Status Updates From Death by Zamboni

Have you ever nude Jello wrestled with really short guys? The reason I ask is that after I strangled the Boy Scout, I became involved in a skeet shooting accident with Carmen Electra and Yasmine Bleeth from Baywatch. And a couple of really short guys.

I was in a cavernous amphitheater the size of a football stadium. The tiered stands were packed with thousands of rabid fans, screaming for my blood. Many of them were on gurneys with IVs, others in wheelchairs with gaping head wounds, some had really bad papercuts, but they were all frothing at the mouth and shouting, "AB Negative! AB Negative!" Sure enough, my blood type.

"Before industrialization, the amount of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere was about 280 parts per million by volume. Today it is about 400 parts per million, and I predict it will reach 600 parts per million in two years causing a warming of the planet by 3.5 degrees Celsius. I predict in ten years, we'll all fry like bacon on a skillet."
"Well," I said, "as long as we still have television, I don't care."

The tunnel leveled out and began to widen. Then it got taller and started putting on weight. As I continued, it lost its hair and eventually became impotent. I came to a large iron door carved with dramatic tableau. I looked closely to see immortalizations of scenes from The Facts of Life.

So then I went home and got dressed because we'd been walking the dog in the nude.

I'm actually working on a novel of emails that is entitled Shakespeare's Day.
"In Shakespeare's day," I explained, "as you probably know, theatre was the most popular form of entertainment. Second only to bear sex. My novel has nothing to do with Shakespeare, I just think it's a profound sounding title which will sell a lot of books."

I tore open the presents. It was the Barbie Dream Shed. I started screaming and screaming. My mom came down and tried to reassure me, "It's just like the Barbie Dream House, sweetie. Just a little smaller." I yelled back at her, "Why couldn't she spend the extra twenty bucks to get me the fucking Barbie Dream House, the stupid bitch." Man I was pissed, you know? So, I can relate to my sister's disappointment.

It was phenomenal sex like I'd never had before. We had wild-dingos-ate-my-baby sex, Sleeping-Beauty-in-the-Ice-Capades sex, frozen-in-the-arctic-and-committing-cannibalism sex, Godzilla-vs-Smog-Monster sex, I-didn't-know-the-human-body-could-do-that-pass-me-the-remote-no-I-don't-want-any-more-tea-yes-I-voted-Republican-to-hasten-the-end-of-the-world sex, fuck-it-all-fucking-fucking-fuck-it-what-the-fucking-fuck sex.

I landed in a crouched position on the balls of my feet. I quickly jumped up because it's painful to stand on your balls. If you have balls, you know what I'm talking about. If you don't have balls, then it might be like stepping on your clitoris. If you have neither balls nor clitoris then the world owes you a big apology.

The kids were laughing at us until I started shouting, "You motherfucker! Mickey Mouse is a child molester!" The kids stopped laughing, and I grabbed Mickey's head and ripped it off. Etta swung her head around, flinging meat and ketchup against the walls until she collapsed on the floor in a pool of red. The kids ran screaming and peeing on themselves.

Her room was in shambles. I looked down at my feet and saw a small object on the threshold. I bent down and picked it up. A mezuzah. This was the only clue I needed. The Jews got her.
So the Jews kidnapped Custard to try to find the mimes. I had to find those Jews. I would stake them out at the one place I thought they might show up: The Yarmulke store.

I arrived at Custard's apartment building, tied my pig to a lamppost, and made my way into the building. Behind the front desk was a security guard whose name tag identified him as "Jimmy." I took out the corn on the cob I had in my pocket and struck him on the head with it. The cob broke, but he went down like a ton of bricks. Jimmy cracked corn, and I don't care.

Ever since our failure to get into the regular Olympics, I've gone to the Special Olympics instead. I pretend to have some physical disability to get in and then clean up pretty much all of the awards. I'm special too, damnit, and nobody can tell me otherwise.

Back in '98 we used to do X and go clubbing together. We'd pick up transvestites and roll them for spare change. Not hurt them or anything, we'd just pick them up and roll them like a haircurler -- a big haircurler that you could roll on the ground. We'd roll them, and then if any spare change fell out of their purses or fake boobs or whatever, we'd pick it up.