Monday, January 30, 2006

A tale of Joy and Woe and Joy in Four Chapters.

By Me, with the assistance of the many intrepid seekers whose use of the following search terms (in boldface) has led them to this site over the past year. (The author is indebted for the development of this technique to Funnsylvania Rob, R.I.P.)


It all began on Jon Cryer's birthday. I had just finished tying up babysitters before heading out the door to buy illegal steroid creams and get to Mr. Cryer’s party, where I hoped to wow wayward travellers with fascinating facts about ethnic sport team names of Alcatraz and stories of my wicked cool spatula. Unfortunately my sidewalk was blocked by a fat guy playing volleyball whilst being spanked, who turned to me as I stepped around him and rudely demanded, “Who is Suzy Mae rotten crotch?”

I tried to ignore his t-shirt, which featured a rather tasteless photo of a homeless guy crotch, and started to say that I didn’t know a damn thing about any Suzy Mae or the state of her crotch, and that he may as well have asked me why the gods were mad at Oedipus for being so cocky, or what to say to a guy when u really like him, or who tells joke about glow in the dark Cheez Whiz, or even how do astronauts sleep, bathe, keep fit and go to the toilet in space. But before I could respond, fat man sing num num, and I thought it best to ignore him and proceed to the Cryer mansion, where with any luck the Tyra Banks humanitarianism portion of the evening’s proceedings were already over.

I was really looking forward to Jon’s party, and the humorous Masonic toasts and reminiscences about his childhood sexcursions that were bound to come up, and anticipating the smile on his face as he showed us how to make homemade airplane costume out of cardboard, or homemade hand buzzers, or easy homemade costumes cat in the fiddle--the man really knew how to throw a party, even if the last one did end up turning into what can only be described as a Smurf gangbang. I vividly remembered stalking out of that event, stepping over a pair of Smurfette-sized JUICY WET PANTIES and yelling at Jon that I could’ve gone my whole life without knowing what it sounds like when Daffy Duck has a orgasm.

Click here to read Chapter 2.