Golden Showers bring Mayflowers

The first group of colonists came to what is now the United States in an attempt to escape religious persecution. History books tell of strict puritanical sects of Protestants whose beliefs strayed from the religious ideals of the Anglican Church. One group of early settlers is often neglected in the textbooks used by the American education system. These people were known as "Porkists," named after their leader, Talthybias Pork. He and his followers believed in the healing power of sexual defilement. They saw the act of sexual abuse as a way to demonstrate their subservience to the Lord. Their Christmas and Easter festivals often included ritual gang rape and a selection of uplifting hymns. The idea was that, while you may be brutally invaded on Earth, your Heavenly Savior would never rape you. You could be a faithful Christian if you knew that your steadfastness would lead to a promise of an everlasting rape-free existence after your death. It was in this spirit that Talthybias Pork came up with an alternative to saying the traditional "Our Father" and "Hail Mary" prayers as a penance for sin. Instead of what he deemed an "arbirary means of atonement," Pork had his followers confess their sins publicly, then lie down to receive "the unholy communion," which would eventually become known as the "golden shower." Porkists would line up on Sunday mornings, walk to the altar, and shout out their various sins. Porkists would admit offenses such as, "I coveted my neighbor's crop," or, "I cheated on my income tax," and shortly after their sins would be absolved as urine would flow onto their faces from the urethra of a heavily hydrated Penelope Pork, the only daughter of Talthybias and his wife Vera.

Due to cultural taboos, the Porkists had to move their worship services underground and they soon disappeared from the public eye altogether. Talthybias and his family were eventually burned at the stake for "crimes unbecoming good Christians." It was believed that the Porkists had gone "the way of the dodo," until recently when information surfaced on the internet implying that this branch of the Protestant faith is alive and well. The practice of the "golden shower" has even had an impact among certain secular groups who seek to be urinated on not as a means of atonement, but as one of pleasure. Still, the practice of willingly being drenched in urine remains a cultural taboo, and it is doubtful that the concept will ever fully infiltrate the mainstream. Pun intended.

Down With Trees

You know what, FUCK THE ENVIRONMENT! I'm serious. You wanna hug a tree? Call Doc Brown and arrange a trip in the DeLorean and go back to the sixties where you belong! Ya fuckin' hippie! What do we need trees for? Seriously. Okay, they make oxygen. So what. I'm not impressed. We can make our own oxygen. I've seen the shit. They put it in tanks. My grandma was hooked up to oxygen when she was in the hospital. Did they strap a tree to my grandmother's face? I don't think so. That shit came straight out of a tank. Man-made. And I know you're gonna say that we need trees to build houses. Who the Hell are you, Abraham Lincoln? You never heard of bricks? And paper comes from trees, but we don't need that shit anymore thanks to the inventions of the Visa Check Card and the internet. I say we chop 'em all down except for the bonzai trees. And that's only because they're movie stars. They played a kick ass role in the Karate Kid movies. Besides, they're too small to chop down. You'd hurt your back with all that bending over. And you would need tiny axes. So, unless you find some leprechauns with tiny axes, the bonzai trees can stay.

And what the fuck is this global warming bullshit? Where were you last winter? Did you go swimming on Christmas? Work on your tan on New Years Day? I'll tell you where I was. I was freezin' my ass off waitin' for a tow truck because my Buick Skylark slid off the road and into a ditch. And you know what made my car slide? It sure as shit wasn't boiling water. No, it was "black ice." And I'm not being racist, that's what they call it. The globe didn't feel too warm to me on that frosty night, so you can take your global warming and stick it up your tree huggin', Al Gore-lovin' ass!

Love Handles

Why do they call them "love handles?" Nobody loves them. I've got quite the paire of amore grips myself, but none of you ladies out there seem to want to grab ahold. All they seem to do is get in the way of my pants. Sometimes, when I first put my pants on, they seem to fit rather snugly, so I boldly go forth without a belt. This unfailingly proves to be a mistake. As I walk throughout the day, I begin to sweat. It is common for those of us handle-owners to be heavy sweaters, and I am no exception. As I walk throughout my day and the unavoidable perspiration takes hold, it acts as a lubricant between my body and the pants that fit so snugly mere hours ago. These pants find themselves sliding down my legs inch by inch in what seems to be an attempt to free my love handles from their Levi-Strauss cage. No one wants to see this portion of soft, pale flesh, and I contemplate buying a girdle, but I wouldn't know where to purchase such an apparatus. Besides, I would rather spend my cash at a nearby Dunkin' Donuts where I can step into the air conditioning and try to hold the sweat at bay. I can't get my order to go, because my hands need to be free to hold up my pants. So now, I find myself succumbing to the sugary, lard based, carbohydrate-rich treat that acted as a seed to grow the love handles in the first place. As I inhale donut hole after donut hole, washing them down with a healthy, extra large Coffee Coolata, I dream of an attractive "chubby chaser" who I will meet on the street who actually loves my handles. She will own a catering company and employ me as a "taster" to try out her new recipes. She will, of course, have an incredible body without the slightest trace of love handle as I am a complete hypocrite, and will be sorely jealous of my horizontal protrusions, the sight of which will never fail to work her into a sexual frenzy.

From the time of my youth, my grandmother always said I was a "good eater." I'm not exactly sure what she meant by that, but I'll take a compliment where I can get it. So now the box of donut holes is empty, the sugar has been licked from the cardboard, and the Coffee Coolata has been reduced to the amount that makes an annoying sound when I suck through the straw. I sit in silence, slightly ashamed of the way I devoured the sweets. I guess you can't call it a "treat" when you eat this way every day. It's time for me to be on my way. Damn! I should've worn a belt.

Miscalculation

So the vodka bottle is empty, and I feel dirty - not that I touched anyone. Still, I touched all the dollar bills that I used to pay the bartender. And who knows where they've been. Under a male stripper's g-string, rubbing on his pieces and parts as he prays he doesn't get a papercut? Or rolled up on a business executive's mirror, used as a vessel to transport cocaine up his booger-encrusted nostrils? Perhaps transported from the hands of a man who's just dropped a "number 2" and forgot to wash his hands as a tip to the bathroom attendant who has sprayed him down with designer cologne? I usually carry hand sanitizer in my pocket for just such an occasion but, alas, I left the sanitizer on the counter and acidentally grabbed the calculator instead. I usually use it to compare prices at the grocery store. I'm a bargain shopper. Now I'm left with contaminated hands and a calculator who's screen reads 6-0-0-6-5. I like to type in that number. It spells out "boobs."

Pornotech Offers New Product

Although the American versions won't be out until 2008, Japanese consumers are already enjoying Pornotech's new Roboslut 3000. Pornotech has found a way for the age of technology to stretch (pun absolutely intended for you Magnum users!) to the new wave of pervert in an attempt to go way beyond surfing the internet for the latest in circus porn. That's right! For about the price of a hybrid car, Americans will soon be able to own their very own Roboslut 3000. Pornotech is taking advance orders on their website for custom-made versions of what they are calling "Artificial Fucktelligence." You can select the absolute dimensions of your computerized love machine, including skin color and body type, and you can even customize their voice to match that of your favorite celebrity. The dolls automatically adjust for a perfect fit for the consumer's anatomy and can be programmed to "share with a friend." The Roboslut 3000 also has a post-coital cuddle feature that can be toggled on and off based on your preference. Dolls are available in all nationalities and ages from 18-81. Also, only available in Amsterdam is a special model: the eight year-old Korean boy. It's expected to be a big underground hit with both members of the clergy and the U.S. Congress.