Bug Remover - Dictated by Dr. James "But you're not a doctor" Johnson.- Typed by Josiah "Just trust me" Johnson

Today we're going to tell you about Lucky Timmy. This was an assignment Josiah had for school, and I don't feel like listing every parameter, but the just of it is Timmy has to have two broken legs, fall into a well, and either get out of the well or die. He can't use any tools, people, animals, ghosts, or spirits to help. So here is the assignment:

Lucky Timmy, as his friends called him, was crawling to the hospital, with his two broken legs. He was heading to the emergency room to treat his stomach ulcer and brain hemorrhage. It was the middle of the night in freezing rain. Timmy had been crawling along for hours now. He started losing strength in his arms when he heard his schizophrenic voice, Kyle, who sounded just like James Earl Jones, say, "Timmy, I'm thirsty!" "Well, what do you expect me to do about it," cried Timmy, "In case you haven't noticed, I'm a little busy at the moment, Kyle!" Timmy's conscience, Jimothy, piped in, "Kyle, could you keep it down? I'm still trying to evaluate Timmy's life choices that lead him to this situation. By the way, Kyle, the majority of us subconscious beings are hungry, not thirsty." "Shut your yap, Jimothy," retorted Kyle. Timmy, eager to resolve this feud before it resulted in a subconscious fist fight, said, "Alright, Kyle. There's a well over yonder. I'll crawl over there and get you something to drink." So Timmy picked his torso up again and began to crawl towards the well, already developing hypothermia due to the freezing rain. Timmy's life sucks. Finally, Timmy reached the well. He hoisted himself up using the last of his upper body strength. Unfortunately (I'll bet you didn't see that coming), the well was slippery due to the rain, and Timmy plummeted into the well and face planted at the bottom, well below the surface of the water. Timmy was dazed and eventually regained consciousness underwater. He was in agony all over his body, but he specifically noticed that the top of his head was freezing. Timmy climbed the rocks with his hands because he could not swim well. Finally, he reached the surface. He looked up and could barely glimpse the top of the well. He felt something dripping down his face and realized the freezing he had felt underwater was due to the large open gash in the top of his head that he must have sustained when he face planted. Timmy began to wonder how he still had enough blood or physical energy in his body to actually be alive at this point, but he quickly shoved the irrelevant thought out of his head. He had more important things to worry about. After several minutes of silent recovery, Kyle broke the silence. "You know, on second thought, I'm not really thirsty anymore, Timmy. We can leave now." "Kyle...I hate you," replied Timmy. "How many times have I told you to stop listening to him," said Jimothy. "Would you guys be quiet so I can think," yelled Timmy. He began to look for something to grab onto to pull himself out of the well. Timmy grabbed the first rock, tightened his grip, and began to climb. It took him a few minutes, but he eventually got himself high enough that he was out of the water -still in the freezing rain - but out of the water. Timmy was gaining confidence in himself. It wasn't very often that one of his plans succeeded...obviously. Suddenly, one of the rocks he was holding onto broke loose from the wall, and Timmy plummeted back into the water, again smashing his head on the rocks. "You're pretty much screwed," said Kyle. "I'm hungry, Timmy," said Jimothy. In sudden blind fury, Timmy took the rock and threw it as hard as he could against the well. Unfortunately, it ricocheted and hit Timmy's skull. The rock hit with such force that it caused the brain tumor to explode and his stomach ulcer went erratic. "You should have been on the baseball team," said Kyle, cheerfully. These were the last words that Lucky Timmy ever heard.

EggGenie - Dictated by Dr. James "Papfroidle" Johnson, PhD Disclamer: He is not a certified physician.- Typed by Josiah "Oh Snap" Johnson

The other day I was driving my Lincoln, then I thought, there must be something better. After all, my car barely gets dented in an accident, it has remarkable low end torque, and has lots of trunk space and interior leg room. So naturally I wanted something more. So, I went home and decided to look for cars for sale. I found a Mustang in perfect condition for $100. It was obviously too expensive. Then I found a Porsche 911 for $25. Again, I didn't want to sell the farm just to buy a car. And that's not a figure of speech, I just didn't want to sell my farm. So I continued on to find nothing but junk, Hemi Cudas for $500, Vipers for $30, a Saleen S7 for free... I just ended up with a headache. Who knew it would be so hard to find something good? I turned on the TV to watch George Lopez, who is not at all cocky or vulgar, and he is funny like he thinks he is. Then a commercial came on for a Kia Soul with three hamsters driving it and the commercial made great points like that the Soul is better than driving a cardboard box, a toaster, or a washing machine. in fact, here's the commercial at hand: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kfJnqbudMzs
Naturally I decided to buy one. After all, they start at under $14K, and they have nearly as much metal as the average stapler, which is a lot for Kia. And, if you ever get a flat, you just take a spare right off a Hot Wheels car and pop it on. Plus they're great for storage. You just drive any ordinary weight vehicle over one and slide the conveniently flattened car right under your bed. The car is nearly as high quality as the Chevy Corvair that was so great it got heavy acclaim in books such as Unsafe at any Speed by Ralph Nader. So, anyway, I went straight to the nearest Kia dealership and walked right inside. To my immediate shock and awe, there were no large hamsters. Only normal size humans... I walked right out the door, realizing that the entire appeal was the hamsters. Then the next day I saw this Toyota commercial....

Aqua Shot - Dictated by Dr. James "Pilates" Johnson, PhD Disclamer: He is not a certified physician.- Typed by Josiah "The Mosquito" Johnson

I used to work as a football coach for Applebee's. Yes, they have a football team, and yes, this is a 100% factual story. As far as you know. So the first day on the job the team and I were gathered in the restaurant. "Alright, Billy, you submerge around to the 9th line and throw the ball to Jimmy, then Jimmy will papfroidle the ball to Carl..." "Uh, sir, what you just said didn't make any sense. And nobody here is named Jimmy, Carl, or Billy!" snapped Billy. "Yeah!" agreed Carl and Jimmy. "Listen guys, I may have never worked in any sort of sport, watched any sport, or in any way was affiliated with a sport or gained knowledge of one, but believe me when I say that I know exactly what I'm talking about. Now, Frank, Carl is going to yodel the ball around Rufus to you, then you go for the slam dunk." Frank complained, "Coach I'm not named Frank, and with all due respect, you're not making any sense!" "No, Frank, the other team is just getting in your head, don't let them do that. Especially since if Jimmy can't make it, say he dies, then you'll have to papfroidle the ball to Carl." He asked, "Is that going to hurt?" I responded, "It's going to be more excruciating than giving birth to 50 children at the same time in 5 seconds with every bone in your body broken! Now lets get on the bus and go to the game!" We all boarded the bus. I was dead set on winning, although the team seemed to have other things on their minds, as they all looked very confused. One of the players piped up, "Who are we playing against, anyway? After all, we are a team for a restaurant!" The truth was, we weren't really working for Applebee's, there was no Applebee's team and therefore no game, and I knew nothing to do with football. I responded, "We're facing Burger King. We're working for Applebee's here, a very prestigious, and might I add existent, team, and I know everything there is to know about football! We're going to win, you believe that!" We arrived at a Burger King in Pennsylvania, and I decided I'd just throw the ball at customers and yell things at the players and they'd play. I was right. After being kicked out I had a lot of explaining to do. But I decided to explain nothing, and instead I got on the bus and went home. And that was the end of that day, and that "job". The moral of the story is, I have no clue what a papfroidle is, but I made it up and it's fun to say. Sound it out if you can't pronounce it.

Smart Mop - Dictated by Dr. James "Oh My Bumblebees" Johnson, PhD Disclamer: He is not a certified physician.- Typed by Josiah "Quotes" Johnson

Back in 1969 I was drafted. Not to go to war, actually to work at Wal Mart. They were desperate for cashiers. Anyway, one day I was working the check out when I saw a group of men kid napping an old man. I approached them as any good employee would, and asked the obvious question. "Do you intend to pay for that?" "What?" one of them asked. "You heard me, don't play coy." I then proceeded to get out my price gun and look for a tag. I couldn't find one. "Price check!!" I yelled frantically. The manager came up. "Hm... well I could have sworn we were fresh out of old men, but I guess not. I'll take $3.50 for him." They only laughed, not paying any respect for a manager, managers being about 3 times more important than the president of the United States of America. Their mocking was not to be taken lightly, so I socked the ring leader right in the nose, or so I intended. I actually ended up hitting the old man, but he looked like he had it coming. "All right. You boys obviously think $3.50 is too much for this rather unorthodox purchase. But when it comes right down to it, we have to pay $1.00 for each old man from our Wal Mart slave camps, then we have to pay $1,000 in shipping costs for every 500 old men transported. Then at the camp we have to pay the slavers 40 cents for each catch, so we end up spending $3.40 on each old man, and therefore only yield a profit of 10 cents for each purchase. You wouldn't normally have much room to haggle here, but because of the low profit margin and the government cracking down hard on slavery, we're cutting the whole line of slaves. So how much would you be willing to pay?" For about 20 seconds they gave me a deep and confused stare, after which my manager broke the silence with cut-rate price offerings. "How about $3.25?" They laughed again, so I took the old man back, then prepared for a fight. It seemed strange that they only ran, until I realised I was holding my manager and they were running with the old man. "Help me!" the old man shouted. "Well that's odd." I said to my manager, "They usually give up all hope long before they even reach our stores... unless we really were fresh out of old men and that's a customer they kidnapped!" The manager slapped me on the back of the head, then said, "You really do come up with some crazy theories! Now get back to work." So I assumed my post. About 4 uneventful hours went by, and I though about it and decided he was right. They couldn't have kidnapped a real man. Then the unthinkable happened. An old lady walked out the door without paying for her head of cabbage. Naturally, I tackled her and took the cabbage. I felt proud. So, overall it was an ordinary work day.

Goofy Bands - Dictated by Dr. James "Lolly Gag" Johnson, PhD Disclamer: He is not a certified physician.- Typed by Josiah "I Hate Nicknames" Johnson

Yesterday's story ended with me at home after escaping the dungeon owned by the infamous NYPD gang, an acronym for New York Peace Destroyers. My Lincoln was in the impound missing the passenger seat and I had missed a day of work at Enterprise. I got a call. It was long, boring, and just took forever to get to the point. It went exactly like this, "You're fired." It took me a lot of patience to get through the grueling elongated message, but after about forever it finally ended. Being out of a job and practically broke, I needed to find another source of income. I decided to do the unthinkable. Get caught up in crime. I went to the back of the NYPD impound and jumped the fence, then found a Lincoln the same year as mine, removed the passenger seat, then installed it in mine and started it up with my spare key. As soon as the engine roared to life I was in trouble, as one of the gang bangers had noticed and had his gun on me. I floored it and slammed through the gate, then went home. Once I arrived, I noticed a note taped to my front door. It read, "I'm a note on your door. Read me." It was fascinating. I then proceeded to my back yard and picked up a stick off the ground. I took it out front, then the first person I saw got a beating for their money. Unfortunately, I saw a mirror as soon as I got outside, so I ended up with quite a few bumps and bruises. I decided to hit the hay after a long day of mugging. The next morning I awoke and got into my car to head to a convenient store to rob. I walked right inside, then said "Give me the money!" The guy behind the register looked at me kind of funny, then asked, "Do you have a gun?" "Of course not!" I exclaimed, "I'm not some kind of hooligan!" "Well I do, and you better leave now if you don't want me to call the NYPD on you." I left, then as I drove I thought about what he had said... was he affiliated with their gang? It's a sad day when a simple convenient store has to be in cahoots with a dirty low life gang like them for protection. Then I realised, I suck at being a crime lord. The answer wasn't one I liked, but I was out of options. I went right to the NYPD and marched inside, then said to the man at the desk, "I'd like to join your gang." He laughed at me rather menacingly. Little did he know that this seemingly innocuous act would result in his imminent death. Needless to say, I declared a gang war upon him. I went outside and got into my Lincoln. (The car...not the dead president) As I was driving down the sidewalk, I realized the consequences of my actions when a gangmobile rolled out around the corner in front of me. Since, he was obviously embarking on a quest to slaughter me, I floored it and slammed into his driver's side passageway. It was obvious that I had paralyzed him until he got out and walked. It must have been a miracle. He walked right up to my door and handed me a menacing device....a slip of paper he referred to as a "ticket." He obviously wanted me to eat it, but, of course, I realized it was poisoned just by looking at it, so I told him I wasn't hungry. But the truth was that I was very hungry, so I gave in and ate it right there. Realizing that I would die if it went down, I quickly choked it up onto his shoe, then popped the car into reverse and put the pedal to the metal, narrowly escaping his clutches. I pulled the emergency brake while simultaneously turning and shifting into drive, then pushed it back in and floored it once the car had turned 180 degrees. He fired shots at my back window, strangely holding the gun upright and not on its side like any gang banger would. I wondered if he was a double agent, or if he was in disguise as an ordinary man. After about a minute, three gangmobiles slided out behind me from a corner with their ridiculous strobe lights engaged. At this point I noticed that they were probably there to induce a seizure on opponents of theirs who were epileptics. It was a sick weapon to use, but that's just the way of the gangster. As the game of cat and mouse raged on, I noticed that their cars had much better performance than mine, because they were falling behind only slightly and they were obviously the worst drivers I'd ever seen. After five minutes of weaving through traffic, I got onto the highway, then I saw that it overpassed another highway. If I could somehow get onto that highway, which had no road connection in sight to the one I was on, then I would lose the gangmobiles. So, as I was rolling along the overpass, I leaped from my car's window and landed on the top of a semi. I thought I would swiftly jump out the window and roll onto the roof of the truck as would be expected in any fiction story, but being 100% reality, I broke every bone in my body and I was lucky to be alive. Fortunately for me, I had a wolverine-like way of healing in only seconds, so the pain lasted only shortly. I then swung down the side of the truck and kicked through the cab window, pushing the driver out in the process, then drove the truck down the highway. Then I woke up. Apparently I fell asleep at the wheel the second I turned the engine on in the Lincoln, and I was now back in their dungeon. Darn!

Instant Switch - Dictated by Dr. James "The Jedi" Johnson, PhD Disclamer: He is not a certified physician.- Typed by Josiah "Banana Bread" Johnson

It was a Tuesday in New York City. I was driving my Lincoln to work at Enterprise Rent-A-Car, which gives you the tools to be your own boss. I slowed to a stop at a red light. A suspicious group of hooligans was standing around at the corner to the front right of my car. They began to walk towards me. They all had the same color on, blue, identifying their gang. They also had matching blue hats and badges that indicated that they were members of the NYPD. For those of you who don't know, the NYPD is a large gang on the east coast, much like the Bloods and Cripps on the west coast. As they approached my car, I decided I had only two options; run or die. I floored it and turned left. The four of them jumped into a pair of black and white gangmobiles with stupid looking blue and red strobe lights on top, as if they were in a night club or something. The were gaining on me, so I had to think quick. I took a hard turn left and weaved through traffic to escape their clutches (meaning their grasp, not the mechanism used to engage and disengage the engine from the transmission in a manually shifted automobile.) I suddenly remembered that I had a pistol with three shots in the glove compartment. I pulled it out in a quick streak of genius, then fired off a few rounds into the sky to scare them off. It didn't work as well as I thought. Some of their friends joined in driving about 10 more police cars, and a few helicopters. I threw the gun out the window realizing I was out of ammo. In desperation, I began lighting fireworks and throwing them out the window. Although amusing, it posed no assistance in the current dilemma. I quickly made a turn onto a highway, south bound, and they all followed. I smacked the nitrous button for a quick burst of power, then I noticed I had no nitrous oxide and I just broke my radio. In my fear and rapid brainstorming, I came up with the idea to throw whatever debris out of the car I could to hinder their progress. I found a wrench, so I did the obvious thing. I steered with my left foot, operated the accelerator with my right foot, and with my hands I unbolted the passenger seat. After unbolting it, I opened my door and threw it at them, the wrench following. It cracked the windshield of one of the gang vehicles, but didn't seem to slow them. I took a quick turn off the highway, powerslided to the right, floored it down the street and took a right about thirty blocks down. I began to slow, reaching down to 25 mph from 214 mph, then casually drove into an alleyway. This proved an idiotic choice, since I had in no way lost the gang, in fact I had turned into the garage of their clubhouse. I was cuffed and imprisoned in their dungeon. After a week of plotting and shaping my eating utensils into lock picks, I picked my way out of the dungeon then ran out of the building as fast as I could. Nobody really seemed to care, so I hailed a cab and took a ride home. After reaching the destination, the offensively odored driver turned to me and said, "Well here we are, now give me the money." Realizing that he was attempting to mug me, I ran from the car into my house and locked the doors, then after seven hours of paranoia and hiding under my bed, I came out and had dinner. Overall it was a pretty ordinary experience. The moral? Forget it, if you read halfway down this entry and didn't say to yourself, "What an idiot." and exit out, you're obviously not looking for a story with a moral.

Uglu - Dictated by Dr. James "Queen's Royal Navy" Johnson, PhD Disclamer: He is not a certified physician.- Typed by Josiah "Gut Goobering" Johnson

So it's been about 5 months since my last post. Since then I became a pirate off the coast of Canada, and not the new-age crap with AK-47s and speed boats. I'm the classic "Arg"-exclaiming, hook-handed, wooden sail boat pirate that the name is famous for. Sure, I don't have a crew, and sure, my boat may be a small fishing boat that someone threw out because of a leak that I fixed with bondo, and sure my sail may be made out of an old tarp with duct tape over the holes, and sure my hook may be from a costume shop, but that doesn't mean I'm not 100% authentic. So anyway, I was about 2 inches off the coast of Canada when a trash barge came by. Naturally being a pirate I wanted to get as much treasure off this ship and onto mine as I could. So, I rowed to the barge, tied my boat to a rope hanging off the side of the barge, and climed the rope to the goods. Once on top, I took three empty bottles of tooth paste, a three-legged chair, a crapload of old, rusty nails, all the plastic bags you could think of, and about 200 pounds of broken glass. Needless to say, it was a glorious find and you just couldn't beat the luxurious treasure I reaped. I got back on the ship, untied it, rowed to shore, and took the load to town. Luckily my ship has wheels from an old Honda on it, so I could take it ashore and tug it to wherever my buyer may be. So, I took the load to a thrift store. The man inside offered 25 cents for the three legged chair. I knew I was being undercut, so I persuaded him with my assertiveness to pay me more. "Please, please, please, please, I need the money, I have to eat somehow!" So, through my manly toughness and practically slaughtering him with my ice cold words, I managed to get 26 cents out of it. Next, I went to the recycler's. I managed $25 out of him for all the nails and the 200 pouns of glass, bringing my budget up to a hefty $25.26, basically billionaire status. I decided to donate the plastic bags to charity, so I threw them at a hobo as I walked past him. "What do you want me to do with this crap?! I have three houses and a fleet of European sports cars! You'd be lucky to get a cup of dirt for this!" His thanks seemed never ending. I replied, "Please, I don't need any imbursement, it's a gift." I continued on to McDonald's, the fanciest restaurant in all of Canada, to have a meal fit for a King. I waited inside until someone's order was ready. "Number 326!" It wasn't me, but I was quicker. I grabbed the food and ran. Once I was about 3 bites into the McChicken, the real owner of the food caught up with me. I was an easy five steps from the door of the restaurant, I don't know how he found me. He gave me the beating of a lifetime, but what he had failed to notice is that while he was wailng on me, I was finishing his meal. Once He was done, he grabbed the bag of food, saw it was empty, and continued to physically harm me. But when I awoke three days later from the uncontiousness, I felt fine. I was hungry, though, so I went back inside. This time I just went straight back into the kitchen and ate everything in sight, then ran out the back door and hitched a free ride in the luggage compartment of a bus. I slept most of the trip, although I occassionally woke up and ate all the snacks out of someone's bag. Once we arrived in Los Angeles, I think it's in Maine somewhere, I walked to the beach. Seeing someone's unmanned speedboat with the keys in it, I knew what I had to do. I took the boat far up the coast until I lost the owners, then I tied it off and casually walked into a gift shop. I took all the nik-naks that would fit in my arms and ran to boat. I outran the shopkeeper in my speedboat and went further up the coast. This was the life. What pirating is all about. Then once it ran out of gas I decided to hop a bus. I traded my pile of nik-naks for a bus ticket and rode back to Canada. After getting home and finding my boat, I went out to sea. Then, I reached into my pocket to get a look at that loot I made days before. Aparently the McDonald's guy took it all.... so there I was, I had gained nothing but the stench of garbage on my boat. Overall it was pretty successful. The moral of the 100% facual story? Don't be a pirate in Canada!

CD Clinic - Dictated by Dr. James "The Champion" Johnson, PhD Disclaimer: He is not a certified physician. - Typed by Josiah "Nipples" Johnson

So, as you may have noticed, I haven't posted since last Sunday, and today is Sunday. So, what have I been doing for the last week? Well, I'll tell you. I was on a vampire-hunting expedition in Mexico City. I was riding my Harley down the freeway when I got an anonymous call. The voice was deep, obviously masked somehow. It told me, "There have been numerous vampire sightings in Mexico City, you should check it out. I know how much you enjoy hunting vampires." I punched the accelerator, shifted into 5th gear, let off, progressed into the throttle and shifted to 6th, at which point I shot the accelerator toward the ground. I was headed South at 125 mph. After a few hours of straight motorcycling, I let off and pulled into a gas station. I was going to fill the tank, but instead decided to opt for another mode of transportation toward Mexico City. I got on a bullet train and was heading to Mexico City past 300 mph. In a couple hours, I was there. The train, however, was not headed to Mexico City, it went miles further, but I was still to exit in Mexico City. We were moving at exactly 324.758 mph. That's about .09 miles every second, or 475.2 feet every second. I kicked the window out of the train when we were about a mile from the train station at Mexico City. Once we were 1425.6 feet from the station, I jumped out the window, which took me exactly 3 seconds, landing me perfectly in the station. To keep me living and from injury, I put myself into a spin in the air, the rolled in a manner that gradually slowed me down without injury. When I was slow enough to stop myself, I was about 3 miles past the station. Whoops. Still, I was in the city. I had no clue where to find the vampires, so I walked straight into a restaurant to ask around. I saw a man with two very long and sharp teeth, biting into the neck of another person and drawing blood from there body. He looked like he'd know a few things about it. I walked over and asked, "Have you seen any vampires around lately?" He replied, "You idiot! I am a vampire!" I instinctively shoved a glob of soggy garlic bread down his throat. I was just going to make him suffer, but he died. I guess that particular vampire was allergic to garlic. One was enough for me, so I went around town eating all the Mexican food in sight. Too bad it wasn't all clean. I was bloated, tired, and needed to unwind. I began to walk down the dark streets in search of a hotel. I saw a Mexican walking in the other direction. I hailed him, "Hey! Carlos! Do you know where I can find a hotel?" He gave back, "My name isn't Carlos, sir, but there is a hotel just down the road!" I decided to trust him, but it was hard after that first lie. I had read that every Mexican was named Carlos, but he said he was not. Either he wasn't Mexican or he lied. That was Sunday night. For the next 6 days, I slept like a baby. It was quite terrible and confusing. I randomly awoke crying and desiring a bottle of milk. It must have been the Mexican food getting to my head. Last night, I got on a train, headed home, and went straight to bed.

Split Ender - Dictated by Dr. James "Dorothy" Johnson, PhD Disclaimer: He is not a certified physician. - Typed by Josiah "Toto" Johnson

It was an ordinary day. I was working as a double-agent for Blockbuster. There I was, working cashier position at Family Video. My mission was to sabotage their operation, making more people buy and rent from Blockbuster. The first customer of the day walked inside the store. "LEAVE!!" I yelled. "GO BUY OR RENT FROM FAMILY VIDEO!! WE DON'T WANT YOUR MONEY!!" He simply stood staring at me. So, I took necessary actions by throwing my carrying brick at him. He was knocked down, but he didn't leave. Naturally, I threw a kindergartner at him. (This time I was carrying one. He's a small one.) Now he left, but he stole my brick. "Hey!" I screamed. "That's my brick!!" I pursued in a sprint. That was my brick. He jumped in his truck and peeled out of the parking lot, so I jumped on the tailgate. He took a sharp turn, and I flew off of the truck, but I caught myself on the back of another guy's motorcycle, so I simultaneously flipped him over my back onto the back seat and scooted into the front seat. I was in hot pursuit of the truck. He ran into a wall, then began to escape on foot, so I followed on the bike. It wasn't long before I caught up, but he leaped over a fence. I stopped the bike, jumped off, climbed the fence, then pulled out my Rambo knife and followed. I was in between 5 and 7 yards from him at all times for about 3 minutes, going through twist, turns, and bends. He ran into his house and locked the door, but I Rambo knifed my way into his dwelling. He was terrified, so I simply said, "Hand me the brick and nobody dies." He gave me the brick, but I broke my promise. I didn't harm him, but I accidentally stepped on a bug on my way out.

Quick Chop - Dictated by Dr. James "Water Polo" Johnson, PhD Disclaimer: He is not a certified physician. - Typed by Josiah "Land Polo" Johnson

Another day, another breath-taking story. I was walking, one night, along None Of Street, and I was a block from Your Business Avenue. I was working for Blockbuster as a cashier. I had a couple hours before work, so I went to Pete Ferguson's house. Who, you ask, is Pete Ferguson? At the time, I had no clue what so ever. But I went there, anyway. It was a big white house, over 100 years old, and he put hundreds of thousands of dollars into restoring it to perfect condition. I, however, thought it was ugly, and decided it could use some... adjustments. So, I broke out the old paint and brush, and began painting the place. I made it dark blue, textured on in absolutely inconsistent globs. I figured the windows needed repair. They weren't cracked or chipped, but I thought they should be on a house so old. I took a jackhammer to every window. Who knew they would shatter entirely out of the pane? I wonder-barred my way inside. I instantly noticed that the floor had a beautiful coat of light stain, but it didn't seem like the right shade for the house. I went to Home Depot and bought a gallon of dark brown stain, then bought an old electric sander at a thrift store. I, then, found that the electric motor didn't work. I decided, then, to buy a lawn mower engine to replace it, and made the conversion. I decided that the worn and tired sand paper on it wasn't good enough to strip the floor, so I made my own. I got a piece of cardboard, super glue, and beach sand. I actually went to the beach for it, found a partially used bottle of super glue in a trash can, and got the cardboard from the same can. I, then, glued the cardboard to the sander and glued sand to the cardboard. I took the rough sander to the house and began sanding. The paper tore big scratches and some small holes in the floor. On top of that, the engine had a hole right in the crank case, and drenched the room in oil. Once I finished sanding, I poured the gallon of stain on the floor and smoothed it a little with a broom. It was far too thick to dry correctly. Once I finished, I decided that the project wasn't worth the trouble, and the house was far too gone for repair, no matter how many improvements I'd made. I was five minutes late for work, so I walked to Blockbuster and took the shift. The manager stormed in angrily. "YOU REALLY HAVE THE AUDACITY TO COME IN LATE?! WITH YOUR HISTORY OF STUNTS LIKE THIS, THAT IS ONE THIN TIGHT ROPE TO WALK ON! YOU'RE FIRED!" I replied, "You'd think the thinner tight rope I walk, the more impressed people would be, and the more I'd be paid. You should be giving me a raise, not firing me!" He shot back, "YOU LITTLE BRAT, THAT'S NOT EVEN THE ANALOGY!! THE ROPE SNAPPED, YOU DIDN'T WALK IT!!" I said, "Well now I get it. Was that so hard?" I was, quite literally, kicked out. And that's how I lost that job.

Flex Pro - Dictated by Dr. James "The Hammer" Johnson, his doctorate was given back. - Typed by Josiah "The Screw Driver" Johnson

So, yesterday, I again did not post. Again, with perfect reason. I was tired. Get over it. So here is the first post out of the two today, and this one will make up for yesterday. So back in my glory days I was a bathroom attendant at Barnes & Noble. (What, they can't have bathroom attendants?) Every day, somebody would walk in needing to take a load off, and I would charge them to use towels, water, soap, and other things that should be free. Well one day, that all changed. *FLUSH* *WASH HANDS WITH SOAP AND WATER* *DRY HANDS WITH PAPER TOWELS* "How much do I owe you?" I replied, "What? You don't owe me anything! We haven't even met before!" He said, "Oh, thanks." Then he left. "Wait!" I shouted after him. "You forgot to pay the money you owe the store!" Too late. He was gone. The day went as normal for the next two hours, although I was shaking with fear, knowing that I would be in trouble for this little stunt. Then, the manager burst in. "WHAT RIGHT DO YOU THINK YOU HAVE TO GIVE PEOPLE WATER, SOAP, AND TOWELS FOR FREE?!" he shouted. "Over here, sir." He was shouting at the wall. He was never all there. "Oh, hi. Do you work here?" He was obviously deep into one of his novels, as he usually is. "Could you keep it down?" I said an inch from his face. "I'm trying to study, got a big Saturday test tomorrow." He replied, "Oh, alright, I'll leave you to your studying." I shot back, "DON'T START THIS!!" I was furious. I stormed out of the building, and decided to call back an hour later and quit work. What right did he have forcing me out of a job that way? So, I set out looking for a job. I found a thrift store that I'd never been in before, so I walked inside. "Hello." The man behind the register said. "You sold me those sombreros before, right?" "No," I replied, "you're not reading the blog correctly, I haven't been in here yet." He replied, "Oh, yeah. I must have not read that part. Well welcome to my humble abode." "You live in here?" I questioned. He replied, "No, what gave you that idea?" "That's what abode means." "Is it?" he asked me. "Yes." I said. He replied, "Oh, alright, then." I left that store. He wasn't worth my time. "Hey!" he yelled. "I am too worth your time!" I shot back, "Again, you're not reading the blog right! I didn't say that to you, I simply though it!" "Oh, okay! My bad!" No duh, his bad. So I continued into a suburban neighborhood. I saw a big white house, so I went inside. "Whoa!" a man said as he jumped back. "How did you get into my house?!" "The door was unlocked." "No it wasn't!" "Well it is, now. Get over it. Do you have any job openings here?" He asked, "Inside my house?" "No, in your back yard. Yes, inside your house!" I replied. "No! I don't have any job openings in my house! Now leave and lock the door behind you however you unlocked it!" I replied, "I doubt I can lock your front door with my Wonder Bar, but I'll try." I walked out the front door. I closed the door and place my Wonder Bar in, then pried in many directions and forms. After lots of work and bending, twisting, and cracking of his door, it became firmly locked in place. I bolted it shut for good measure, then did the same for every other door of his and barred his windows to be generous. I continued on to a dock. "Do you have any jobs?" I inquired as I snuck up on the docker. He jumped back into the water, then gathered himself to reply while treading water, "Sure. I'll give you a dollar if you get out of my face." I replied to his reply, "Well if that's measured by the hour, it's below minimum wage. And is this a full time gig or part time?" "Just leave!" "Well I have to know the hours and pay before I get right to work! And is there a payroll booth or do you pay me upfront? Does it matter where I leave to? Can I just go home and do whatever? What if there's an emergency and I have to come back to this dock during my job? Are there other people trying for the job? Do you need my resume before hiring, or do you just trust my leaving skills? Is there a uniform I have to wear? What if I just wear normal clothing, would that lower my pay, or could it raise my pay because you don't need to buy a uniform? Will you call me for random times to work, or are the hours set in stone? Do the authorities know that you're paying below minimum wage for leavers? Do I have to belong to certain political party before working for you? Do you know that I have to get time off on election day to vote for a president? Do I need to have welding skills for this job, or what about sewing skills? I can't sew. Do I need any ropes or chains for this job? What about pulleys, do I need pulleys?" He replied, "JUST SHUT UP! You can have a job. Just come in tomorrow at 6:00 A.M. and I'll tell you what to do. Okay?" "Sure thing, boss, I won't let you down!" I went home with a smile on my face, threw a new job party, kicked out the partiers, went to bed, the woke up at 7:30 A.M. and watched a Spongebob Squarepants marathon until 6:00 P.M. *RING, RING, RING* I answered, "Hello? What? What do you mean I'm fired? If you meant today, why did you say tomorrow? Sure, today was tomorrow yesterday, but let's live in the here and now! ...okay, I'm going to stop you there, you're confusing me deeply. Alright. Bye. See you at work tomorrow. I won't? Oh, right. Okay. Bye. See you at work. Oh, right. Okay. Bye. See you at... oh, right. Okay. See ya. Or not. Whatever." I hung up. I was out of a job. What have we learned? Don't trust dockers for work. People usually don't offer jobs inside their homes, either.

Blendy Pen - Dictated by Mr. James "I'm Not Yelling At You" Johnson, his doctorate was taken away. - Typed by Josiah "I'm Yelling With You" Johnson

So, as you may have noticed in the title, I had my doctorate taken away. Fear not, it wasn't taken away without my willingness. I actually ran into some title clearance issues and went to the college to ransack the place and force them to take it. All went well. So, now I give a brand new offering of entertainment, edge-of-seat thrills, yet no comedy, because this is all real and serious. So, back in '99 when I was a Pan American pilot, I was flying passengers and cargo from Miami to Los Angeles on an over night trip. As I got the plane into the sky, I taped the controls in place and made a small child watch to make sure nothing went wrong as the copilot, staff, and myself all went to the first class area for coffee and steaks. As we were eating our steaks, I turned to the copilot beside, a Mr. Walter W. Walters, and inquired, "How's the steak?" "Excellent." the fresh from flight school pilot replied, "But wouldn't it be safer if one of us took control, and didn't rely on a six year old and some duct tape to keep the plane steady?" "Hey!" I exclaimed, "Are you captain? No! Do you have an entire three time units of experience? Maybe! But you made those units up! I do, and they're all years! And besides, that 6 year old has D's in school! He's passing, so he's fine! And that is no duct tape up there, that is gorilla tape!" He shot back, "Sir, regardless of the type of tape or grades of the student, you have no right to put this all on him and tape!" I gave this juicy piece back, "Are you going to go up there and fly the plane?!" "Pff, no! I'm eating steak!" I replied to his reply, "Then calm down. The best pilots are small children, ages 6-6. Its' proven by scientists. And Gorilla tape has a way of flexing when it senses danger, so it can literally steer us out of danger." "Really?" he asked. I vibrated my vocal chords and moved my tongue and lips to make this cocktail of movements, "Would it calm you down?" "Yes, it would." he gave me. I gave back, "Then yes." We continued eating in silence for four hours while the food kept coming, then I got up and walked to the side door of the plane. "I wonder how well these chutes work." I said. The copilot replied, "Who knows?" "Only one way to find out!" I offered. "You're not really going --" CLICK - LEAP - "Ahhhhhhhh!!" I had strapped the chute to a male passenger, about 30 years of age, and plunged him outward to test it. It worked. Not well. Who knows how he ended up? So, I walked to the front of the plane to find that the kid was staring out the window shaking. The tape was torn, but who cared? I sat down and took control, dismissing the kid. I looked at the map and landed at the nearest airport. I had made slight miscalculations, and we had moved in that time from Miami to Moscow, not LA. I evacuated the plane, shrugging off comments about us being in Russia and assuring many that we were, in fact, in a Russian neighborhood of Los Angeles. As they went their own ways, I saw the tip of a Russian military submarine poking out of the water. I jogged over to it, then opened the hatch and hopped in. I delivered a kicking to the butts of everyone inside, and forced the Russians out. I went to Los Angeles myself in the sub. After that adventure, I got out on the LA dock, then bumped into a physoc. Ew. I hate physocs. They're gross creatures with no manners. I walked around the physoc and went my own way to a hotel. I got a room and went straight to sleep. All in all, it was an ordinary day.

Mighty Bite - Dictated by Dr. James "The Chihuahua" Johnson, PhD Disclaimer: He is not a certified physician. - Typed by Josiah "The Penguin" Johnson

So you probably wet yourself with all the excitement of the last post. Well, get ready for some more urination. This took place about a year ago. I was travelling the country, looking for work. I carried a resume which disclosed that I finished two grades of school and attempted both seven times together, while giving up on only second grade, with thirty attempts. The resume also told of my jobs as elementary school inspector, which all ended up in disaster, all, of course, due to the poor schools in the area. I also carried a forged doctorate from Harvard. Who's going to know, right? So, I made my first stop at a principal's house. This, indeed, was one I had already worked for. "So, Bill," I offered, "do you think you could land me a decent job?" He replied, "My name is Steve, not Bill. And after your work here, there is no way you'll get a job." I didn't quite understand. "I'm not picking up what your putting down, there, Ed." He sighed. Wonder why. (I'm not meaning that I wonder why. I am telling you, the audience, to wonder why right now in sympathy.) "You always were a slow one." "Then explain this!" I offered. I whipped out my gold metal for first place at one of my track meets back in '88. I had him dumbfounded. "Since you're not reading the top line or the core of what I'm saying, here's the bottom line: YOU WILL NEVER GET A JOB FROM ME!!" I couldn't believe he was so incredibly jealous of my skills. I left that house, but I did not continue my job hunt elsewhere. That was a wake up call. The way he yelled and such was a strong indication that, inside, he was grasping for some skill in his administration. He wouldn't tend to the needs of the little guy inside of him, but I would. I returned with a false mustache. "No. You won't get a job from me." He slammed the door in my face. How had he known the reason for my visit? The answer came to me almost immediately after the question did. He could peer into my mind and soul through my eyes. His super powers wouldn't hinder me, though. I returned with shades. Can't see through those. "You really are persistent." he said. He must have mistaken me for another person who applied for a job there. The disguise worked. "Tell you what. I'll give you a chance. Don't screw this one up." I was in. I landed the gig. I'm not going to tell you more about this one... it's embarrassing.

Sobakawa Cloud Pillow - Dictated by Dr. James "Yodeler" Johnson, PhD Disclaimer: He is not a certified physician. - Typed by Josiah "423" Johnson

As you may have noticed, I hadn't achieved the victory of posting on this scrumtrulescent site yesterday. As you may have guessed, there's a perfectly good reason for it. I was out hunting ninjas while scaling a mountain and defusing three bombs. Yes, I really did that. No, it wasn't hard... for me. So, there will be, to make up, two posts today. As you very well may be confused as to when there should be posts made to this site, I disclose to you that my plan is to post every weekday, with weekends off; weekends being Saturday and Sunday, not Friday. So, to make up for yesterday's excused absence, I shall give you the plot to yesterday's action/adventure. I was sleeping in my bed, as is the norm at 3:00 AM. It was a calm night. I was in my $1,000,000 beach house, where I spend most of my time. That figure, of course, depends on how you look at it. I have lots of sentimental time in that house, although I purchased it with merely $35, and there is absolutely no work done to it. It is without a shadow of a doubt worth, without sentimental value, $12.36. I would say $12.3624895, but the American system of currency does not allow that. The other $999987.64 is purely and accurately sentimental value. If you must get technical, some may not consider it a beach house, either. It is a large box next to a puddle. There is no sand, but there is certainly no lack of gravel, as it is next to a gravel road. As far as I'm concerned, though, it is my $1,000,000 beach house until the puddle dries up. Then it is simply my $1,000,000 house. I'm sure it could fetch double that if purchased by that wasteful dog Barrack Obama. Just putting in my two cents. Or, rather, my $1,000,000. So, there I was, cat napping. Striking me from presumably nowhere was a tightly clenched fist. I woke up, gathered my thoughts, and followed the path of this fist. It led me up a wrist, an arm, over a shoulder, up a neck, and to a face. This was no other face than that which belonged to the man who punched me. He looked to be the sombrero vendor from a spell ago, although his nose was covered in far too much fist for me to immediately recognize this dastardly fiend. Once my arm recoiled, though, pulling away the hand which was in the form of a fist, I cam to the realization of just who this was. He uttered the words, "Get up!" I was not scared one bit. I arose to give him yet another strike to the face, then a kick to the shin, a knee to the gut, and a slap to the face for good measure. He was in complete pain, blanketing his anger entirely. He had obviously escaped the prison which had imprisoned him in prior engagements. I immediately cuffed him. (I always keep handcuffs with me next to my brick. Again, not a kindergartner. Too heavy.) Upon the cuffing of his wrists, I pulled him over my back and sprinted him precisely 27.632 miles to the penitentiary. They were surprised, to say the least, that I thwarted the escape of this man. In light of my actions, they gave me a duty to hunt down and attack 15 Puyuoplian ninjas. (they pay good money to make sure you haven't heard of them, now they're outed.) While I began my trek to a mountain where they were thought to be hiding, I got a call on my phone. Yes, I was mobile, but no, this technically is not a mobile phone. It's amazing what can be done with over 1000 miles of electrical wire. Anyway, I answered my desk phone to gather the information that I was expected to defuse a series of three bombs that were, coincidentally, located in the same mountain. I was up to the task. Once I had reached the mountain, I instantly saw the three bombs I was to defuse. They were all bolted to the sides of the mountain. I quickly got to each one without notice from the ninjas, and retrieved every one. I was scaling the mountain to get to the ninja camp, when they instantly leaped into my presence and began the attack. I began to defuse the bombs and kick ninja butt. Seven ninjas came hurtling towards me in kicking position, yet I flailed my left arm in precise increments of both distance and time, forcing their bodies into rocks, which knocked each one unconscious. Simultaneously, I clipped the correct wires with my right arm to defuse the bombs. I put the bombs away in my pants at that moment, then determined that I had eight ninjas left to defeat. I pinpointed every one's position and initialized the attack. I was a fiery ball of kicking, slapping, punching, and flailing passion. I conservatively moved each body part well over 700 mph. Every ninja was gone. I gathered those laying on the surface of the earth's crust (the ground) and brought them to the prison. I also gave them the bombs. I was paid a breath taking $35 for my efforts. That night, my box became a double wide.

Strap Perfect - Dictated by Dr. James "Heraldo" Johnson, PhD Disclaimer: He is not a certified physician. - Typed by Josiah "Joshua Lopez" Johnson

It was a cold Monday morning. It was actually like 98 degrees, but it was Monday, and everyone knows that the spirit of Monday is, has been, and always will be indubitably cold. I was laying in bed, when I got a phone call. I picked it up. "Yeah. Yep. No, not today. Yeah. Alright. Love you, bye." It was the wrong number. I hopped out of bed and got in my awesome pink limo, then backed into the car across the street, pulled forward with a slight turn, running into the neighbor's house, then left at a tire-screeching 3 mph. I took a drive to Wal Mart and pulled my car into the store. The manager came storming in. "What do you think you're doing?! Are you insane?! We do not drive our cars into a store!" I simply replied, "Maybe you don't, but I sure do. He was obviously scared and confused, so I gave him the courtesy of a slap to the face to snap him into shape. It didn't work. Leaving that boat sinking, I took a walk out to the parking lot. The manager's space was consumed by a small BMW. I figured it may not have been the best car on the road, but it could get me from point "A" to Point "B". With little thought and not the slightest utter of a word, I walked to the manager, snatched his keys, kicked him in the shin, and left in his car. I accelerated to highway speeds. Too bad I wasn't using the highway. I travelled in this disgusting foreign car to an elementary in town. I strolled inside uninvited. As I neared the office, the principle came to a halt directly in front of my face from a comfortable distance of 5 feet, and frowned. "I was in the neighborhood, so I thought I'd give this putrid, old school a visit. Way to keep it in crappy shape." I said. He replied, "I hoped I'd never have to be victim to your presence again, let alone your criticism." "Never the less," I stated, "you are far too scared of me to kick me out." "Indeed." He replied. With that polite exchange of words, I walked past him and into the nearest 1st grade classroom. "...and that concludes our lesson for now." the teacher finished up. "Hello. I can see you're still as bad at teaching as you were when I left. Too bad. These kids could have grown up to be almost decent. Now they'll never know what it's like to have average knowledge." "Wow." She said," You are so mean." I replied, "And you're a bad teacher, but I don't shove it in your face." "No I'm not, and yes you do." She said. I didn't see her point. I left the classroom and decided that my visit to this unruly school was concluded. I walked home from there, ate five sandwiches, drank a glass of water, sold my refrigerator on EBay, and went to bed. That day was over, as is this supercalifragilisticexpialidocious post. The moral of this story? None, yet again. From this point on, just forget the entire concept of morals for my stories. Just don't let it creep into your mind. And don't be surprised if the story gets nowhere and comes to an abrupt stop. Goodbye.

Buxton - Dictated by Dr. James "Swiss Army Knife" Johnson, PhD Disclaimer: He is not a certified physician. - Typed by Josiah "Scrub-a-Dub" Johnson

A few things you know about me: I stole sombreros, I escaped from prison, and I was an elementary school inspector. But what happened in between? I'm the reason they don't use elementary school inspectors. I don't know why. I thought I did an exquisite job, keeping strict policies and lots of physical punishment. Some call it abuse. I call it the future. After breaking from prison, I went into a massive trial. I was found innocent when the sombrero man admitted his crimes. I still had to serve two more years there for attacking guards viciously with yoyos, damaging property, and theft. Who knew any of that was illegal? So after my two year term, I went job hunting. I was driving my Sherman tank one day (sort of frowned upon by law enforcement), when I ran into a principle. Quite literally. His car was totaled. Mine wasn't. It's a freakin' tank. So, he got mad, and I offered to pay all the expenses for a brand new car anywhere up to $100,000. That's a lot more than his was worth. He was interested. We went to lunch to discuss the matter, when the fact arose that, no, I did not have $100,000. I gave him my tank. He was thrilled. I landed a job. Then things got... out of hand. That job went out the door. Soon after, I went to his place for dinner, uninvited. He was startled to find me kicking his stove. He gathered himself and asked what was wrong with it. I replied, "Nothing. It's fun." He kicked me out. Then, I went to his garage and took the tank. Good thing I always keep a spare set of keys of all of my previous vehicles. Neat, huh? So, I took the tank and plowed down his garage, then drove through the elementary schools in town while they were empty. People got mad. Nobody knew it was me, though. The principle is the only one who suspected it, but he couldn't talk, because he had been illegally driving the tank. I thought the situation rather scrumtrulescent from my point of view. I sold the tank online, receiving a grand total of $98,000. I strolled into another town the next day in my new Mustang (I had money to blow), and came upon an elementary that was hiring teachers. I went inside without being allowed, and scornfully scorned every teacher that deserved a scorning, then handed out whoopings like hot cakes. The moral of this story? There isn't one. Enjoy.

Grill Daddy Pro - Dictated by Dr. James "The Johnson" Johnson, PhD Disclaimer: He is not a certified physician. - Typed by Josiah "My Bad" Johnson

Back in my days as an elementary school inspector, nothing annoyed me greater than kids not getting in trouble for their crap. I remember, once, I was sitting in on a class. The teacher of this kindergarten class asked the students what the answer was to "2+2." One kid said four and, of course, got the correct answer, but he took like five seconds! Naturally, I back-handed him in the face. Then, I scornfully scorned the teacher for not punishing him properly. Naturally, I locked her out of the classroom and began to really teach these kids. The question I began with was, "What is the difference between hydraulic and solid lifters?" The kids were positively baffled. Obviously, none of them were mechanics. If they were, they were crappy ones, and they were breaking child labor laws. So, I got really upset, but that's a given. I smacked a table into two kindergartners and threw a brick at another. I always carry one. (A brick, that is, not a kindergartner, I very rarely carry a kindergartner. They're heavy.) After that, I grabbed a jump rope and spun it around and smacked all the kindergartners in their faces. So....I got in trouble for that one. I don't know why. The principal said something along the lines of me being "too violet." I simply told him, "I'm white." He told me not to give him any "back-talk." So, I got upset and drove my truck into his house. The moral of this story: Principals are idiots and kindergartners should not be mechanics.

Snuggie - Dictated by Dr. James "James" Johnson, PhD Disclaimer: He is not a certified physician. - Typed by Josiah "Put it in My Pants!" Johnson

...And that's how I became a sex offender. Oh, hey! Well, now you've pretty much gotten to know me thoroughly. You're probably starting to wonder where this Underworld place is. Well, you may be surprised to know, it's smack dab in the middle of Wisconsin. I lied. I'll let you keep wondering, but, at the same time, you know it's not in Wisconsin, unless I lied again. I've told you about my escapades stealing sombreros and busting out of prison. Well, you may be surprised that I single-handedly fought off the Nazis in World War II. You may be even more surprised to know that that's a lie. I'm not that old, otherwise I would have. So, as I was watching my favorite movie, Elmo's Christmas Special, a ninja whipped out from behind me and demanded that I surrender or die. True story, as usual. His fighting skills were impeccable, and his sword was forged in the bowels of a factory in Pittsburgh. That would have been enough to kill me right there if it wasn't for the fact that his sword was crafted from lead - .002" thick lead, to be exact. Naturally, I pulled scissors from my pocket and snipped his sword in two. Then, I just stared at him with a look that pretty much screamed in his facial features, "You're an idiot!" As I stared at him, I said, "Really?" He looked at me in a pathetic manner. I slapped him. He hung his head in shame and vacated my dwelling. I giggled a little bit. After a spell, an immense craving for tacos began to build in the depths of my bowels. I walked outside, passing all seven of my perfectly good automobiles and hailed a taxi. That was just for fun. Then, I got in one of my seven automobiles and departed. I drove for 17 miles before I came to the next town over and purchased seven tacos, eighteen burritos, and I tried to order a McChicken, but they did not carry those. Apparently, only McDonalds is so blessed. So, I pulled up to the window, payed for my food, and I ate it before I pulled away from the drive-thru. I then burped in the attendant's face at the window. Then, I opened the cash register through the window and retrieved my money and departed the restaurant. Afterwards, I was on my way home when, suddenly, I found myself encircled by tanks. This would have been terrifying had there not been a tank show going on in town. However, it was terrifying because I forgot there was a tank show going on in town. Not remembering that fact, I jumped out of the car and removed each driver from his tank and personally delivered a whooping to his rear. Needless to say, they instantly thought it was a Nazi invasion. For this reason, I delivered yet another whooping to knock a little sense into them. After departing from the scene, I found myself dozing off and not paying attention to the road. I smashed right into a Peterbilt truck. Luckily, I possessed amazing ninja-like skills (not like the ninja I previously bestowed shame upon). Having such skills, I leaped from the car and punched the driver in the face as I flew through his windshield. I jacked his truck and drove to the nearest elementary school for an inspection. Oh, I forgot to tell you. I'm an elementary school inspector. As I entered the school, I could have sworn I saw a little child rolling a doobie. Unfortunately, it wasn't a doobie. It was a paper airplane. Thinking it was a doobie, I kicked the child, tossing him about 200 yards away. It was a big elementary school. It was also a blood bath. As I entered the music classroom, I took a couple sniffs and screamed aloud, "I BET SOMEBODY'S GROWING WEED IN HERE!" The music instructor looked startled especially since I was only two centimeters from her face when I screamed it. Naturally, I delivered a third whooping. I entered the back room of the music room and lone behold: weed. I looked back at her. Yup....tunic. Keep up on your Land of the Lost, children. It keeps you from getting whoopings.

Chris VanBuskirk

PedEgg - Dictated by Dr. James "Thats Mine" Johnson, PhD Disclaimer: He is not a certified physician. - Typed by Josiah "Just Give It Here" Johnson

Yesterday's post probably left more questions than answers. Let's leave it that way. Instead of continuing from Yesterday, I'll move on to another story. One that is perfectly true, as yesterday's was. So there I was, sitting on a metal bench suspended by chains and hinges on the wall behind me. I was inside one of Underworld's many State Penitentiaries. I was framed for stealing a tortilla chip. Needless to say, I was in for life. I had been planning an escape for about 3 years, now. This day, I was ready. For the last 3 weeks, I had been making string from the hair plucked from my head, and I crafted a yoyo from dirt, dust, and a little liquid from the drinks I had with meals. I had been pounding this material together and letting it sit in the window to catch some sun during daylight hours. I fashioned the yoyo's body by pounding the material together. Once the yoyo body had been constructed, I wrapped the hair-based string around the body. I hid it in my sleeve. When a guard went by, I swiftly smacked him with the yoyo right in between the eyes. He was out for the count. I dropped my makeshift weapon and grabbed his top of the line yoyo. It was made with a notched titanium body and a nylon-RTV mixture. (RTV is rubber with sulfur in it, which is used to make tires.) The yoyo is the XCB-736 model from Krulonk Yoyos, the king of police and military grade yoyos. This was not a standard issue weapon. This cop had spent years gathering money from his practically maximum-wage (they have that in the Underworld) job, and he had gotten it taken with one swift hit from my shameful piece. You can't buy alertness. I grabbed his keys and strapped his holster to my belt. I put the XCB-736 away, unlocked the cell, and left. I had to be quiet, fast, and crafty to get by the guards. I neared a corner when I heard footsteps. I stopped at the corner. A guard came around and, startled, went for his weapon. His reaction timing was a tad low. I got him square in the chest with my XCB-736. Besides, his mediocre standard issue BBG-235 produced by Underworld Industries would have been no match if he could have drawn it. I lurked around the building, taking shortcuts and alternatives paths to escape the grounds. As I neared the front gate, two guards at the gate had their weapons already drawn. I struck one in the chin with an upper cut from my XCB-736, but the other got me in the arm. I was lucky. I was only wounded. I couldn't use my right arm, so I grabbed the yoyo with my left. I dodged another swing from him. I struck him right in the leg. He dropped his yoyo in pain. I used that to my advantage and got him right in the forehead. I ran right out the gate, hopped in a prison transport bus, and started it with a uniform vehicle ignition key given to every officer. I rammed down the fence and drove away. I glanced in the mirror to find myself being pursued by an army of pursuit cars. I turned onto the Interstate and weaved through traffic. After a minute, I left the highway, crossed a bridge over it, and drove into the Underworld suburbs. I drove the bus into a high school gymnasium, then ran out of the school and hitched a ride on a city bus to get into another suburb. I got off and walked into a sandwich shop. I sat in a booth. I felt somebody breathing down my neck, so I turned around. There he was. The sombrero vendor. In a daze. He punched me in the nose, but I quickly got a yoyo shot to his foot. He was on the floor. I, then, apologized for my prior rudeness and imbursed him for the hats, in Japanese yen as he wanted. He was very pleased. He, then, told me, "Now that we're friends and all, I can admit something to you." He continued in a whisper, "I stole a tortilla chip about 3 years ago. Some sucker got charged instead, he was sent to prison." I was angry. This meant that he had put me in prison. I punched him in the nose, struck him repeatedly in the legs with the yoyo, and grabbed his belongings. As I started away from the store, I looked at him on the floor and realized, he had been wearing a tunic all along. Had I not learned anything from Land of the Lost?

ShamWOW! - Dictated by Dr. James "The Chair" Johnson, PhD Disclaimer: He is not a certified physician. - Typed by Josiah "The BIG Cheese" Johnson

So, this morning, as I lurked in the dark, damp shadows of the alleyways of the Underworld, I saw the best sombrero vendor in the history of sombrero vendors. Now, this vendor was very authentic. TRUE STORY: He had one of those patchy Mexican beards - like Greg's - and he was chugging queso dip to wash down the six enchiladas he had previously forced through his bowels. Now, I have to admit: he was very smelly, but, darn, he was authentic. So, I walked up and asked, "How much for a sombrero?" To which he replied, "35,000 ¥." (That is the Japanese symbol for yen.) His response obligated me to reply doggedly (that word does not fit, but, you know what they say, "If the phrase doesn't fit, JAM IT IN THERE!")...In case you're lost, I was replying doggedly, "What the french toast?!? You're a Mexican sombrero vendor! When are you ever going to get the money to fly to Japan?" The almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels he was holding explained it all. While he stared at me in a deep and drunken daze, I thought myself, "Kyle, grab a sombrero and skedaddle!" So, I initiated my dastardly battle plan. I reached out my hand and grabbed a sombrero. I instantly tripped. I was frightened, but relieved when I glanced over to come to the realization that he was still in a daze. I picked myself up and grabbed the sombrero, and then, I got greedy. I grabbed five more. I ran like the dickens! As I escaped the alley and into the streets of the Underworld, I saw another sombrero vendor. I paused and glanced upon his facial features. (I looked at his face.) Then, I looked in front of me, and I glanced back at him. This one was not in a daze. I kept walking. As I neared a thrift store on the corner of None Of and Your Business, I wondered, "How am I going to fit six whole sombreros on my scalp?" So, I entered the thrift store and sold five of them. My cash amount was now up to $2.86, 5 gold dubloons, and 3 ¥. At this point, you're probably rethinking your visit to this blog and, possibly, your life on this Earth in general. For those of you who are about to exit this window, you can shove your thumb in a blueberry pie! (Apple is okay too....really, any pie...just put your dang thumb in it!) For those of you who are realizing how incredibly scrumtrulescent my life is: kudos to you! I have no idea what 'kudos' means, but I'm pretty sure it's positive. If it's not, I apologize.