WEEKLY LIMERICK!!!!!!

The Long and Winding Lad


There's a strange little lad from Kent,
who's member is curiously bent,
when asked why that was,
he said it's because
he enjoyed sticking it wherever he went.

Devil Farts in Hand, Smells It

Never shake hands with the Devil

In addition to tempting mankind into sin, possessing the bodies of unbaptized children and spreading depravity and corruption through-out the land,  the recent discovery of a series of ancient Biblical texts show that Satan, the great opponent of God, was also  fond of farting into his own hand and smelling it.

"It's a logical extension of the diabolical aspect," says religious iconologist  Kip Zachwell, "traditionally cleanliness and godliness have been closely associated with one another. So have evil and foulness. Certainly it [farting into one's own hand and smelling it] falls into the latter category."

The newly discovered texts now nicknamed "The Stinkhand Scrolls" were discovered in a series of burial caves in the Shav'id Mountains east of  Jerusalem.

Though written in Aramaic the scrolls have been translated into English.

The following passage clearly describes Satan (or Lucifer) checking to see if any one is nearby before reaching his hand back, farting solidly into his palm then bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply:

"...And a mighty tremor built so that the ground shook and Lucifer took his hand and placed it to his crack [literally: his rupture] and there issued forth a foul noise and the air hung heavy and then Lucifer raised his hand to his face and smelt of it and the birds fell dead from the heavens."

Other passages in the scrolls suggest that Satan is an emotionally unstable drunk and a selfish lover.

Furthermore 666, the so called "number of the beast" once thought to be the mystical designation of evil is revealed in the scrolls to be merely the area code of Satan's actual number in Los Angeles, the last seven digits being 714-2987.

Theories that the scrolls are actually a series of angry letters from Satan's ex-girlfriend Clarise have yet to be substantiated.

Brilliant Child King Builds Army of Robotic Spiders To Get Back at His Mother

Mwha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!!!

DRAZLO, KROSKOVIA- 3 year old King Brahmkin Sal-Hourtz Grakto vowed last night to use his vast political power to get back at his mother for not allowing him to stay up and watch the Kroskovian sci-fi classic "Kracktiv Slorvo"  for the 10th time.

King Grakto, who is the acting regent in Kroskovia following his father's mysterious death last February, has pledged all of his country's resources towards the construction of an army of robotic spiders with which to exact his revenge.

"This will teach Mama that when her King wishes to watch  Kracktiv Slorvo, he will watch Kracktiv Slorvo!" says an official palace statement issued late Wednesday night.

According to the official blueprints, which were drafted by Grakto in crayon on a series of napkins, the spiders themselves will range in height from 50 cm to 20 meters, weigh anywhere from several kilograms to several hundred tonnes and will carry a payload of neuro-toxin capable of paralyzing an elephant. The spiders will also possess the ability to fly.

"Mama will try to hide but she cannot hide from spiders of this size. Also she will not be able to hide from spiders of this size that fly, as these do," laughs King Grakto.

Production on the army of robotic spiders is expected to begin within the week. 

Grakto's mother, Queen Jemelia Anhalia-Louise Grakto could not be reached for comment.

WEEKLY LIMERICK!!!

GRAB ASSER

There's a generous reward for the capture,
of a deviant young man from New Hampshire,
He runs 'round in the night,
giving the ladies a fright,
as he fondles their rear-ends in rapture.

Terrible Fish Devours Rat, Scares Children

DAVENPORT, NORTH CAROLINA-

Evil in the form of terrible fish

A terrible fish was pulled out of the Davenport City sewer system Friday night, officials say.

The fish, a five foot long monstrosity with razor sharp two-inch fangs and glowing yellow eyes was found after a storm drain over-flowed, vomiting the fish out onto the street a mere ten feet from a school.

"I heard yelling from the street and I thought a student had been hit by a car," says Mark Seeley, a science teacher at Oliver North High, "I came running downstairs and found a group of kids standing in a circle."

Suspecting the worst, Seeley pushed his way through the crowd only to find the terrible fish, thrashing about in an inch or so of dirty water, the half eaten remains of a large sewer rat clutched in it's teeth.

"The thing didn't seem to be particularly bothered by the air," says Seeley, "All told it spent almost an hour out of water without any discernible signs of damage. I don't think it's really a fish." He added.

The creature proved to be very aggressive, lunging at the gathered students and making high pitched shrieking noises using what was later confirmed to be a set of primitive vocal chords.

"The students were pretty shaken up. Several were weeping. Some were reciting prayers. One wanted to smash it with a rock but I didn't let them," explains Seeley, "You don't just go smashing unidentified species with rocks. Not on school property anyway. "

Recruiting the help of the school's groundskeeper, Harvey Whiteclit, Seeley managed to catch the fish-like creature in a tarp and place it in a large aquarium in the school's science lab.

"As soon as we placed it in the tank it started bashing the walls with it's spiked tail and trying to bite at the glass," says Seeley.

The student body of Oliver North Highschool harbor mixed feelings about the fish. 

"I had to see that thing with my own eyes, "says Quint Harris, a senior at Oliver North Highschool,  "now that I have, I wish I hadn't. Why would a caring God create something like this?"

"I don't like the idea of that thing being in our school," says Debbie Clark, a junior, "There's something evil about it. And it's fins are like little hands. Jesus, I get physically sick just thinking about it."

"This is just another example of the absurd emphasis we place on physical beauty" says Kent Grakner senior and Captain of the school LARP team. "If that fish had big blue eyes,  creamy skin and a well proportioned dorsal muscle we'd all be cooing at it. This superficiality just makes me sick. I'm tired of it."

Grakner is widely regarded as one of the ugliest students at Oliver North Highschool.

The terrible fish is currently being kept at Oliver North Highschool with plans of transferring it to the marine bio-diversity lab at Duke University later this week.

As of this writing, its species has yet to be identified.

Excerpt from the Santa Claus Interview

He's dreaming of a predominantly White Christmas

The following is an excerpt from the Amnesty International Interview with Saint Nicholas conducted by Martin Polk on August 12, 2009 in the North Pole.



August 12, 2009

--I met Saint Nicholas at his home in  the North Pole. He led me to a comfortable drawing room and offered me a bourbon and water.

POLK: So, this is actually a very nice...house? Mansion? What do you call it?

SAINT NICK: (Coughs, clears throat) Well technically it's a ranch house.

P: Well it's very nice. And who lives here? Just you and your wife right?

SN: Yeah, me and her. And sometimes we'll get a visitor. Stay a few days.

P: Really, like an, an elf or somebody-

SN: No. The Elves have their own...the elves have a very different idea of hospitality than we do. They live, they live- (motioning far, far away) -

P: But you have them over from time to time though, they must visit and-

SN: No. No I've never had one here.

P: You've never had an elf...what, in the -in the house? In this house?

SN: Well, I mean, they built it, obviously but after that....

P: What, they don't want to or-

SN: They don't want to and frankly I don't want them to. It's mutual.

P: You don't want them to set foot in your house.

SN: I prefer that we keep different social circles.

P: Why, because you work together and you want to separate your work and your-

SN: It's a little more complex than that but...essentially. Yes. Something like that.

P: So who do you have over to the house if not the elves. Are there other people here in...the North Pole, other people like yourself?

SN: I have friends from all over the world. It's not like I'm a hermit up here. We, me and Mrs. Claus, we only work a few months out of the year and the rest of the time we take advantage of the lifestyle my career has allowed us.

P: So, you go travelling?

SN: Yes. God, absolutely. The North Pole is a great place to get work done,-labor's very, very cheap for instance- but it's not the sort of place you'd want to pursue any sort of social life.

(Suddenly Saint Nicholas becomes agitated. He turns to a nearby window.)

SN: What are you looking at! Go on! Get out of here! Go on!!!

(I turn to look and notice a small, delicate face wreathed in jingle bells. It's staring forlornly through the Northern most window. A second later and it's gone. Saint Nicholas has turned red with anger. He continues staring at the window until long after the face has disappeared.)

P: Was that an elf?

SN: (Grumbles something unintelligible, sips his bourbon and water.)

P: You seemed to be very angry at him. Has he done something wrong?

SN: Wrong? Well, trespassing for starters. This is private property. They know that. This place is off limits to them.

P: He just seemed like he was curious. I don't think there was any harm done-

SN: No harm done? Boy, you city slickers don't have a clue do you? They're like ants. You let one in, two more will show up. You let those in, four more show up.  Pretty soon the place is INFESTED. Then you've got problems. Then you've got problems.

(Saint Nicholas swirls his bourbon and water).

P: But they work for you.

SN: Yes.

P: You need them. You rely on them.

SN: They're convenient for me, yes.

P: And do you, pay them for their services?

SN: In a manner of speaking.

P: What do you mean, in a manner of speaking? Do they receive monetary compensation for their labor?

SN: Money means nothing to them.

P: So what do you pay them in.

SN: I'm not going to answer that. Just rest assured it's a sort of currency they prefer.

P: Is it Jingle bells?

SN: I already told you I'm not answering that question.

P: Are you a racist bigot sir?

SN: This interview is over.

Bro to Dude: Chill!

Dude, whatever, I am fucking done taking to you tonight.

Dude, we go back a long time. All the way back to Highschool to when those kids were throwing rocks at me and you said: "Hey you fuckin' dicks quit it!" So you gotta believe that this does not come easily when I say you gotta chill.

But you do. Just take a step back and look at the situation. Look at yourself. Look at me. I'm your bro, dude. We don't act like this. This is not us.

Now,  I know that I might have been being a bit of a dick but dude, this is the very definition of an incommensurate  response.

Let me explain:

First you were a whiny little bitch when we got to the theater ten minutes late for The Social Network. I know it sucks when you're in the mood for something and you miss it but dude, we're human beings, we adapt to changing situations and it's no reason for you to have been a whiny little bitch

Furthermore, for the record,  I am not the sort of guy who likes walking into a movie ten minutes late. It just ruins it for me. I know we probably only would have missed previews but honestly -and I don't want to sound uncultured or anything- but those are usually my favorite part. That's why I'm not such a jerk about what movie we go and see: I just like laying back, takin' in some previews with my Bro and just chillaxing.

But, if we miss the previews, that's like half the fun for me so I hope you understand why we didn't go see The Social Network and went, instead, to see the Expendables which started 20 minutes later and which I thought was actually a pretty fucking awesome movie and I know you secretly did too.

Secondly,  dude, you ate like all the fucking popcorn. I asked if you wanted to get some and you said no. And so I thought like you didn't actually want any and so I bought a medium one instead of a large thinking I'd be eating the whole thing myself.

Surprise: no.

You decided you were actually very  hungry during the  OPENING CREDITS and started taking big fucking handfuls. I thought you were just having a taste but the popcorn was 2/3 of the way empty by the time Arnold Schwarzenegger showed up.

That is such bullshit and even Chris would agree and you better believe I'm going to tell him about this next time we hang.

Yeah, I know I sound pissed off now. Guess what? I am. Because you totally ruined what should have been a really nice evening by being a dick. And now I feel like a dick because I'm having to tell you to chill out.

Oh and P.S. you remember the reason we were ten minutes late? 'Cuz you had to show me that fucking thing on Youtube about the guy who sees two rainbows and freaks out. That video is 9:38 seconds long. Guess how late we were to the fucking Social Network, genius? Coincidence? Think again.

Man Eats Batteries, Shits Lightning

Thor?

PADFOOT ARIZONA- Harvey Brikkle is your normal everyday Joe. He goes to work at 8, gets home at 6 and is sipping a cold one by 6:30. He's got a wife, two kids, a dog named Gus and an old beat up Chevy named Clementine.

Oh, did we mention that he eats batteries and shits lightning?

Brikkle possesses a rare disorder called Levitas Plasmatoriosis from the Latin meaning "lightning maker".

For an as yet unknown reason Brikkle's body produces an enzyme which allows him to actually store the electrons in regular household batteries and then, using his digestive track,  channel them outwards in a powerful static discharge.

Standing a modest 5'8" and possessing the soft and gentle features of a child, Brikkle, 45, is not an imposing man. Still, the constant dim crackle of electricity emanating  from somewhere deep within his mid-section lends  him a nearly other-worldly aspect.

According to Brikkle it all started when he was 8 years old.

"Dad'd be in the fields," he says "Ma would be in the kitchen and I'd  have my run of the house, and I'd just eat things. You know, whatever I found: pieces of rock, tiny black things, stuff the cat didn't like."

It wasn't long before Brikkle discovered the food that would later make him (in)famous throughout Padfoot.

"My Dad used to collect flashlights," says Brikkle, "at one point he had the second largest personal collection of consumer level flashlights in all of Padfoot. Well, one day he sort of left one out..."

According to Brikkle, he unscrewed the casing of the flashlight and out slid four shiny AA Duracell batteries.

"I 'member thinkin' they was the most beautiful things I ever seen...so I just...you know...ate 'em."

Five hours later the house was on fire and Brikkle's younger brother was dead, his bones turned to glass from a blast of potent electricity seemingly directed from the top-most bunk.

"We was all sad 'bout that o'course," says Brikkle's father Earl, "But also excited because of Harvey's miraculous gift."

As soon as word got out about his unusual ability Brikkle became a local celebrity, touring the radio talk-show circuit, appearing at various State Fairs and even performing,  albeit briefly, in a traveling Circus under the name "Lil' Shock Ass".

Unfortunately, like the polarizing quality of electricity itself,  Brikkle's strange power soon divided the towns people of Padfoot.

"Harvey is THE most off the hook son of a bitch I've ever met," says Angus Mingus, one of the many local butchers, "I seen him blow up a dog once 'cuz it looked at him, or didn't look at him. Don't know which."

"Harvey is the nicest boy I've ever met" says Edwina Sinclair, retired housewife, "He's always so caring and kind.  I don't care at all that he possesses a terrible power."

Brikkle, trying to stem the tide of negative sentiment,  cut back on his performances, relegating himself to dinner theater a few nights a week at various local venues. 

Sadly, following a few minor incidents at Pete's Egg Dog and Steak House, public sentiment began to drift inexorably towards distrust and finally to fear.

Brikkle was soon forced to abandon his life as an entertainer altogether.

"Them was good times," says Brikkle with a tinge of remorse, "but I couldn't do it forever. Gotta grow up you know. Earn an honest living."

Now-a-days Brikkle works full time at the rock quarry and keeps his special talent under wraps so to speak.

"I bring it out at parties sometimes, or you know, special occasions." Brikkle chuckles then goes quiet for a moment. "And every once in a while," He adds, "When it's real quiet and the night's real still. No wind, not a cloud in the sky. I hike up Padfoot Peak, swallow a handful of 9 volts, grab my knees and give 'em one hell of a storm."

WEEKLY LIMERICK!!

HESSIAN OBSESSION

There was a filthy old whore from Dubai,
who more than once thought she would die,
from a spirited session,
with a bearded young hessian,
said she: "it's better'n takin' it in yer eye!"

How To: Cure Cancer!

Heard a rumor, you had a tumor

Uh-oh! Got the lumps?

Don't worry, it happens to the best of us and with this easy do-it-yourself guide you'll be in remission in no time!*

WHAT YOU'LL NEED:

1 tissue culture flask filled with trypticase soy agar

Several syringes ranging in size from 60ml-120ml capacity

1 Tourniquet (a regular ol' belt will do!)

Several blood separation tubes lined with a gel possessing a specific gravity of between 1.060-1.065 g/cm3

A healthy friend with the same blood type as you (no cancer!)

A centrifuge

Rubber gloves

A Celestron 44340 LCD Digital LDM Biological Microscope

A sample of a human retrovirus that has become activated via the removal of the protein ESAT (Ask your local hospital or go on EBAY)


___________________________________________________________________

THE PROCEDURE

1. First take some blood from your healthy friend using the tourniquet and syringe. (120 ml should do).
2. Place blood in separation tubes (split sample among three tubes)
3. Place two of the tubes in centrifuge and set on speed 2 for one hour. Place the other tube in cold storage.
4. Turn off centrifuge.
5. By now the lymphocytes (white blood cells) should have separated from the rest of the blood. They will appear as a white layer almost like congealed bacon fat.
6. Put one of the tubes in cold storage.
7. Harvest a sample of the healthy lymphocytes from the remaining tube.
8. Next take the sample and place in one of the blood culture tanks lined with trypticase soy agar.
9. Administer a small amount (just eyeball it) of the prepared retrovirus to the lymphocytes.
10. Cover and place in a nutrient bath and monitor for several hours.
11. Take a sample and observe under electron microscope. The lymphocytes should now be "infected" with the retrovirus and should appear like this:

Not all retroviruses are bad

(notice the uniform size and color. This is a sign of infection.)

12. Take the tube of un-separated blood out of cold storage.
13. Bring the blood up to body temperature and then combine the retrovirus infected lymphocytes to the healthy blood.
14. Now comes the fun part. Inject yourself with this retro-cocktail! The vein in the arm is fine.
15. If all goes correctly, the retrovirus should act as a blood-hound (pun intended!) sniffing throughout your system for a certain protein which grows on the outsides of tumor walls.
16. The retrovirus delivers genes that allow for the production of T Cell Receptors. These receptors work much like packets of plastic explosive and when they get attached to tumor walls they blow them up! Take that cancer!
17. Obviously this treatment must be repeated under a strict regiment (three times a day in fact) for several months. But if all goes well your cancer may very well go into remission!
18. Congratulations!

Check back Next Week for: How to Kill Your Target!

*For the love of god, don't try this at home folks.

Weekly Limerick!!

PORK

There's a peculiar young lady from Cork,
Who confesses a fondness for pork,
but she gets quite unnerved,
when at dinner it's served,
And she won't let it come near her fork.

We're All Figments of Your Imagination, Kevin

A recent study at the Harvard Center for cognitive theory has conclusively proven  that we are all figments of your imagination, Kevin.

It's true. The numbers don't lie. Nor do the voices in your head that have no doubt been telling you the same thing for years.

The study, conducted by Dr. Philip Stark (who incidentally, is also a figment of your imagination) has generated astounding evidence intimately linking everybody in the world to you, Kevin.

Just as you've always suspected, as soon as you leave a room, that room ceases to exist

Kevin, Kevin, Kevin

until you return to it.

Places like China that you've never been to don't actually exist and won't actually exist until you go there at which point they will be spontaneously generated by your own thoughts and feelings at that moment. 

That movie you saw last week on Netflix, the one with Meg Ryan that you thought was so funny? Guess what. It was a figment of your imagination. So was Netflix.

And that girl you met at the bar who ended up dancing with your friend Chris instead of you? Both of them were figments of your imagination. So was the bar for that matter. So was the ABBA they were dancing to.

Furthermore, as backwards as it sounds,  your parents didn't exist until You were born Kevin. Nothing did.

Does this mean that you're some sort of God Kevin? Some sort of fundamental aspect of the universe and all creation is just a passing whim of yours? Are whole planetary systems built and destroyed in  some grand cosmic dance orchestrated by you and you alone? Can you temper the very fabric of space and time and bend matter to your will using nothing but the power of your magnificent mind, Kevin?

We don't know, you'll have to tell us because we're figments of your imagination too.

Weekly Limerick!!

IN THE NAVY

In the 101st battalion of the Navy,
there's a well known ship's cook named Davy,
All day he peels tates,
for his salty sea mates,
but will not reveal how he makes gravy.

Theater Review: The Ballad of Secular Jesus

Clarence Needley as the eponymous Secular Jesus

By Wade Crevasse


The Funtime Players are a small theater Troupe out of Long Island.

Their previous original production "My Father: My Hero" was a bloated saccharine canker about the war in Iraq that inadvertently  had me siding with Bin Laden by the end.

So it was with a considerable amount of trepidation that I went to see The Funtime Players latest original piece, a musical entitled "The Ballad of Secular Jesus".

To say that "The Ballad of Secular Jesus" is bad would be incorrect or at the very least, insufficient from a linguistic standpoint. Doing so would be like calling the planet Jupiter "large" or the great, frigid vacuum of infinite space "cold".

In fact, "The Ballad of Secular Jesus" is, without a doubt, the single worst piece of art I have ever seen.

Keep in mind that I have been reviewing art performances and gallery openings for over 20 years. I have written literally hundreds of reviews for every form of art imaginable.

I have watched a man eat a jar of caviar while reading Lenin's "April Thesis" only to shit into his own palm nine hours later in order to symbolize how the Bourgeousie and the proletariate unite within the body of the middle class.

I have watched a twenty hour video of a man watching a 20 hour video of himself watching a 20 hour video of himself.

I had thought these incidents to be new lows for the art world but after watching "The Ballad of Secular Jesus" I can see how wrong I was:

"The Ballad of Secular Jesus" is literally worse than watching a man shit into his own hand.

This observation alone should be review enough for many, but for those who are somehow still unconvinced, by all means read on.

As the title implies, "The Ballad of Secular Jesus" is essentially the story of Jesus Christ told in modern times but without any of the religious trappings.

What we are left with is the incredibly bland and morally vapid tale of a 33 year old bearded carpenter who is essentially just a nice guy but: "not the greatest carpenter!" as J.C. himself exclaims every five minutes or so in an on-going song and dance number entitled "Hammer and Nails, it never fails!"

Through the production's alarmingly self-indulgent 242 minute run time we follow Jesus from childhood to adulthood.

A single actor plays the parts of both child Jesus and adult Jesus and the actor, a Mr. Clarence Needley would be well advised to not only not quit his day job, but to never act in anything ever again.

There's a Mary character (played with ear-ringing shrillness by Mandy Draper), a Judas character (Kevin Saint) and an ethereal father character who may or may not be the head of the carpenter's union and is played with all the bravado of a handful of gypsum by Roger Dodds.

There's a whole lot of other useless crap that basically exists only as an excuse to knock-up the already swollen run time with as many song and dance numbers as possible.

By the end of the show the audience was understandably exhausted and visibly angry.

I personally felt violated, poisoned from somewhere deep within my soul in a way I haven't since watching my father die slowly from cancer.

In both cases I was forced to witness something awful that I was powerless to stop. In both cases I raised my eyes to God to beg for mercy and received nothing but silence.

And perhaps this is the point of "The Ballad of Secular Jesus": if there is no god, it follows that there is no soul and if there is no soul then all the horrors in all the world are illusions made by man for the sake of tormenting himself during his brief tenure on earth.

If that's the case then the Funtime Players have certainly succeeded in their mission.

I humbly suggest therefore that we take advantage of what little moral authority we do have by arresting those responsible for this horror and hanging them by their necks until dead.

The Ballad of Secular Jesus is playing at the New Town Theater located at 344 Skillman Ave.
Brooklyn
Tickets are $15 at the door, $10 in advance.

Sarah Palin Found to be Made Entirely Out of Cancer

The marauding clot of free radicals known as Sarah Palin

By Leo French

Following a minor stumble on a patch of wet pavement during the filming of her new reality show "Palin!" Sarah Palin was admitted to the emergency room at Homer Alaska's Frontier National Hospital Saturday afternoon.

There, following a series of routine tests, Sarah Palin was found to be made entirely out of cancer.

"Now let's make this very clear," said Dr. Martin Gebbes, head oncologist at Frontier hospital, "Sarah Palin doesn't HAVE cancer, she IS cancer."

Apparently Palin's entire body is composed entirely of cancerous cells, free radicals that have, due to a series of mutations, begun to replicate themselves out of control -in this case, into the graven shape of Sarah Palin.

"I've honestly never seen anything quite like it," says Gebbes, "usually cancer infects a part of a person's body, never the whole thing."

Cancer tends to come in two different types: benign and malignant.

Generally, benign tumors tend to be kept in-line by the body's own immune system which attacks and ultimately regulates potentially cancerous growths.

Occasionally however, a tumor can grow in such a way that the body's own defenses are not aware of the danger until it is too late.

When this happens, the tumor becomes "malignant" and begins siphoning off valuable resources from normal cells in order to feed itself.

"But the great danger of course," says Dr. Gebbes, "is when a tumor metastasizes. That's when cancer actually enters the blood stream and spreads to other parts of the body."

According to Gebbes, in Palin's case this seemed to have happened sometime in late 2008.

"Before then it [Palin] was definitely something I would have watched carefully for signs of growth, strange discoloration and so on," says Gebbes, "but at least she was mostly relegated to Alaska."

When shown a map of the United States post 2008 with Palin visits outlined in red Gebbes shakes his head.

"If this were a patient's x-ray, I'd give them three months to live. Tops."

When informed of the rather surprising diagnosis the Sarah Palin tumor seemed strangely up-beat saying "now that's what I call goin' Rogue!"

CERN Scientist Speaks: "We May All Be Living Inside the Asshole of a Young Boy!"

"They're where?"

By Creme Bremerton

I-Phone? Check. Wi-fi? Check.  Secret of the universe....er...

While technology continues to make unprecedented leaps and bounds, the big questions still remain un-answered: why are we here? And where exactly are we anyway?

Recently however, a large piece of the puzzle seems to have fallen into place. And you'll never guess where that place is.

"Well it's very interesting" says CERN particle physicist Dr. Adrian Rance, "for the longest time we thought that we were the center of a very finite universe. Then, thanks to a series of breakthroughs we learned that we were, in fact, merely a speck in an infinitely expanding universe. Now, with the Large Hadron Collider and recent experiments in light refraction, we're starting to realize that space IS finite after all and has a very definite shape."

For those "out of the loop" so to speak, the Large Hadron Collider is the world's largest particle accelerator. Over 20 km long and capable of accelerating protons to 9/10s the speed of light, the collider offers unprescedented potential for dissecting the universe around us and finally learning what makes it all tick.

"The LHC is sort of like the world's sharpest knife." says Rance. "For the first time we're finally able to break down the universe to a fundamental level and that's exciting."

Chief amongst the proposed experiments at CERN is the so-called "fabric mapping". By accelerating particles to very high-speeds and then refracting them off of each other the scientists at CERN have been able to create a sort of high-speed "sonar" using particles of light instead of sound.

The resulting information, when properly assembled via computer, is a remarkable, albeit rather clumsy portrait of the known universe.

The more tests they performed however, the more vivid the image became until finally a strangely familiar shape began to emerge.

"For a good day and a half we just sort of stared [at the computer generated image]. " Says Rance. "Then finally somebody just said it: 'You know what that kind of looks like-'"

According to Rance and his colleagues, all evidence from these experiments point to the staggering possibility that Earth, our galaxy and, in fact, the entire known universe exists inside the asshole of a young boy.

"We were as shocked as anyone," said Rance. "I mean, our best guess was that we were all living inside some sort of infinite and self perpetuating 11 dimensional membrane whose properties were by and large governed by the vibrations of impossibly tiny strings made of pure energy. I can honestly say that I never once considered the possibility that we were all simply living inside the asshole of a young boy."

Renowned proctologists were brought in to verify the data. Recognizable muscle groups and other anotomical features were quickly identified amongst the bleary, pixelated images.

"The image quality isn't so good," says Dr. Leonard Ghims, a proctologist at Mt. Sinai hospital in New York, "but it's on par with a regular sonogram from a routine colonostomy. I have to say, if you were to present this to me with no other explanation and asked me to tell you what it was, I'd say with a certain degree of confidence that it is a sonically generated image of the interior of a young boy's asshole. I've seen a thousand of them."

Obviously the religious and psychological ramifications of this discovery are potentially devastating.

"It's awful," says Rance, "I can't do anything anymore without that thought rolling over in my head. I'm shopping for groceries...inside a young boys asshole. I'm washing my car....inside a young boy's asshole. I'm making love to my wife...well you get the picture."

And it doesn't stop there. As Rance points out: everything that has ever happened in our history has taken place inside a young boy's asshole. Every word Shakespeare ever wrote, every symphony Mozart ever composed has occurred inside the untold cosmic depths of a young boy's asshole.

While the exact age and identity of the boy remain unknown, experts agree that whoever he is, he is in decent health and likely between the ages of 9 and 12.

"Not that it matters, but he's probably also caucasian," added Dr. Ghims. "You can tell by the size of the prostate."

Top Ten Snake Names

Posted by Randy J. Peasley

1. Slither Hither
2. Scale River
3. Tail All
4. Coiled Hell
5. Time/Space Stop (in form of deadly reptile)
6. Grass Assassin
7. The Lying-In-Waitington
8. Ankle fucker
9. Rape Foot
10. Lil' No Hands

Top Ten Shark Names

Posted by Kent Peasley

1. Kilometer Eater
2. Fathom Hammer
3. Shark of the East
4. Depth Wolf
5. Eat Genius
6. The Under Hitler
7. Gill Demon
8. Bite Captain
9. Neptune's Bastard
10. Fish Impossible

WEEKLY LIMERICK!!!!!!

CRABS

I once contracted crabs from a whore.
they leapt from her gash by the score.
they formed ranks as they landed,
and their numbers expanded,
I fear they shall soon declare war.

Concerning the Discovery of Life on Mars

By Jarvis Wade

Hey, for those who haven't been following the whole Mars thing, here's a quick recap.

So yes, they did technically find life on Mars. But before you start shooting at the sky, realize that these aren't little green men we're dealing with.

They're actually very tiny micro-bacterial organisms buried in the sub-stratum ice around Mars' frozen polar ice caps.

These creatures are VERY simple in structure, hardly even of the order of bacteria. Furthermore, there's still heated debate between scientists on whether or not these organisms can even be considered lifeforms.

And of course that's part of the debate nobody really ever anticipated about the discovery of alien life: since it's alien, how can we use our current standards to define it?

Let's think about this for a second people:

What if we come across digital life forms? Sentient robots? Mindless collectives or, as the current situation holds, proto-bacteria that subsist on ammonia gasses and seem unable to reproduce on their own (apparently one of the big sticking points for these "anti-life" scientists).

If racism has torn our world apart, imagine what a terrible social disease "life-ism" will be when finally begin routinely dealing with other life forms. What standards will we ultimately use to qualify if something is alive or it isn't?

Personally, from what I understand of these "new" life forms they fit the bill close enough that I have no problem extending a hearty welcome to our tiny little pantheon of existence. There's little enough life out there already, no point arguing semantics.

Besides, it's exciting as hell. Evidence that life has arisen not once, but TWICE independently within our own, tiny solar system bodes well for the existence of life on a far grander scale elsewhere in the universe.

So to you tiny, mindless little microbes swirling around the southern pole of Mars: welcome to a very exclusive club. So far there are only two members. May that number expand greatly.

In the meantime, keep watching the skies.

JW