Toledo Tales

A Guest Editorial by Buck Marvin, Toledo Native

Buck and Tiffany Martin: The rings come off at death

My wife Tiffany means the world to me. Before we met in college, I was lost in a sea of self-doubt and uncertainty. And over the past nine years she has given me more love, support, and companionship than any man could ask for.

But if something tragic were to ever happen to her — like a credenza plummeting from a skyscraper window or a drunk driver running her Jeep off an old wooden bridge — I’m gonna be a complete and total hound, nailing every chick who’ll let me.

I’d probably start with our babysitter, Suzzie Haskins. Suzzie’s 17, has a luscious set of jugs, and once told me she loved strawberry ice cream. If Tif ever got leukemia, and wasted away over a vast period of weeks and months, with her hair falling out and body crumbling upon itself like wet newspaper, I’d probably hit the Haskins’ house right after the funeral. Suzzie’d be there all alone, fresh out of the shower, and before you know it, she’d be covered in Breyers and bent over the upstairs handrail taking seven inches of The Buckster in her sweet virgin ass.

And then there’s Maggie, our next door neighbor who teaches kindergarten and has a boyfriend over in Iraq. If there was ever a gas leak in our house when I was away on business, and Tif slowly asphyxiated during the night, her gorgeous lips turning blue with the stain of death, I’d certainly need to stay over at Mag’s place for a few days. She’d try to console me by making pancakes, chatting idly about the weather, and then boom: we’d sixty-nine in her guest bedroom until our jaws ached from munching each other’s naughty parts.

Or my sister-in-law, Olivia. You know, I love my brother Drew, but since the car accident he's been a bit loopy, and you just know his wheelchair-bound self means that Olivia's got to be hornier than a howler monkey on Ecstasy. After Tif died from that mysterious and tragic poisoning episode, Olivia would be sitting with me on the couch after the wake, and we would have this crazy grief sex all night long, pieces of stale Cheetoes sticking to our sweaty asses as we romped in our loss.

I hope none of this stuff happens, though. Honest. Tiffany is my soul mate, my best friend, my rudder in this crazy mixed-up world. But if she ever dies on the floor of a sushi restaurant choking on puffer fish, or gets mugged, raped, and stabbed in a dank alleyway downtown, you know I’m gonna play the field, brother, and shag like a man possessed.

Labels: 69, howler monkey, puffer fish

Subcomandante Bob knows most of you are a bunch of lazy, good-for-nothing slobs who would rather get something for free than to work for it.

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Bob would sit in front of his 50" Plasma Television for about three straight weeks watching his favorite programs if he won. Of course, since Bob lives in Toledo's Cherry Street Mission homeless facility, he would have to share the 50" Plasma Television with fellow residents, many of whom have less-than-ideal personal hygiene, but he could watch American Idol on a screen so big it would be like he was sitting right next to Paula Abdul and looking right down her low-cut blouse.

By Billy Pilgrim, Toledo Tales Rogue Editor

Baxter, inconsolable after the maddening DVD incident

Toledo native Margaret Baxter has always prided herself on being able to “keep up with the grandkids.” She eats well, walks four mornings a week, and completes the Toledo Blade crossword puzzle each day to keep her mind sharp.

But last night, as her three grandchildren wistfully dozed on the couch, Baxter found herself in a moment of technological reckoning when she couldn’t figure out how to rewind a DVD of Disney’s The Little Mermaid.

“You know, I pushed every button on that machine until the cows came home,” Baxter lamented as she wiped pollen from the lenses of her bifocals. “But I wasn’t about to put that movie back in its case without rewinding it. Wouldn’t be right. So I stood for an hour until my bad knee started to go. I swear, if Tom [her deceased husband of 37 years] were still alive, by George, he would’ve had that blasted thing rewound in a jiff. The man was a saint.”

Baxter asserted that her video illiteracy was not a function of her age, but rather a result of an increasingly digitized culture that has forsaken family values and quality craftsmanship.

“Back in ‘78, I think it was ’78, Tom and I bought our first and only laserdisc player. It only had three buttons, and lasted twenty one years,” Baxter nostalgically reflected. “Had Tom not fallen on it when he had his heart attack, I’d still show the little ones The Sound of Music. It was Tom’s favorite. Sure, it spanned six discs, but all that inserting and ejecting kept us honest. Mark my words, all this Googling will be the end of us all.”

Labels: DVDs, family values, Googling

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Pumping up the volume to compensate for a tiny schlong?

(Toledo, OH) A study by University of Toledo researchers found a direct correlation between high-decibel car stereos and diminuitive sexual organs of the male drivers of said vehicles.

Sociologist Eric Gelding's research team conducted the study between 2004 and 2006.

"Almost without exception, car owners blasting their vehicular stereos at levels above 85 decibels also possessed penises under four inches in erect length," said Gelding. "And those exceeding 100 decibels at twenty yards averaged under three inches of man-meat."

Gelding theorized that, like owners of extra-long vehicles, or men who insist upon 8 cylinders, drivers with excessively loud stereos may be trying to compensate for other inadequacies.

"Let's face it - if you are shortchanged in the cock department, and you had to endure those taunts in the locker room after ninth grade gym class, you are going to seek a way to reinforce your masculinity," he said, adjsuting his package. "I mean, a guy can only take being called 'Puny Pecker' so long before acting out."

Labels: boom car, genitalia, pimpmobile

(Toledo, OH) Neighborhood voyeur Evan Pisanelli remembers a time when peering through your bedroom window was "something special."

"I made sure to get to your house about 10:00 every night when you were getting ready for bed," he admitted. "The sight of your half-naked tush was worth the effort to climb up your maple tree."

Unfortunately, said Pisanelli, your tendency to snack in bed is becoming a "real turn-off," as you have begun to put on more than a few extra pounds.

"There was a time when you would bend over while putting on your underwear and I could still see that nice firm stomach," he wistfully recalled. "Those days are long gone, my friend. Frankly, you are getting fatter than a fly in an outhouse, and I think I speak for both of us when I say it's time for you to shape up."

Left: Worried about your health

Pisanelli said that he has been "really hesitant" to broach the subject with you up to this point.

"Let's face it - you are kind of sensitive about your weight, and I am not trying to give you an ultimatum," he said, polishing his binoculars. "And Lord knows we all are. But if you want this relationship to move to the next level, I think you might want to start counting calories. I want us to both grow old together, watching our grandchildren frolic around the house in their tighty-whities. Don't you?"

Labels: Peeping Tom, voyeurs

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By Billy Pilgrim, Toledo Tales Rogue Editor

DuFont on Saturday evening: another table for one

(Toledo, OH) Jeremy DuFont has by all accounts had a difficult year. His wife of four years, Pamela, left him for a co-worker, he was denied yet another promotion at the Jeep plant, and with Christmas only a few short weeks away, he barely has any savings left to buy gifts for his loved ones.

In these trying times, when lesser men would turn to the bottle, and others would attempt to rediscover their faith, Jeremy DuFont turns to the one thing that gives him solace and dignity: Stubb’s Barbeque Sauce.

“I know your readers will think I’m a freak or something, but this barbeque sauce has saved my life,” DuFont revealed in an exclusive interview with Toledo Tales. “Some mornings I just lie in bed after hitting the snooze button, too depressed to jerk off. And then I remember there are some leftover riblets, or a piece of baked chicken in the fridge, and it gives me hope—hope that Stubb’s can get me through another bullshit day.”

DuFont feels that it was nothing short of divine intervention that led him to Stubb’s “magical elixir” in the first place.

“It was the day after Pam left me. I forced myself to go grocery shopping, though in retrospect, I had no desire for food—I just wanted to die,” DuFont revealed. “So I’m standing there in aisle 9, staring blankly at row after row of condiments, and I see it: the holy grail of sauces. On the label it read MY LIFE IS IN THESE BOTTLES. From that moment on I knew I’d be okay.”

So while the future remains uncertain, DuFont seems to have found the courage to continue his solemn trek through life.

“I’m a working man, so like all working men, the world is constantly thinking up new ways to fuck me,” DuFont huffed. “But I’m making a stand. Me and this sauce are gonna make it—sticky-fingered and bloated, maybe—but we’ll make it nonetheless.”

Labels: BBQ sauce, Stubb’s, Toledo

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(Toledo, OH) Mildred Barringsly, an East Streicher woman noted for a neatly-manicured lawn and low tolerance for neighborhood children, took part in what she called "shuttle diplomacy" last week.

"I had hoped that I could get through to these local hoodlums on the importance of respecting property rights," she said. "I think that citizens have an obligation to reach out to the next generation."

Barringsly's goal: an end to the bitter conflict that has enveloped this North End community, and specifically a cessation of hostilities.

"It began when I kept one of their footballs that landed on my begonias," she said, showing Toledo Tales the confiscated pigskin. "The little bastards retaliated by egging my house."

Barringsly said that her initial overtures of negotiation were rebuffed, but that she will continue to keep topen the doors of diplomatic solutions.

"The mother of three of the miscreants told me to quote: 'get the fuck off my porch' unquote," she said. "Despite my rude welcome, I managed to stick to my talking points."

East Strecher hooligans Mandy (10) and Jason (8) Pinner remained committed to military options.

"That cranky old skanky better give give us back our stuff," said Mandy. "If she doesn't, we have been saving up some stinky presents for her from our dog, Pockets."

Labels: rowdy kids, spinster, Toledo

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By Billy Pilgrim, Toledo Tales Rogue Editor

A Self-Portrait of Yentze suffering from AIDS

Toledo cartoonist Jim Yentze lived the prototypical rock n’ roll lifestyle. An art school graduate who achieved great financial success in the 1990s illustrating for nationally-recognized magazines and newspapers, Yentze’s life was one fraught with booze, pills, and an endless stream of meaningless sexual liaisons.

But since he contracted HIV in 2003, Yentze has harbored a burning desire even as his health has steadily declined: more than anything, he craves one final sexual debacle so that he can relish the wanton pleasures of the flesh before he dies.

“Billy, I’ll be honest with ya — lots of people contract HIV in tragic situations: you got your blood transfusions, child rape in Africa, the list goes on,” Yentze remarked while crushing the butt of a Marlboro Light. “But not me, man. I’ve seen more ass than a bus station bathroom. And fact of the matter is, I was reckless and probably deserve this disease. I just wish I could have one more orgy before I croak.”

Yentze outlined his hedonistic fantasy in graphic detail.

“I’ve thought this through pretty well, and if I ever find a few chicks who are willing to bang a dude with AIDS, I’ve got the cash to make it happen,” Yentze noted. “Here’s the gist of it: three chicks all dress up like my favorite celebrity crushes — Madonna, Angelina Jolie, and a young Meg Ryan. I tie them all up with rope licorice and make them perform the entire score to My Fair Lady in crotchless chaps. At the end, we bang for nineteen hours and finish it off by eating the licorice. It’s like performance art, but all nasty n’ shit.”

A lot like this, but with fewer dudes and the chicks wouldn't look like end tables

And while some of Yentze’s friends and family have tried to discourage this final wish, he remains doggedly committed to making it a reality.

“Yeah, some of my old college buddies keep saying I need to make my peace with God n’ stuff,” Yentze reflected as he slowly doddered to his bathroom to take his daily battery of medication. “But if I pull this sexcapade off, my life will become the stuff of urban legend. Besides, how bad can hell really be? I live in Toledo, for Christ’s sake.”

Labels: AIDS, Angelina Jolie, Madonna, Meg Ryan, Toledo

Goofy kid really did it this time

(Toledo, OH) An incredibly stupid local child continually finds ways to hurt himself, according to family members.

7-year-old Justin Halford's most recent bout of imbecility involved burning himself on the legs, back, and buttocks with a curling iron. His mother, Priscilia Crawford, said that Justin's brainlessness even amazes her sometimes.

"Lord, I swear I don't know if that kid has any brains," she chuckled, crushing out a Marlboro Light. "No matter how many times we talk to him, he still finds another way to hurt himself. Why, just last week he threw himself down a flight of stairs, the moron."

Crawford said that Justin seems to be impervious to pain.

"No matter how many times he pressed that curling iron on his leg, he just kept on doing it over and over," she said, sipping a Miller Genuine Draft. "Tell you the truth - I think he's not right in the head. Anyone who keeps on burning himself like that must have a couple of screws loose in the old gourd, if you ask me."

Toddler picture of Justin after the clumsy oaf jumped off the changing table

Crawford said that she hopes that Justin grows out of his tendency to hurt himself in foolish ways.

"That retarded stuff might just kill that boy some day, yes sir," she said, pausing to smack the shit out of Justin's little sister. "I just hope he gets some common sense before he really hurts himself. If brains were french fries, that stupid kid couldn't fill up a Happy Meal."

Labels: child abuse, idiocy, imbecility, stupidity

(Sylvania, OH) Many Americans have readily embraced emerging the technological innovations of the past twenty years.

Perry Yeagher, though, says that his hobby of making obscene telephone calls is "all but destroyed" by the changing world of communications.

"First it was the Caller-ID machines, and then the star-69 crap," he said, placing a call to an elderly Toledo woman. "Nowadays nobody even answers their phones. What's the point of talking nasty to an answering machine?"

Yeagher said that he has tried to change with the times, but his efforts have been futile.

"I started trolling the Net for instant messaging handles," he said, hanging up after getting another machine. "But you lose something when you try to type a creepy moan into that little AIM box. That, plus they just block you when you get freaky."

AIM not as threatening, says Yeagher

Worst of all, said Yeagher, are the responses of his AIM victims.

"With phone calls, you could sometimes hear the terror in their voices, that little twinge of fear that gets me off," he said, trying another number. "And then the bitch on AIM types 'lmfao u r so fnny mb i wish i was jst like u b/c u totally roxors my boxors.' Screw this - I can't get off on stupidity like that."

Labels: AIM, obscene calls, telecommunications

Subcomandante Bob, if you hadn't noticed, is not a black man. He thinks he was born black, but switched at birth or something, because many of his best friends are of the African American persuasion, and he detests stupid white singers like Perry Como and Michael Jackson.

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This was a sponsored post, for which Bob is most thankful.

A Toledo Tales Exclusive
By Ted Kuster, Local Retiree

Kuster: War Veteran, Grandfather, Sex-Starved Recluse

When I was young, I had no trouble getting laid. In high school, I got more pussy than Robert Redford. When I took shore leave in Vietnam, I made Bangkok earn its name. But since my wife Carol died a few years ago, I haven’t come close to seeing a woman naked, let alone boning one. So I might as well cut my dick off, for all the good it does.

A bit extreme, you say? Son, I’m 67 years old, and I got a stiffy yesterday at the grocery store so hard it could have shattered glass. The sad thing is, the checkout girl weighed about 210. Pathetic. Thirty years ago, during the war, we called that a “pity screw”—you know, taking one for the team. But hell, I’m so out of my game that I would’ve bent that heifer over a crate of navel oranges in the storeroom and given her the ol’ Kuster Tornado.

I can hardly jerk off without feeling a sense of failure. Sure, the random Tuesday when the mailman brings a new Victoria Secret catalog always makes for a fine evening, but that’s only once a month. My jimmy hasn’t done the horizontal mambo with a bearded clam in so long, it’s a shock he still knows to squirt his sauce at the end.

I know what you’re thinking. Why not just get a hooker, right? I don’t think so. Those whores downtown have more diseases than a daycare swing-set. And besides, last year [my close friend from the war] Tommy Werner went down there for a blowjob. Bastards caught him in a sting operation, so he ended up spending three days in the hole for soliciting. Try explaining that to the grandkids.

The reality is, I’m all washed up. Kaput. I might as well cut my dick off. I should wait until after dinner, though. They have a great early bird special at Denny’s today—an omelet, juice, and toast for only $4.99. Maybe, just maybe, some hard-up waitress will take pity and screw me in the crapper.

Labels: hookers, loneliness, old men, sex

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(Toledo, OH) A local canine interviewed by Toledo Tales said that he is "hurt and pissed" that his owners relegated him to the backyard during the NCAA Final between Ohio State and Florida.

Hopper, a black-and-white dog of multiple ancestries, also expressed his disappointment at missing yet another piece of sports history.

"Oh yeah, it's the same thing every good game: 'Doggie go outside,'" muttered an obviously perturbed Hopper. "Well, I got some news, pal: Doggie gonna go and fetch a TEC 9mm and bust up this crib if he gets shafted again during a big game. Bastards."

Hopper said that he has missed "just about every" sporting event worth watching in the five years he has lived with his owners.

"Super Bowl, World Series, Wrestlemania - you name it, I missed it," he said, gnawing on the exterior cable hookup. "Let's see how good the game comes in after I grind this wire down to bare metal."

Labels: dog crap, Doggie, NCAA, NCAA Final

(Toledo, OH) Ronnie Brecker has been employed in various criminal activities over the years, including car theft, drug sales, and burglary. He toled Toledo Tales that his latest venture, however, was not worth the trouble.

"Yeah, I'd been hearing how easy it is to steal candy from babies, so I figured I'd give it a try," said Brecker. "It's easy all right, but what do you do with the shit? There is, like, no after-market for Dum-Dums."

Brecker said that toddlers are also "terrible victims."

"Most people clam right up once they see the gun," he said. "But, no! Not little Brianna; she's got to scream at the top of her lungs. Then, when you give 'em a quick reminder smack, they scream even more."

Another drawback, according to Brecker, is the quality of the merchandise.

"There little bastards have no eye for top-notch candy; all they want is the goddamn sugar," he said. "And then, when I want to eat a chunk of Laffy Taffy I heisted from some sniveling 2-year old, I find that the little freak ate from it and stuck it back in the package. Screw this!"

Labels: crooks, staeling candy from a baby

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