Dregs
The family Melmon
And now community leader Horpus Melmon will perform her eulogy for Dr. King performed entirely on the bass drum.▲
Velveet Melmon, your defense that you are not guilty due to the fact of the arresting policeman being your nemesis does not persuade the court. I hereby find you guilty of ruining $32,000 worth of office carpeting, and attempting to burgle a flooring factory, and for illegally harboring and training a scourge of hogs to assist you in your burglary attempt.rudest
pharmacists
ranked:
Ah yes good for it is...the great Melmon
Delphinus Melmonicus, much like its discoverer Bartolomeo Melmon, is a species of dolphin distinguished by its preternatural ability to go BEEPBEEPBEEP loudly and for decades on end.
▲▲▲Lidovuco Melmon’s uncalled-for risque hologram of Helen Mirren has forced the court to sentence him to hard labor at a special camp for scoundrels.
▲▲▲Deftly sneaking into the warehouse by cover of night, Prohibition Agent Rorty Melmon pries open a barrel and, finding liquid sin, begins dutifully shitting into one thousand containers of unlicensed vanilla extract.
▲▲▲Well our next guest knows a thing or two about swamp management. She wrote the webisode on it! Please welcome Nermo Melmon.
The Creationist’s Folly
The universe was created the day I was born, December 7, 1993.
Hey Wheel Fellas, how you doing?
[In perfect unison]
WE ARE FEELIN’ WHEEL FINE
I was sorry to hear about the verdict the other day.
[In perfect unison]
WE MAINTAIN FATHER DROWNED HIMSELF
- This is DJ Tito, your girlfriend’s favorite DJ, on the air. Who’s this?
- Oh my goodness. It’s Roberta from Fall River. I just want to say you’re my favorite DJ.
- No, you’re my favorite, Roberta. What smooth tune do you want me to spin for you?
- Sorry, I’m out of breath. “Hot Stuff” by Donna Summers.
- A fitting choice. Roberta, you hot stuff. Let me tell you something.
- Oh, you’re frisky Tito.
- Your name is ethereal. It’s three syllables.
- Drop everything, Tito. You’re coming with me to Reno.
- What I wanted to tell you is that I have your husband, Doug, here in the studio.
- Oh, golly, I’m so embarrassed. Doug, can we—
- Doug is gone forever.
- Please tell me this is one of your scams, Tito, please.
- It is. “Doug” was just a hologram.
- I am so stupid. I should’ve known this was one of your hoaxes, Tito.
- Don’t feel alone. It’s my job to trick women.
- If you want to feel like Stevie Wonder, wear sunglasses while using the computer!
- Be careful now, children.
Dog Tricks For Marvo
Marvo, I have prepared for you a translation of all the tricks your incredible new dog shall know. It is my gift for you, Marvo! – Pete
“Roll over” — Oh Marvo, when you see the dog perform his incredible spinning, you will know that I hold you dear as a true friend, Marvo. Oh he will spin the long way.
“Sit” — 35 years, Marvo! A man of 35 years must have a dog that can wait for him on the ground. That is what this does Marvo. The dog waits, but it is called “sit.”
“Come” — I weep as I write this Marvo. The dog, he will be at your side if you say this, always. Oh Marvo it is a thing of great beauty. Oh the dog.
“Play dead” — A joke, Marvo! It is only a joke that the dog he is dead. You must not take this in anger. It is a jest, Marvo, a fine one, for you!
“Speak” — What, Marvo? Is the dog the man? You will listen to him “speak,” and say, maybe I am the dog. You will get a bone and a little outside house, perhaps I think! Marvo.
“Fetch” — The dog can get the milk bottle if your milk idiot has misplaced it, Marvo. Three days now the milk idiot has placed my milk in the driveway. I punch my wall I am so mad.
“Stay” — I do not understand this Marvo. I do not know what this should do. Never say this Marvo. This is the one you must never say.
— Signed by Pete
Children, I came home from work today to find that you two raked all of the leaves in our yard into two enormous piles. I need you to tell me honestly: What are you hiding in there?
I’m not going to be mad; I’m your father and I love you, but I just need to know what’s under those piles. Nod if I’m getting close. Is it drugs? An illegal firearm? A chasm you dug? If one of you has made some kind of mistake, let’s figure it out together. I won’t abandon you to the American justice system again.
Casey, you’re a smart girl. Mr. Martinet says one of the smartest in the whole class! Oh God, is that it? You couldn’t stand it, not being the smartest. You killed Billy Matthewson and buried him underneath those leaves, didn’t you? Not so bright anymore, are you, Billy? That was very clever, Casey. He’ll decompose faster in all that organic material.
Oh, okay, Mrs. Matthewson just texted me back; it looks like Billy is at home studying. Thank God. I was about to call the police. I’m sorry, Casey, but I can’t take the fall for this. Then what’s under there? They’re about the right size and shape for… I don’t know, two medium-sized rocks? Did you just cover some rocks with leaves? It’s so simple.
Kids, I’m starting to lose my patience. I would just go check under the piles and see for myself, but I can’t possibly move all those leaves. It’s so many leaves. I can’t imagine how long this must have taken you.
Hello and welcome to my cookbook, The Yeast Will Rise Again: Down-Home Southern Fried Comfort Cooking for the Lonely Heart. In here we've got recipes—lots of 'em—and smiles—with a wink. As long as you read this cookbook, that's a money back guarantee.
Today in the cookbook we have all the fixin's! Bread pudding, meat pies, meat pudding, and bread pies with a signature twist. All you need is a blender that has been blessed by me, Rick Perry. I like to put on a little salt for a big salty kick.
Check out the chapter on kale. Nevermind—gotcha, you sick fuck!
This book is purchasable for one crisp 10 dollar bill. This is America for goodness sakes—not the moon. You're a dumbassed fool—dumb as a horse's ass!
- INSTRUCTOR: In here, Phillipa. Where we are going requires us to pass through the deepest part of the Academy’s dungeons.
- PHILLIPA: Here? But teacher, I was told never, ever to go through this door.
- INSTRUCTOR: That is what we tell the students, yes. But you are mere student no longer. Come.
- PHILLIPA: It’s very dark. I can’t see anything.
- INSTRUCTOR: (Lights torch, with ignites a series of chandeliers illuminating the enormous chamber) You are the beacon we have been waiting for, Phillipa.
- PHILLIPA: Whoa, pretty big piano!
- INSTRUCTOR: Mistake, start again!
- PHILLIPA: But Sir, I can’t jump from the D to the A#, it’s just too far for me!
- INSTRUCTOR: When you first played piano, was Mozart too hard? Were the 32nd notes too fast? They were! They were, and you practiced and then they weren’t.
- PHILLIPA: But these keys are ten feet apart. I can’t jump ten feet. I think this piano is too big.
- INSTRUCTOR: (Gives scandalized look and throws bucket of ice water) AGAIN.
- INSTRUCTOR: What are you doing Phillipa?!
- PAUL: Oh, she’s just helping me perfect the Chopin piece for my recital.
- INSTRUCTOR: No, she is reinforcing bad habits for her own piano playing!
- PHILLIPA: What, because I’m playing a regular piano and not the big piano?
- INSTRUCTOR: … Now Paul knows there is a big piano hidden under the Academy. Paul, come with me.
- PHILLIPA: Wait, it’s my fault! I said it, don’t punish him!
- INSTRUCTOR: I cannot kill the best hope we have of playing the big piano. But I can absolutely kill Paul.
- INSTRUCTOR: (Weeping furiously) Come in, Phillipa. I can hear you there. It’s well after curfew.
- PHILLIPA: I snuck down here to practice.
- INSTRUCTOR: Ah, of course you did. Admirable. (Standing up, examining the big piano) You’re the first to attempt the big piano since Eustace Feurtson. Four years before I enrolled as a student myself. He failed spectacularly, as all do.
- PHILLIPA: Why build such a big piano in the first place?
- INSTRUCTOR: Fool. Do you think the piano was built for the Academy? Phillipa, the Academy was built to conceal the piano. It is eons old, an ancient relic of incomprehensible origin. To train the world’s greatest pianists is a mere byproduct of the Academy, a purposeless offal of our pursuit to find one who might unlock the big piano’s power. That is why you are here.
- PHILLIPA: Then I shall not fail.
- INSTRUCTOR: Because of your “talent?”
- PHILLIPA: Because of my hate.
- INSTRUCTOR: Hmm. (Begins leaving chamber) Good enough. (Leaves)
- MASKED APPARITION: You may begin.
- PHILLIPA: (Stomps quickly on three keys and jumps to one three feet away)
- INSTRUCTOR: (Standing on dais amidst swirling green flame) Yes! Yes Phillipa, play!
- PHILLIPA: (Tries to jump to F key fifteen feet away and falls on ass)
- MASKED APPARITION: A mistake.
- INSTRUCTOR: (As green flames dissipate) No… No! Wait! Forgive us! I have sacrificed all for this! (Slashes carotid artery with ornate dagger) I would sacrifice… more… (dies)
- MASKED APPARITION: (Slowly fades)
- PHILLIPA: Wait, before you go! Why did you leave this piano here? What is this all for?!
- MASKED APPARITION: The piano was meant as a gift to humanity, yet you have spat upon our generosity by sending only your tiniest to play it in scornful mockery.
- PHILLIPA: I’m not tiny. What?
- MASKED APPARITION: We believed humanity would grow enormous over the eons, towering above all that remained in our absence.
- PHILLIPA: No, we top out around six feet.
- MASKED APPARITION: Whoa nuts. We thought you’d all be forty feet at least.
- PHILLIPA: No.
- MASKED APPARITION: Haha jeez do we look dumb. Well, sorry about that, sorry the piano’s too big, if we were rude, etcetera. (Fades)
- PHILLIPA: Why did you think we’d get big, why did that make sense?
- MASKED APPARITION: (Still fading) Uh oooooooooh we’re already gone ooooooooh this is just a shadow now ooooooooooh.
Portrait of the Artist as a Young Manatee
Oh could it be that family the Melmons
Hello, I am Glinbarto Melmon, and as much as I regret that I must do so having recently been informed of your experiences in WWII, I am nevertheless contractually bound to present this screener of my upcoming rom-com, Boogie Hitlers.
▲▲▲With his turgid vertical, hideous wingspan, and heteronormative conditioning, Siglund Melmon might be the worst Dirty Bocce Ball player of all time, Stan.
▲▲▲Ninklak Melmon is a pioneer of an award-losing health system based around slow trickle urination. The key, says Dr. Melmon (NOTE: IS NOT AND NEVER WILL BE A MEDICAL DOCTOR), are excruciating thirty-minute urination sessions twelve times a day.
▲▲▲You have been assigned LAUNDRY DAMPENING as your school sport. Please report to the office of coach GUNTHPLER MELMON after sixth period.
I like to think I’d be a pretty good emperor, but I also acknowledge that the job can be awful tough.
- EMPEROR: What the hell is this?
- SCULPTOR: The statue you requested, sire.
- EMPEROR: This… it just looks like a bottle. Just a normal fucking bottle!
- SCULPTOR: My apologies, sire, but you asked for a “pewter statue of milk,” so this-
- EMPEROR: No excuses. Tomorrow you will bring me a superb pewter statue of milk, understand?
- SCULPTOR: Yes, of course, absolutely.
- TREASURER: Can we talk about our crippling debt?
- EMPEROR: I’m too upset. Ten firkins of milk to my chambers, at once.
- SCULPTOR: This time I-
- EMPEROR: Is that paint? You just PAINTED the sculpture from yesterday white?!
- SCULPTOR: I-
- EMPEROR: It could just be a white bottle of anything! Say “milk” with the form, you crass idiot. God.
- RIVAL EMPEROR: Can we sign this treaty and stop all war?
- EMPEROR: Shut up Steven, just, everyone shut up. (Guzzles milk from enormous overhead bag)
Mike’s Hard Lemon
That’s it. That’s the joke.
I never knew Corn Mama’s real name.
Our paths only crossed once: the Paynesville County Fair, October 14, 1978. She husked corn with more passion than the Nebraskan summer sun.
Of course, I had a front row ticket to the annual corn shucking contest. When I saw Corn Mama on stage, I knew without even looking at her substantial forearms that she was created for greatness. Under her steamed tortoise shell glasses, her eyes bulged with an untamed eagerness to unclothe corn.
From when the judge rang the opening bell, Corn Mama shucked very quickly. There was so much I needed to know, like if was she from Nebraska or Heaven. Pondering this, I missed a whole minute of the action. I tuned back to find Corn Mama leading by 27 ears of corn with a minute left, a margin obviously too robust for any competitor to overcome.
Then, with an air of sacredness, Corn Mama halted. She husked one more ear of corn and sprinkled on it a dash of paprika from her pocket. In the tense hush of the crowd, Corn Mama ravished it. She ravished it more romantically than I’ve seen corn on the cob ever ravished.
I never saw Corn Mama after that day. I could not attend the next year’s contest due to my arthritis. She did not attend the 1980 contest. I call her Corn Mama because she exuded every quality of matriarchy. I have no idea what her actual name is.
Citizenship Test
- Follow these steps with the materials provided. Vocabulary list terms will guide you.
- Make the two slices of bread neighbors.
- Slather George Washington Carver goo on one slice.
- Slather sugary, colorful goo on the other.
- You are free to lick your fingers if you want!
- Belly flop one gooed slice onto other upward facing gooed slice.
- Deport the crusty edges to the trash.
- Cut your sandwich down the middle (class).
- Dinner time your sandwich. Circle your result:
- That old fashioned treat made me lick my lips and want to hop in the melting pot.
- I am a spy.
all those years later when people are looking back at the dregs archive memorial collection book they’ll smile and and say: “Hi. it’s Miley Cyrus and these are my dregs.”
Dinosaurs ruined everything and then died. They were bad at roaming the Earth and not dying. Imagine a million tree-sized leathery lizards just screaming because there's no sun and they can't see all the leaves they want to eat. That's what it was like in the dino world, or should I say whino world because of how the dinosaurs obviously whined a bunch and didn't do anything else.
I could probably have killed sixty or seventy dinosaurs with my hands and a few good kicks to their sensitive bellies. Give me six months with the dinosaurs and I would become their indisputable ruler. I'd be organizing dino garbage collection and dino cooking. Inventing games for them to play. Teaching them not to sit on their own eggs, which they did all the time.
When dinosaurs lumbered around the piles of sand that made up early Earth, they still found stuff to trip over. They'd be trying to eat a fern and then their ridiculous legs would slip out and they'd fall into a hole they had dug to put their head in at night or something. Then they would die and a million years later we'd find their skeleton still curled up in an idiot pose.
How long did dinos roam the earth? Like millions of years? And in all that time they clearly didn't learn anything.
Dinosaurs are so shitty they should not be called dinosaurs. They should be called something terrible, like Bloogs.
NATIONAL CENTRAL NEWS AGENCY
04/14/2007
The Institute of the Rising Sun will hold its monthly exhibition, to coincide with one of Handsome Tae Se’s twelve annual birthdays. Charismatic Tae Se will not be in attendance. He is meeting to discuss an alliance against Japan with current British premier Winston Churchill. He will be traveling via telekinesis.
Exalted leader Tae Se has demonstrated that the inheritance of certain traits in pea plants follows patterns of his choosing. Crop yields are expected to quadruple, unless this year has a winter. Wise Tae Sae warns of problems resulting from the American weather machine and Earth’s alleged rotation upon an axis.
In international news, an enormous fireball has destroyed Spain, and American song monkey Elvis has perished. Fearless Tae Se personally witnessed both events, and blames both on lower Korea. Tae Se is planning swift military action and an album in which he sings The King’s greatest hits.
Local agencies report an outbreak of XXXXXXX in the region between Pyongyang and XXXXXXXXX. There is no such outbreak, and these local agencies have been repurposed as economical storage places for grain. This year, there will be grain in abundance and forty percent fewer locusts. All will be rendered safe by praising the Resplendent Tae Se.
A car with no doors would be a bad car. Think about it.
Is your slinky not going down the stairs like you want it? Here’s some help:
Check your slinky: Is it a slinky?
Check the angle of your stairs: In order for optimal slinkyage, the stair angle has to be just right.
Check for kinks: One in four slinkies suffers from a kink. Those kinks’ll getchya.
Check if you’re one person: It’s a one person toy.
Are you being a klutz?: Stop being a klutz.
Get a dehumidifier: Humidity makes slinkies all icky and sticky.
Open the box: You gotta get it out of there.
Check your brain: Get a PET scan or two. Who knows what’s goin’ on up there?
Lube it up: Your slinky in many ways is similar and different to your car engine. Lube it up.
Put a treat at the bottom of the stairs: Your slinky needs motivation, just like us.
Give it a rest, will ya?: Slinkies with all that twisting and compressing and expanding get plain worn out, just like beautiful Russian gymnasts.
Attach a mirror to the slinky: Slinkies find inspiration in their own beauty. Can you blame them?
Don’t bring it on errands: Don’t waste a slinky’s time with your petty bullshit.
Ask your slinky, “Is death truly the end?”: Your immortal slinky will pity you.
Shoot it into space: Slinkies long to be back among the stars.
Hi Pat,
Sorry I kept crying and shrieking at your son’s middle school graduation. Will not happen again!
All the best, Mark
It is with a heavy heart that I must recall all four million DVD copies of Rubisco Horniness - Educational Detective, as well as the eight million HD-DVDs from when that was a good idea. Anyone possessing the DVDs should be aware of the following errors:
- There is not a separate country called North France.
- “Horniness” is not Latin for “unbreakable wall.”
- Mirrors do not run on electricity and you cannot “hack” them.
- None of the French spoken by the Dogtective matches the subtitles, and dogs cannot speak.
- Magritte was a painter.
- That much lead paint would be poisonous.
BEN’S DAD: “Ben! Get a piece in the New Yorker before your grandpa dies!”
Possible
Things
To
Say
Right
After
You
Enter
a
Friend's
Home
- “No foyer? You don’t have a foyer? Fucked up.”
Children Holding Hands Daddy Biscuit, Daddy Biscuit, Daddy Biscuit.
(Daddy Biscuit leavens out of biscuits and patiently knocks on inside of oven door)Children Holding Hands Let’s get him out of there. (They open door on the count of 3).
Daddy Biscuit (Pops up.) You puffed me?
Children Holding Hands Hahahaha.
Daddy Biscuit Haha. Eat my arms.
Female Child Mmm. Crumbly.
Daddy Biscuit Don’t fill up on me now. Your mom has a dozen pufftastic biscuits in the oven.
Children Holding Hands We just can never get enough of you, Daddy.
Daddy Biscuit That’s puffin’ right. You can’t.
Mom (from offscreen) Do I hear Big Daddy B?
Daddy Biscuit (looking into the camera) No one forgets the puff.
Mom (Grabs the hand of one child.) Kids, let’s devour him.
(As they dig in, various “yums.” Daddy Biscuit has been devoured.)All Holding Hands There are always no crumbs left of Daddy Biscuit.
(Oven dings the jingle.)Mom Kids, the puff is upon us again.
(Mom takes out tray of biscuits, places on table. Biscuits conglomerate into Daddy Biscuit.)Children Holding Hands around Table Yay, Daddy’s home. Again. But not for long!
(As they re-devour him, more audible and more insatiable “yums.”)Daddy Biscuit Goodpuff, for now. (Winks. Crumbles into nothingness.)
It’s hard to believe we only invented frosting in 2007. How did we ever live without it?
Happy Birthday, James! Here are some cupcakes.
Gross.
Yeah, well, fuck you, James. Enjoy being stupid twelve.
Our wedding cake is a porous brown horror.
We’re married, though. You back out now, I get half of all shit.
[Glancing at cake, taking out checkbook] Hell if I’m putting such strange bricks in myself. I activate the divorce rite.
Aww, “Happy Retirement Frank!” This is so sweet, guys.
We’re sad to see you go, bud.
What did you write it in?
Take ‘er easy there, Frank. This doesn’t have to be any harder than it is.
What is the writing made of?
Slugs! Horrible mashed slugs and sand! What were we supposed to do, Frank? WHAT COULD WE DO?
MOM Alright everybody, we’ll have Brandon’s cake in just a minute, but first we have a very special performance from—
DAD [Urgent whisper] Baby this is not legally a clown. You cannot say clown or I will go to jail.
MOM But you said—
DAD Fuck what I said, I—kids, please think about loud jazz for two minutes—I am not made of money I had to cut corners and get us a cloun. Please don’t fuck this up for me baby I am begging you.
CLOUN Oooohhhhhhhh okayyyyy who wants the baaaaaaaggggg?
BRANDON Me me it’s my birthday!
CLOUN Well hoodeedee take this trash bag of pasta and eat as much as you like. I’m done now. Goodbye.
MOM Now wait just a second, these kids expected a real clown performance, not—
DAD Let it go. Let’s all just let it go. Cloun, here is two hundred more dollars cash because my wife did NOT just say “clown.”
CLOUN Nine hundred.
DAD Yes my mistake nine hundred here this is good this is okay.
You’ve been waiting, and now it’s finally here. Check out…
THE TOP 5 HORSE SUICIDES OF
ALL TIME
- Norwegian Mambo: Rounding out the bottom of the list, we have Norwegian Mambo, a thoroughbred mare who jumped into a big furnace and just essentially melted. This would be higher up but Norwegian Mambo caught her hooves on the edge of the furnace and sort of spun around badly.
- Son of Norwegian Mambo: Taking after mom, Son of Norwegian Mambo lands number 4, for his remarkable 1968 suicide in which he repeatedly sat down on the same tree stump over and over until he got the disease you get from that. SoNM is immortalized in Andy Warhol’s underappreciated Whoa, Check Out the Goofus Suicide Horse.
- Spirit of Norwegian Mambo: Who can forget when Spirit of Norwegian Mambo interrupted owner Marco Jorgenson's impassioned “My family’s horse suicides are a coincidence, not a curse” speech by tensing every muscle in his body so that all the blood shot out in a big geyser? Jorgenson certainly can, because the geyser hit his brain’s “memory zone.”
- The Official Norwegian Mambo Mk. IV: Though contentious among horse suicide purists, TONM Mk. IV nevertheless changed the face of horse suicides when he ate some grass, crammed into a big cannon, and got launched through a big wire mesh that separated him into a thousand cubes that landed perfectly in a horse shape but then fell apart when there was wind. The controversy: the fuse was lit by a local policeman, not TONM Mk. IV. Why you shouldn’t care: the policeman sought extralegal justice for a series of heinous crimes clearly committed by TONM Mk. IV but for which he could never be brought to justice because he is a big loping dork with clompsy hooves.
- Unnamed horse: The undisputed monarch of all things horse suicide is the newborn foal that spilled out of Norwegian Mambo (2008) and immediately looped its umbilical cord into a perfect hangman’s noose, pausing only to stare an aging Marco Jorgenson in the eyes and declare, in Latin, “The curse shall never be broken, Jorgenson. Your house shall be snuffed out in the onslaught of our dead, your sons and daughters buried deep in our endless number, untouched and unmourned by the sun you so cruelly sought to keep from us. Agony. Agony. Agony. Agony.”
Honorable Mention - Orange Juice Weekend: First horse to get landed on by an airplane.
I will make a dish called EggZema, and everyone will want it. But only I can have it. And they’ll feel like shit.
I will make a super delicious, super super acidic dish, and everyone’ll feel like shit that they don’t have dentures.
I will make everyone feel like shit.
Ode to the
hotdogs
from 7-11
Prologue: Happy mother’s day to all of you. I miss the good old days.
Where did we leave
the habit
of praying to Jesus?
We left it at the 7-11.
That place precisely,
Where we picked up
a 49c hotdog
and shoved it down,
deep down
our throat
And then heard our stomach grumble
A very important message
that god does not
exist any longer.
- …And so, I believe that with enough funding and time, we can train this elephant to do a somersault. Does the board have any questions?
- Dean McBride, how did you get that elephant through the door?
- Elephants aren’t against university policy.
- They probably are.
- Does the board have any relevant questions?
- Yeah, how will teaching an elephant to do a somersault advance our medical anthropology program?
- Pardon?
- That was the point of this meeting. The medical anthropology program.
- Huh.
- The entire department is in crisis.
- I’m sorry, I just don’t see what that has to do with my somersaulting elephant.
- Dad? I hurt my leg pretty bad bike riding.
- Ah, nothing a little St. John’s Wort won’t fix.
- It’s bleeding really bad, Dad. I tried to stop it but it won’t clot.
- A sprig or two of Clown Horn should do the trick.
- I feel really dizzy, Dad.
- Perhaps a tea of Elf’s Hammer.
- Dad.
- Oh! There is fresh Lambsear Surprise in the garden.
- Dad, please.
- I’m going to trot out the works: Mailmansbane, False Bear Reed, Purnellman’s Thornyvine, Hogflake, Dandywillow, Western Aspseed, Melmon’s Curse, Leper’s Thorn, Hyperion’s Thorn, Jake’s Thorn, Dipshit Idiotroot, “Dirt,” Norriswoodsweedswurl, Grassgrassgrass,
- Everything smells like metal.
If your dog is…
Thinkin
Talkin
Barkin
Then maybe we…
Gotta problem
Gotta fuck
Gotta fuck
Because when your dog is honkin all…
Willy-nilly
[see above]
[see above]
It implies a baseness of your craft of dogs…
Oh apologies for the crassness of the dog.
Oh yowza my bad dog yowza yowza
Sorry about the dog, it is choking on something
SMASH
an Anarchist coffee shop
Saturday marked the opening of SMASH a coffee shop that serves espresso, drip, and cold brew coffee all through the lens of Anarchist politics. The shop is nearly empty with an espresso machine in the middle of the floor and a masked individual who sits crossed legged next to it all day(?). There are no chairs and the walls, ceiling, and floor have been painted a grey color with random splotches of other colors. When I walked in I was bombarded by a splash of hot coffee to the leg. It turns out earlier in the day "Coffee Rebels" had entered and were protesting the Hierarchy of coffee. "Pouring coffee on the elite coffee 'drinkers' smashes the idea that coffee is here for us to drink," said XT7, one of the coffee rebels.
After taking five to check out my hot coffee burns, I tried to order a tall Americano. But the masked server/owner told me they don't acknowledge any metric or English system of measuring anything and don't name their drinks after fat cat oppressors like America, France, or the concept of height.
As I drank my coffee an employee from the neighboring Panera bread stopped by to make a complaint. Apparently SMASH customers were going over to Panera to use the bathroom after downing the very strong coffee. What started innocently, escalated to the point where people were using the garbage cans to urinate in and the Dyson hand dryers to defecate in.
Overall I recommend SMASH to any person who enjoys coffee or confrontational behavior. Go check it out, I believe it's open everyday 24 hours a day.
*** EDIT ***
As of this last thursday SMASH has been closed. The coffee rebels took control of a small personal plane and flew it into the side of the establishment. No one was injured. VIVA LA REVOLUCION
And through his excellent application of the Porkings Feint, Millstabule Melmon enters into the quarterfinals of the Greater Devonshire Sand-Transporting Cup.
This bust represents Hopipheus of Melmon, the ancient Greek hero who was supposed to kill Medusa or some easy shit but instead fucked every bunch of grapes on earth, which is why now when you leave grapes out for too long they become horrible, because Horpipheus just went to town on them.
Quincy “Nash” Melmon falters up the tiny stairs for nearly three minutes before finally delivering a shouted, unamplified acceptance speech and accepting his County Music Award from the floor.
Shub-Melmonath, the Many-Eyed Seeker in the Glade, intones a sonorous bellowing from the unseen reaches, alerting the cultists that their offering of 28 bananas and a yogurt drink was a stupid offering and they are all bullshit idiots with dumb ideas and jerk parents.