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Stupid Pakistan Won't Let Us Chase Stupid Terrorists into Their Stupid BordersJanuary 6, 2003 |
Mushareif, Pakistan Snapper McGee Yeah, that's a great military outfit, dipshit. No one wants your stupid borders anyway.
Information Minister Sheikh Rashid "Queerbait" Ahmed lied through his crooked teeth and told reporters that Pakistan never gave the U.S. consent to pursue suspected terrorists and Taliban mooks into their country's borders from neighboring Afghanistan. This is complete bullshit, according to virtually everybody.
The bald-faced lie follows a December 29 incident when a lousy terrorist shot an American soldier near the Pakistani-Afghanani border. We dropped bombs on the suspected asshole and the big Pakistan babies whined that one of them fell in their country. Like they could even t...
he retarded government of Pakistan revealed their true terrorist-loving colors Saturday when they Indian-gave permission to the United States to chase terrorists within their borders.
Information Minister Sheikh Rashid "Queerbait" Ahmed lied through his crooked teeth and told reporters that Pakistan never gave the U.S. consent to pursue suspected terrorists and Taliban mooks into their country's borders from neighboring Afghanistan. This is complete bullshit, according to virtually everybody.
The bald-faced lie follows a December 29 incident when a lousy terrorist shot an American soldier near the Pakistani-Afghanani border. We dropped bombs on the suspected asshole and the big Pakistan babies whined that one of them fell in their country. Like they could even tell one bomb apart from the thousands of home-made ones just lying about.
The policy of "hot pursuit" has been in place since March of 2002, when the United States government issued the order that terrorists could be chased across the Pakistani-Afghanattistani border if a reasonable suspicion existed. According to the Pentagon, the hot pursuit policy was agreed on by Pakistan and the United States.
The policy was hotly disputed by dumbass Pakistani muslims, who hate us and everything we do no matter what, and now the government has stated that it never approved the U.S. policy of hot pursuit. What dicks, according to inside sources.
Hot pursuit is an extremely important policy to the stabilization of Afghanistan, the elimination of terrorists within the borders of ally countries, and the War on Terror, according to Pentagon strategist General Wembley Admission.
"It is imperative that our boys have the complete and unquestioning support of Pakistan and its military," stated Admission. "No country benefits from the continued presence of terrorists. Pakistan would be doing a service to its people and itself by allowing our soldiers access to their country in pursuits. But don't take my word for it… ask my friend here."
Admission then slowly, inspiringly looked over his shoulder to a large waving flag hanging outside his window. There was not a dry eye in the room, sources said.
"Hot pursuit" expert Roscoe P. Coltrane of Hazzard Country could not be reached for a quote, but has been quoted elsewhere in reference to the policy, saying, "Coo' coo'! Hot pursuit! Let's go, Flash!"
When prank-called for a response, the Pakistani Ministry of Information repeatedly asked who we were and who we worked for. The name "Heywood Jablomie" was not accepted and the giggling gave us away before we could reach anyone for a quote. the commune news has been known to pursue suspected enemies into the offices of downstairs neighbor Crochet! magazine in pursuant with our "Screw Crochet! magazine" policy. Foreign correspondent Ivan Nacutchacokov wired us this story from Pakistan, but fiercely patriotic Ted Ted thought it needed "more punch."
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 August 19, 2002
Snuffles, Wonder DogThe call to alert had come! Or perhaps it was a call to alarm, there's a tricky subtle difference between the two that's always been tough to nail down. But whichever it was, the phone was ringing! Snuffles sprang into an action pose with his patented super-sound: "SPRAAANG!" This could only mean one thing: Snuffles' super-hero compatriots, Trophy Wife and Token Gay Friend, had been taken hostage by Dr. Crossbaum and were being held captive in his secret industrial park lair! Oh no! With several other patented super-sounds, including "BRONK!" "FDDDDT" and "Pbbbbbb…" Snuffles shot across the floor like a runaway meatball. With unprecedented smork, Snuffles leapt into the air, pausing briefly to explain that "smork" is a measure of canine superpower on a scale of one to twelve, and shot like a pot-bellied rocket toward an open window.
With paws feverishly skittling at the wallpaper, Snuffles impacted the wall two feet below the window and slumped down to the baseboards, landing in an upside-down canine super-heap. "Interesting," thought the Wonder Dog. "Looks like Dr. Crossbaum has raised the windows once again!" With that sly remark, Sunuffles scratched behind his ear for a few minutes before falling asleep in a sunbeam.
Snuffles awoke with a start, his super-ears already working double-time even though they were only being paid for time and a half. There! In the distance! The neighbor… mowing his lawn! This could only mean that Snuffles'...
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The call to alert had come! Or perhaps it was a call to alarm, there's a tricky subtle difference between the two that's always been tough to nail down. But whichever it was, the phone was ringing! Snuffles sprang into an action pose with his patented super-sound: "SPRAAANG!" This could only mean one thing: Snuffles' super-hero compatriots, Trophy Wife and Token Gay Friend, had been taken hostage by Dr. Crossbaum and were being held captive in his secret industrial park lair! Oh no! With several other patented super-sounds, including "BRONK!" "FDDDDT" and "Pbbbbbb…" Snuffles shot across the floor like a runaway meatball. With unprecedented smork, Snuffles leapt into the air, pausing briefly to explain that "smork" is a measure of canine superpower on a scale of one to twelve, and shot like a pot-bellied rocket toward an open window.
With paws feverishly skittling at the wallpaper, Snuffles impacted the wall two feet below the window and slumped down to the baseboards, landing in an upside-down canine super-heap. "Interesting," thought the Wonder Dog. "Looks like Dr. Crossbaum has raised the windows once again!" With that sly remark, Sunuffles scratched behind his ear for a few minutes before falling asleep in a sunbeam.
Snuffles awoke with a start, his super-ears already working double-time even though they were only being paid for time and a half. There! In the distance! The neighbor… mowing his lawn! This could only mean that Snuffles' super-compatriots were still in ever more perilous peril! Snuffles hurried over near the closet to find a super box he could pull over and stand on to see out the window. He then quickly became preoccupied with sniffing under the closet door and a new mission arose: There's beef jerky in this closet!
Sniffles pawed at the bottom of the closet door and barked in a manner signifying that he did, indeed, mean business. Few present doubted him, especially not a pill bug hiding in a crack between the floorboards. Pawing to no avail, Snuffles cursed the diabolical contraption. Could it be Trophy Wife and Token Gay Friend trapped inside? Bound and gagged silent, with the package of beef jerky tucked into Token Gay Friend's Jansport backpack as their only means of sending a distress signal? It was looking increasing more likely as the only plausible explanation.
For a time, Snuffles considered fashioning a crude lock-picking device out of a chicken bone and a shoe string, as he had in Snuffles Gets Spayed and Wonder Dog Gone Missing. Snuffles chewed on an old tennis shoe distractedly for several minutes while weighing his options, then it hit him like a bolt out of a licked electrical outlet. It was so obvious, and he'd almost fallen for it! Clearly, the jerky was a trap set by Dr. Crossbaum and his minions: the ear-pulling baby or the nameless man who's breath always smelled of Ding Dongs. Clever, Dr. Crossbaum, but not clever enough! Snuffles smiled a satisfied dog smile as he humped a discarded high-heel shoe. Snuffles, Wonder Dog: 37. Dr. Eli Crossbaum, VMD: 0. º Last Column: The Story of the Unidsº more columns
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|  May 3, 2004
New Mexico SucksI'm not kidding, what a shithole. You think they'd post a sign at the state line or something, letting everybody know they're wasting their time even coming inside. I should be able to sue New Mexico for false advertising since they call it a state and from my experience in other states I didn't expect it to suck so bad. Granted, there are enough people in New Mexico that this could get real expensive real fast, which is a problem the guys in line behind me will have to deal with.
And I think they're even doing it on purpose, trying to fake people out that New Mexico's a fun place to be. In Albuquerque (known to the locals as "Albu-crack") there's a cartoon mascot called the Albuquerque Turkey on all the signs, smiling and pointing the way to helpful destinations like the methadone clinic. And I shit you not, most of these metal signs have bite-marks in them next to the bullet holes, like some cartoon-hungry asshole thought the Turkey looked delicious way up there on his perch.
My first day in Albuquerque I got hit by a drunk driver, while I was eating at an Arby's. He came out of nowhere, and that fucker ate my sandwich. The only thing I can hope is that some of the abundant broken glass in the dining area got mixed in with his Horsey Sauce and he spent the night shitting out ground asshole and cursing Arby's big-hatted name. Now whenever I go to Arby's I use the drive-up window and keep one foot on the gas.
It really makes you wonder,...
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I'm not kidding, what a shithole. You think they'd post a sign at the state line or something, letting everybody know they're wasting their time even coming inside. I should be able to sue New Mexico for false advertising since they call it a state and from my experience in other states I didn't expect it to suck so bad. Granted, there are enough people in New Mexico that this could get real expensive real fast, which is a problem the guys in line behind me will have to deal with.
And I think they're even doing it on purpose, trying to fake people out that New Mexico's a fun place to be. In Albuquerque (known to the locals as "Albu-crack") there's a cartoon mascot called the Albuquerque Turkey on all the signs, smiling and pointing the way to helpful destinations like the methadone clinic. And I shit you not, most of these metal signs have bite-marks in them next to the bullet holes, like some cartoon-hungry asshole thought the Turkey looked delicious way up there on his perch.
My first day in Albuquerque I got hit by a drunk driver, while I was eating at an Arby's. He came out of nowhere, and that fucker ate my sandwich. The only thing I can hope is that some of the abundant broken glass in the dining area got mixed in with his Horsey Sauce and he spent the night shitting out ground asshole and cursing Arby's big-hatted name. Now whenever I go to Arby's I use the drive-up window and keep one foot on the gas.
It really makes you wonder, though, who the hell is this Arby guy? What a freaky name. And I bet he drove his wife crazy, talking about roast beef all the time. "Jesus, Arby, try some pasta for once. And no, I don't think it's legal to make a breakfast cereal out of beef ends." I'm not sure what happens when you don't vary your diet at all, but I imagine the guy crapped like one of those Play-Doh Silly Factory things.
That's a talent you don't hear much about. Every cool bastard in the movies can blow a smoke ring, but what about the guy who can clench his anus and lay out a star-shaped log? That's the dude I don't want to piss off. Not that it's a dangerous talent really, but I don't want anybody with that kind of spare time daydreaming of ways to jack me up.
I used to love daydreaming myself, until somebody told me it doesn't count if you're asleep at the time. Screw that, I can think of a lot better things to do in my office chair than staying awake. And besides, I don't know what kind of voodoo shit you have to pull off to be dreaming and awake at the same time, I'll leave that to the insane and all those lazy shaman pricks out there. Granted, it probably helps pass the time when you're stuck some place boring, but the last thing I need is to scream out "Elephants!" and piss myself right in the middle of jury duty.
That reminds me, those jury duty guys probably think I'm still on "smoke break," the gullible bastards. I'm thinking of ducking back in there in a week or two before they catch on, you know, make an appearance for a few minutes and then pause the trial so I can go "take a piss" for the rest of the month. It's a lot like high school, only the judge is real slow on the uptake with the practical jokes. I swear that guy's drank Secretariat in glue form via his coffee by now, it's amazing. º Last Column: A Brief Surveyº more columns
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Quote of the Day“To dream the impossible dream… to really step on my own bottom lip while being smacked on the ass by Gary Busey riding a unicycle. Yes, this is quite impossible.”
-Don Key HoytFortune 500 CookieRead a book today: It's like bran for your head. Hate music? Buy J-Lo's new album and really feed that feeling. You'll finally get over that hump this Wednesday; that dog's never coming back to you anyway. You finally get your proof you're an American institution when six inmates escape from your ass. Lucky numbers are all square roots of –1.
Try again later.Least Effective SARS Protective Efforts| 1. | Stop breathing | | 2. | Fire handgun blindly at coughs | | 3. | Smoking deceased SARS victims | | 4. | Wave hand, say "Don't go in Toronto! Whew!" | | 5. | Drinking imported Hong Kong bathwater | |
|   North Korea Pissed Their Real-Life Hunger Games Nowhere Near as Popular as Movie BY Wyatt Chomski 10/14/2002 The Lover of BonerbrookeThe sun was smoldering a warm blood red, but with more orange, near the horizon as Chaska bent delicately over the basin and cut loose a powerful stream of half-digested salmon. A bit of salmon, anyway, a bite, which had served as the fishy icing on top of a gargantuan feast of cupcakes, pies, pure Bolivian chocolate, ice cream, strawberries, pastries, raw cookie dough, pickles, glazed ham, Valentine's Day truffles, flapjacks, pork roast, gingerbread, aerosol whipped topping, potatoes in cheese sauce, beef tips, Twinkie filling and a tall glass of gravy, all of which Chaska had stuffed down her delicately sculpted throat and crammed into her petite, dainty stomach in the last three quarters of an hour.
As Chaska tended to her ravishing figure, the setting sun nuzzled up...
The sun was smoldering a warm blood red, but with more orange, near the horizon as Chaska bent delicately over the basin and cut loose a powerful stream of half-digested salmon. A bit of salmon, anyway, a bite, which had served as the fishy icing on top of a gargantuan feast of cupcakes, pies, pure Bolivian chocolate, ice cream, strawberries, pastries, raw cookie dough, pickles, glazed ham, Valentine's Day truffles, flapjacks, pork roast, gingerbread, aerosol whipped topping, potatoes in cheese sauce, beef tips, Twinkie filling and a tall glass of gravy, all of which Chaska had stuffed down her delicately sculpted throat and crammed into her petite, dainty stomach in the last three quarters of an hour.
As Chaska tended to her ravishing figure, the setting sun nuzzled up against the horizon, burning a deeper red, darker and darker, seeming to pulse as it sought refuge from the barren sky in one blissful, sinful, erotically inevitable plunge below. Finally, with a sigh whispered on the breeze, the earth surrendered and allowed the sun to penetrate its horizon, thrusting its fiery, molten love into the earth's ample back hills.
Wiping an errant fleck of ham skin from her bottom lip, Chaska lathered her porcelain hands and splashed the bracingly cold water on her taut, naked body. Running her hands over her impossibly sensuous figure, both elegant and voluptuous, yet surprisingly athletic all at once, she gazed longingly into the mirror, awaiting her lover's touch like a Saint Bernard waiting for a rawhide bone to come out of the pet store bag.
Alas, it was a touch that could never come, since Lance had perished all those long months ago, defending her honor against a street vendor who had insisted on exact change. Still in mourning, Chaska pulled on the lacey, semi-transparent panties she had worn throughout her bereavement and marveled one last time at her awe-inspiring body, which she'd always enjoyed without ever working out but had never let go to her head. She slipped into a slinky, backless evening gown that she liked to wear when she was lamenting a lost love, for the comforting way it hugged her curves and cradled her breasts like a sterling serving platter, as she prepared for another night of remembering Lance.
Just then, there was a noise at the door, and Chaska twirled around to discover Bane Ratham, the white-hot multimillionaire hunk that everyone knew really ran things behind the scenes in Bonerbrooke, standing in the open doorway. His shirt torn in an erotic fashion and his taut, beefy man-tits heaving, it was obvious he had run straight from town on foot, possibly not stopping to open Chaska's front gate.
"Chaska," Bane panted, out of breath in a manly, erotic fashion, not like a wheezing asthmatic. "It struck me while I was out working up a manly sweat, mentoring orphaned Chinese boys, that I couldn't bear to live another second of my life without you. I came here as fast as I could. Sorry about your gate."
Chaska melted inside and instantly swooned from the overwhelming eroticness of it all, but instead of falling, she found herself cradled in Bane's bulging arms, like a pair of boobs in an evening gown. "Quench my burning fire, Chaska," Bane pleaded, his smoky gray eyes fixed on Chaska's soul like snipers of love. Chaska nodded a dazed nod and reached for her diaphragm before Bane gently stopped her hand.
"But first, I want you to marry me," Bane whispered, gesturing to a shirtless, rock-hard, desperately hot priest standing in the doorway, his white collar cutting repressively into his bulging, well-tanned neck. "This is my brother Dave, he's a priest."
Chaska drank in the priest with a long, taboo gaze. She glanced back up into Bane's smoldering eyes and smiled.
"Hello Dave," Chaska cooed, with a twinkle in her eye.   |
