The Great Frozen Tundra of the North

It’s been a while since I’ve updated about my writing affairs, so I’m going to dump out all the information in this brand new shiny post. As many of you know, I switched gears from writing weekly humor posts to science fiction. I’ve also just finished writing the first draft of my second novel. For those of you who are anxious for the first, here’s a little dive into my world of writing. I love to do it. However, I have a family, so therefore I must work a job to support my family. I can’t take any time off to write. So my plan to increase the amount of writing time I have in a day is to attempt the traditional publisher route. I’ve sent the novel to all the traditional publishers open to unknowns and have been accumulating a stack of collectable rejection letters. If they all come back as rejections, I’ll self-publish my first novel in early 2015.

For those of you who have been following the Sperm Donor for a Cosmic Paradox series. It’s done! All four stories are up. Thank you for your readership. They are by far my most downloaded during the free download periods and the best sellers. I do plan to put all four (along with all the other short stories published) in one money-saving book. However, that’s another project to come early 2015. I need to save up for a professional editor first. While I do try my very best to provide grammar mistake free books, there always seems to be something. But rejoice! A grammar mistake that slipped through the cracks means you own a first edition!

Also, I will cease to become an Albuquerque based writer, and will be a Minneapolis based writer. My wife was accepted into a PhD program at the University of Minnesota, so I’m currently on the hunt for my day job out there. I don’t feel tied to any one location. The Sperm Donor series was located in Iowa because I visited a snowy rest area in Iowa when I went to visit my brother over Christmas. However, I felt it was necessary to write a book located in Albuquerque before I left, so my second novel is a humorous-science-fiction-magical-realism that takes place in a park where my girlfriend now wife and I used to walk our dog. For those of you worried about Spiral, don’t! Chris and I can record music anywhere. And Spiral has never played a live show yet, so the music process won’t change much.

So there you have it, and once again thank you for all of your support. I feel that the science fiction is getting more attention than the humor posts ever did. But for those of you who are a fan of the humor, despair not. My second novel is a sprinkler system of humor in addition to being one of the strangest things I’ve ever wrote.

Last but not very least, for those of you who want a small humor bite, check out my goodreads author profile. I’ve started a silly answer section where I will answer questions with ridiculous answers. You can check out my favorite silly answer here. Maybe submit a question while you’re there?

Time Travel Girl and the Paradox Kid

Time Travel Girl

The fourth book in the Sperm Donor for a Cosmic Paradox series.

The fourth and final Sperm Donor for a Cosmic Paradox story is here! This story wouldn’t be possible if it wasn’t for all the people who said, “What the hell man! I want know what happens next!” I was asked many times about these stories, so I humbly thank you all. I do plan to collect all of these and others in one volume someday, but for now owning the entire collection of the Sperm Donor series is as simple as spending $4. Purchasing stories is your way of telling me to write more. When you buy music, books, and movies that you like, it tells publishers, studios, musicians, and authors, “Hey, make more of this kind of art.”

On with the sample:

The smart phone swooshed as Jed sent another email. He figured two hundred messages pushed the boundary of urgent and crazy. Len had not contacted him in over six months since dropping off the DNA test. Jed attempted every possible method to contact Len. He called Len’s office phone and cell phone until they were disconnected. Jed even went to Len’s office a couple of times, but they turned him away and insisted that Len had found other employment. Jed asked about his test, but there was no record of a test for anyone in his family. Len had skipped town and took all the evidence with him, but that still didn’t dissuade Jed from emailing Len. Jed assumed that if he was persistent enough, Len would reappear and answer all his unanswered questions.

Despite the many sleepless nights, Jed tried not to think about his genealogic mysteries as much as he could. Jed filled his life with talking care of his mother, going to work, and playing video games. Since talk shows hadn’t been calling Jed for an appearance, he figured the tests must have been inconclusive. Jed resolved to never think about these stupid DNA tests ever again like he had resolved the day before and the day before that.

Jed dug through the trash on his coffee table for his Xbox controller. His work at making his house look nice went to the wayside as his tendency to never clean or even walk from the couch to the trashcan reinserted themselves. Jed was a perpetual bachelor. He lived among piles of trash, and only the presence of a female would change it. Since the disappearance of Anna, the only female keeping him on track was his mother. His mother shamed him into keeping the place clean. Since Jed was a momma’s boy, her not so subtle tactics worked.

However, the last six months were difficult. Despite his daily resolve to stop thinking, all Jed could think about was that he might be a father, and that his son might be his mother’s great grandfather. Jed didn’t want to be a father at first, but after accepting the shock of it, Jed thought he’d be pretty good at being a father. Jed remembered all the bullshit of growing up. Jed felt like he could change for his son what never happened for him.

Jed remembered being the target of rocks hurled by Zach and his cronies during his walk to middle school. Since Jed was non-confrontational his whole life, Jed picked up his pace to the school where an adult would quell the rock throwing by the presence of authority. Jed would teach his kid martial arts. He would show Jed Jr. how to break a person’s arm. If Jed would have broken Zach’s arm, no one would have fucked with him ever again.

Jed’s kid would be everything Jed was not. That’s why Jed thought he’d make a good father. However, history had different plans for Jed, and his son would grow up in a time when electricity was this fancy thing the city folk were raving about. Jed’s son would grow up when farms grew more than just corn. While Jed could make a good father to a modern son, he wouldn’t know the first thing about farming or slaughtering a cow. Jed was better off at the other end of time from his son.

Despite being on the wrong side of time from his legacy and his resolves to not think about it, Jed still couldn’t help but wonder. In the past six months, he actually left his house for more than just work and spent time scouring the historical archives and later resolved to not come back even though the nice old lady working the front desk knew him by name. Jed’s family all came from a town called Underwood, Iowa. As far as he could tell, his father’s ancestors had one child and that child was the mother of his son. A mysterious man named Earl James Ray Ruttle I was the father, and he had no registered ancestors. The birth records were lost, so the exact date of Earl James Ray Ruttle II’s birth was unknown. To make matters worse, there were no proper death certificates either. Jed’s only option was to pack his bags and go to Underwood to look for a gravestone or talk with the members of his extended family who never left.

Jed attempted to convince himself that he would never think about it after the trip to Underwood, and this would be the last time he’d spend on a futile search. Jed knew that video games and streaming television could eat up hours of time, but they never answered the questions burning in his mind, what was his son like? Could his life be different with Anna? Jed didn’t want to wait anymore. He wanted answers. Today was the day he would drive to Underwood. Jed called his boss. He called in sick to his job.

For a man like Jed who made doing nothing a sport, he had lots of time off stored up in his leave bank. Jed may not have aspirations, but he enjoyed employment and more importantly the money generated from it. Jed never missed a day of work unless it was planned. So when he called his boss requesting the week off, his boss granted the request with a confused concern. Jed thought that his boss was mad. When in reality, Jed’s boss was excited by the sick time request. There was a pool at the office for when Jed would call into work, and his boss won the pool. Jed’s boss didn’t realize that his celebratory steak dinner with his family would be one step in a chain of events that would lead to a life of “rabbit food” after one too many steak dinners.

After the awkward conversation with his “rabbit food” destined boss, Jed packed his bags for his destiny located in Underwood, Iowa. He decided a two-hundred and first message on Len’s machine was necessary to convey the recent developments in his search. Jed also decided to leave a note on his front door in case Len decided to show up unannounced. The note would later confuse police, and give his confused his mom a vital clue about the box in her storage locker. Everything would have been avoided if Jed had not bought a super mega soda on the way out of town and promptly needed to pee at a rest area outside of Underwood.




Jed’s trot to the bathroom was cut short by a whimper from the bushes. The summer heat and humidity pressed down on him, and he almost ignored the whimper. But then he heard it again. Because Jed was horror movie literate, he would normally leave moaning rustles in the grass be, but when he first saw the grass behaving strangely from the rest area, his curiosity got the best of him. Since he was so close to Underwood, he figured the rustling of grass was a lost dog. Jed imaged a heroic return of the dog to some old lady. That old lady would be the same old lady that knew his great great grandmother personally and would confirm everything Jed believed to be true. He would learn that his great great grandmother’s name was Anna, and that she always dreamt of the day she would be reunited with her lost lover. The old lady would look in the distance and talk about great loves. She would say one of the great loves was Anna and her lover. The love would be legend.

His fantasies were cut short by a moan from a human source. Somehow, Jed knew that the moan belonged to Anna. He had not heard her voice in over a year and a half, and he knew it was Anna. Jed cautiously moved forward not knowing what to expect. He was paralyzed with fear yet giddy with excitement.

“Anna?” He said as he stepped forward, one foot at a time.

“You’re taking your sweet ass time!” Anna said.

“Anna!” Jed yelled, “Why are you hiding in the bushes?”

“Because I’ve been shot!”

“Why did you get shot?”

“Why did I get shot! Not let me call the ambulance or let me stop the bleeding!”

Jed felt like an idiot. Anna was pretty good at making him feel like an idiot. Jed ran forward and sure enough, Anna was bleeding out in the grass. Her gut was stained in blood. She was wearing a frontier woman dress! She was a time traveler.

“I knew it! You did travel back to the Old West!”

“Clearly! Now stop the bleeding! And call god damn 9 – 1 – 1!”

Jed tore off his shirt and stuffed it in her wound. She winced from the pain, and after he was sure that he stopped most of the bleeding, he dialed his phone.

“Hi, I want to report a gunshot wound.”

“Report a gunshot wound! I am fucking dying!”

“I mean I need an ambulance for a gunshot wound… how many miles would you say we are from Omaha?”

“I don’t know! It’s not like I had a cowboy GPS for the last seven years!”

“Years? How long have you been gone? Did I miss my son growing up?”

“Tell them where to find us before I fucking bleed out!”

“Um… can you track my cell phone? How is my son? Is he bullied in school? I hope he can handle slaughtering a cow…”

“He is seven-years-old in an old school house where the teacher is the bully now get the…”

Anna trailed off as her eyes glazed over. Jed screamed, “Anna. Anna. No please… She lost consciousness. Tell me what to do.”

Jed started chest compressions. He dropped the phone into the grass. Tears began to stream down the side of his face. He could not lose Anna. She was more than the only link to his son or the answers that had been plaguing him for the last six months. He realized that he loved her. He never dated anyone in a year and a half because he never wanted to date anyone else. Anna was the person for him, and she was going to bleed to death before he could do anything about it.

To continue reading download the Kindle version here.

The Case for Invading Jamaica

The government seems to be really concerned with this budget thing. The solution to all the US money troubles is really easy. We can invade a small country with a wealthy resource. Right now, the US military is pretty much the best in the whole world. We can take out a terrorist leader reading a book to an elementary school class and not harm the kids.

Osama Bin Laden: Akbar Goes to Broadway by Osama Bin Me. Akbar decided to visit New York and discovered it was full of, you might want to close your ears if you are squeamish, Americans! The Americans seemed to be everywhere. Except in the musical Annie, Akbar loved the musical Annie so it was probably a Canadian musical. Akbar needed get rid of all the Americans and get the cast of Annie safely back to Canada. Akbar decided to talk to his ex-KGB assassin buddy living in exile about a neutron bomb.

Teacher: Excuse me children… Mr. Bin Laden. There is a Mr. H.E. Drone here to see you.

Osama Bin Laden: Oh no, not that guy! He’s boring.

H.E. Drone: Whhhaaaaaatttt ddddooooo yyoooouuuu meeeeaaan IIIII aaaammm bbooorrriiinggg? Issss iiiiittt beeecauuuusseeee IIIII drooooone?

Osama Bin Laden explodes from a smart missile.

Teacher: Alright kids. I guess story time is over. Let’s open your books to math. Alrighty, so a train with a bomb leaves New York going at 95 miles an hour. A terrorist wants it to explode at 2:30….

If we have the best military in the whole world, why don’t we invade countries with a profitable natural resource and use the money to pay all our debt and balance the budget? It totally worked in Iraq so we can make it work again. However, oil is so early 2000’s. We need to think about the future and a resource that will always be in high demand. That’s why the US should invade Jamaica. We must send a message to the president about the need to invade Jamaica without delay.

We got the map. All we need are miniature troop models to slide across it.

Bomb here. But watch the weed fields.

Marijuana is a very profitable plant and those Jamaicans really know how to make money off of it. When my parents took a cruise, they were offered pot at least twenty times during their one day on the island. My parents could have made a small fortune if they decided to get into the international drug smuggling business. I bet certain circus performers could be really good at drug smuggling.

Interviewer: So why do you want to be in the drug smuggling industry?

Circus Performer: I can fit 5 pounds of Meth into my anus.

Interviewer: You’re hired!

Circus Performer: Does this position come with benefits?

And because the Jamaicans are pretty relaxed and really friendly, I bet the invasion will be super easy. The US could sort of walk in and take over the country. We won’t even need excuses like WMD’s because the country is way laid back. The closest WMD in Jamaica is “Wicked Marijuana Dawg!” We even have a perfect Trojan horse already put in place. All the soldiers could just hide on a cruise ship and invade at their leisure. Imagine if we used that tactic on D-day. I bet there would have been a lot less death.

The brochure said nothing about the blood!

Excuse me, sir. Do you know where I can find the “Best Shell Fish in all of Normandy?”

Nazi Scout: There are a bunch of cruise ships on their way.

Nazi Commander: Finally! Tourism is picking up again! And better yet, a reason to play my Collected Hawaiian Hits record collection. Tell the troops to put on their Hawaiian shirts. And get my ten thousand coconut drinks with those tiny umbrellas!

Nazi Scout: Heir Commandant. We have no umbrellas.

Nazi Commander: What? No umbrellas! Kill them! Bomb them all! Crush the life out of their very existence!

Once the US has controlling interest of all the sweet Jamaican hash, we will be able to pay off all our debts and maybe even have some left over to get all the American citizens pinball machines. Because pinball machines are wicked cool yo.

A Historical, Transcultural, and Sacrilicious Perspective on Gluten Free

I wonder if Alice had to worry about gluten?

The genital region of this gluten free product is censored for younger audiences.

The US could really take a lesson in hospitality from the Irish. For example, there is a little protein called gluten found in wheat, barley, and rye that causes excessive burping and anal leakage in my digestive system; This condition is commonly known as TMI. When I ask an American server about gluten free options, the transaction transpires like this:

Me: Do you have a gluten free bread? That’s bread made without wheat, barely or rye.

Server: We can use white bread instead of the wheat.

And if you are lucky enough in the US to have a gluten free option, they usually charge $2 more. I’m guessing they are using that $2 to pay for the gluten-free training class:

Teacher: Glutens are a short stubby people with comically large ears and noses. They are usually used to dance for the local lord while he claps.

Student: Couldn’t they just free the glutens? Like make them glutens but free?

Teacher: Sounds like we need a time travel field trip! Got to use the $2 extra we pay for bread somehow!

Back in the Middle Ages:

Do you think they used the toilet with face paint?

Do it! And let the English watch.

The class watches a short stubby Mel Gibson with comically large ears and nose and a blue painted face rallying the troops.

Mel Gibson: They can take our lives but they can’t take our freedom. Unless they’re Jews. Am I right? Am I right?

Troops: Boo!

In Ireland, not only did just about every server know about gluten, they had options and they didn’t charge you more for it! We were at an Irish counter service fish n’ chips place and they made a fillet without the breading like it was no big deal. Try to deviate from the menu in an American fast food place and they treat you like you asked them to ritually sacrifice a cow for you.

Drive-Thru Voice: Welcome to McWontChangeTheWorldWon’tBeSuedNotDonald’s, may I take your order?

Customer: Can you ritually sacrifice a cow to the great Pazuzu for my Quarter NotPounder?

DTV: One number 3, would you like fries with that?

Customer: Can I get them fried in the same volcano used to sacrifice virgins?

DTV: One upgrade on the fries. What would you like to drink?

Customer: Could I get a water made from children’s tears?

DTV: WHAT? THAT’S SICK! You are fucked up. So fucked up.

There is more than enough Jesus to go around!

1: Do you suppose he’s gluten free? 2: Take a bite out of him and see…

Ireland is so gluten friendly that in the big cathedral of Galway, there was a gluten free communion wafer line. Now since the communion wafer is technically the Body of Christ, wouldn’t that mean that Jesus would have a gluten free diet to be gluten free?  What makes gluten bad for those that have a problem with it is that gluten leaks into the blood stream. So therefore, if you have a gluten free diet, your body has no gluten. Hence, in order to have a gluten free Body of Christ, Jesus must have went on a gluten free diet! Let’s take a look at the historical records that I just made up.

Judas and Jesus are in bed together, engaging in pillow talk.

Judas: I don’t like how you sleep with other guys.

Jesus: I’m not a one man sort of dude. It’s an open relationship. All twelve of you know that. Paul doesn’t seem to care.

Judas: Paul will fuck anything that moves. Besides, he really wants to get in the pants of Pontius.

Jesus: Oh man, I’d really like to fuck that.

Judas: It hurts when you say that.

Jesus: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. And boy what I’d have Pontius do onto me.

Judas: Stop it, Jesus! I love you.

Jesus: Love thy fellow man…

Judas: I thought we had something!

Judas runs out in tears. Jesus is riffling though some scrolls.

Jesus: You’ll be back. Hey, who took the word penis out of all my Sermon on the Mount monologues? I’m going to have to talk with Matthew. And by talk, I mean fuck. It’s good to be the son of god with a 12 inch pianist.

12 Inch Pianist: Hello, you are probably wondering, how do I play a piano when I am only 12 inches tall? My piano is smaller to fit my hand size. You are also wondering, was Jesus really gay? Well, he did hang out with 12 dudes and he wanted them to have his body. You decide. Paul, the wild one, in the original translation of his letter to the Romans, “Likewise also the men, leaving the natural function of the icky woman, burned in their lust toward washboard abs and rippling biceps, men doing what is inappropriate with men but oh so much fun, and receiving in themselves the due of a high five.” The events here are merely a fiction based on conjecture. Back to the story, Judas isn’t a manwhore. He was secretly waiting for Jesus to settle down. Judas did what anyone with a broken heart would do. Setup his lover.

I wonder if the Romans had hazing rituals?

You gay, bro?

Pontius Pilate is bench pressing prisoners. Judas moves in to spot him.

Pontius: You are blocking my light twerp.

Judas: I can get you a date with Mary.

Pontius: You serious, bro? This isn’t one of your homo tricks?

Judas: I’m going to assume your homophobia comes from your father and ignore that.

Pontius: Too many big words!

Judas: Whoa! Calm down! I’ll hook you up with Mary.

Pontius: Ok, bro! But if this is one of your gay tricks. I’ll punch you.

Later, at the apartment of Jesus:

Jesus displays his six pack in front of a mirror.

Jesus (singing): I’m too sexy for my robe! Too sexy for my carpenter stick. So sexy it hurts.

Judas: I got you a date with Pontius!

Jesus: I thought you were jealous of the open relationship.

Judas: Turn the other cheek.

Jesus: I’ll tell you what I’d do with those cheeks.

Jesus slaps Judas’ ass. A laugh track goes off.

Jesus: We really have to get that fixed.

Judas: It’s kind of annoying.

Laugh track.

Jesus: Testicles.

Laugh track. Jesus giggles.

Judas: Do you think about anything else?

Jesus: I was born with infinite love! What do you expect?

Later that night:

Jesus is lying in a four post bed. Judas draws the curtains hiding Jesus inside.

Judas: Remember. Don’t say anything. Let Pontius be in control. He likes that.

Pontius: Scram twerp.

Judas exits. Pontius climbs into bed.

Hah! The painting is called Ecce Homo!

The fact that Pontius liked it only proves that his homophobic tendencies were a result of repressed desires.

Days later:

Jesus is on a crucifix. Judas cries at his feet.

Judas: Oh lord! Please forgive me!

Jesus: Hey Judas, Look at my abs! Don’t they look good! I did the South Beach diet in prep for the crucifixion.

Judas: You dieted for a crucifixion?

Jesus: I’m going with the top down for the next three days. I want to look good.

Judas: Jesus Christ! I think I just invented a new swear word.

Jesus: I also tried gluten free. I heard it helps with bloating. It also could have been this ab blaster routine.

12 Inch Pianist: And there you have it. Evidence that Jesus may have been gluten free. While many scholars debate the actual events of his life, all pretty much agree that he was very health conscience. Why do you think all the crosses feature a ripped and buff Jesus? Well, anything looks ripped and buff when you are my size. And did you know that my penis is actually 12 inches. When I bounce on it, I look like the letter T.

More Than a Pot of Gold at the End of This Rainbow

I feel obligated to report on the toilets in Ireland after I make a big stink (HA! I MADE A FUNNY!) about travel writers not writing about bathrooms enough. I also hope that I am the first writer to take notes about the bathroom experience. So here is a little Irish Bathroom Experience in 3D! Poop flying at you from… The editors would apologize as we have discovered the Irish Bathroom Experience in 3D is on the list of banned 3D experiences. We’d like to continue this in regular D and possibly even blurry D or even no D.

This is the only picture I've reused. What does that say about me?

Ireland had the short, round bowls. American toilets have the longer bowls to let men feel better about themselves.

Let’s start with the logistics and history. I thought that it was going to be like Germany because in the Dublin airport, they were labeled WC which stands for “Water Conda”. They are called “Water Condas” because back in the olden days, giant anaconda’s used to rise out of the toilets and muscle burgeoning men like Arnold from Conan the Barbarian had to wrestle them into submission. The muscle burgeons would then allude to the snake being the actual size of their penis and the chicks fell for the bullshit. They made babies and we had musclemen pretty much ruling the world in the middle ages.

Nerdy skinny guys now rule society today because they invented toilets with holes too small for the anaconda’s to fit through. The musclemen didn’t want to compare their penis size with anything small even though the steroid abuse the eighties reduced their penis to size of something you’d study in a biology class.

Student: Mr. Finklestien! Conan the Barbarian is sticking his penis in my microscope slide again!

However, when we got out of the Dublin airport, the bathrooms were labeled toilets for the most part. Most places marked the men’s room as Gents and the women’s were labeled “those other people without rights such as abortion.” While I can’t verify the women’s, the men’s bathrooms were really clean in Ireland. There was the occasional pub here and there that could use a cleaning but nothing like in America where men pee on the walls as if they were a sprinkler system.

But I think that brings me to the big cultural difference of Ireland versus the US – the urinals. In the US, men have barriers between themselves when they pee. There is also the code. You never pee next to someone else unless you can avoid it. Never look towards someone else while you pee-especially in the eyes. And never, ever try to talk to them.

American One begins to pee. American Two comes in and starts to pee two urinals down.

American Two: Tiger is at -6.

American One turns into Cthulhu.

Cthulhu: You have unleashed the powers of darkness! I will engulf the world. The raw power of evil unleashed-

American Two: Whoa! I’m going to need some expository dialogue. How did I do that?

Cthulhu: The magic that bound me to my mortal imprisonment said that if a man speak to a another stranger during the sacred time of pee, Evil shall rise up and destroy the Earth.

American Two: That’s  stupid.

Cthulhu: Tell me about it. My cousin is slumbering from a magic that will be broken if a woman uses the men’s room even if there is a long line to the women’s and the men’s bathroom is a single person one anyway.

American Two: Wow. That’s weird.

Cthulhu: Ancient slumbering evil has a lot of rules and regulations. I remember when you could just slaughter indiscriminately.

American Two: Those where the days.

Cthulhu: For sure! So true.

HP Lovecraft's Ancient Evil Poop

“Who forgot to flush? That’s so disgusting that I can’t really describe it and would have you, the reader, imagine the horror I’m experiencing.”

In my experience of Ireland, men had no problem with a little bathroom conversation. It’s probably because there were really no privacy barriers between urinals and in some cases no urinals-just a pissing wall with a time release water flow to rinse off the wall. With my American sensibilities of privacy, I found myself hiding out in the stall and avoiding the urinals-which made for over hearing interesting conversation.

Irish One: Tiger is up by two.

Irish Two: There should be rain tomorrow.

Irish Three: Does anyone know how to get to the Ferry?

Irish Four: Strait up the road to Galway keep the ocean on your left.

The Irish are the best small talkers on the planet. Everyone is super friendly and willing chat. Maybe it’s the shared sense of urinal space that encourages small talk. Maybe other men’s wangs flopping freely in the bathroom makes people from any culture uncomfortable. What better way to dispel discomfort than small talk?

As an American traveling in a country that strongly influenced the culture of the US, maybe Americans are just like rebellious teenagers. “They don’t have dividers in the urinals, we’ll show them! We’ll put dividers! How are you going to small talk now! I’ll listen to my music as loud as I want too!” Or maybe I’m reading too much into it and I’m putting more thought into the bathroom than the inventor of the toilet.

Sir Edgar Toilet I: I am Sir Edgar Toilet the first and I am severely offended by this. I think a lot about the toilet. My offspring now have a pretty shitty dynastic connection… no pun intended. Either way, I demand the immediate cessation of this article. Why are you looking at me like that? Because I said cess? Cess is a normal function of everyday life. Why can’t we talk about it? I swim in cesspools at least twice a week. It connects me to nature.

Kind of looks like a mug shot...

“Hey sweet cheeks, you want to make a movie?”

The editors would like to apologize for the interruption and would like to return to the Oscar winning movie Argo (already in progress).

Iranian Solider: You expect me to believe that you are really making a movie.

Solider turns around and Ben Affleck has his clothes off.

Iranian Solider: Oh… it’s that kind of movie.

Queue music… Solider unzips…