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Sega Genesis For Sale

Friday, June 26, 2009

FOR SALE: SEGA GENESIS 16 BIT SYSTEM– IN GOOD CONDITION!! 

The only problem is, my cousin took a shit in it. Other than that, it’s fine.  Got me laid a bunch in the 90s.  

Comes with the following games:

Sonic the Hedgehog

NFL Football ‘94

Mutant League Hockey

Rape Olympics

Shirts: The Game

Sonic The Hedgehog 3* 

(*has shit all over it.) 

 

I’m asking $800, but willing to talk.  Call me whenever, man.  

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Welcome to the NBA Draft

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Thank you, thank you for coming out to this annual event that brings you the future of your favorite sport, NBA basketball. NBA basketball — holy crow, Sudan is effed!

I am David Stern, commissioner of NBA basketball — NBA basketball, it’s like coffee but without the beans! I am going to say a team and then the name of a young phenom, whom that team has selected. I’m also going to wear this hat. See it’s a chicken. Doesn’t it look like a real chicken? Is it real? We’re going to find out … tonight … at the NBA basketball draft. What a world! Why do we even go to space when we have NBA basketball here and now! Let’s go to commercial!

[100,000 boxes of Kleenex dumped on stage. David Stern appears to be crushed and the lights go out, but then they come back on and there he is, on top of all the boxes.]

What a game this is, folks! Now I have the first selection ready in this envelope. I’m opening. Can you hear it? Rip rip rip. Rip Van Winkle. And the Los Angeles Clippers select … a prune! They’ve selected a prune from Mozambique. Come on up here, little guy. Look at him waddle, folks! I mean, is the NBA the new auto industry or I am a man on stilts? The answer? It is a real chicken. Look at her try to fly. Commercial, suckas!

[Every person from every season of Survivor is brought out on stage. Four or five trucks come screaming across stage from other side and run them all over. Lights down. Gunshots. Lights up. David Stern back on a pile of Kleenex boxes that were nowhere in sight five seconds ago. Where the Survivor people just lay we now see a black leather sofa.]

Well, it’s that time of the draft, folks. The time when, say it with me now: I … SIT … ON … THEEEEEEEEEEEEE…

COUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hahahaha. Here we go, over to the couch and ahhhhhh. Very comfortable. Now while I have my feet up, let me remind you of something. NBA basketball is more popular in China than Bruce WIllis is in Chile. No, seriously. Another fact is this: When I bought my first car, a 1912 Chevy Nova, Kobe Bryant looked like this. [He take off his shirt to reveal picture of Kobe Bryant who looks exactly as he looks now.] OHMYGOD COMMERCIAL.

[TACO BELL]

Okay, here we go, the culmination of the NBA Draft. I have in my hand an envelope, which once belonged to the late great Richard Pryor. Now here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to tell you what’s inside. No. No. Stop that booing. Suspense went out of style with the comforter. Now, inside is a picture of a taxi. A taxi that killed Orson Welles and that is still out on our streets, pretending to be all Cool Hand Luke. What we’re going to do is go on a taxi hunt. I have a Blackberry and 6000 torches. 3 for every two of you. Follow me. Here we go. Orson Welles will be avenged. Or his death will. I have no kidneys! The Prince of Persia ate apple sandwiches! Dale Davis is a clone of Shirley TEMPLE!!!!!

Also, the Pacers select Ricky Rubio.

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What it says on the backs of cereal boxes IN HELL

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Frosted Flakes

I bet you’re wondering what these things are dusted with.  You’re sitting there like “what’s this white stuff?  it doesn’t taste like sugar.  Is it anthrax?”  Yeah, it is.  Now do this puzzle or you’re going to get a fire-hose up your ass.  (The puzzle is a crossword that immediately erases your answer) 

Count Chocula

You better not open this box, man.  I’m serious.  Or you know what, fine.  I don’t care.  It’s not like anything here is edible — unless you consider SEWAGE PIPES edible.  Maybe you do, you freak.  What’re you down here for, anyway?  Probably making little kids eat raw sewage.  You make sick.  Everything here sucks, right?  Is it weird that the cereals are named the same thing but are really different? 

Golden Grahams 

Ha ha, there is nothing in this box. 

Kashi - GO LEAN

Make your mouth and your body happy every morning when you start with a bowl of GOLEAN® cereal—the perfect choice to fuel your weight loss and fitness goals. Just one serving supplies 40% of your daily fiber needs and 20% of your daily protein needs. GOLEAN cereal is a lightly sweetened mix of crunchy fiber twigs, crispy soy protein grahams, and honey-toasted 7 Whole Grains and Sesame Puffs.

Trix

Hey Kids!  Why are you here in hell?  This is really weird.  If you’re not a kid and reading this, then I think I know why you’re here, pervert.  If you’re someone that can’t read, here’s a bunch random letters, because, fuck it: orin433300###21fjfjfwprjiv..dj33jfjfsoos.  Also, this box is full of razor-blades.  

Teeth/Skin Cereal

This is a cereal filled with little, skin-wrapped teeth.  Not good with milk.  

 

 

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Frog Thoughts

Monday, June 15, 2009

Here’s some things I’ve been thinking about lately.  Keep in mind that I’m a frog. 

1. I think Stevie Wonder was right, man.  Music is absolutely the international language — is that a fly or a dragonfly?  Fuck it, I don’t care.  

2. I’m really digging what Obama has done thus far on the healthcare front.  Sure, a single-payer healthcare system is a pipe-dream and could get messy, but man, color me surprised.  The other great thing is — Oh shit, I’m gonna fuck that toad.  Holy shit I’m fucking a toad.  This is insane. I can’t believe how easy that was.  I didn’t even say anything. Yeah do you like that?  

3. HAHAHAAHA.  I just thought of something very funny. 

4. 5. God dammit I can’t believe I’m railing on a toad again.  I am going to do awful things to you.  

4.  Is there really such a thing as fate?  Sometimes I do believe in it, but other times…I’m not so sure.  I’d like to believe there’s one person out there for each and everyone of us, but I saw Julie slip right through my fingers.  There was a point where I truly believed that she was the one.  Did a bunch of houses just turn off their lights?  Cool.  I’m gonna make a bunch of noise now for six hours.  

5. Is that all you got, whore-toad?  Come on, dig into it, girl.  Yeah, that’s nice.  Be patient.  BE FUCKING PATIENT.  Yeah.  Good.  Call me Uncle David.  I SAID CALL ME UNCLE DAVID.  Oh god.  Oh god, oh god.  Wait, wait.  Dammit.  

6. I often wonder if people can hear  my thoughts, but then I think, “That’s ridiculous, Jared.”  

 

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A note about skin cancer

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

It only affects rabbits. If you’re not a rabbit you can’t get it.

Thanks,

Babe Ruth

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Hot Party Invite

Friday, June 5, 2009

You’re invited!

WHAT: Hottest Party in Sioux City! 

WHERE: Steve’s house a.k.a. THE PARTY HOLE

WHEN: Whenever you want, man.  Ha, ha.  Just kidding.  This party is tomorrow.  ???-4am (???) 

WHY: I crashed my car into Steve’s house after I drank a thing of bleach last night.  Steve is away on vacation right now.  So, I thought man, this is a good party hole.  Also, I need to fix this wall.  Is anyone good at dry-wall?  It’s really fucking big.  Car-sized. The only way I really know how to fix things is through party.  My nickname in college was “Party Bryan.”  Crazy thing about that?  My real name is Evan.  But, you know how Steve can get when things are out of place.  Do you remember when I took a pencil of his drafting table, Julie?  Julie probably remembers because at the time, she was sucking Steve’s dick behind my back, which I definitely remember.  Anyway, I took a pencil off his drafting desk while he was peeing or something (or maybe catching a sweet beej from Julie.  I don’t care anymore), and he came out and I thought for sure this dude was gonna go HULK on me.  He fucking flipped and kicked over four chairs.  He threw us both out, but I guess Julie snuck out of our condo later that night and saw him because she came back to bed with burn marks.  (When Steve gets pissed he sets a bunch of stuff on fire in his “Fire Place” which is just his backyard.  BTW, if you come to the party, don’t go back there.  He’ll notice).  Also, she had dried semen on her lip.  Julie, don’t come to this party.  

WHAT SHOULD I BRING?: Kegs, bro!  But also, it would probably be good if you brought spackle and paint.  

SO, YOU’RE NOT OVER THIS ‘JULIE’ THING? Fuck no, man.  

WHAT’S REALLY GOING ON, MAN?  CAN YOU REALLY BLAME IT ON THE BLEACH? Well, partially, yeah. Have you ever drunk a bunch of bleach?  That shit is wild.  Okay, but sure, maybe I’ve been a little mad at Steve but then I realized I should have really just driven my Mazda through Julie’s stupid beach house. (beach house — what a ridiculous idea in fucking Iowa).  Or, maybe right through her head.  Julie, I know you’re going to try and come to this party and if you do, you will definitely get hit by a car.  

CAN I BRING FRIENDS? Yeah

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Story about Dearl

Thursday, June 4, 2009

So Dearl was this 16-yr-old boy from Canada. Had everything a Canadian kid could want. Sweet skateboard, sweet Game Genie, sweet Indian headdress to wear around the mall and whatever. But one thing Dearl didn’t have. He didn’t have no girlfriend. Not like he didn’t try. One time he asked this cute chick Nobastapa to go to the skate park with him. She responded: “I have to wash hair.” Not “I have to wash MY hair.” Just hair in general. Dearl didn’t know what to make of that. So he went to the skate park alone and skated with the same kids as always and they had fun, but Dearl felt lonely. When it got dark that night, him and the other kids stopped skating and spraypainted pictures of asteroids on parked buses. They were good at painting asteroids, like all the crags and whatever. What can I say, it was Canada.

Anyway, Dearl was on the internet one day getting Game Genie codes, which was weird because Game Genie just gives you codes, that’s the whole point, but still, he thought there were codes to put on the codes, and as he was searching on Alta Vista a banner ad came up for CanadaDate.com. Predictably it was a dating site. Not so predictably, when he clicked on it (Dearl always clicked pop-ups, retarded I know), an entire woman came out of the computer and sat on the white computer desk next to him. She was a babe. She was wearing a small red dress. Her hair was tussled and she was eating a handful of blueberries.

“Thanks for clicking,” she said and ate 10 or 12 blueberries (they’re small, whatever). “You can date me if you want.”

“Holy crapdance,” said Dearl. “Are you real?”

“Sort of,” said Blueberry babe. “I’m part human DNA, part Alta Vista logorithm, part your imagination. Want a blueberry?” She extended her slender arm, which smelled like the bathroom at a really fancy restaurant.

Dearl took the blueberry, ate it and then tried to figure what to do.

“Listen,” said Blueberry Babe. “We can either go on a date to the skate park, or you can click again and some other girl will appear, or you can hit me in the face with a board and something fairly unpredictable will happen.”

Dearl thought. Blueberry Babe ate blueberries. Somewhere, someone ordered a cone of vanilla at an ice cream shop. Tick tock tick tock tick tock. Finally, Dearl reached his decision.

“Hand me a board,” he said.

Blueberry babe handed him one and he smacked her across the face, right to left.

As soon as he made contact, the lights in his house went out. In fact the lights in all of Canada went out. And the country was still and speechless for a half a second, and then the lights came back on. Blueberry Babe was no longer in front of Dearl. She had been replaced by a lovely dining room set. Table, four chairs, very handsome set of china. Dearl sighed and put on his Indian headdress.

This I think is a metaphor for life.

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I Have an Idea

Monday, June 1, 2009

Alright, I have an idea.  

Well, it’s not quite an idea yet– it’s more like a couple of thoughts that could somehow relate to one another. You know, it’s really actually premature to call them thoughts, so let’s just call them words, okay?  Yeah, so there’s some words that I’ve been thinking of.  I shouldn’t even say I’ve been thinking of them.  Let’s just say there are some words I know.  It’s not that I’ve learned the words or anything, I just know of them.  

Actually, I’m not even sure that some of them are words.  You ever get that feeling?  You take a look at a bunch of letters together and say “Is that a word?”  Like, for example “hetb.”  Is that a word?  It’s hard to say.  

Okay, I guess what I’m getting at here is that I have this really long sheet of paper with a bunch of letters on it, and I’m not sure if it’s trying to tell me something.  I found it at the main Home Depot warehouse.  Don’t ask me how I got there. Okay, fine, it’s not even a  great story:  basically, I was running a marathon to raise money for AIDS research, but I was the only one in the race.  It felt good to be winning, but I started to think that winning WASNT everything.  You know?  So, I pulled off to the side of the road (this was a driving marathon, but still the same distance, 26.2 miles) and a 18-passenger van sideswiped.  Man, I was super pissed and I got out and started screaming about how I was about to win this marathon and the guy driving the van got really scared and handed me a coupon.  

Actually, it was a map to find a coupon.  Lord knows I love a good coupon (because I’m obsessed with those “%” symbols), so I followed the map.  Man, on the way there, I must have won like 40 marathons because I ended up in Michigan.  When I drove to the “X” on the map, it was this giant Home Depot warehouse and the “Coupon Czar” was like “Yeah, we ran out of those coupons about six  years ago.  Are you from the past?” And I said “Fuck no, why?”  He said they were having a lot of problems with time travel.  Man, we laughed about that for like an hour.  Then he offered me this new coupon they had–it was a huge discount on telephone wire but you had to buy 719 yards of it, minimum.  

So I was like, “Fuck that man, I thought we were friends.”  And then I saw a piece of paper with a bunch of letters on it just laying on the ground so I said “Can I have this?”  And he said “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”  And I said “Really?  Because I think it’s a GREAT idea.”  

I’m just wondering if it is a good idea at all.  

 

Here’s what it says: 


fdfmDDDoooom!ffffgggjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj *****()*(*((*(*

8==========D(( rmetoinoittnnntnntnnt5nt54o4no4ntn

mentosmentomentosmentosmentosmentos

what is better? fish or swap meets? 

roirnnerngggngbbgb4ogboebgoergnsdnfoeiofnslc sl cakf[m;pj4-09th[emthnpwrgongon3ogneonvoenoen

fk

pleh

jeff

jeff

jeff

plt

errerrr

rnodow

stock

dfffffffffffff

 

Help!

 

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I’m Not Done With You.

Monday, April 20, 2009

I’m not fucking done with you, do you hear me, man.  You stole all my eggs man, again.  What the fuck is this, a Walmart with no rules?  Some kind of free egg-house?  No, no it’s not.  Don’t look at me like that as if what I’m saying right now is crazy.  You fucking shithead.  God dammit.  

When that girl, who is alseep in my bed comes out and is like “Oh hey, Ryan–I thought you’d be making omlettes by now.  Huh.  I guess not.  Well, this relationship is over.”  When she comes out and says that, I’m going to stab you in the throat, in front of her.  She will see that I’m the dominant male and stay with me.  I’m sorry it had to come to this.  

What?  What’s that?  You’ll run out and buy some more.  No, I don’t think that will be necessary.  Why?  Because this bulge in my pants is actually a live chicken.  It is currently laying eggs down my leg.  And I’m gong to make you choke on one. 

Don’t give me this “wont ever happen again, I’ll remember this moment forever now.  You have a fucking chicken in your pants” shit.  I don’t believe you because you smoke pot.  You forget shit all the time.  I just made a list of all the things you are always forgetting: 

-Birthdays

-To open your FUCKING EARS

-The difference between a cat and a lawnmower. 

-Stop acting fucking annoying. 

I could go on, but here she comes.  She looks so pissed off right now.  

Hey honey, I was about to make you some eggs and pound the shit out of this guy right now.  Maybe you should go back to sleep, and I’ll wake you up by doing pushups over you.  Cool?  Ok, bye, bye for now, babe.  

Is she gone?  Yeah, she’s gone.  Holy shit, I’m going to beat you with a fucking pipe.  

 

[A lost helicopter crashes into the house and kills everyone inside it.  But feel bad for the helicopter, because it was so lost and alone.] 

 

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A Brand New Sitcom

Tuesday, March 31, 2009

[Fade in: A camera swoops inside a Hawk's mouth, through the throat and into the stomach.  Inside the stomach, David Hyde-Pierce is in a pontoon boat. Christina Ricci's Head is on the front of the boat and her eyes are flashlights.]

David Hyde-Pierce: Do you think we’ll ever get out of this Hawk, ChristinaRicciBoat?

ChristinaRicciBoat: Here we go again…

[cue: theme music. Probably sounds a lot like Loveboat]

Music: Oh, no.

We’re stuck in a hawk.

Let’s go for a walk–wait, we can’t…we’re stuck in a…Haaaaaaawk!

What will we do?  We can’t find an exit…

Guess we’ll find out…TV is great, kids!

Announcer: There is no closed captioning for this show, ever.  Ha, ha.  Deaf people can’t hear this.

David Hyde-Pierce: Well ChristinaRicciBoat, I guess it’s just you and me stuck here inside this hawk.  Do you want to hear the story of how I got here?

ChristinaRicciBoat: No.

David Hyde-Pierce: Okay, I’ll tell you.

ChristinaRicciBoat: No, don’t.

David Hyde-Pierce: Okay, so, I was inside my dream machine…

[ChristinaRicciBoat sticks head into Hawk-Stomach-Acid.  Definitely dies.  In real life, too.]

David Hyde-Pierce: Oh…I…Well…how about you, viewers?

Audience: No way man.

David Hyde-Pierce: Come on, I’m in a hawk’s stomach.

Audience: [finds guns, shoots selves]

David Hyde-Pierce: God dammit.  Won’t anyone listen to my story?

Eric Bana: I will.

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