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!