Radio Sandwich

I've got this sandwich, which is just like an ordinary sandwich, but also a radio. And whatever station I tune into is what it tastes like. The rock station tastes like a hamburger, and the country station tastes like Velveeta.

The hip-hop station tastes like fried chicken. It's not racist, it's just an observation.

The Top 40 station tastes like Smarties, and the talk station tastes like crackers.

The salsa station tastes like salsa. It's not racist, it's just an observation.

I've got a radio sandwich.

Every station is delicious.

I like to listen with Miracle Whip.

I Don't Trust...

...gray-haired men with black eyebrows. How can I believe anything they have to say when they can't even get all of their hair on the same page?

-----

...people who laugh too easily. Seriously, ladies, that greeting card is not that hilarious. How do you react when something is genuinely funny? Can you even tell the difference anymore?

-----

...ghosts. Motherfuckers be stealing all my shit.

Steggar the Mirthless in "The Spire of the Ubermages"

Steggar was born to Urion the Valiant and his wife, Velma the Fastidious, in the Village of the Elders in the third century of the Age of Hytophrexes, beneath a blood moon as the baying of the carrion hounds echoed mournfully across the Betur Plains, which everybody agreed was a mouthful to print on the birth announcement, but Velma, as her nickname would suggest, was insistent that every little detail be just so. Steggar was bathed in yak urine as per the tradition that nobody was certain to the origin of, and Urion and Velma were showered with many gifts of yak meat, yak hide, and wind-chimes made of the bones of yaks. The yak-poor were allowed to forego gift-giving provided they had a daughter of "taking" age who was willing to offer herself hound-style to the village chieftain. Most civic disputes were solved in this way. The relative merits and faults of the system are open to debate, but it was the only system they had, and the chieftain wasn't about to change things any time soon.

Steggar's childhood was a blur of violence, circumcision and ritual yak-blood drinking and is best not dwelled upon. Upon the reaching of adulthood, Steggar decided that he cared not for anything and took the nickame "the Careless", a decision he didn't think through very well. "Watch your feet, Steggar," the other warriors in the village would giggle. "Steady with that pile of boulders now, Steggar," the elders would cackle through their beards. "Are you sure that hut's properly constructed?" the youngsters would wonder. "I don't think you took the proper care in thatching that roof."

"Okay!" Steggar roared after a few short weeks of this ribbing. "I get it!"

"You have no sense of humor, Steggar," the village chieftain said, and he quickly re-dubbed the younger man Steggar the Mirthless. Steggar, happy to be shed of his hastily-chosen nickname, threw himself into the role, and for the next 13 years was never seen to bare his teeth for any reason but hunger or battle.

Then a few years of other events happened of no consequence, leading us to the situation with which this story is concerned.

To Be Continued

Stand-Up Jokes #1

They say that a friendship is irrevocably altered once one friend has allowed him or herself to fantasize about the other while masturbating. But I don't know. My relationship with Jesus has never been stronger.

-----

One of the things that's hard about getting older is that suddenly everything is "creepy" about you. You know? Everything that used to be sweet or innocent about young love, poetry, yearning, all that stuff, becomes creepy in middle age. Like, the other day, I was changing out the tape in the video camera that records in my toilet? And my friend was all, "CREEPY, KEVIN!" I mean, when I was 17 or so, you would have found my habit of hanging around the Juniors' Department fitting rooms taking discreet upskirt shots AS CUTE AS KITTENS.

-----

I would never advocate violence, but if you ever see a tall, sorta gimpy red-headed guy with a scar on his nose? That guy's name is Jonas Spitz, and he's a TOTAL ASSHOLE. Ask him, "Hey, are you Jonas Spitz?" and if he says yes, murder him. I mean, whoa, violence never solved anything, right? But seriously, kill Jonas Spitz. You probably won't even get in trouble, because everybody knows what a douchebag this guy is. Just in case, though, just in case there's maybe another guy named Jonas Spitz matching this description walking around, make sure it's the total asshole one first. A good way to find out is to, oh, I don't know--leave him alone with your girlfriend for about an hour. Trust me, you'll know if it's the right guy soon enough.

-----

Whenever you see one of those shark programs, they always have a guy on there who got attacked by one. He'll show you the scar, and they he'll talk about how he bears the fish no ill will, because sharks are a graceful beautiful and misunderstood species...Well, let me tell you, if I was ever bitten by a shark, I would become the world's most vocal advocate for seeking out and killing thost fuckers wherever they were hiding until they were extinct. I'd be like, "Sharks? Yeah, they're cold-blooded killing machines. A lot of people really have the wrong idea about sharks nowadays, thinking that they're these graceful, misunderstood creatures, but no: they live for human blood, and they will swallow your babies. Hey, did I ever tell you about the time one of them TRIED TO EAT ME? IN THE OCEAN?"

----

Some people don't appreciate my attempts to stay current with the new music that the kids are listening to. I was jamming in my ride the other day, and the crossing guard was giving me the dirtiest look. I guess she doesn't like KIDS' BOP. So I put my van in gear and got the hell out of there. There are other schools for me to try out my new "After school shuttle-van pick up and free candy" service, lady!

-----

I think a great idea for a movie would be one about a persistent Cub Scout who tries to sell a candy bar to Harrison Ford for two hours.

PRAIRIE WARS

The street was empty, with no movement save that kicked up by the restless wind. Two men stared into each other's eyes from opposite ends of the street. Slowly, they neared, until they were separated by a mere ten feet.

One figure was much younger than the other, barely a man, really. His thin form was wrapped in the traditional dress of the plains Indian. His hair was long, his demeanor solemn. The other man, much older, possessed of a gaunt face lined with scars and cruelty, was dressed in black from head to toe, red accents showing on his hat, his vest, and on the handle of his gun, still in its holster.

"My step-sister was right," the youth announced. "This was a trap. Where are you keeping them?"

The man in black smiled. "That's for me to know, kid." He gestured around himself. "This is a big town, Butte City...my town, you understand?"

"This town belongs to--"

The dark man shook his head. "Not anymore. We had a deal, but I altered the details a bit. Butte City is now wholly operated by the Creekridge Mining Company, and when that railroad comes in, boy howdy! I'm gonna be a rich man."

"You are a silver-tongued murderer."

"Perhaps." Suddenly, the dark man's gaunt form was racked by violent coughing. He folded at the waist and hacked a wad of bloody phlegm into the dust. He straightened, wiped his chin, and adjusted his hat.

"You have the wasting disease."

"It's called consumption, you ignorant redskin, and yeah, I do." He put his hand on his pistol. "But I'm still fast enough to take the likes of you. Let's get this started...I reckon you've got a head full of blood since you saw me shoot down that old hermit. He was kind of like your pappy, wasn't he?" The dark man's teeth were specked with blood as he smiled.

Slowly, the youth pulled a long knife from its rawhide sheath. "My name is Luke Walks-in-the-Sky," he announced. "You shall die this day, Dan Vetter!"

"I'm already dyin'," Vetter whispered.

Luke moved, lightning fast. The knife soared, piercing home just as Vetter drew. But it was off-target. It wasn't a fatal wound, merely an inconvenient one. Vetter smiled, trying his best to disguise the pain as he removed the knife from the superficial wound it had left in his right side. "Impressive," he said to Luke. "Old Ben taught you well." He dropped the knife to the ground, and then his right hand cocked his pistol and fired. Luke flinched, and his right hand exploded in a shower of blood. He fell to the ground, cradling his bullet-torn hand, now missing two fingers. "Not well enough, but, eh..." Vetter shrugged as he closed the distance between himself and the felled boy, wincing with every step. "I could'a killed you, kid, but I didn't. Why do you think that is?"

Luke held his ruined hand close to his face. "What do I care?" The words were full of hate.

Vetter smiled, then holstered his pistol and crouched down on his haunches. "Ow, shit...that hurts, kid."

"Good."

Vetter looked to his left and right, just in case any of the townsfolk cowering in their storefronts were eavesdropping. "Did...did that Old Ben ever tell you about your father?" he asked quietly.

"He told me plenty...how you killed him when I was just a pup."

Vetter laughed and shook his head. "No, Luke...I'm your daddy. That's why you're still alive."

"No!" Luke's face went through a catalog of emotions: shock, denial, hate. "That's not true! That's impossible!"

"I think you know it is, son. Ask around. Anybody'll tell you that old Dan Vetter had a weakness for squaw. Now..." He straightened back up, staring down at the boy. "Are you gonna join my side, or what? It's where you belong."

"I'll never join you!"

In the distance, the faint sound of hoofbeats, and Luke, from his position, could see dust rising in the distance through Vetter's legs. He allowed himself a little bit of a smile. Help was coming.

Vetter hadn't heard anything yet. He raised a fist. "If only you knew how powerful this company is, son! It's progress, and it's comin'! If you join up with me, we can tame this valley together! As father and son!"

The approaching horses were impossible to ignore. Vetter spun. "I said clear the street!" he shouted, but he saw soon after that these weren't quickly cowed townsfolk. He recognized the faces through the kicked-up dust: Luke's step-sister Lily O'Malley, the drifter Hank Solo and his partner Bear, and following up at the back of the group: Lawrence Delricio, the man Vetter had sworn he had an arrangement with. "That sonofabitch set them free..." He drew his pistol as the horses came down on him. "You set them free!" He raised the gun to fire.

Hank Solo leveled his own pistol over his horse's head and fired two times. One bullet ripped the gun from Vetter's hand, and the second took his hat straight off. Vetter fell on his ass. Solo and the others came to a halt. "I guess you're not the fastest after all, Vetter!" Solo called down through a wide grin. To put a point on the insult, Bear spat a thick stream of tobacco between Vetter's legs. "All aboard, kid!"

Luke stood, cradling his injury, and with effort slid onto the back of Solo's horse.

"I suppose you'll kill me now," Vetter said.

"Now, that would hardly be sportin', would it?" Solo winked. "Yeaaawww!"

The four horses road hell-for-leather until they were free of Butte City. Soon they were specks in the distance.

Vitter stood, picked up his bullet-ridden hat, and dusted it off. He put it squarely on his head. His throat rasped with phlegm and blood and dust. He coughed and spat a bloody wad.

This wasn't over.

GANG WARS

The room was dark, lit by a single weak overhead bulb, and small, with barely the room for the table and the few people in it. The air was choked with smoke and the palpable threat of violence. There were two men at the table. One one side was an older man, weathered, weary, dressed in a smart brown suit and a hat that had seen sharper days. On the other was a younger man, brimming with cold rage, dressed in black from head to toe, his hair slicked back and so shiny it could have been a helmet.

"So, who starts?" asked the old man.

"No skin off me, whoever," replied the other, and he took a heavy suck off of an asthma inhaler. The rasp had a faintly menacing sound about it. "But since you're the aggrieved party, right?"

"You want to go indendent, split off from my gang, and take half of my territory with you, so, yeah, you could say I'm aggrieved."

"I want to make money, Ben, and you're just too weak to do what's necessary."

Ben breathed easily. He was much calmer than the younger man, with less to prove. "Nobody in this organization has ever complained of going hungry."

"Or of being too full!"

"I taught you everything you know, Vinnie."

Vinnie took another rasp of the inhaler. "I was once a leaner, yeah, but what you can't see is that now I am the master!"

"Only the master of evil, Vinnie."

The comment took Vinnie aback. "Evil? Huh, what?" He looked around to his boys backing him up and they all shared a laugh. Across the room, Ben's men shifted uncomfortably. Vinnie locked eyes with Ben. "Evil, Ben? What have I done that's so evil?"

"Your button-men have been knocking off competitors all over this city. Hell, you blew up an entire building because you thought somebody inside was plotting against you, but you got wrong information...you killed dozens of innocents. That's not the way we do things."

Vinnie jumped to his feet. "It's the way I do things! I do whatever needs to be done!" He reached under the table, and there was a ripping of tape. His hand came up with a shiny .45, tape still hanging from the barrel.

"There weren't supposed to be any guns here!" shouted one of Ben's men, an impulsive teen, and he was restrained by another. "Don't start anything, kid," said the man holding him back.

"I see you've made your decision," Ben said calmly.

"Yeah, you could say I have," Vinnie sneered, out of breath with the impending thrill of the kill. He drew on his inhaler. "Good-bye, Ben."

"NO!" shouted the struggling youth behind Ben.

Ben's face changed. It both hardened and softened at the same time. He'd accepted his fate. "If you strike me down, Vinnie..."

"Yeah?" Vinnie asked through a clenched animal grin.

"I'll become more powerful than you could possibly imagine."

Vinnie barked a laugh. "You old fucks and your martyr complexes." The gun barked three times, and Ben flinched and jerked in his chair as the bullets tore at his flesh. Blood splattered the table. The old man was dead.

Vinnie grinned savagely at Ben's remaining men, specifically the kid struggling to escape the restraining arms that held him. "You'd better keep a lid on that little shit, Solo...if you want to live long enough to make your mind up about where your loyalties lie."

"Kid, this isn't the time," Solo whispered in the boy's ear. "We'll regroup, figure things out...don't let the old man's sacrifice be in vain."

The kid snarled at Vinnie: "This isn't over by a long shot!"

Vinnie twirled his pistol gunslinger style. "Cool down, son...we'll meet again. Now..." He pointed the gun. "Get the fuck out of here before I change my generous mind."

The room emptied, slowly, of Ben's men and then, after he screamed for them to leave, Vinnie's as well. Vinnie was alone with the corpse. He walked over to it and poked it with his gun. As confident as he was in his decision earlier, he was starting to think maybe he'd make a rash mistake. That kid...the fire in his eyes.

Vinnie had never been scared before.

"Huh," he said.

VOLCANO FUCKER--Scene 3

3. EXT. CABIN IN THE WOODS

It's a cabin in the woods, the sort that a mean old man would probably live in. It's all disrepaired and ramshackle, and there are racoons and shit running all over. A truck pulls into view, and the audience is THRILLED to discover that it's the Volcano Fucker's truck. Finally! That establishing shot of the cabin was a whole ten or so seconds with no hunky Australian guy in the picture.

The truck opens and out steps Volcano Fucker, and the Mayor steps out of the other side, and she's looking so damp and dishevelled that you wonder if maybe she had it off with Volcano Fucker on the way up here, which is a distinct possibility.

Volcano Fucker zips up his fly.

The front door of the cabin FLIES open and out steps WOODROW REAGAN, this old guy who refuses to move off the mountain like these movies always have.

WOODROW REAGAN
Git offa my property, you dern city kids!

MAYOR
Woodrow, you need to move off the mountain
before the volcano explodes all over your cabin!
I've told you several times!

WOODROW REAGAN
Flazzem floo! I've live on this here mountain
for dern on flazzee years and I'll be murfle
mum dern flizzemed if I'm a-gonna move
off of it!

VOLCANO FUCKER
Pardon me, old man, but I think if you
check, you'll find that you forgot to put in
your dentures in your haste to yell at the
city folk.

The old man checks his shrivelled jaw and realizes that Volcano Fucker is right, so he RUNS back into the cabin. Volcano Fucker shares a look with the Mayor that speaks volumes about something, and soon the old man comes back out, and his face looks normal because he put his teeth in.

WOODROW REAGAN
Terribly sorry about that. I seldom receive
visitors and tend to forget my manners.
(he sounds British now...talk to
some of those British actors from
Harry potter)
Now, I've made my position clear, madam
Mayor. I simply will not be moved from this
mountain. It is my ancestral home.

MAYOR
(desperate)
But it'll spew hot lava all over you, possibly
on your face!
(the Mayor dabs at her
face with a hanky)
I mean, hot smoky lava! From the volcano!

The Mayor points up at the VOLCANO, and there's a big swooping cgi shot like something out of LORD OF THE RINGS [check and see if maybe we can use some of their Mount Doom shit they have lying around]. The audience will be totally impressed with how much money we spent.

The Volcano Fucker strikes a dramatic pose.

VOLCANO FUCKER
Mr. Reagan, we need to get you off of this
mountain faster than a wallaby goes fingo
off a drubber!

[We should do some reasearch to see if any of that is actual Australian slang.]

WOODROW REAGAN
My lord, you're Australian, aren't you? Could
it be...that you are the legendary Volcano
Fucker?

VOLCANO FUCKER
It could be, and is, sir. I mean to fuck your
smoky lava volcano, if you'll pardon my
lingo, and I mean to roger it good, like a
slubba drings a golla-wandoo.

WOODROW REAGAN
Your Australian slang is quite eccentric.

VOLCANO FUCKER
Thank you.

The Mayor is sort of jogging in place and looking really anxious and sometimes touching her boobs.

MAYOR
We need to get him off the mountain!

VOLCANO FUCKER
The sheila's right, by crikey! You don't
want to be around when I lay it to this
volcano, Woodrow.

WOODROW REAGAN
Well, I wasn't afraid of a little eruption, but
this is a different story! Hold on while I pack
my things.

VOLCANO FUCKER
Let me give you a hand, old-timer.
(he looks at the Mayor)
I like to "pack" "things", if you get
my meaning, madam.
(he drops a huge wink
and helpfully
points to it so
everybody notices)

MAYOR
(multiple orgasming)
Hurry!

VOLCANO FUCKER Tee Shirt

Only two scenes in, you know that Volcano Fucker is the most amazing movie you have ever, uh...read. You've probably been thinking: "This movie is so awesome, if only I could wear it on my chest!"

Well, NOW YOU CAN.

Presenting the Volcano Fucker Tee Shirt:


The full text reads: "VOLCANO FUCKER, coming in a volcano near you, R-RESTRICTED, for totally awesome scenes of hardcore volcano fucking."

You obviously need to own this thing, which is available here: here.

VOLCANO FUCKER--Scene 2

2. INT. AN OFFICE WITH MAPS AND PAPERS AND OTHER NERD STUFF AROUND.

Volcano Fucker and the Mayor walk into the room, and there is a total GEEKY NERD LOSER in there who gives Volcano Fucker a look that says, "I both hate you and am totally jealous of how awesome you are and maybe I'm a little gay for you." There are pictures of the volcano and stuff around.

MAYOR
(rubbing her awesome ass)
What makes you so interested in
our volcano?

VOLCANO FUCKER
Well, Mayor...there are two kinds
of volcanoes...the lava kind and
the smoky kind. Your volcano is
the rarest third kind: the smoky
lava volcano, which is a kind
I've never fucked, though I've
always wanted to.

MAYOR
(moistly)
Really?

GEEKY NERD LOSER
Uh, (snort), obviously this man knows
nothing about volcanoes.
(picks nose)
Smoky lava, indeed!

MAYOR
Oh, yes, this geeky loser is Lance. He's
our resident Volcano-ologist...scientist
guy.

GEEKY NERD LOSER
(like a geeky nerd loser)
It's called "vulcanologist" (snort)
I'm so sure.

MAYOR
Will making love to the volcano stop it from
erupting?

GEEK NAMED LANCE, WHICH IS A TOTAL FAG NAME
(snort)

VOLCANO FUCKER
Well, let me tell you...sometimes yes, and
sometimes no. If I can get the volcano to
what I call "lavagasm" without actually
erupting, we just might have a chance
of saving your town...but, truthfully,
I'm only interesting in fucking them. I
like to fuck volcanoes with ATTITUDE!

COMPLETE DORK-ASS LANCE
Mayor, this man knows NOTHING about
volcanoes! They do not "lavagasm"!

The Volcano Fucker spins around dramatically, looking at that shithead Lance for the first time, as the camera spins all around him and you can see in the background that the Mayor is having another orgasm [this time you can tell just from the acting, which will be so good. Maybe the chick will be Method and have an actual orgasm?].

VOLCANO FUCKER
Excuse me, Lance...but how many volcanoes
have YOU fucked?

With special effects, we see that Lance's penis actually gets smaller in his pants.

MAYOR
Goddamnit, Lance, let's help this man fuck
that volcano!

There is a fancy whip-pan over to Lance, and then back to Volcano Fucker, and then you see that the Mayor has a spreading wet spot on the crotch of her pants.

VOLCANO FUCKER--Scene 1

1. EXT. TREES AND STUFF LIKE THEY HAVE IN OREGON OR WHATEVER

The scene: a quiet Pacific Northwest town. A rusty red truck rolls into view. It parks in front of the hardware store. The driver's door opens, and out step two rugged boots. The camera pans up the thick legs and bulging crotch of a square-jawed and stubbly Australian man: THE VOLCANO FUCKER.

As he scans the town with his piercing blue eyes, a fetching young woman, blond, with big breasts, comes up to him and gazes at him lustfully.

LUSTFUL MAYOR
(holding her boobs)
I'm the mayor. Who are you, stranger?

VOLCANO FUCKER
(with a sexy Australian accent)
I'm a guy that plays by his own rules.
I hear you have a volcano that's
givin' you trouble.

He gazes handsomely at the smoking peak that towers over the little village. Wow, it's big.

VOLCANO FUCKER
Wow, that's a big sheila.
(because he's Australian,
remember? That's slang
they use down there)

MAYOR
Are you going to stop it?

The VOLCANO FUCKER adjusts his bulging crotch, causing the MAYOR to silently orgasm [use special effects to show this].

VOLCANO FUCKER
No ma'am...I mean to fuck that volcano.

Big dramatic music swells, and the camera swoops into his crotch-bulge for a fade-out.