Lady Bomb Escorts

you know you want it…

June 30, 2006


Turn off the computer and start grilling ...

Four days off? Fuck, I get goose bumps just thinking about them. Well, right now I’m off to the grocery store to pick up a few things and then a quick liquor store stop for some of that. The Bomb staff wishes everyone that reads this mess a fine holiday weekend.

All Americans should not forget what July 4th is about. Dig your freedom. Sure, our President is a fuckhead but this is still the best country on the planet.

If other countries don't like it - they can lump it.

A.) Whew, finally a long leisurely weekend.
B.) Yep, I'm beat.
C.) I've got nothing to say either.



"A Guy Walks Into A Bar ..."
Writer and Scholar Team Up To Help Readers

And right now, local media star Musty Scribblins officially kicks off the weekend with three jokes in case you end up at a barbecue with nothing to say to people you don't want to be around but you don't want your wife pissed off at you so you're there.

BOMB BONUS! After each joke, Professor Stanley Stakarski from the University of Warsaw follows up with an in-depth analysis designed for the intellectual hipster set.

Joke Number One
A man bumps into a woman in a hotel lobby. His elbow hits her left breast, and they are both quite startled. “Madam,” the man says, “if your heart is as soft as your breast, you will forgive me." She replies, "If your penis is as hard as your elbow, I'm in room 227."

Genre: Hotel Sex Joke
Accidents happen, and in this case, it finishes with a happy ending or two.

The man’s elbow excites the woman and the woman wants the man’s penis inside her. And being a modern woman, she understands that when a man gets a hard penis, he wants to have sex. She, as evidenced by how casually she tells the excited man her room number, is ready for hot sex action. The punchline is priceless—and of course, the number 227 is the funniest room number in the annals of hotel sex jokes.

Joke Number Two
One night, a couple lays down for bed. The husband suggestively rubs his wife's arm. She turns over: "I'm sorry honey, I've got a gynecologist appointment tomorrow and I want to stay fresh." The husband, rejected, rolls over. A minute later, he turns around and says, "Do you have a dentist appointment tomorrow, too?"

Genre: American Newlyweds Sex Joke
As any young married couple knows, oral sex has the same end result for a man as vaginal sex and is way less work. In this scenario, the man signals his wife that his penis is hard and he wants sex. She, being a modern married woman, understands the importance of pleasing her husband while balancing the need to keep a “professional eye” on her vagina; she is justified in not wanting the doctor to discover semen in there the next morning. He could have worn a condom and had vaginal sex, but the husband obviously understands his wife’s need to “stay fresh” and suggests in a witty, marital way that she blow him instead.

Joke Number Three
For 26 years, Bill worked in a pickle factory. He came home one day and confessed to his wife that he had a terrible compulsion: An urge to stick his penis into the pickle slicer. The wife suggested he see a sex therapist to talk about it, but Bill nixed the idea; he vowed to overcome the compulsion on his own. A few weeks later, Bill came home early from work. His wife could see the twisted grimace on his face. "What's wrong, Bill?" she asked. "Do you remember that I told you how I had this tremendous urge to put my penis into the pickle slicer?" He asked. "Oh, Bill, tell me you didn't!" she exclaimed. "Yes, I did!" he replied. "My God, Bill, what happened?" "I got fired." "No, Bill. I mean, what happened with the pickle slicer?" "Oh...she got fired too!"

Genre: Old European Married Couple Sex Joke
An element of surprise is at work here--we are led to believe that the pickle slicer is a machine that would slice the man’s penis and cause horrendous pain. The Hitchcockian - no pun intended - elements of the story’s first half weave a blanket of mystery. The wife senses something wrong (“What’s wrong, Bill?”) and voices concern over Bill’s fantasy of sticking his penis in the pickle slicer. At the end, we laugh in relief as we discover Bill doesn’t want to slice his penis in the pickle slicer, he wants to stick his hard penis in the vagina of the woman that slices the pickles, AKA “the pickle slicer.”




Sex Pistols guitarist Steve Jones is one funny motherfucker. He talks about his popular Los Angeles radio show and all kinds of crap in this Rhino interview. Light up and blow your mind.


Lord knows I have a love/hate relationship with the motherfucking Internet but I do prefer a book, newspaper, or magazine to a computer screen. David S. Hirschman writes about Online Media and the Future of Journalism. Crack one open and check this out.


You might want to keep your GI Joe happy with Collette the Action Hooker. The idiots at the Weekly World News never cease to amaze. She's plastic and fantastic.


Who’s the absolute funniest dude in the world? Dave Chappelle is – when he wants to be. And this may be the last of the old Dave: An hour of Lost Episodes from his Comedy Central show. It’s available at the end of July. Press play and laugh, bitch.


Keith Moon was one badass drummer. No one beat the cans harder and more imaginatively than Moon … that’s right, no one. Here’s the drummer in one of his last interviews along with Who guitarist Pete Townshend on Good Morning America in 1978. Talking about my generation.




Star Jones’ Cannibal Past
Taste For Human Flesh Motivated Weight Loss

Mangy cat fur is still flying after the ugly break-up between Star Jones and her gal pals from The View. Star says she was fired and claims to have been treated badly by the show’s producers as well as its most famous cackling hen, Barbara Walters.

The rest of the chatty cast couldn’t care less if it’s Jones, Rosie O’Donnell or Satan himself sitting across the table from them. Frankly, neither does most of America, but Jones appeared on the Today Show this morning, and Larry King last night to express her feelings on the matter.

Apparently, the fuss is over the way she was dismissed, but fired is fired. Move on.

Walters says that they tried to let Star go with dignity and give her time to find a new gig before Rosie took over the seat, but Jones got fed up with the whole situation and cracked on the air earlier this week. She’s no longer on the show.

Long story short...who cares? ... (MARTY SHERMAN)

A.) I thought we were gonna hear about her eating people.
B.) There’s nothing like a good ass-cheek steak smothered in onions. Yum, yum.
C.) Stop, you’re making me hungry.


June 29, 2006


Fat Is Where It’s At
Pass Me A Whopper And Crank Up The Air

A new study published this week in the International Journal of Obesity found that fat people can blame more than lack of exercise and poor diet for their condition.

Anti-depressants, lack of sleep, an increased number of ex-smokers and widespread use of air conditioning were also cited as contributing factors in America’s race to put on the pounds.

Many of these components, such as quitting smoking, have long been understood as causing weight gain, but the use of air conditioning raised a few eyebrows even in the medical community.
The reason, say researchers, is simple. The human body was meant to cool itself by sweating and warm itself by shivering.

Both actions use calories, and sitting in a cool room with air versus sitting in a warm room and sweating actually burns fewer calories.

Nowadays, widespread use of climate control, including the more modern phenomenon of air-conditioning, has made sweating a thing of the past for many Americans. We drive our air-conditioned cars from our air-conditioned houses to air-conditioned supermarkets (which are often uncomfortably cool, by the way) to buy food that is easy to prepare and full of fat. We work in air-conditioned offices and shop at air-conditioned malls.

Experts caution that this new evidence shouldn’t be used as an excuse for being obese, and that overweight people should take matters into their own hands by dieting and getting regular exercise.

A.) So, not only is air-conditioning contributing to global warming, it’s also making us fat?
B.) more ozone layer, no more fat people. Sounds like a plan.
C.) Me, I’m big boned. Can I still use that for an excuse?



New Bin Laden Tape!
Osama on Zarqawi, Bazoombas,
and Death to Pagan America ...

BAGHDAD, June 29 … A brand new Osama bin Laden tape will be available in stores in the next few days. Available on VHS only, bin Laden touches on the death of Abu Musab Zarqawi but saves most of his hosannas for Iraq’s burgeoning topless club scene.

“Don’t worry about Zarqawi; we will replace him,” bin Laden says sounding like a beaten-down old woman. “But I must somehow sneak into Plinqo (suburb of Baghdad) and see the beautiful things men have told me about in secret.”

The evildoer is referring to Baghdad Girl - a secret club where Iraqi men watch topless American girls dance ... in secret. Its location is telegraphed only by the word-of-mouth of excited men whispering in the alleys of metro Baghdad.

Here in the good old U.S.A., we can see strippers shaking them proper any damn time we want. Over there they can’t even say the word 'strippers' without being killed and burned in the town square at midnight.

And while we call breasts: jugs, patooties, cans, melons, tsitskas … whatever we want … like American men in the 1950s, the modern Iraqi dudes call the funbags bazoombas.

“Yes, we will destroy your pathetic pagan world,” Osama goes on, “But first I MUST SEE THE AMERICAN BAZOOMBAS … when I think of young bazoombas there is an uprising and insurgency inside these dirty filthy foul rags I wear … So be it - DEATH TO AMERICA!”

And life to bazoombas, thank Allah.

The five minute tape ends with bin Laden sitting on a dusty boulder in a bug infested cave whittling a new slingshot.

A.) That bastard. We will kill and burn him.
B.) Fuck that scumbag - stick a fork in him, he's done.
C.) He seems like an all right guy.
A.) What?!
B.) Letter, are you absolutely nuts?
C.) I've heard worse singers ...
A.) What?!
B.) Fuckhead, the guy's a terrorist and murderer!
C.) Taylor Hicks?
A.) Osama bin Laden, dumbass - pay attention.
B.) You smoke too much crack.
C.) You're right - I think I've got drain bamage.


June 28, 2006


20th Century Bomb: 1971

The Squares
Are Taking Over
Leave Our TVs Alone, Man ...

This week the American ban on television cigarette ads goes into effect. Because watching too many cigarette commercials will give you brain cancer - the most insidious cancer of all - we will have to learn about new tobacco products in stupid magazines and newspapers.

A.) That’s uncool and bogue.
B.) A British cat asked me, “Can I bum a fag?” I rearranged his face.
C.) Smoke cigarettes, not war … oops, the Quaaludes kicked in.



20th Century Bomb: 1973

The Stooges
Search And Destroy!

Michigan's The Stooges have a new album called Raw Power and it’s a real cool time. The record is mixed weird but it rocks.

The bad news is since David Bowie produced the record, the band is now known as Iggy & the Stooges and it’s the truth, man — like it or not: Lead guitarist Ron Asheton has been demoted to the bass guitar. How bogus is that? His replacement is some Ann Arbor dude, James Williamson. He’s all right, but he's no Ron Asheton — that’s for sure.

A.) Stooges forever.
B.) What a bummer — sounds like Iggy and Bowie are snorting too much coke.
C.) Letter B is right — they should take Quaaludes instead.



20th Century Bomb: 1973

Movie Freaks Writer Out
Feels Faint Like A Woman

If you like getting freaked out at the movies, you’ve got to see The Exorcist. It’s gross and great.

In the flick, a young chick — we don’t have her name in front of us, sorry — spews green puke all over a priest who tries to save her after she’s possessed by the Devil. We’re talking world-class hurl here, folks; it’s pretty disgusting.

And since he is the Devil, he makes her say and do dirty stuff. ... (MUSTY SCRIBBLINS)

A.) Uh oh, now I’m going to puke.
B.) You're writing is foul; I just finished puking.
C.) Hey, we get your website down here in hell — it’s hot.


June 27, 2006


judy and johnny just walked through the door

Someone has stolen Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie 's baby shower photos. Their attorneys have promised to come down hard as a motherfucker on anyone that publishes any of the photos. As a service to our readers at Lady Bomb Escorts, here’s an exclusive picture of the simply beautiful baby. It will only be up for 24 hours ... download it while you can.

A.) My God, what a beautiful child.
B.) It shall live a wonderful, privileged life.
C.) Looks like that Billy Bob dude.

On Fathers’ Day, I took my Dad, Ed, to his favorite hamburger joint.

Since the crematorium handed me a gift bag with his remains in a box wrapped in gold foil, he sat on the stool next to me. “Oh, how nice—you have a gift for your Dad,” the waitress said.

“That is my Dad—he passed away on May 20th,” I said.

She made a quick Sign of the Cross over Ed. I ate a burger then took my Pop home.

A.) I took my Dad to a Tigers game.
B.) I treated my Father to dinner at a nice Italian restaurant.
C.) I don’t talk to my old man; I hate that prick.

Oasis guitarist Noel Gallagher says yes, he ripped off the chords of Burt Bacharach’s This Guy’s in Love With You for his own tune Half the World Away - but so fucking what?

Gallagher says, "It sounds exactly the same. I'm surprised Burt hasn't sued me yet." Then he picked up his sledgehammer.

A.) Gallagher is a comedy genius.
B.) Gallaher is the New McCartney.
C.) Look out for flying watermelon, fucker - look out!

Guns N' Roses canary Axl Rose was busted by cops in Stockholm yesterday after allegedly biting a security guard’s leg in his hotel lobby. It’s a puzzle as to why the rock dude bit another dude but a cop did say that Rose was so loaded he had to be cuffed and restrained.

A.) No one rocks harder than Axl.
B.) Axl IS rock.
C.) My dad's dead, too.

Taxi is a good boy; my wife, Christine, and I really love that rascal. We were out for a walk.

“Save some for the other trees, dude,” I said to the doggie as he peed like crazy on the first tree we passed. I sipped coffee as we strolled past tree after tree with the cute Border Terrier lifting a leg and whizzing on seven of them till he finally ran out of urine.

Then he took a healthy crap. I picked it up with a baggie, tossed it into a trashcan and we went home.

I’ll be damned ... then I had to squirt and dump. ... (LYZAKO)

A.) Thanks for sharing, man.
B.) Coffee does that to me too, man.
C.) Taxi is the cutest dog in the county.



Marty Sherman Vindicated, Still Jaded

First off, I’d like to thank all the readers who wrote in support of me after my animal cruelty arrest fiasco.

From the bottom of my heart I thank you all, especially those of you in Slovenia, where I’ve been informed that squirrels are often kept as pets, cherished as a delicacy (squirrel goulash), commonly stuffed and displayed for good luck, and routinely worn as winter hats.

Believe it or not, my lawyer got a call from the Michigan Chapter of the ACLU last week and they were eager to help me get off the hook for that dead squirrel photo that was published a while back on Lady Bomb. Once the PETA folks found out that the ACLU was on board, they decided to drop the charges. Hoorah!

I’m having my attorney work on a counter suit against the pricks for defamation of character and wrongful arrest. I’ll keep you posted.

Ironically, I met Pat S. In NYC two weekends ago for a quick visit. I say ‘ironically’ because Pat was there to personally woo Beyonce, who recently had a much publicized run-in with the PETA people herself, for the Wheel Of Fortune’s upcoming R&B diva week.

Even though she had already tentatively committed to do the week-long series of shows to help promote her new CD, Pat is always looking for a good excuse to do the Big Apple, and a chance to meet with Beyonce was something I just couldn’t pass up.

We met Beyonce at a trendy Soho supper-club, where she and I commiserated over our PETA difficulties while drinking Mimosas and eating shrimp cocktail. She was shocked (along with most of the civilized world, I might add) that I actually spent time in jail for publishing a photo of a dead squirrel.

We talked for hours about fur, dead animals and which ones look best when hung around which parts of her body, eventually coming to the conclusion that it was a shame Prada didn’t make fur slingbacks.

It was a conversation for the ages and I wish I had a recording of it.

After several more drinks, the three of us jokingly decided to start our own organization called PETE, which stands for People for the Ethical Treatment of Entertainers. A quick vote amongst ourselves produced an Executive Office that consisted of Beyonce Knowles - President, yours truly - V.P., and Mr. Pat (my good friend) Sajak - Secretary / Treasurer.

Pat lost the minutes to our first meeting, by the way.

Once dinner was over, we talked Beyonce into singing a funky rendition of Rocky Raccoon, with Pat on backup vocals and me playing my bare belly like a bongo - I’m very adept at cupping my hand and slapping over my navel to create a loud, hollow back beat. There was zealous applause all around and we got a standing "O" from the rest of the crowd, many of whom let out with shrill whistles and shrieks.

After Beyonce called it a night, Pat and I encored with a stirring version of Wipe-Out, then bar-hopped around Manhattan until 4am. ... (MARTY SHERMAN)

A.) Man, that Sherman prick lives a charmed life.
B.) He did spend a weekend in jail you know.
C.) He deserved it, dead squirrel photo or no. He’s got to be guilty of something.


June 26, 2006


"Bo Bice and Me
at Neverland ..."
Writer Drinks Pulsay Kudars and Reminisces …

Since his girlfriend Renay had the flu, Musty took me along for a quick flight to California. He had a great money making idea: Sell drugs to the media at Bo Bice’s arraignment for messing around with little boys. The crème de la creme of world media - dope users all - would be together in the Santa Maria courthouse parking lot. And bored out of their skulls. Musty would make a fortune.

But that was really none of my business. To me it was an assignment … something to write about.

Thousands of fans excitedly hung outside the courthouse, hoping to catch a glimpse of Bo Bice. A dapper dude in Raybans asked me to hold up a “Poland Loves Bo” sign.

Yeah, right ... no, thanks.

He waved a $500 bill under my nose; I held the sign up proudly.

Suddenly, cheers filled the air as the King of Pop’s entourage pulled in front of the courthouse ... it was Bo Bice in the flesh!

“Hip, Hip, Hooray!!”
“Poland Loves Bo!!!” we cried.

After disappearing into the courthouse for a few minutes, Bo was back and dancing on top of his limo, working the crowd into frenzy. I held up and waved my sign. Bo saw it, smiled, and waved me to join him. I moonwalked with Bo!

Then the Rayban guy gave me an invitation for the arraignment after party at Neverland.

Against a backdrop of fans and amusement rides were three large buffet tables with every type of hot dog imaginable: grilled, boiled, and steamed.

A large banner read: “Enjoy A Wiener Everyday!”

It was weird - in the Motor City we call them hot dogs, but at Neverland everyone called them “wieners.”

There were humongous trays of potato salad--each flanked by large bowls of pretzels and jugs of Coca-Cola. And mountains of ice cubes surrounding what looked like a large sculpted ice wiener.

I bit into my third one with mustard when someone whispered, “How’s your wiener?” I turned around. “Why, it’s delicious, and…”

Oh my god--it was Bo Bice! I kept my cool and focused on my hot dog. “Wow, hey man - it really is delicious. I love hot do … oops, I mean wieners … I had three!” I stammered. We munched and talked.

Bice knew everything about wieners—from their ingredients to how they were stuffed. He could even tell you how many wieners every nation in the world consumed. We had a couple with ketchup and I told him about “Coney Islands,” grilled hot dogs with chili, mustard and onions. It's how we scarf them in Detroit.

Bo scrunched his face; he had never heard of chili before! I described it as hearty soup made from ground beef usually eaten from a bowl but also used liberally as a topping on our “wieners.” He couldn’t believe it. Bo immediately wanted to fly his private jet, “SkyWiener,” to the D to pick up some chili but it was in the repair shop. I promised him I’d send him a gallon from Lafayette Coney Island downtown.

“Want to go on a ride with me?” Bo asked. “Sure,” I said as we cut to the front of the line, jumped on the Merry-Go-Round and rode wooden horseys side by side.

Mine was light blue; Bo’s was pink. I named my horse Ginger.

Then guilt set in. For years I’d goofed on Bo Bice—telling my readers that only in America could a poor black boy grow up to be a rich white lady. I told Bubbles the Chimp sex jokes also.

Now I had to admit it: Bo Bice was a good, sharing human being unafraid to share his music and wieners with all.

We sat in front of a roaring fireplace. “Hey, want some hot cocoa?” Bo asked. “Sure, man—thanks!” I said. Fifteen minutes later I finished the cocoa and yawned. I could barely keep my eyes open. “Would you like to lie down for awhile?” Bo said. Sounded good to me; I sure was sleepy. Bo showed me to a guestroom. I slept for twelve hours and woke up in the afternoon with just enough time to catch Musty and our plane back to the Motor City. Didn’t get the chance to thank Bo for the hospitality. Musty made $167,586 selling drugs!

Me? I got a story. Hey, that’s weird…my ass hurts.

Oops, wait a minute – come to think of it: it wasn’t Bo Bice, it was Michael Jackson, sorry.

And my ass doesn't hurt - that's a joke. ... (LYZAKO)




March 21 - April 19
Hey, Dumbass! Wake up! You’re about to be taken advantage of, Aries. I realize that this is nothing new to you, but if you don’t watch your back this time you could be penniless in the very near future. Court dates, fines and fees are in the stars. Lucky number: 9

April 20 - May 20
How many fingers do I have up, Taurus? That’s right. Just one, and you know which one it is. I represent the world telling you to fuck off. You can either lie in bed in the fetal position or get off your dead ass and do something to make things better. No fucking lucky numbers this week, fucker.

May 21 - June 21
I can’t begin to tell you how proud I am of you this week, Gemini. You’ve avoided all the mistakes that could have sunk you by now and you’re thriving doing something that you marginally enjoy. Unfortunately, health issues will cut your life tragically short. Lucky letters: IRA

June 22 - July 22
Pull yourself up by the bootstraps this week. I know it’s not easy, Cancer, but you have to get off the bottle. You’re about to hit rock bottom. Again. Get a mirror, look yourself in the eye and embrace your weakness while acknowledging your strength. Then have a drink. No lucky numbers.

July 23 - August 22
Desperate times call for desperate measures, Leo. It’s time to make sure that handgun you have hidden in the bottom dresser drawer is in working condition. There’s a couple of liquor stores near you that are just ripe for the picking and the pricks behind the plexiglass deserve a gunshot wound or two. Don’t be afraid to pull the trigger. Oh, and wear a mask, dummy. Lucky fatal game of chance: Russian Roulette.

August 23 - September 22
Gambling isn’t the worst addiction that you could have, Virgo. But we both know that it also isn’t your only one. The blow is going to get more and more expensive while the casino continues to take more and more of your money. You’re falling into a deep hole, my friend. I don’t see you getting out. Lucky lady: Queen of Spades.

September 23 - October 22
So, Libra, you think you’ve got everything under control, eh? In spite of my warning you will be blind-sided this week in some kind of way. Unexpected bad news from an ex-lover means another trip to the clinic. Unlucky letters: S.T.D.

October 23 - November 21
Hooray for you Scorpio! You win first prize in the stupid fuck of the year contest! You have made so many mistakes since January that the shit that happens this week shouldn’t come as a surprise. Just remember, though...whatever happens, it’s all your fault. Lucky numbers: 3, 0, 5.


November 22 - December 21
Crap, crap, crap. That’s the sound of the shit raining down on you, Sagittarius, and I don’t see any let-up this week. I’m a lot more accurate than that motherfucking weatherman that keeps telling you the sun is going to shine, too. It’s not. Not for you at least. No lucky anything.

December 22 - January 19
An unwanted pregnancy is at the forefront of your bad news this week, Capricorn. I happen to be an advocate of choice, but if you’re the father, you may have none. If you’re the mother, though, think long and hard about your decision. No matter who the dad is there’s a good chance you’ll drop a future felon onto the streets, and the entire process will be painful beyond your wildest imagination. Even with a spinal block. Lucky day: Tuesday.

January 20 - February 18
If you managed to avoid jail last week, Aquarius, you were one of the lucky few. But the cops are still hot on your trail and you need to relocate somewhere where they’d least expect to find you. I suggest a big city where you can still get the drugs you need to get by. Lucky tattoo: Mom.

February 19 - March 20
I saved the best news of all this week for you, my Pisces friend. An accident will cause you pain and horrible disfigurement, and there will be absolutely nothing you can do about it. Play your cards right, though, and the future holds a big insurance settlement and maybe even a book deal. My advice: keep your fingers crossed and drive carelessly. Lucky licence plate: GETREAL. ... (SAL "THE CHAMELEON" BENSEN)


June 23, 2006


Writers Goof Off In
War Ravaged Iraq

'They didn't murder and burn us...'

PLINQO, Iraq, June 23 ... In Baghdad on Baghdad Girl business, Musty and I took a walk through Saddam Hussein’s old palace.

What a dump: cruddy furniture and cheap wood paneling with peeling Hustler Honey centerfolds on every wall. I laughed and pointed at a certain pair of bazoombas when suddenly a rock hit me in the back of the head.

I didn’t realize this till I picked myself up off the hard dirt floor. Stunned and rubbing my head while mumbling ‘What the fuck?,’ I looked out the filthy window. A dozen insurgents stood with flaming torches chanting: “We will murder you and burn you! We will murder you and burn you!”

Thank God, I had a flask of Pulsay Kudar (chilled potato vodka, bathwater, and grenadine) in my pocket. I tore off a piece of my shirt, and Musty stuck the woven cotton into the flask. I lit it and threw it into the middle of the brouhaha.

Holy shit, there were arms and legs flying all over the place. Problem fucking solved, ha, ha, ha.

Later that day, the Iraqi police arrested Musty for 'vending without a license.' It seems the musty one had been hawking his new icy sensation, the Pulsay Kudar Shlurpa, in the middle of Saddamarama Square without first greasing the police chief with a blowjob from a dancer from Baghdad Girl, our strip club in Iraq.

And a bathtub full of PK Shlurpa, of course. ... (LYZAKO)

A.) Potato vodka, bathwater, and grenadine beats the heat … PK Shlurpa!
B.) Tonight at Baghdad Girl — Pulsay Kudar jello shots only 16 dinar!
C.) Visit for more exotic drink recipes!



A Labatt Forty
& Pack of Ladyfingers!
Fourth of July Holiday Around Corner

We’re Michiganders and fireworks freaks, so when we need our fix, we hit the net and visit

You can search the most comprehensive listing of every fireworks show in the Big Mitten by city and date. You’ll be oohing and ahhing damn near every night if you want to.

A.) Everybody loves boom booms—that’s for sure.
B.) Am driving to Toledo to score fireworks. Who wants what?
C.) Can’t use a conputer too good. Blew off all of my figners after carlessly dorpping a lit cigrettes into a large open box of M-80’s I was carraying. Am typing wiht my nose, fukc.



Open Letter To Simon Cowell

New Show Blows Big Time...

Dear Simon,

How's it going? Hey, I love you, man. You are some kind of judge on American Idol - the best - you give it to the contestants good. And you get what … $36 million a year for doing it? I salute you, fucker. I salute you. Never has one man made so much for goofing on the pseudo talented.

It's not unlike what we do, except for the money part, ha, ha, ha ...

Per your request, last night I watched the new show you sold to NBC - America’s Got Talent -and dude, you have to agree it was a train wreck. I’ll give it another week but then I may have to bail. I could barely watch the 2-hour debut. I wish I’d spent the two hours more carefully and wisely.

I really do have to alphabetize my tofu recipes.

Ah, but you’re a genius, mate; I know you got your money up front.

AGT is nothing more than a new fangled Gong Show / American Idol hybrid without the charm, right? Except for the precious and genuinely funny 8-year-old stand-up comic, Syd the Kid, there was no heart - just a funeral parade of egotistical yahoos compelled by their need to be on TV.

Yo Simon, who’s idea was it to sign Regis Philbin as host? Enough with the Regis already. Look under his toupee; he’s two years past his shelf life. God bless him - he’s terrific – but goddamn it, come up with a fresh face, grab some up-and-comer … or get Chuck Fucking Barris, for Christ's sake; he has to be at least ten years younger than Regis.

And the judges led by washed-up TV star David Hasselhoff … come on. I’m too busy to research his um, body of work, but I’m sure at one time he was really something. I have no idea who the Bozo is, but this Haselhoff clown is absolutely gay. No, not in a homosexual way, but you know … fucking gay. Like hard-to-watch gay.

If memory serves he wouldn't gong the 65-year-old male stripper until Gramps was about to reveal his wrinkled package.

Come to think of it, maybe he is a homo ... but hey, that's cool.

The other judges – a snarky Brit guy and a thin black chick – are useless. Put me and Musty on - we'll give you a performance.

Well hell, you asked me to check in and tell you what I think. You got paid, that's the main thing, bro.

Give Yolanda my best, and thanks again for the dough to get the Bomb website up. The cops are getting closer and Marty Sherman's an occasional pain in the ass, but other than that it's going swell.


Lyzako ... (LYZAKO)

A.) Damn, I missed it. Did you TiVo it?
B.) Dickhead, you traded the machine for crack last night.
A.) What?!
C.) Dont you remember?
A.) What?!
B.) After you threw up at the bar, we went to the crack house.
A.) I threw up?
C.) On an Asian realtor.
A.) No!
B.) Yes.
C.) Then we went to the local crack house and smoked rocks.
A.) I don't remember.
B.) You have no brain, stupid.
C.) We ran out of cash. You traded in the TiVo machine for more crack.
A.) Why, that fucking crack ... see how it is?
B.) Yeah, you were a riot last night.
C.) Don't forget the Asian chick's body is in your car trunk.
A.) What?! Fuck.


June 22, 2006


20th Century Bomb: 1972
An Offer You
Can’t Refuse!

LOS ANGELES, June 21 ... Hollywood has a lot of nerve. They’ll do anything to get their hands inside your wallet. This time around they’ve got washed-up actor Marlon Brando and a bunch of other overacting yahoos in a gangster piece of tripe called The Godfather.

It's too long, the script is corny, and newcomer Al Pachino will never have a career in movies. The kid cannot act.

Save your money. ... (MUSTERVILLE SCRIBBLINS)

A.) Marlon Brando? Bah. Ernest Borgnine - now that's an actor.
B.) The Thing with Two Heads — now that’s movie magic.
C.) Can’t read the column right now, I’m seeing double from Quaaludes.



20th Century Bomb: 1973

The War Is Over!
Give Peace A Chance, Man ...

DA NANG, Vietnam, April 7 ... After 7,078,032 tons of bombs, 3 million deaths and American troop levels that peaked at 543,400 back in ‘69, we’re happy to say the Vietnam War is finally over.

On March 29, the last 2,500 US troops finally left that life-sucking godforsaken place. After this mess, it's safe to say we'll never get ourselves in a similar predicament again.

A.) Sorry, can’t read this Bomb right now — I'm watching M*A*S*H.
B.) Sorry, can’t read this Bomb right now — am going to see The Godfather.
C.) War. What is it good for? Absolutely nothing — say it again.



No News Is Good
Study Finds Link Between
Broadcast News And Anxiety

PROVIDENCE, Rhode Island, June 22 ... In a recent study at Brown University, researchers turned up startling evidence that regularly watching, reading and/or listening to news broadcasts over a period of time as short as one month can adversely affect your health.

The study, which included subjects from all walks of life who ranged in age from 5 to 85, found that "the more news that test subjects were exposed to, the more likely they were to develop psychological problems that ranged from anxiety and depression to anti-social behavior and uncontrolled outbursts of violence."

"Initially we were surprised at the results," said one researcher, "but we took a hard look at the numbers and there’s no denying that too much news is bad."

To explain this sudden spike in these behavioral problems, the study cites the proliferation of television in general, everyday use of the internet, and the trend towards running text stories across the bottom of the screen while showing other information - such as stock market reports and weather- in combination with a live newscast, as pioneered on the Bloomberg Report.

This last practice, which has come to be known as ‘Bloomberg-ing,’ is the major culprit when it comes to causing confusion, anxiety and even depression in the viewer.

"We found that 24-hour news stations like CNBC, FOX News and CNN have all adopted this overload approach to presenting the news, and for most of the test subjects it was just too much."

The study concludes by recommending that we spend no more than an hour a day getting our news and that we try to read it in an actual newspaper if possible. Listening to hourly news updates on the radio is also a relatively safe way to be informed, but the study strongly cautions against watching any of the all-news networks and limiting television news to one half-hour each of local and international news per day.

It went on to say that we should "avoid the internet and blogs" as sources for news because of the "vast amount of confusing misinformation" that exists on the web. ... (MARTY SHERMAN)

A.) The weatherman said it was going to rain today and he wasn’t lying.
B.) Yeah, it’s pouring out there. Glad I’m inside, high and dry.
C.) Even this is too much news. I’m gonna take a nap.


June 21, 2006



PLINQO, Iraq, June 21 ... Benwa "Jojo" Ameesh is one of the lucky ones. He is rich beyond his wildest dreams because he is in the spider business.

“Ha, ha, ha, my father told me there could be no future in spiders; that stupid fool - he was so wrong,” Ameesh says while taking a fresh roll of dinars from a burlap sack and ordering another pitcher of his favorite drink.

He opens his jacket to reveal his spider, Flunker. He pets the arachnid gently.

Spider Cave, the store Ameesh opened the day American troops invaded Iraq, sold over three billion dinars worth of spiders last year. He finds them in dank, dark caves on the outskirts of Mothra.

"Everybody in Iraq buy spider as pet. They bring good luck," he smiles as a bomb explodes in the distance. "Spider, spider, spider - they good for me."

Very good, in fact. It’s why Ameesh sits at Baghdad Girl drinking expensive Pulsay Kudars (chilled potato vodka, bathwater, grenadine) and watching bazoombas with a Bon Jovi cassette blasting from a cheap boombox.

“Pulsay Kudar is good,” Ameesh slurs. “Bazoombas good … spider good ... everything is good.”

He rolls a crisp dinar bill, sticks it in his mouth like a cigarette, and waits for a dancing Connie to come to him. Connie sees the dinar and wahtusis over. Ameesh lovingly nuzzles the money into a purple G-string that barely covers her poosay.

The spider seller lingers there ...

Apparently too long as a husky bouncer grabs him by the collar of his polyester cloak and whips him out the door onto the hard dirt road. A bartender tells a writer this same scene is replayed every night.

Ameesh gets up and dusts himself off. He takes Flunker out of his pocket and places him on his shoulder.

He stumbles into the warm Iraqi night and walks the 60-odd miles to get home.

A.) Wow, nightlife is off the hook in Iraq.
B.) Sounds like it to me. Thank God for the War.
C.) We're lucky letters to be living in such exciting times.
A.) So fucking lucky.
B.) I concur.
C.) Yep.



Animal Rights Group Badgers
Beyonce, Orders Vegetarian

After winning an on-line auction for a dinner with Beyonce, PETA sent several members to NYC’s Nobu 57 to confront the R&B singer about her new fashion line, which prominently features fur.

The wearing of fur is a no-no to the squirrel-hugging do-gooders and they let Beyonce know about it in no uncertain terms.

Beyonce, who was expecting an ass-kissing during dinner from a group of adoring fans, was reported to have sat quietly until the persistently pestering PETA people were eventually thrown out of the restaurant. She then ordered "a large miso soup, several California rolls, an assortment of nigiri, featuring shrimp, tuna and eel and two orders of tempura shrimp." ... (MARTY SHERMAN)

The PETA folks ate rice balls and split a cucumber roll just prior to leaving.

A.) My uncle has a lampshade made of human skin that he got in WWII.
B.) I think Beyonce looks hot wearing fur. And her ass looks great in jeans.
C.) Daniel Boone wore a coon-skin cap, remember? Where was PETA then?


June 20, 2006


'Star Wars' Character
Irritates Web Surfers!
Writer Cares Less, Thought Movie Sucked

Wow – approximately 5,000 movie lovers have voted Jar Jar Binks the most annoying film character of all time. This breaking news comes via Brit website A buck says it’s a great site.

Having walked out halfway through Star Wars when it opened many years ago, a writer can't agree or disagree about the alien named Jar Jar. He merely sips his lukewarm coffee, scratches his head, and remembers why he gave up on a flick that millions love: Um, it seemed fucking stupid.

The second irritant on the list is Andie MacDowell's character, Carrie, in Four Weddings And A Funeral. This time, the writer shakes his head; he won't watch anything with Hugh Grant in it. Grant is this generation's Stan Laurel - without the talent and charisma.

Writer pours more coffee and wonders what kind of chump pays to see Hugh Grant.

Third most annoying is Rowan Atkinson's Bean – yes, can’t stand him either - followed by Jim Carrey's Ace Ventura in fourth place. Writer agrees; Carrey annoys.

Number five on the list is Ben Stiller's White Goodman in Dodgeball. Yep, another annoyingly stupid flick with an annoying Stiller; bailed after 20 minutes.

Writer prays to God to bring back the Three Stooges. ... (LYZAKO)

A.) Guy's nuts. Star Wars is the greatest film of all time.
B.) It's a classic, but Gone With The Wind is the best!
C.) Frankly, my letter, I don't give a damn.
A.) Ha, ha, ha. That's funny.
B.) Ha, ha, ha, you smell like crack.
C.) Ha, ha, ha, you got me. Here are my car keys ...
A.) Glove box, Altoids tin?
C.) Back seat floor, under towel, Band-Aid box.
B.) Good man, can't wait.
A.) Pipe, lighter ... check. Thanks.
C.) Leave me some, fuckers.




Marty Sherman on Tipping...
Somewhere along the way I got a reputation for being a lousy tipper. Well, my friends, it couldn’t be further from the truth. Whether I’m out on the town for drinks or having lunch at Twingo’s West, I’m a solid twenty-percenter. I’m a leg-and-ass man, myself, and have been known to double that, so keep yourself in shape, ladies.

Note: There’s a direct relationship between the number of drinks I’ve had and the amount I tip. Make sure I’m well lubed and I’ll hold up my end of the deal.

I never leave a strip club with folding money in my pockets. Never. Ever!

Do I tip every Tom, Dick and Harry that brings me mail, holds a door open, cuts my hair, gives me a manicure, washes my car or picks up my trash? Fuck no! Do you?

By the way, I never got a tip for telling a good joke, either.

Oh, and I’ll carry my own bags, thank you.

On Being Funny...
Nobody’s funny all the time, but I come pretty damn close. Either you think I’m a riot or you just don’t get it. That’s on you and I really don’t give a shit either way.

On Not Giving A Shit...
In jazz lingo it’s "bust your conk" and the French call it "sans-souci" but "not giving a shit" has a much funnier sound to it. For example: "This sans-souci motherfucker busted his conk a long time ago and I really don’t give a shit."

Jokes are like sex. They’re really only funny when you don’t have to explain to the audience that you’re done.

Did I mention that women are like anchors? Well, they are.


June 19, 2006


Spotlight On The Dead:
"Hey Knucklehead,
I'll Moider You!"

Had he not died in 1975, Moe Howard would have been 109-years-old today.

Moe – born Moses Horwitz in Brooklyn - was the leader of the Three Stooges, America’s finest comedy trio, best known for their wacky shtick in tons of short films throughout the middle of the 20th century.

Those numbskulls would fuck up absolutely any situation and then Moe would beat Larry, Curly and Shemp before poking them in the eyes, ha, ha, ha.

Now we have Vince Vaughn, Ben Stiller, and the too-cute guy with the blond mop of hair to make us laugh. ... (MUSTY SCRIBBLINS)

A.) Jesus Christ. They don't make 'em like they used to.
B.) Women hate the Three Stooges.
C.) It's why they're from Venus and we're from Mars.



Lady Bomb Embraces War!
Opens Gentlemen’s Club Near Baghdad Suburb ...

Yes, North Korea has developed a nuclear missile that can reach America, but more importantly, Musty just flew back from Baghdad where he helped oversee the opening of our new ‘secret’ strip club, Baghdad Girl. It’s a ‘secret’ because a woman’s breasts are not to be bared in Iraq — under any circumstances whatsoever.

And if you are caught looking at them for any reason, you will be killed and burned in the town square at midnight. Go ahead and laugh, but Baghdad — and its surrounding cities, Mothra, Plinqo, and Toomush — hosts a vibrant, word-of-mouth, 'secret' nightlife where men pay billions of dinars nightly, in secret, to see a woman’s bare breasts. It’s why we flew in three dozen 19-year-old dancers and opened Baghdad Girl in a former Costco building just outside Mothra’s city limits.

At the top left is the flyer that men secretly hand to other men in the alleys behind the streets. They recognize Ryan Seacrest in the photograph. They whisper and tell secrets.

They tell each other where Baghdad Girl is located.

The men of Iraq love American hot chicks — "And why not?” asks 37-year-old shopkeeper Benwa "Jojo" Ameesh, spending a late night at Baghdad Girl enjoying the sight of young bare breasts.

“Everyone knows United States ladies have the hottest bazoombas in the world,” Ameesh says while sipping a Pulsay Kudar, the 3,200 dinar drink special made with chilled potato vodka, bathwater, and grenadine.

Once again referring to breasts as American men did back in the 1950s, Ameesh laments, “Why we cannot see bazoombas only in secret? All over world man see bazoombas — but not in Iraq. It suck and not right.”

Ameesh pulls a wad of dinars from his cloak, orders another Pulsay Kudar, and watches the bazoombas bounce. ... (LYZAKO)

A.) See? America is the greatest fucking country in the world.
B.) Strippers are wonderful, giving human beings.
C.) Pulsay Kudars for everyone — Musty’s buying.



March 21 - April 19
Don’t look to your friends for help this week. You are truly on your own, Aries. A misunderstanding with the opposite sex means a lingering, painful death by Friday. For you, Aries, I want to make sure that you understand that you are the one going to die. No lucky numbers again.

April 20 - May 20
Good news, Taurus. That extra weight you’ve been trying to drop will start coming off this week with little or no effort on your part. The bad news? You’ll be well on your way to rail thin by the time they diagnose the tumor. Lucky surgical tool: rib spreader.

May 21 - June 21
If you’re celebrating a birthday this week, Gemini, avoid the water. The stars are painting a vague but beautifully impressionistic picture that depicts capsizing, shipwreck and/or drowning, depending on how you look at it. Unlucky nautical name: S.S. Minnow.

June 22 - July 22
Dealing with depression by drinking and using drugs only exacerbates the problem. And exacerbates means makes it worse, you Cancer dolt, not better. Nevertheless, you have my blessing to exacerbate away. Lucky drink: Chocolate Rothko.

July 23 - August 22
Remember when you were a kid, Leo? When you didn’t have a care in the world and summertime meant three months with no school and unlimited fucking around? Well, those days are long gone and you can expect a summer full of painful surprises. I could be specific, but surprises are more fun. Well, these won’t be. Lucky numbers: 32, 33, 34, 35.

August 23 - September 22
You know what they say, Virgo: Love is for Losers. I see that you’ve lost big time and it’s really got you down. He / she broke your freaking heart, right? Well, you can teach them a lesson they’ll never forget with a strong rope, a quiet corner in the garage and a folding chair. Oh, don’t forget the suicide note that blames them for everything. Your luck has run out.

September 23 - October 22
You should be feeling better than you have in a long time, Libra. The stars are aligned in a very favorable pattern for you through mid-week. Oops, I guess that wasn’t a star there on the chart, just a crumb from my bear claw. Sorry. I see poor health and unemployment. Lucky cartoon character: Betty Boop

October 23 - November 21
No shit, Scorpio. Have you finally decided to stand on your own two feet and show the world what you’re made of? I’m surprised. You’re normally such a chicken shit that I’d expect you to buckle under the pressure like Kirstey Alley’s knees when she waddles down the stairs after dinner. Good for you. Lucky buckle: belt.


November 22 - December 21
I know it’s hard to hear that you have a terminal disease, Sagittarius, but it’s true. It won’t be some run-of-the-mill illness like cancer or heart disease, either. I see something so exotic and rare that it could land you on the six o’clock news. See, you’ll be kind of famous. Not so bad, is it? Lucky finger: index.

December 22 - January 19
You’d probably consider yourself lucky if only you had a rare terminal illness this week, Capricorn. I see a bludgeoning from a relative that you would least expect. There’s a less than 50-50 chance that you’ll survive. No lucky numbers.

January 20 - February 18
You will need to move quickly this week in order to avoid arrest. If you’re newly paroled from prison, Aquarius, you can expect to end up back in the joint if you don’t drop what you’re doing and get out of town now. Now! Move it! Lucky cigarette: Lucky Strike. How lucky is that? And they’re like money in jail.

February 19 - March 20
Avoid air travel this week, Pisces. Due to unresolved labor issues, I see planes falling from the sky like rain in the...umm, rainforest. It’s probably a good idea to spend the week underground. If you don’t have a basement, dig a hole and hop in. Lucky nonsense word: dagnabbit. ... (SAL "THE CHAMELEON" BENSEN)


June 16, 2006


20th Century Bomb: 1970
Extremely Tired,
If You Know What I Mean!

The president of Bolivia, Alfredo Ovando Candía, has resigned because there is simply too much cocaine in his country, do you understand?

It is in his office, in his car, in each room of his palace ... his moustache, in the beard — it sits everywhere. Add the vaginas of the Bolivian women to the mix and slip into Presidente's shoes: There is not enough time to govern a country when you cannot govern your nose or penis.

To take his place is General Rogelio Miranda. He is the new top banana.

A.) Because he has appeal.
B.) Like Che Guevara said: “If you govern the penis — you rule the world!”
C.) President Alfredo sniffed so much cocaine they named a fettuccine dish after him.



20th Century Bomb: 1971
Bad Ass Little Ride!

Hip, smart, cool and named after a Mexican bean, the Ford Motor Company proudly introduces their new Pinto automobile.

Like most cars, it has four tires, two doors, headlights and a horn but it’s main selling point is its small engine which will get you 30 miles to the gallon — a groovy thing since gas prices are up to 36 cents a gallon.

A.) Forty-cents next month — watch.
B.) A car named after a bean, ha, ha, ha.
C.) That car looks bogue. I’ll keep my Beetle, gratias.



No Boys In Beyonce’s Band
All Girl Line-up Fodder For Future Celebrity Lesbianisms?

A flurry of auditions were held this week to fill spots in the band for Beyonce’s upcoming world tour, scheduled to kick off this summer with the release of her second solo album B’Day.

The catch? All the instruments, from drums and keyboards to guitars and horns, will be played by women. Real women.

Beautiful women with real, working vaginas, ample breasts and soft, full lips.

Local auditions were held in several major cities including the diva’s hometown of Houston, and finalists will move on to New York where they will be hand-picked by Beyonce herself. Aside from having their ‘chops’, musicians will have to demonstrate compatibility with the sexy songstress and individual ‘closed door meetings’ with Beyonce will be scheduled once the line-up is finalized.

Beyonce’s first solo effort, Dangerously In Love, earned her five Grammys, and her Live At Wembley DVD, which was recorded during that tour, continues to sell briskly. The former lead singer of Destiny’s Child hopes her sophomore outing will mirror that success.

Deja Vu, the first single from the upcoming album, features main squeeze Jay Z and dropped on Tuesday this week to good reviews.

Incidentally, B’Day is scheduled for international release on the bronze goddess’ own birthday, September 4. ... (MARTY SHERMAN)

A.) Not too many chicks can play drums. I can only think of Sheila E.
B.) How about lead guitar. Name one good girl guitarist.
C.) Hmmm. You’re right, but who cares? As long as Beyonce dances, I’m in.


June 15, 2006


Message To Parents:

As if worrying about your teenager using drugs wasn’t enough, parents now have a new reality to deal with. Recent studies suggest that the video games that kids play can be just as addictive as crack or alcohol, and without treatment can lead to premature loss of vision, dizziness, carpal tunnel syndrome, anti-social behavior and even death.

Well, maybe not death, but the rest of the stuff for sure.

A clinic in the Netherlands (where else?) has opened in response to the need for hooked gamers to kick. Because gamers often use drugs to help focus and extend their playing time, the program takes a two-prong approach that combines treatment for video game addiction, along with additional focus on game-related substance abuse on a case-by-case basis.

Since opening in January, the clinic has treated gaming addicts whose withdrawal symptoms range from involuntary hand and finger movements to breaking out in a cold sweat at the sight of a computer. More akin to gambling addiction than physical dependancy, video game addiction occurs when players use the games to avoid unpleasant situations and end up living the games as an alternate reality.

"I used to play 15 hours a day and more," said one patient. "I couldn’t hold down a job and I ended up robbing liquor stores to be able to afford new games. I had X-Box and PS2, along with over a hundred different games for each. I couldn’t stop. Sometimes I’d go through two joysticks a week."

While details of the detox program are not made public, therapists acknowledge that the basic treatment involves "going outside and being in the real world" while developing interests that don’t involve a computer, television or gaming system.

"We’re trying to get our patients involved with time-honored activities such as painting, singing, reading and writing as creative alternatives to playing video games,"said one of the clinic’s lead therapists.

A.) I like to gamble all night at on-line casinos while drinking beer and smoking crack.
B.) I like to smoke weed and have sex. It mellows me out, man.
C.) I drink whiskey and shoot handguns. Mostly at targets, but sometimes small animals.



First of all, that not my head.
Is that your head?

Toku make joke.


Look Out 4 New Video!
Singer from famous Detroit band, White Stripe, make new video for his band, The Raconteurs, latest single, Steady, As She Goes. It star Jack White and new friend, Pee Wee Herman, who better known as Paul Rewbens. No joke, it true.

Toku know girl with Rubenesque figure ... because she eat too many Ruben!

Mmm, now that a good sandwich.


She Get Blessing in Disguise!
Uh oh, American Idol judge and Hot Chick (some say) Paula Abdul hire 'spiritual guide' to help make her life easier. Her duties will include making diet for her. Must be nice to be needy celebrity.


Up Shit Creek Without Paddle!
Toku hate to say it but washed up rock star Gary Glitter fuck himself up. Court say he still guilty for having sex with 2 very young girl. It sad. Nothing wrong with fuck, shit, piss, skunk, et cetera, but doing something dirty with early vagina is wrong, so wrong. It embarrassing that some people so sick. Maybe that his picture in photograph at top left. Hate to say but Toku hope Glitter rot in prison after guard stick broom handle you-know-where.

He rot in prison - then in HELL.

Toku not joking.


Some of That, Thank You!
In latest Paris Hilton news: Paris meet rich man, drink champagne, screw him, and go home after she back into someone car, ha, ha, ha. But seriously, there is nothing new to know about her but it give us reason to run the hottest chick in the world picture.

That no joke either.

I am your humble servant and dancing monkey. ... (TOKUGAWA MARINSKI)



June 14, 2006


Marty Sherman Gets Real

As I’m standing here watching my frozen dinner defrost in the microwave I can’t help thinking about some of the amazing advances in household technology.

I still can’t figure out how these things work. It’s like an E-Z Bake Oven or something. The light comes on and ten minutes later you’ve got hot food.


But computers? I can’t fucking stand them.

I hate, and I do mean HATE, turning the bastards on in the morning. The fucking white noise hum shit that goes with it. The noise they make when "updates are available". The warning beep when I do something that I’m not supposed to do.

Computers suck. Did I mention that I hate them? I fucking hate them.

Hang on a sec. My microwave is done defrosting and the motherfucker keeps beeping if I don’t push the ‘END’ button. And I mean keeps motherfucking beeping until you want to just rip the thing off the wall and throw it right through the motherfucking kitchen window!

Beep. Beep. Beep....Beep. Beep. Beep....Beep. Beep. Beep....Beep. Beep. Beep.

I can’t fucking stand it. Just beep once, alright? I know it’s DONE, for Christ’s sake!

Anyway...computers. THEY SUCK! Email, internet, fast connections, dial-up, spam, spam-blockers, html, viruses, spyware, blogs...MOTHERFUCKING BLOGS!

Couldn’t the world live without fucking blogs? I know I could. I’m sick-to-death tired of the fucking made-up words, the constantly changing new vocabulary that we need to get by on this god-forsaken ball of shit.

Shhhh, listen...Hallelujah! No more microwave fucking beeps.

I guess that means my tamales are ready, but I’m going to have to smoke way more pot and drink many more beers before I’m able to choke that shit down. God only knows where the stuff came from that’s inside those fucking tamales. For all I know it’s scraped off the shoes of the rednecks who work at the fucking Swanson’s factory.

I’ll bet dollars to goddamn doughnuts that cocksucker George W. Motherfucking Bush isn’t eating a goddamn frozen dinner right now. Motherfucking bastard.

Probably eating fois-gras and drinking fucking champagne! The son of a bitch.

And I’ll bet he never has to touch a fucking keyboard or mouse. Mouse? It used to be a tiny animal. Not any more, my friends. Not any more.

Double click THIS, asshole!

Where was I? Oh, yeah. Computers.

This Dell piece of shit I have has barely functioned since I bought it a year and a half ago. And you know what they tell me? I’ll need another one by next year anyway because this one will be hopelessly out of date. Every three years I’ll need a new one, just to keep up with the newest fastest shit there is and be able to run the latest operating system, etc., blahblahblahfuckingblah...

Well, you know what? I’m about damn good and ready to check out of this technological nightmare. That’s right. You heard it here first. Marty Fucking Sherman is about to go back to his roots.

I’m bringing back pencil on paper, baby. I’m dusting off my 1929 Underwood with the faulty backspace key.


Hand me the fucking white-out and get out of my goddamn way! ... (MARTY SHERMAN)

A.) I think he’s finally gone over the edge.
B.) I hope he realizes he’ll have to scan all his stuff into a computer so we can use it.
C.) Microwave popcorn is the shiznitz, my nizzle. Extra butter, please.



Ball of Confusion 2006
They're Coming
to Get You, Martha ...

According to a recent Gallup poll, 32 percent of all adults say they “believe in ghosts” and that “dead people can come back.”

Forty-eight percent of us don’t believe it and 19 percent are unsure. ... (LYZAKO)

A.) Casper is the friendly ghost, right?
B.) In case of a zombie attack, remember: Destroy the brain and burn the body immediately.
C.) You’re wasting time, you fool — we’ve got to make a beeline for the truck. Oops, I lost the keys. Fuck.


June 13, 2006


Can't fucking wait ...

Musty, Tokugawa, the whores at Lady Bomb and I are totally geeked. Last time the man released an album, Love & Theft, was September 11, 2001 ... better known as 9/11. Hopefully when this record drops there won't be similar conflict + drama.

I'd like to tell you I've been a Bob Dylan fan for many, many years but I can't. Truth be told, it wasn't till that ninth month of '01 that I really picked up the habit.

Oh sure, in '65 when Blonde on Blonde came out, my band the Rockin' Levis learnt a handful of the songs but it wasn't till three dozen years later that I really got with the program.

You see, four days after 9/11 there was a 9/15 ... I called it September 15, and the wife and I had driven to New York City for a planned vacation. We were supposed to fly but decided to drive instead. An eleven-hour drive seemed a lot more relaxing than a two-and-a-half hour flight.

Day before we left, I picked up a used Love & Theft at an indie record store. I told the ball and chain to leave it in the player during the whole drive to Manhattan. It was all we listened to.

From then on I was hooked.

When the Deal Goes Down, Spirit on the Water and Ain't Talking are just three of the ten titles in Modern Times ... on sale August 29. ... (LYZAKO)



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