You immediately smell the fumes of cleaners and disinfectant, the stale atmosphere of the stinky air conditioner, the food being cooked before takeoff. The shit you just ate out of someone's ass in your teeth. I am wearing something very comfortable, shirt, pants and thong underwear to stimulate my anus into multiple orgasms as cruising altitude is reached.
I love pie, more then anything in the world, I would die for it, but I can't have it anymore.
In time the airplane launches and I pull out my Exacto Knife, stab the person next to me and begin to take hostages. My other buddies who are with me take out their Exacto knives, butter knives, and spoons to control the rest of the passengers. As we crash the plane into the local McDonalds I laugh. I am giggling like a school girl while flinging shit out the window and dancing to some Elvis tunes.
But I - can't – help, falling in love - with you.
It reminds me of when my retarded uncle said that a plane looked like a big pickle flying through the sky. Then he jumped out of a window and broke his back. We all laughed and laughed and thought he was dead, but he wasn't. So we visited him and laughed and he laughed; and he lied and we lied; and in time no cared anymore and forgot.
Blazing through the Midwest in the dead chill of winter on four tiny wheels. Wheels attached to an engine, an engine attached to a frame, and I was at the helm. The car created a shimmering blue streak as it hummed through the snow on the highway. I had left Minnesota for the promised land of California and was approaching my destination for the evening, Cheyenne, Wyoming, the halfway point of a 2000-mile trip. As I pulled off onto an onramp and into the gloomy town, my hatchback made a few disconcerting pops and jolts before dying in place. Trapped between home and West Coast uncertainty, I was forced to leave the vehicle and save myself. The last moments with my car were tough; it was my first automobile, and I will never forget it.
My 1992 Subaru Justy was quite possibly the smallest car ever manufactured. It was about double the size of a household kitchen refrigerator, could hold no more than four small people and managed to fit into any parking spot size encountered. The volume of the Justy added a level of comfort akin to a well fitting pair of pants. The car was of perfect dimensions, not too baggy and not too restrictive. The cozy interior of the Justy possessed a magical quality regarding cargo. There always seemed to be just enough room for whatever I needed to lug around in the vehicle. If I needed to drive my computer across town, I would load it up through the Justy's hatchback and by some marvel of modern science it would just barely fit. When I needed to haul my computer and all of my earthly possessions (which matched the computer's volume times three) 2000 miles across the country, the Justy mystically expanded to make room for the larger load. It was such miracles that made the car so special.
I am fascinated by the capacity to which I can offend, disgust, or alienate a viewer with my art. The delicacy of human sensitivity is a boundary easily upset with offensive imagery. Observation of psychological responses to my artwork, has helped me discover triggers that aid in achieving my objectives. Allowing my work to be deeply rooted in sensitive issues has given me the chance to explore reactions from a variety of artistic mediums. Illustration is my focus, but I also work with interactive media, animation, sculpture and painting. My artwork is created with an audience in mind, however the reaction it generates is the most fulfilling aspect.
Bruce Wayne is the wealthiest man in Gotham City. His manor sits atop Wayne Hill, overlooking the countryside miles away from the lights of the city. Bruce is a secluded chap who wallows in his privacy, tucked away from the other rich socialites out and about the town. He lives alone with his dedicated butler Alfred, who works dust control to the enormity of Wayne Manor. These two lonely single men have a special relationship for they share a bond of secrecy.
By day, Bruce Wayne is a red robed sandal wearing playboy bachelor. By night, he transforms into a brooding masked caped crusader; the Batman. As the moon beams through the deep blue hues of Gotham City's skyline, all of the filth and degenerates scuttle in fear. For they know, when the sun goes down, the Batman emerges to cleanse the darkness.
Buried deep under Wayne Manor is a series of bat inhabited grottos crammed with super computers, ridiculous vehicles and crime fighting equipment. There is a pointless sign above the entrance to this underground fortresses stating its name in large gothic lettering, the Batcave.
Are you afraid of the Pubes?
Mankind, being the idiots that they are, manage to develop phobias for just about everything. I have cataloged a few of these common and uncommon fears in hopes that more people will acquire them.
Arachnophobia
Spiders are the creepiest fucking creatures spawned upon the earth. They come in all sorts of shapes and sizes. From tiny, white and wispy to big, dark and furry. While seemingly silent, I would imagine if one were to ever accidentally step on a big one, the spider would let out a bowel-moving scream. Bowel-Moving Scream. After which the hairy little bastard would fling itself from the ground onto your face and immediately inject all of its baby spider eggs into your brain.
Cockaphobia
Nothing is more frightening than a big, slimy, erect penis. This weapon of choice for most males is capable of striking fear into the hearts of population. Dogs and Farm animals have learned to run and hide at the very sight of it. Most human females seem to develop immunity to cock around the age of thirteen. (the day their father rapes them) Those fortunate few females that don't, usually end up as box-munching dikes or God loving nuns. (though one could say that metaphorically they are still sucking the dick of Jesus) Any male who doesn't have a healthy fear of his or other penises is most definitely a homosexual. (don't let em' fool yah, a straight dude may claim he is not afraid, but if you let your guard down he will grab it and jam it up his ass)
I once knew a kid named Mike Richards. He lived right across the street from me, and he had the Sega channel, so I let him tell people I was his friend.
Anyhow, every time I slept over at his house, he would wake me up in the middle of the night and stick his finger in my butt. After about three or four encounters of this, I tried telling his parents. They just laughed and fed me candy. I decided to take matters in to my own hands.
The next time I slept over, I pretended to go to sleep. Then, while Mike was distracted with his uncontrolled masturbating, I filled my anus with super glue. Much like the previous evenings, I once again had my midnight encounter with his finger in my butt-hole. Mike was quite surprised when he tried to pull his stinky appendage back out, only to find that it was stuck with sticky glue. I leapt up and dragged Mike by his finger (in my butt) into his parent's bedroom to prove to them what horrors were taking place.
Ben Gadient 1982 - 2000
Written by Dan Serafin
It is my sad duty in accordance with the state of Minnesota to inform you that a one Ben Gadient has died at the same time as the beloved Col. Klink. Ben died under circumstances, which I can honestly say I had nothing to do with. All I can say about Ben was his life was like his basement, it was never finished. Ben had a certain Gadient wit about him that was both charming and annoying at the same time. But that is what we will all remember the most about Ben. He could really annoy the piss out of someone but still get them to lone him money. I could talk all day about his flaws. I would like to take this time to briefly recap this mans short life history in the hopes he will not haunt me for the rest of my life.
It all started in the year of 1982 on May 12. His parents were Mike and Mary Jo Gadient and had six brothers and sisters. He lived in Apple Valley in a house next to Andrea Renzs. Andrea creeped me out. Later on he moved to his house in Burnsville. For as long as I can remember that house has been under construction. I guess an answering machine is the last thing they're putting in.
He is the gay one, right?
A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, there was a realm known as Eternia. On this strange planet lived a very special, very magical, and very clumsy creature known only as Orko. Very few know the truth behind this mysterious, seemingly retarded fellow. What is actually behind that purple scarf? What are intimate details of his love life? How has he managed to avoid death from Man-at-Arms poor temper, time and time again? All these questions and more will be answered as we take a peek into the private life of Orko, the man, the mystery.
Rumor has it that Orko was conceived during a brief fling between Dumb Donald from Fat Albert and a retarded midget. However, recent discoveries have proved that theory to be false. Orko is of the ancient race Trollian, from Trolla. A realm not too far from Eternia, and just next door to Bullshit. His father, an uncontrollable womanizer and alcoholic, left the family to fend for themselves when Orko was only but 3 years old. This might explain why Orko seems so insecure within in his life, and doesn't have the self-esteem to say to "No" to Prince Adam's constant anal rampages.
