Toledo Tales

(Toledo, OH) Local embellishment specialist Dwayne Baxter told Toledo Tales reporters that his string of recent conquests includes local singer-songwriter Crystal Bowersox, a finalist in the 2010 American Idol competition.

"Straight up: Crystal was climbing all over my Johnson the other night," Baxter recounted. "She was riding my business like superglued cowgirl on a meth-snorting bronco, brother."

The unemployed sheet metalworker said that he and Bowersox met at a local pub after her recent return to the Toledo area.

"I was just sitting there, minding my own grill, when she came up behind me and reached around for a tug at Mr. Happy," he chuckled. "It's funny how even celebrity chicks forget about their reputations when they get a good look at my junk. Hell, just last week I was out to LA visiting some friends and I banged Jessica Simpson, Cameron Diaz, and Ellen DeGeneres at the same fucking party. Yessir: even the lesbians can't resist the sexual magnetism of Mr. Dwayne T. Baxter."

Baxter said that the "most challenging" nature of his relationship with Bowersox is her persistence.

"Unfortunately, the Bax-man has to move on after a couple of rounds of the old rodeo, but Crystal just won't take the hint," he said, pausing to scratch his package. "I know that women have a hard time saying goodbye to me, but damn: that girl is crazier than a sack of rabid weasels."

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.

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."

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.

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.

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!

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?”

(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."

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."

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.

(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."

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.

Labels: retards