With all of that said, I must eat my own words and say that the last three episodes of Season 3, ORB and the two part season finale, are insanely disappointing. Don’t get me wrong, I love insanity but I think Public and Hammer phoned these episodes in. ORB is all over the place not having a true denouement to tie up the loose ends. Even the creators themselves had some criticism of the editing of the show in the commentary provided on adultswim.com.  Doc said that the show would have had made more sense if the extra four to five minutes were left in.

The two part season finale, The Family that Slays Together, is so convoluted it makes viewing almost painful. Part 1 carries over from the abridged ORB episode so it makes sense that it makes no sense.  The true role of Brock in the whole series becomes eerily ambiguous especially the reasons behind his “termination.” Part 2 tries to answer some questions, but I don’t think that the General’s little pep talk at the end is the full truth. One of the smaller problems that I have with Part 2 is the continuity issue with the Ventures hopping a ride in Monarch’s Cocoon. It’s flying away from them in one scene and in the next; they are crawling out of an escape hatch at their compound. The biggest problem I have with the finale is Henchman 24. Seriously what the fuck? What the hell is #21 going to do by himself? By nature, he’s a codependent character.

Fuck you Jackson Public and Doc Hammer. Fuck you. I will see yall next season premiere, but fuck you guys…seriously fuck you. RIP #24. We will miss you.

    What I saw makes Mississippi in the early 1800’s look like a day in Candy Land.  Gummy bears are the totalitarian rulers of a dark and perverse landscape. Their ranks of masochism are differentiated by color and flavor. The clear, pineapple, ones are the highest on the sticky poll. They enjoy sexually harassing the reds, raspberry, by biting large hunks of gummy flesh from their ass cheeks. Strawberries come in second on the cruelty chart because of their collective adverse reaction to a low self esteem. It seems that since they are green, they believe they are misunderstood by the rest of civilization. Therefore, they castigate the gummy worms with black licorice sticks.

    You see, the gummy worms are the labor and sexual slaves of the gummy subculture. They toil day and night through the fields of Sour Patch Kids and gummy cherry orchards aerating the soil for proper root development.  I don’t think that the sexual part is too hard to figure out; they are pretty phallic by nature. The worst part of being a gummy worm is when the Smurfs get drunk on gummy root beer and decide to go fishing for Swedish fish with them for bait. I had to turn away at this point and puke…Smurfs smell worse than the dumpster at the animal shelter.

    Before I left, the head of tourism took me to their version of a “donkey show.” I physically cannot stomach the thought any longer, so I will leave the details up to the imagination. Right after the show, I fortunately awoke in a bed with my friends smiling all around me.

    I had this horrible ringing in my ears for a day or so, but when I finally could hear my friends told me the candy was in a big orange bowl outside the neighborhood pedophile’s house last Halloween. They thought it was either doped or semen laced, so they being good Samaritans took it before the kiddies could get a hold of it. My heavy sleep confirmed the fact that they were filled with heroin, ecstasy, and barbiturates.  They said the black-light they smuggled in the clinic confirmed the latter suspicion. Boy were they pissed they never tried any.

Anyway, as it gets closer to picking which one of these mindless jackasses will lead our once great nation to a violent and painful death, the aforementioned mindless jackasses are picking their Vice Presidential nominations. Notice how I said Vice President instead of Veep. That is because I’m not a douche bag.

So Barrack Hussein Obama is going to announce his Vice Presidential candidate via text message. VIA TEXT MESSAGE. ?$?#@$? Are you fucking kidding me?

I swear to God, if there is another attempt by these political cocksuckers to appear hip, im going to coldcock Wolf Blitzer in his fucking face. This is a repeat of the YouTube debates. Get it? Debates on YouTube, cause we’re so hip, we use “The YouTube.” What a clearly-foreseeable disaster that on-air-abortion was.

What’s next, you elitist-while-trying-not-to-be-elitist motherfucker?

“Be on the look out guys, I’m gunna Twit my veep nomination from my Sony Ericcson”

I hate politicians so much. Spare me the patronizing “I like the things you like” routine, and just tell me your fucking policies. It will make me happy, AND save your puppet-masters the trouble of trying to make you seem as if you have the slightest fucking idea how the American people think or act.

"When I heard about it, I felt really hurt inside," said Special Olympics global messenger Dustin Plunkett. "I cannot believe a writer could write something like that. It’s the not the way that we want to be portrayed. We have feelings. We don’t like the word retard. We are people. We’re just like any other people out there. We want to be ourselves and not be discriminated against."

    Is it not a writer’s job to make people feel?  Hell most us are already sad, pathetic, retards ourselves.  Who in their right mind would chose such a lonely and unrewarding profession?  I wish I could get a job that “special people” get without even being able to spell their full name.  Well that’s enough about me.

    Ben Stiller loves to poke fun at retarded people in most of his movies anyway.  This is nothing new.  Take “There’s Something about Mary” for example number one.  The adult retarded brother is the funniest part of the movie.  Casting Owen Wilson in “Starsky and Hutch” shows that he has sympathy for special people and will even hire them when in true need of an actor.  Barbara Streisand played his fucking mother in “Meet the Annoying Jews.”  If that is not compassion for a ‘tard then I don’t what is.

    Why not spend protesting energy on something important like keeping re-re’s out of Washington DC?  Leave the hopeless alone in Hollywood and set up shop outside the Senate.  Give the people who actually matter a piece of your slightly slow mind.  Big Business, the same employers who give out greeter’s and janitor’s jobs to the mental, hand out Congressional seats like candy to make sure that no one with a fully developed sense of right and wrong can run this loony bin of a broken democracy.  Isn’t a clear sense of right and wrong the foundation of mental health?  Tell me that someone isn’t retarded when they sign their name next to “no” on a bill that would give free and proper health care to the parents, siblings, and family friends that take care of their “special people.”  I know that taking care of a handicapped person is a full time job that doesn’t pay, so why can’t these full time “employees” get the same treatment that their non-working loved ones get?

    I might be all over the place on this one, but I feel hurt inside.  Let’s all get angry, let’s all get pissed, let’s all protest.  Let’s do it for the right reason though.

The crimson Victorian style house sat on the corner of a very normal old neighborhood.  Nothing out of the ordinary except for the lack of chirping birds and grass on the lawn.  There was an abundance of cats though.  My buddy said he could have swore he saw a neon green Siamese with a price tag stapled to its ear run past.  I was too busy looking at the noose rope swing set going for ten bucks.  An overly happy midget wearing sunglasses and a gold tooth said he could make a good deal on anything.

A tall skinny woman stroked his head like a dog and smiled, “Aren’t you a cute little boy.”

“Bitch don’t make bring up the flames of hell on your ass,” he said scampering away.

After searching through the dusty yard for headless sculptures and yard gnomes, my friend and I found out there was more stuff inside.  We made our way into the darkened sanctuary.  Large tapestries hung from every wall with price tags saying $5 OBO.  We tried to find the little guy to offer him a buck a piece for them.  We found him hiding in crawl space under the stairs whistling Eagle’s tunes.

“Hey man will you take a buck a piece for the tapestries?”
“Sorry night sleepers I need at least $3.50,” he hissed.
“I’m a day sleeper asshole, how ‘bout $2.75?” I asked getting a little angry at his temperament.
“Come on, help a brother out.  $3.50 a piece, nothing less.”
“What do y’all need the money for anyway?” my friend asked, sizing the midget up.
“We have to pay off our Hot Topic credit card before the interest rate gets too high.,” he said looking down at the KISS Army rug in shame.

I almost bit my lip off trying not to laugh…this guy might know some black magic, so we left him there to think about our offer.  I walked through the dining room adorned with plaster demon skulls and Franklin Mint Collector’s Plates of 1950’s movie monsters.  Music was coming from somewhere…it sounded like Black Sabbath on a calliope.

There was a crusty old pedophile playing with his organ in the kitchen.  He quit ticking the keys we he saw our faces full of disbelief.

“See something you like?” he asked turning on his stool to face us.  “That’s the biggest 18 incher I’ve ever seen.,” I said staring between his legs.
“Yeah this subwoofer is evil…pure evil,” he said laughing with a crooked grin.
He turned back and let a low E rumble from the keyboard to the woofer.  The whole house shook in appreciation.
“How much?” I asked when my teeth quit vibrating.
“What do you do?” he asked looking between the two of us.
“I sell wine,” my friend said.
“Evil wine made from the blood of the first born?” he asked scratching his crotch.
“No just grapes,” my friend quickly replied.
“I write,” I said.
“Evil writing?” he asked grinning.
“Sometimes I write about eating my neighbor’s pets,” I said hoping that was evil enough.
“Have you ever done it?” His smile got larger.
“Just once.  This guy had a wild hog that he let run loose.  He looked like good eating, so we BBQed him one Sunday morning.”

“That’s really sick kid,” he said losing his smile, “Take the damn thing and don’t come back. You’re fucked up.  You know that the eating of swine is prohibited in most all ancient religions.  You should really think about going vegan.  The modern life span is shrinking due to our diets….”
He was still rambling about crazy shit as we made our way to the van with the one hundred pound behemoth.

“Those Satanists sure are pussies,” my friend said as we sped off.
“Yeah pussies,” I laughed scratching the spot were my pecker used to be.

6) Winnie the Pooh: (disney ursidae)
    Come on who wouldn’t want to eat a jolly pre-sweetened bear with a Honey Badger?  Maybe even stuff the badger with cornbread stuffing and then stuff it in Pooh.

5) Piglet: (disney suidae)
    We all know that bacon makes everything better.  Plus he has to have dipped a little in the honey jar, if you know what I mean.

4) Tasmanian Devil: (sarcophilus harrisii)
    It is rumored that Devils have the strongest bite of any mammal in the animal kingdom.  I like to remind animals that I am the top of the food chain.  I will eat it roasted with parsnips and add it’s teeth to my collection of sharp objects.

3) Baby Leopard Seal: (hydrurga leptonyx)
    I got to see for myself if they’re worth clubbing.  Hey it will be tender.

2) Kting Voar (Pseudonovibos spiralis)
    Though many scientists believe this snake eating Asian bovine is a mythological creature, Dr. Wang, my personal mammalogist, reassures me that the animal does exist and makes a great pot of spicy chili.  Apparently the snake venom adds a little zing to the meat.

1) Dachshund (canis hotdogious)
    I have always wanted to make a hot dog from weiner dog meat.  Question is: what type of mustard do I use?

Fearing further governmental sanctions, the games were moved to a public park where community competition is encouraged.  The Korean BBQ Rib throw off went well with Roy O’Doyle taking gold for throwing his rib a record setting 80 yards.  At this point Mr. O’Doyle is representing Mr. Wang’s proudly with three golds and one silver.  He seemed upset when he missed gold by only one shrimp in the 25 meter shellfish relay.  Martha McCormick ended up with gold, her first and only after realizing that she is mortally allergic to crustaceans.  Our thoughts and prayers go out to the Panda Star team.  She was too young at 46 to pass in such a heroic manner.

The most touching story of the games, however, is the reuniting of former hibachi cook Yang Choy to his twin brother Yang Tsu.  They met after someone made an off-hand racist comment about how all Asians looked alike.  The identical twins shrugged off the remark once they realized that yes they do look a lot alike.  Since both of them were armed with large chef knives, no one else laughed.  They took silver and bronze in the chop shit up really really fast contest.  Gold went to a Mexican that was just walking around with a switch blade in the park.  He was arrested shortly after.  Officials say that he will be able to keep his medal fearing retaliation.

The last event of the evening, Rice Sculpturing, is about to start and I have money on it so I will sign off now.

We were attempting to hold our tolerant tongues, but with the latest warning against Mexican Peppers, we felt we must speak out. First off, let us tell you how we sympathize with you. We understand it is very hard to grow foods organically, and get them to an accepting market while being stepped on by the fat cats greedily running our oppressive ‘democracy.’ We would like to offer our support to you humble farmers and growers. (Except the Midwest)

However we have a request, oh noble growers of Mexico. Could you please, pretty please, stop treating our fields like your citizens, and refrain from shitting all over them. It is tough being a vegan as is. (Vegetarians don’t count, as they are not as hardcore, and eat meat bi-products, just like Mussolini did.)

We have to traverse the raped landscape of this nation on our respective vespas and beachcruisers, all while hoping a gust of wind doesn’t blow our malnourished bodies away.  Now I can’t even enjoy a Red Pepper and Zucchini Quiche with out fear of getting the violent runs.

If you could do all of the Vegans of America this favor, the 15 of us, and the professors at Dartmouth, will be very grateful! All we ask is that you stop brutally oppressing your citizens for one moment, and correct this sanitation problem. After all, their freedoms and life savings will be there for you to pillage tomorrow! I need Mexican feces off my tomato today.

If you do not however correct this problem, we will need to have a serious response. We are completely against Republican wars, always, but we are not above dropping random bombs on undeserving victims for blue-state purposes. (Ask the Serbs)

That is obviously not a threat, as we are peace-loving individuals. Just please keep your disgusting body fluids to yourselves, and off of my $5 whole foods avocado. Thanks a bunch Jose.

Yours truly,
- Vegans of the American Continent & The Responsible Left

    I want to take this moment to let you know that I do truly love you from the bottom of my heart, but you know in less than a month I will become the “devil’s bastard spawn” as Grandma put it so lovingly last fall.  College football season is merely weeks away so I want to apologize in advance for my actions yet to come.  I know that I will miss about fourteen birthdays, two anniversaries, and the birth of my retarded nephew.  Come on you know Stacy was on X the night she fucked that hot dog vendor, don’t blame me…I had to hold down the seats…Mom don’t bitch please, she’s seventeen and midfield tickets don’t grow on trees.

    I have already set up an account at the credit union on the corner of Main and 1st with Dad as an additional account signer.  There is enough money in it to make bail twice and a little left over to cover any unmade bets while I’m in.  Steve might contribute a few bucks also for our trip to Oklahoma.  I promise that I will not go back to Louisiana this season.  The restraining order is enough to keep me away.  Uncle Carl I apologize again for calling your Tigers “cheating cum-sucking whores” and I will pay you back at the end of the season when my Gators whoop their sorry asses.

    Grandpa I owe you an advanced apology for betting your house on the Michigan-Notre Dame game.  I don’t remember who I betted on, but if this season is anything like last’s, neither will win.
    The beer is cold and UPS just dropped off a case of Florida orange paint so I will end it here.  I will see yall come January.

Love,
Aluwishes “Go Gators” McFinkelstein

  One day he might be holding a sign at the corner asking for Fifty Cent so he can buy a newspaper to take a shit on.  He should thank Taco Bell for putting his fucked-up name back in the public eye.  Look at what Taco Bell did for Carlos Alazraqui’s career.  He makes me laugh, and not for his name or his Chihuahua voice saying “yo quiero”.  I laughed my ass of when he hit the mime, Ben Garant, in the shins. This nation is fickle, especially when it comes to the “arts” so he might want shut the fuck up and enjoy the ride, which costs fifty cents in front of God’s grocery store.

  While he’s there he might want to get a Hello Kitty temporary tattoo to wear at the next awards ceremony when he’s asking real musicians if they would like a hot towel after taking a leak.  I’m done…and I hope he is too.   P.S. Taco Bell I loved your chili-cheese burritos, please bring ‘em back for fifty cents.

I’m drinking gin on top of wine, just to let you know.  It kills these ear piercing whines.  His bitches go to 11.  I think his parents didn’t beat enough.  Holy shitting pope, he’s published.  Do his books come with a warning, are they sold at the suicide booth gift shop?

“Ready to bail?” a voice from behind asks handing over a beer.
“Thank you, yes.”
We pile back into the sardine can sharing the last bottle of brew amongst the fish in the back seat.  We rant about the absolute shitiness of the evening and argue what is worse…the poetry or our munchies.
Leftover Chinese ends the debate.

It is to the point that I feel like I’m tripping my balls off.  Shit keeps moving in and out of my peripheral, and I think a colony of ants is waging war on my pickled skin.  I don’t know how to come down or if I really want to.  The classic country radio station is the only stimulus I can handle at this moment.  Something about finger picking is a calming harbor.  My urine smells like a Dunkin Donuts.  Donuts sound good.  I’m scared shitless to leave the house though.  Any cop would haul my ass in thinking I just smoked a gram of meth.

I think I’m going to have to swear off the java for a week to make sure my kidneys are still functioning correctly.  If there is such thing as a caffeine hangover, I will surely have it. Oh shit, Glen Campbell is singing…there is no drug on this earth can that make him bearable.  If I could concentrate I would finish typing my longhand manuscripts but the keyboard is beginning to move a bit too much.  Signing off for now, I think my colon is about to erupt.