Marshmallow Man accepts dramatic role
Zelda has "legend" status revoked after yeast infection
Ivan Drago drags a van
Leopard wakes up with paisley
Naked bingo's future hinges on ball "O69"
High Times launches new slogan "Where's the Spleef?"
Recently at the Moustache Press offices, in between a heavily bet/pet round of “bag the dentist”, we were marveling at our complete oeuvre - walls and walls of our books, essays, articles, and dissertations that are stacked and filed all around us wavering, wobbling and waiting to strike like an urban death snake. Such a staggering volume of work that will never be read. Hell, we didn’t even read it when we wrote it. This brief contemplation of our expertise led to a discussion about starting a community writing workshop with major university credit implications.
With no syllabus or modules planned, found, or stolen, we decided to teach creative writing the same way we approach creative writing: to not approach creative writing. One of the first rounds of students - we’ll call him “Crazy Eddie” - came up with the idea of generating original story ideas with the least amount of writing. I don’t know what the hell this is called, but it sounded good to me. Below are the best submissions we received from our first intake. We’ve also thrown in one of our own to confuse you. See if you can select the number of our submission. The answer will be provided at the end of this course. Yes, you are currently taking the course as you read this and I’m sorry to say, you’re not doing well.
SUBMISSIONS
- This story starts in a shadowy empire on a world that has all but forgotten its musical past. In it, a wily talk show host runs into a paladin infected with an alien parasite. What starts as detachment quickly becomes true love (between the parasite and the musical past).
- A hermaphrodite duct cleaner falls madly in love with an asexual miner - all thanks to a seminar. It seems a sourdough addicted to virtual reality will bring them even closer together.
- In this story, a smooth nuclear engineer meets a district manager trapped by the past (literally). Curiosity quickly becomes a game of speed pogs.
- A disloyal mentor is forced to live with a barber who possesses a strong immunity to Krautrock. What starts as hate soon turns into rape/hate - all thanks to someone doing laundry. What role will a zookeeper who was exiled to another dimension play in their relationship?
- In this story, an intuitive bard hires an acrobatic police chief working in an orbital spaceport. A public boner breaks the camel’s back (cigarette) and then the gloves are off (body condom). Mola Ram is resurrected for anal heart massaging.
Now aren’t those something? Movie producers beware: we’ve date stamped and signed all these ideas with pen (erasable).
So I guess it’s time to assess your proficiency. It has been a long semester for you. What story did we put forward to raise the bar for our lowly students? If you guessed either 1 through 5, you were dead wrong. Haven’t you learned anything?
Quick departure from the typical toilet talk that we are well famous for, let us class it up for an afternoon and break down some of the world’s greatest literature with our rich and embracing critique. Knowing that all acclaimed novels are placed on the shelves of men simply to get them laid, using our list of novels will probably get you gang raped (in a good way). For this first review, let us do a top ten. Hit it.
10. Exposing Myself by Geraldo Rivera
Anyone who remembers the afternoon talk show wars of the 80s waged between Geraldo, Donahue, and Oprah will adore every story about the prostitutes Geraldo married and abused by subjecting them to… Geraldo. It is packed full of sweaty Latin nuggets with his oil essentially oozing off the pages. Spoiler Alert: fake moustache.
9. The Long Hard Road Out of Hell by Marilyn Manson
This was a personal selection for us as we also had a lot of experience with being rejected by hot babes and turning to Satan for the answers on how to proceed. How do you proceed? Get that paper! Damn straight.
8. Nancy Reagan by Kitty Kelley
Try your best to go to sleep after you crack page one. Immediately called my psychic after reading it and she said she knew I was reading. Whoa. Also, any story about Ronnie the rapist puts a new spin on the bag of jelly beans.
7. Iacocca: An Autobiography by Lee Iacocca
Still playing Lemonade Stand on your Commodore? Me too. Read this book and set the price right in the sweet spot and watch the cash pour in. Thank you Lee.
6. The Unabomber Manifesto; Industrial Society and its Future by Unabomber
It’s hard to place the handsome penciled portrait with this document. We’ve all had our worries, but it looks like Unabomber didn’t. Certainly lets you know everything will be alright. Pfeewff.
5. Bryan Adams Everything He Does by Sorelle Saidman
Everything he does is done according to Bryan and I’m talking about Sorelle. Surprising that he let his gimp write a book. Kudos.
4. The Number of the Beast by Robert A. Heinlein
Hey all you devil worshippers - prepare to have you mind blown: 666 is NOT the number of the beast. According to this book it’s: 10,314,424,798,490,535,546,171,949,056. Served!
3. A Lifetime of Love: Poems on the Passages of Life by Leonard Nimoy
Spock’s poems are like a soothing balm for the trekie’s soul. Rap on brother. The word “love” is written 1535.6 times which amazingly is the star date in episode 44 “The Trouble With Tribbles”. Weeeeeird.
2. What’s Happening to Grandpa? by Maria Shriver
As touched as I was after reading this, I still want to know. What IS happening to grandpa? Horny bugger.
1. The Book of the Law by Aleister Crowley
Anyone who can pen a book in 1 hour a day for 3 days after hitting the lunch buffet and doing so with a man skulking in the corner muttering jibberish is a hell of an author. Also, I think he inspired Ozzy Osbourne - that guy is right freaky. FIN.
As adult life takes more and more of my crabs to the afterlife in a burning butoxide lather, I decided to make the gruelling 5 minute drive to my childhood home and our backyard pet cemetery to revisit the lives of creatures past. Fuck, that was a long drive. All of a sudden, I was overflowing with emotions about our gerbil Muffin, our dog Rex, our bull-dyke Spot, our gimp Minnie Muffeé, our mom Fish-head, and our Ricky Martin Ricky Martin. However, those snuggle buddies spanned numerous decades. How did it break down on a week to week basis? Glad you asked.
Years 1-10:
The crest of the 80’s was an exciting time for the pet owner. Movies and television were featuring BJs on bears, dolphins and angels, Italians with airwolves, and other manimals just cold kicking’ it. We enslaved them all. Obviously, for cost reasons we had to combine sustenance for all manner of beasts. The mash-up was a delectable Oskar® blend of:
- bananas FOR BJs
- fire ants FOR bears
- sardines FOR dolphins
- dolphins FOR angels
- Lou Gossett Junior FOR Italians
- Lou Gossett Senior FOR airwolves
- air biscuits FOR manimals
With the Oskar® fresh out of the box, they blended swimmingly, but good luck finding a fresh Lou Gossett Senior every second week. We over-farmed him - big time. With such a variety of pets, we expected their lifespans to stretch well into our adult lives. It was quite a shock when they all died on the SAME deer hunting trip with my father and grandfather, but I’ll always remember the succulence of that deer’s dorsal fin. To be honest, we couldn’t sort out the rotting carcasses afterward, so we blended them all up to feed to our new pets and buried the blender. Our gracious dead. Notable mention goes out to the fire ant collection. Those were some of the finest auctioneers to graduate from Dust Mite U (Auctioneer Campus).
Years 11-20:
We were prepping for the 90s, and it really showed in our choice of pets (jodhpurs capabilities preferred). We didn’t have as much time to spend with them, what with our fledgling honk addiction, nor did we have as many family members since my sister moved out to work on a Lou Gossett farm and my father and grandfather died on a deer hunting trip (what a delicious smoothy!). Regardless, we still had an eclectic mix of critters. Check this: we had a cat, a dog, some fish, an iguana, a Bo Jackson cartoon, and a parakeet. I know what you’re thinking: I had the very same Bo Jackson cartoon. Oh yeah?! Did yours feed on episodes of Murder She Wrote too? Didn’t think so smart ass. These pets died a little more naturally which was always after being eroticized by Angela Landsbury’s blueberry smocks to the point of deadly over-titillation. As these cuties flopped, my mom and I perfected a mummification technique utilizing chewed saltines. With our love of the piñata, you never knew until the fourth whack if you pulverizing a candy sack or a rotting maggoty cat corpse. Either way, it went well with that tomato soup. Sup?
So anyway, they lived, they died - what of it? I dug up the blender which mom had conveniently repackaged. Score one for team Oskar® and minus one for mom’s time capsule.
Follow Up Article
The recent feud between Rick Moranis and porn mogul Steed Von Boomquilff has allegedly been resolved. Rick Moranis stated “Legal action was not necessary, I was simply trying to state my point and distance myself from Steed entertainment company”. In what has been referred to as “a desperate attempt at a money grab from a washed up actor” it seems that cooler heads have prevailed. Allegedly, the issue was resolved between Moranis and a More-Anus employee in what can only be described as an in-car-hand-job in the parking lot of a local In and Out Burger.
In another squabble between Hollywood and the porn industry, Rick Moranis has allegedly threatened legal action for name infringement against well known Danish porn mogul Steed Von Boomquilff.
Moranis claims More-Anus Entertainment is “giving off the impression” they are somehow affiliated with the Rick Moranis Entertainment group. Steed was quoted as saying, “If I wanted to claim affiliation with Rick Moranis, I would have named our company No-Anus Entertainment.” Recent numbers from the major news conglomerates point out that Moranis has been in a severe ass drought since at least the late 80s. After what can only be explained as an anomaly, Moranis was reportedly getting copious amounts of tail in the early to mid eighties after the releases of Ghostbusters & Spaceballs and was being referred to as Lord Helmet on the big screen as well as in the bedroom.
However, in an expected twist “the Kids” were not the only thing to “Shrink” in 1989 after the release of the unfortunate blockbuster “Honey I Shrunk the Kids”. It is reported that his libido took a vicious and insurmountable blow during that time after a number of sequels, flops and voice over jobs. Moranis has recently resorted to trying to become some kind of a musician. An unnamed co-star on the set was quoted as saying, “he went from Casanova to Chevy Nova in under one second.” It is unknown if he has been laid since, but if he has, there is certainly no human to confirm it.
It is unclear at this point whether or not Moranis can actually afford a lawyer, but what is known is that he holds a number of Texas-Rummy (some kind of underground hybrid card game) debts to a number of unknown C-list actors.
Brian Whittleluck had only been in City Hall for a week after his landslide loss to encumbant Dick Brumpton and subsequent bittersweet victory after Brumpton suffered a fatal head-injury while popping the cork on a human-sized bottle of champagne at his private Wheelies roller-skating victory celebration.
The former city dog-catcher Whittleluck caused a public stir early in his term with his comments at Brumpton’s funeral, “Look, Dick Brumpton was not the mayor of my city, he was the mayor of my liver, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
But Whittleluck seems to have swayed Battlefordian public opinion in his favor by unveiling his popular plan at the Bremmerton Corn Roast last Thursday. He spoke for nearly three hours, mostly of the undeniable vitality of ground beef and a group of people he only referred to as “Fridgemagnet sons of bitches.” The speech often veered into vivid remembrances of his boyhood growing up on an Albertan cattle farm, his Uncle Rory’s penchant for wearing expensive Danish cologne, and his own fear of light sockets because of their unmistakable resemblance to the snouts of pigs, an animal he’s always believed to be a foul and manipulative species.
Luckily for the Corn Roast attendees, he’d saved the best for last. “I’ve been visiting numerous public pools around this province and I can tell you first hand that bridge hygiene, especially among our town’s children, is at an all time low. We’ve seen kids with two, three, even four month buildups. And I a can tell you that here in North Battleford, that is just not good enough.”
The mayor met initial audience skepticism with an extensive demonstration of the proper bridge-flossing technique: vigorously running a bath towel slathered in regulation garlic-infused almond oil over his crotch like a two person saw, quickly enough to generate “a real nice warmth” - a precaution that will be mandatory for all school-aged children this coming Monday morning. The cob-gnawing audience was instantly overjoyed at Whittleluck’s brave and informative presentation and en masse took to the Tilt-a-Whirl with a rabid glee.
It remains to be determined if the bylaws will make a dent in buildup. The MP contacted deceased mayor Dick Brumpton’s family and his common-law wife Petra agreed to speak off the record. What follows is an exact description of what she said, “Brian Whittleluck is a brave mayor, he’s taken a stand on the issues that matter most to regular Albertans. Have you sampled some of the bridges floating around out there? I have. Big time. Who knew that such a clean heat could be achieved with so little oil and a nice fluffy bathtowel? I believe that right now Dick Brumpton is flossing in his grave.”
With the mainstream popularity of mixed martial arts borne of the street fighting arena, we are always on the lookout for the next wave of underground pursuit that will wash over the public’s fringe. I’m delighted to announce we’ve got next: Competitive Urination Leagues.
What? Yes, The 2010 Pisslympics. These extremely competitive events of urinary athleticism take place behind bus terminals, in aircraft hangers, and at Fabricland. A competitor new to the sport will gravitate towards the distance and hue events (think beets), but the strongest veteran challengers all have a singular focus: the decibel competition. An eighteen year vet was reported to have hit two 95+ decibel showings at the regional qualifiers this June. To put it in perspective, long-term exposure to 80-85 decibels can cause permanent hearing loss.
This idea that 100 decibels was even possible to be generated from a urination stream started when the sport’s founder P.J. Gorman squared off against a co-worker in the handicap washroom and shattered the mirrors and porcelain. P.J. had kicked his stream into what is now officially referred to as “The Howl”. If the howl is achieved by over 10 competitors simultaneously, it can rival an aircraft carrier flight deck for noise.
The howl might be the ultimate litmus test for “arrival” into the sport, but how does the average Joe learn to howl? The quick answer is: you don’t. The untrained participant runs the risk of a number of potentially fatal ailments:
- sphincter bullets
- anus bullets (sphincters)
- portobello mushrooms
- Bs on T
- Ts on A
- Bs on A
- Bs in A (try to get them out - you can’t)
One of the major complaints from lobbyists is that this can’t be a hygienic endeavour. Amazingly, it was tested to be 15 times more hygienic than rollerblading. Some citizens are welcoming the after-hour congregations because of the sand-blasting quality of the howl that is clearing graffitied walls of splendid wands. Yes, no fig wang newtons. After his stag, Boshcoff said, “now we have a two pronged approach for our application with lube.” We assume he meant the application for spectator sport approval with LUBE (Litigation Union & Bureau of Economics).
An outspoken winner from the 2006 Pisslympics has challenged Usain Bolt to a sprint. We still have no idea how this race would shake out with one competitor staying in the starting blocks. We look forward to chronicling the final breaking of the 100 dB barrier, and good luck to all qualifying athletes.
Fourteen year old youth Mark Keys has assumed the appearance and persona of a 1988 Biz Markie in hopes of becoming the lovable sidekick to the eighth tier breaking crew in his church group.
While being a slender caucasian teen, Mark has implemented an hourly feeding frenzy consisting of Joe Weider (the man), a 6-pack of bismarck donuts, and jumbo Dr. Skipper Slurpees. His beat-boxing still needs a lot of work - so much so, that he has enrolled at Dickie Stubbs school for advanced beat-boxing and barbecue sauciers. Mark just received a B+ on his recent assignment entitled “My lethal weapon is my rhyme” - a free-flowing hot sauce recipe to pair with Ice-T’s newborn onesies line and direct to video spa relaxation dvds (Surviving The Game). That was one spicy recipe.
While he may be working on improving his overall girth and beat-boxing, his rabble-rousing is sorely lacking. Recent outbursts of, “Beat box ya stop? Not!” and “”Go ninja, go ninja, go!” got him booed out of the post Sunday School gathering for juice and biscuits. However, it is not all moments of humiliation. Biz Mark Keys crushed it last week at a Papa Piccolinos BMX Demo where he bum-rushed the MC’s table after a phat piece of action and got off a, “Bundiddly-diduly-diduly-dee!” into the microphone. Sweet redemption.
His future’s so bright…
The time honoured tradition of the soapbox derby has its roots in ancient Greece or rather men’s Grecian Formula - where only the black shall survive (Matrix Trilogy). Years of lubricating, refining, re-lubricating, polishing, rounding, mega-lubing, wind tunnels, child demands, and combing out the grey, have pushed local father Bruce Rhodes (67) to his physical & emotional limit. Forced to give up his dream of having a 30-minute flyer route, Bruce was instead pushed into mastering the fundamentals of aeronautics by his son Brucie Junior (II), now 45. “I don’t care if this is sweeps week on Days of Our Lives,” snapped Brucie, “we have a grand prize to win.” This years prize is a $200 gift certificate from Sandy’s Sporting Goods on Pekoe.
Senior has placated Brucie to the tune of: a customized aerodrome/wind tunnel in the foyer, a crude petroleum refining station in the baby’s room (no babies), and a cotton candy cyclone / crouton popper in the bidet. None of his extra work has satisfied Brucie’s hunger for that Grand Prize. “I have big plans for that prize money,” quipped Brucie, “I have been planning our family’s future since 1974.”
Apparently, there are extensive, but crude blueprints (circa 1975) that chronicle Brucie’s plans for the prize money - a total which has declined exponentially since the Big Wheel craze of ‘83. The rudimentary plans & diagrams chronicle a 5-step process whereby Brucie would sequentially graft large patches of hair onto his body transforming him into either a miniature Chewbacca (Rob) or a stinking Donkey Kong (precursor patent holder) - neither option being available at Sandy’s Sporting Goods on Pekoe.
“The neighbours think we are crazy,” says Brucie, “but we don’t hate. I’m so motivated that I feel like going on a 3-day Days of Our Lives frenzy.” Motivation indeed.
When asked to comment on fulfilling his son’s dream in place of his own, Bruce Senior released this statement through his life coach (Kirby Puckett’s book):
“The family is extremely proud of Brucie’s commitment to turning himself into a fiend. Anything I can do to guarantee the adhesiveness of the hair patches, I might.”
Fast-forward to race day: Sporting a massive carnival beard (are those bees?), Brucie pulled the tarp off this year’s entry - a 10-man hot-tub with mounted wheels. 5 minutes later, the Rhodes men had been foiled again by little Rory. They believe Rory’s ingenious placement of a flame decal above the front wheel contributed immensely to his burst of speed over the finish line. For the record, their massive hot-tub entry never successfully made it off the trailer due to complications with Bruce Senior’s back. We asked if they were going to try again.
“You bet your ass!” said Brucie. “Sandy’s Sporting Goods has committed to another year as the chief sponsor, so we’re on for next year.”
At the time of deadline, Sandy’s has pulled it’s gift certificate windfall and is assembling a lifetime achievement award for the Rhodes men. Sandy knows some local hairdressers and 15 bags of hair are being offered as the consolation prize. Win win.
Winnipeg, MAN
Used car dealer Tex Klein, was majorly bummed to hear the news handed down from UCKDRA, the Used Car/Kite Dealership Rating Association. For the first time in 13 years, Tex’s dealership “Klein’s Finds” broke the long-standing record of Most Boring Showroom with a tally of 11 out of a possible 1500 votes. The previous low was 995.
“Eleven!?” was all Tex could muster in response to his record breaking low. This rating came as no surprise to Tex’s wife Wifey Klein. “If I left the interior design of our home to Tex, we’d live inside The Hungry Man’s Dinner,” laughed Wifey. Ha.
A spokesperson from UCKDRA released the following statement: “With no offense to The Hungry Man’s Dinner, we have never seen a more pathetic showroom. There was an expired flier bundle used as the coffee table / toilet and the only wall hanging was was a pin up of a fake window (there were no windows). What we believe was Tex’s desk could only be described as a yak. It is also worth mentioning that there were no kites in the showroom, nor on the lot. In retrospect, we were hard-pressed to accept Tex’s application for a rating - the entrance to his ‘dealership’ was a mountainous billy-goat cave.”
As a follow-up to this story, the Better Business Bureau could not confirm the “Association” status of UCKDRA. “It is extremely suspicious that a Car/Kite Rating Association could not recognize the difference between a car dealership and a billy goat cave. It is even more suspicious that the World’s hunger problems are more than easily fixed by the Hungry Man’s Dinner,” commented an official.
A week later, when Tex & Wifey Klein were sought for further questioning, there was delicious thick brown gravy. When our investigative journalists were sent out to find the billy-goat cave, there was fresh garden vegetable medley and a rich roast beef. Our final attempt to finish this story was silenced by a steamy hot apple crumble.
A completely unaffiliated commission has been dispatched to get the bottom of this now record breaking low in journalism. A 2 out of 1500.
