Read at your own Risk

What follows is a stream of conscious rambling about something with lots of cussing.

I wants to tell you bitches about a man named Snaggletooth Razzlethorn and his perilous journey through the Lanesville Upperwater Bayou. Now, the Ol' Bayou is a twenty mile stretch of hazards, peril, traps, and hookers with lasers coming out of their ears. Snaggletooth got the idea of trying to traverse the Bayou about twenty years ago when he was shopping for fainting couches and was humbly blessed by the vision of the MAGICAL INJUN DONKEY. It appeared from out of the sky and crashed threw the ceiling like a flaming refurbished microwave. It glowed a holy glow and spoke with the voice of a thousand screaming hamsters being run over by a four year old in a brand new battery operated Tonka Remote Control Dumptruck with 83% more dumping action.

It said, "Are you the one known as Snaggletooth Razzlethorn?!"

And Snaggle said, "Yes! Yes, Magical Injun Donkey, I am Snaggletooth Razzlethorn! Why have you chosen to grace me with your presence on this day?"

"Snaggletooth Razzlethorn, the podunk swamp town of Lanesville Upperwater is in GRAVE danger and YOU are the only one that can bring about its salvation before the Complete Undoing descends upon us!"

"Well, gosh! I ain't never heard of no Complete Undoing, and...and I ain't never been no chosen one before!"

"I know that Snaggletooth! I am semi-niscient!"

"Uh...what?"

"SEMI-NISCIENT! I'm not quite omniscient because I wasn't granted full god powers because of the damn union rules...also...I fed a kid to a killer whale but that's not important! With my semi-niscient knowledge I know far more than the average man knows in about three or four lifetimes. It's still pretty damn smart!"

"Do you know where I left my lucky pink comb?"

"It is lodged inbetwixt the cheeks of your buttocks!"

"Oh..WOW! It is, I been looking fer this thing fer years! Now I can finally fix that cow lick."

"That's...lovely. We're wasting time! The rates for appearing in visions these days is a slap in the sack! You must traverse the Lanesville Upperwater Bayou and face its many treacherous obstacles so that you can retrieve the sacred goods that lay deep within and return them to your wretched podunk excuse for civilization!"

"Why?"

"Because you're the chosen one, that's the type of thing you do when you're chosen,"

"Why?"

"Because if you don't get in the raft waiting for you outside and start paddling your ass down the river I'm going to lay sheep eggs inside you and they'll burst free on your daughter's 9th birthday and her cake will be covered in bloody fleece and a thousand agonized bleats!"

"..."

"..."

"...."

"What...too much?

"A little, I was just about to go anyway."

"Oh...well good! And remember, about 80 to 130 cretins depend on you!"

This post is dedicated to out of context quotes heard in passing....feel free to update daily

-Running cross country is the hardest type of running there is.

What is it?

 It's where you run up and down mountains.

Shine On You Crazy Diamond.

Shine on...

In the first couple lines she was a man.

A woman is driving through city streets as the sun is coming up. Rare tones paint the world surreal. The sunlight is broken by the skyscrapers as the woman cruises down an empty downtown. She has been driving for many miles. She is blocks from her location. She tosses her cigarette out the window at a red light. Her body reeks of smoke. She turns on the radio. She turns off the radio. She adjusts her seat. She readjusts her seat. She feels uncomfortable. This moment has been coming for so long. It feels more like a dream or a memory. She takes a deep breath and wades through this unfamiliar reality. She parks her car. She clenches her fists. She gets out of the car and strides up to the door with confidence. Behind this door is closure. The pressure is unbearable. Her legs are weak. She knocks on the door twice. She waits. She hears nothing. She knocks once more. Her hands are trembling. A slow creaking sound is heard.

What do you think the giant fish sandwich will say to the woman when it opens the door? How does this involve the dead man? Do I really have to threaten to kill a pop culture icon every time I want a response from you people?

Who Killed This Man?

A man is on the ground. He is dead. He has been stabbed in the torso several times. We don't not why, when, how, this man was stabbed. We don't not know who stabbed him. All we know is that there is a dead man with red stains on his white shirt, all alone at the bottom of a gentle grassy hill. The sun is setting behind this man. We don't not know the name of this man. All we can see from where we stand about a few feet away is that he was in his late 40s-early 50s. His hair is gray and balding. He is clean shaven. He wears a gray suit with an unbuttoned jacket. His shoes are black and well shined. He is calm and his facial features show a man who led a proud life. He has a strong chin and brow with wispy eyebrows that sit above deep set eyes. His arms lay on his chest, partially covering his wounds.

Why was this man killed? What did this man do? Did this man have a family? Why when his cold dead hands were turned over the word Spaghettios was written on his left palm in black ink?
Who killed this man?

Something everyone needs to know, just in case.

24

Lorenzo

28

Eulogy for a forgotten blog

Termites Choking on Splinters Johnson Esquire III

It was a good little blog. Born from humble beginnings out of boredom and a few people's desire to tell some stories and put up badly photoshopped pictures. In its heyday it featured 13 posts in one month. A fairly impressive amount for a little story telling blog. It completed one story. The tale of a little frog whose name I can not recall and his quest to reclaim his genitalia. This sporadic little piece of folklore was slowly crafted with non-sequiturs and blatant continuity errors. No one always wanted to post the next chapter and sometimes we didn't always approve of it but we learned something from it. We learned about the creative process and how far randomness can go until it just becomes spewing out obscure names and objects. I encourage you to look over that little story about Albert (I remembered his name) and think about a time you've watched things spiral out of control and then die. Yes, the life of this young blog was taken far too early but we can never forget it...because under our profile the little box will always be there. So, as with so many other team blogs we leave Termites Choking on Splinters Johnson Esquire III to sit here and never be updated or looked at again.