L@@@@@k-->> CELEBRITU REATOUCHING

FOR HIRE - FOR HIRE - FOR HIRE!!!

HEY LADIES, why are you alone? No, not because you're uninteresting. And it's not your total inability to empathize with any other human being. I'll tell you. No, it's not your crippling selfishness, either--stop naming things already and I'll tell you why, okay? It's those unflattering pictures of you. Your uneven skin tone, your crooked and stained teeth, your stunted eyelashes: what man would possibly want you?

Listen up, and listen good: The only way to find a man is to trick him by seeming attractive in photographs.

Now that I've broken you down, ARE YOU READY TO STOP BEING ALONE AND FIND THAT DREAM BRO RIGHT NOW?? Open up that slightly misshapen, too-small ear of yours and hear this: I am hiring out my amazing photoshop skills to help YOU trap any man you want. Did I say trap? I meant drug. No, trap is right. Trap him with a sexy picture retouched by -->ME<-- personally.

"BUT WAIT" I can hear you saying right now. Jesus, is that really your voice? No wonder you're alone, you shrieking, nitpicking harpy. "LET ME SEE AN EXAMPLE OF YOUR WORK."

Open up your beady eyes for this before and after. Believe it or not, this is sextastic sexslut KATY PERRY with no makeup, blotchy skin, and assorted skin folds:

Augh yuck, women in their natural state! Who wants to see that! Nature is terrible. Do you see a little of yourself in this? If you do, FUCKING LOOK AT THIS SHIT AND IMAGINE YOURSELF LOOKING THIS GLAMOROUS IF YOU ARE EVEN ABLE TO AND YOU PROBABLY AREN'T:

I'm going to let this image of a stunningly beautiful young lady speak for itself. "I'm beautiful and you're not--won't you be like me?" is what it said. Literally. To me only, though. If you want to look this great and nab a hot cup of dood for yourself, contact me with the coupon code "UGLYFUCK" and I will give you a 5 percent discount on a retouching. I look forward to putting you on your way to true love by staring at your assorted weird skin tabs for hours on end.

Remember: "Catfishing" is just another way to say "I love you."

No explanation needed

\

The Velociraptor Who Ruined & Then Saved Christmas

Only after the velociraptor had attacked, eviscerated, and finished devouring the plump, greasy naked pink ape who had climbed into its cave did it realize what it had done. The jingling of the sleigh bells perched atop its rocky lair and unmistakable mixture of elaphine stink and jolliness made its nostrils quiver with voracious hunger and sudden guilt.
"OH NO!" it shrieked, red specks of gristle flying from its steel-strong jaw. "I've ruined CHRISTMAS! How will I fix this mess?"
It plopped onto the icy cave floor as well as a velociraptor can plop and buried its head in its razor sharp claw hands. Out of the corner of its emotionless amber eye, in a pool of viscerae, it spotted starlight glinting, ever so slightly, off of what looked to be short fur.
"Is that— could it be—" it squealed hopefully, snortling quickly and leaning forward to peer. Despite the velociraptor's colorblindness and the bloody mess of the puddle, it was sure the fur was pure, jolly red. It lifted it up out of the clumpy bloodied mass. "His hat!"
Fitting the Santa hat over its bony skull, it gnashed victoriously in the air and let out a hideous, cacophonous scream. "THIS CHRISTMAS IS FUCKING CRETACEOUS!"

Spaghetti is a person! Dough & meat & grease!

I AM SEÑOR ESPAGUETIS!!!
MADE FOR YOUR CONSUMPTION SO PLEASE CONSUME ME!
PLEASE PAY NO ATTENTION TO MY NOODLE ARMS TWITCHING AS I TRAVEL DOWN YOUR THROAT!!!!

Ima be your one love, your #1 crab

DEAREST JUSTIN!!!!,
I am your number one fan I painted my walls the color of your face skin!!!! Please come visit me I will try not to drown you.
LOVE YOU ALWAYS AND FOREVERE
Krbarbkarkkkk

Manny the Manatee: The Blog Post: The Movie

Listen the fuck up, Disney. You're terrible. You're struggling. You need a movie with a--are you listening?--MANATEE IN IT. They're no diggity SO HOT right now. 87 out of 92 stupid kids agree, manatees are the new vampires. "Oh no!" you pussies are thinking. "Now we have to write some movie about manatees! What the hell are manatees?" ERRRNNNNNHHHH (STEPPING ON BREAKS NOISE)!! HOLD IT, you Disney corporate fatcat wall streets! I ALREADY wrote this goddamn movie FOR you!!! It's about a Manatee named MANNY and he has a girl friend and a bad hammerhead Shark nemesis and why the fuck not a slow loris friend, because kids are too stupid to know what slow lorises is. It can talk with a Jamaican accent or some shit. Now, a bunch of cartoon industry dumbfucks, including yourselves, are thinking 3-D and CGI are the new way to go. WRONG!!! Just LOOK at the Accessories folder in your Start launch and see for yourselves -- it's MS PAINT. Kids these days don't learn jackshit about art ANYWHERE. Schools don't have money for art classes, and when kids DO get markers and glue, they spend all their time huffing or smoking it while sexting their teachers. The first experience this new generation of children get with art is awkwardly drawing Spongebob giving it to that fucking squirrel using the spray tool on the universal art-making program, MS PAINT. Not sold yet? Well, fuck you too. And read this excerpt from my script I typed on WORD, a professional word processing program:

MANNY I am save the ocean? But I am scarewd! TITTERELLA I belief in you I think the water neds you ot MANNY STOP TALKING I NEED TO THINIK OK JAMBI THE SLOW LORIS Ya mon like lit da mon dink he ned to sef os fram da shork do MANNY Jambi i Can always count of you for sense. JAMBI THE SLOW LORIS (gets hits in the nuts with a starfish) Oyyyy monnn, my notttts!! (author's note: catchphrase JACKPOT)

I will share the rest of this script and drawings with you, Disney or whoever else has money, for the low low price of 250 grand and a lifetime supply of weed. Drop ya info below if you know what's good for ya!

Let's get erotic!

Shark and Shrimp meet at a watering hole

Zeke, the lonely space cowboy

Perched on a slowly revolving ring of Saturn, Zeke the lonely space cowboy chewed his fatback and corn pone sandwich solemnly. “What do you think is out there?” he said to his trusty bay Willie, who whuffled into her helmet. He narrowed his eyes at the planets and stars that shone and winked in the inky vacuum. “Probably a lot of stuff I could fuck,” he said, and he put down his sandwich with the brilliance of this revelation. “Willie, we got ourselves a new adventure!”

pickle wrangling

COSTNER: A Savagely Erotic Journey into the Heart of the American Dream

The Bodyguard: Raise your voice, Whitney. Sing the song that runs in all of our hearts. When Costner very literally swept you off your feet, he swept us all off our proverbial feet forever.

Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves: There were also breasts (?) and a waterfall in this

Field of Dreams: We laughed, we cried, we pondered our own daddy issues, wwe choked on hot dogs. This movie has everything, including a crowbar and a rousing scene where all of us good Americans stood on our chairs with Costner's wife who sort of looked like Holly Hunter and shouted together, raising our voices as one, NO WE WILL NOT BAN OUR BOOKS! WE ARE AMERICANS! WE ARE AMERICA!

And we are. Together. Because of you, Mr. Costner. I thank you. More than words can ever say.

Art Garfunkel's hotel stay

"This is a really good show, considering it is made for children," thought Art Garfunkel. hoped his wife wouldn't notice the part of the bedspread that he had gotten wet even though he had put a towel down.

Lizardface, Queen of Toilet Paper

ALL YOUR TOILET PAPER HAS BEEN INSPECTED BY ME PERSONALLY

says the sign outside of the palace. It is true, every roll of toilet paper is personally scrutinized, handled, tested, and licked by Lizardface herself. Every last piece of flimsy tissue you've squeezed between cheeks and into crevices and used to blow your nose and wipe up snot and blood and tears and pee and spills has had the rough tongue of Queen Lizardface lovingly run across it to make sure it is good enough for you. Just for you, personally.
"But how can it be for me when she does it to all toilet paper?" you wonder.
Can you accept that this act of total kindness is for your sake? It is the only thing in this whole world that is done for you. Wholly for you. Not for any kind of reciprocation, even emotional; in fact, your ingratitude is entirely assumed and expected, and yet Lizardface painstakingly examines and licks for you.
Just please, do me a favor and think of Lizardface's pure kindness the next time you use toilet paper. But that little flicker of cynicism and doubt in your heart—that tug that says no one, no one no matter how kind can truly give something totally to another—will make your next wipe a little scratchier, I bet. And I'm not going to say you don't deserve it.

Private EYE

The last thing Rick Russet expected to see walk through the door into his crummy office that day was a gorgeous potato. But there she stood in his office, her full lips pouting in anticipation, her stylish hat pulled low just above her beautiful eyes.
"Mr. Russet," Lola Hashbrowns repeated in her low husky voice that was as silky warm as a slow wash in a sensual kitchen sink. "I need to know if you'll let me hire you."
The tendrils of smoke from Rick's slow-burning cigarette licked his office's nicotine-stained ceiling. He frowned, pretending to be considering what she'd offered him, when really he would do literally anything to see her thick-skinned curves and luscious new potatoes again and again.
"A peel job, eh?" he asked from the corner of his mouth, hoping Lola couldn't hear his heart thudding or see his cigarette quiver ever so slightly like a shoestring fry being dipped into hot oil.
"Just this one time," she said almost in a whisper. Her eyes seemed to be reaching out to him, pleading. Rick nodded slowly.
Lola's lips turned up at the corners—almost more of a smirk, Rick thought—and she turned and walked out of his office. Rick watched her sensuous body bob down the hallway, his eyes tracing her delicious brown shape, and wondered why his stomach suddenly felt like a bunch of month-old tater tots moldering in the sun.

The Beast builds Belle a bookcase

"Why does a bookcase have the name of a man?" wondered the Beast

Ilona, the Horse Who Broke the Gender Barrier at St. Christopher's College for Men

Let your mouth gape open and suck in some of this new air!

Like Charles Foster Kane, I write my mission statement for you, the reader, and publish it on the first page (as long as you don't tear it out and ask to keep it to rub it in my face later when I become a pathetic, lonely, megalomaniacal egotist who totally lacks the ability to connect with other humans in any meaningful way) (just kidding, that describes me exactly how I am already!):

I pledge to make this blog full of


and sometimes to get a little serious to provoke some personal


and, ultimately, great


!!!

So I'll see you around, you fabulous person. Have I told you lately how much I enjoy your company, no matter what everyone else says about you when you're not around? It's true! Your braying, snort-filled laugh is like music to my ears, and your ridiculous sense of style has its own fun quirkiness that just screams I BUY MY CLOTHES OFF THE INTERNET WITHOUT TRYING THEM ON, I DRESS IN THE DARK, I LACK FUNDAMENTAL UNDERSTANDING OF STYLE AND COLOR, I NEVER LOOK IN MIRRORS, AND I DON'T GIVE A CARE WHO KNOWS IT! Love you!!!!!
Signed,
K. Lee Ingram
June 16, 2010