Mitt let the heavy oak door close behind him, exhausted after a long day of private jets, rehearsed speech, and routine dishonesty. He had been building a public persona for years now and was just a few short months from reaping the rewards of his effort, but found that he had increasing appreciation for the few days every month that he was able to get back home to one of his beloved estates. The house smelled of pristine pinewood and sterile leather, clear hallmarks of Consuela's labor. Mitt smiled naturally for the first time in months at the thought of his mexican housekeeper working frantically in anticipation of his judging inspection of the property.

 As he poured himself a stiff glass of milk to wind down after the long campaign trail week a buzzing alerted him to a notice on his blackberry. Drinking deeply as he read the calendar event his smile stretched across his face once again as he realized that tonight was the first of a pre-arranged six agreed upon romantic encounters with Ann that they mutually scheduled during a husband/wife mediation session just two months ago. It excited him to know that somewhere in the house Ann laid in wait, fully clothed and eager to put her womanly commitment behind her.

 Mitt took off two of his jackets and cast them to the floor, knowing full well that Consuela would have them cleaned and pressed within the hour, and draped his final jacket over his forearm as he marched down several hallways to the heart of the compound. As he opened the large double doors to the master suite he was greeted by the image of his post-menopausal conquest, sitting at the opposite edge of a double-king sized bed, staring longingly out a locked reinforced glass window. She looked like an angel clad only in her delicate full-body holy undergarments.

 "Let's get this over with" She said without turning to meet his gaze "we have a lot of praying to do after, and I'm exhausted." She always knew what to say to get him nearly erect.

 He made a show of disrobing for her, and knew she appreciated the effort despite her refusal to look at him. The ritual was a formality now that she was unable to bear children, and her unwillingness to give herself over for unproductive pleasure only made the act more hot for Mitt. Getting what he wanted from a reluctant party was how he made his living, and now it was how he made his loving, too. Now down to nothing but his cotton vestments and socks, he crawled over the vast real estate of the bed as Ann rolled onto her back with legs spread wide, pulling apart the flap of cotton at her groin and exposing the pale dryness beneath. Mitt took a moment to gaze at the rare glimpse of unshaven hair that formed a halo around his target like the medieval-era haircut of a friar, and met her eyes as he pulled a partially turgid member from inside his magical underpants.

 He took his place at her ankles, kneeling with four inches of hot flesh in his hands, and used his index finger as a splint to wedge his penis in her warmth. Her disinterested grunt rang notice of his success as he fell upon her, thrusting an arrhythmic dance atop her motionless body.

 He went on for literally minutes, unsuccessfully convincing her to shift her backside to the left until a bead of sweat formed at his brow. In a moment of sheer panic at the thought of ruining his finely-sculpted hair he uttered a few passionate but quiet howls, determined to convince her that he managed to copulate with her to fruitful conclusion for the first time in many years before slumping over her and kissing at her neck until she pulled back in disgust. His now limp penis has pressed against the cotton-covered surface of her thigh, having been unknowingly dislodged at some point during the act. Mitt silently folded it back into his underwear and proceeded to the vast marble sanctuary of the restroom to wash the shame from his loins, leaving Ann to commence her repentant prayer alone.

When he returned he nodded his approval at her cooperation in the act, then retired to his own room triumphantly, encouraged by the thought of his next opportunity to attempt the act next month. One day, when he was president, she would relent and allow him to try it the

forbidden

way. Indeed, the first night they shared a bed in the White House he would get what he always wanted. Ann would be on top.

The End.

OOOOOH!  We gonna have a tickle fight, we gonna have a tickle fight!!  I can't wait to grind my naughty little fingers into your soft bits and undercarriage.  I am so gonna tickle the fuck out of you!  Oh, you think this is gonna be some silly, easy going tickle fight?  Well guess again asshole, this is a tickle fight.... TO THE DEATH!

It's just like the nursery rhyme my grandmother used to tell me....

Old Sally Glot liked to tickle a lot, and no one could stop her murders

She tickles, you laugh.  she tickles, you cry

She'll tickle your body far and wide

She'll tickle your rump and she'll tickle your groin

She'll tickle your soft bits like sweet pork loin

She tickles you scream, she tickle you whine

she tickles you pee, she tickles you die.

Lots of different stuff happens after peeing and before dying though.  It's not like you wet yourself with ticklish glee and keel over from the effort.  No no no.  Many other things are voided after your bladder.  Let's see... First it's the pee.  Then it's the vomit.  Then it's the poo, lot's of poo, full internal release... It looks like your intestines shed it's skin and filled it with pudding... so much pudding.  Eventually there is blood coming out of everywhere, then it's the hemorrhaging death.  Tickling is some tough shit and I am going to tickle you.  I am going to tickle the fuck out of you.

Last year I was in Boise, I was hanging out in the Ace Hardware when this young punk comes in. The little fucker calls me out in front of everybody at the Ace.  He said "I hear you think you know how to tickle old man, you don't look like hot tickle-shit to me!"  I told the boy to stand down, that he did not want a piece of this old tickle machine.  But youth and stupidity got in the way.  "Fuck you grandpa!" shouted the little fucker "Draw them ticklers, bitch!" 

Once the tickle starts, it can't be stopped.  The Ace knew what the fuck was up immediately.  Shelves were moved and a large circle was cleared for the battle.  Word quickly spread and soon the Ace and surrounding parking lot were full of thousands of people.  The cops showed up and helped with crowd control, they knew the fight must go on!

The kid had raw, unrefined talent and youth on his side.  But tickling is won through experience.  My fingers are dry and brittle.  My calluses could cut cheese, but my touch...... Gentle as lamb's milk.  The kid was grinding his fingers into my armpits and groin, but he wasn't tickling,  he didn't know what tickling was. 

I let him think he was doing well, but then I laughed.  Not the tortured laugh of the tickled, no!  The laugh of utter mockery.  I began to tickle back.  The punk crumpled to the ground unable to tickle in return, his laughter crippling.  The crowd began chanting.  "FINISH HIM! FINISH HIM!"

I could see only red, the floor pooling with more and more bodily fluids.  I could sense Death leaning over my shoulder watching me tickling the last gasps of breath from this young man's lungs.  But then I noticed in the crowd.  One face not full of blood-lust.  One woman's face in the crowd, streaming with tears.  Through my blood filled eyes (not my blood)  I could see her cry out "NOT MY SON!  PLEASE NOT MY SON!!". 

It was then that I realized that this boy had learned his lesson.  Much to the dismay of the crowd, I could not kill him, not in front of his crying mother.  He was lucky.  You my friend are not so lucky.  I don't see your mother anywhere.  DRAW THEM TICKLERS BITCH!!

I will tickle you... I will tickle the fuck out of you.

Another Enemy Bested

Today we at the Patriotic Historical Revisionist Society of America recognize Memorial day, a worldwide celebration of American courage and pride in our many successful efforts during wartime, and to remind us of the sacrifice made by the finest soldiers the world has ever had the pleasure of hosting. America has long taken the international community as our subordinates and proudly bore arms to protect them against the evil forces that would do them harm, often at the cost of life, indeed the most valuable type of life: American life. So to pay our tribute to the fallen we present to our dear readership the often forgotten tale of the role of America in the death of Joseph Stalin.

Many are now aware of the once unknown story of how American forces infiltrated Paris during the Nazi occupation and completed a bold assassination plot against Adolf Hitler, as was so beautifully recounted in the documentary film

Inglorious Basterds

by Quentin Tarantino, but few know the story of the final days of the brutal dictator Joseph Stalin. For those unfamiliar with world history, Stalin was an atheist, communist dictator of the Soviet Union during the second World War. While he held a non-aggression pact with Hitler's Germany in 1939, Hitler broke their agreement when he boldly initiated an invasion of Soviet territories with Operation Barbossa on June 22, 1941. The move proved to be foolish as German Wehrmacht forces were defeated for the first time after coming within 20 miles of the Kremlin in Moscow, and resources were badly depleted for the German army in the costliest engagement of WWII in terms of loss of human life.

Joseph Stalin was a brutal dictator, and was responsible for between 3 and 60 million deaths during his rule, not to mention the rape of hundreds of thousands of German women after the Soviets took Berlin at the end of the war. In post war negotiations Stalin quickly became at odds with western forces as he tried in vain to assert Soviet influence to gain territories beyond the Western Poland that was gained through agreements with Hitler. Once Stalin had begun supporting North Korean aggression in the Korean War, it was clear that his terrible reign must end.

President Truman took office in January of 1953, and worked closely with exiting President Roosevelt to complete Operation Christian Crusader that was well underway in FDR's administration. The focus was to send a common schoolchild into the belly of the Soviet beast to assassinate Joseph Stalin who had outlived his usefulness to become a nuisance to the West. The brave boy selected was Billy Nelnick, aged 12, a student at St. Jude's Catholic School in Charleston, South Carolina. He was immediately drafted as a special operative in the United States Army and granted the lowly rank of Private on January 5th, 1953.

After only a month and a half of training the young boy was sent to infiltrate the Iron Curtain and make a bold play for the death of Stalin himself. After gaining access to Stalin's Kuntsevo residence just west of Moscow, the boy was able to apply a fatal amount of the rat poison warfarin to Stalin's personal bedside tobacco pipe. Upon returning to his home on the evening of March 1, 1953, Stalin ingested the poison and was found on the floor of his bedroom the following day, diagnosed with a cerebral hemorrhage (an effect of the poison), of which he died four days later.

Upon his heroic escape Private Nelnick was immediately promoted to the rank of Sergeant, and was able to advance his way to the prestigious rank of Four Star General before being tragically taken down by a sniper's bullet in Cambodia while undertaking Operation Linebacker during the Vietnam war in 1972. He died while engaged in frontline combat, despite military objections that he was far too valuable personnel to be entrenched in ground conflicts. His courageous actions were proof to the entire world that a seemingly harmless American child was indeed possessed with greater valor and cunning than the entire Soviet Union, and had the effect of creating an international environment of American admiration that lasts to this day.

So let his sacrifice be an example, indeed one of many, of the American exceptionalism that has become the international hallmark our great country is now known by. And let us never forget that the prosperity of the western world owes it's debt to our grandeur.

In an effort to further my obsession with all things depraved I have been trying to see the most foul and disturbing films of all time. Tonight I review the 1987 West German cult classic, Nekromatik. This is another flick that was considered distasteful enough to warrant being banned in several countries due to it's depiction of graphic violence and necrophilia.

The plot centers on a young man named Rob who works in Germany for a company called Joe's Cleaning, which specializes in the removal of bodies from horrible accidents. He lives in a small apartment with his girlfriend Betty, who shares in his horribly violent fantasies. We are introduced to Rob when his team arrives in a van to clean up a car wreck, and they pick up the various pieces of corpses and place them into bags. After a long day's work Rob returns home with a few keepsakes to add to a collection of body parts in jars, and carefully deposits an eye and heart into their own receptacles. We then see his girlfriend Betty, who is currently bathing in a tub of human blood.

Rob daydreams about a rabbit being slaughtered, which is shown on screen (with a live rabbit, I guess to maintain artistic integrity) and likens it to a human autopsy. But he is about to take his fantasies further when a new opportunity arises. A man is accidentally shot by a neighbor and the body is dumped in a pond, decaying badly before the cleanup crew is called. Rob decides to steal the corpse instead of disposing of it, and returns home to present the prize to his girlfriend. She is clearly pleased and immediately explores the corpse's junk, which must not be up to par since she channels her inner MacGuyver and fashions a dong out of a condom covered pipe that she embeds in it's decaying groin. But don't get the wrong idea, this is all very tastefully filmed, particularly the part where she licks it's hanging eyeball while Rob makes out with it. The whole thing is hilariously paired with a romantic piano sonata, making it the classiest necrophilic three-way I have ever seen.

While Rob works all day Betty begins forming a deeper relationship with the body, laying in bed and fornicating with it, even reading romance novels to it. But after Rob is unceremoniously fired for leaving his bloody clothes in a locker to fester, Betty is visibly upset and takes the first opportunity of Rob's absence to steal the corpse and leave him. Rob takes the most logical course of action, which is to put their beloved house cat in a plastic bag and beat it to death. He then bathes with the cat's blood and entrails. Thankfully the slaughter of the cat is clearly fake, unlike the slaughter of the rabbit seen earlier.

In an attempt to forget about his woes Rob goes to see a horror film, but ends up leaving the theater unsatisfied with the movie as his tastes have clearly progressed beyond what the rest of the world considers "shocking". He goes home and attempts to kill himself with an overdose of pills and booze, but is ultimately unsuccessful but has a graphic dream of being undead and having a woman present him with a decomposing human head... cue the romantic piano as the two gleefully toss the head back and forth and prance through a field.

When he awakens to find he has failed in his suicide attempt, Rob travels to a seedy part of town to procure a prostitute, who he takes to a stereotypically foggy cemetery to strangle and then posthumously rape after he has trouble getting an erection. He falls asleep until awakened in the morning by an elderly gravedigger, whom Rob attacks and decapitates with his own shovel.

Faced with this irreconcilable chain of events, Rob decides to attempt suicide again with strengthened resolve, and repeatedly stabs himself in the stomach while an obviously fake penis fires a comical amount of semen and blood into the air. All this while the cheesy piano plays in the background, and cut scenes of the rabbit being slaughtered are shown in reverse, making a funny attempt to add an artistic edge signifying that Rob's death is, in reality, his birth. The final scene shows Rob's grave, and the film ends with a woman thrusting a shovel into the earth to dig him up. Although you only see her feet, one can only assume it is Betty coming to claim her former lover.

I must say that I liked this film despite it's sub-par effects and hilarious pairing of piano with scenes of violence. And although the theme of necrophilia is certainly disturbing, and I have a serious distaste for any depiction of animal abuse, there is something charming about the character of Rob who is far from an all powerful killer with no conscience. Indeed he is a rather pathetic miscreant who is at the mercy of his demented mind, and has no one to share his life with once Betty rejects him in favor of a dead guy with a steel pipe makeshift wiener. Check it out if you are the type of person who can get a chuckle out of cheesy horror films from the vintage era of the mid '70's to the mid '80's.

Romey Sanchez

Welcome to The Buttered Pickle.  My name is Romey and I will be your waiter this evening.  Can I start you off with a drink?  Perhaps our house special drink?  It is a pickle jar full of a mixture of 3 of your favorite liquors.  My favorite is Gin, Creme de menthe and tequila.  We call it the Snowy Pickle.

An Iced Tea?  Well ok, but I have to warn you.  Our iced tea is like, super salty.  You still want it?  Ok, with or without the pickle garnish?  ..... Well yes, most people love a good pickle in their tea.

Our special today is boiled eggs served on a bed of fresh turnip greens with your choice of pickle.  We also have a great appetizer, it is a bowl of ranch dressing top off with melted cheese with a side of dippin' pickles.

I will give you a minute with the menu and I will be right back with your complimentary basket of saltines and the finger bowl of melted butter.

......

Here is your iced tea, extra salty.  Do you need more time or have any questions?  No?  Great.  .  What can I get for you for dinner?  Hmmm?  Oh, the pickle stuffed peppers are to die for.  We take fresh green peppers and fill them with diced pickle.  Then we put it in the freezer until frozen.  The freezing really makes that pepper taste like pickle, it is flavulous.  If you think that sounds good, why not try the brined oats?  We brine oats for seven weeks and mix it with pickle tips and butter.  It is like licking God's pickled penis. 

If you are still undecided, I also recommend The Catcher's Mitt.  It is five pickles stuffed inside a pork shoulder and boiled until lightly rubbery.  It is served family style with our fresh sliced pickle cheese. 

There is also Davy Jone's Locker.  We take a full pickle jar and dump out the juice.  We then replace the juice with country gravy and bake the jar until firm.  There is nothing more delicious that pulling out those creamy, steamy pickles.

Do we have steak?  Well,... we have pickle steak.  It is flattened pickles rolled in ground beef and sauteed in our sweet beer, pickle butter.  We then top it with honey mustard and a boiled egg.  Sold!  I will put in this order and I will check on those Saltines.  They should be done soaking in pickle juice by now.

-

Every once in a while a crazy concept makes it past the the research and development team at children's toy companies. While the resulting products are often hilarious, the consequences can be quite severe to the industry. Here are a few of the more insane examples from recent years.

Precious Pilot Poolside Slingshot

Do you have a significantly smaller or younger sibling? Does your family have a home pool with an easily scaled security fence? If you answered yes then you have everything necessary to play the coolest home game since lawn darts! The Precious Pilot Poolside Slingshot comes already assembled and ready for home flight experimentation. Just seat your younger sibling in the leather launching strip, pull back, aim, and fire away! The water makes their landing safe and fun, no matter how hard you launch them. How far can YOU fire? Find out today!

Junior's Budget Chemistry Set

Studies show that the earlier you expose your child to science the more likely they will form a lasting passion for education. But how do you foster a love for discovery on the budget of a fledgeling new family? Buy Junior's Budget Chemistry Set and turn the cabinet under the sink into a makeshift laboratory and set them loose! They will learn valuable lessons about mixing ammonia and bleach, and explore the core properties of chemicals such as scent, texture, and flavor! Just remember to keep junior in an enclosed space while playing, since nobody wants the fumes to fill the whole house.

Lil' Refugee Landmine Discovery Kit

Finally, a product that makes the most terrifying part of living in a third-world country fun again! Just head into the "forbidden" parts of the jungle/desert on the outskirts of your village wearing the Lil' Refugee blindfold and walking stick, and try to make it to the other side. But always remember... No Peeking! And as a bonus you can turn in your proof of purchase for a 20% discount on our full line of Lil' Refugee prosthetic limbs! So make your village safer and your children shorter by grabbing this product today!

Welcome one and all to Haiku Time.  I am sure you are all familiar with Haiku, the Japanese form of poetry.  I thought I would take a stab at writing a few.

 

Tiny tasty thing

Into my mouth you shall go

Screaming won't help you.

Eggplants are purple

They are thick, firm and swollen

Just like my penis

Free Diarrhea

You mean I don't have to pay?

Toss that slop my way

My old Slip and Slide

Is not very much fun since

Grandma died on it

Long live Sir Chapsworth

His gibberish never gets old

All gay references

Hamtackle dear friend

Loves real life gore and horror

He has skinned a man

I could sit on it

or it could sit inside me

More the merrier

Punch bowl full of soup

Sardines on saltines with cheese

Fire this caterer

Vienna Sausage

You taste like what you consist of

Simply Delicious

I once killed a man

Sometimes men need to be killed

Mostly women though

This racist poem

Is a very hurtful thing

But dagos can't read

Can you eat it all?

If you do you get money

It's prostitution

Fingers down my throat

The food flies from my stomach

Onto your tummy

Haikus are simple

5 7 5 syllables

See, that was easy

One of the most successful musical traditions of the 20th century was found beaten and drowned in a shallow bathtub at a Tulsa, OK truckstop motel, sources say. This news comes after several tragic blows to the disco community in the last few weeks, culminating in the deaths of genre giants Donna Summer and Robin Gibbs, both of cancer. Many had tried to lay a death blow to the much hated cultural movement of the 1970's, but previous attempts had all been thwarted despite well-organized efforts by musical purists worldwide.

Sources close to disco say that it enjoyed life, even though it had long ago faded to obscurity and ridicule due to an orchestrated campaign of slander following the outing of now obviously homosexual pop powerhouses The Village People. Homophobia and racism were primary motivators to the anti-disco rhetoric that began in the 1980's, and distasteful sentiment was likely reignited by the recent accusations of gay solicitation by former disco icon John Travolta, who is currently being sued for attempting to persuade male masseurs to perform aggressive handjobs in various hotel rooms nationwide.

Conspiracy theorists have wasted no time in theorizing dubious links between the cancer deaths of two of the genre's most notable performance icons last week, citing reports of hasty government intervention in media coverage of the deaths and federal foreclosures of the estates of both Gloria Gaynor and Herbie Mann, believed to be linked to the recent drowning death of disco in Tulsa.

Authorities point to the discovery of cocaine and alcohol at the scene of the death of disco as possible clues to the motivations for this brutal crime, possibly eluding to a crime of passion gone wrong after partying to excess over the weekend. But this theory has been met with skepticism by the musical community, who say in a recently released statement that disco "had been successful in fighting addiction to drugs and alcohol through participation and completion of several rehabilitation programs".

Disco is survived by equally-distasteful dance music genres dubstep and house, who could not be reached for comment.

Hello loyal readers!  It is time for Super Fun Game Time!!!  We have some great celebrity hide and seek images.  If you were as famous as Jesus or Hitler, sometimes you wouldn't want to be found either.  See if you can spot them!!

Click for a bigger pic!  Jesus is hiding for your sins...

Jew won't never find him.  He's being IncogNazi.

I am fat, and trying to get smaller. I suspect many of the people reading this share my love of pastry and inactivity, but I have been working on a fitness routine that is designed for someone at my level of obscene obesity. People like me can't rely on common workouts like running, push-ups, weight training, or bicycling. The simple reason is that we are unable to participate in any kind of activity that requires rigorous moving or being upright for more than ten minutes. Here are a few exercises that I have been working on!

One of the more effective techniques I have started occurs at my job. We have such a high ratio of obese employees there that they have installed an escalator to get from the parking area to the production floor, you know, so we don't have daily visits from the ambulance for heart attacks. Well I have taken the fitness approach to this aspect of my job and I now walk up the escalator. It is pretty rough, but I am usually able to make it to my desk after a quick italian shower in the restroom sink to stop the profuse sweating.  Maybe some day I will be fit enough to take the manual stairs next to the escalator.

My Gal

Another approach in my daily wife is when lovemaking with my even more obese girlfriend. In a sense, I am very lucky to have a girl that is built like waterlogged rhinoceros because she serves a dual purpose of counterbalancing my girth, and maneuvering her around the bed is great weightlifting exercise. And recently we have given up the passionless thrusting that comes with sex while laying on our sides, and we try to actually change positions. So far we are up to three position changes in a five-minute lovemaking session, but if we get too enthusiastic my left arm goes numb, so we have to be careful.

Fatguy Karate

And finally, my favorite method of exercise is martial arts. I have long been a homemade practitioner of fatguy karate, an ancient martial art that started as a stress-relief method used by sumo wrestlers in their off time between matches. This might surprise you, but I have a really mean jump kick that has come in handy on a few occasions. Once I had a group of aggressive mexicans surround me and I leapt through the air like lightning, and while they were all on the floor laughing I snuck away like a coward.

My routine is still in development, and I am pretty sure I have been losing weight (I can't weigh myself because I am unable to afford the required agricultural-grade bovine scale), and my girlfriend said I looked thinner, but that might just have been because I recently fished a sweater's worth of bellybutton lint last week. So wish me luck. I am going to need it.