think it’s about time I address this issue. First of all, they are lemurs, not sloths. Second of all, just because I tie rocket packs to their backs, and just because they “happened” to run into a few skyscrapers while COINCIDENTALLY carrying bombs, it doesn’t mean that I’m planning to take over the world. I only want a couple cities, and trust me, Philadelphia is due to surrender within the next 5 months. I am sorry about how the one took a crap on your lawn though. I thought he went before takeoff.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Are you a licensed veterinarian?

Dear Sir or Madam, Yes, I am a licensed veterinarian. And for the last time, your dog WAS a hermaphrodite to begin with, and his eyes ARE supposed to be on his feet.

Dear Dr. Stinky, What is your favorite sexual position?

Dear Sir or Madam, I’d have to say that my favorite position is watching behind a closet door while the disembodied head of former president William Howard Taft gives cunnilingus to my several concubines.or you. It depends on what kind of mood I’m in.

(Dr. Stinky is not hiding Iraqi biological weapons. He would never hide weapons for infidels.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, In your opinion, who is the greatest athlete in the world?

Dear Sir or Madam, After deep consultation with Emmitt Smith, Yanni, and a very dark Kodiak Bear, I have decided that I am a leopard who is allowed to run wild and free in a meadow of African-American strawberries. Then I decided that it’s Wayne Gretzky. Let the debating begin!

Dear Dr. Stinky, Wanna go to Vegas with me tomorrow?

Dear Sir or Madam, I would gladly go to Vegas with you, if I hadn’t been banned from the city for 10 years. It all started with a slight misunderstanding between me, a seeing-eye dog, and the disembodied head of Princess Diana, and it somehow ended with the death of an Elvis impersonator. You are more than welcome to go to Vegas by yourself though, and just remember that everything you hear will be unadulterated lies. Except for the story involving the drowned hooker filled with mustard. I CAN EXPLAIN THAT!

Dear Dr. Stinky, My puppy’s ugly. What should I do?

Dear Sir or Madam, Well, you could bathe it in lemon juice, spin around 3 times while holding it in your arms, and feed it a diet of horse meat and baseballs for five days, and that might make it a little less ugly. Or you could also become an alcoholic and your puppy would look a little less ugly to you. But it doesn’t really matter because I am kidnapping your puppy in four days and will use it to make a new VCR for my den.

Dear Dr. Stinky, My belly button is turning colors!

Dear Sir or Madam, So? My feet are in a conspiracy to have me shot in a Home Depot, but you don’t see me bragging about it.

(Dr. Stinky is a lost little boy in a big scary world. Never fear though, Mr. Rogers will save him. What? Mr. Rogers is dead? How the hell did that happen? Cancer? Who gave him cancer? How do you know that’s not how it’s spread?! Aw shit. Dr. Stinky is ALONE! DESPERATELY ALONE! WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!)

Dear Dr. Stinky, Did Thomas Jefferson have sexual relations with his slaves?

Dear Sir or Madam, To answer this question, I came to Thomas Jefferson’s house, Monticello, to ask him myself. Imagine my shock finding out that he was dead. I quickly regrouped and burned down the University of Virginia in my anger. I hear they still have a good basketball team though. In any case, yes, Thomas Jefferson had sex with his slaves, his dog, George Washington, Martha Washington, and several Federalist midgets, but more importantly, I had sex with your mom last night, and she enjoyed sucking all of the man juices out of me.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Why is the planet Jupiter so big?

Dear Sir or Madam, Jupiter is on its period for the next 54 million years, and it would appreciate you not pointing out how bloated it is, since it already feels that way YOU INSENSITIVE PIG!!!!!

Dear Dr. Stinky, Should I buy a new hat?

Dear Sir or Madam, After consultation with my beloved duck, we made passionate love for 3 hours, then we watched porn for 5 more hours. After this, we argued over how many children we wanted, how I always leave the cap off the toothpaste, and how I’ve got to stop my habit of chewing tobacco. Then, our hearts broken, we went our separate ways, even though I shall never forget her. Oh yeah, and we decided that if you buy a new hat, you’ve already let the terrorists win.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Is my email trying to eat me?

Dear Sir or Madam, I understand your worry. Yesterday, your email tried to bite your arm off. Two days ago, it was smearing ketchup on your face. Three days ago, it was talking about how delicious you would go with a side of mashed potatoes and a nice glass of champagne. Four days ago, your family disappeared and a strange mystery meat was served for dinner. I assure you that this is quite normal though, or at least that’s what my hard drive says. In the end, even though I’ll probably miss my feet, and though I would’ve liked to have tasted them myself, I think it’s best to let the machines do what they want. Perhaps if we do this, there will be a special place for us in the “new regime.”

(Dr. Stinky fiercely loyal super worker from lands of wind and dark water! Katsui!!!!!)

Dear Dr. Stinky, Jigga What?

Dear Sir or Madam, Jigga in da hizzouse nephew, yeah, all up in the sack ‘cuz I’m smokin’ the crack, get along wit da hos ’cause they lickin’ my toes nephew. Jigga is a playa foo!

Dear Dr. Stinky, I have a little brother who has been having nightmares every night for a week now. Last night he screamed out your name. What is with that?

Dear Sir or Madam, If you’re asking me this, it’s because your mother hasn’t told you. She sold your brother to me when he was a baby, and I raised the infant as if he were my own. By this, I mean that I put him through horrifying experiments involving scorpions, rats, hydrochloric acid, and tarantulas. Yes, I suppose he was “tortured” for the last 6 years, but thanks to his endurance, cubicle-bound office workers will, on average, live 3 years longer than normal because of the endless entertainment they will receive from all of the video footage I recorded. I also rented them a stripper. In conclusion, your brother screamed out my name because he knows I am coming for him once more, and this time he may not live. But you hang in there!

Dear Dr. Stinky, So…Who’s in my chair?

Dear Sir or Madam, The person in your chair is none other than Alexander Graham Bell, inventor of the telephone. I was intrigued as to what this world-renowned inventor was doing sitting in your chair, so I asked him. He replied, “I have just wet my pants and I am too embarrassed to get up.” Then I watched as Watson walked in with an ax and proceeded to chop off his head and make a mask out of the late Dr. Bell’s facial tissue. So to answer your question, the person in your chair is Watson, who now looks “pretty.” Or at least you had better tell him so.

Dear Dr. Stinky, I work at a Food Town that is closing at the end of the month. Where should I work after I lose my job?

Dear Sir or Madam, After consulting with a Canadian hockey player, a fierce-smelling moose, David Copperfield, Sigfried (but not Roy), and the voice in my head that tells me to sodomize small animals, I have decided that I am a tax form from the year 1975, filled out by one Daniel Smurniff of Oshkosh, Wisconsin, and I am also very stale, yet beautiful. Oh yeah, and we decided that you should give up work and become a nose hair in the nose of the President of the Independent Republic of Turkmenistan to achieve inner peace.

(Dr. Stinky is a sex detective from the University of the Reverse Cowboy in Wichita Falls, Texas.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, Why is SpongeBob SquarePants funny?

Dear Sir or Madam, SpongeBob SquarePants is not funny. Your dog is simply licking your private parts again, which is causing you to giggle uncontrollably at the same time that SpongeBob happens to be on. You must be having fun though, if your dog licks you in the same way it licks me. For increased enjoyment, try spreading peanut butter down there.

Dear Dr. Stinky, I’m thinking of a number between 1 and a billion. What is it?

Dear Sir or Madam, For the 98th time, W is NOT A NUMBER!

Dear Dr. Stinky, What am I thinking right now?

Dear Sir or Madam, Although it would be imprudent to reveal precisely what you are thinking right now, I am obliged to tell you that my mother is NOT that flexible…but I am.

Dear Dr. Stinky, How about now?

Dear Sir or Madam, Right now you are thinking about whether or not you should let the little girl go. You know, the one you have tied up in your closet. Her parents probably miss her, and sooner or later, the police will probably figure out that the babysitter isn’t responsible. But look at her there. She’s naked and she can’t do anything about it. It’d be a shame to send her back, all traumatized now. And now, you’re thinking of how deep of a hole you’ll have to dig, what method of execution you’ll have to use…oh wait, these are my thoughts. Did I just type that? Oh FUCK!

(Dr. Stinky is on the run from the law, but he’s not in Libya, so stop looking there.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, Who invented duct tape and why isn’t his or her name a household name by now?

Dear Sir or Madam, The man who invented duct tape was soon bound by his own invention and later shot to death by a band of militant ducks who were claiming ‘jihad’ for the desecration of their holy name. All the ducks wanted was a ransom of two bags of Cheetos, but unfortunately, two bags of Cheetos are hard to put down. (Note: Editor’s FBI file has grown for mentioning the word ‘jihad’ in a public email.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, Do these pants make me look fat?

Dear Sir or Madam, Yes, those pants do make you look fat. Perhaps you should stop carrying around your 20 kittens in your pants, and then you would look less fat. Also, people would stop thinking that YOU made that mess near your butt.

Dear Dr. Stinky, My girlfriend dumped me after four years. Do you think I should call her and beg her to take me back?

Dear Sir or Madam, Well, if you had any pride you’d stay off the phone. Unfortunately, a clown just defecated on the hood of your car, ending what was left of your pride, so I’d say that you should slap a piece of meat on your naked body and jump into the cage of a starving tiger. Or you could try skeet-shooting. It’s making a comeback.

Dear Dr. Stinky, How could Walter’s team win if the best player was not playing?

Dear Sir or Madam, After consulting with a Skee-Ball Machine, Super Mario, a pair of hedge trimmers, and a very drunk Don Knotts, I decided that I am a lovely St. John’s Wort floating on the River Styx while Guns ‘N’ Roses plays “Sweet Child of Mine” in the background, when all the while, Julia Child tries to drill all of the love napkins out of my delicious head. Oh, and Walter’s team won because Walter’s mommy was sleeping with your team’s coach and she gave good head for him to take a dive.

(Dr. Stinky urinates in dead pigs, I swear it.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, I don’t find clouds funny anymore. Is something wrong with me?

Dear Sir or Madam, There is nothing mentally wrong with you, but I do suggest that you find some way to make the clouds funny sometime soon. That mean-looking cumulonimbus over your right shoulder is holding a gun to your bunny’s head and he looks like he means business. You don’t want him to be unhappy do you? Because if the cloud is not happy, your bunny, “Mr. Freckles,” will be very unhappy. And nobody wants that, except possibly the French.

Dear Dr. Stinky, I think my fingernails are trying to kill me. Any advice?

Dear Sir or Madam, I know that your fingernails are trying to kill you because I told them to do so. I realize that this is a harsh punishment, but you must understand that I nearly choked to death recently on a nugget of my own poop. This led me to realize how much I like girls in thongs, which led me to believe that you must be killed to fulfill the prophecy of the ancients. So in conclusion, shit tastes bad.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Where do you want to go today?

Dear Sir or Madam, I’d very much like to go to the store to hide from the Russians, but I believe that I will go to the synagogue to harass some Jews instead. Then, I’m going to overtake Germany by cutting off people’s heads with a giant, sharpened hockey stick. And then maybe I’ll have milkshake.

Dear Dr. Stinky, It’s 11:31 P.M. Do you know where your children are?

Dear Sir or Madam, They’d better still be suffocating under the dead cows I threw on them. Speaking of time, I think I’d better flee in a large white Bronco much in the manner of my hero, Odysseus.

(Dr. Stinky is shamelessly flirting with your mother because she’s so much hotter than you.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, My wife’s corpse was recently found floating in a river in which I have frequently been known to fish. Looks like the evidence points to me. Any advice?

Dear Sir or Madam, If I were you, and in my past life I was, I would build a snow fort and challenge all law enforcement and judiciary officials to a winner-takes-all snowball fight. If you win, you will not only win your freedom, but also, thanks to confusing international laws, the kingdom of Denmark. You might also win the corpse, which you should proceed to make sweet, sweet love to, so as to not upset the gods.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Did you steal my stereo?

Dear Sir or Madam,
I have stolen lots of things in my lifetime: The Empire State Building, candy from a baby, the head of John Malkovich, Prussia….but I insist that I did not steal your stereo, I just merely borrowed it to crush your precious little puppy’s skull. My reasoning? It told me I looked like a hippopotamus. Or maybe that was my Venus Flytrap. Nonetheless, I’ll have your
stereo back by November, when my violent streak ends.

Dear Dr. Stinky, For some reason, my baseball team can’t win games. Is there something I’m doing wrong as manager?

Dear Sir or Madam, Besides the fact that you are coaching a bunch of Swedes who live in the arctic, and besides the fact that you don’t speak their language, and besides the fact that they have no respect from you because you refuse to join their circle of nudity, and besides the fact that you killed their beloved village chief and ate his heart BEFORE smashing his car windows, I can think of absolutely nothing you’re doing wrong. Except that you need a new hitting coach.

Dear Dr. Stinky, The Easter Bunny is tearing down my house with a chainsaw. Anything I can do to stop him?

Dear Sir or Madam, After kicking back a six pack of Absolut Vodka, there isn’t much that can be done to stop the Easter Bunny. I know what you’re thinking…Absolut doesn’t come in six-packs…which is true. He just buys six bottles and downs them all within a 2 hour time period. Now you see what happened the day that little Timmy disappeared and was found three days later in the family water heater. Now you know why mommy was found lying naked, face-down on the kitchen table with “I’m the prettiest!” carved into her back. Now you know why Daddy shakes uncontrollably every time he sees carrots. Get your gun little one, it’s going to be a long holiday.

(Dr. Stinky is trying to saw his knee off again, so it’d be best if you don’t disturb him.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, I’m a man and I think I’m growing breasts. What will stop these abnormal growths?

Dear Sir or Madam, I would like to take this time to remind you that your breasts are in your chest area, and that they are not the things you sit upon. Furthermore, your breasts, or ass, in your case, are not growing. You have merely sat upon your new baby brother and you have not only killed him, but due to his resulting vomit, he is now forever stuck to your ass. Your mother may or may not understand, but in either case, I say you should buy bigger pants.

Dear Dr. Stinky, My hamster keeps running in his creaky wheel at night and I can’t get any sleep! Is there anything I can do?

Dear Sir or Madam, Two words: Hamster pizza. Now, I know what you’re thinking. How could I suggest something so barbaric? Well, let me tell you that your question doesn’t matter, as I have already cooked your hamster, your cell phone, and all of your rolls of toilet paper into a pizza, and I thought it tasted very good. Except now every time I burp, my stomach plays “Onward Christian Soldiers.”

Dear Dr. Stinky, At what age do you think that I should let my son start dating?

Dear Sir or Madam, This is an issue you shouldn’t have to deal with. Instead of letting your son start dating, throw him into a gigantic meat grinder and serve his remains to your several dogs. After all, who needs a son when you could have a malicious army of wild dogs who salivate over human flesh? Only you can make this choice for world domination.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Am I supposed to be this attracted to my sister?

Dear Sir or Madam, You really shouldn’t be that attracted to your sister, but since I bought you and your sister legitimately as slaves from Bangladesh, you will continue to do exactly as I say until you are dead. If an attraction develops, so be it, but it may result in your sister losing her food privileges for the week. In the meantime, think of your motivation for the next scene in which you shit upon her chest.

(Dr. Stinky is still rocking in the free world, despite what Gorbachev told him.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, How do clouds form?

Dear Sir or Madam, Every cloud that you see in the sky is formed by the giant, continuous fire that I have burning in my backyard, a fire in which roughly 10,000,000 baby chickens are killed each day because I need kindling. Ha ha! I’m just kidding. I actually use stray kittens.

Dear Dr. Stinky, My testicles have disappeared! Where did they go?

Dear Sir or Madam, Well, let’s see here. If this is Frank in New Jersey, I told you that you should’ve paid off your gambling debts. If this is Tony in Boston, I told you that those chains wouldn’t hold your wife to the wall. If this is Danny in Detroit, I told you that you should’ve married my daughter. And if this is anyone else, that’s just funny.

Dear Dr. Stinky, What color should I paint my bedroom?

Dear Sir or Madam, You shall paint your room in the blood of a virgin at the next full moon. The unholy alter at which master Satan shall sit will be colored with the ashes of the remains of the unbelievers. The time for redemption is coming, and this time, we shall not lose the battle. Or you could paint it green.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Do you like pancakes?

Dear Sir or Madam, After considerable consultation with Don Knotts, a frying pan made without Teflon, the remains of Charlie Chaplin, and a Bengal Tiger that hadn’t eaten in five days, I have decided that I am a delightful marker floating in the south Pacific Ocean towards an island filled with inhabitants that will worship me as a god and feed me their blood as a frosted dairy dessert. Oh, and I’m more of a fan of waffles.

(Dr. Stinky hates you for your outlook on the war in Vietnam.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, Ever since that “bad touch” you gave me, I’ve had these peculiar cold sores. How can I make them go away?

Dear Sir or Madam, Unfortunately, we had a little too much to drink that night, and I used you to indulge in my bizarre fire ant fetish. Those cold sores are actually fire ant bites, and if all is going as planned, they are starting a colony in your womb, which is just as good as a baby, if your mother asks. Unfortunately, like having a baby, the fire ants will eat your digestive system and leave you a paralyzed, bleeding mass on the floor, but sometimes love is difficult.

Dear Dr. Stinky, I tried the remedy you suggested a few months ago, but now I have a problem. The hamster’s up my ass, but now it randomly bites me! I’m jumping around in public! People are staring! What do I do?

Dear Sir or Madam, Well, since snakes are natural predators of hamsters, I would advise you to stick a snake up your butt to eat the hamster. Of course, you’ll then have a snake up your butt, but that’s ok, as you can just stick a giant hawk up your butt, as giant hawks prey on snakes. Of course, your torso will explode soon after this, but in any case, I, along with several midgets, will be thoroughly entertained.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Is it possible for our love to work, even if I’m a giraffe?

Dear Sir or Madam, The fact that you’re a giraffe has nothing to do with it. You two have nothing in common. You belong to the Moogu herd of South Africa, she belongs to the Igbo tribe. You like the ocean, she likes molesting virgins. You like flowers, she likes setting fire to village huts. Face it, your love wasn’t meant to be, and even if it was, it doesn’t matter because she’s being sacrificed to a very horny volcano tomorrow, and by “very horny volcano,” I mean Rosie O’Donnell’s dinner plate.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Sometimes at night, I hear music outside my window. I’m afraid to look out because I could be stuck in a John Cusack movie, and that really frightens me. Any suggestions?

Dear Sir or Madam, The thought of being in a John Cusack movie frightens all of us, believe me. However, I’m having John Cusack killed tomorrow in what will be a massive, staged drug deal gone wrong. If the music continues after tomorrow, it means that my alternate dimension, in which John Cusack never dies, is working. Now if I could only create a dimesion in which Lucy Lawless is always rubbing my testicles.

(Dr. Stinky is a giant tube of herbicidal ointment. Cosmic, dude.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, I have gum in my hair. What can I do to get it out?

Dear Sir or Madam, What about what the gum wants? As we speak, the gum is nesting in your scalp and penetrating down to your brain. Sure, you may ask what right the gum has to do this, but what do you know about the troubles that the gum has seen? Did you know that the gum lost its aunt in a tragic train-plane-cow accident? Did you know that the gum lost several children to a Hitler-like hamster bent on world domination? Did you know that the gum has dropped in sales each year thanks to its flavor, bacon relish? Of course not, you insensitive jerk. If you had an ounce of dignity in you, you’d let that gum settle in your hair, raise what’s left of its family, and start the apartment building that it has always wanted. Even though your brain will soon be a giant lump of bacon relish gum thanks to the “morphing” process, you will find yourself a better human being for it.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Does alcohol really kill brain cells?

Dear Sir or Madam, Well, although alcohol is slowly killing my liver, my psychological stability, and my marriage of 50 years, I doubt it is killing my brain cells. I’ve drank a bottle of wine every day for the last 35 years, and I still feel as mentally capable as any other human
being. Hey, I wonder how the inside of a cow tastes after being cooked by an atom bomb. Well, I better climb in and find out.

Dear Dr. Stinky, What have you done to solve the problems of gang violence in this country?

Dear Sir or Madam, I’m very glad you asked. Today’s prominent gangs, foremost among them being the Bloods and the Crips, are disappearing from today’s streets. I feel very strongly that something must be done to put them back on the streets. As of today, I have donated over 4000 cans of spray paint to both the Bloods and the Crips. In addition, I have supplied $50,000 worth of guns and ammo, $10,000 worth of knives and other sharp weapons, and $5000 each worth of incendiary devices. Soon, our city’s streets will be back to normal in no time, and with any luck, today’s gangs will be invading suburbs and country roads in no time. To increase this movement towards the country, I have supplied helpless Amish people to serve as target practice for all the bruthas, so they get a taste for their blood. This will also hopefully slow the rise in Amish violence that we have seen in recent years, so essentially we’re solving three problems with one bird!

Dear Dr. Stinky, Do you judge me by the color of my skin?

Dear Sir or Madam, After careful consultation with a calendar with pictures of fish on it, half of the Partridge Family, a 1000-dollar television set, Andy, but not Amos, and a very angry lemur, I have decided that I am a wonderful excuse for a piece of cheese that belongs on a sandwich made by Mother Teresa shortly before she died. Oh, and I do judge you by the color of your skin, you worthless piece Latino garbage. Why don’t you go back to Mexico?

(Dr. Stinky may or may not have smothered your little brother, but the point is you never had a little brother.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, Daddy hasn’t eaten since Mommy left him. What’s going to happen to Daddy?

Dear Sir or Madam, Well, in a few days a pack of hungry wolves will undoubtedly devour Daddy and you will be forced to either fight your way into the pack’s respect, or face the same fate as daddy. Ha ha! I’m only kidding. You’ll actually be hunted by a pack of hungry bears.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Should I trust the hobbit or shall I take the precious?

Dear Sir or Madam, Personally, I wouldn’t trust the hobbit. Maybe this is due to the fact that I once walked in on a hobbit having sex with my mother and my immediate reaction was to tell my father. My father then set the hobbit on fire, and then we all had hobbit for dinner. It tasted kind of like mud, and we never talked about it again, but in the end I think we grew as a family.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Should I burn Seattle to the ground?

Dear Sir or Madam, I would try to burn Ottawa, Ontario, Canada to the ground first, mainly because the city had no right to emerge in the first place, but if you’d like to burn down Seattle, fine. This time though, make sure you do it right. We don’t want to have another “Agent X” situation. How does a man blow himself up with a leaf blower anyways?

Dear Dr. Stinky, What is the best way to die?

Dear Sir or Madam, Well, once I killed a man in a giant vat of chocolate milk and he seemed pretty happy when he died from the drowning. But if you’re talking about dignity, I can think of no better way to go then falling from a burning airplane to be impaled on a cactus outside of Scottsdale, Arizona. My Uncle Benny went that way, which was good of him, because his death allowed me to get into my Aunt Diane’s pants. I just wish our babies weren’t so damned cross-eyed.

(Dr. Stinky thinks he is a giant waffle, but only this giant waffle iron will tell him for sure.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, The government in my country is soon to be overthrown. What can I do to ascend to power?

Dear Sir or Madam, Normally I would suggest a bloodless coup, but since I am not normal, I would suggest setting a pack of wild badgers loose in the parliament building, allowing them to take care of all the loose ends. Also, make sure you have a band of loyal, trustworthy friends who will help secure your place in office. Then, have them boiled in oil.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Is it true that you’re going to be in the new Terminator movie?

Dear Sir or Madam, Yes, the rumors you have heard are true. I have a small part in the new Terminator movie, and by small part, I mean I play the part of the vagina on the new female terminator. It’s really cool because the vagina is actually a vegetable slicer. For most of the filming, I was cutting up tomatoes and eating them.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Are you cooler than Fonzie?

Dear Sir or Madam, According to the American Film Institute, who makes more “Best of” lists than any basic organization should, I am not cooler than Fonzie. Of course, much of my lower rating has to do with Henry Winkler not speaking out about all the hideous animal experiments and sadistic sex trysts that I hold in my basement, and by basement, I mean my wife’s bedroom.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Wasn’t that Tigers-Yankees game this past Sunday the best you’ve ever seen?

Dear Sir or Madam, No, the best baseball game I’ve ever seen was that one in Yankee Stadium where the Mafia took out David Wells from the top row. Who’d have thought that you could get that kind of gun into Yankee Stadium, and…what? What do you mean they haven’t done it yet?…But they said…but I just revealed…they’ll kill me! Oh crap. I guess it’s back to Cambodia with me. Man, and I just got over Malaria.

(Dr. Stinky may be white, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s still on top of your mom.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, I’m here in the condiments aisle and I am torn between the Catsup and the Ketchup. What do you recommend?

Dear Sir or Madam, Long ago, the Catsup’s ancestors were forced out of Bulgaria by the Ketchup invaders. The Catsup people were then dispersed throughout all places on the Earth and even enslaved in Egypt. Later, they escaped and flourished throughout the Earth. Unfortunately, they continued to face persecution and many of them died in large-scale tomato-murdering facilities started by evil men named “Heinz” and “Spartan Foods.” The Catsup people still fight for their independence today in their new-forming nation, and for no other reason than this one alone should you by Catsup. Do not give the Ketchup people the money they do not deserve! It is blood money, plain and simple.

Dear Dr. Stinky, You just made that whole Catsup story out of the story of the Jews, didn’t you?

Dear Sir or Madam, Look pal, don’t peddle your anti-Catsite crap in here. This is a non-partisan forum meant for those who support and fully appreciate my far-reaching, inexplicably extreme revolutionary views which will one day gain enough followers to overthrow the governments of Turkey, China, and possibly Trinidad, but not Tobago. Are you against Mustard too? Or relish? Or my uncle Jerry? Well he supported you in ‘Nam, even though he still won’t make you a hamburger. Nor will I now, but you just know that you had your chance.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Should I cook the rice or the potatoes?

Dear Sir or Madam, If you played God and genetically mutated potatoes to grow rice inside their skins like I did, you wouldn’t have this problem, now would you?

Dear Dr. Stinky, I accidentally swallowed my gum today when I was chewing it. My mom says that it will stay inside me for seven years. So does that mean if I do sit-ups in gym class that I’ll turn into a huge gumball and they’ll use me for a dodgeball?

Dear Sir or Madam, Of course that’s what it means. And you’d better do those situps fast too because Tommy threw one of our dodgeballs on the roof and Ms. Caratelli refuses to get it down. And anyways, I’m trying to hit Suzy Bauer. I think she has a thing for me.

(Dr. Stinky tied his own shoelaces today. The Special Teacher says you should clap for him or he’ll go and shoot everyone.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, I hear that having a couple drinks a day will keep the doctor away, but every time I drink, I regain consciousness in the ER with 5 doctors not very far away at all. How come?

Dear Sir or Madam, Are you kidding? Have you seen yourself when you drink? Doctors gather around you to place bets about how long it’ll be until you strip the nurses naked again. And that mud wrestling match you held after the 5-kegger a few weeks ago? Sweet! Now, what you don’t know is that the doctors wheel you into the ER because it’s so damn funny, especially when you wake up and Dr. Jones uses that giant drill he has. Of course, that pain in your chest goes away in a few days.

Dear Dr. Stinky, I asked my friend’s mom if I could borrow $50. She immediately got on the phone, and called this guy named “Rocco.” 10 minutes later, her beeper went off and she excused herself to the other room to make another phone call. 20 minutes later, this very large man came to the front door and asked for her. The two of them went upstairs, and 20 minutes later the man left, and my friend’s mom gave me $50. So, I guess my question is, do you know which president’s face is on the $50 bill?

Dear Sir or Madam, The face of Ulysses S. Grant appears on the front of the $50 bill, but it also appears in my dreams, where it tortures me every night with the “Machine.” I wouldn’t mind it if the elves didn’t’ tickle me so much, nor would I mind it if former President Grant would let the elves live at the end of the night instead of making them jump into the lava. He says it’s for the betterment of mankind, so I guess I believe him. Although maybe I should get off the acid. Too late now, here comes Dan Rather out of the TV screen to eat me.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Where do babies come from? I’ve heard that whole sex story, but I don’t buy it. I mean, my mom isn’t even married, and I was born just fine. What gives?

Dear Sir or Madam, Well, since your mom wasn’t married, she had to acquire you through what is called “adoption.” That’s where a prodigious donkey digs you up in your backyard and drags you out after your father, a Venus Flytrap plant, and your biological mother, a mayonnaise jar, conspired in the yard to try to bury you alive after you came out of the mayonnaise. The donkey protected you until your current mother came along, which is good, because otherwise, the mustard bottle would’ve found out that the mayonnaise was cheating on him and he would’ve killed her and you out of jealousy. Now that the mustard knows this, surely your biological mother is doomed. Oh well, she had a good run.

Dear Dr. Stinky, What makes you so stinky, Dr. Stinky?

Dear Sir or Madam, I’m mentally retarded. And I like lighting farts.

(Dr. Stinky is eating a Jehovah’s Witness right now, so you best not disturb him.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, My wife had a baby that looks a lot like my brother. Should I be concerned?

Dear Sir or Madam, Of course not. I mean, some men would look at that situation and say, “My wife is cheating on me, oh man, my life is over.” But I mean, you can’t do that. You can’t just go around not trusting people like that. And besides, if you can’t trust your sister, who can you trust?

Dear Dr. Stinky, I’ve grown accustomed to hearing my parents have sex every night…the walls at our house are very thin. However, lately my mom has been making these weird noises. At first, everything is fine, but once they get going, it’s almost like her voice changes and she sounds like a totally different woman. Her voice goes back and forth between her normal voice and this strange voice every couple of seconds. Is she ok? Do I need to call a doctor?

Dear Sir or Madam, Whoa whoa whoa! Slow down there! You ask too many questions at once. First of all, your mother is a French-Canadian spy who likes beef jerky and getting my gigantic cock shoved down her throat. Ha ha! I’m just kidding. She likes it shoved into her wet, wet slot. Second of all, your mother is quite sick, especially when she likes it “that way” but there’s no need to call a doctor. Also, there’s no need to wonder why I show up at your house around midnight every weekday, nor is there any need to wonder why your dad has all that video equipment stored away, nor is there any reason to wonder why your aunt Linda keeps leaving your house at 3 in the morning, or why she gives your dad and mom massages on the couch in her sexiest lingerie. Plain and simple, you think too much. Stop that.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Do you want a slightly used toothbrush?

Dear Sir or Madam, I want the voices in my head to stop telling me to kill the president. No, I wouldn’t. I would, however, like the donuts I buy to stop invading my room, cutting my head open, and implanting monitoring devices in my head. But life is not perfect, so yes, I guess I’ll take a slightly used toothbrush.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Are you the Magic Indian?

Dear Sir or Madam, After careful consultation with a ham and cheese sandwich with mayonnaise, Interstate Highway 69, John Madden, and a sexually confused skunk, I have decided that what I really need is inner peace, which is achieved by eating the innards of two large, decomposing elves. Oh, and the Magic Indian exists inside all of you.

(Dr. Stinky is the world’s first hermaphroditic scarecrow.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, What exactly is this “Break-Up Bug” TM that I keep hearing about? Should I be afraid of it?

Dear Sir or Madam, That could be one of two things. It could be the mechanical bug that I created that I insert into people’s ears. The bug then proceeds to eat the internal organs of it’s “host,” thus making the body completely break apart into nothingness. Or it could be in reference to my master plan, breaking up all couples on Earth to form one giant orgy with the Olsen twins at the top of the action. You may think that a worldwide orgy is not a legitimate goal, but you shouldn’t be afraid of it. You should start rounding up the midgets and porn stars. Oh and the first bug? You could be afraid of it, considering I’ve wiped out half your family.

Dear Dr. Stinky, What is your first name?

Dear Sir or Madam, Well, most of my patients call me a variety of names: Baby, Oh God, Put it in Now!, Faster, Faster, Faster, Spank me, Spank me hard. Even a few have called me Dad. One called me Uncle Joe, wasn’t too sure about her. One even lovingly called me Talk to my Lawyer. My real first name, the one my parents gave me when I was born, was “Doggy.” Explains all too much, doesn’t it?

Dear Dr. Stinky, What are your qualifications for this job? How do I know you are giving good and valid advice?

Dear Sir or Madam, Look, you could sit here and ask me those questions, or you could learn to quietly accept the fact that my mother is giving you a rectal exam while I am showering with your wife in an erotic fashion. I assure you, this is the only way you’ll ever build any real trust in your life. You can start by trusting that your wife gives really good head.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Where were you on the night of Sunday June 22nd, 2003?

Dear Sir or Madam, Well, I can tell you that I was not cooking elephants from the Barnum and Bailey Circus and selling their tusks for ivory. I did that on the 21st. As for the 22nd, I don’t quite remember, but I think it involved three Cuban cigars, a Bald Eagle named Jerry, and a really hot porn movie starring Bob and Elizabeth Dole.

(Dr. Stinky is a corrupt senator, but he’s a corrupt senator full of love.)

Dear Dr. Stinky, What is your favorite color?

Dear Sir or Madam, My favorite color is the one that all my victims’ faces turn while I am choking them to death. Sometimes, blood comes out, so I guess I like red too.

Dear Dr. Stinky, In my change I got a quarter with the letters “O-H-I-O” on the back of it. I think it has to do with China. Your thoughts?

Dear Sir or Madam, Recently, I received a quarter similar to the one you found, and I examined it closely. Though I am still not sure what exactly “Ohio” is, I gather that this quarter does indeed have something to do with China because of the picture of George Washington cooking his family’s dog on the front of the quarter. Also, you’re a slanty-eyed bastard.

Dear Dr. Stinky, Dude, stop tearing up our flowerbed. My sister saw you this time so you can’t blame it on the dog again. It’s not cool!

Dear Sir or Madam, Look, you can stand there blaming me, or you can come to terms and realize who’s really tearing up your flower bed…Jennifer Lopez. I realize you saw me in the garden, but I’m not tearing it up so to speak. It just happens because Jenny likes it rough. You heard she’s Jenny from the block? I can tell you that he gets really turned on when she hits you with a cement block. Now where did my teeth go?

Dear Dr. Stinky, My life is incredibly stressful right now. I tried breaking up with my boyfriend and eating chocolate but neither seemed to help. What can I do?

Dear Sir or Madam, After careful consultation with a turkey breast sandwich, the Detroit Tigers, a stuffed teddy bear named Fred, and a very angry camel, I have decided that I am a fine leather wallet used to beat young ballerinas when they refuse to molest their teacher. Oh, and you should go on a massive killing spree. That always helps.

(Dr. Stinky’s socks are attacking him. Please help him, this is not part of his column.)


Joke #5273

There’s this blonde who walks into a convenience store. She picks up a thermos and asks the clerk, “What is this thing?” The clerk responds, “It’s a thermos. It keeps hot htings hot and cold things cold.”

“Neat,” says the blonde and buys the thermos. The next day she goes to work with her new thermos. A co-worker asks her, “I like your new thermos. What do you have in it?” She proudly says, “Two cups of coffee and a popsicle.”


Joke #5258: Fired!

A young executive was leaving the office one evening when he found the CEO standing in front of a shredder with a piece of paper in his hand.

“Listen”, said the CEO, “this is important and my assistant has left. Can you make this thing work?”

“Certainly”, said the young man, flattered that the CEO had asked him for help.

He turned the the machine on, inserted the paper and pressed the start button.

“Excellent! Excellent!” said the CEO as his paper disappeared inside the machine.

“I need two copies of that.”


Joke #5254: Keep Daddy Thin

One night, a young boy heard noises from his parent’s bedroom. It was hard for him, but he went back to sleep.

The next night he heard the same noises, but once again fell back asleep. Finally, on the third day that he was woken up by his parents, he decides to see what the heck they are doing. So he walks up to his parents room, and sees his mother on top of his father. She is moving up and down on top of him, and they both are making grunting noises. He has no idea what is going on, and decides to go back to bed.

The next morning the boy tells his mother about how they woke him up, and what he saw when he went to see what they were doing. Finally, he asks what was going on. His mother decides he is too young to learn about sex, so she tells him that since his father is getting old and fat, she has to jump on top on him to keep him thin. “But mommy,” the boy exclaims, “That won’t work, cause everyday when you go to work, the next door neighboor comes over and blows him back up!”