Collapsing Shack, AZ—The following is an actual account of something that happened in my personal life.  Let me tell you what happened to my friend Billy. Well, parts of it…

Billy looked at him longingly. She had such respect for him, even if she didn’t know his name. It was hard to learn too much about a man that only groaned.  All she needed to know is that she loved him.

At first she had tried to learn more, but every time she checked for a wallet or tattoos, he would just try to bite her, but then that was part of his charm, wasn’t it?  He was so mysterious.  Ted, as she had taken to calling him, was one of the first guys she had met that wasn’t just interested in her for sex. And that made him so special, even if he did leave a lot of stains where she had him chained in the guest room.

He was not like other guys.  He didn’t just stare at her tits, although he had tried to bite them.

Her friends thought he was ‘gross’ and ‘disgusting.’ They even told Billy she should dump him, but she knew they were just jealous.

Ted was so low maintenance.  He never asked her to do any housework or wanted to go drinking with the boys. He only had eyes for her. Billy loved how much he wanted her and jerked against his chain trying to get closer each time she entered the room. It was so sweet.

Billy would never need another boyfriend, because Ted wasn’t going anywhere. Finally a man that liked her for who she was on the inside, even if he just wanted to eat them.

But then she began to wonder. She had seen all those vampire and werewolf movies where they could turn their lover with just a bite and she figured this might work with Ted too.  But should she do it? She wanted to live with Ted throughout all of eternity, but being a zombie was also sorta gross. Besides, would he be as interested if she wasn’t warm and living?

She was just so confused.  Night after night she would wander down with her clarinet and play All of Me, just out of range, until the sun came up.

Really, she would have to be careful. It wouldn’t do for Ted to eat all of her. She wanted some of her to be left to love him for all of eternity and all that. But she also knew that one little bite would do. But she had another problem. If she became a zombie she might not remember how to free him. How could she make this work?   Relationships were so complicated.

Then she had it. Handcuffs! Billy giggled over the kinkiness of it all. If she handcuffed Ted to her, then they could be together forever.  They could wander wherever they chose, eat out whenever and whoever they wanted.  It would be so romantic!

After stashing her journal, entitled ‘forever love,’ she arranged for this final step in preparation for their bounding.

The next day, I found her twitching legless carcass moving in circles on the floor. At least some of her would be together with Ted…er, in his stomach.

Happy Holidays

Alex Bone

It’s Merry Christmas. It’s Happy Hanukkah. It’s Yo Kwanza. Screw the Solstice. Sticka’ the Wicca.  Fuck the Festivus. Kill all the politically correct shit, please.  If you won’t, I will.  In the immortal words of Bill Bixby, “Don’t make me angry, you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.”

As one who was born into a Roman Catholic family, thankfully, my parents didn’t have time for church on Sunday.  We had a family business whose busiest time coincided when church was letting out.  So we didn’t go, ever. Therefore I never was asked to be an “alter boy” if you know what I mean.

With my butt cheeks intact, I ambled through life believing in God and the hereafter, praying as needed, only without the benefit of organized religion. Later on, as I matured—or matured-ish—I found I could live my life as a good person without the whole church thing. What I see now, though, is that people who regard religion as a large part of their everyday life, whatever their choice of deity, have now become targets to the abusive PC police. If you are Muslim, you are free to be religious…BUT, you better take down that Nativity scene; we wouldn’t want to offend anyone around the “holidays”, now would we? My ass. I am not offended by a Star of David, and my Kosher friends are likewise able to appreciate a nice Cross now and again, unless I happen to be nailing them to it (then, not so much).  

Separation of Church and State has become dissolution of Church BY State. What was actually meant by that part of our Founding Father’s first term paper was that the “State” was never to show preference to any one religion over another—nor were they permitted to start their own. The LAST thing they had in mind was what is happening now. Have you PC peons ever actually LOOKED at the dollar bill?  You steal enough of them from the rich to give to the poor. “IN GOD WE TRUST” (all else pay cash).  How’s ‘bout the Constitution?  Yep, GOD’s there too. While the flotation of my personal watercraft does not depend on said Deity, I do feel that it is not intrinsically evil to worship God, and it may actually be beneficial to some. Also, my little PC police, they outnumber you, so you might actually have to get over it. As unbelievable as the story of Mormon is…nearly as believable as a burning virgin, or a talking Bush…or something like that.  Did I mention I missed some church in my youth?  But some of the nicest, smartest, well rounded, successful people I know are Mormon. I deal with it very nicely, thank you. Zano himself will tell you that I firmly believe that my mother is now in charge up there.  It was probably easier than the alternative (arguing with her) and I’m betting she’s probably waiting there at the gate to kick Zano’s ass on arrival.

In closing, let’s pray that the PC police start giving the Christians a break.  If you want a new cause, I nominate Christmas Muzak. That should be a bipartisan, all religions can agree, no brainer.  Even God knows where to draw the line.  We can all declare war on Muzak.  It could bring us a common cause and, perhaps, one step closer to world peace.  Only Kenny G. will be sobbing into his saxophone somewhere.  We can start by boycotting elevators or plugging the speakers with toilet paper. Let the Muzak Crusades begin! 

Have a Cranky Christmas.

Some things have been bothering me lately, like alternate street parking.   I have been trying to wrap my head around all the things impacting our country.  It’s better than what I used to do to with my free time.  Oh, and Potter County Police, you’ll never find her by the river, you bastards!  Mwahahahhaha!

We, as a nation, really need to change our focus and our priorities.  Fact: many countries do things more cost-effectively and more efficiently in a great number of areas.  The U.S. has slipped in our ratings almost across the board.  So here are a few things you might not have thought of to help restore our country to greatness (or not):

1. Bottle Feeding—a tit is always better than plastic unless the plastic supports the betterment of the tit.  And, by the way, at 40 I know my preferences in this matter.  Although, the binky is a close second.
2. Homework—I just spent all day listening to your boring text book crapola, Mr. Aimsflunk. I filled out your “worksheets”, and helped you justify your state mandates. Now you’re gonna impose upon my free time? Show me the study Professor Fallsfarbelow, otherwise leave them kids alone.
3. Anti-evolutional academic sequencing (AEAS)—Don’t force kids to judge their social identity on academics, especially if the child is not developmentally prepared for success.  I am proud to be in all emotional support classes and welcome the occasional time-out or detention stint.  And, I am not my ADD diagnosis—hey, it’s snowing!
4. Quantified Social Praise (QSP)—I don’t care about your grades, just keep learning from everybody and everything (except Discord staff). The world is filled with stupid straight-A bureaucrats and Magna Cum Lessas.
5. Cell Phones—although cell phones have been directly linked to brain cancer, there has yet to be a link determined between brain cancer and Discord articles….but it’s coming.
6. Electronic entertainment—these are simply distractions from a meaningful life, dulled into neurological and imaginative mush.  Yeah, I’m talking about the Daily Discord again.  Remember when we used to read to our children?  If my dad had read Penthouse Forum to me more often, it would have helped me avoid a number of embarrassing adolescent situations.   Speaking of which, you’ll never find her, coppers!
7. Failed Abortions—on the bright side, advances in abortion technologies promise to bolster success rates.
8. The Daily Discord—I am all about 1^st Amendment Rights, but, everything has an exception, and I believe this e-zine is it.

Central, PA—It seems my region of Pennsyltucky has been invaded by aliens.  Not men from Mars, not arsenic-thriving Mono Lake Monsters, not illegal aliens from Mexico.  These are the most nefarious invaders of em’ all, Southern Gas Workers.

The heart of Pennsylvania is, apparently, rich with gas deposits—not the Pokey McDooris variety, the more harnassable kind (sorry).  At first, all was well as people in my rural-type community were getting paid close to a thousand dollars an acre just to sign away the gas rights to their land.  Of course, if anyone struck gas a percentage of profits would be earned as well.  This added a short term boom to the local economy, which I personally capitalized on by downing plenty of gas co. funded beer.

“I hear tell you got your gas check, farmer Fred.  How about buying another round there, Sparky?” 

You see, most large land lots around here typically have a 300 dollar hunting cabin or trailer parked on them, which you can’t see from the road through their auto graveyards, of course, but they’re there all right, theoretically.  But now local farmers and families with land were carrying around wads of cash for the first time since the first Yuengling deposits were discovered in the Appalachians.  Just imagine people with names like Sheepy, Beef, and Scooper walking around with rolls of Benjamins.  It certainly helped out the local jerky and beer entrepreneurs.

Small groups of men then started coming into the area to set up testing devices to apparently check where underground gas deposits were located (the readings on Pokey’s ass were off the chart).  I actually believe this whole thing is a farce.  Most of these guys are Texans here to scout out our women.  They must have somehow discovered our secret.  You see, most of the women around here are pretty good looking, approachable, and many are about as complicated as bubble gum machines, although mine usually ends up rolling around the floor a lot.  The gum balls…what did you think I was talking about?  Find another metaphor, Winslow, I’m a busy man. 

Then the drilling started on every front.  We’re back to gas again, geesh, perverts.  Workers showed up by the hundreds, digging gas lines, destroying roads, polluting water, driving up rental rates to the point normal people can no longer afford apartments, and most importantly they were drilling, yep—wait for it—our women folk.

Now when I say that some women around here are kinda…well, there’s two types, over easy and hard boiled.  So, to a 6’2″ good looking, skinny, hard labor muscular, smooth talking, money to blow, southern accented, gas worker type, it’s like shooting dish in a—I could use another one of them metaphors, Winslow.  Thanks. 

Unfortunately I’m a short, middle-aged, beer-bellied, over-hyphen-using, balding-fella without the burden of anything resembling political correctness, which is why we can have this frank discussion today.  AKA, I’m only a little bit better looking than the average Discordian. Oh, and easy, to me, means shelling out cash by the pint, and then picking up the room tab over at the Super 8. 

These southern aliens are harvesting our women by the droves, and pitching woo with them at every bar, motel, and traveling camper around.  They’re taking them to fancy Hotels to do their adulterous coitusessness.  Even with their stocked wallets, Beef and Sheepy don’t stand a chance.  Dave Atsals and his Operation Motel 8 plan can forget it.

These aliens are alone, and lonely even though many left their wives and kids to move to these rural “boom” towns.  Booms happen here now when someone F’s up.  These are decidedly worse than the Pokey McDooris variety.  Wife and kids at home apparently do not bother their local single women expedi-tit-ions.  That’s a pun; they happen. Damn a semi colon now too.  I better wrap this up.  Bottom line, we normal fellas, even ones with extreme wit and e-zine-blogging prowess, are shit out of luck. 

But I have a plan—a sneak attack of sorts.  It involves a one way bus ticket to Texas.  I hear the women there are lonely and their husbands are sending them lots of money home.  See you at the Motel 8.  We’ll leave the light on for ya.