Swearing toddler taken into custody

[Huffington Post headline]

What the fuck? Hey, I can walk, asswipe!

Stop calling it toddling. and get your filthy meathooks off me!  Son of a bitch! Pedophile!

Where’s my mom, motherfucker? Yeah, I still nurse. What’s it to you, hornbag? Nurse on this!

I grab one extra piece of motherfucking birthday cake and Jamie’s mom shits a brick. Who am I, Curious George? What a cunt. If my mom was like that, I’d shoot the bitch.

Alright. You don’t care? Unnngggg. Nnggg. There. Right in my motherfucking pants.! Enjoy the smell.

Hey, pussface. I’m a min-or. You put me in there with these drunk druggie faggots and I will ream you out. I will eat your ‘nads. Yes, bro, I will fuck you up.

Fine. Slam that door. When I get out of here, I will stick my foot so far up your ass, a croc will come out your earhole. I will stab you in the eye with my Barbie. I will dig up Mister Rogers, cut off his head, and leave it at the foot of your motherfucking bed. Clown-turd.

Oh, hi, Mom. School was ok and so was the birthday party. What’s for dinner tonight?

Mummy’s Erect Penis Explained At Last

[headline, Huffington Post]

This immediately raises the question: if the Rapture happens at this moment and your penis is erect, will you automatically be left behind? Must you be flaccid to enter into Heaven? And what if St. Peter is a really good-looking dude?

Second-class sort of additional question: if you’re handling an erect penis (not your own) at Rapture time, does this disqualify you as well?

Unless, in either case, procreation is your goal?

But even then, should you be handling the thing like that?

And why must it always be about the male member? What about that female mummy found wearing a thong? Or the one with the humongous ta-tas? I’ve got penis fatigue.

The mummy wasn’t headed for heaven anyway. Several thousand years worth of Egyptians when they died were vectored right up to Aaru, the Egyptian reed fields, where Osiris reigned after displacing Anubis.

Yes, Anubis. Say it slowly. Ahhh NUBE    isss. No worries about erect penises with that dude. He doted on them. This is why the ancient Egyptian taxidermists were sometimes paid by the family of the deceased to stuff his male member to its fullest, and sometimes beyond, before doing the mummy wrap.

My uncle, who owned a funeral home, used to do the same thing, but in his case, just for laughs.

Man Arrested 56 Times Going To Work

[Huffington Post headline]

1. The police made me put on my pants.

2. The police made me tuck myself in and zip up.

3. I wore a kilt. The wind blew it up inappropriately.

4. I wore my “girl clothes.” Fell off my stilettos and my mini rucked up inappropriately.

5. Stopped halfway to work and was denied the employees-only bathroom in the local hardware store. Protested by doing my business in Garden Supplies.

6. Took a mental-health and cocaine half-day before leaving for work. Jumped in car, backed out of driveway, across the street, and into neighbor’s living room.

7. Walking to work, shot a menacing dog with my .45. Chihuahua. They’re the worst!

8. Shot a black cat. Didn’t like the way it was looking at me. At all.

9. Passed an elementary school while walking to work. Wore my “slash monster” rubber mask for playground laughs.

10. Passed the school wearing my “I’M NOT A PEDOPHILE” sandwich board.

11. Grabbed a doughnut out of Sgt. O’Reilly’s bag.

12. Took the bus. Old lady squawked at me for not getting up. Thwacked her in the knees with her cane.

13. Too much Zoloft. Headed for work while still asleep, on foot in the freeway fast lane, wrong direction. Wrong traffic direction, I mean, but I was heading correctly toward work.

14. Decided to drive to work. Forgot to inform neighbor I was taking his car.

15. Informed neighbor that I was taking his car. Forgot to inform him what I was putting in the trunk.

16. Borrowed neighbor’s car and forgot to stop, or even slow down, at occupied pedestrian crosswalk.

17. Borrowed neighbor’s car and got into a race over on Deadman’s Curve. Aptly named!

18. Borrowed neighbor’s car. Stopped on way to work to visit friend in hospital. Parked badly, totally blocking the door to the emergency room.

19. Stopped at Starbucks on the way to work. Got into a fight with a guy who didn’t like Rush Limbaugh.

20. Stopped at Starbucks on the way to work. Got into a fight with a guy who didn’t like Adolph Hitler.

21. Stopped at Starbucks on the way to work. Got into a fight with a guy who didn’t like Satan and all his dark angels.

22. Stopped at Dunkin Donuts on the way to work. Too many doughnuts brought on sugar rage.

23. Joined car pool. Liberal demanded “shotgun.” Couldn’t let that stand.

24. Car pool full of “blue” riders. Spray-painted one guy’s car red. Ha ha.

25. Didn’t realize my work got a restraining order against me.

26. Almost made it through the front door despite the order.

27. Almost made it through the back door despite the order.

28. Almost tunneled in from the building next door despite the order.

29. Hang glider missed the roof, from which I was going to drop through a skylight despite the order.

30 Almost made it from my suburb to the city limits of the city where my job is, despite the judge expanding the retraining order to include the whole city.

31. Restraining order lifted when I claimed to be terminally ill. Almost made it through front door at work before police discovered my “test results” came from Hillview Animal Hospital.

32. Beat up  by black men on the way to work and the police take me in, for “inciting?” All I said to them was… aw, forget it.

33. Beat up by Puerto Ricans and the police take me in? For inciting again?

34. Beat up by orientals and I get taken in? I don’t even speak Chinee.

35. Beat up by some guys, I don’t know what they heck they were. What’s happening to America?

36. Beat up by women. How low can you go?

37. Didn’t get beat up by anybody. Police were protecting me, just to avoid the paperwork when I get beat up, but then took me in anyway just because of stuff I said to one of them. How could he have been in the police, anyway. From his accent, he wasn’t  born here. No way.

37. Fresh start! Clean and sober. Taken into custody by a beat patrolman because my zipper got stuck during a comfort stop in a little green park on my way to work. Snap! If that’s what snap means, in this context.

38. Got up whistling this morning. Hi ho, hi ho. Off to work I go! Stopped on the way to tease a dwarf and got collared for it.

39. I haven’t worked in thirty-nine days. I’m flat broke. And I get hauled in for boosting a couple of lousy doughnuts? The world has gone mad.

40. I haven’t worked in forty days and forty nights. Seemed like a sign, so I tried to mug a priest.

41. They probed me. Call me crazy, but it happened. The company put me on the night shift, to see if I could get in to work that way. I was driving through the woods on the way into town. Two in the morning. It was a strange glowing saucerlike thing that came down. The car engine stopped. Little green men, I swear to God.

42. Yes, forty-two days away from my baby. She’s there, working in the next cube, and I’ve been kept from her. I fell in love the moment I saw her. She never felt the same way, she said, probably because she’s a lesbian, but still. If I can only get back there and take her in my arms. Struggling against me or not. It won’t happen today though. I saw a woman at a bus stop who looked like her… I’ll get out of lockup tonight. It was a misunderstanding.

43. That’s the way love is. Rough. You can’t live wtihout someone and for some crazy reason, they hate you. But you can paw somebody else at a bus stop day after day and still walk free after a brief arrest, this being America. That’s something, at least.

44. I got a call that I’ve been reassigned to our office down by the docks. Heading for work, just for grins I swiped a guy’s fish out of his creel. He came after me and I slapped him with the fish. I’ve got to stop this sort of humorous behavior.

45. I want to go to work. I’ve got to go to work. This morning, I walked out of the jailhouse because the fisherman didn’t press charges. It turns out his fish had more mercury in its liver than a thermometer, so I saved him from heavy-metal poisoning when I employed the creature as a weapon. I headed down toward work but ran into a crowd of brown-skinned people getting off a boat. Assuming them to be a bunch of illegals, I started making citizen arrests. Wow. It was one of those cruise ships. Folks from some third-world country coming here as tourists? Where did they get the money? Stole it from U.S. tourists down there?

46. Read an article about urban renewal. Walking through my lousy neighborhood on the way to work today, I began lighting houses on fire.

47. Away from work for 47 days, I’m broker than broke. Stopped on my to finally get back on the job and borrowed some money from Moe the Shark, at usurious rates. His betting parlour got raided while I was in there and off we went in the paddy wagon.

48. Now after one day Moe wants his money back with interest, plus the bail he fronted me yesterday. Moe, I said, how am I going to pay you back? I never made it to work. Give me another day. Meantime I had to find my breakfast in a McDonald’s dumpster. Who knew you could get arrested for dumpster diving. Just because the neighborhood I was passing through was so hoity toity.

49. Moe, I said, I still haven’t got to work. Just let me go in today and tomorrow and the next day and you’ll get everything I earn. But no. He wants to break my legs, so I have to break his. His brother is a police detective. Very protective.

50. I sank to my lowest point today. I figured the only way I was going to get to work was to put myself in the hands of God. I walked over to the St. Olga Cathedral to pray. I think that might have done the trick, except that I was so worried about my outstanding loans and the interest accruing to Moe in his wheelchair, that I snatched a gold candlestick. The Cathedral is lousy with sacred gold objects. But God was looking out for His candlestick more than for me.

51. Fifty-one days. Fifty damn days in a row, arrested. My boss called me before I got out of bed and pleaded with me to stay in the house this morning. He’s sending a limo to get me. The yard is full of reporters. For some reason, this is all giving the company a bad name. My boss just wants me in there, out of sight and out of the news. I’m waiting but these reporters are starting to steam me. I have the right to chuck a few flower pots at them from my kitchen window, don’t I? King in his castle and all that?

52. Who knew you can’t attack reporters on your own lawn. Now they’re back, thicker than ever. Firing shots with my Kalashnikov didn’t help, except to bring in a SWAT team. After me.

53. Got unarrested because this is a big gun-right area and I didn’t kill anybody yesterday. Today accidentally started a riot on the lawn and got taken in with all the brawling reporters. I had started a bidding war for the rights to my story.

54. Sold the rights to my story to one of the reporters in the tank with me and instructed him to give the money to Moe, so Moe and me are quits. The payout was high enough to cover Moe’s therapy. He will walk again. In front of the police station, a couple of the other reporters gave me a hard time for rejecting their offers, and I had to straighten them out and get arrested again.

55. Nothing could stop me  from getting to work today, except a squirrel I dodged, ramming a school bus.

56. I set out for work on foot. Took one step at a time. Halfway there, the tension from waiting for something to happen became so severe that I sat down indian-style on the sidewalk, to gather my wits, meditate, and calm down before continuing. The crowd just parted and flowed around me. A beat cop said something about panhandling but I ignored him, until he cuffed me.

57. Made it to work. Hooray. Hope I can get home again this evening.

Typetrigger Entries

At TypeTrigger, you get a prompt every four hours and space to write up to 300 words.


Food. You need it to live but it can also kill you.

Follow these simple food rules to thrive. Disobey them at your peril.

1. Food can make you fat, which is known to be unhealthy. If you find yourself fat, eat less food.

2. You should eat a lot of green food, but not all green food is good for you. Sniff the green. Does it smell funny? Don’t eat it. Scrape the food. Does the green come off under your fingernails? Don’t eat this food.

3. Have you found foods that you can snort, smoke, or inject? Do you crave these foods to the exclusion of all other thought? Check yourself into a facility before the police check you in first. Here you will switch over to cold turkey.

4. Not enough money to buy food? You will find abundant packaged produce and other good food in the Trader Joe’s dumpsters. Access can be tricky. Hopefully, your extreme hunger will make you super-sneaky!

5. We are always asked about the practice of licking whipped cream and strawberry jam off the bed partner. Will this make you fat? Are you ingesting germs? When does the practice slide over from “unusual” to “just plain weird”? Well, suppose we told you that the licking would make you fat, and you are ingesting germs, and doing it a real lot is manifestly weird. Would you stop?

6. What are the benefits of using food for purposes other than consumption? Complexion creams and oils, dolls made out of potatoes, apples, etc., fruit baskets at graveside instead of flowers, so forth. We encourage such interactions with food. Keep food around, like a good friend. Every so often, you might just take a bite out of it (the food, not the friend).


“Is this useful?”

“Well… I  thought it would be. If one is good, two is better, right? Anyway,  that’s what I was thinking.”


“Listen, thanks for attaching it! I mean that. It’s a real… well… conversation piece. I’ve had a couple of dates where… I warned the girls in advance, of course, so they’d be prepared. Only it turns out, you know, it’s hard to actually come face to face with the two of them. If you know what I mean.”

“I’m not sure I’d want to confront them, if I were a girl… Is it a problem that one is rather small and the other is so large?”

“No, I told you I wanted to go large and I’m glad I did. No complaints. Worth every penny…”


“I know that with all your patients, you have to maintain confidentiality.”


“But if another patient gave you permission to give out their phone number or email address?”

“You want me to ask another of my patients whether you can contact them or not?”

“Is that something you could do?”

“Which patient?”

“Well… after my operation, I’ve now got two. I was wondering if you might have a… you know… female patient with… you know… two, too.”


“You are my…”

“I’m not your anything. Get lost.”

“No, it’s a good thing. You are my…”

“Stop following me around. Go away.”

“What if I sing it. La la. You are my…”

“Don’t sing it. Don’t hum it. Do not use the word “You” again where I can hear it. I mean it.”

“Tu are my…”

“Not in any language, singular or plural, formal or informal.”

“Mmm are my…”

“No, do not use “my” around me either. Same rules as “you.””

“Mmm mmm mm…”

“No talking, singing, humming, gesticulating, gesturing, or stylized importunements of any kind… Don’t look at me… No, don’t sniff me. Don’t sniff the air… Don’t prick up your ears. Get that cowlick under control… No chin-quivering. Control those goosebumps of excitement… Wait… Is that… Really?… Yes, I get it. You’re glad to see me.”


When I learned that I was terminal, I went through various stages of grief. This took several months, my last.

In the end, I convinced myself that on that final day, I would close my eyes, fall asleep, and wake up in some other place with a new life to live.

My therapist cautioned me that this mental state was based upon magical thinking. She explained that thinking something is true does not automatically make it true.

No matter. My affairs are in order. I’ve said my goodbyes. My thoughts are my comfort.


Dear John,

My love, it is time for me to move on. You know that I love you, but I can’t spend the rest of my life with one man.

Remember those happy days when I would teasingly call you a “geek,” a “nerd,” a “klutz,” a “boob,” a “fool,” and an “impotent reject.” How we’d laugh! Even though it was so true.

Don’t take this personally!  😉

Love, Mary


Dear John,

Yesterday I wrote to you, “kissing you off.”

(Is that offensive, “kissing you off?” I don’t mean it to be. Also, sorry for the typo in my email.  ;))

(That last ) is just the closing ), not a )) meaning a really big smile. ;).)

(I know you’re one of those guys who hates the ;), but jeez, John, really? That explanation of yours about the ;)? I know you’ve got a life, or you had one before I dropped you, but really, get a life! ;))

(But seriously, that’s not why I left you.)

So I got your text. Who is it? you ask. I won’t lie. It’s Fred.

Fred! you going to go. Fred!

I know. He’s a drip. But now he’s my drip. 😉

I’ve traded a drip for a drip! What’s wrong with me?!? LOL

I’ll always love you, John, sort of. Fred says hello.  😉

Love, Mary


“Drink your milk. Don’t make me say it again.”

“Aw, Ma. Please?”

“It’s good for you. Mazie’s grain is       costing me a fortune.”

“She’s still a goat.”

“Goat’s milk is good for you. Its proteins form a softer curd in your stomach.”


“I am not letting Mazie’s milk go to waste. This is the most I’ve got out of her yet. I’m getting good at milking her.”

“Dad says you should sell the goat and take up knitting. He says you spend way to much time fooling around with her.”

“Your dad is out in the garage with his head under the hood of that clunky Impala of his. I rest my case. And by the way, I want you to start helping with Mazie. If you drink her milk, you should be part of the team that produces it.”

“If my buddies find out I’m milking a goat, they’ll make my life miserable.”

“The next time one of them comes over, we’ll give him a glass of it without telling him what it is. Then you can tease him back. Listen, milking a goat is not as easy as it looks. I’ve got to go out right now and give Mazie an iodine teat dip. When I come back, that glass better be empty. If you pour it out, I’ll know and you’ll be grounded.”

“Can I put some chocolate syrup in it?”

“Sure. Dip a cookie in it if you want. There’s plenty more where that came from.”


First results of my “Famous Last Words” research:

Abraham Lincoln – “While you’re up, get me a coke.”

Beatrix Potter – “I should never have had that rabbit for dinner.”

Lazarus – “I’ll be back.”

Bucky (a pet mole) – “I see light at the end of the tunnel.”


I can do this.


I don’t need to be perfect. The first of many. What does Malcolm Gladwell say? Ten thousand times to reach mastery?

Is that ten thousand times going solo or can I count the times when I had guidance or a partner?

Ten thousand times… Jeez.

I want to get this right but I’m no perfectionist. Once or twice a day for a couple of weeks; I’ll settle for that, assuming I’m still alive.

Stop thinking and focus. Don’t get distracted and lose it. It’s all about balance. It’s all in the hands and arms and shoulders. And hips and legs. I guess it’s about the whole body. Including the brain. But not thinking too much.

All the daydreaming I’ve done about this. Ironic if daydreaming ruined it all now.

Lack of concentration. That’s my downfall. No will to win. No ambition. I’m a slacker.

Admit it. That’s why I’m doing this now when I’m not supposed to. I’m just taking a shortcut. I’m not ready for this. Just too lazy to put in the hours.

Doesn’t matter. No backing out now. Do or die. Come out of this in one piece and quit tomorrow, but come out of it alive.

Never again… No, wait. That was… I can do this. That was the hard part. A little practice and I’ll be able to do this in my sleep.

Whew. Once was enough. Or I’ll see how I feel tomorrow.

Man’s Hand Attached To Ankle In Emergency Procedure

[Huffington Post]

I don’t have to bend down to tie my shoes anymore, ha, ha.

But seriously, the only doctor who knew how to save my hand was tripping on windowpane at the time. I’m lucky he  didn’t attach my hand to my butt.

The good news: I’m right-handed and my ankle hand is the left one. Although it’s attached to my right ankle. Weird.

I’ve always been troubled a bit with a stiff back. Now I don’t have to bend down to pet the cat or pick up the morning paper.

Buying socks is difficult, though.

Twice while wiping, I’ve kicked myself in the groin. Such is the life of the man with a hand on his foot.

In the hospital while recuperating, I met a woman whose foot was attached to her wrist in an emergency procedure (same doctor). I tried to joke with her about our situations and she kicked me in the nose. Unexpected.

Speaking of feet, I’ve always been a “foot” man. In bed with my wife, I fondle her feet. Unfortunately, she says that when I’m lying there on my back with my head on my pillow, the feel of my lower hand edging over to her feet is “just plain creepy.”

It’s a lot harder to twiddle my fingers.

A 101 Year Old Marathon Runner Discovered The Secret Behind Limitless Energy!!!

You think I’m going to tell you? Get the hell out of here!

Yeah, I read the story. Marathon runner! A hundred and one, with my prostate every piss is a marathon.

Did I discover something? How would I know? I can’t remember what day it is. Where the hell am I?

Look, lady, I’m trying to run here. See that peak? I’m heading up there now. Say, what’s wrong with you? You’re panting like my spaniel.

These questions about what I eat and drink, what is that? Who cares what I eat and drink? For one thing, I’ve got no teeth. I haven’t been able to taste in years. My wife, when she’s mad at me, she could be feeding me ca ca, pardon my French.

She’s a hundred and fifteen, my wife. Don’t talk to her about my energy. All she cares about is my lack of energy. In the noodle, you understand, and I’m not talking about my head.

That’s her up there. Almost to the top of the peak. She runs ahead so she can get back and cook my dinner, God knows what that might be.

All my family runs. Hers too. My mother was running when I was born. She dragged me behind her by my umbilical cord. Don’t ask me if the placenta is a magic energy food. Remember, I didn’t have teeth back then, either.

You know that saying, the one about not getting old? It was a guy in his nineties said that. What the hell did he know? When I was ninety, I was… I was… What were we talking about? Why are you stopping? You’re gasping like a guppy. We’re no higher than twelve thousand feet or so.

Look, I can’t stop. Come for dinner.

Cop Compares Breastfeeding Mom To A Terrorist

[Headline in the Huffington Post]

I’m here to protect and serve. That’s my job. That’s my duty.

Actually, I was off duty on the day in question. I was in civilian clothes, but armed, sitting in our local Starbucks with my girlfriend Kristin. Kristin was drinking a Shaken Iced Peach Green Tea Lemonade and I had an Orange Spiced Iced Coffee in front of me, fortified with some special sauce from my pocket flask . Note that unlike another person in the shop, I wasn’t drinking milk from its source, which in my case would have been my girlfriend.

This is America. We have laws. For example, you can’t run around naked in public, unless you happen to live in San Francisco or a place like that. I would never be a cop in San Francisco. Where would I pin my badge ha ha. But seriously, you’ve got the inmates running the city up there. How would I know who to arrest? Or is it “whom”?

Anyway, we’ve got laws, such as if you are a woman, keep yourself decent in public. If you want to feed your baby at home, go right ahead. But you don’t go to the bathroom in public, and certainly not sitting in a Starbucks, so why would you expose yourself in front of the rest of us in terms of your bosoms? (Which by the way have got nothing on Kristin’s!)

Some perps break the law to get money. They steal and so forth. Others commit violence in the name of revenge or due to anger-management problems, or because they are a bully or a malcontent.

Love and money. The roots of crime. They teach us that at the academy.

But then there are the political criminals – the communists and anarchists and civil-rights crazies. They break the law to further their own twisted ends. These are those who would commit acts of violence solely to instigate terror and civil discord. These are those who have no good reason for breaking the law – no reason we can understand – such as love or money.

This woman in Starbucks, who oh-so-innocently draped a baby blanket over her baby’s head, to “hide” the fact that under that blanket she was unbuttoning her shirt, dropping the flap on her nursing bra, and suckling the child – or the child was suckling her, I forget how you say that – this woman wasn’t doing this for love or money – not the kind of love where you shoot somebody, I mean. She was just doing it to spread unrest among the other customers, including me and Kristin. Or me, at least. Kristin had her back to the woman. So, yeah, I’d call that terrorism, sort of.

Did I draw my weapon and escort the woman from the store? Yes. I did it to reassure the other customers that there is still law and order in America.

Did I get a round of applause? No. Evidently, most of those present knew that the woman was Mary Kelly, our district’s representative on the Board of Supervisors. They had the sense to keep their heads down.

Ms Kelly, continuing her terrorist activities, has me walking a beat – for the next ten years, according to her – around the county sewage plant.

Dog’s Butt Looks Like Jesus (Huffington Post)

Many thanks to The Huffington Post for the publicity. Praise Jesus.

If you find yourself passing through Backtoe, Georgia, do stop by our Jesus Museum. Bring this article with you for 10% off your ticket price. Glory to God.

When you enter the museum, you will find the mongrel Bubba chained to a post next to the front door. If he’s sleeping, press the button on the wall next to him to activate the air horn. At the blat, Bubba will jump up and run in circles around the post, yapping in fear. We’ve docked his tail so you can get a great view of our Savior every time Bubba runs past. Hallelujah.

Other museum highlights:

– A devil’s root in the shape of the male member.

– A set of Farmer’s Chew Jesus collectible cards (missing #18, Spear in the Side,  and #24, Vinegar Sponge to the Mouth).

– A small piece of the True Cross (Georgia white pine).

– Your future, as forecast by the suspected witch Mabelly Roosevelt Lincoln ($5.00)

Our most precious item is located at the back of the museum just before you exit. Stop to meditate upon the embalmed remains of my Aunt Flora. She was a mannish woman and I always thought she looked like Jesus.

Ya’ll come back, hear?

6 Unusual Ways To Clean Your Toilet

I don’t have even one unusual way to clean your toilet, but I will by the end of this article.

We’re not talking about the toilet in Trainspotting here. Just a normal day-to-day toilet, like the one(s) in your house.

By a “clean” toilet, I mean one that you look at and don’t see anything adhering to its interior porcelain. Enough said.

Why would you want an unusual way to clean your toilet? I don’t know and I don’t want to know. I’m getting a nickel a word and syndication in the Far East, where toilets are different than in the U.S.

Having said that, I’m giving myself sixty seconds – no, two minutes – to think of unusual ways to clean your commode. Six of them, or more, or less.

Setting the timer… and I’m off:

1. Hire a weird guy.

2. Use your toilet as an aquarium.

3. Eat no solid food.

4. Poop directly into your compost pile.

5. Hire one of those guys on the corner down by Home Depot to clean it.

6. Use baking soda. Or baking powder. Isn’t that usually the ticket for chores in the kitchen and bathroom?

7. Visit your neighbor every morning, “for coffee.”

8. Clean your toilet once and for all, and henceforth do your business at work. You’ll get points for coming in every weekend.


Nine of My Fifty-Word Stories

Fifty-word stories.