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5/11/26   
Your very own shallow grave
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Capture of Gadhafi Sex Doll Sparks False Reports of Dictator’s DeathOctober 24, 2011
Sirte, Libya
Courtesy FeelDoll
A less road-worn copy of the Gaddafi doll made famous in last week’s videos, this one featuring the "Urban Chic" outfit and this model’s trademark "sensuous blowjob lips"
A
n autopsy of the internet-famous body of former Libyan dictator Muammar Gadhafi early Monday uncovered one shocking detail: the so-called corpse is in fact a sex doll likeness of Gaddafi, manufactured by the Middle Eastern RealDoll knock-off company, FeelDoll.

"We resent being called a knock-off. If anything, our models are superior to RealDolls, with suppler orifices, stretchier lips, and more voluminous skeet reservoirs," explained an incensed Roman Starsky, head doll fucker for FeelDoll.

"If anything, we’re a knock-up," Starksy added. "If you’re going to jizz into a big polyurethane corpse, we hope it’s ours."

The sex doll in question, an expensive high-end model a far cry from the inflatable emergency dates most commune readers would b...Read more...


Japanese Nikkei commits seppuku after closing in dishonor

Obama: "Fine, you guys do whatever the hell you want."

Transformers 3 Destroys Norway

Iraq wants free elections, aid, infrastructure, and T-shirts



March 3, 2003

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The Government Can See into Your Soul

A Washington bookseller I'd never heard of announced a couple of weeks ago they would purge details of a buyer's purchase upon request. This was in response to one of those 500 quickly-passed 9/11 laws which says the government can go through your sock drawer if they smell the stink of fear on you. I, for one, applaud the move. A lazy golf clap applause because even if it's a noble gesture it doesn't make a damn difference in the long run.

Just when I think people have accepted the government can get you no matter what you do, they show signs of struggling, thinking they can actually escape the Web—that's what I call it. That's mine, by the way, intellectual property.

Yes, the Web—part U.S. government, part Illuminati, all encompassing terror. Like the many-fingered centipede, the Web can put a pincer on you at any moment. The only reason you're walking around right now is because they don't give a damn if you're dead or alive. Occasionally, they think it's funny when you bitch about where the remote is because Baywatch is on in 5 minutes, but otherwise you're insignificant. Don't feel bad; so am I. Just slightly more significant at best.

If you think the government is closing its FBI file on you just because they have no store record of your recent purchase of Ass Monsters magazine, I'd love a toke of whatever you're smoking. You're delusional, Poncho. Store records are a tiny, tiny fraction of all the information...Read more...


º Last Column: America's Momma So Fat She Sweat Butter
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June 10, 2002

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I Have a Wicked Bassist in Lee

I have never before been interested in music. Music is like water, as far as I'm concerned, and me being mostly oil, we do not mix. But this has changed recently now that Lee is part of my scene.

In addition to all his other talents, Lee is, as he put it, a wicked bassist. Some thump the bass, Lee says, some prick it; Lee makes love to it. He has been thrown out of numerous bands for this, especially Christian rock bands, but he sees it as an asset. And whatever Lee sees, Rok sees, good people. That's why I have decided to form a rock musical band.

It's a good idea—anybody can see it's a good idea. Building a sharp power trio around our infallible bassist Lee. The only problem is that the other members of our power trio have, how Lee phrased it, "absolutely no musical ability." Not that this will stop us, it merely slows us, like the molasses swamp in Candyland.

I thought it was genius to put Camembert on drums, since you always see drummers sitting down in musical videos, and Camembert is always sitting down because he is paralyzed. Well, guess what? Drummers use their feet for something. I believe it's some kind of big drum they kick or something, traditional in rock music. Camembert informed me we could avoid this by playing bluegrass, but if you think I got into music to end up on some Coen Brothers film soundtrack, you're dead wrong. Rok plays rock, or nothing at all. So right now we're playing nothing at all. But Lee said...Read more...


º Last Column: I Have Unfinished Business with Carl Tomlin
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Milestones
1990: Red Bagel's dark vision of the future presented in lecture form at a local college predicts a war in Iraq, though he incorrectly predicts the date as 2002. Unless… well, we'll wait and see, won't we?
Now Hiring
Bartender. Mix all variety of drinks, serve beers with a quick smile and friendly expression. Listening a must, flipping bottles and spinning like in Cocktail a plus. Must know when to cut off Ramrod Hurley—immediately—and when to cut off Red Bagel—never, if you like your job.
Best Unreported News
1.President Bush Built from Japanese Parts
2.Dale Earnhardt Fans Waiting Like Fanatics for His Return
3.Lawrenceville, KS Shoney's Buffet Huge Fucking Rip-Off
4.RuPaul All Man Underneath Dress
5.Country of Chad Non-Existent, Just Some Joke by Guy Named Chad
Last IssueLast Issue’s Lead News Story

North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie

View Past Columns
BY Red Bagel
1/10/2005
A Fistful of Tannenbaum, Chapter 9: Summer of the German Bastard
Editor’s Note: Millionaire adventurer Jed Foster and sex puppet Paulette Standiford have invaded N.O.R.T.O.N. headquarters, climbed down the endless shaft to its end, where they saw the world’s biggest bomb, two miles wide and long, boy, was it long. Then some German stepped in.

"Professor von Hufnagel!" shouted Jed Foster, naming the newest character to invade their plot.

He was a tall German, with rough German features and hard German eyes. His German nose was pointed and sprouted a gray German mustache just underneath, matching his hairy German eyebrows. He was bald, like a flesh-colored egg of wrinkly skin, all of it German. In his hand was a gun that almost appeared to grow out of his black-gloved German hand—a Dutch revolver. Read more...

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