Thursday, January 11, 2018

Truth so good you could bottle it

Today was an intriguing day everybody. Woo hoo.

Because, you see, I discovered the truth behind bottle caps!

“Woo hoo. Finally!” I hear you yell, in your beautiful throaty cheers right from your beautifully throaty thoughts.

But it gets even better.  

This truth I’ve discovered was not just the mild truth. No way, no how, I discovered the spicy truth.

“Woo hoo. Fantastical” I hear you squeal, in your beautiful glass shattering whelp, right from your beautifully whelpy brains.

But it get’s even better.

This truth I discovered was not just not the mild truth but also not just the spicy truth, because the level of fire in this spice was super fiery and this fire came in a convenient saucy sauce.

“Woo hoo. Fantabulous” I hear you shriek, in that suddenly brain damagingly piecing way, right from your brain damagingly piecing brains.

You see this isn’t any kind of truth. No no no.

This is the kind of truth that if you drank a bottle of it, you’d want to hope you were filming it for you-tube, or elsewhere in the video sharing interwebs that could be considered similar, and you would damn hope that you’d get a lot of views for drinking that much fiery sauce of truth. And yet you decided to do it on a street corner? Are you mad? Good luck getting lots of views filming it from there. Unless it’s a super busy street corner. Which of course almost all are. God damn traffic!

This is the kind of truth that if you snorted a field of it, you’d want to hope aliens were watching you, readying to attack, only to think “hmmmm, those are some damn strong nostrils, that can snort up a whole field of ANYTHING, and seeing as we are aliens which are made of nothing but wafting freshly baked cookie clouds, maybe we should consider another day for the attack, perhaps when this bad ass motherfucker gets a cold, or at least is on a strict ‘no smelling cookie wafts diet’, which I heard actually is great for shifting weight, just as long as you don’t go near a mall where they have a freshly baked cookie kiosk, and why on earth would you ever visit a mall without one? My god, why on earth indeed. Let’s fuck off to a better planet, this one is fucked. Damn god damn dieters.

THIS is the kind of truth that if you ever even considered filling a pool with it, and then demonstrating your new found love of sitting in a sauna for so long, that you become so dehydrated that your skin become stiff like the skin of a pig that’s been basted over a fire pit for six months, because intruders came and stole the pants of all those at the luau and everyone is starving, but way too self-conscious to eat in front of a group with no pants, and so everyone is desperately attempting to bully their leg hairs into growing into the shape of perfect shorts, and then hope to pretend to be a top half human, bottom half monkey, that’s shaved it’s legs below the knee, in hope of passing itself off as a top half human, first half of bottom half monkey, and bottom half of bottom half human, so it can eat some fucking pig without anyone looking at it weird, and then you hope to take that disgusting dehydrated thick rash you claim is your skin, and dive in and with plans to soak it in said pool, hoping it would then suck up all that sweet, sweet liquid and you could finally be credited with discovering a new way of cramming liquid into a body, and finally one which is dominated by something other than some gross orifice sucking shit up? But are you crazy? As if the lifeguard will let you dive in? There is a clear ‘no diving sign’; do you really think you can get past that kind of epic security? God damn fucking god damn rule sticklers.

“Woo hoo. Fanfuckutabalicous” I hear you bellow, right from the depths of some hollow part of your body which is so seriously deep that you should be worried that your beautiful brain is on tour down there, I mean we all like to see our brains go on tour from time to time, but stay safe please.

That’s right. The bottle cap truth has been found. By me. Right here. Right now. In all it’s glory.

So yeah, BOTTLE CAPS, guess what…

 The truth is, that it turns out, that they go best on… bottles!

Woo hoo. Fabulociticy.

Don’t you just love it when things make perfect sense!

Thursday, December 28, 2017

Chapter Three. Unbounded, unless you’re holier than nippy, in which case SUPER bounded

Pinky-Von-Sox and the cave of Squawking Mumbles 

Chapter Three 

Let’s take a quick fact interruption. 

Fact: The Cave of Squawking Mumbles was originally a cheap, unhinged, and low down dirty land edge, which at the time of right before it’s formation, you know, like SUPER baffled people. That is people who saw a land edge, and were told it was a cave, which was baffling, because it was called a cave, and yet rather than being a cave, was actually a land edge.

Of course life fucks with you anytime you think you’ve outsmarted a linguist, and the cave as we know it formed anyway, right at the the tail end of the jumonicathic period. Thus making it older than most dirt, younger than most sand, wetter than most Freemason carved windmills, dryer than a sticky bun made of carpel tunnel syndrome explained through the use of foraged foliage puppetry, and more endothamatic than almost ANY ‘delete all’ function, you’ll find on ANY lounge chair, found near ANY assassination themed endothamitic theme pub, especially those found with a well spread, yet exclusive and special, discount code word, of 'thus'. 

So yeah. 

Fact. The fact we’d found the cave was a fact that was a fact that was beautifully poised to discover that it's very destiny was to end up on the podcast ‘facts you should know’ as SOON as said podcast was invented. Unless it already has been invented. In which case shame on you all. 

Also the podcast ‘let’s take a quick fact break’ is MINE. ANYone try to copy it and fact... I’ll sick the endothamic society on you! Um, YEAH. 

Anyway, it’s been a while since I posted tales from this brilliant, and factual, and more importantly this factually brilliant, true, and brilliantly factual story.

Apologies, let’s get back to it... 

Tuesday, December 26, 2017

Look at you, you talent rich talent

Great News: According to their ads, you ALWAYS see it first on channel 9 news. 

Yep, that means the 99.99% of times you could have sworn you saw it first on the internet, you were merely having a severe psychotic episode, punctuated with vast and brilliantly accurate psychic visions. Congrats! 

Friday, December 22, 2017

Ice – A poem

Big was the ice block
Really big
A big bloody ice block
And icy was the ice on this big ice block
Really icy
Every part of its iciness was made of ice
And pure was the ice that made it icy
Pure in a the purest ice way ice can be
And blocky was the block on this huge block of ice
Big and blocky
Blocky in a way that can only be achieved with blockhead commitment to blocking out any influence that wasn’t blockiness
Altogether this made for a big block of ice
Really big
Big in iciness
Big in blockiness
And big in block of ice type ice blockiness
Oh yeah, Icy and big was the big ass bitching bad motherfucker of a big ass bitchin’ motherfucking ice block

Later on, there was a puddle

The End

Thursday, December 21, 2017

The struggle of the dancing whiff of real - A Poem

'Can you give me an example'? Asked Jeff. 

'Sure. I'll just do all the fucking work as usual!' Responded Cal, in what was clearly a far more tense than exciting exchange. And by that I mean epically tense, and only minusculely exciting. And by minusculely exciting I mean, not at ALL exciting, but hey, at least no one got lit on fire.

Then Cal lit Jeff on fire.

‘Well now you're just taking the piss, that's really unnecessary’ responded Jeff

‘Sorry dude, I just hate when narrators take liberty, it’s just not their place, you know?’ Said Cal. 

‘I do Cal, I do’ replied Jeff. And then they hugged, which put the fire mostly out.

The bit of fire NOT put out burned for another twenty years. Within seven years it had became Holman County’s fifth most visited ‘human on fire’ based tourist attraction. Which helped the town, or at least soften the blow, from their ‘dildo factory on fire’ based financial AND ridicule based issues. I mean who’s idea was it to make dildos out of ground up Christmas lights anyway?

The point is, so yeah! Uh huh. That’s right. STILL want to hate on narrators you small county hating dicks? 

Saturday, November 25, 2017

All tied up

Hey team, 

Welcome back, it’s time for our BRAND NEW segment... viewer male!

Please note, yes we did call it viewer male, rather than viewer mail, but not because of any nefarious reasons. It’s just that other shows already do viewer mail and we wanted to be original so we called it viewer male. We’re really creative that way. 

Like we hardly EVER do stuff other shows do. Unless of course there aren’t any words we can substitute that sound exactly the same but are spelled different and mean something different that we can easily explain away as meaning the original way despite not saying that, because we’re being creative rather than intentionally wrong. 

And yes, we know that saying male instead of mail sounds tad exclusive, but we definitely MEAN mail, which is inclusive. So it’s not nefarious.

It’s one of those situations when a word sounds like another word and they have different meanings and then we’ve used the wrong one for creative reasons even though we actually mean the other one. 

We just came up with it. It’s really creative. 

It’s sort of like the regular bit other shows do, called viewer mail, but we spelled male different, for reasons outlined above. This makes it an original idea. And originality is creative. We’re creative here that way.

So here’s our first piece of viewer male (we mean mail). (We’re creative rather than nefarious that way). 

Dear Ok, intriguing, 

The title of your show suggests that you’re some type of show and yet when I come here, it doesn’t matter how long I watch, I seem to only find myself watching words. I can watch your show for hours and hours, and still only see almost exclusively WORDS.

What sort of shit are you playing at? Some sort of ‘word’ shit? That’s some shit shit you’re trying to fling, you shit. Words? Blah, if I wanted to watch those I’d watch the Price Is Right and hope they solve the puzzle quickly. And I NEVER want to watch people solve puzzles quickly, they always act so smug when they do...

‘Oh look at me, I got “The worm was brown” before anyone else did, I’m so clever’. Hey, fuck YOU. Maybe you didn’t get it because you’re clever, maybe it’s because worms ARE brown. Like a greyish brown, but still, brown, especially if they’ve been in dirt, which they ALWAYS have. 

So stick your smug Price Is Right ass right up that wheel you spin. Oh wait, maybe I’m thinking of ‘wheel of fortune’. That’s a pretty good show.  I love when they solve the puzzles quickly. It means less spinning. I hate spinning. It’s why I never get jealous of car wheels. Like NEVER. (I do sometimes get jealous of car glove boxes, I’d love people to think I have gloves in me when in reality I only have a bunch of old paper work and a dried out pen, oh man, THAT would be sweet). 

By the way, it’s spelled ‘mail’ not ‘male’, you shits. And don’t even try to tell us that you KNOW how to spell mail, and then spell it wrong, you nefarious clustermunts. 

Sure it’s very creative, but why not be creative in a different way? You know, like dying a worm yellow. Ha ha, it’d be like, “look 
at that worm, it’s all yellow. That’s not brown!” Lol. 

Your favorite viewer, 
Cassandra Cassington 

So that was viewer male (it’s really mail, but we spelled it male because we want to be creative rather than nefarious). Thanks Cassandra. You’re right, a yellow worm? Ha ha. It would be not at ALL brown. Depending on your color dying skills Love it. Lol. 

If you’d like to send in some mail, please call it male, even though that’s exclusive, and even though we specially want it to be inclusive. 

And stay tuned, after the break we’ve got our legendary segment, that’s right, it’s ‘things that people think MAY be parsnip, but end up KNOT being parsnip. It’s the bit that’s exclusively inclusive, unless you’re.... say it with us... “KNOT a parsnip!!! (We mean not). 

Thursday, July 6, 2017

Ponder it at least. At LEAST please.

Hello everyone. I am sorry to be the barer of bad news, but I was just handed a card with the news on it. And I am afraid it is official - it turns out that the thing gnats with slightly too much access to their local garden center's upper management Salvation Army fundraising dinner coffers would think if they fantasized about gaining slightly too LITTLE access, has been revealed, and is as follows...

'I'm not sure if TOO many gullies are named after ferns. Or not enough are named after bastard children of cave dwelling hypoglycemia smelling souls of leather shoes. But either way. STOP IT!'

Everyone here at the show wishes you the best in dealing with this news.

PS. We don't fucking know how the gnats got slightly too much access, do we look like we're in fucking in charge of coffers?

PPS. Sorry again. A gnat had a gun to our heads and made us say that.

PPPS. Still makes you think right? And that's something I think we can ALL think about.