Chomp. Chomp. Dead. The Online Comedy Community

So I just bought the latest version of "Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing," and I have to be honest, I already know how to type. Hell, I even know my way around with the mouse real good. But if Mavis "Sweet Tits" Beacon wants to teach me anything, well then power up my laptop and slide the floppy disc right in.

I'm not sure what it is. Maybe it's that come-hither voice. Maybe it's her chocolate flesh that melts in my mouth AND in my increasingly dexterous hands.

I imagine her blue Janet Reno dress in a heap on the floor after I've accurately and efficiently typed a series of carefully chosen words and phrases. Sometimes, just to make things interesting, I type with my erect penis. Unfortunately, the irregular structure of my shaft demands that I lie sideways and rest my left leg in a sling just to make the activity workably feasible. I won't explain the logistics, but it does get Mavis all hot and bothered, mind you.

I know whose buttons I'LL be touching later tonight. I think I'll play that one game with the penguin and icebergs and shit.

Let's get something fag-gay clear.

Not clear enough, doesn't play off my previous uses of clear and crystal?

Well it's not PC enough, but you don't see Michael C. Hall taking the dick out of his mouth to object to it.

Whoah! He made the Michael C. Hall joke before the end of the post!

The past few days have been an odyssey, not to say I've been attacked by H.A.L., or that I've been sailing the seas. Nay, this is an odyssey only PCP could induce. Maybe Hawaiian Ice. Maybe.

Obligated by chance, it seems that I've settled for a one bedroom apartment, as to avoid the odds of becoming acquainted with The Professor, out on East Hastings.

Who is The Professor, you may ask? He is a man who resembles Bob Dylan that I met one day whilst traveling on the 8 to downtown. There were Germans speaking their native tongue. "Amazing what a person fits in their head..." I hear him shout, "Naw, I ain't racist though, I own a colour television!"

"Be my friend." I reply.

In any case, I've decided to turn my back on homelessness, and now will live in an apartment. I'm counting down the moments for my own Dark Water invasion. If anyone saw that movie, I'm sorry for both the reference, and the fact that you saw the movie.

To be on the upscale, and attempt at proper comedy, I'd have to be prepared with a subject matter that weren't half hearted. One that subjects itself to all the moments of the universe that will having you ROLF'ing, LOL'ing and slightly considering finding a larf.

Yo Bitchez! This writer be out.


...


Like Michael C. Clark after being pressured by his boyfriend in the first season.

Did you hear about the MacKenzie girl? Heather, the oldest, blond, pleasant, rather big bum? You know that after graduating from Springer last year, she went to Africa to work with World Youth for Raising Awareness.I told you that. Well, just before she was to return last month, she went on a safari with her Uncle Ron. You know, Ron from Ottawa, drinks, when he breathes out, his nose whistles. Anyway, I have some bad news. It seems little Heather, while taking pictures, wandered away from the safari group, wearing an iPod thing, a lone white female out on the African plain, big bum, and a rogue Rhino charged up behind her and, well, raped her. It was a nasty shock. She said the worst part was she didn't see it coming. Fortunately, Ron did. Caught it on all video. Practically buckets of the stuff. Amazing. If you want a look, it's on Youtube. It seems rhinos are highly excitable so most of it ends up in her hair. What would we do without technology, you know, Ron's a terrible sketch artist. His strong suit is sunsets. Rhinos .......Anyway, she's home, just don't ask if she had a good time in Africa and for Christ sake don't ask if she saw any wild animals. Bit of a sore spot with her still.

Hey everyone, remember that time we weren't quite "Crystal Meth" clear?

Let me clear that shit up.

So here's what's funny when you've spent enough time killing hookers that people don't believe you're doing it, but are making a joke, or a copycat to a rather infamous Vancouver local.

Too soon? Well not for me. Not when Jason Marsdon's got my back. Enough that this shit is about to get real.

I know I've been absent, but I'm homeless. That part isn't the joke, but real. Isn't that where the comedy comes from? Realness, son?

Look, I'll be honest. This, like so many Jay Leno monologues, isn't going anywhere. So, just like Michael C. Hall's penis while going for a complete stranger when his character has problems with 'Keith', let's wrap this up.

On behalf of the Retarded Women of Alberta, I have a few things I would like to say.

Dhaiii Dhaiii

Arghargh clap clap

All I want to do is suck cock. And it doesn't matter who's cock. I love all cock. Ugly cock, fat cock. small cock, old cock. It's all good. Why? because it's cock. and cock doesn't even have to try because its good, just by being himself.

So don't worry, all of you men out there. Us Retarded Women of Alberta, or of the World for that matter, are soooo retarded and stupid, that all of the cock out there seems brilliant.

(this articles was written with a sarcastic keyboard)

Has the site been haxxored?

But midget tossing is perfectly acceptable.

She wants me! She wants me! She wants me! She wants me!

"your mother is so slutty, when asked where America was located on a globe, she just pointed to her vagina. her vagina."

"Your daddy is so slutty, his nose isn't full of nose hair, it's full of pubic hair"

"your Grandma is so slutty, she's been fucked so many times, that when she walks, it's like she is playing the trumpet between her legs"

"Your Grandpa is so slutty, he has no come left. So he just pisses on you"

"your Sister is so slutty, cause she can be"

"Your brother is so slutty, cause he makes money"

There, in true communist fasion, I didn't leave anyone out. Your welcome

Remember the days without labels? I don't. I wasn't born yet. Non of us were. Nothing was. Nothing wasn't anything. And anything wasn't a concept. And concept wasn't a word. And words weren't ideas. And ideas weren't Illusions. But, I do know that labels can be like totally bad, dude. Man, labels are not cool. Like I would just rather die, then be labeled a cancer victim. Or having to be defined by my age and race. What's that all about? I am energy. Jesus Christ. I don't even like calling it energy either, but, it is a step up. I don't like calling myself... myself, or I or me. Fuck me. I mean. Fuck. I am nothing. Nothing. I hate words. I'm a writer. So what a conudrum. I love words. But I hate them. Illusions, man. Hallograms that exist, but don't.

and in honor of nothing. I will write the rest of this article, not defining shit and not writing my words.