My Scribblies…

Yes, I do tend to scribble little comics from time to time. It being the first time I’ve ever posted them here, I’ll post two. The first is a one paneled series I call “The Fifth Dimension”. It’s like Gary Larson’s, “The Far Side”, only more orgies, explosions, and expensive special effects. The second is about a bunch of sister-fucking, banjo-playing, Nascar-watching, opossum-eating, red necks named called “Zeek and Hambone. I also draw these under my pen name, Spanky Macraken. Enjoy.

The Fifth Dimension

Zeek and Hambone

Happy Kwanza, Bitches!

I know that I haven’t written in here in a long time. I’ve had a lot going on. Basically I’ve been busier than an abortion doctor the day after prom night. From moving cross-country to getting a new job to clubbing baby politicians after they pop their heads up from a filibuster, I’ve been swamped. That’s not all entirely true. Part of the reason I haven’t been writing here in the last few months has to do with old fashioned laziness and procrastination. Oh, and clubbing baby politicians is more of a hobby and not a profession.

Well, it’s Christmas day. If you’re like most people in the world, you’re spending it with family and being forced to wear a gay-colored sweater (fuchsia and turquoise) with a retarded moose on it. You are probably gritting your teeth while wearing this thing because you know that granny spent countless hours, in between her bridge games, getting those fucking sweaters knitted. Granny put out the effort into whipping all those children from Indonesia she purchased from the Nike factory to get those embarrassing garments completed. After all, you don’t want to hurt her feelings, even though she won’t remember your name tomorrow. It is scientific fact that old people have memories worse than Ronald Reagan.

Other than wearing the sweaters, you and your family have been unwrapping gifts before you get to the Christmas dinner. The dinner is usually the time where your Uncle Scummy, who somehow found your new address and showed up, makes and ass of himself by getting trashed on eggnog spiked with Captain Morgan’s and passes out while eating from the dog dish. It could have been worse. He could have urinated all over the tree, creating an electrical surge from the lights that ran up the stream and lit his dick on fire like last year. But hey! You’ve got prezzies!

Gifts range from spatulas and free oil change coupons to corporate bribes and epileptic dildos (vibrators). Everyone likes getting presents. Especially when it’s something you’ve always wanted but were too cheap and too incompetent to acquire for yourself. Just like our country’s banking and auto industries. For me, I’ve never thought much about what kinds of gifts I would like. My mother and family always ask me what I want for Christmas and I never have an answer for them. I guess I’m just content to get some free beer and know that people will never find out about my secret fetish of lesbian clowns doing lesbian Klingons with strap-ons while I choke myself with a heroin addict’s surgical tubing. Did I say that out loud?

Remember, Christmas is the time for family and claiming to be offended about celebrating it even though you still accept the gifts. Why is it such a fad nowadays to insist people tell you “Happy Holidays”? Usually those people are soccer moms whose husbands can’t find their G-spots, causing them to be more uptight than Sarah Palin’s tampon. I’m not a Christian, but I celebrate Christmas. It is a holiday that has transcended religion and become an integral part of Western Culture. That and Lord of the Rings. The next time someone insists you not tell them, “Merry Christmas”, just say, “Happy Kwanza, fuckface!”.

Wal-Mart Survival Guide

So, you’ve been drinking Natural Ice and Wild Turkey throughout the night and you live in Smalltown, America. You need a place to go to keep yourself entertained log enough to sober up. After all, you don’t want to drive drunk which will not only result in jail time, but also any number of embarrassing situations such as believing the police want to play bumper cars with you or your ex-lover really wants you to park in her living room. Wal-Mart is the perfect place to lay low and find fun things to do. But first, you’ll need to know a few things about the place in order for you to come out alive.

Firstly, Wal-Mart stands for Wrecking American Labor-Markets and Reaping Trillions. Wal-Mart is able to provide the American Bovine Consumer (ABC) with a myriad of goods at pre-1829 prices due to the fact that they utilize the assembly-lined, militant labor ethics of the hard working, disciplined Chinese people (sweat shop slaves). Damn, that Kung Fu is awesome! Now, I know some of you are asking, “Doesn’t Wal-Mart use laborers from India?” Not as of yet. The superstore still hasn’t encroached onto 7-11’s territory.

Regardless, an ABC can go to this utopia of consumerism and buy anything he or she wants. Need a bull whip, stool, and hula-hoop for your cousin the lion tamer? No problem. Going to a fetish, bondage, and Tupperware party? Wal-Mart has a large selection of ropes, pulleys, branding irons, Care Bears, ball gags, Type O Negative records, railroad spikes, pink leather chaps, the 2nd season of Little House on the Prairie, and enough plastic containers to store it all. If you’re a member of any of the following terrorist groups: Hamas, Al Qaeda, Fox News, Hezbollah, Japanese Red Army, Internal Revenue Service, Irish Republican Army, Aryan Nation, or the cast of Friends, then you’re in luck. Wal-Mart offers bulk discounts on uranium-235.

When you first approach the store, I recommend circling the building first. You want to be on the look out for snipers and Predator. If the exterior is clear, it should be safe to proceed. Your team of drunks should then stack up on the door S.W.A.T. style. Well, as best as drunks can, anyway. If the front of the entrance isn’t booby-trapped, enter quickly. Remember from your training that all building entryways are considered fatal funnels of fire. You want to clear these ASAP. Once through, you’ll encounter your first degenerate, brain eating lich lord…er-I mean, the Wal-Mart greeter. They look something like this:

If this monstrosity accosts you with strange phrases like “Hello, welcome to Wal-Mart” or “All your base are belong to us”, then this is an indication the greeter intends to attack. To keep your flesh intact, I recommend beating the assailant with something readily available. I find cricket bats and midgets work the best. Now you’re inside and free to roam about. But what to do? That’s entirely up to you, but here are some entertaining suggestions.

*Go to the sporting goods section and grab yourself a fishing pole and lure. Then go to the pet section and set your lure into any one of the 2,000 fish tanks they have. Supper! If a Wal-Mart employee asks you what you’re doing, throw your ninja smoke bomb on the floor and disappear.

*Go to the deli section and get a package of fresh fish fillets. Remove all those fillets and stash them in various parts of the store. After a week, they’ll be as smelly and slimy as Paris Hilton’s twat. It could take the store the better part of a month to find them all.

During this time, you still have to be cautious. Wal-Mart tends to have roving packs of mutants. I’m sure you’ve seen them on late nights. Those people that got evicted from their trailers because their only source of income is bull milking. They’re easily recognizable by their large, sloped foreheads, hairy, protruding stomachs, and mullets. Their pack leaders can be spotted by the Confederate flag hat he wears. If you see these mutants, try your best to avoid them. If, however, if you encounter them from December to February, run! This is their mating season and they may attempt to mount you on the spot.

Now that you’ve had your fun and you’re now sober enough to sneak back into your own house, it’s time to make your escape. Your best bet is to cause some kind of distraction. This can be accomplished by placing timed explosives in the automotive section. When the blast hits, people will be rushing to make sure nothing happened to those life-sized effigies of Dale Earnhardt, tractor tires, and cheetah skin seat covers. This is your chance.

As you’re making your way through the exit, you may be challenged again by the same Wal-Mart greeter you bludgeoned earlier (they are undead after all). If you don’t have your midget handy, just use your cricket bat and club them like a baby seal and all should be fine.

If you wish to tell others how to survive the evils of Wal-Mart, click here. Humor-Blogs.com

Come All Ye Hopeless

I recently got a chance to see The Davinci Code. I have to say that it followed the book pretty well. Except of course for the mysterious appearance of Darth Vader at the very end of the film claiming to be Jesus’ father. If I remember correctly, Vader offered his son to join the dark side of the force, but instead he was cast from the mountain and cured of blindness…or something. Then Jesus was whisked away by Mary Magdalene after three days, leaving Cloud City aboard the Millennium Falcon. All kidding aside, it wasn’t Vader’s blindness that was cured, but his asthma.

The movie was fairly decent. If you had read the book beforehand like I did, then nothing in it was a surprise. I was already aware of the damming secrets revealed in the book that the Vatican has been trying to stifle for the last two thousand years. For example, Pontius Pilot was an avid cricket player and Judas enjoyed gangster rap music. This is why I can’t understand why some many people have been up in arms about this movie. Even in Bahrain. I read that there were a few Christians in that country (seven in total) that petitioned the government to have the movie banned. See if this sinks in. A few Christians in an Arab Muslim country try to get a movie about Christianity’s secrets banned. All I have to say to that is HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Of course their petition went about as far as a fat guy on roller skates.

The entire thing reminded me of the time when I first moved to Georgia. Upon crossing the state line, I saw a sign that read, “Welcome to Georgia. Set your watch back 40 years.” And then the tune “Dueling Banjos” started playing. To this day, I still have no idea where the music came from. However, some coworkers told me that there had recently been, and I’m completely serious about this, Harry Potter book burnings. Yes, you read that right. A bunch of ultra-religious conservatives felt that Harry Potter was the devil incarnate, because he attends a school of magic. Saying that a children’s story that inspires the youth of today to read books is satanic is just as stupid as eating breakfast cereal with chopsticks. We all know that Barney the Dinosaur is the devil.

These people, most of them back woods country folk, you know the types with four teeth, mullets, and a gene pool that someone peed in, went to the store, purchased dozens of copies of any Harry Potter book, and ritualistically burned them. The bonfire was reportedly high enough to see from Jim Bob’s Tree Shack, which is just down the dirt road from Jethro’s Tractor and Billiards Emporium, and right next to Helga’s House of Humpback Hephers. When J.K. Rowling heard about the book burnings, I’m sure she cried about it all the way to the bank, getting a ride in a Waahmbulance. She probably even stopped at a McDonald’s to order a Waahmburger with a side of French Cries.

The bovine-like masses shouldn’t get their collective panties in a bunch over a novel. Sure, a senior Vatican official deemed “The Davinci Code” a sack of lies. But when you go to a bookstore, you find Dan Brown’s adventure thriller where you find all the other sacks of lies…in the fiction section. Yes, “The Davinci Code” is a fictional story. Remember, other great works of literature like “The Great Gatsby” and “Green Eggs and Ham” are fictional. So if your faith is weak enough to be shattered by a fiction novel, not even Dr Phil can help you. So in closing, I think I’m going to go watch “Star Wars” for hidden messages so I can write a bestseller called “The Skywalker Code”.

Suck My Oil Spout

As you may know, gas prices in this country have reached over $4.00 a gallon. If you didn’t know that, then perhaps you’ve been out of touch with society by living in a cave somewhere, or Dick Cheney’s bunker, or in the dungeon where Tom Cruise keeps Katie Holmes. Gas prices have never been this high in this country. Yes, I know it’s uber expensive. But hey, at least we’re not in Europe where gasoline costs $52,154 per liter and a kidney. With the cost of fuel rising, it also causes the cost of food to rise. This is because most food in this country is transported by way of diesel trucks, diesel trains, and Vin Diesel. This means that your friendly neighborhood fat guy will have to dig a little deeper into his piggy(pun intended) bank in order to have his deep-fried, gravy-covered pizza burrito Twinkie.

What shall we all do? Is there anything any of us can do to offset the price we pay to feed our addiction to that gaping maw of corporate sin? The industry in question is greedy beyond all doubt by providing what every American needs like a Bronx crack dealer. They pull us in to forever pay their piper so that we may succumb to false delight as they spew their product all over us. But enough about the internet porn industry. It’s time to talk about oil companies.

Congress recently called in the executives from the big name oil companies such as ExxonMobile, Chevron, SuckiTechron, and MakemeRichCo to testify. The members of the House of Representatives graciously, and in the most polite way possible, asked the CEOs if they would please, pretty please with sugar on top, lower gas prices. The oil company executives responded by telling the members of Congress to go fuck themselves, farting into the microphone, and then walking out. Just like a pussy-whipped boyfriend who will never get that blowjob from the succubus he’s with, Congress only said, “Ok…call me.”

With the current epidemic of high fuel costs, I have listed below a few transportation alternatives. I promise you that they are inexpensive. They will also be environment friendly enough so that Al Gore and Leo Dicapprio won’t come over to your house and force you to buy a hybrid and have kinky sex. Hey, I know what you’re thinking, but I read in a science magazine somewhere that gang bangs in the back of a Toyota Prius are good for Mother Earth. Anyway, on to the alternatives.

Corn Powered Pogo Stick- Remember all the fun you had when you were eight years old and you tried to use a pogo stick, but only resulted in one bounce and then falling off the roof? Well, maybe that was just me. But now, by ramming a corn cob half way up your rear, you’ll have the proper motivation to keep that pogo stick going. If you fall, that corn cob is going in all the way. It might even hit the back of your teeth.

Green Card Powered Mexican- This one is easy. Just go to your nearest Home Depot or Texas, and put a saddle and bridle over the first Mexican you find. In order to go anywhere you want just put a Green Card and/or a bottle of Tequilla on the end of a stick and dangle in front of the Mexican’s face.

Rightwing Fueled Hot Air Balloon- This form of transportation is fairly simple. Just get yourself a hot air balloon, or highjack one, and a CD player with large speakers. With your CD player and strategically placed speakers, you will play broadcasts of the media’s most annoying rightwing pundits. With just a little bit of Douche Limbaugh, Bill “I love the cock” O’Reilly, and that undead hooker, Ann Coulter, speaking their minds, your balloon will be full of hot air in no time.

The general message here is that everyone can chip in to curb the fuel crunch and the threat to the environment- Michael Jackson and Martha Stewart are still alive by the way. So everyone, gather up some beers and some good friends and squeeze yourselves into the back of a hybrid. Remember, you’re not just doing it for the pleasure. You’re fucking to fight Global Warming.

Chewing The Fat

I’m currently trying to lose weight. It can be very aggravating because my body lacks a metabolism. I’m serious. If I consume just one celery stick, I’ll bloat up like a dead body in the Hudson River. If I even smell a pizza, within a matter of days I’ll need a wheel barrel to carry around my pooch. Okay. Maybe I’m exaggerating a little bit. But one of my love handles will weigh at least as much as your average supermodel. Not your anorexic, coke-induced supermodel, but the standard bulimic supermodel that an Ethiopian would call skinny. Now, if what I just said offended you, then you are obviously not a super model or an Ethiopian, so get over it. Because we all know supermodels can’t read and Ethiopians have better things to do than surf the internet, like hunting and gathering.

This has led me to believe that the scent of food, in fact, has calories. People who gain weight easily have hypersensitive noses that can pick up these lard calories from out of the very air. Whereas people who can eat anything and not look worse for the wear must have defunct nasal glands. Doesn’t it make you sick that there are people who can stick a funnel in their mouth, drop in a bag of M&Ms, a stick of butter, and a gallon of ice cream, and not gain any weight? What’s even worse is these types of people have the audacity to say, Man, I can’t believe I’m so thin. I’m still hungry too. I think I’ll eat a sumo wrestler. This statement usually comes immediately after they’ve consumed enough sugar byproducts to send all of Latvia into diabetic shock.

So, I have an exercise regimen that includes a lot of running because running is basically the way to go to lose fat. I can tell you right now from personal experience that the beer and pizza diet does not work. Shocker, isn’t it? That must be the source of the obesity problem facing America these days. Everyone seems to think that rushing to the front door when the pizza delivery guy comes knocking is considered exercise. That and the fact that every day your average American citizen consumes enough food to single handedly support Iraq’s Oil for Food Program. Even Jabba the Hutt would bow out of an eating contest with some of the gargantuan, bovines in our society saying, Jabba no batta. Ho ho ho!

The most important thing to remember in weight loss is diet and exercise. I’m sure if you paid Richard Simmons enough, he would chase you around while wearing a leather bondage outfit. Anyone, I repeat anyone, would lose weight really fast with that thing chasing you. As far as your diet, just learn to take it easy. You don’t need to eat a four-story, ultra-cheese, triple bypass, bacon burger. If you have extra junk food in your pantry that you’d like to get rid of so you can avoid the temptation, just Fed Ex it to Ethiopia. Well, I’m signing off now. I need a pizza.

Welcome to Vox Insania, the Voice of Madness

Good evening, folks.  My name is Batman(haha!) and this is my very first journal entry.  Welcome to Vox Insania.  I’ve never done much serious blogging before-just an occasional post on Myspace.  Yeah, I know…Myspace counts for a “blog” as much as hardcore porn counts as family entertainment.   What does that word mean anyway?  Blogging.  The word sounds like when your toilet gets all clogged up with a baby seal.

Me: “So, why isn’t my toilet working?  I just had Indian food and a bran muffin.  So I need it.  Like now.”

Plumber: “Well, you see, there’s a baby seal clogging it up.  Can’t you hear it whimpering?”

Me: “Oh, that’s what that sound is.  i thought it was my downstairs neighbors fucking.  Can you fix it?”

Plumber: “It’s no problem.  I just have to go out to my truck and get my Eskimo.”

I hate it when that happens.  Stupid seals.  Anyway, I started this “blog” as a way to express myself and communicate my thoughts to the thriving masses of the interweb.  All four of them.  I intend to write things I find humorous and hopefully others will too.  I also intend to post some of the cartoons I draw.  With all that in mind, let’s begin.

For starters, the other day a couple of my co-workers were talking about how the military keeps discharging Arabic translators because they are of the homosexual persuasion.  Now, I personally don’t care if a couple of dudes want to butt ram each other in the back of their gay pride float, or move to Massachusetts to get married.  It doesn’t affect me.  This is America.  And I also don’t care if a couple of college chicks with hot asses and supple breasts want to experiment by soaping each other up in the shower, letting the hot water cascade over their special parts, and seeing where this newfound sensations take them.  In fact, I encourage it, especially if the girls are hot.  What?  I’m a guy.  Anyway, if you’ve volunteered to serve in our armed forces, I don’t see how being gay disrupts “good order and discipline”.  If you can do the job, the more power to you.  But the military doesn’t see it that way, unfortunately.

According to my colleagues, an Arabic translator in the military was discharged after it was discovered he was gay.  They discovered this through the monitoring of his email messages he sent via the top secret, defense networks to his boyfriend serving in Iraq.  Sure, dude should’ve known that on those defense/intelligence computer systems, the powers that be are monitoring.  However, I wonder what the message was that tipped them off that this translator likes to put dick in his mouth.  “Hey, baby.  I miss you.  I hope all that sand out there hasn’t made that sweet ass of yours coarse.  Don’t worry, I have KY.”