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Look for www.theboysclubformen.com coming now…

We’re all so proud of our offspring when they accomplish something monumental. For some, it’s graduating from college or narrowly escaping an arrest for public indecentcy. For me, however, monumental is measured in bodily discharges and today I am brimming over my cat’s vomitty achievement.

I admit that some of my most shining moments come at the bombastic release of gas from my body. I’m even more proud when the gas turns solid in a process called sh*tting my pants. The sight of a giant, ghastly poop will cheer me up any day of the week.

But when I look down and see with thine own two eye parts what my cat, Tookie, has done today, I shed a tear of pride. Today Tookie puked a heaping helping of cat guts and it was huge. It was chocked full of Friskies, dead mice bones and his favorite treats, Whisker Lickens. This kid has talent and I’m proud to say he’s mine. Good work, cat.

Ted P.’s parents thought their computer would catch a virus so they covered it with plastic.

My wife asked me why I spend so much time jerking off alone at the computer.  She said that it would be sensual to masturbate with her and I said, “Every time I do that, you wake up screaming.”

I was at the store and I saw a guy happily buying his son some candy.  Confused by the gesture, the kid looked at his mom and asked, “Mommy, what’s wrong with Daddy?”  To which the mother replied, “Oh, he’s just sober.”

I put the trash out last night when I saw my rather large neighbor pull up to her house with take out food in her hands.  ”Take out again?” I asked.  And she replied, “Rrrrraaaaawwwwrrrr!!!!”  Stupid fat bitch.

Do you refer to conjoined twins as one of those or two of that?

Oh, man.  I got nothin’…

"With our Juggies full and our gas real cheap, GallonMart's savings are yours to keep"

Well, the yeas have it!  According to a recent poll I cast last week, an overwhelming 67 percent of you wanted to hear about the increase in gas prices.  That’s more than half of the people who voted!  Can you believe it?  I can…’t.

Our incredible yet believable story begins where any true story begins; at a store.  This isn’t just any store, though.  This is the GallonMart off 104th.  In case you don’t know, the GallonMart is a warehouse superstore where all products are sold by the gallon.  It’s no Costco or Sam’s Club because it’s worse; free samples are in gallon increments and it’s always stuff you’d never consume like Pork Points and Lye Milk.  Management at the GallonMart has its employees empty prepackaged consumable items into recycled gallon jugs known as Juggies.  The store apparently saves money this way because of the huge savings offered from manufacturers for buying in bulk.

Although it’s not true, GallonMart also claims to have the largest assortment of crap in gallon form on the planet.  They are so proud of this fact, that their slogan reads: “If we don’t have it in a Juggie, we’ll send you to Mars.”  The slogan is then followed by a disclaimer that argues all claims of interplanetary travel will not hold up in a court of law.

However bizarre the store’s concept, it’s the business model  that’s really interesting.  Since GallonMart guarantees the lowest wholesale prices on obsolete items like Robert Milsap’s Malt Flavored Turkey Burst, Ibuprofiend Pain Reliever (highly addictive; popular with teenagers), and Red Bull Elephant Energy Drank, it has a difficult time meeting their projected profit margins.  Can you honestly tell me who in their right mind is going to buy a gallon of Elephant Drank?  Ech, gross!

To offset costs, however, they sell one product that people absolutely need: gasoline.  GallonMart has recently built a filling station.  They figure that people who actually stop in and shop are happy to fill up their cars with seemingly discounted gas.  Even though GallonMart’s marketing strategies would suggest otherwise, their gas is not discounted at all.

GallonMart’s gasoline prices are off the chart.  It averages fifteen cents more per gallon than that of the next highest purveyor of fuel.  What’s worse, is that the self-filling stations are vending machines stocked with Juggies full of gas.  Forget pumping your own gas.  As the customer, you’re expected to “Pour yourself an old one (they play the age of fossil fuels on the old adage ‘pour a cold one’)”.  Surprisingly, people are lining up around the block as a result of the unique filling methods and supposed convenience and reduced prices.  They feel it’s kitschy and fun.  And in order to recoup lost business, other gas stations are raising prices.

Hopefully, like most things, this is just a passing fad.  If it is not a fad, then this is my warning to you people: stop pouring your gas!  It’s expensive and wrong.  It’s costing this community a lot of money.  Additionally, you’re being lied to.  If you’re going to shop at GallonMart, please buy other essentials like Gallon-O-Tripe or Rubber Wash and stay away from the gas.  It’s watered down, anyway.

This message brought to you by the BBB (big bawling bitch).

Chris, who was also in the car, was once known as Dolph Lundgren after his uncanny resemblance to the Siberian Bull from the movie Rocky IV. Recently and unknowingly he was nicknamed Carrots by my wife, J-Dubs. J-Dubs has been called Wooten or Hot Pants and J Maz.  She has a myriad of friends like Skirt Steak and Droopy Nipple. Droopy Nipple used to work at Applebee’s where she rated highest in customer satisfaction. Apparently, her tips reflected her performance and she became known as Boosty Tipple or BT for short which evolved into Burny Tits and then Swink.

My other friend is Sizzle Bok who dressed as a Mexican named Johnny Gomez for a costume party. My brother is Milhouse, Milkill, Milshoe, Shoe, Shoehouse, Millie and, from a misspelling on his high school letter jacket, Millhouse.  I know Jim Jam and Rik.  I have a friend Jake the Snake.  One named J. Pa. and Blum (sounds like bloom).  Blum hangs out with Nelson and Steve B.  Gary is one.  Teens is another.  Goldy, Chesty and Slitty Wrists.  S Mas and his son, X Mas.  J Leezy for sheezy.  Drary.  The Boss, Champ or Curty.  Petey and Wheels and Lamby Poo.  Jay Nev. Teddy Po.  I saw J.R. Swish on TV.  Oh, and for me…they call me Wolsamnoraa (not really, though) which is part Russian and, as I found out today from my mother and her husband, Papa Paul, part French which translates as Special Boy.  And that’s all I can think of right now.  Did I miss one?  Fill me in.

This is where I got the name McStainy. My dry cleaner, Mr. Wong, is such a goof.

He does it all of the time, once with a dead rabbit in his mouth

Once he gets to my patio he comes inside through a dog door.  The cat weighs almost 20 pounds…This is amazing to me.

But making a great picture takes time and coordination; all skills that I possess and everyone else lacks.  So, when the perfect moment needs to be captured who, you may ask, do people turn to for the best snapshots?  Well, me, of course.  But it’s more than that.  I am the two-for-one guy.  In an attempt to forever captivate the attention of any person, I will shoot a picture of that person and then one of me.   If that person feels the need to delete my photo, I will sneak into the background/foreground of a carefully orchestrated scene.  Here are a few times when I wasn’t deleted from other people’s cameras (thanks for the memories)…

Make a Smilebox postcard

This takes the phrase "baby dumps" to a whole new level.

Sometimes you wake up in a dingy hotel room soaked in hooker juices and vomit and you wonder, “How in the world did I get here?”  While this is a valid question, the word “here” reaches above and beyond your current predicament.  The mere fact that you exist at all is interesting in itself.  These 10 reasons explain the lucky fortunes that befell you on your road to being “here” (where ever that may be):

10. Your father was spreading his seed during the War.

9. Your mother was a whore.

8.  The gentleman operating the coat-hanger apparatus botched the abortion.

7. You chewed threw the garbage bag that was to be your casket and survived on the contents of a China man’s dumpster.

6. Until your mid-teens, you were raised by a small team of success driven rats.

5. You earned a decent wage soliciting sex from bar hopping youngsters who struck out during regular bar business hours.

4. Using the lessons taught to you by your rat kin, you turned your hard earned money into drugs and nesting materials.

3. On a quest to stardom and fame, you sought a career as a Hollywood actor (possibly to find your real parents?).

2.  Unknowingly, you were cast in the movie “Saw VIII: Jigsaw’s Outtakes–Sluts, Gays, and Krab Cakes”.

-And, Finally-

1. Years of smoking methamphetamine have left you toothless, talentless, and desperate.   The mob takes care of you in the only way the mob can; this time, however, you are unable to gnaw your way through the garbage bag that is to be your final resting place.

Do you feel that I may have missed a detail in your coming to be?  Please feel free to share in the comment section…

"Oh great! Now the pills are all poopy, hun!"

I tend to error on the side of caution.  When I step out in the rain, I bring a wooden umbrella.  When I fart in the sheets I don’t wiggle around afterward.  So it troubles me to tell you and the rest of the world that I’m frickin crazy.  I’m not crazy like gang bang my virgin asshole and cum on my face with you and twenty-eight of your closest associates.  My friend did that once; that sh*t is nuts and now I she can’t ride a bicycle.  I’m not even homeless people crazy or cat-lady crazy.

No, my problem is that I am starting to losing my mind.  It started a few months ago.  Mentally, things just didn’t seem right.  I was having hallucinations and fondling my poops in the toilet.  I’ve never done that stuff that much.  Just to make sure that I was really going mental, I gave it a couple of months.  Similar to your Alzheimer stricken grandfather, I’d have good days and bad days (I got gang banged, remember?).  The test worked.  After three months, I figured out that I hadn’t been feeling right.

I told my wife and she confirmed my senility and suggested/demanded that I seek help.  I did.  I went to a doctor and she gave me some pills and advice…”don’t take all the pills at once.”  It was funny, you had to be there.  I began taking the pills just the other day when I lashed out and had a huge fight with my wife.  She was so angry and frustrated with my new crazy behavior that she grabbed my pills and flushed them all down the toilet (against the doctor’s wishes, no less).  Today, I’m without my pills and the toilet has been vomiting all night and I can’t stop fondling the poopies that come out.  I need assistance. I’m sick!  Sick I tells ya’!

Do you think I’m crazy?  This stuff has really been happening.  What do you think I should do?  Help, please.

This was me at a young evolutionary age

I was a kid for a while.  That was a rough time for me.  I grew up in a tough neighborhood near a Sizzler.  The kids in my neighborhood were violent and they wanted me to join their gang.  They made me do all sorts of gangster things like steal cigarettes from my parents.  I was told if I wanted to join the gang, I had to build a hideout.  I used all of my allowance to build a pillow fort in my basement.  I used thumb tacks to keep the sheets pinned to the wall.  It was hard-core.  They told me that if I wanted to join their gang, I’d have to commit a crime.  “I stole a car,” I said.  Lying was the crime.  I was in the gang.  I was slanging drugs and banging thugs.  I held my Nerf suction cup dart pistol with a sideways gangster grip.  It was tight…the grip, I mean; I didn’t want to lose the gun.  I was the original, genuine thug; an OG…T.  I didn’t even own a belt so my pants would always sag gangsterly (the point at which they would fall off).  One day, a Catholic priest called me and said it was time to hang it up and cut the crap.  I said that my gangster friends would do harm unto me and my sheet fort if I left.  He offered me full protection in his house of worship and a job at the Sizzler.  The priest was banging, alright; banging all the boys.  I quit the gang.  They said they were going to miss me and that they were sad to see me go.  To tell you the truth, I miss them, I miss them a lot.  Word to your brother.