These are all our thoughts in word form. Not to be confused with our thoughts in worm form. Those look like this.

Friday, July 1, 2011

Webb Hayes (And Why You Shouldn't Call Him "Webb Gayes") by CK Bond

As I've mentioned before, presidential children can be badasses. In an effort to gain the favor of the Obama children, I'm continuing my series, Hey Look! It's the Children of Presidents Doing Awesome Things! Also Malia, You Should Totally Invite Me to Your Birthday Party!, with it's second installment: Webb Hayes.

Webb Hayes was the son of U.S. President and middle initial enthusiast Rutherford B. Hayes. But being the child of a President wasn’t all befriending turkeys and trying to find love, Hayes had to deal with the boring stuff too. Like being the official escort for all the single ladies at White House parties. Wait did I say “boring”? I meant “bonerific”. Webb Hayes was like the JFK Jr. of his time (seriously, click on that link). Remember that episode of Hey Arnold! where Hey has to balance two dates with Helga and that French girl on the same night? That was based on every day of Webb Hayes’ life. Of course, without the risk of getting caught in his own web of lies.

Hold on while I wash off the shame of that pun.

Well what happened if a problem arose at one of these parties? Good question with an even better answer; Hayes was ready to shoot that problem in the fucking face. Webb carried a gun at all times and acted as his father’s personal bodyguard. To highlight the badassery of this, that was 20 years before the Secret Service had the balls to do the same thing and only 12 years after Lincoln was shot and, hold on a second while I look this up, oh that’s right killed.

I still haven’t even gotten to Hayes' most badass act yet. Hayes was a veteran of the Spanish-American War and Teddy Roosevelt’s “charge” on San Juan Hill. I put “charge” in quotation marks because it was less of a “charge,” and more of a “run on foot up a very steep hill while trained men shot bullets at his chest and/or genitals.” To put that into perspective, I were impressed by the word "run". And I'm still not at the badass part yet. A day after the charge, Hayes was flown to the Philippines to help the war effort there. However, just being in a war zone wasn’t dangerous enough for Hayes so he snuck out of camp in the middle of the night to rescue POWs from the awesomely nicknamed “Snake Island” (which falls just behind “Pen Island” on a list of clearly fake sounding island names). Hayes (suicide) mission was a success and for his effort he was officially awarded the Medal of Honor

Unofficially, he was awarded the title of “Snake Eater"

Thursday, June 30, 2011

I Hate People by Dillon Minton

My life flashes before my eyes and I see that I will be pretty sexy later in life. 

Then I get thrown back into reality. The following conversation commences:

Me: Really? You just ran the red you cunt.

Crazy: NO! You run red!

Me: What? Your light is still red.

Crazy: No! Light is green!

Me: What? Oh god, just pull over to the shoulder. You are halfway in the right lane.

Crazy: I am pulled over.

Me: Are you kidding me? I’m going to call the police, I can’t deal with your shit.

I then call the police.

Crazy: “Call the police!”

Me: “Are you deaf? I just did.”

Crazy: “You hit me.”

Me: “Goddammit! No, ma’am, I did not hit you because I had a green left arrow and you had a red light. I’m not talking to you anymore.”

Crazy: “You call the police? You hit me, you’re going to pay.”

Me: *Thinking* Why? Just why god?

After an extra stop and the Dunkin Donuts the police finally show up.

Officer: What happened?

Me: *Explains what happened*

Officer: We can’t help you. The cars aren’t how they were when they collided.

Me: Really? You know all the signs you have out saying to pull over if you get into an accident?

Officer: Sorry, we can’t help. Fill out these forms and swap them and go on your way.

*In the middle of filling out this form*

Officer: Your VA inspection sticker is expired.

Me: Yes, I know. But the car is registered in IL, so it doesn’t need a VA sticker.

Officer: It doesn’t matter, it needs one.

Me: *Thinking* Goddammit, two of them?

*Fast forward to us about to leave after we swapped info and the cops threw poop at each other*

Crazy: This your name?

Me: *Looks at the space for NAME* Yeah....

Crazy: You hit my car!

Me: Seriously, no. Officer can I go?

Officer: *Stops throwing poo for a second* Did you swap info and everything?

Me: Yes ma’am.

Officer: Go on your way then.


Get off clean and the only thing missing is a few IQ points.

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Art 3: Electric Beegalee by Alexander Pragmar Dorney

Reward Yourself, with the pleasure of smooth smoking

The Whole World is Radioactive 

The Machine