by | April 20, 2010

Laxative-Laced Coke Is The Shit!

Man scores laxative-laced coke, has shitty night.

ROSYLN, PA – What started out as a perfect Friday night end to the work week went down the toilet for Ronnie Dawson.  Dawson, 34, who cooks at a local tavern, had planned a night out with some friends after his shift was done at 7pm.  In addition to their usual regimen of “beers, shots, and a shit-load of weed” Dawson and his companions decided to try and acquire cocaine.

Above: Dawson, moments after his first snort of coke, and minutes before his first of many trips to the toilet

“It really puts the night into hyper-drive,” exclaimed Dawson, “ it’s tough to describe to someone who’s never done it before but let’s just say that you can stay up all night without worrying about passing out or some corny shit like that.  People get written on for that kind of shit.  Plus it makes you super-confident with the females.”Dawson, who gives off an odor of stale garlic and French fries (apparently from his job), had realized the deception less than a half-hour after ingesting the “cocaine.” “There was definitely coke in there but it was more like laxatives with a touch of blow instead of the other way around which is how it should be.”Dawson went on to say that the only “blow” he experienced was from his ass for much of the night. “I was in and out of that stall there at the pub (which pub is unspecified) and a lot of those people know me.  It was humiliating.  I mean here are all these fine women that you grew up with and you can barely start a conversation with them before your asshole starts singing  ‘Slow Ride’ by Foghat.  My ass did more talking that night than my mouth.”According to Dawson, he should have known that something was amiss when his usual dealer (commonly referred to as “connect” in drug-circles) told him that he was passing his order onto another gentleman as he was currently under investigation for insurance fraud.“My man tells me that the heat’s on and if they’re watching him for one thing and they catch him doing something else well…he goes down for that too so I’m like ‘O.K.’ and the next thing I know I’m sitting in a car behind a liquor store dealing with this nineteen year-old kid.  I should have known something was up.”Dawson proceeded to shit his brains out eventually prompting one of the other customers at the tavern to complain.  Rather than draw attention to his uncontrollable blow-ass, Dawson left the tavern and returned home.  “It was a shitty night.  I mean what’s this world coming to when you can’t go out and do some blow and have a good time?!  Shit!”

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by | April 16, 2010

Where The Hell Have You Been?

The robot from Rocky IV

Bernard Spörk | Humble Correspondent

Let's get ready to mumble!

Every so often, a movie is released that transcends the silver screen and causes such a stir that your genitals tingle. For many people in 1985, that film was Rocky IV. Sure, this wasn’t the first time movie-goers s witnessed Rocky Balboa overcome impossible odds to beat an indomitable opponent. However, no one could’ve expected the “Italian Stallion” to single-handedly end the Cold War with his post-fight, punch-drunken “We can change” speech.  Eat your dead, crusty heart out, Ronald Reagan.

Rocky IV was not only the highest grossing dramatic-live-action-sports-entertainment film of all-time (earning an estimated $300 million or 475 EUR), but it also contained many cinematic firsts. For example, it was the first movie to a) include a fully synthesized soundtrack, 2) pretend Jackson Hole, Wyoming was Siberia, and e) feature a sober James Brown singing “Living in America.”

In addition, Rocky IV is the only film to cast a fully functional robot. Vondrook was lucky enough to catch up with this android starlet long enough to ask her some very important questions.

First and foremost, where the hell have you have been?

Out of the spotlight, that’s for sure! I tried the whole Hollywood lifestyle during the ‘80s, but a string of bad luck fried my central mainframe. First, I was passed over for a bunch of roles including the lead in Short Circuit. Then, I found out that my boybot KITT [the artificially intelligent car from the Knight Rider television series] was giving rides to that cyborg whore Vicki from Small Wonder. After that I disappeared off the grid.

RILF claims that these candles were the only thing she blew during the filming of the movie.

Thanks to my computer friends, I made some really wise investments with my money, so I was able to buy a little garage in the ‘burbs and just shifted my gears into neutral. I’m finally feeling comfortable enough to share my story and am in the process of writing a book. The working title is Men are from Mars, Robots are from Cybertron. We’ll see how it goes.

Do you have a name? It’s not in the credits for Rocky IV?

Yes, I do have a name. My full title is Robotic Intelligent Life Form, or RILF for short. Those d-bags from the Screen Actors Guild wouldn’t allow my name to appear in the credits since I wasn’t part of their stupid union. So, technically I wasn’t part of the cast, but everyone knows I was a shining star in that picture.

Speaking of stars, how did it feel to be in the same company as Hollywood heavyweights like Burt Young (Paulie), Carl Weathers (Apollo Creed), and Dolph Lundgren (Ivan Drago)?

I really was blessed to be a part of a special cast. I learned so much from all the people you just mentioned—especially Dolph. Most people don’t know this, but he’s half-robot on his father’s side. No human could possess such a square jaw and monotone voice! He taught me that you don’t need talent or a heart or emotions to succeed in this business.

And I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Stu Nahan. He’s the sports commentator who really showed his acting chops by playing a sports commentator in all the Rocky films. The man was a true professional and a sexual dynamo…at least that’s what Rose Mary Campos—the lady who played Rocky’s maid—told me.

“Sexual dynamo,” huh? Were there any other trysts going on behind the scenes. Did you and Burt Young ever get together?

Vicki—the original cyber slut

I can’t really answer your first question because I didn’t hang out with the other cast members after hours. Sometimes we’d be shooting for 12-15 hours a day, so at night I literally had to recharge my battery. I mean, I’d hear things on the set, like the time when Sly lost a game of Parcheesi and had to let Carl Weathers sleep with co-star and [then] wife Brigitte Nielsen.

As far as your other question, I know that I played Burt’s robot servant in the movie, but I can tell you unequivocally that he and I never hooked up…with the exception of the one hand job I performed on him after he allegedly bruised his hand during the the “Team Rocky arrives in Russia” scene.

Finally, was the kid who played Rocky’s son mentally retarded or just plain stupid?

Neither. The kid was quite brilliant, actually. He wanted to make the audience believe he really was Rocky’s son, so he studied Sly’s every move and tried to emulate him. Hell, the kid even changed his real name to make it authentic. Look it up on IMDB. Here, check this out! [duel LCD screens appear in her chest region] You can go on to the internet from here. See, his real name is Rocky Krackoff….why do you keep staring at my chest? Oh yeah, I got ‘em done a few months ago. I needed an upgrade.

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by | April 15, 2010

Greyhound Now Making Stops In Funkytown

In an effort to capitalize on the economic downturn, Greyhound Lines Incorporated has revamped its efforts to reach more customers. Included in the plans are cheaper ticket prices, new streamlined buses, as well as a new destination: Funkytown, U.S.A.

Above: the new Greyhound bus, streamlined and sleek for optimum customer satisfaction

“We are incredibly excited to offer options to travelers who can longer afford outrageous airline prices,” said Greyhound President David Leach. “We can offer all the amenities of the big airlines, like wi-fi connections and spacious seating, all at a whirling 55 m.p.h!”

It can be expected that a transportation business such as Greyhound will do what it can to reach out to customers its previously lost to faster travel, but what seems most perplexing is the announcement to make stops in Funkytown.

“The people have been asking for it for a number of years,” said Leach. “People want to move to a town that’s right for them, a town that keeps them groovin’ with some energy. I know we’ve talked about it, talked about it, talked about it, but now is the time to act.”

Greyhound patrons are ecstatic about the new move. Said William Hurst, 52, of Feasterville, “I’ve been wanting to go to Funkytown since I first heard about it in 1980. It seems like the most happening place in the world! Take me to Funkytown!”

But where is Funkytown? Greyhound will not disclose that information to the public. “If you’re not buying a ticket, we can’t tell you where it is, but let me just say, it ain’t in Texas.”

Details of the town are unknown, but theories arise that the colors orange, green, and brown dominate the color scheme, and afros (both black and white men and women) are prevalent amongst the townsfolk. Microwaves will be the size of an oven, and wood paneling will line your living room walls. It’s also assumed that polygamy is a dominate force, as well as “Key Parties,” where couples put their car keys in a communal bowl, and are drawn at random. Whoever picks your key gets to sleep with you. 

Above: artists' rendition of a Funkytown resident in her native living room. Presumably, the afro'd woman is high on coke after having sex with a mustached stranger.

Are you interested in visiting Funkytown? Details are available on the Greyhound website. Tickets run from $79 to $109 depending on your starting location. Funkytown. Population: you!

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by | April 14, 2010

How To Defend Againt Criminals

Top ten things you need to know to defend yourself and those loved ones

Furious Kelly | Vondrook List Writer

So you’ve finally decided to lock up that revolving door of a house you bought out there in quiet of the suburbs, far far away from that dangerous city and its virus-like criminal element. But you can still feel its presence as you go to sleep or work, eating away at the back of your mind. But why should that keep you from buying nice things? You deserve them don’t you? But now you realize you have to protect them. So here’s a list of things to get you started.

1. Buy guns. Not singular. Buy many guns and keep them throughout the house. You can never be sure when a gang of Rastafarian smugglers is going to mistake you for a cop that put away their leader. They’ll be ready, you should be too.

2. Nail everything down that you own. Now the cat may not like this but he’ll eventually understand that it’s for his own good and that he probably shouldn’t have eaten your wife’s geraniums. Criminals will know that you mean business.

3. Practice. Practice. Practice. What good are all those guns if you haven’t tested them? I would set up some of the beer cans you polished off last night, and using the couch as cover, blast away. Eventually your accuracy will improve to the point where you can hit a target in motion. Haha. No, not you Whiskers… but stay the hell away from those geraniums.

4. Pay it forward. If your neighbors are too docile to guard their properties, there is nothing that says you can’t do it for them. Your fellow suburbanite  will appreciate your tenacity and the constant din of gunfire will let them know you’re hard at work making the neighborhood safe again.

5. Vote republican. I can’t stress this enough. Just like his communist cousin, the democrat is just waiting to take your guns away. No guns means you’re less safe.  Republicans want you to have as many guns as you need to protect yourself. Show up at one of their rallies strapped with your AR-10. Tell ’em Furious sent ya. They’ll understand.

6. Don’t associate yourself with members of any other race but your own. It may only confuse things if you are forced to shoot one of them.

7. Put up signs everywhere that you are a gun owner and are willing to kill to protect what is yours. Criminals will understand that you are not a man to messed with .

8. Join a militia. Ever wanted to dress up and play soldier for hours in the woods while shooting live rounds into trees you imagine are agents of the US government? I know I do.

9. Lather yourself in grease. A criminal can’t bind and tourture that which he cannot get his grimy hands  around. Besides your wife will love the sight of her man greased from head to toe holding his favorite gun.

10. Action movies. Everything I know I have learned from the greats: Bronson, Van Damme, Willis, that guy who made the Transporter movies, and John Wayne. Watch and learn.

Go now my friend. Take these skills I have given you and do likewise. Leave nothing standing in your quest for home and neighborhood protection against criminals, ninjas, robots, zombies, zombie ninjas, robot ninjas, democrats, hippies, and anything else you don’t like or understand.

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by | April 13, 2010

I’ve Only Died of Alcohol Poisoning Once

An Editorial by: Tim Milton

I know all you guys wanna make a big deal about this, but don’t. It’s completely unnecessary. I mean, I’ve only died of alcohol poisoning once, and believe me, it’s not gonna happen again, I promise.

     Didn’t we all laugh at my funny antics that night? When I tripped over my own feet and broke that coffee table, then staggered to the window and put my head through it? Wasn’t that hilarious? Or Bill, weren’t you laughing when I called your sister that terrible name? I remember you smirking. Don’t let the end result of that night deter you guys from the early on hilarity that I myself had performed, because I’m funny. I’m the life of the party!

     I was mixing alcohol; that was the problem. If I had just stuck to beer instead of accommodating it with whiskey, vodka, gin, and tequila, nothing bad would ever have happened. I learned my lesson. You’re preaching to the choir now. Everyone can just get off my back, please.

     We all know I’m up to no good when I’m mixing different types of liquor with my beer. Liz, remember when I urinated in your closet? That night I was drinking gin. Terry, I was drinking vodka that time I laughed hysterically in the middle of your son’s Bris ceremony. And Frank, I know you’re wife doesn’t want to see me again for the rest of her life, but try to explain to her that I was drinking Rumplemintz that night, ok?

     You know what? I don’t know why you guys let me drink so much anyway. You guys of all people should know how I get when there’s an ample amount of booze to be had. Nobody thought to say, ‘Hey Tim, slow it down,’ or ‘Maybe we should hide the liquor bottles from Tim.’ No. Nobody said anything like that. You just let me drink and drink and drink. I’m placing my blame on this fiasco on all of you, not me. Some friends you are. You guys are dicks.

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by | April 12, 2010

Phil Mickelson Cures Cancer

Augusta, GA– The crowds at Augusta National Golf Course were on their feet yesterday as Phil Mickelson was approaching his 3rd Masters Green Jacket; the most coveted major in all of golf. As opposed to the other players in the field yesterday (Choi, Woods, Kim, Westwood to name a few), Phil Mickelson wasn’t just playing for a wearable trophy(and 1.3 million dollars); he was playing against his wife’s cancer.

“Amy and her doctors were battling her cancer through medicine,” said Mickelson. “I battled it with my Callaway X 2.0 irons and Callaway Hexagon-dimpled golf balls. Callaway: Good ball.”

Above: Amy Mickelson gathers just enough strength to hug her husband after he heroically battled her cancer at Augusta

The leader board was a crumpled mess of contenders, with the first place position changing various times throughout the day.

“I heard all these ‘birdie roars’ and ‘eagle roars’ from fans around the course, and I’m thinking, ‘Jesus Christ, you guys! Don’t you know my wife has cancer?!’”

A majority of these roars came from the play of K.J. Choi, who was making a steady charge towards 12 under par to tie for the lead with Mickelson halfway through the round. “I was just trying to get birdies to stay in contention,” said Choi. “As a professional golfer, I would really like to win 1.3 million dollars.”

Choi had no idea the ramifications of his actions, for every birdie putt he made, Amy’s cancer grew stronger. Once he tied for the lead, CBS announcers pulled Choi aside and told him about Mickelson’s situation. “Oh, geez. I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Yikes. Cancer.” Choi then proceeded to miss all of his remaining birdie putts, each time saying half-heartedly, “Oops.”

Going into the 18th hole, Mickelson had a 2 stroke lead as his wife waiting with thousands of fans around the green. She began to regain her strength as Mickelson gave himself a birdie opportunity to seal the deal. He sank the ten foot putt to put him at 16 under par, giving Amy just enough courage to raise her arms around him. It was a beautifully forced moment by CBS producers.

“It’s great to win,” said Mickelson. “I could have done better, though. I think the cancer is still there, however. Dammit! If only I shot 20 under par, she’d be completely cured.”

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by | April 10, 2010

Watch out for…

Weekend Horoscope

Miss Tinka

It be getting too hard to do whole groups o’ da astrological signs, so I thought I would just tell specific people what they need da know.

Bill, I know what you’re thinkin’ and don’t do it. Even if all dem people in your office deserve ta die.

Elizabeth, Gary is plannin on pushin you down dem steps tonight. Tell dat dog abortions are getting cheaper by da day. 

Robert, da ghosts of dem dead hookers is gonna follow you wherever ya go. Sacrifice one chicken and offer dem girls some rum.

Mary, it’s cancer, and not da good kind.

Dat’s all fer now people, come back next week to see if you made Miss Tinka’s list.

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by | April 9, 2010

The Burning Question

How freakin’ awesome is the new KFC Double Down sandwich?

“Orgasmic!” This, according to test marketing in Omaha, Nebraska. These lucky folks had the pleasure of sampling the Double Down along with a buttery beverage called the Margarinita. We can’t vouch for the latter, however, there’s something magical about a sandwich that replaces the traditional bun with two hunks of fried chicken and is stuffed with bacon, melted cheese, and the Colonel’s secret sauce.

KFC's Double Down sandwich is no joke.

Sure, this bun-less wonder and its 540 calories, 32 grams of fat, and 1380 mg of sodium will probably clog a coronary artery, but the heart has others. Besides, it’s a small price to pay for a once-in-a-lifetime sandwich.

The Double Down will be coming to a KFC menu near you on April 12. Lucky for us, we were able to acquire a few sandwiches early by bribing a member of the Colonel’s finger-lickin’ army. We then selected four losers people at random and gave them a taste of greatness. Not that it matters, but here’s what they had to say about the Double Down.

Bruce Collie, 49, balding putz

“Double Down? This deathwich should be called the ‘Doubled-over.’ Aww God, it feels like I swallowed a grenade. My stomach is going to explode.”


Robbie Selby, 32, too cool for school

“I can’t believe I actually took a bite. I feel gross—like I should get tested for…something, anything.”

Lynn Braxton, 53, annoying soccer mom

“It looks and tastes like KFC threw a bunch of leftovers together. And what are they doing with all the unused buns? Hopefully, they’ll feed them to their chickens, which will end up being slaughtered for this slop. It’s a vicious cycle.”


Gleb Just Gleb, unknown, total fucking psycho

“LALALALALALA! You’re right Pepto Abysmallus, the pie is too sweet. Want a piece of meat? Meat too tough. Want to ride the bus? Bus too full. Want to ride a bull? Bull too mean. Want a jelly bean? Jelly bean too sour. We got the power!”

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by | April 6, 2010

Hey, Is That A Hummer?

An Editorial By: Paul Felk, Curious Motorist                   

Excuse me, sir? Sir? Could you roll down your window? I have a question. Thanks. Is that a- I said, is that—turn down your music please. The Nickelback! Could you turn it doooowwwn? Thank you. I was just wondering if—well, I wouldn’t call my Geo Metro “faggy,” it does get me to where I’m going, even if I can’t see over traffic. No, I can’t say I have ever been off-roading, since we live in the city and all. Can you just answer my– yeah, your rims certainly do kick ass, now can you tell me if–no, I don’t have any Mountain Dew, sorry. Now, I saw your numerous bumper stickers that say, “HUMMER” and “H3,” oh look, there’s another one across your windshield, too. Neat. Yes, big and red, just like a fire truck. Vroom! Vroom! Hahahahahaha. So then, you are in fact–please stop revving. So, you’re vehicle is a–wait! Come back!! *cough cough*

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by | April 5, 2010

Donovan McNabb Traded and Then Killed

Of Birds and Men

  Story by Furious Kelly | Vondrook Contributor

The hunt for Donovan McNabb had been on since he accidentally choked the last game of the regular season and then another game in the playoffs. People didn’t understand that McNabb get’s very excited sometimes and that when he gets excited he’s liable to choke games if things get out of hand.

Reid telling McNabb about the Super Bowl

Well this game happened to be a very important one and the Philly fans had had enough. They wanted McNabb with his goofy grin and his happy-go-lucky attitude to pay for his crimes. They formed a lynching party headed by “sports analyst”  Angelo Cataldi, the man who understood McNabb the least, to hunt down McNabb and hang him. What people didn’t know about Cataldi is that when he gets excited he’s libelous to kill someone with one of his scorcher articles.

Head Coach Andy Reid sensing the end, called McNabb down to Lincoln Financial Field. McNabb thought Reid was there to protect him, to tell him things would be better. Reid was actually there to put McNabb out of his misery.

Reid recounts the six-time pro bowl starting all-time franchise winning all-time touchdown scoring Super Bowl berthing quarterback’s last moments. “I took him down onto the field. He was crying a little. I understood he was scared. He asked me to tell him about the Super Bowl. So I told him to face the goal post and sit down. And he did. And I told  him all about the Super Bowl with the cheerleaders and the trophies and how he would have to be in charge of the trophy. He just smiled and smiled. Then I put a three fifty-seven to the back of his head and ended it. It was much more humane than what the fans would have done especially that fucking idiot of Cataldi.

Jeffrey Lurie was next to arrive, walking the distrought Reid off the field just as Cataldi and his hunting party showed up ecstatic with the news of McNabb’s death. Cataldi was remarked as saying, “Now what the hell you suppose is eatin’ them two guys?”

 

 
 
 
 

 

Angelo Cataldi Is A Giant Douche Bag

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