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Friday, December 27, 2013

The Buggy Physics Of Superman (Part Two)

One of the most iconic scenes from the Superman films is that of Superman and Lois Lane flying over Metropolis. Superman floats down to Lois’s apartment windows and offers her his hand. She takes it and they go for a ride through the night air. At first, he carries her but, after no time at all, they are flying at arm’s length, wind combing through both of their hair. This scene, although lovely, ignores every law of Physics. Depending on how you read this scene, Lois Lane should either have been dangling from Superman’s outstretched arm or her arm should’ve been torn off. The speed of the scene suggests that the former should have happened. Lois appears, in the scene, to have achieved enough acceleration to have Lift. Lift is what allows planes to fly. To achieve flight, Lois’s lift had to be equal or greater than her weight and her Thrust Force, what is propelling her forward, must be greater than the Drag Force, wind-resistance, acting on her body. Lois’s body is completely horizontal, but both she and Superman are moving far too slow for that to be possible. It appears that her Thrust Force is too weak for flight. They’re moving like two kites on a strong breeze. I could be mistaken and both Superman and Lois could be flying fast enough to allow for Lois’s flight. I have to assume that Lois Lane weighs approximately 111lbs. Superman is reported to weigh 215lbs. That is a combined weight of 326lbs. Superman, Lois’s mode of acceleration, would need to provide -326lbs of Lift force. That, as I stated above, causes its own share of problems.

I had mentioned Tensile Strength earlier in this paper. Tensile Strength refers to the ability of an object to be stressed without breaking apart. The Tensile Strength of a human arm averages around 600lbs of force, applied. As I stated before, Superman has to provide 326lbs of Lift. The acceleration is acting on Lois’s very human body. This means, without factoring in the Thrust Force, Lois’s arm is more than halfway to the point of being torn from her body.

On average, a small Ultra-Light plane flies at 100mph at Take-Off. Lois Lane, most likely, weighs less than a piloted Ultra-Light plane. Lois, also, doesn’t have massive wings that would help her remain aloft. Because women tend not to fly, with or without Superman’s help, it is difficult to figure out what speed she would need to fly through the air. For the sake of argument, I will assume that Lois needs 100mph of Thrust Force. This means that she is experiencing -100mph of Drag Force. This all lends to the assumption that Lois Lane wouldn’t think much of Superman’s romantic gesture.

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

(REPOST) How Rock Saved Christmas! (REPOST)


How Rock Saved Christmas!

Jesse and Fin didn’t have the same affinity for making custom-built toys that the other elves had. No, they wanted to rock. For Jesse, it was the electric guitar. Alice Cooper, Judas Priest, Jimmy Hendrix. He prayed to them like they were his gods. For those about to rock, we salute you and he’d always salute back. When his fingers ripped across those taunt cat-gut strings, he felt the spirit of Christmas, Hanukah, Kwanza and any other holiday there was.

For Fin, it was the drums. Taunt canvas. A couple sneers, a bass drum and some symbols would do him fine. It wasn’t quite a religious experience for Fin as much as it was something primal. Smashing and bashing. Faster. Faster. Noise. More noise. Bang. Bang. Bang. Make the earth tremble in fear beneath him and the heavens crumble down over his head. Faster. Faster. He didn’t quite care about his drumming predecessors. It just felt good to drum. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Now, Santa had grown tolerant of oddball elves over the years. Ones that wanted to go into dentistry and Fashion Design. Ones that wanted to repair old cars and ones that loved baking. He found uses for them all, finding squared holes for the less round pegs. However, he wouldn’t- he couldn’t tolerate Jesse and Fin’s love of rock. For one, it scared the crap out of the reindeer. For another, Jesse had managed to repeatedly shatter the candy glass windows when his guitar solos crawled up into the higher frequencies. The glass would first rattle in its gingerbread frames and then explode outward into the frigid arctic air. Jesse had been quite pleased with himself the first time he’d managed it, but it spelt out doom for rock in the North Pole.

Jesse’s ax and Fin’s skins were stripped from them and locked away. The two of them were dragged off to work the assembly line, sticking wheels on toy trains. Left wheel. Right wheel. Left wheel. Right wheel. Hand to the elf to your right. On and on for what seemed like forever. The world’s population had grown to seven billion. A lot of trains to make and a lot of splinters as well. It might have been a dark day for the pair and for rock, if it wasn’t the fact that Rock and Roll has a long and honored history of harboring rebels.

It was Fin, doing what he did best. What he loved. Bash. Bash. Bash. He bashed the machine that made the little wheels that went on the little toy trains. He did it early on the second day of their time on the assembly line, before the elves came in for work. The other elves found the machine in ruin, but did not dismay, for fixing was a kind of building. They got to work and didn’t notice that neither Jesse nor Fin was in their ranks. The two were off to Santa’s Tomb of Things Not Befitting Christmas, knowing that’s where their instruments would be.

Fin, again, got to bash. This time it was a lock, barring them from their prizes. Bash, bash, bash and the lock fell, along with the door that held it. They found their prize at the end of a long hall, along with a man in a cage. He was all curled lips and hollowed eyes, what might be called very metal. Atop his cage, there was the legend: ‘Here is Black Peter of Dark Christmas’s past. He who rode alongside Santa Claus, punishing the wicked children of the world. Who kidnapped misbehaved ones and stole them away to Spain.’ Very metal, indeed. Black Peter followed the two elves with his coal furnace eyes, towering over them like some Monolith of Metal Christmas. Chains bit into his tree trunk sized wrists and he breathed black ash. Too goddamn metal. More metal than Fin could possibly stand. He succumbed to the Black Peter’s metal and bashed and bashed well, releasing the obsidian skinned imp from his incarceration. Jesse had cried, “No!” as the heavy metal dead bolt that secured the beast had clattered to the ground. Black Peter might have been metal, but releasing him was not.

He was out from his confines in a flash of smoke and hellfire, sending the pair flying to either side of the long hall.
“Why? Why would you do that, dude?” Jesse cried, waving smoke away.
“I’m sorry. He was too metal. It was awesome.” Fin said.
“Do you know what you did? Do you even understand?”
“I said I was sorry. How much trouble can he really cause? He and Santa were riding buddies back in the day.”
“Until Santa decided that a black guy kidnapping children was too racist for his modern image. Santa threw him in chains and Black Peter swore to destroy Christmas and Santa for the betrayal. We have to warn Santa!”

But Black Peter was swift to begin his vengeance. As they scurried across the bitter snows to Santa’s house, they heard a titanic roar and the earth quake beneath their feet. Brilliant rushed up into the sky like an upside down sun, spewing heat and liquid magma. Smoke rushed outward, turning their white world an ashy gray. Shadowy figures rode on the volcanic winds, their mouths filled with glittering, sharp teeth. They laughed and snared and snatched up elves at random. Some were off in a clearing slaughtering a red nosed reindeer. It cried and squealed until it went still forever more.

They moved closer to a yawning chasm in the ground where all of hell was spilling out onto the earthly realm. Santa was being held aloft by two horned demons. They laughed as the jolly, old elf was slowly roasted by the flames of hell. Jesse had his ax slung on his back and Fin had a sneer under one arm, his bass drum under the other and his sticks in his back pocket. Black Peter was holding the portal open with shredding rifts off this sick ax made from the bones of children off the naughty list. Jesse peered down into the fiery maw and saw a crimson fist rising through the flames. The hand of Satan. Black Peter was using Rock to summon the Devil. No, Black Peter was bastardizing Rock to summon the Devil.
“Get set up, Fin!” Jesse cried, taking his guitar off his back.
“All I got is this Sneer! This Bass! You don’t even have an amp. We won’t stand a chance against those killer chords!” Jesse pulled out a pick he’d concealed in his hat and put it to the strings.
“You and I are more metal in our sleep than he’ll even be. Amp or not amp, I’m going to rock this bitch. You with me?” Fin pulled his drumsticks out from his back pocket and spun them once in his fingers.
“We might die, but I can’t think of a better way to go.”

The two of them stepped up like men on a mission,
Determine to send the Prince of Darkness back into Perdition.
Black Peter roared and cut a killer rift off his ax
And the force of it sent them both on their backs.
Neither was deterred. Neither cried off.
They both got back up with a laugh and a scoff.
They gave as good as they got. Jesse strumming. Fin bashing.
The Prince of Darkness in his pit started up thrashing.
“You rifts are too sweet. Your metal is too pure.
Please I beg, little elves. Shred no more.”
Did they stop? Did they show mercy? No.
They played harder and faster, preparing their death blow.
The Prince and Black Peter howled and fell. Both of them made humble.
But to Jesse’s dismay, the ground began to open and started to crumble.
“Fin! Stop! We’ve already won.”
But Fin wouldn’t hear. He was having too much fun.
In a wild fury, he played. Bash. Bash. Bash.
Hell was seconds from claiming them when along came Slash.
With the sickest rift of his legendary Gibson
He sealed the portal leading down into Perdition.
Long, black curls and a black velvet top hat.
He nodded approvingly and said, “Your sound is pretty Phat.”
He walked off into the tundra with his Gibson on his back
And the elves were speechless, All words did they lack.
“That was Slash. Slash was he…”
“Yeah. That was Slash.” Fin did agree.
“He liked our sound. He thinks we’re sweet.”
“You think he’ll let us play with him? Come on, man! Move your feet.”
The two of them chased the rock star without any pause.
Not even stopping to help up a coughing, ashen faced Santa Claus.

Extraordinary as the tale is, I swear that it’s true.
Remember, Merry Christmas to All and We Will Rock You.

The End

Friday, December 20, 2013

The Buggy Physics Of Superman (Part One)

A 1938 Studebaker, reportedly, weighs approximately 3,250lbs. That weight is divided over four wheels designed to bear 3,250lbs. If we can assume that the surface area, touching the road, of each wheel is 5 inches in width and 7 inches in length. The surface area would, then, be 35 inches. If we multiplied that surface area by itself, and then, divided that by the overall weight of the Studebaker divided by the four wheels. That is represented as 35 times 35 (1,225) divided by 812.5. That tells us that the Surface Pressure acting on each wheel of the Studebaker is 1.5 degrees.

Superman’s hands are drawn grasping the fenders on either side of the Studebaker, suggesting that all of the Studebaker’s Surface Pressure is being concentrated on the palms of Superman’s hands and on those two side fender. It is unknown how large or small Superman’s hands might’ve been but for the sake of argument I’m estimating that Superman’s hands were 7 inches long by 4 inches wide. This can be represented by as 28 times 28 (784) divided by 1625 (the weight of the Studebaker divided by Superman’s two hands), which would come out to 2.07 inches of Surface Pressure. This is interesting because if the Surface Pressure acting on an object is greater than the Tensile Strength, which I will address soon, said object will break. In the real-world, that Surface Pressure acting on those Side fenders would cause the fenders to rip off and for the Studebaker to come crashing down on Superman’s head.

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Matt-o-pedia: Stink Tube

Stink Tube


Of or relating to the rectum and/or colon. Typically using is "Emptying out the stink tube" which refers to emptying one's bowels.

Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Mott-o-pedia: Hobo Hug

Hobo Hug


Of or relating to the practice of urinating while embracing another person.

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Matt-o-pedia: Sob-plosion



Of or relating to the occurrence of suddenly sobbing during a basic task, such as cleaning dishes or loading a washing machine.

Monday, December 2, 2013

Admissions from a Broken Brain

I don't like to be cornered. I don't like not have options, but also constantly ignore options when they arise. I have a sick brain, but I'm working on it.

Last Summer, while I was parsing together my life prior to 2010, I had to go into Boston, chasing funding for school. I don't go into Boston. I don't use public transportation. I like the ability to leave whenever I like. I like to keep my options. So, when I had to go into Boston, I also had to take the commuter rail, the subway and a city bus. I didn't like it. My mind is broken and it likes to torture itself.

You're on the wrong bus/train.

This dialogue rattles in my head and it becomes physically exhausting. I want to lay down and curl into ball. Even when it's over, I'm still shook by travel. Being on a plane would drive me the fuck insane. I have a broken brain. Tonight, I stood outside a library in Tewksbury, MA, waiting for a ride home. I knew that I had a ride coming. I knew my brain was torturing, but I still had a mini-panic attack about how will I go home. Again, I have a broken brain.

Saturday, November 16, 2013

News Item Of The Week: Bad Ass Wrecks His Ride

There was a bitching car accident on the Interstate Highway passing through Clarks, Nebraska. This sick Cherry-Red Dodge Charger was just tearing down Interstate 90. It was all weaving into the outbound lane and then, into the inbound lane. It was making the cops look like a bunch of chumps, dude. This reporter hadn’t seen the driver, but you just know his a badass. The Pigs were all like, “Oh, we’re a bunch of bitches who put Nitrous in the back of our cars, but don’t ever us it.” Well, this poor badass wrecks his badass Charger because some old lady or something couldn’t get out of the way. He plows right into her back bumper, makes her spill her pudding cup or whatever, and then, the police come to arrest the badass because he made the police look like a bunch of slow jerks.

Saturday, November 9, 2013

News Item of the Week: Why People Hate Dr. Beans

Failing to watch Breaking Bad makes people hate you.

  Dr. Paul L. Pickles in the Sociology Department of the University of New Mexico has performed a study which attempted to answer the question, Why does everyone hate Dr. Brian A. R. Bean, also in the Sociology Department of University of New Mexico. According to Dr. Pickles, Dr. Beans is universally hated by everyone everywhere and his recent study reveals some possible reasons. The study involved a sit-down conversation with Dr. Beans, where in Dr. Beans was asked the following questions:

1. How’d you like the Series Finale of Breaking Bad?
2. How’d you like the Season Opener of The Walking Dead?
3. What did you think of The Avengers?

Dr. Beans’ answer to the above mentioned questions are as follows:

1. I don’t watch Breaking Bad. I saw the first episode and thought it was boring.
  2. I don’t watch The Walking Dead. I can’t stand fake stuff. I’m a little old to waste time with Zombies.
3. Yeah, right. Like I’m going to play make believe with a big green guy and a robot.

It is to be noted that Dr. Beans engaged in this conversation while consuming an egg salad sandwich. Dr. Pickles remarked that it seemed as though Dr. Beans wanted his peers to hate him, but it seemed as though Dr. Beans' awfulness is too comprehensive to be purposeful.

Dr. Pickles remarks " He's just awful rather than trying to be awful."

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Nano Battle Diaries: 001

November 06, 2013 I'm in a fight for my life. When it's one tick past midnight and you've near 2000 words to go, a man's gotta live or die by his guns (literally.) I've been holding up other authors for their words. Am I proud of it? No, I'm not but neither am I ashamed. A desperado is a desperate man that's what I am. Current Word Count: 8139

Saturday, November 2, 2013

News Item Of The Week - Butt Fucking

Butt-fucking, apparently, isn’t as amazing as it was previously reported.

“While Ass-Play does look awesome in pornography, it isn’t actually all that great due to the lack of professionalism while engaging in the act. Pornographic actresses snake a tube up in there and they clean it out. Meanwhile, if you convince your girlfriend/ wife/ sexual partner of some kind to take it in the stink, it will most likely be reluctantly. She/he, most likely, will not do the pre-show work to prevent certain rotten egg smells and fecal stains.”

Said Dr. Maria Mason of the Department of Human Sexuality at New York University. When asked if she would be willing to let someone ride the Hershey Highway, Mason was reportedly, ‘A Bitch About It.’

Friday, November 1, 2013


'Kid Silver: Bang And Burn' is the sequel to 'Kid Silver: Alone' and follows the lead character, Maxwell Garrison in prison, after a bloody prison riot.

Friday, October 25, 2013

News Item Of The Week! - Panama

Timothy Carter, the sexy mastermind of Craig Carter’s escape, had apparently faked his brother’s death and killed three prison guards with a guns fabricated out of crack cocaine and semen. Carter has sent for this reporter and at the moment, we are holding hands on a sunny beach in Panama. We have just finished a dinner of Roasted Boar, Spanish rice and ice, cold beers. This will be the last report this reporter will file. This reporter would like to leave you with these last words: Never lose hope and believe in love.

Friday, October 18, 2013

News Item Of The Week! - Craig Carter Is Dead

Craig Carter has been put to Death via lethal injection at 7:16PM. It appears that Timothy Carter had no intention of breaking his brother free, or running away with this reporter. Timothy has, however, called this reporter, requesting more crack cocaine. This reporter is now willing to entertain the possibility that Carter is a drug addict and was only using this reporter to feed his addiction. This reporter had a wife and two beautiful children and he threw it all away for Timothy Carter and for what? Now, this reporter has nothing… NOTHING!

Friday, October 11, 2013

News Item of the Week! - Craig Carter Execution Approaches

Craig Carter is slated to be put to death this upcoming Tuesday. Timothy Carter’s escape attempt has yet to be sprung. This reporter has been on this story for about a month now and it is still unclear what Carter’s plan is. As much as this reporter is aware, Carter’s escape attempt will involve a large supply of Crack Cocaine, which has been supplied by this reporter. Also, it seems that Carter will utilize several ounces of this reporter’s semen. This reporter had lost his position over his story and admittedly, he can no longer be objective about it. He is in love with the master mind, Timothy Carter and will be waiting outside the prison the night before Craig Carter’s execution. This reporter has nothing to lose and has emptied his bank account and purchased three tickets to Panama, which doesn’t have any Extradition treaties with America. This reporter wants Timothy Carter to know that he loves Carter and will happily run away with him.

Wednesday, October 9, 2013



This cute, little kitty cat is wanted for being the most adorable kitty in the world. Also, he set a baby on fire. 

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

A Mouthy, 25-YEAR-OLD Dick-Head's Open Letter To A U.S. Representative

Dear, Congresswoman Nikki Tsongas

When America behaves as a homogenized whole, we are capable of extraordinary things. In World War II, we were the Goliath; we were the Incredible. Unfortunately, America has stopped behaving like a homogenized whole. A fist is not made up on any individual finger. It’s made up of an entire hand.
On October 1st, 2013, the U.S. Government was forced to shut down due to a failure to set a clean budget. This was not due to some insurmountable issue. It’s due to politics. Some may suggest that Politics is an insurmountable issue, but I believe that, like with a gangrenous finger, there is a solution, all-be-it unpleasant. Diseased flesh must be excised from healthy tissue. According to, Congress’s current Approval Rating stands at 11%, while Congress’s incumbency remains near 90%, as reported by the Why?
These are elected officials. Their presence can only be blamed on the electorate. Congressmen who are comfortable in their elected offices; who grope for hands to shake and slobber on babies around election-time, but only keep the campaign promises that are made behind closed doors  should probably be brought up for re-elections  while their empty-promises are still fresh in the populous’ mind. If Congressmen work harder to keep their seats (and lobbyist money) around election-time, then let election-time be a perpetual truth.
I also feel that the behavior of a Congressman in Texas affects my life in Massachusetts. A handful of elected officials managed to ensnare an entire nation in a pity squabble. The entire nation, as of the writing of this letter, is heading toward an economic shutdown and these men and women threatening to allow it to happen. If a Congressman from Alabama, Arizona, Iowa, Georgia or Florida has the ability to negatively affect my life, I feel that I should have the ability to negatively affect his position. Should Congressmen behave in an obstructionist way, seeming for the sake of being obstructionist, there should be a readily available way of recalling that Congressman. I am calling for National Recall Voting for Senators and Congressman based on polling data. Many of these problematic politicians are protected because the electorate of their state cast votes against the Presidency instead of for any given Congressman.  If these Congressmen were exposed to voting on a national level, many of them would fall to the wayside.  
Thank you for time and attention.

Mouthy Dick-Head

Friday, October 4, 2013

News Item of the Week! - Murderous Mob Election

Since the Governmental Shutdown on Oct. 01, roving bands of murderous looters have begun to form in the American Northeast. The rapid formation of said ‘Road-Warrior’ style groups seems to suggest that the men and women of the New England and New York area have been preparing for a potentially lawless Hell-scape for their entire lives. Many of these violent rapists and thieves have acknowledged the importance of Leadership in these turbulent times and have agreed to hold formal elections for various positions in this new government-less Terror-dome.
The following candidates are seeking office in the following offices:
Running for Secretary of Rocks Big Enough to Crush a Man’s Skull:
Dan “Hate-Monger” Smith
Timothy “Face-Stabber” Johnson
Wanda “Queen of Blood River” Jacobs
Running for the Office of Cannibalism
Brent “Hell-Mouth” Simmons
Bill “Sax-Man” Clinton
Alan “Please Don’t Hurt Me” Marks
Running for the Office of Half-Crazed Stabbing and General Bloodlust
Tim “Baby-Stomper” Cruise
Bill “Do It Live” O’ Reilly
Dakota “The Dead-Eyed Monster” Fanning
Lastly, running for the Head of the Savaging, Face-less Mob
Mike “The Rock” Gravel
Hope “Pretty Lady” Wilson

Pamela “Beast of the Southern Plain” Lane


Timothy Carter, who is expected to gather a crack team of convicted felons in order to save his elder brother from Death Row, has requested even more crack cocaine. It remains unclear how all this crack cocaine will aid in Timothy rescuing his elder brother, Craig Carter. The editorial staff has threatened to fire this reporter if he continues supplying Timothy Carter with a single granule of Crack Cocaine. This reporter has chosen to ignore their wishes because he is a reporter, first and an employee, second. 

Wednesday, October 2, 2013



This Gray Catnip-fiend is wanted in Canada for the attempted Assassination of the Canadian Prime Minister. 

Friday, September 27, 2013

Analysis: Doctor Sleep

Doctor Sleep Synopsis

Back in the groovy 70's, Stephen King wrote a novel about a frustrated writer who takes his family up to a secluded hotel, under the guise of a caretaker's position. This frustrated writer had planned to enjoy the Colorado quiet, but it turns out that the silence only manages to awaken something inside of him. Bloodshed ensues.

I've yet to read Doctor Sleep, but I wanted to share some of my initial thoughts, based on the Chapter One Excerpt that King included in the Audiobook version of his most recent Dark Tower Novel, Wind Through The Keyhole.

The first chapter starts with a newspaper excerpt, reflecting on the previous novel, The Shining.  The largest portion of the first chapter resides in 1981. Danny
is a little older and a little more terrified. He has always been sensetive when it came to the dead. He can see them and now, he knows them. Like the world's worst penny, he finds at least one of the ghouls that had resided in the Overlook Hotel. The old lady, nude and scarred from some too-long bath. This terrible old woman had died there, in the Overlook, but she didn't stay there. She took a trip, all the way from Colorado to Florida.

What immediately strikes me about this noel is that King has returned to a straight-up Horror novel. King hasn't written a true Horror novel since 2008'S Just After Sunset. This isn't an insult  by means. King's work has been branching in many interesting directions. In recent years, King has shown an affinity for more action/adventure stories with the exception of 11/22/63, which had more of a romantic bent. Doctor Sleep, however, seems to be a out-n-out Horror story and if Mr. King and I think alike, we might see Danny's dad in the mixture. How fun would that be?

News Item of the Week! - Dead Babies

According to the University Of Pennsylvania’s Baby Statistics Department, the rate of baby self-immolation has remained unchanged since last year’s study. Professor Chuck Bentley reportedly said that:

“Absolutely no babies have set themselves on fire as far as we know. We haven’t really looked and we, honestly, don’t want to.”

Bentley was asked if this rate was likely to raise or lower. Bentley then said:

“Dude, shut up.”


Timothy Carter, who is expected to rescue his elder brother before the end of the month, has requested more crack cocaine and has offered this reporter oral sex in exchange for said crack cocaine. This reporter, against the direct orders of the editorial staff, has elected to honor Carter’s request.

Wednesday, September 25, 2013



This dirty pussy is wanted for identity theft. He has stolen nearly $7,200,000 from various people around the world.  

Friday, September 20, 2013

News Items Of the Week! - The Bear Experience

Jeffery Fink of the Fink & Barn Wildlife Experience in Yuma, Florida has announced an exciting, new attraction:  Humiliate a Bear Experience.

Like most modern, small business, the Fink & Barn Wildlife Experience has suffered under economic pressures. Fink, in an effort to drum up business, decided to try this new idea.

Here’s how it works: Fink or, a reportedly reluctant Howard Barn will shoot one of their seven bears with a tranquilizer dart and then, for a low, low price of $24.95, you can go into the cage and punch a bear directly in the face. For another $5, men are permitted to rub their bare scrotum on the bear’s face and women will be able to blow a hot fart directly in the bear’s face.

Though the experience is slated to open in the Spring, there’s been notable interest in Japanese markets and surprisingly, from the animal rights organization, PETA.


Timothy Carter, who is suspected to be seeking to rescue his elder brother, has requested that this reporter supply him with more Crack Cocaine. Against the wishes of the editorial Staff, this reporter has elected to honor this request in pursuit of this unfolding story.  

Thursday, September 19, 2013



This furry feline is wanted for the rape of several horses. The horses are being treated for psychological horror. 

Monday, September 16, 2013

Bonus!!! News Item of The Week! - All Mass Gunmen Have Tiny Baby-Dicks

Dr. Tobias Webber, Professor of Large-Scale Murder at UCLA, has published an article in the Journal of Criminal Study equating Mass Murderer's death tolls with Mass Murderer's penis sizes. According to Webber, the number of unarmed civilians murdered is directly proportioned to the shooter's penis length, a full 1/4 inch being subtracted with every murder commited. Webber came to this conclusion after observing Sandy Hook Shooter, Adam Lanza's autopsy.

"What's that poking out from his anus?" Webber had asked the attending physican.

"His penis. Adam Lanza has a -7 inch penis." The Physican reportedly replied.

Webber examined other mass murderers and discovered this to be universally true. While Boston Bomber, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev (I punched my keyboard to get that spell.) was recovering in Boston General Hospital, Webber had the opportunity to attend a physical examination/public humilation.

"I was handed a shopping bag filled with rotten vegetables and oversized dildos and was instructed to lob the contents at Tsarnaev. I had been sat next to several teenage girls who had been instructed to giggle loudly and make catty remarks about his penis. Their job had been made difficult due to the fact that Tsarnaev didn't have a dick at all. It took them some time to realize the tail coiled on the floor wasn't, in fact, a long, roppy poo. Instead, it was his -30 inch cock." Webber said.

When asked if he pegged that bastard with a dildo, Webber reportedly said, "Right up side his fucking head, man."

Webber wishes to expound the undeniable fact that if you kill unarmed, innocent people, your dick will shrink up into your body and then, go into negative inches.

Friday, September 13, 2013

News Item Of The Week! - Brother Has Yet To Save His Older Brother

Timothy Carter, of Chicago, Illinois has yet to rescue his elder brother from Death Row. Judge William Hicks, an enthusiastic fan of the cancelled FOX crime-drama Prison Break, suspected that Timothy had been inspired to save his brother, Craig Carter who is slated to be put to death at the end of September. Timothy was arrested on July 11th  on Drug Possession and Trafficking. Timothy had numerous tattoos on his body, much like the main character of Prison Break, but Timothy’s tattoos mostly depicted swastikas and nude women. As of yet, it is unclear how this tattoos will lead to a daring, moonlit escape.

A reporter was sent to the prison, hoping to shine some light on any escape plans that Timothy has. Timothy declined to share his agenda, but requested that the reporter smuggle in some of the street drug, Crack Cocaine. At this time, this reporter doesn’t know how Crack Cocaine will aid in his escape, but this reporter has decided to explore this crack cocaine method of prison escape.      

Thursday, September 12, 2013



This crimson kitty killed 10 Mexican tourists with a hatchet late last April. When asked why, this heartless fiend just said "Meow."

Friday, September 6, 2013


EPISODE ONE:  Immigraniada

The air had turned into shards of glass, peeling away at Hugo’s lungs. He lay in a dead grass field with scraps of paper swirling around his head. It hurt to breath, but Hugo’s chest continued to convulse. Air was punching from his lungs along with slobber and flecks of rust-colored blood. Ice-cold, blue light spilled down onto Hugo’s body. He reached up, toward the cold, blue light and then, the light spilled away into the void. Darkness smashed all around him and night flooded in soon after. He could hear crickets hidden in the grass and further off, he could hear the freeway. He could hear the whine of cars and the blur of car horns.

Hugo rolled onto his shoulder and then, onto his hands and knees. Another round of coughing snagged his lungs. He pressed his forehead to the wispy, papery grass and felt his abdomen constrict over and over again. He put his hand to his waist. His fingers brushed across something leathery. He felt something that wasn’t his own skin. Whatever it was, it was fused into his skin.

“What the hell happened?” Hugo asked into the cold night. He looked up into the night sky.

Hugo climbed up onto his feet. He didn’t have his shoes and he could feel the small rocks underneath his heels. He stumbled off toward the freeway, breathing little ice shard out before him. 

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Lowell Is Liike A Cat

Lowell is like a cat. Most people enjoy cats, much like most Citizens of Lowell enjoy Lowell, Ma.  But, also like a cat, you wouldn’t be all that surprised if you found out that Lowell was attempting to kill you.  Lowell, Ma is a horrible place. Most people seem to be campaigning for the title of Worst Person Alive. I want to tell you a story of a Late-night Shift and one and a half feet of snow.
Not a short-time ago, I worked at a 24-hour corner store. Through a series of monkey-shines, I found myself working the overnight relief shift, usually spanning from 10:00pm -4:00am.
On the day this story takes place, two feet and a half of snow fell, caking our family home in white, fluffy snow. This would’ve been easier to shovel away, but the temperature rose, turning the falling snow into rain, soaking those two feet of fluffy snow. There was a ‘Stay-At-Home’ Advisory for our area, which should have meant that the roads should’ve been clear. Unfortunately, Lowell don’t listen to not ‘Stay-At-Home’ Advisory.
I had made a perfunctory attempt at shovel at path to the street and I thought that should’ve been good enough. My mother, my dearest mother decided that she wasn’t going to listen to this advisory. She had old people to take care of (and possibly, beat with a wooden spoon.) My sister went out with a shovel in her hand and began to dig my mother out. This is a common occurrence in Massachusetts: Digging out someone who should just stay home. My sister had hardly made a dint in the snow and came back in, seeking reinforcements. My two brothers were away, somewhere. They were doing something. Possibly, they had known that this was going to happen.
We have three cars and we attempted to dig out the easiest of the three cars. My sister’s car sat on the street and therefore, there would be less work for the both of us. I’d be able to go back to sleep and be rested for my 10 to 4 shift at the corner store.  We finally dug out the car. We were cold, wet and exhausted and I began to trudge back to the house, while my sister started on my mother’s vehicle. I felt that we had a car available, which we shouldn’t have done, seeing as there was a ‘Stay-At-Home’ Advisory.
I slumped down to my bed and enjoyed a glorious half-hour’s sleep before I was called back down, hearing demands that I should aid my sister. I had aided my sister. We had dug out a car for my mom. Why would I dig out another?

Evidentially, there was the hypothetical fear that we might need a car once our mother was gone. I argued that if something was to happen in our home, we could call an ambulance. We could call the police. We did not need another goddamn car.
I lost that argument, though I maintain that my argument was remarkably sounds. I found myself shoveling out a second car. I was now, colder, wetter, and more exhausted.  My mom had her car and my sister had hers. Again, I headed back inside and my sister continued on to the third car. Why? The fuck if I know. I didn’t sleep at all this second time before I was called down to aid my sister, again.  This time, it was my father, seemingly jealous that everyone else had their cars dug out. I contested that the snow was heavy, that we were exhausted and that he didn’t have to be anywhere for a full 38 hours. This was on a Saturday and he didn’t have to work until Monday.  Again, my argument was sound, remarkably so but I found myself outside, shoveling out a third car. This is what you get if you live in Lowell. You get soaked in cold, filthy water. You get to feel like you’ve been stabbed in the back, emotionally and physically. You get to work in futility for on good goddamn reason.

Thursday, August 22, 2013


It's my birthday! I don't want to post this anymore, so here's all of it!


Panel 1:Dog Boy shoots toward the man and shoves him into a nearby gate.
Panel 2:He begins mercilessly bashing him in the face, howling wildly as he did so. The man eventually goes limp


Panel 1:Dog boy backs away, his hands dripping with blood. 
Panel 2:Dog boy turns to the woman and clutches her face, surveying her thoughtfully.
She omits a scream
Panel 3: Dog boy releases her from his grasp.
She runs off into the night.
Panel 4:Dog boy turns to the unconscious man and takes out a knife from his belt.
DOG BOY: (whispers): Teach him good.

Setting: Hospital
Panel 1: The man lies on a hospital bed screaming in pain, clutching the bloody stump that was his hand.
DOCTOR to the PARAMEDIC: Where’s the hand
PARAMEDIC: It wasn’t on site.
Panel 2, setting: Park
Dog boy peers into a jar holding the severed hand.
Panel 3:He places the jar in a hole and begins to bury it.
Enter policeman
POLICEMAN:  Hey! What the hell is that?
Dog boy looked nervously at the policeman and continued to bury the hand.
The policeman comes closer.
Panel 4: POLICEMAN: What are you doing?
The policeman peers over Dog boy’s shoulder to see the partially covered jar.
Panel 5:POLICEMAN: What is that?
The policeman shoves dog boy aside and picks the jar up.
Panel 6:POLICEMAN: Holy hell
Dog boy knocks the policeman to the ground and darts off. The policeman clicks his radio.
Panel 7:POLICEMAN: We’ve got 8-20. ID: 6 foot 2 Caucasian male. Slender build, dirty brown hair, wearing a black coat and blue jeans. Possibly mentally ill. It’s gonna be hard to miss this guy.
Section 5


Panel 1:Setting: police station
Dog boy sits in an interrogation room, handcuffed.
A man (George Ricotti) and woman (Jeanie Murphy) enter the room.
The woman sits across from Dog boy and the man stands behind him.
DR. MURPHY: Hello, My name is Jeanie Murphy. I’ve been asked to speak to you. Can I ask you your name?
Panel 2:Over the shoulder angle facing Murphy
DR.MURPHY: is that what people call you?
Panel 3:
 DR. MURPHY: Is that what you like to be called?
Dog Boy nervously turns his head to the man behind him.
Panel 4:
 DR. MURPHY: Could you wait out side, Officer Ricotti.
OFFICER RICOTTI: I’ll be right outside this door.
Officer Ricotti exits.
Panel 5:Over the shoulder angle facing Dog Boy
DR. MURPHY: Better?
Dog Boy nods
DR.MURPHY: Good, So what do you like to be called?
Panel 6: Dog Boy shrugs

Page 9
Panel 1:
DR.MURPHY: Do you understand why you’re here?
DOG BOY: Because of the hand.
DR. MURPHY: Yes, Why did you have it?
DOG BOY: I taught him good.
Panel 2:
DR. MURPHY: What do you mean?
DOG BOY: He was bad. I taught him good.
 DR. MURPHY: Tell me what happened.
DOG BOY: I saw her. The pretty lady and he came and grabbed her arm. So I took his hand away. He’ll be good now. I taught him to be good.
Panel 4:
DR.MURPHY: Do you understand why that is wrong?
DOG BOY: What?
DR.MURPHY: Do you understand why cutting a hand off is wrong?
DOG BOY: It’s not.
DR.MURPHY: It’s not good to hurt people like that.
DOG BOY (slightly agitated): It’s not bad.
Panel 5:
 DR. MURPHY: Let’s change the subject. Why’d you take the hand to the park?
Dog Boy shrugs

Page 10
Panel 1:
DR. MURPHY: Did you do something like this before?
DOG BOY: Can I go. I don’t like it here.
Panel 2:
 DR. MURPHY: I’m afraid that’s not possible. The fact is you hurt someone and we can’t let you go until we know you won’t do it again.
DOG BOY: I don’t like it here. I want to go.
Panel 3:
 DR.MURPHY: I can’t do that.
DOG BOY (slightly agitated): I want to go.
DR.MURPHY: Calm down
Panel 4:
 DOG BOY: I want to go.
Dog Boy stands
DR. MURPHY: Please sit down and calm yourself.
Panel 5:
 DOG BOY: (Highly agitated) I want to go.

Page 11
Panel 1:Officer Ricotti re-enters
Dog Boy spins around and charges at Ricotti, knocks him into a wall and Ricottifalls in a heap.
Panel 2:Dog Boy exits out of the room and is met by two officers in the hall.
OFFICER 1: That’s as far as you go.
Panel 3:Dog Boy kicks in officer 1’s knee.
Panel 4:Then darts around officer2.
Panel 5:Officer 2 manages to grab dog boy around the middle.
Dog Boy kicks a nearby wall-knocking officer 2 off balance. Both fall to the ground
Panel 6: Dog Boy is up first.

Page 12
Panel 1:Before officer 2 could think Dog Boy crushes his nose with his heel.
Officer 1, wincing in pain, attempts to block his way.
Panel 2:Dog Boy dropkicks officer 1 and officer 1 falls to the ground unconscious.

Panel 1:Three more men emerge into the hall.
Dog Boy takes the officer 2 as hostage, choking him with the handcuffs.
The three men stop and stare cautiously.
Panel 2: Dr. Murphy slowly approaches
DR.MURPHY: Listen to me. Is what you’re doing now good?
Dog Boy looks scared and confused.
Panel 3:
 DR.MURPHY: Are you being good?
Panel 4:Dog Boy looks at the three men, then at the officer he held hostage and then at Dr. Murphy and lastly he released the officer.
 Panel 5:He sits him in the fetal position, rocking back and forth, weeping.

Page 14
Panel 1:The three officers charge at Dog Boy.
DR.MURPHY (in a commanding tone.) Leave him be. Get them to a hospital! Check on Ricotti back in the room.
Jeanie sits beside him and cradles his head.
Section 6
Setting: Jail cell
Panel 2:Dog Boy sits in a jail cell crouched in the fetal position.
Dr. Murphy comes to Dog boy’s cell.
Dog Boy stands at the bars.
DR.MURPHY: I was wondering if you have a name but don’t want to tell me.
Panel 3:
DR. MURPHY: Is that what your real name is?
DOG BOY: Only name I remember.
Panel 4: DR. MURPHY: Would you like a real name?
DOG BOY (hesitantly): Okay.
Panel 5:
DR. MURPHY: Give me your hands.
Jeanie offers her own.
Panel 6:Dog Boy cautiously places his hands in hers.

Page 15
Panel 1:
DR.MURPHY: You look like a Gabriel. Would it be okay if I called you Gabriel?
DOG BOY: I like Gabriel.
Panel 2:
Setting: Police Station/ Ricotti’s desk
Ricotti sits, icing his neck.
Officer Pete approaches his desk with a file in hand.
He hands it to Ricotti
OFFICER PETE: You know you’re lucky.
RICOTTI: How so?
Panel 3:Ricotti opens the file.
PETE: He’s some sort of freak. He took the hand off with a regular pocketknife. The guy snapped the bone with his bare hands and it broke clean like a fucking twig.
RICOTTI: Serious?
Panel 4:
PETE: Yeah and it looks like Corky’s a vigilante. He’s linked to a number of beatings and mutilations. All of them, attempted murders, robberies, rapes. You name it.
RICOTTI: How many exactly?
Panel 5:
PETE: About 40 now. He’s been doing this for about four years
RICOTTI: We got a real name on this guy?

Page 16
Panel 1:
PETE: No, he wouldn’t even exist if it weren’t for his record.
Section 8
Panel 2:
Setting: Saint Ives Psychiatric Rehabilitation Center/ Patient’s room
A bald unshaven man (Bobby Reed) sits cross-legged on his bed, playing his guitar.
Enter Emily Mason holding a pill tray
EMILY: How’s my favorite rock star?
BOBBY:  Is there such a thing as a good day in this place.
Panel 3:
EMILY: Awe. Having a bad day?
BOBBY: Spend a night here and tell me different.
Panel 4:
EMILY: It can’t be that horrible.
She sets the pill tray down on a table and picks up the cup.
Panel 5:
EMILY (playfully): Pill time. Put the guitar down for a second Mr. Reed.
Bobby carefully sets the guitar down, uncrosses his legs and stands. He walks up to her and stand close to her.
Panel 6:She hands him the pills and drops the pills into his mouth.

Page 17
Over the shoulder angle towards bobby
Panel 1:
EMILY: There we go. Open up please.
Bobby stares at her for a short while. He opens his mouth to reveal the pill still on his tongue.
Over the shoulder angle towards Bobby
Panel 2:
EMILY: Don’t give me trouble today, Bobby. Please just swallow it.
Panel 3:Bobby closes his mouth and stares thoughtfully; he gently touches her hair
Panel 4:Emily takes his hand away from her hair.
EMILY: Bobby, stop it.  Just swallow the pill and sit back down.
Panel 5:Bobby splits the pill out and shoves her away from him.

Page 18
Panel 1:Emily falls on to her back.
Panel 2:Bobby kneels and quickly snatches her Keycard.
Panel 3:He then turns to get his guitar.
Emily gets up and runs to the door
EMILY: (shouting through the door window) Gary!
Bobby drops his head and turns around to the door.
BOBBY: (agitated) Of course! Of fucking course.
Panel 4:Bobby runs over to Emily and grabs her in a headlock
Gary comes in
Panel 5:
GARY: Shit. Come on bobby let her go. You don’t want this. You were doing well, man. Just let her go.

Page 19
Panel 1:Gary slowly reaches for his baton.
BOBBY: Don’t! I can snap her neck, so don’t fuck with me.
Panel 2:
GARY: What’s your next move? We can’t let you leave. You’re just making it worst for yourself. Look, I already sent out the alarm. You let her go now and calm yourself and you won’t have to worry about anything.  We’ll go easy. Just let her go.
Panel 3:Bobby stares at Gary, stony faced, then releases Emily
She runs to safety behind Gary.
Gary slowly approaches Bobby and takes out his baton.
GARY: Okay, now sit on the bed.
Bobby stays his ground.
Panel 4:
GARY: Come on, Bobby.
Gary comes in arm length of Bobby.
Panel 5:Bobby grabs the baton and Gary, still holding with a firm grip, comes with it and is knocked down by a hard elbow to the nose

Page 20.
Panel 1: Gary releases his grip on the baton and Bobby cracks him again and again until Gary dies.
Panel 2:Bobby turns his head towards Emily. She stares horror struck

Page 21


Panel 1:Bobby rummages through Gary’s pockets for his keycard.


Panel 2:He finds it and exits out the door.


Panel 3:Emily remains in the corner and begins to cry.