Sad Sad Sackbut


One, two, three, four sackbuts! Similar to the trombone in the same way the VCR is to the DVD.

A lonely trombone player wandered further from home than he had planned, and darkness was approaching. To further complicate his simple existence, he was lost in the middle of the forest. He was uncertain of what to do. Proceed forward into the unknown? Attempt to backtrack home? Being primarily a trombonist, he thought like one. These options were ridiculous. Conveniently, having a trombone on his person, he thought it more appropriate to play a tune. But what? There are so many melodies to chose from.

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McGruff, Garofalo & Ruffalo™ In “Enter Garoppolo”


Previously: Janeane Garofalo betrayed Mark Ruffalo by taking a secret meeting with Jimmy Garoppolo of the San Francisco 49ers. Meanwhile, McGruff took a bite out of crime and arrested a Juggalo gang in an abandoned bungalow. Kathryn Bigelow, the film director and not the well-known party planner, wants to make a movie called Bigelow Presents: McGruff, Garofalo, Garoppolo & Ruffalo™. And now:

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The Birds And Obese


Butterflies are fortunate in being beautiful, because aside from that, they are useless ignoramuses. A species that serves absolutely no purpose. They are the equivalent to hardened snot on a door handle. Interesting at first, then disturbing.

He could not bear to open his eyes while he ate his lunch. Technically, this was his post-breakfast, appetizer to lunch. With his eyes closed, he took a huge bite from a bacon cheeseburger. All his senses were heightened. The smell of charred beef, so blissfully right. The sound of meat surrendering to his gnashing teeth. The taste, oh dear Lord, the sweet sweet taste. The sensual slow drip of the grease past his wrist, and down his arm, inching towards his elbow. If he had concentrated a little more with his sense of touch, he would have felt the constricting of his arteries near his heart.

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Everything Sold Is New Again


Sir Henry Saville died as he lived, under the constant pressure of a deadline.

Sir Henry Saville slurped in the drool, which attached his face to the manuscript on the desk. The overwhelmed writer had fallen asleep while attempting to finish the first draft of The Bible as ordered by King James of England. The last thing he remembered was his vision blurring, seeing double, then quadruple, and the darkness of slumber.

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