The Hardest Part

Posted on June 17, 2019 by sungmokoo

What happened? A) The cat smothered and ate a newborn. B) The end result of a lame magic trick C) This is an alternate universe where cats sleep in cribs or D) The cat was bored.

I thought this would be the easiest part. Shooting a defenseless baby in the head should be a no-brainer. Yet, here I stand, gun pressed against the forehead of baby Hitler. To be clear, it was Adolf Hitler, that evil tyrant with a distinctive mustache.

Who knew that time travel could be so simple? Thanks to the help of YouTube® and the mere purchase of three alarm clocks and a flux capacitor, time travel was a cinch.

Yeah, I know, killing baby Hitler is trite and all, but if you ever have access to a time machine, and you want to do the right thing, this is it.

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For Dread Is The Color That My Baby Wore

Posted on June 16, 2019 by sungmokoo

“Haw haw,” guffawed Nelson Muntz without any regard for the dignity of the very obese lard ass Homer Simpson had become. Bullying is unwanted, aggressive behavior, yet obesity, when not an active disease, is excessive. In a world where bullying is increasing at the same rate of obesity, there’s a lot of confrontations to be had on the horizon. Source.

“Get me my lasagna pants,” Eddie exclaimed from his bedroom. For the sake of clarity, his room was a sty and he was fourteen-years-old. His voice rippled throughout the house systematically, down the hallway, down the stairs, through the living room, until it reached the kitchen, where Janice, Eddie’s eldest sister, shivered before dropping a glass of pulpier than needed to be orange juice. It looked like tiny goldfish in an orange sea filled with shards of glass.

It was fortunate for Mother, who was ascending the stairs, she was not holding something, for she would have surely dropped it. She tightened her grip on the stair railing, her eyes filled with panic.

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That One Day, Maybe It Was A Tuesday

Posted on June 13, 2019 by sungmokoo

Small towns are awesome and charming until you have a craving for samosas.

The people of Rural Rock still talk about that one summer day when Jamworth “Bucktooth” Johnson rolled into town on a keg of beer. It was a sight to behold, here he come down the street kicking up all kinds of dust and what not wearing nothing but a smile and his big dick flopping around and to and fro like some elephant who ain’t give a shit.

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Tales Of The Sad Trombone

Posted on June 12, 2019 by sungmokoo

Beware! Don’t be fooled. This may appear to be a regular harmless trombone, but it is in actuality, the dreaded and vicious sad trombone. Use great caution. If caught in its hypnotic influence, instant death is inevitable.

It was 8:20 A.M. The train was packed with people and it smelled like it. The train went dark as it entered the tunnel. Not even a second later, the light was immediately replaced with an eerie man-made incandescence. A complete shift had occurred. You could no longer tell if it were night or day.

Vance Afro was utterly sandwiched between a pole against his back and a short old man, further flanked by a woman straining to carry a six-year old child, a schlub who needed to shower yesterday, and a businessperson.

This is probably a good time to pause for an explain this to me moment. The term businessman surely indicates male; and businesswoman, female. Yet when one says businessperson, we insinuate that the gender is female. This has been an explain this to me moment.

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