August 10th, 2006

  • roybot

capitalistic slam

huskies are issued stock options. grandma is on the market. semolina pilchard is mortgaging the eiffel tower. what lows will today's business industry not stoop to? in an age and day where day can be age and age can be day, age is not day at all. jaws clamp down, touchee bounty huggies nature nuture harm fresh.

malarkey infrastructure clamp brigade; lambda gerbers lamb with green jelly. HURO! HURO! HURO! cried the wafflesmith, simultaneously attemping to rile and placate the swarming mormons. bread rises; civilization falls. do you have your moral cottage in order?

groovi toovi rudi guliani: can the F9 key be remapped? screen openers, caps open. BASH BASH BASH.

superstructure stricture restructure trifecta, in an effort to lambaste nerd flu. DIgITAL INFLuENZA! DiGITAL INfLUENZA! DIGiTAL INFLENzA! mr. burke plays operatic twanky on the eve of final gorrillae.

are the muffins ready yet, mommy?

Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker
  • roybot

Riced Out Yugo expresses an opinion on radical centrism


For indeed, without nothing, where would America be? Being contrary to the concept of nothing, and doing thus, goes against the grain of the very foundation of America itself. Remember what Karl Marx's mother said: "Karl is a nice boy, but he has no concept of how to manage money."

Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker
  • roybot

typeity type click clack

I will now try to type what someone 20 feet away is typing, purely by the sound of keyboard click and clack alone.

fjsjkekf,zxejfjskje rs;lr;kslekrnngfgfee fjjejn e;kl3jl3nfma;fmafjjfmfJJDFJgmm;SjkdskJThinfklnljkedjfdgkkfjsoijemfkafmfsjffioia,a,aa kfsldkfer sdj ffkjf fjos fsjdkfj3q;q fsjdkrfqejjkansklak jfjjala sjhsh fhsjs shfrwr aj fjf jfe

The result? 100% accuracy. 100%.

Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker
  • roybot

Lost in Yugers

As I was revving the Yugo to a brisk speed of approximately 25123 knots, I noticed object in my path. This object, while rather easy to plow through physically, was difficult to plow through legally. It happened to be a chap on a bicycle, decked out in one of those flamboyant skin-tight "Tour de France" spandex outfits, with streamlined helmet to boot.

This was an unusual occurrence on this road, as it featured large sidewalks on either side, as well as traffic that did not normally register south of 40 MPH. This chap, however, apparently thought he was training for the Tour de France (even though it had already passed, and, I noticed, his suit was available by mail order from any number of Lance Armstrong Internet fan sites).

Normally, I'd just commandeer the ongoing traffic lane, but at that moment, it happened to be occupied by a stream of speeding genlemen such as myself. Though every molecule in my body was resisting (especially due to inertia), I slammed on the breaks, avoiding being the guilty party in a rear-ending by the nearest of margins.

This would be enough to cause most people to decide the sidewalk was a better option, but I suppose if he was this far from any turn-off, he'd probably already dealt with a few of these situations. That, and he probably had testosterone patches on BOTH of his testicles. As the ongoing traffic lane was still occupied, I leaned out the window, to make a gentle suggestion.

"MOVE IT, LANDIS ARMSTRONG!!" I yelled, and subsequently leaned on the horn.

He responded by hunching over, going into "yellow jersey" mode, and pedaling faster... bringing him to a brisk 17 MPH, instead of his previous 12. While I was somewhat mollified by any acknowledgement of my existence, I still found this solution insufficient.

So, along we went, for a painfully slow five minutes. Eventually, mercifully, a break in ongoing traffic appeared. By this time, however, speed was no longer my goal, but revenge.

So, after securing the lead of the race, I downshifted to first, and proceeded to drive in front of him at a blisting 5 M.P.H., slowing him down. After he started to become impatient, I began suddenly jamming on the breaks every few hundred feet. Though I drove a Yugo and risked a need for bumper replacement, I knew he'd have to pay for it - the rear-ender is always at fault, you know - and I also knew the sound would bring joy to my heart.

Don't fuck with Yugoists. Yugo gets the yellow jersey every time.

Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker
  • roybot

call to hatsby

Call Placed at: Thu Aug * *:*:10 EDT 2006Number Called: (530) 678-4931

thank you .. dialing .. ca 2499 (F) answered... (ca here unable to hear the message (beep) ga

(leave a message please)ga


i have seen the hat, and the hat is love. for when the hat descendeth upon the gastric gasket of america, the flugelhorn shall set the hemosplorts free. yes, yes, my brother, the funky ted nugent love shall decendeth upon the folk of the blessed. amen. hat. 9700.


(hold while i lv msg) (message has been left) (hung up) ga or sk

thanks, sk

Posted by Reverend Tedward Q. Porktanker