Toledo Tales

Listen Up, Readers

2009-06-02T15:43:00.000-04:00

Subcommandante Bob has been quite busy the last few months, in large measure due to some outstanding bench warrants and an aggravating, extended case of ennui. As a result, he has not updated the sites in quite a while, and it may be a few weeks before he gets the motivation to post new material.

However, know this: Bob loves you, especially when you buy the first and subsequent rounds. Also, he'll get around to being creative real soon. Promise.

Holy Water Scalds Toledo Mayor Carty Finkbeiner

2009-01-19T17:06:00.005-05:00

Religious leaders just before holy water incident

An ecumenical prayer service in the Valentine Theatre that was organized by a cross section of local Christian leaders was briefly interrupted when the sprinkling of holy water caused an "unfortunate reaction" on the skin of Toledo Mayor Carty Finkbeiner.

"I just finished my blessing and began to shake the aspergillum in the first few rows," said Rev. Martin Donnelly, pastor of Blessed Sacrament Catholic Church. "All of a sudden Carty howled just like a kitten in a crock pot. Sure enough, the holy water was bubbling on the Mayor's skin like water on a greased skillet. Crazy!"

A pock-marked Finkbeiner evades further divine pain

Aides to the stricken mayor blamed the reaction on a new cologne, but event attendees interviewed by Toledo Tales seemed doubtful.

"You ask me, the dude looked like a garlic-eating vampire," said Jason Caulfield of Sylvania. "The Mayor brought this shit upon himself - he ought to know better than to get close to anything holy. I'm surprised he didn't burst into flames the second his ass entered the narthex."

The Dope Industry Needs a Bailout, Too

2009-01-09T22:12:00.002-05:00

Guest editorial by "Piper,"
local pharmaceuticals rep

Listen up: we've just sent $800 billion to the big banks, and $25 billion to the auto companies, and Piper is cool with all that. After all, bankers love their blow and auto workers love their weed, and what's good for Citibank and GM is always good for Piper.

But let's face facts: banking and autos are just a fraction of the American economy, and America's dopemen are hurting. Big time.

That's why I call upon incoming President Barack Obama - no stranger to pharmaceuticals of dubious legality - to extend a helping hand to the nation's one million dope dudes and weed chicks, the hardworking entrepreneurs who will brave a winter's blizzard to get you a half-ounce of Chronic when you are snowed in.

You feel me?

In my own little empire, sales are down over 30 percent from 2007, and what's worse? Every fucking speed freak and stoner is busting my balls for price breaks. It's "oh I got laid off" and "my old lady took my weed money for diapers" and "brother can you spare a joint" all the damn day long. It's getting so bad that I may have to lay off some of my neighborhood rock and weed kids, who are the bread and butter of any good dope business.

Don't laugh - these 13-year-old crack hustlers bring home big money to their parents. When the dope industry suffers, so do thousands of low-income families, people who depend on a steady supply of wadded-up five-dollar bills to keep the lights on and the fridge stocked with 40-ouncers.

So, President Obama? Remember the humble dope man when you start your plans to reinvigorate the economy, 'cuz it's weed, smack, and meth that really make this country fly.

Kids With Leg Braces Be All Trippin' and Shit

2009-01-01T20:59:00.001-05:00

Guest editorial by Tre Phillips,
Toledo area wanksta

I don't mean to sound all cruel and shit, 'cuz we all got our issues. Me? I be all asking for triple dipping sauces with my chicken strips, and the bitch at the drive thru window be all, "Extra sauces are a quarter each," and I be all, "Fuck that, y'all, we outta here."

But kids with leg braces? They be all trippin' and shit.

Like this dude on my block, Jeremy. He's got like multiple shurosis or some shit, and he be all walking like Forrest Gump and shit one day, then KA-BAM! Down go his clumsy ass on the sidewalk.

And when my little brother Dre start laughing, then Jeremy really be trippin' and shit, talking 'bout his ass gonna get a gun and go all Dick Cheney on us and shit.

I mean, dude: no need to be all pulling a major trippin' episode and shit. Chill.

It's like this: we all gotta deal with what the Man Upstairs done throw us. Like this girl, Boo, who hangs around my hood and who still likes to do the freaky even though she picked up a nasty case of crotch crickets and everybody knows that she be nastier than a two-dolla hooker. Even though nobody would touch her even wearin' a bio-hazard suit and shit, she still keep smilin' and tryin' to work her magic on anybody new to the 'hood.

There just ain't no call for crippled kids to be all trippin' and shit.

I'm 'Bout to Throw Down on This Buffet, Dog

2008-12-20T21:15:00.003-05:00

Guest editorial by Brian Danziger,
food economist

You know, the folks at HomeTown Buffet have been real nice to me, in spite of the fact that I put away at least $140 worth of food for every $12.99 all-you-can-eat ticket I purchase. They never roll their eyes or make snotty-ass comments under their breath when I show up, unlike those jackasses at Golden Corral.

But look: I'm 'bout to thrown down on this here buffet, y'all, and it would be best to stand back when I hit that bee-atch full force.

Now, you understand I'm a smart eater at the buffet. I stay away from the bread and stuffing and mac-and-cheese that weighs you down with inexpensive bulk, and I plow my face into the baked chicken, sliced ham, and fried shrimp. You know, the fine-dining and high-class shit.

And don't get within elbow room of me when they start carving up the Cajun sirloin, 'cause I can scarf that motha faster than they can chop the shit with a machete.

I also have what I like to call my "secret strategy" at HomeTown Buffet, which involves a half-dozen of those quart-sized plastic bags hidden in my coat, my pants, and my toque. Each of those bad boys holds about two plates of shrimp cocktail or fried chicken, and I can usually walk out of that joint with four or five big-ass meals for the next day.

Yeah, I see some of those self-righteous pricks making smart-ass comments, but remember this, dickweeds: I get my money's worth out of this place, and if not for me, the buffet price would probably be about $9.99.

Boo-yah!

Area Family Burning Dreams to Stave Off Winter Chill

2008-12-17T20:05:00.002-05:00

By Billy Pilgrim, Toledo Tales Rogue Editor

The Yoders: Warming Their Hands by the Dream Fire

As the nation’s automotive woes continue to take a devastating toll on the Rust Belt economy, one family has taken a progressive step towards reducing their energy costs this holiday season: they’re burning their dreams for warmth.

“It was a tough decision for me and the missus to make, Billy, as I’m sure you’re aware,” explained Rick Yoder, 43, a Maumee-area HVAC installer. “I had always wanted to play bass in a local cover band, and my wife Traci had wanted to open her own salon some day. Sure, it stings to see our dreams literally go up in smoke, but it’s good to know we can cut our propane use back and fight this foreclosure for a few more months.

The Yoder children, taken by the spirit of Christmas giving, have also chosen to sacrifice some of their dreams for the betterment of the family despite the desperate pleas of their parents.

“Mom told us not to [throw our dreams on the raging bonfire], but us kids decided we need to do our part too, so we don’t, like, lose our house and die,” explained a somber Haley, president of her fifth grade class. “Michael’s not very coordinated, so he gave up his dream of being a famous baseball player. Beth can’t stand the sight of blood, so she tossed her veterinarian dream on there. And me—who ever heard of a fifth grade class president going to college anyway?”

Local Dog Pretty Sure You Are Taking His Ass to the Pound

2008-12-12T11:12:00.002-05:00

(Toledo, OH) Hopper, a local canine of uncertain ancestry, told Toledo Tales reporters that your recent layoff and the uncertainty of the economy means that his "time is just about up."

"They act like I don't know what 'foreclosure' means, or as if I'm too stupid to figure out that Mom crying all the time doesn't foretell doom," Hopper muttered. "And when I see the kids bawling and Dad saying: 'he'll be in a better place,' I can put two-and-two together. Fuckers."

Hopper said that the "moment of clarity" occurred during a recent episode of NBC Nightly News.

"They had some two-minute tear-jerker about the recession and its effects on families, and all of a sudden Mom leaves the room, honking like a gut-shot goose," he said, pausing to scratch behind his ears. "Then it hit me: 'this family is totally fucked. Totally fucked.'"

At the moment Hopper said that he is weighing his residential options.

"Look - I' still young, and I know how to act cute and fetch and all that shit," he said. "But you ca bet your ass I'm not going for a ride in the car with these fuckers any time soon."

Expanded Meth Lab to Add Jobs to Toledo Area

2008-11-16T20:19:00.001-05:00

Existing meth facility in an east side Toledo location

(Toledo, OH) Efforts to attract more high-tech jobs to Nortwhest Ohio bore some fruit today with the announcement that a local methamphetamine lab is expected to add 20 jobs in Toledo over the next year in a "multi-thousand dollar" manufacturing expansion.

A spokesman for the local methamphetamine cooperative expressed enthusiasm for the new facility's economic impact in Toledo.

"This new meth lab is a perfect example of everything the local government and area leaders are trying to accomplish with their economic development agenda," said "Piper," an area street-level pharmaceuticals operative. "This facility is non-automotive, and we are bringing together leaders in the field of health care and medicine with positive results for the city of Toledo."

Left: Meth manufacturing worker readying new lab for production

The city of Toledo has approved two tax abatement measures for up to 6 years to support the project. The value of the abatements is estimated at $1.2 million, which does not include what Piper termed "ancillary benefits" to municipal officials.

"Let's face it - city officials got to get their ice just like every other meth head," the spokesman chuckled. "But whatever we lose in free dope, we will surely recoup in the six months after the sampleage gets hoovered up."

Piper added that the deal simply "makes mondo sense" for local meth manufacturers.

"Remaining in Toledo allows us to move forward with our plans for a new product lineup, and helps us keep down costs," he said, noting that group was experimenting with cherry-flavored meth and dope delivered in a Pez-like dispenser. "If we're going to remain competitive as a meth producer, we have to limit our expenses, y'all. Staying in Toledo is the best way to do that, and it allows us to give a little sumpin-sumpin back to the community."

Don't Forget Your Catholic Catechism in the Voting Booth

2008-11-01T08:30:00.002-04:00

A Toledo Tales Guest Editorial
by Father Jon O’Brien

Another election is just about upon us, and it is time for faithful Catholics to engage in some soul-searching as they evaluate candidates for public office. To that end, I remind all Catholics that you are expected to vote along the lines of your faith.

You see, far too often in life we leave our moral consciences behind after Sunday mass, and we live our lives as though the Gospels were something easily tossed away, like a ten-dollar crack whore or a snot-encrusted Kleenex.

So vote for candidates who best represent the moral teachings of the Church. Like that Barack Obama fellow, who is much more pleasing in the eyes of God than his opponent, who I like to call "the Antichrist." Sure, Obama supports abortion, a moral failing if there ever was one, but did you see him driving in the lane in that pick-up basketball game on CNN the other day? Elbows flying, forearms shoving - the dude obviously spent some quality years in CYO leagues.

Unlike John McCain, the Antichrist, who probably wouldn't know a fast break from a triangle offense. He probably thinks Hack-a-Shaq is some Sunni militant group in Iraq, and that pick-and-roll refers to boogers.

Thus, when you go to the voting booth, remember your glorious CYO years, and know that God always loves a basketball player.

Local Man's Johnson is, Like, a Block Long and Shit

2008-10-17T22:00:00.002-04:00

(Toledo, OH) Local embellishment specialist Dwayne Baxter told Toledo Tales reporters that he is especially proud of his "extra-freaking-long" penis, and that he's "pretty damned sure" that his member is of world-record length.

"Straight up? Chicks sometimes run screaming when they see my package," he noted. "It's like the Japanese running from Godzilla in those monster movies - they are terrified of the size of the beast, but secretly they want to, you know, get up close and touch it."

Baxter said that his "python-like trouser snake" has been with him since birth.

"I have clear memories of the maternity ward nurses coming in and 'giving Mom a break,' as they called it," he remembered. "Then they'd take me into some broom closet and hop onto my five-day-old cock and hump me like crazed orangutans on Viagra, you dig?"

A recent trip to the gas station left Baxter "totally spent and sore."

"All I wanted was $20 worth of premium, but as soon as the cashier saw me, she started begging me for some cock," he recalled. "We went into the mop room and got right to business. In one smooth swift motion, she was straddling my cock with her dripping wet pussy. She drove my cock into her dripping hole as far as it could go. Her pussy was so wet as she pumped my cock for all it was worth. Then she reached around and shoved a fucking broom handle up her ass: me in the front, the broom in the back, and a dozen customers pissed because there was nobody to turn on the pumps. Lucky for her I shot my load in like ten minutes, or the whole city would have come to a crashing halt from a lack of gas. This kind of shit happens to me all the time, dude, on account of my 23-inch dick. More like a curse than a blessing if you ask me."

Retards Are Just Damned Funny

2008-10-07T20:12:00.003-04:00

Guest editorial by Nate Respert,
Connoisseur of imbecilic comedy

I know that we are supposed to be kind and sensitive and nice to people with disabilities and all that, but I just can't help myself. There is one class of disabled people I find really, really funny - so fricking hilarious that I sometimes laugh out loud in their faces.

I'm talking about retards: those happy-faced, drooling feebs who - if they were any more stupid, they'd have to be watered twice a week.

There's even a campaign now to eliminate the R-word, reminding us that we should respect and value people with intellectual disabilities. They even have a pledge you can sign:

I pledge and support the elimination of the derogatory use of the r-word from everyday speech and promote the acceptance and inclusion of people with intellectual disabilities.

But what would life be like if the average schmucks didn't have retards to laugh at? Take me, for example. I dropped out of high school, worked a series of shitty low-wage, dead-end jobs until I finally got hired in a factory that paid more than minimum wage, and then BAM! Plant closes, I'm running out of unemployment eligibility, and our double-wide's about to be foreclosed on.

Laughing at the silly antics of retards is about all I have left, folks. If you take that away from me, I'll start looking at how fucked up my life is, and I'll probably end up putting a loaded shotgun in my mouth and splattering a three-dimensional Jackson Pollack fest all over the paneling in my den.

And I'm sure the retards would rather me laughing than dead, right? Unless you're saying retards are mean-spirited like that - chuckling at tragedy - in which case I'll laugh at the fuckers even more.

Jaywalking: NOT a Victimless Crime

2008-09-12T10:44:00.003-04:00

Guest editorial by Edith Draheim,
pedestrian activist

I see you impatient people crossing the street any which-way, and I am shocked at your selfishness and bad attitude. Crossing walks and pedestrian crossing lights were invented for a reason, folks, and that reason is PUBLIC SAFETY.

Whose theory is it that jawalking is a victimless crime? I'll tell you: it’s the reckless pedestrians who race headlong across the street who spew those myths that there is no one hurt in this rampant wave of street crime.

And who are the victims, you ask? Let's start with the truly outstanding and industrious pedestrian, who follows all the rules but gets passed up by speed demons in expensive walking shoes. Sidewalks are about fundamental fairness. Not everyone walks exceptionally well, but the sidewalks were designed to level the playing field, so to speak. Jaywalkers reinforce distorted notions of superior mobility, and bring a sense of failure to those whose legs prevent them from dashing through traffic like a meth-crazed gazelle.

And what about the children, for gosh sakes? I am reminded that the average starting age for jaywalking is eight. EIGHT YEARS OLD! I think of these impressionable victims of the jaywalkers, the families involved, the prenatally damaged, the abused children of the jaywalkwers, and a society devastated by jaywalking. All of a sudden - those civil infractions seem like a joke.

And really: what's the big hurry, Mr. Fancy Pants? Whatever you are running to - or running from - will wait. If it won't it's probably something naughty you shouldn't even be doing, like my neighbor's boy Jimmy, who thinks no one's looking when he plays with his tally-whacker in his bedroom.

And you know what? Jimmy's a jaywalker, too. This is what they call one of those gateway behaviors: first jaywalking, then tally-whacking, and the next thing you know Jimmy's murdering little old ladies for their SSI checks.

A Note to Readers

2008-09-03T15:39:00.001-04:00

By Subcomandante Bob

Bob has been busy of late, and has not gotten around to answering emails, updating the site, or even caring about much of anything. He'd like to be able to say it's because he's been busy with a revolution - or even chasing a really hot school nurse - but he's pretty much been lying on the beach and drinking himself into a daily stupor.

Thus, he may or may not get the groove and start writing today. It might also take him another two weeks of being a soused schlomo to finish this binge. We just don't know.

And Billy Pilgrim? Meh. He has his own substance abuse issues, plus the band said it wanted him back, and then there's his unfinished novel and the lawyers he's avoiding.... you get the picture.

But rest assured: at some point in the future Bob will be back. Oh yes, he will be back. And when he does, along with Rogue Editor Billy Pilgrim, the Internet will become an even filthier place.

Barack Obama is a Frrrrgggh Sheneffff

2008-08-20T20:55:00.002-04:00

Guest editorial by
a Drunk Guy at the end of the bar

Listen - LISTEN!!!! You godamned frggglersters and shit better just LISTEN UP. MMpph!

Barack Obama is a Ffrrrrgggh sheneffff, thass for damned sure.

That's what I'm talking about over here, but you and your thinks-she's-all-klobbyhardy and shit fucking smirking SMIRKING, I'll wipe that smile off your fuzzlereedypocker, that's what!

Maybe that John McCain is a certiffff war hermmmmmmm... and shit. But Bark Obrammer can kinnnnnnnn mmmpppph. Sure, sure, sure, SURE! You don't know nothing. NOTHING! Like I'd 'spect you to say different. And shit. Sittin' there, Mr. Laughin' Guy, thinks he's so funny and mmmpppphhh.

And shit.

Opinion: Morgan Freeman is a Very Non-Threatening Black Man

2008-08-13T20:30:00.005-04:00

Guest editorial by Susan Philips,
customer service representative

In my line of work I come across more than a few black men who are downright scary at times. I mean, it's not just the "call back later, bitch" and the "ain't nobody named 'James' staying here" that worry me. Heck - in phone work you're lucky when people don't threaten to kill you.

I'm talking about the black men who look like they would think nothing of pawing and fondling a defenseless and innocent woman like me, and I must say that Morgan Freeman is nothing like that.

You see, I could never imagine Morgan Freeman crawling over to my desk and sliding his tongue up my leg and licking my lady parts while I am on the phone, unlike that Carl Killiam in accounting. Why, every time he looks at me I can see that he's thinking of nothing but filling my hoo-ha with that 15-inch thingy of his.

And Morgan Freeman would never stoop so low as to bend me over a desk and ride me doggy-style, keeping the freak going for an hour. I just know that this is the only thing on the mind of our janitor, Marvin, who looks like he spends all of his time thinking of how to get me alone in the copier room so I would have to swallow his manhood and slurp that throbbing gristle like a Thanksgiving turkey gizzard.

No, Morgan Freeman is a gentleman, the kind of man who wouldn't try to rip off my mini skirt and have sex with me in the women's bathroom, using the hand lotion to help drill me hard up the you-know-what. That's why they always cast him as God, because God would not be scheming of ways to slip me whiskey, get me drunk, and slide his schlong in and out of my bazongas until that icky stuff shot all over my face.

Ewww - not my Morgan.

Kyle's Toys Can Still Have Deadly Poisons

2008-07-28T23:15:00.002-04:00

A Guest Editorial by Nathan Higgins
4th Grader at St. Rose

Yeah, maybe Congress agreed to ban toxins found in children's products, but that doesn't mean that every kid has to have toxin-free toys. Like this dookie-head Kyle Henderson at my school, for one. You can leave every bit of the phthalates or nitroglycerin or botulism toxin in Kyle's toys, and no one would care.

Not only is Kyle a total pee-drinker, but even his parents can't stand him. They drop him off at St. Rose at 7:00 am for the Early Bird program, and he's like the last one to get picked up from the after-school program. Sometimes his parents even leave him there until Mrs. Kerstner gets mad and calls them to pick up Kyle in the middle of the night.

Sometimes I almost feel sorry for him, except he still watches Veggie Tales and baby stuff like that. I mean, what kind of LOSER still waves and sings with Bob the Tomato and Larry the Cucumber any more? I stopped that like a million-zillion years ago, but Kyle still has a Junior Asparagus lunchbox.

D-W-E-E-B. That's how Kyle spells his middle name, and that's why it's OK to let him play with poisoned toys. Otherwise, he's going to go to junior high with that stupid lunchbox, and the big kids will just slaughter him, so this is like helping him out before his life goes completely nutso.

Local Dog Says All Your Food is Tainted with Salmonella

2008-07-22T16:33:00.004-04:00

(Toledo, OH) Hopper, a local canine of uncertain ancestry, told Toledo Tales reporters that the source of a recent outbreak of Salmonella Saintpaul is your refrigerator.

"Definitely everything in your fridge is poison, dude," he said from behind a fence at the house next door. "If I were you, I'd dump all the food into that garbage can over there right away. You wouldn't want your children getting sick and dying, would you?"

Hopper added that - even though Salmonella bacteria were found at a distribution center in McAllen, Texas, and the distributor has agreed to recall the products - you shouldn't take chances with your family's health.

"Straight up, dude? Don't go there," he said, pausing to scratch behind his ear. "The best thing to do is throw out all your food, especially anything from the meat, grain, or dairy families. And if your can gets full, you can just toss that poisoned shit right here in my yard. I'll help you out, brother - I'm man's best friend, remember?"

His canine nose, Hopper said, is capable of detecting odors that humans cannot.

"And my schnozz is saying one thing right about now: BAD FOOD," he said. "The longer you wait, the more likely you will find yourself cradling the dead, twitching body of your young son Billy, saying to yourself: 'Why, oh WHY did I not listen to Hopper and throw out all that bad food??? Why did I have to make Billy eat that POISON???' I'm just trying to help, that's all. Say: are you going to eat those burgers you just grilled?"

Olive Garden Waiter: I'll Toss YOUR Salad, You Little Punk

2008-07-14T13:57:00.004-04:00

Guest editorial by Frank Jacoby,
irritated waiter

Listen: waiting tables at the freaking Olive Garden wasn't exactly my idea of the best ways to spend my golden years, that's for damned sure. But just go ahead and try to get a better job when you're age 55 and you've been working at some shitty auto parts plant for 20 years and it closes up.

But I'll tell you one thing: I don't have to sit here and listen to you little 19-year-old faggots make "tossed salad" jokes when it's time to place your order.

You think just because I've got a few gray hairs I'm too old to know that "toss your salad" is a euphemism for anal prison rape? Or that when you ask if I have a "hot Italian sausage" that I don't know this is some thinly-veiled reference to my dick?

Here's a word for you: FUCK YOU. OK, that's two words, but I sure as shit am not going to stand here and have you little bastards insult me, and then turn around and leave a fifty-cent tip. You better pray I never see your punk asses outside of this restaurant, or I'll cave your fucking craniums with an aluminum softball bat.

And for your information:Ziti al Forno has nothing to do with acne, you little asswipes, and it's pronounced "ZEE-tee." If you're gonna be a bunch of smart-ass pricks, at least come up with something original, dipshits.

Grandma- There Ain't SHIT in Your Medicine Cabinet

2008-07-10T12:10:00.003-04:00

Guest editorial by Jarold Hughes, pharmaceutical connoisseur

So I cut your grass and pulled the weeds around your fence and even hung up that stupid wind chime that blew down in the thunderstorm the other day, Grandma. I walked into your bathroom hoping to score a couple of quick pills, and BAM!

Empty cabinet.

Oh sure: you've got laxatives and vitamins and all sorts of useless douching products (I don't even want to THINK about that!), but all the good drugs you used to have?

There ain't SHIT in your medicine cabinet any more.

It wasn't that long ago when I could find a handful of Oxycontin to crush up and snort, or when I could open that magical mirrored door and find a full bottle of Xanax. But today, I leave Grandma's house empty-handed and annoyingly sober.

I mean, Christ - you haven't even got a bottle of Robitussin or NyQuil for a cheap buzz. What is the world coming to when a guy can't visit his infirm, elderly grandmother for a quick fix? And when Grandpa was still around, hanging on with the liver cancer, he used to have TONS of painkillers: good stuff, too, like Darvocet and Demerol, shit that could keep a young man like me flying for a week!

As far as I'm concerned, this is the worst kind of hospitality: after two hours of working around your house, the least you can do is keep your pills someplace I can find them. Now I've got to find a way to distract you so I can rifle through your underwear drawers.

And believe me - that's even worse than picking up the dog shit in the backyard.

Local Man: Vietnam "A Million Times Worse" than Iraq

2008-07-01T14:48:00.003-04:00

(Toledo, OH) Local embellishment specialist Dwayne Baxter told Toledo Tales reporters that his experiences serving in the Marines during the Vietnam War have convinced him that Iraq War veterans are "a bunch of fucking pansies."

"Listen: I once watched a buddy get blown up while I was shaking his hand, and all that was left was a bloody forearm, still twitching while the rest of him was splattered across forty yards of a gook village," he recalled. "And the scariest shit? The dead guy's hand gripped mine even tighter for about ten seconds, like it was Walter's way of saying: 'Bro, take care, you hear?' Man, it don't get more fucked-up than that. But these Iraq War vets? A bunch of limp-wristed, skirt-wearing douchebags, if you ask me."

Baxter said that claims about posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) among Iraq War vets are without merit.

"I ain't never seen such a group of pathetic, terrified-mutt ninnies as the PTSD types coming back from Iraq," he said, pausing to puff his Lucky Strike. "Back in 'Nam, it was either shit or get your fucking legs blown off by some bicycle-riding 10-year-old bomb-carrying girl who says: 'Mister, Mister' and then tosses a chunk of smoking C-4 in your face. BAM!!! Straight up: Vietnam was a MAN'S WAR, the kind of shit that separated the men from the diaper-wearing crybaby little bitches, not like this hand-wringing PTSD horseshit."

Baxter recalled a particularly gruesome scene from just outside Phnom Penh.

"We just finished this top-secret mission to take out some military officers when an artillery shell dropped in on us, taking out six good men from the platoon," he said. "Then this Viet Cong chick comes out of nowhere, grabs me by the crotch, and says: 'You fuck me NOW!' Before I know it, she's chomping on my Johnson like it's a buttered corn cob, and we're going at it like a couple of stray dogs, dig? And just as I am about to shoot my load, this crazy commie tells me to spooge it on her back while she starts humping my dead buddy Raymond's mangled thigh bone, sticking right through his torn pant leg. I says to myself: 'Fuck that!' And I grabbed my M-16 and blew her fucking head off, just as I am blasting off this geyser of man-juice all over my fatigues. Then, for just a second, Raymond's eyes open, and he gives me that little smile, and I knew right then and there I done the right thing with that Vietnamese whore. Now THAT'S some posttraumatic stress, mister."

Toledo Anarcho-Feminist Collective Frustrated at Working Class Apathy

2008-06-24T16:00:00.004-04:00

Left: United and committed to change

(Toledo, OH) The five members of the Toledo-area Workers' Solidarity Collective gathered together Sunday evening to share a cup of fair trade coffee and express their collective frustrations about the state of revolutionary activity in Toledo.

"Let's face it - the working class, regardless of its size, has to step up and boldly lead the revolutionary effort," said Mitch Bednarski, a member of the group. "If not, the middle class will just turn to fascism for protection from the worker's movement, kind of like when Sheila's dad totally bogarted us by throwing away those leaflets I copied on his new Laser Jet. Way uncool, I say."

Chris Piaget, another group member, added that the Collective should agree to adopt a state-by-state approach.

"The semi-autonomous nature of our so-called united states ought to be utilized," he argued, pausing to pick a particle of dirt from his big toe. "A vanguard party must always appear first in a single state in order for a national revolution to even be possible, kind of like how all of us got the munchies for Patrick's spicy Thai tofu stew with okra and lentils the other night. He just opened up that biodegradable container, and BAM! we were all down with the brown. Brown rice, that is, not brown people, although I must say I would have no problem getting it on with that black cashier at the food co-op, provided that she too shares my interests in the environment, social change, and avoiding deodorant."

Bednarski, before asking for a vote on whether the meeting should end or be continued until all members had exercised their rights as members to speak, offered his summation of local efforts to organize.

"Ultimately, action is critical, and activity always overpowers mass inertia - where power enters as a factor, we have to use and apply it," he noted. " If, nonetheless, we reject out of hand the doctrine of the revolutionary minority, this is just for the reason that it only leads to a mere semblance of power, like when Derek was trying to stifle that wicked red bean fart earlier. OUCH! That shit was stanky, my friend, though I'm not trying to impose my bourgeois values on you or anything. Still, bro, you could have taken that wave of ozone-eating evil outside - that's all I'm saying."

Top 10 Ways to Keep the Dude at the Next Urinal from Thinking You're Gay

2008-06-17T22:19:00.004-04:00

Guest Editorial by Brian Kershaw,
Guy Who Is Most Definitely Not Gay

We've all been there, right? I mean, taking a leak at the urinal when some other dude walks in and sidles up at the next pisser, trying not to make eye contact lest the other dude turns out to be gayer than a locker room full of Clay Aiken fans.

So, with the idea of keeping the rump-rangers at bay, I've compiled a handy list of the Top Ten Ways to Keep the Dude at the Next Urinal from Thinking You're Gay. You'll thank me later, mister.

10. Mutter a cuss word like "fuck" under your breath. Nothing says "I'm hetero" like a grunted F-bomb.

9. Hork up a giant phlegm wad and spit it in the urinal. Not only is this manly as hell, but it will likely make that queer in the next stall puke from being grossed out.

8. Whistle AC/DC's "Highway to Hell." Ain't no band tougher than those Aussie bad-asses, and Twinkle-Toes will probably run from you, thinking about the time he got his faggoty booty kicked by some dude wearing an AC/DC T-shirt in 8th grade.

7. Say something like: "Did you see that bitch out front with the tight-ass shorts? God, DAMN!" Mr. Limp Wrist will either have to pretend he's hetero, or he'll have to deny he saw the bitch, which means he's definitely gay, since a straight man's ass-radar is running 24/7.

6. Pick your nose. Yeah, normally you take a look both ways on account of the fact that you don't want people to think you're gross, but one thing's for sure about the gays: they are a clean people, and as much as they might want to chomp on your corn cob, the fear of snot will keep 'em away, kind of like vampires and garlic.

5. Always, ALWAYS wear your John Deere hat. No homo in the world's gonna be confused about a John Deere hat, unless you're wearing your John Deere hat while some queer has your dick in his mouth, in which case you are a sorry, sorry excuse for a John Deere owner, mister.

4. Punch the wall. Them faggery-daggery-doo types will mostly steer clear of a fellow punching a wall, except for the types who actually LIKE getting their ass beat, in which case you might as well help a gay boy out.

3. Holler something like: "FUCK! It ain't supposed to burn when you piss, is it?" Again, there's nothing that Mr. Butt Pirate would like better than to feel your huge hetero cock up his poop chute, but most gayboy types really don't dig a case of the clap, unless they're drunk as hell, and you're so horny you'll take a blowjob from anything with a warm wet mouth, in which case? Get the fuck away from me!

2. Talk up The Dukes of Hazard. Especially Daisy Duke, since faggots hate her for being: a) a woman; and b) a sleazy dresser. Ain't never been a queer what's sat through a whole episode of The Dukes of Hazard, and you can take that shit to the bank, Pancho.

1. Yell this: "I DON'T WANT NO HOMOS COMING NEAR ME, Y'HERE?" This is the best way to go, since anyone who answers is probably a queer, and in need of a shit-kicking. Now, if one of them answers with your dick up his ass, you have a real problem, since you ain't got no business pile-driving an ass that ain't your girlfriend, best friend's sister, or that freaky pimple-faced chick at the bar who fucks anyone, anytime, anyhow. Wipe off that nasty, crusty dick and find yourself a woman, for Chrissakes! Do I have to teach you everything?

If I Had Me a Pair of Goats, I'd Never Have to Cut My Goddamn Lawn

2008-06-12T21:32:00.004-04:00

Guest editorial by Jake Mannheim, homeowner

I've been cutting my own grass for over forty years, and frankly? I'm pretty sick of pushing that fucking lawnmower around day after day, week after week, when I could be sitting on the patio and sipping an icy-cold brewski, you dig?

Life is passing me by, pal, and it's about time the Jake-O-Nator (that's my nickname over at Dewey's Bar) did some real living.

I figure if I had a pair of hungry-munching goats, I'd never have to cut this goddamn lawn again.

I know what you're thinking: "Jake, you live in the city, for Gosh sakes. You can't keep a goat in the city!"

But I've been working on that part. I figure as long as I keep their little goat-horns filed down, people will just assume they're just a couple of long-legged terriers or something, especially after I get their vocal cords cut, and they won't be baa-ing or bleating or whatever goats usually say, at least without severed goat-throat tendons and shit.

Get a-chomping, you little goat bastards!

And I'm not going to name them something gay like "Billy" or "Clover" or "Frappaccino" or some other butt-piratey name. No sir - my goats are going to have ballsy names, like "Lothar" or "Tsunami" or "Buster Cherry," names that will stand up like a horny sixteen-year-old eating fistfuls of Viagra, you dig?

I got to think that two weeks of starving the little goat-fuckers out to be enough to make my turf look mighty tasty, and after that the goats will take to the lawn like aquarium fish take to sewer water, you feel me?

Then I'll have my whole summer to get drunk, download porn, and generally live like a man's supposed to live: relaxed and grass free. And with a couple of horn-less goats to roast come Thanksgiving.

Local Man Tired of Being Asked if He Was a B-Ball Star

2008-05-29T19:09:00.000-04:00

(Toledo, OH) Local resident Jon Hewitt, who recently began work at a local branch of a Big 8 accounting firm, says that he has been "overwhelmed" by coworkers asking him if he used to play basketball.

"Yes, I am black, and no, I cannot slam dunk," said Hewitt. "I can't believe these people; I'm only 6' 1", for chrissakes. I can barely touch the rim."

Hewitt, who just graduated from UT with a double major in accounting and finance, said that even company officers ask him about hoops.

"This one VP stopped in the middle of a department meeting and began to pretend like he was driving in the lane," he said, adding that he hasn't played the game since 4th grade gym. "He started this: "You got game, motherfucker?" crap, and wouldn't let up until I elbowed him."

Hewitt said that he hopes the novelty of a black accountant will soon pass.

"I'd hate to leave this place because the money is good and there are advancement opportunities here," he said. "But the next SOB who comes up and tries to do a skyhook over me when I am next to a trash can is going to get an ass-kicking."

FOX Affiliate Unveils Crime Show: "Negroes Getting Tazed"

2008-05-11T22:02:00.003-04:00

Negro being tazed

(Toledo, OH) Amid struggling ratings in a crowded media market, Toledo FOX affiliate WUPW-36 unveiled a locally-produced reality program that executives believe will provide a boost to the station's limited number of viewers.

Negroes Getting Tazed follows themes successfully developed in national programs like COPS, Most Extreme Videos, and America's Most Wanted.

"Quite frankly, viewers really enjoy watching people get tasered," said WUPW station manager Frank Oberlin. "And what they enjoy most of all is Negroes being tasered. Full jolt."

Oberlin denied that the station's decision to focus on African American taser recipients was racially motivated.

"Our focus groups showed an overwhelming preference for black taserings," he said, pointing to a spreadsheet. "Even other African Americans seemed to prefer Negroes being tazed over any other group, excepting Uzbekistanis, but we can't seem to find enough tazed Uzbekistanis to make one episode, let alone a series."

Local NAACP representative Franklin Moore expressed "conflicted feelings" about the focus of the program.

"Look: as a black man, I find racial profiling to be reprehensible and disturbing, especially in the 21st century," he noted. "Still, when those Toledo cops tazed that dreadlocked idiot with his ass hanging out of his pants, I couldn't help but chuckle. I mean, did you see the video of that young man twitch and dance when he got hit with the 300-volt prongs? That shit was funnier than a candy bar floating in the public swimming pool."