Friday, April 27, 2012

Bitches. A drunken rant (about bitches)

I decided to take a break from story requests, and embark on a new rant - because I am disturbed. Do you know why I'm disturbed? 

(You guys) "No Malory, tell us, please!"

I'm disturbed about other women. Because most of them are bitches. Really. It's fucking annoying and stupid. 

Dear Bitches,

Why do you insist on being assholes to other girls? Why? Maybe you are at a party, and you are all nice to someone and then talk complete shit on them to other bitches. Why? Does this make you feel better about yourself? 

Being a bitch does not make you cooler, prettier, or smarter then your victim. Chances are, you've been out of high school for several years now, so quit it with the clique bullshit. And why on earth do you have to hate on other women? Is it competition? For what? Why? A boy's attention? To be the center of attention in the group? Let me ask you another question, why the fuck does it matter?

Do you bitches seriously not have lives? What do you do when you get home, bitch about other women to your probably near-suicidal spouse? Fucking stop it! 

Here's a couple ideas: Next time you want to hate on another girl because you're either jealous, a terrible person, or fucking retarded, you can try one of these instead:

-Go outside and look at trees for fifteen minutes

-Actually listen to what other people have to say

-Sew your mouth shut

-Be genuinely nice to someone


-Do something nice for your spouse

-Do something nice for another girl who isn't also a bitch

-Pet a dog

-Learn to juggle

-Eat pizza

-Donate money to charity

-Help old people carry heavy shit

-Carry heavy children for tired mothers

-Learn Kung Fu

-Stop being a bitch

And the list goes on and on. 

Don't you see? There are so many other things you could be doing instead of being bitchy all day. I mean, do you like being a bitch? Is it fun for you?

By all means, if being a bitch makes you happy, go for it, but.... I have a feeling that isn't the case for most bitches.

Because it seems that most bitches are just fucking miserable yabbermouths. The shame is, most of these bitches are hot - but then they open their mouths and it's like "ewww that bitch is ugly". In reality, you aren't ugly - you are just mean, which makes you fucking ugly.

So stop. Be nice to other people, it will make you happy, and it will make you feel really good. And then maybe you'll realize that life is about more than being a bitch.



Wednesday, April 25, 2012

"Welcome to Walmart!" for Mark S.

WARNING: This story may contain STD's, muffintops, and McDonalds. Reader discretion is advised.


Or, "Welcome to Walmart"! (For those of you who can't understand 90 year old's who don't have any teeth left.) 

If you need something, ANYTHING, you can find it here! 

Having weight issues, and can't find clothes that fit? Shop in our toddler section! You will see by the style of our frequent shoppers, that BULGES and CAMELTOE are IN right now! Because everybody at Walmart knows - for every twenty pounds you gain, you go down a size in gym shorts! Also, make sure that whatever shirts you pick show AS MUCH of your muffin top as possible, so that all of the beefy boys at the in-store McDonald's whistle and catcall at your saggy tits as you stomp down the aisle!

Genital warts got you down? Come check out our Walmart pharmacy, where we have our own aisle for products to cover every STD you could ever possibly contract ever! Got a medical question? Don't worry, our pharmacists are completely knowledgeable on all STD's, since all of our pharmacists have contracted most of them at some point in their lives. Need to refill your Vicodin prescription for that "back pain" problem that got resolved (shhh) after surgery ten years ago? Take advantage of our four dollar prescription plan! If you share your pills with the pharmacist, they'll knock a dollar off! We even have pill resale opportunities directly outside of our store! Just visit any of our employees having a smoke break to the left of the entrance, and they will happily purchase and redistribute your pills for whatever price you ask. 

Need some toys for the kiddies? Come into our toy section and check out our wide variety of loud, noisy toys that don't have off switches! If you get hit in the head by a huge bouncy ball/race car/baseball bat, don't worry! It's just the group of unsupervised, foulmouthed six years old's having a good time trying out our products.

Need to return an item? Come to our customer service desk! It doesn't matter if you used the item, broke the item, wiped your ass with the item, don't have the receipt, or if it is from another store! Just make sure to raise your voice gradually and drop f-bombs when speaking to the customer service representative about your return, so that they know that you are serious about wanting your money back.

No need to ever visit your local mom and pop shop again, because we have driven them all out of business with our super low prices!

Oh, and don't forget to set off the alarm on your way out of your store. You will be treated to a lovely "body massage" by one of our aging toothless greeters, to make sure you don't accidentally leave with one of our cheap worthless items. But of course, you will be giggling the whole time - because you stashed your shit in your child's diaper, and no one one's to take a peek in there after little Susie has had diarrhea all day!

Come back soon, our greeters are just dying to see you again!

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

The Toothbrush Debate

I love my husband more than words can say. That sounds cheesy as fuck, but just stay with me for a minute. This man has been there through thick and thin and puts up with massive amounts of my bullshit on a daily basis. He is the kindest dude that ever was, with one exception: he hates it when I use his toothbrush. 

Now some of you may say, "ewww why would you use someone else's toothbrush, that's gross!", but to you I say fuck off. He's my husband, my fucking HUSBAND. The man who has witnessed/seen/touched (whether accidental or not) every single bodily fluid I could possibly excrete/spew/gush ever. He has wiped my vomit off of a toilet seat, washed my shitty pants after a day of being awful bad sick, and has dealt with my sweating issues since forever. So why the FUCK does he have a problem with me using his toothbrush? 

Now I admit, I'm a chewer. I do waste toothbrushes in no time. And maybe my husband has a sparkly purple toothbrush. And I can imagine that maybe he has grown an attachment to said toothbrush. So yes, that should trigger some annoyance; yes, that I can understand. But it's.a.TOOTHBRUSH!  Technically, we are losing toothbrushes at the exact same rate regardless of the toothbrush I use, so why should it matter?

Is this a dominance issue, because I am constantly organizing his shit and maybe we have different operational definitions for the term "organize"? 

His definition of organize: Pile shit in corner of room, regardless of room.

My definition of organize: Put shit where it goes. Can now walk in house without killing self.

And so his constant complaint is "stop fucking up my shit!", when I'm all like "you mean our shit?" so maybe that's why he hates me using his toothbrush, because using his toothbrush = "fucking with his shit"? We have debated many nights over this topic, and we just can't seem to agree. 

Honey: I love you. Don't kill me :) Rum!         ............(Don't ask.)

And so I pose to readers: 

Do you have the toothbrush debate at your house? What color is your toothbrush?

Facebook or Blogger feedback appreciated!

Saturday, April 21, 2012

Insect Mercy Level (When Found Inside My House)

So there I was, kicking back on a quiet night, drinking my water and attempting not to vomit from the amount of effort I was making to try to understand HR Law and Ethics, when I felt a tickle on my left big toe.

"Aieeeeeeeefuck!" I screamed as I shook off the stinkbug, who had so comfortably decided to chill on my toe. My first instinct was to let this motherfucker drown in the toilet, wrapped in a nice toilet paper cocoon. However, my mind instantly flashed to the same stinkbug making it out of the death cocoon, hiding underneath the toilet seat, and flying onto my ass while I'm peeing, and it prevents me from doing so. He flutters around a bit, visibly shaken, and decides to land on my coffee table. So I did what any sane person would do. I talked to it.

"Okay listen up Mr. Stinkbug, I'm going to get you out of here. Okay? I'm going to make sure you get out safe. But you tell your other stinkbug friends outside, that I will not show them the mercy I showed you tonight should they happen to venture into my humble abode."

And so I carefully picked him up with a paper towel, making sure not to crush his little legs, slowly walked downstairs and rested the the paper towel on the stoop outside. As I set him down, I reminded him:

"You remember what I said, okay? You tell your friends, or they die." Of course the moment I say this a couple strolled by and immediately turned their heads at the word "die". Seeing no one around me, they looked even more disturbed as they looked back and continued on their nighttime stroll. 

Yes. I am a weirdo. And I am not a bug killer. Really I'm not. depends on the bug.

Insect Mercy Level (When Found Inside My House)

-Stinkbugs: Mercy Level - 1%. All others sentenced to drowning by toilet cocoon or paper towel suffocation followed by being smashed and crushed repeatedly. 

-Flies: Mercy Level - 0%. Die by any means necessary, as fast as possible. Usually with flip flops.

-Spiders: Mercy Level - 100%. Always carefully cradled by hand or within a glass/magazine capturing device and given a slow ride outside to be let free amongst the bushes. I used to hate these things, but having them around me ALL THE TIME in Hawaii... I kind of got used to them. They actually aren't so bad. They probably eat most of the other bugs in your house, so they are doing your job for you. Plus some of them look cool.

-Cockroaches: Mercy Level - .5%. The only reason I say .5% is because sometimes these fuckers are hard to catch. What the hell was God thinking when he created these abominations? "Oh and after these beautiful mountains and clouds, I think I'll create some disgusting looking leggy little things that eat everything and never die. Yeah, then after that I'll make some beautiful trees and fish...". I HATE killing these things because they GUSH guts and shit wherever you smash them. FUCKING DISGUSTING!

-Centipedes: Mercy Level - 95%. It depends on where they are found. If found hanging out on the walls, I will use my handy glass/magazine capturing devices and fling them outside. If I find one in the shower, well, it's probably 5am and I can't feel mercy until after I have at least two cups of coffee, so I'll probably just smash it until it goes down the drain.

-Crickets/Grasshoppers/Praying Mantis: Mercy Level - 100%. Are welcome inside my home whenever. I'll probably even hang out with them for a bit and chat.

"So uh, Praying Mantis, man, how's it been?" I'll ask.


"Yeah yeah, I feel that way too. Want some of this cereal?"


"Yo dude, don't get all offended. How was I supposed to know your kind can't eat cereal?"

And so on and so forth.

-Ants: Mercy Level - 25%. I'm on the fence about these guys. It's like, if I see one here or there in my house occasionally, I don't even bother. But when I get the sense that they might be plotting to dominate my house, I go nutso and spray so much Raid that I have to air out my place for a day.


I can't even think of any other bugs I've seen in my house and smashed/saved recently. 

So here's a question for you guys:

What bugs do you find in your house, and do you save or smash? What's your mercy level?

Thursday, April 19, 2012

"The Queen of Mount Creamer" for Lauren

My best buddy Lauren has an obsession with creamer. That's right. Creamer, the shit you put in coffee. Every morning, I watch her turn the creamer container upside down into her coffee until her coffee is thick enough to be sliced. Since I love my friend Lauren, this story is for her. 

Note: This story may contain creamer, but there are definitely no queens or mountains involved. 


Chapter 1 - Shitting Hole

Once upon a time there was a girl named Lauren with beautiful curly dark hair and Jew tendencies. She lived in a town called BoringCoffeeville, and was famous for baking treats and goodies that the townspeople would smash into their faces because they just could not get enough. Every morning, Lauren would skip about the forest next to where she lived in a happy sing song dance as she picked the fresh ingredients for her treats. 

One day, as Lauren was mid-skip, a TERRIBLE EVIL ZOMBIEWITCH (who just happened to be grunting and dragging herself to the hole where she likes to shit) ran right into her and knocked her over.

"YO! Zombiewitch, what the fuck?" Lauren yelped, as she nursed the cut on her knee that she sustained from the fall.

"GURGLESMERGBARFSCHMERG", murmured the zombiewitch, as she continued shuffling towards the shithole as if nothing happened. 

Lauren was sincerely pissed. However, she was indeed curious about the zombiewitch, and whilst the zombiewitch was taking her time at her shitting hole, Lauren ran to the cottage where the zombiewitch lived and decided to have a look around.

Lauren entered the zombiewitch's cottage tentatively, halfway expecting rotting corpses and piss stains on the wall. To her surprise, the cottage was neat and well-kept, with several glass jars of mysterious powders and herbs lining the kitchen counter. One jar in particular caught her interest, and she unscrewed the lid and sniffed.

"HOLY FUCK, THAT'S IT!" Lauren exclaimed as the first scent of the powder hit her nostrils. Lauren was so excited about what she had discovered, that she grabbed the jar and ran all the way to her house.

Chapter 2 - Bitches Get Crazy

"I'm a fucking genius! I'mma make some cash, I'm a fucking geniussssss just look at my genius ass!" Lauren sang as she brewed her special dark beverage made of fresh blueberries (picked near the stream by her house).

"Wait till these bitches get a load of this!!" Lauren shouted in her kitchen after she took the first sip.

"Hodiddly dum, what's all the fuss about?" said Luigi (her hairy neighbor) as his nose led him to Lauren's open kitchen door.

"Taste this shit now and then give me lots of money!" Lauren screamed at Luigi's face, and then rocketed the brew at him, somewhat forgetting that it was scalding hot. 

"I'M MELTING!!" yelled Luigi as he dropped to the floor in agony, gripping his face.

"Hey that's my line!" said the evil zombiewitch as she appeared in the kitchen from thin air.


Friday, April 13, 2012

Hypocrites - For Leesha (WARNING: Extreme levels of curse words and horrid language)

So, I'm interrupting my normal order of stories (Lauren's is supposed to be next) to do Leesha's topic, because it is something that I experienced first-hand today. Ladies and gentlemen, today's rant is about: 


WARNING! TONS of cursing and angry language.

Everyone has been a hypocrite at some point in their lives. Don't lie. You know you've said shit like, "oh yeah I go to church every Sunday" when most Sundays you're vomiting in your toilet because you downed too many 7 & 7's the night before. Or maybe you've told people what an awesome swimmer you are, when the extent of your swimming experience includes trying not to drown in your own bathtub. You get my meaning. I've got no problems with that sort of hypocrisy. I do that shit too. I'm human just like everyone else.

The type of hypocrites I'm referring to in this rant, are the motherfuckers that make saying shit about themselves that isn't true their job. They consistently lie about themselves to make themselves look better, when in reality they are pig fuckers that don't do shit EVER. You know who I'm talking about. Maybe it's that dude in your class that's like "OH YEAH I'M A TOTAL ANIMAL RIGHTS ACTIVIST, I BREAK TIGERS OUT OF ZOOS AND CONCEAL THEM ON PLANES IN MY CARRY ON AND THEN FREE THEM IN THEIR NATURAL AFRICAN HABITAT" or the bitch in your Mommy and Me class that's like "LITTLE JEANIE NEVER CRIES OR SHITS EVER AND SLEEPS EVERY NIGHT BECAUSE I AM THE BEST MOM IN WHOLE WORLD!". Yeah. FUCK those people. 

Today I had, let's say, an altercation with a hypocrite. I won't name names, or say where it happened, but I will outline the situation for you to the best of my ability. I've had a hard week, I've been in a training class for four days packing my brain with information, and every night when I go home, I have to do at least three or four hours of homework for my classes at school. This is in addition to cleaning my house, making dinner, making sure my daughter is fed and put to bed and that everything is set up for the next day. Not to mention a million other obligations I have that I've committed to because I'm a looney tune overachiever. In other words, I'm tired as fuck

Before I tell you what happened, let me give you a little background on the hypocrite ballsack I'm going to reference in my story. 

Hypocrite Ballsack, let's call him, Pig Fucker, is a lazy ass bullshitter who does nothing but make disgusting comments about is teeny tiny pecker in the most inappropriate situations, at the most inappropriate times. I don't think I've ever seen this guy lift a finger in his fucking life without whining and crying to someone to help him figure out how to write his own goddamn name on a piece of fucking paper. He likes to stand around and act as if he's accomplishing something, when in reality, he's itching his asshole and sniffing his finger, hoping that nobody notices.

So Pig Fucker decided to make a comment to me today, where he basically told me that I do nothing. Albeit, he was attempting to make a joke, but there was a hint of seriousness in it that made my fists clench so hard that I had to stop myself from bashing his fucking face in until there was nothing left. Let's review, Pig Fucker, King of Bullshitting and Itchy Assholes told ME that I do NOTHING. NOTHING.

MOTHERFUCKER, LET ME TELL YOU WHAT I DO. I wake up at 5:30am every GODDAMN MORNING and wake EVERYONE UP to get their asses moving to get ready for work and school, I DRIVE from PHOENIXVILLE TO MOUNT PENN to drop my daughter off, then I go to work, THINK A LOT, get off, pick up my daughter, and drive all the way home. The SECOND I walk in the door at 6:30pm I'm picking up shit, I'm vacuuming, I'm making dinner, I'm making lunches for the next day, I'm picking out clothes for myself and my daughter the next day, I'm putting my daughter down (reading her books and shit), I'm doing anywhere from 3-4 hours of homework a night, I'm PAYING BILLS, I'm scoping opportunities for jewelry parties for my now SECOND JOB, I'm consoling my husband after he's had a shitty day at work, and THEN maybe THEN at 12am I get to lay down and sleep. Rinse and repeat. This is not to mention the millions of other obligations I've agreed to to help out my friends and family, because I try to help out everyone as much as possible, even if it means fucking myself out of having a break ever.

So FUCK YOU HYPOCRITE PIG FUCKER. Go shove your hand down your fucking throat until it comes out your asshole so you can move your hand around and do sign language because all you ever do is talk out your ass. I try so fucking hard to get good grades, learn at my job, help others in anyway I can, that the biggest insult you can say to me is that I DO NOTHING. 

Anyone who knows me, who REALLY knows me, understands that I cannot sit down until all of the shit I need to do for the day is completed. I can't let myself do it. If I try to take a night off, or go on Facebook for longer than a couple minutes at a time when I've got homework waiting, I kill myself with guilt until I finish doing what I need to do. By the time I'm finished for the day, I am so fucking tired that I can't see straight to sit on the toilet and piss. Hence, my coffee addiction during the day. Now you all know the one thing not to say to me, because I swear the next time anyone even INSINUATES that I do nothing, they will be getting anthrax in the mail.

In short folks, if you find yourself saying shit about yourself that isn't true on a daily basis, JUST STOP IT. STOP. EVERYONE KNOWS you are a lying asshole. You have no credibility whatsoever. And do not make the mistake of criticizing others, because one of these days, you will get punched in the fucking face. WORD.

Thursday, April 5, 2012


Jesse's story request: "Anything thats about me usually entertains me, I want a medieval romance with me as the hero...and dragons...lots of dragons and wenches"

Okay... you asked for it...


In the far away land of Assylvania, there was a prince named Sir-Dix-A-Lot who lived in a large castle made of gold, diamonds, and all things bling. Sir-Dix-A-Lot was a complete dick, in that he owned a dragon name Randy who he fed peasants and bitches to for fun. Randy the dragon was actually a nice dragon, but he was held in captivity by the mean prince, and, when faced with starvation, he had no choice but to chow down on the peasants and bitches that Sir-Dix-A-Lot fed to him daily. Sir-Dix-A-Lot would laugh and laugh as he listened to the chortled screams of the dying peasants and bitches. He was not a very nice man.

One day, a lowly villager named Jessicus Largus Member Maximus the 3rd, A.K.A. Jesse, was chosen for a dragon feeding. Jesse was not very happy with this decision, and said as much to Sir-Dix-A-Lot as he was dragged from his home and to the courtyard where the dragon feedings were held.

"Fucketh this shit! Thou art a dick, and unfair to boot!" yelled Jesse, as the guards tugged him towards his final destination.

"Haha, ho ho ho, thou art a bit cranky today, eh? Randy shall quiet you quickly with his slobbering jaws of power, tally-ho!", laughed Sir-Dix-A-Lot, with his pompously smug smuginess.

As Jesse was being dragged through town, he couldn't help but notice the other villagers that had lined the streets in anticipation for the dragon feeding.

"Savages, the lot of you!" Jesse screamed, surprised to find several of his family members waving their goodbyes as he faced certain death. "Bitches and thieves!" he yelled to his mother, who seemed to be giving a Miss America wave with a big smile on her face as she watched her son flailing and kicking at the guards. You see, dragon feedings in this old timey town were normal and quite exciting. Everybody knew that anyone could be picked at anytime, which was terrifying - but didn't diminish the coolness of watching a person getting eaten by a dragon. 

Once Jesse was thrown into middle of the courtyard, a loud "RAWWRRRR" bellowed from within the depths of the confine. The crowd cheered as Randy the dragon stepped out in his huge, green-winged glory. To his surprise, Jesse was soon joined by a busty woman with long red hair, who was tossed right on top of him as the dragon neared the middle of the compound.

"Well hello there, fine day, is it not - lovely lady?" Jesse said smoothly as he picked the red-haired wench off of him and stood her upright.

"Thou fuckin crazy?? Fuck-eth thou, and fuck-eth this dragon! I didn't sign up for this shit! My name art Sarah, and thou can take thoust hands off my bust now!" Sarah the wench said quite snottily.

"My bad!" Jesse replied, just noticing that he was still grasping the lady's bosom. 

Randy the dragon had been watching the scene with great amusement, and was already full from eating seven peasants/bitches earlier that day. He had a hard life, doing dances and flying around for Sir-Dix-A-Lot at his command. Quite frankly, this dragon was a tired motherfucker, and didn't want to put up with Sir-Dix-A-Lot's shit any longer. So he bent his head down close to Jesse and Sarah and said in his hissing dragon voice,

"Listen up ya'll, I ain't gonna eat you. But I think we should fuck up Sir-DickFace real hard, na mean?"

"HOLY FUCK A TALKING DRAGON!" Jesse and Sarah screamed in unison.

"YO bitches ya'll need to CHILL!" Randy barked. Jesse and Sarah looked at each other in confusion, they weren't understanding what Randy was saying, since he was speaking in dragangster (or, "gangsta-speak" in current times). 

"I'm tryina say CALM THE FUCK DOWN! Here's the deal, big dude, you go run around the courtyard with your wanger out and distract the crowd. Red-headed bitch, you act like the big dude said some fucked up shit to you and start cryin, and I'll use my dragon breath to fuck up Sir-Dickweed and light him on fire and shit, kapeesh?" 

"YES! Thoust dragon art a genius!" said Jesse, quite excited, and he pulled out his junk and started running around like a madman. Sarah took her cue and cried like the bitch she was, screaming about other women and last chances. While Jesse and Sarah caused a commotion and distracted the prince and the crowd, Randy walked over to Sir-Dix-A-Lot in his royal seat at the court and blew a fireball right up his ass. The prince was dead within moments.


"YES!!! I'M A HERO! JUST LIKE MY MOMMY ALWAYS SAID I'D BE!!" Jesse yelled, still running around with his junk out, this time with his fists raised triumphantly in the air. Randy on the other hand, was quite upset about the whole thing. It was his idea to kill the prince! Those dumbass peasant bitch motherfuckers did nothing! 

And so, Randy the dragon settled into a deep depression and eventually died of loneliness and starvation after swearing off peasants/bitches and becoming a vegan. Jesse became King of all of Assylvania, and took Sarah the bitch/wench to be his wife. They had fifty-two children who all grew up to be successful lawyers and doctors, and nobody ever spoke of Randy the dragon or Sir-Dix-A-Lot again.

The END.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012


There is a place on this planet so evil that no one can comprehend its diabolical plots. It is a secret the U.S Government has been hiding from the public for years. We all know where it is, we all know its name, but we know not of what is inside: Area 51.

The truth is so shocking no one would believe it, but it's true. I know, because I've been there. Purely by accident of course. You see, I've created a teleportation machine. It took me approximately five days, and on the fifth day - my machine worked. I was tinkering inside of the main chamber of the device when a penny dropped out of my pocket. The moment the penny ricocheted off of the wall of the unit I was working on, a spark appeared and I was somewhere else. Turns out copper was the ingredient that made the machine tick. Funny how money can solve so many problems in this world.

I shit my pants. I mean literally, I pooped myself. It was a pretty intense transfer, and I totally wasn't prepared and I was just about to head to the bathroom before that penny dropped out of my pocket and zonked me into this new place. How embarassing to finally perfect teleportation technology, be transported somewhere else, and have to explain to whoever I met on the other side why a distinct smell of shit was wafting around me. Luckily, as I opened my eyes to inspect my surroundings, I discovered that I had been transported to some sort of grocery warehouse - or so I thought.

The machine had placed me, strategically almost, in front of a wall of toilet paper. 

"THANK GOD!" I thought, as I grabbed one of the rolls and cleaned myself of the horrendous atrocity I had commited in my pants. After I finished the deed, I began to look around. The warehouse was huge, but there was no one inside. It was well lit with security devices that seemed way unnecesary for a grocery warehouse. 

As I started walking, I inspected the items in the warehouse. I stopped in front of what appeared to be stacks and stacks of Pepsi. Being thirsty from my travels, I grabbed one and cracked it open to taste the sweet sugary nectar inside. To my surprise, the Pepsi was clear. And then it hit me. This was no ordinary can of Pepsi. This was Crystal Pepsi, which was discontinued in 1993 after sales fell short. 

"Where the hell am I?" I said out loud, savoring the sweet drink that I had missed for years. 

Right next to the stack of Crystal Pepsi was a palette full of Strawberry Pop Tarts Crunch Cereal. The next palette over contained stacks and stacks of Hi-C Ecto Cooler. 

"Oh my God! These are all of the products I used to love but got discontinued!!" I shouted out loud, and almost shit my pants again when I heard somebody yell:


Out from behind a bin full of Crispy M&M's and 7-Up gum came a small, nervous looking man in a lab coat. He looked angered and shocked to see me there.

"Who are you and why are you here?" the man asked.

"First why don't you tell me what the fuck this place is!" I said, grabbing a package of Crispy M&M's and chomping them down before he could reprimand me.

"This is Area 51. It is a highly secure zone, no one can get in or out - who are you working with?" the man in the lab coat said, now looking curious.

"Well you see labcoat man, I created this teleportation device, and before I knew it I accidentally zapped myself here. But wait, if this is Area 51, THIS is what you've been hiding for all of these years?? All of my favorite discontinued products??" I responded, starting to get upset.

"These products are the government's special supply. No one else is allowed to have access to them. Only the top 1% of the America gets these products and they pay a pretty penny for them." he continued.

"YOU GUYS ARE MONSTERS!" I screamed, and began shoving my pockets full of 7-Up gum. 

"You don't want to do that." the labman replied, and slowly pulled a gun out of his pocket.

"Jesus Christ!" I screamed, and began to ran, but it was too late.

I got shot in the head and died, thus sealing the secret of Area 51 forever, again.

Insanity is the Fate of Reality for Andy

There I was, kicking it back at my computer desk, chomping on some Cap'n Crunch, when a message rolled across my computer screen,


Assuming it was a pop-up ad, and lacking complete self-control towards ignoring advertisements, I recklessly typed: 


A knock on the door startled me. I rose from my swirly chair slowly, being careful not to trip over the half mangled computers and wires that littered my floor. Oh don't worry, I'm not a hacker. I just think broken computers are so "in" right now as far as interior decorating is concerned.

I rested my hand on the doorknob, half expecting it to turn by itself. I held my breath, and opened the door. 

"JEW GOTTA TURN YOUR FUCKIN MUSIC DOWN!" shouted Rita, my Mexican neighbor who filled the doorway with her 300 pound frame.

"Oh shit! I'm so sorry Rita, I promise I'll turn it off, I don't feel well anyways." I blurted out, partially relieved.

"OKAY JEW KNOW JEW DON LISTEN I KILL YOUR CAT!" she half yelled, half spit at me. 

"Okay! Okay! I promise I'm turning it off right now!" I begged.

She made sure to give me a proper stinkeye before waddling off to her dingy apartment down the hall from mine. 

"Bitch." I muttered under my breath as I closed the door and sat back down in my computer chair. Seconds later, I was startled again by another knock at the door. I stomped over and swung it open, ready for another showdown with Rita, but was startled to find none other than Laurence Fishburne standing in my doorway.

"Holy shit! You're Laurence Fishburne!" I shouted in his face.

"Malory, you have been chosen. The truth is out there. It is looking for you and it will find you if you want it to." Laurence said, mysteriously. 

"Wait a minute, what the fuck is going on here?" I said, a bit freaked out.

"Malory, hold out your hands." 

I did as I was told, simply because he was Laurence Fishburne, and it's not everyday that Laurence Fishburne comes to your apartment and asks you to hold out your hands. He dropped a pack of Gushers into my left hand, and a pack of Dunkaroos into my right hand, and continued his speech,

"If you eat the Dunkaroos, the story ends. If you eat the Gushers, you are going to find all sorts of crazy shit out that you may or may not like."

"Aww shit, I haven't had Dunkaroos in so long - but... Gushers are pretty good too..." I went against any sort of reasoning and ate the Gushers. Technically, Dunkaroos beat Gushers anyday, but I was thinking about eating some Gushers earlier that day and it just made sense at that moment.

And then I woke up. 

No, I mean I WOKE UP and remembered where I was and what I was.

"Damnit, too much sugar always makes her fall asleep" I thought in English, as I floated about. Lately I had only been getting about fourteen hours of playtime, since my avatar - Malory, kept falling asleep which wakes me up.

You see, there are so many of us atoms, but we don't keep good company - so we play games. My other atom friends and I like to play a game called "life", which is about a race called "humans" that we create millions of avatars for and take through various hilarious and tragic scenarios. The only problem is, some atoms play "life" too frequently and get addicted to it. They mess around and make the humans kill eachother and totally ruin it for the rest of us. It's pretty annoying.

One of these days I might take up another game and just start nuking everything in "life", but until another atom thinks of a better game I'm sticking with this one. Also, all my friends play this one so it just makes sense.


Welcome to Reading, PA! I am so happy you survived the drive down Business 422! Yes, you were cut off five times and flipped off even more times than that, but you are alive!

Please be sure to park in a spot where the meter is working, because regardless of the fact that there are no other possible spots within the 5 mile radius you've circled several times, you will get ticketed by a bike cop and laughed at by homeless people watching you from across the street.

Enjoy some of our fine dining at establishments such as the Ugly Oyster or Judy's on Cherry; but if you don't enjoy bulletholes in your neck or face, try to avoid Maria's on Penn St. ( )

When in town, admire the colors of the McDonald's cups and cigarette butts as they create a mosaic of trash on the streets and sidewalk. Don't worry, that mother and father screaming at eachother while holding kitchen knives aren't going to kill eachother, the Mexican gangster doing a drive by will probably get them first.

Make sure you stop by the Sovereign Center to enjoy our famous hockey team, the Reading Royals! If you are fortunate enough to work at a company that owns a suite at the Sovereign Center (like I used to), you'll be too busy munching on complimentary chicken fingers and cookies to care that we are losing our asses off.  Because in Reading, hockey time = beer, and sometimes, that's all that matters folks!

If you're worried about finding a job, relax! There simply are no jobs in Reading. This will leave plenty of time for acquiring a coke habit and an education on growing marijuana. This of course is the perfect solution for your unemployment, as selling drugs is a lucrative business in town.

They have a saying in Reading, "When it rains a lot... we don't have to go to work, yeay!" This is because rain season often brings apocalyptic flooding to the region each and every year! Don't worry about going anywhere, because all of the roads will be under five feet of floodwater. Wintertime is even more fun, as the main roads will be cleared of snow giving your workplace a reason to open - but none of the roads surrounding your house will be plowed, leaving you scratching your head and cursing the television.

There are so many reasons to come and see this town. Try to ignore the nicer, prettier towns on the way here though - the more you lower your expectations before you arrive, the better.

Anddd.... I got nothin' else. Haha. Anyone have anything else to add? Haha.

"Phoenixville Is My Home" for Don the Mon (for all Phoenix-villains, and yes I said villains)

Ahh Phoenixville. The place where I grew up, and the place I am moving back to soon. I don't have a specific story to tell, but I do have a lot of memories. I will talk about them in no specific order of importance.

My favorite memories of Phoenixville mostly took place in Reeves park, an annual host of the Dogwood Festival and Parade. I remember punching other kids in the face should they dare enter my path whilst I was scrambling towards a lollipop recently thrown from a parade float on Gay Street. I remember screaming in complete puking agony as I flipped over and over on the Zipper - which was always the best ride at the fair. When it wasn't fair time in mid-May, my middle school friends and I spent hours climbing on the playground and swinging way too high on the swings while four year olds glared at us with their arms folded, standing alongside their mothers. We did a lot of stupid shit there. 

Which brings me to my next memory. The infamous Phoenxville po-po. When they weren't searching for front lawn domestic violence cases on the North side, they were circling Reeves park with their tight pants and shiny bicycles waiting for lawbreakers like me and my friends to stay out past curfew. I remember having frequent fights with my friends in the seconds the officers approached us on the pros and cons of lying about our age. We always told the truth. We were pussies.

My first ever encounter with the police came in 7th grade when I got an escort home from an officer after stealing Skittles and Zebra Stripes from the Gateway pharmacy. I remember sitting in the back of the police car in front of my house and lying to the officer about my parents being home.

"Nope, they definitely aren't home. Take me back to the station I can have someone else pick me up", I said with complete confidence.

"There is a car in the parking lot next to the house, is that your parent's car?" he asked.

"Nope definitely not my parent's car", I said matter-of-factly. 

He eventually stopped anyway, forcing me to face my parents, and subsequently my ass-whoopin'. I made it out alive only to have them pick me up a few years later from the police station at 2am after jumping off of the 40ft bridge at Black Rock tunnel with my friends. Being the last kid in the family, and facing years of terrible wild children, my parents simply said, "Really? You know you're an idiot right?". 

To which I responded, "Yup. And it was totally worth it." 

And that was that. 

Moving on to other memories. I miss the 5 and 10 (Heidu Sue Variety), and Freda's. Good ol' Freda. Her dingy little candy/hoagie shop was like heaven and rainbows to me. Freda used to do these beautiful and skilled oil paintings; she would show them to my father while he waited for his hoagie and I drooled over Sour Cherries and Frooty Tooties.

I remember hanging out at Sal's Pizza Shop, eating terrible diner food at 3am at the Val, karoake nights at Phoenix Lanes (R.I.P), and pissing off the guys at Dunkin Donuts because we always stayed too long and ordered next to nothing. I remember knocking on doors in winter time to offer snow shoveling services for a couple of dollars (candy money), and having so much snow we could barely walk out our own door. I remember waking up to nothing but flames outside of my bedroom windows when the lumberyard burned down, and I remember the fun times "swimming" in the disgusting water that flooded Church Street after Hurricane Floyd.

But most of all I remember always wanting to be older than I was. Thinking life would be so easy once I grew up. At first I wanted to be 13 so I could ride my bike without a helmet legally, then I wanted to be 16 so I could drive a car, then I wanted to be 18 so I could move wherever the hell I wanted, and so on. Looking back I realize I didn't know what I had when I had it. 

Granted, there were bad times. The bomb scares that had us out on the lawns at Phoenixville Middle School for hours at a time, the bullying, the corner fights, some of the horrid people that lived in Phoenixville in general - not all was hunky dory. But without the bad I wouldn't have grown to be as tough as I am today (with the help of my family and friends of course). 

So yeah, Phoenixville. I'm pretty excited to go back, and I can't wait to see you all when I get there.

I love you all and miss you.


The year was 1969. Neil Armstrong had just finished watching "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" when he got the call. It was Zebuton, the alien leader of Underearth.

"Neil, bizzbuzzzingzangwickywacky" Zebuton spoke, in his native language.

Neil, being fluent in Underearthanese, understood exactly what he meant, and what he had to do. It seems the Overearthanese leader, Craputon, had planted a bomb on the moon which he planned to detonate with a big red button in his really big laboratory with all sorts of Bunsen burners and chemicals that have names that are most likely not on the periodic table. It was a dire situation indeed.

Neil quickly hung up the phone and stood up, realizing he needed a shower as he was covered in caramel popcorn bits from his previous movie adventure. He knew that he had to fly into outerspace (which he had done many times before), land on the moon and disarm the bomb before Craputon pressed the big red button, thus destroying the moon, the earth's rotation, and song lyrics for generations to come.

There was only one problem. Neil couldn't find his spacesuit. 

He paced around in his sticky caramel covered underwear and thought of a plan. He picked up the phone and called the one man he knew could help.

"Yello?" The man answered upon Neil's call.

"BUZZ! DUDE! Did I leave my spacesuit at your house last night?? I gotta mission, man I need to find it" Neil started.

"Yooo dude, you need to chilll man, why don't you come on down and smoke some doobs with me dude, 69' ain't gonna last forever brah!" Buzz said, sounding rather stoned.

"No man, I can't party I have to save the moon! Do you have my spacesuit or not?" Neil said, exasperated.

"Yeahyeah, it's covered in beer but I got it, come on down, party pooper!" Buzz laughed.

In true astronaut style, Neil hung up the phone, peeled off his sticky underwear, showered, dressed and raced to Buzz's house to pick up his suit within minutes. Buzz answered the door with beer in hand, joint in the other, wearing Neil's beer-covered space suit. 

"What the hell man? I said I NEED my spacesuit and you are WEARING it! I've got to defeat Craputon!" Neil shouted at Buzz.

"Yo dude, it's all cool man you can borrow my spacesuit, same size brotha, same size!" Buzz said, looking quite comical in the spacesuit while he danced to "Aquarius" blaring from his medieval sound system.

"Actually, I could use your help on this trip - I need someone to watch the ship while I disarm the bomb" Neil said, as he found and dressed in Buzz's suit. 

A couple montages later, Buzz and Neil are sitting inside of their spaceship on the moon. They knew that the fate of the world depended on them, and since Neil couldn't use his normal spaceship - he had to borrow a ship from NASA - which meant that the whole event would be televised. They would play it off as if this was the first moon landing, a historic event, one they would surely be remembered for if they succeeded.

Neil knew that the world was watching as he opened the door and went to take his first step, but before his boot hit the soft surface of the moon - Buzz, still drunk and stoned, tumbled out the door tripping both of them and sending them flying into an enormous space crater. Neil heard a crackling in his earphone.

"What the hell was that?" The responders at Houston spoke.

"It's okay, we'll just refilm it later, make it look all nice-like" Buzz replied. Neil glared at him angrily until he saw a large metal object inside of the crater marked, "BOMB". 

"There it is!" Neil exclaimed. "Now get your ass in that spaceship while I disarm the bomb!"

"Yup" Buzz replied as he started back to the spaceship, but he never made it.

Neil had cut the wrong cord on the bomb, causing it to explode and send the moon and earth into a blackhole and into a different universe. Neil and Buzz survived and had a piece of cake after their harrowing experience, and then decided to refilm the moon landing in their garage, which is the video we all know and love today.

The end.