pickled eggs – f-your blog

Another Day Down At The Old CNB Bar & Pawn

Bud Wiser was running an Hour Behind in His Daily Schedule since He had been up half the Night. Bud had the unpleasant Pleasure of being Sleep Deprived this Morning because His Dog had eaten a piece of Rotten Garbage out of the Kitchen Trash Can. The Rotten whatever the hell it was had given Bud’s Dear Dog a Violent Case of Projectile Diarrhea that had wrecked Havoc for most of the Night.

Fuck Me This is NO GOOD Bud thought Over and Over while Walking as fast as His Limp would allow Him to. Bud had a Very Distinctive Limp after an Alleged Accident at Work when a Kegerator Exploded (after being Sabotaged mind You) in an Assassination Attempt against Him that Never was Resolved nor Explained.

You see Bud was the Owner and Proprietor of the Local Favorite Water Hole The Cock’n Balls Pawnshop and Bar. Bud had inherited the Establishment from His Father Miller who had Opened The Cock’n Balls with a Unique Vision of Combining a Bar and Pawnshop All in One. His Father had Opened The Cock’n Balls in the Fall of 1966 on the Outskirts of the Small City of Nowhere Special. Bud’s Father opened the Doors of His Life Long Vision after Retiring from a Lengthy Career at The Handy Leg Up Artificial Limb Factory.

Bud’s Father had chosen the Name because the Rooster (aka a Cock) was on the Wiser Family Crest. This was sue to The Wiser Family having been the Most Predominate and Wealthy Lithuanian Chicken Farmers in all the Land. Since Pawnshops have been around for Thousands of Years when the Average Person couldn’t Read or Write the 3 Hanging Balls that had come to Symbolized Pawn Shops had been adapted to combat the Wide Spread Illiteracy of the General Public. So when You add them together Your left with the Simple and Explanatory Name The Cock’n Balls (and since the Bar Sign Company charged by the individual letter Bud’s Father opted to save the Cash and just Add Lib the ‘N instead).

The Day Bud’s Father Died His Body was Liquified, and Mixed into the Barfly’s Bloody Mary Mix. Then at the Memorial Service the Following Afternoon the Attendees were all given a Complimentary Bloody Mary to Celebrate the Life of (instead of Mourning the Death) of Miller Tyme.

Bud had preserved the exactly same Operational Proceeders that had been set out by His Father which included a Strict Adherence to Time to keep the Cock’n Balls running on Schedule. This meant Bud had to arrive at the Business No Later than 6 am in order to get the CNT (As it was referred to by its Loyal Regulars) Ready to Open at 7 am Sharp for the Upcoming Day’s Drama. Today though Bud was an Hour behind due to the damn Dog, and He knew the Booze Loving Barbarians would already be Standing about on the Corner waiting for Him to arrive. And He wasn’t wrong not by a Long Shot.

The Gang of Usual Suspects were Standing about Lingering on the Corner outside of the CNB Chain Smoking like Fiends, and pacing Impatiently while compulsively checking Their watches as if Their Lives fucking depended on it. The Group was Split between the CNB Regulars, and The Night Shift Crew who just got off the Assembly Line of one of the Near By Factories, and were just looking to Relax after Work even if They did get Off work at 7 am.

Some of the Regulars that had already arrived included Shitty Nickels the Local Blues Musician who had just Finished a Long Night of Playing at Numerous Local Night Clubs and Cocktail Lounges. There was “Bloody” Sod Bollocks a Self Proclaimed Intellectual who’s Family had immigrated from England back in 1495 just 3 years after the Pilgrims found Plymouth and its Famous Rock. The funny thing about the Bollock Family was even though They had immigrated over 500 years ago None of Them had Lost Their Thick English Accents.

There was The Local Bum Bawbag Cockwomble who spent His Days Panhandling and His Nights at The CNB Drinking away the Days Profits. There was also Mickey Drongo who Spent His Nights running an Illegal Chop Shop around the Corner from The CNB. Also there was Pissy Wristy the Neighborhood Hooker, and Jimmy Tosser the Local Small Time Drug Dealer. As Bud Approached the Corner Harry Twat who Spent His Days down at the Dog Track Gambling on Anything He possibly Could (the Only issue was Harry had truly shitty Luck) walked up. The Last to Show up was Dicky Dullard a Low Level Criminal, and Adamant Heroin Junkie who Lived to Chase the Dragon with Pride.

As Bud Walked Up He could hear Mickey Drongo and Bawbag Cockwomble arguing over Some asinine thing or an Other. Jesus They’re starting Early Today Bud thought while sighing under His Breath. All of a Sudden Bud’s presence was Announced aloud by Mickey Drongo the ChopShop Mechanic, and Immediately Bud was subjected to a Verbal Tidal Wave of Complaints, Criticisms, and just plain Bitching from the Small Group assembled on the Corner in front of CNB.

“Hold Yer goddamn Horses Already! God forbid You all have to Wait one minute more than Necessary without Whining like Ally Cats for a Tin of Tuna.” Bud Barked Angrily.

“Pardon Dear Proprietor while We do love You establishment it is rather unprofessional to keep your Clientele waiting for up to an Hour after the Posted Opening Time.” chimed in Sod Bollocks who had already collected the Days Papers in Hopeful Preparation for a Payday. Sod had been in a rather large Rut recently, and was running up Tabs all over Town as it were while He struggled to Win a Single Wager down at the Track.

“Well Hold Yer Horses a bit Longer, You may be ready but the Cock’n Balls isn’t. I have done any of the Prep needed for dealing with the like of Your Lot.” snapped Bud growing weary of the Barrage of on Complaints from the Barking Boozehounds standing at His Door Step.

Bud pushed His way through the Customers perched like Alcoholic Buzzards waiting for the Doors to Open so They could Feast on the Fluids of Fermentation. Bud fiddled with the finicky lock until it finally gave way and let Bud stagger inside abruptly closing the Door behind Him under the Crescendo of Cursing from His Customers as They would have to continue to wait.

Bud flicked on the Lights, checked to make sure the Toilet was still functional, inspected the Pool Cues to insure they weren’t broken or Warped, He doubled checked to make sure the Display Cases were Securely Locked, Wiped down the Bar, made Sure He had the Stock He needed, Unlocked the Door to the Basement which acted as a Make Shift Poor Man’s Drunk Tank for Overly Intoxicated and Uppity Patrons, and Cleaned off the Table Tops. Then after He was fully satisfied Bud Opened the Doors at Last to the Great Relief of His Awaiting Patrons.

The Customers came pouring in like the Booze They poured down Their Throats. At this time of Morning all the Customers Gravitated to the Bar as Pawn Shop Customers general started showing up in the Early Afternoon. The CNT was split in Half by a Row of Rickety Tables, and a Motley Crew of Mis Matched Bar Stools that looked like each had been Salvaged from the Garbage on the Curb.

Once You entered the CNB the L shaped Old Oak Bar was directly to the Left along the Wall, and Directly to the Right was the Designated Pawn Shop Area. The Pawn Shop consisted of Display Cases housing Power Tools, Various Electronics, and Most Expensive Inventory (such Designer Watches or High End Pieces of Jewelry) lined the Wall with a almost equally as Long Display Counter filled with a Slew of Different Merchandise (Knives, Antique Coins, Lower end Jewelry, and Other Curiosities.

Each of the awaiting Patrons slid up to the Bar ready to start killing Their Livers as Quickly as Humanly Possible. Now because Bud Opened the CNB at 7am He served a what His Father had Dubbed “The Barfly Breakfast Special” which consisted of a Hot Dog, Pickled Egg, and a Draft Beer for $1.99. The Breakfast option provided Fuel for the Factory Workers after a Long Shift Toiling away performing Manual Labor, and it provided Fuel for the Regulars fora Long and Lingering Day of Drinking.

Mickey Drong The Owner of a Neighborhood Chop Shop picked the Spot at the Bar that was directly across from the Shitty and Barely functioning TV that was Hung on the Back of the Bar reminiscent of the way Motels did back in the Day when Mounted TV’s were what everyone was into. Sitting Next to Mickey was Bawbag Cockwomble the Pan Handling Alcoholic Bum who was still Babbling a Mile a Minute in Mickey’s Ear.

“Just BUY a Goddamn Egg it’s Only .25 Cents for Fuck’s Sake, and I damn well know even YOU have a crummy Quarter.” Mickey said exacerbated and trying His best to remain Civil.

“Yeah Yeah I do have a Quarter, but its designated for My Morning Shot of Grain Alcohol that Perks Me up and gets My Day off to a Good Start. I mean I need it, it’s fucking medicinal. I wonder around the Block for 12-14 hours a Day and My feet get all fucked up, Swollen and Sore shit like that.” whined Bawbag like a Cranky Child who wanted a Toy but Who’s Parents wouldn’t buy it for Them.

“That’s not My Problem it sounds like Yours to Me.” Snapped Mickey Sharply as His growing agitation started to get the Best of Him.

“All I’m saying Mickey is if Your going to Buy the Breakfast Deal Meal then You could just GIVE Me the Pickled Egg that comes with it. I could use the fucking Protien to help Me keep on Keeping On.” replied Bawbag indignantly as He too was getting rather Agitated at Mickey for not Forking Over the Pickled Egg Portion of His Breakfast.

“I have a great idea that will Settle this Little issue You Two are in the Mist Of.”, said Harry Twat the Neighborhood Deaerate Gambler with a Sly Smile stretched across His Face.

“And Whats That?!” ask Mickey unenthusiastically as the Whole Ordeal was wearing on Him at this Point He just wanted to be Rid of Bawbag and enjoy His Breakfast.

“A Wager, a Simple Bet will Fix it. The Bet shall be Whoever Eats the most Vomit Enducing Pickled Product Wins. Either Bawbag wins and Gets Mickey’s Pickled Egg or Mickey Wins and Bawbag has to leave Him Alone for the Entire Week.” proclaimed Harry Happily as if He had just Cured Cancer.

” I’M IN!!”blurted Out Bawbag fingering Win or Loose He was Going to Get Something to Eat out of it so fuck it Why Not?!

“Fine, I’m in Too. Whatever get this Pain in My Ass to Shut Up and go the fuck away so I can Enjoy My Morning with some fucking Peace and fucking Quit.” said Mickey having become absolutely exhausted by Now.

The Commotion had gotten the Attention of the Entire Bar Who’s Interest was Growing by the Minute. Bud went to fetch His Pressure Pickler (which is basically a Pressure Cooker modified for Speeding up the Pickling Process) that He had bought on impulse late one Night while He was watching Infomercials to combat His Insomnia. Once Bud returned to the Bar within Seconds after the Bet was made the Suggestions came Flying Fast and Furious. Among the first set of Suggestions were:

Pickled Pigs Feet which Everyone Agreed were to Cliche to Count.

Pickled Pig Knuckles which Everyone thought was Better than Pig’s Feet but Still Not Impressive Enough.

Pickled Sausages Which actual turned into a Suggestion as an Addition to the Barfly Breakfast which Bud Agreed to do starting the Following Day.

Then the Suggestions began to get Uniquer and Stranger than the One before it. Shitty Nickels suggested Pickling a Cockroach, but Bud vetoed it because there were No Roaches in His Establishment and Didn’t See the point in Introducing Them Now.

Then Pissy Wristy suggested Pickling up some Tripe (Animal Stomach Lining) Next Dickey Dullard The Passionately Romantic Junkie suggested Pickling a Container of Head Cheese.

This was followed by Jimmy Tosser the Local Dope Dealer’s suggestion that instead of Head Cheese upping the Ante by using Chitterlings (Animal Intentions, Organs, Eye Balls Etc.all thrown together in a 5 Gallon Bucket) instead.

Then it was Harry Twat’s turn Who’s suggestion was to Pickle a Whole Haggis. After almost an Hour of Debate it was Bawbag who finally came up with the winning Suggestion.

“I Got it, I know what to Pickle! My Toe!” exclaimed Bawbag way more excited than He should have been.

“What are You saying exactly Bawbag?” ask Bud who was now becoming concerned that this Bar Bet had gotten completely Out of Hand.

“You see I have an Ingrown Toe Nail on My Big Toe that got Horribly Infected, But I didn’t have the Cash for the Clinic so I just banged it up as best I could and went about My Business.” explained Bawbag to the more than Attentive Bar Patrons.

“You could have gone to the fucking Free Clinic Bawbag You dumbfuck.” snarled Mickey who had become thoroughly Disgusted by the ongoing issue.

“No Way it got shut down last month due to Budget Cuts by the State and all that Red Tape Bullfuckery.” Bawbag retorted confidently.

“So what about Your Infected Toe again?!” asked Jimmy Tosser eager to return the topic of the Conversation to the Bet at Hand.

“Oh Yeah So it was all Infected and Shit so as time went on it Contracted Gangrene something fucking Ferocious too I tell Ya. It turned all Black from lack of Blood Flow and its already beginning to Rot Off so Why not kill 2 Birds with one Stone?! Win the Bet and get My Diseased Toe Amputated for Free I literally can’t fucking Loose.” bragged Bawbag growing quite Cocky.

“Fine Agreed The Bet is You have to Eat The Entire Severed Toe.” growled Mickey angrily.

“How the Hell are We going to Amputate it?!” wondered Pissy aloud.

“This is How We can use My Cigar Cutter to Lop it Off, and then all We have to do is Cauterize it. After that We apply some Triple Antibiotic Ointment, Wrap it up, and Thats It We’re Done.” said Shitty Nickels, “We did this kind of shit all the Time in Nam it’s easy if You know what the fuck You’re doing.”

The Bar Patrons along with Mickey and Bawbag made Their way over to the Nearest Table. Bawbag say down gingerly on one of the Wayward Stool and Then Took Off His Older than Old Beaten Up Boot. The Smell was so Pungently Rank it caused Pissy Wristy to instantly Vomit before Fainting. Bud picked Pissy Up off the Floor, set Her on the Bar, and revived Her by placing a Bottle of Cheap Gin under Her Nose like a Alcoholic Smelling Salts.

Bawbag paused to watch Bud take care of Pissy before He pealed off His rank Sock which made a Wet Sucking sound as Bawbag slowly removed it. The Smell which was already Over Powering the Bar immediately intensified to the Point Everyone’s Eyes started to Water, and Dickey Dullard shit Himself on the Spot.

Once Bawbag’s foot was Bare Shitty handed Him His Cigar Cutter which He crammed onto His Sickly Swollen Toe taking several minutes to Force it down to the Base of said Toe. Once the Cigar Cutter was in Place at Last Shitty Nickels instructed Bud to fetch the Ointment and Bandages from the Bar’s First Aid Kit. Shitty Nickels then had Harry retrieve a Large Butcher Knife that Bud used to Slice Lemons and Limes from behind the Bar. He then told Harry to start a Fire in the Tiny Metal Trash Can from the Bathroom. Then Shitty Nickels had Harry place the Blade of the Knife across the Top of the Trash Can so the Fire could Heat up the Knife until it was a Deep Glowing Orange.

Then Shitty Nickels had Bawbag place His foot flat on the Floor, Told Him He was going to count to 3, and on2 Shitty Stomped down with all His weight onto the Cigar Cutter. There was a brittle crunch and Bawbag’s Gangrenous Toe popped off and slid across the Bar floor coming to a stop under the Dilapidated Pool Table nestled in the Back of the Bar adjacent to the Restroom. Shitty pounced like a Cat of Coke snatching the Glowing Red Hot Knife and shoved it up against the Base of Bawbag’s recently Severed Toe . The Smell of Sizzling and partially Rotten Flesh drowned the Repulsive Smell of Bawbag’s Feet which most in Attendance appreciated especially Dickie and Pissy.

After 30 seconds or so Shitty removed the Knife tossing it carelessly onto the Bar causing Bud to lose His Shit. The Group returned to the Bar where Jimmy Tosser handed over Bawbag’s Diseased Digit over to Bud who plopped it unceremoniously into the Pressure Pickler and Turned it on. It seemed like an Eternity to the Eagerly Waiting Rag Tag Group of Drunks, but in Reality it was only 17 minutes before Bawbag’s Toe was completely Pickled.

Bud Opened the Pressure Pickler and Removed the Toe with a pair of Metal Salad Tongs, Placed it on a Cocktail Napkin, and handed it to Bawbag who seemed utterly unfazed by the whole Ordeal. Bawbag picked up His Toe examining it for a moment before tossing it into His Mouth. Bawbag chewed away until finally He Strained to Swallow. After some finagling Bawbag managed to get the Toe down, and then He opened His Mouth like Mental Patient to Visual Confirm He had in fact Swallowed the Toe. Bud stared blankly into Bawbag’s gaping Gullet before announcing Bawbag had completed the His Task thus making Him the Winner. Bawbag then turned to Mickey Drongo, Chuckled to Himself and the He said:

“I’ll be taking that Egg Now Mickey.”

Thanks for Reading,

By Les Sober

The Lingering Ghosts of Days Long Gone

Holt Mulligan was considered a good many things, but human never seemed to be one. You see Holt grew up in the tiny rural community of Wayward Louisiassippi. Now its no wonder no one outside of Wayward heard it referred to as Louisiassippi and if They did it was an anomaly.

Back when the community was first settled in 1630 just 10 years after the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock. Louisiana became a State in 1812, and that didn’t much affect Wayward as a whole. It wasn’t until Mississippi became a State itself in the year 1817 that Wayward was presented with an unique dilemma.

Once Mississippi became a State the State Line was created which cut the Wayward Community right down the middle of Main Street placing half of the Community in Mississippi, and leaving the remain half on the Louisiana side.

The Citizens of Wayward had no intention of dividing their Community in any way, shape or form so They had Wayward reclassified in the Federal Land Commission as a United States Territory like Guam or Puerto Rico. And by doing so this allowed the Wayward Community to stay united in spite of the Government implemented, and inforced State Line.

With the exception of Main Street there were no other paved roads in Wayward which instead was connected by an intricate network of Dirt Roads. The system of Dirt Roads bobbed, and weaved through out the dense forests, and along the various Swamplands of Wayward like a Ancient Spider Web.

Holt lived in an old dilapidated Trappers Shack circa 1880 on the outskirts of of Wayward. The Locals referred to it as Hobgoblin Swamp. Being considered by most to be a highly undesirable place to live Holt was left on his own (aside from the stray Hunter/Trapper wondering through the Swamp in route elsewhere), and seemed to embrace the Isolation.

Holt had being living in His Trapper’s Shack in Hobgoblin Swamp as long as the Oldest Elder of Wayward could remember which only helped to fuel the rumors about Holt that ran through Wayward like a Wild Fire. And there were plenty believe you me.

There were the cliche Urban Legend Rumors such as Holt lived in isolation because He was a Drug Smuggler. Then there were others such as that Holt was an escaped Convict or Mental Patient hiding out in the Swamp. Some thought Holt was your garden variety Serial Killer who avoided detection (and capture) by committing His killings deep in the dark heart of Hobgoblin Swamp.

Other’s believed Holt was some sort of Immortal Swamp Shaman that chose to live in seclusion so He could practice His Dark Arts in the Shadows. Now not all of the Rumors were nearly as Dire.

Some though Holt was a Shell Shocked (PTSD) War Vet who had lost His sanity fighting on the Battle Field. Others were inclined to think Holt was some how involved with/in the Witness Relocation Program, but weren’t sure if Holt was a Good Guy (like a Law Enforcement Officer) or a Criminal (as if Holt testified against dangerous Criminals in Court as part of a Plea Deal.)

The Rumor Mill even had a other Holt related Gossip. Holt drove a massive 1976 Ford M151 Military Jeep which Holt had repainted in Battle Ship Gray. No one even entertained the idea Holt had just bought the fucking thing or perhaps got it from a Family Member or Friend (Though Holt didn’t seem to have either).

The Gossip about the Jeep was Holt stole it from a near by Military Base, The Military gave it to Holt as an accommodation for being a prolific Solider, Holt dredged part of Hobgoblin Swamp and salvaged the Jeep then, The Jeep belonged to one of Holt’s alleged Murder Victims, or the Jeep was stolen by Holt from some Drug Dealer/Gun Dealer/Human Trafficker after he killed them.

The other gaggle of Gossip surrounded Holts “Dog”. I put dog in Parenthesis because according to the various rumors it was considered anything BUT a Dog by the residents of Wayward. Holts dog was an undeniable Beast weighing in at right around 225 or so, and stood so high that Holt had to lift his hand from his side to pet its head while standing. It sure as shit wasn’t a pure bred anything, but rather it had a sort of Frankenstein aesthetic as if Holt had built the Dog Himself one late night alone in the Swamp.

This led to gossip from the Dog was a Holt’s Spiritual Totem, and that the Dog was a bonafide Hellhound Holt raised from a Pup once He rescued it from the clutches of the Devil Himself. Others speculated the Dog was in fact a Hyena that Holt had acquired in some shady back ally manner. Still some thought it was a Russian Wolf Hyena Hybrid a sort of home bred make shift Monster.

Holt and His Hound were so tightly bonded that if they were both sitting out on the Front Porch of Their Trapper Shack when someone or thing approached Holt and the Hound would slowly turn to look in unison. Holt never had to use a single vocal command with His loyal companion as they seemed to communicate using just Their eyes alone.

No matter how much Holt may of enjoyed the quite isolation out there in Hobgoblin Swamp He still had his daily routine. Holts truck could be heard pulling onto Main Street every morning around 10 am.

Holt habitually parked his Shit Kicker Jeep in the same parking spot directly outside of Old Ed’s Hardware and Mercantile before exiting with purpose. He would then stride right over to Grover’s Guns’n Ammo to spend the rest of the morning mulling around the Gun Shop inspecting the wares so to speak.

At Noon Holt would leave Grover’s and walk over to The Greasy Spoon Diner arriving right at 12:30 for lunch. Holt ate only Steak and Eggs with Several cups of Coffee served black. It had reached a point long ago that The Staff at The Greasy Spoon got in the habit of preparing Holt’s Usual as it were everyday without even thinking about it having it ready, and waiting upon His arrival.

After ravenously devouring his meal as though it was His last Holt would make His back over to Main Street. Holt would walk down one side, and back up on the other with a slow, and deliberate stride. By Three Holt was holed up at The Boozehound which served as the Local Watering Hole.

Holt would sit at the far end of the Bar facing the Door, and start the afternoon off drinking Budweiser. Once 5 o’clock hit cloaked in a cloud of Cigarette smoke (Holt had a penchant for Unfiltered Camels) Holt would switch from Beer to Bloody Mary’s (usually holding up 4 fingers to signify “Make it a Quadruple” a drink they would only make for the sole reason that Holt was the one asking.) Finally somewhere around 7ish Holt would switch one last time from Cocktail to Strait Booze, and Holt’s pick was 3 fingers of Maker’s Mark.

Holt would remain at The Boozehound until after closing as the staff had to clean and prep for the next day so they let Holt stay until they left. Once it was time to kill the lights the Bar Tender would hand Holt a pickled Egg propped up in a shot glass, which Holt would then throw back like an actual shot as He walked out into the night.

Since Holt came from a Strict School of “Don’t speak until Spoken too” so normally He would just nod his head or flash a fleeting smile, but never spoke. There was an acceptation and that was when He was at The Boozehound nightly. Even then He didn’t Indulge in Idle Chit Chat or Engage in Gossip (another favorite Southern Past Time) the few times Holt did speak were more than memorable. Especially since what Holt said was as bizarre as Him talking in the first place.

Holt was noted as say things such as “Sure, Meet Up and We’ll fuck each other up with a Rubber Spoon”, “Smooth To The Groove Like Sandwich Bread.”, “Never Met One I didn’t want killed.”, “Death Comes Quickly For Those Who Wait”, “Guess he Killed By Death”, “Pay it Never-No Mind” and other such oddities.

Holt’s life had gone on in this fashion for more years than anyone could remember (Holt included) until one humid Summer day in 1980 all that changed forever.

That day had run on like any other swelteringly hot and horrendously humid Summer’s day complete with Holt arriving on Main Street around 10. Holt rummaged around Grover’s as he always did, and then He ate lunch at the Greasy Spoon before heading to The Boozehound. Holt’s routine remained the same until 5 o’clock.

Holt approached the Bartender Terry and ordered a Double Quadruple Bloody Mary. Terry baulked at such a extreme drink request, but obliged just the same as it was at Holt’s request. Terry made the drink, handed it to Holt who paid for it, and promptly exited The Boozehound.

Holt stood for a moment or two in front of The Boozehound before downing His Bloody Mary in one solitary swallow. He then lit an Unfiltered Camel, and took a long drag, and vanished into thin fucking air leaving nothing behind, but a lingering cloud of exhaled cigarette smoke.

THATS RIGHT KIDDIES!!!

Holt was the ONE Thing NO ONE Guessed the whole fucking time.

Holt was A BONAFIDE FUCKING ALIEN!!!!

SUCK ON THAT TITTY TWISTER OF A TWIST M.NIGHT!!!!!

Note to Reader : I started this piece and it didn’t turn out at all the way I wanted. Needless to say I got pissed off as a son of a bitch, BUT I couldn’t pull the fucking trigger and delete the thing. So as I was mulling this motherfucker over when this jumped into My mind:

………HE’S A FUCKING ALIEN. He’ll fucking just up and vanish end of fucking story. Why not the post already shit the bed so why not just take it out in a Blaze of Absurdist Angst.

ALSO just in case Anyone is Wondering I have no clue why I took a shot at M.Night considering I’m a fan of a few of his films.

Thanks for Reading,

By Les Sober

The Latest News From Nowhere Special

This post is a Hats Off Tribute to Our favorite Small Independent BiWeekly Publication “The Dullard’s Digest” out of La Plant South Dakota with a Sparse Population of just 105.

The “The Dullard’s Digest” covers all things La Plant such as local happenings, community news, local government, Schools/Churches/Obituaries/Weddings, and all various local Odds and Ends such as The Yearly County Fair and the like.

Specifically for this post We decided to Showcase the Unusually Unique Advertisements found within the “The Dullard’s Digest” which are truly in a League of Their Own.

(If you make a reference to the movie Kill Yourself for High Crimes and Misdemeanors of And OR Being FUCKING LAME.)

So Let Us Begin With………

Pickler Pete’s Pickled Emporium

“Your Source For All Your Pickled Needs!”

Breakfast Bonanza Special:

1 Gallon of Edger’s Edibles Pickled Eggs,

1 Gallon Of Bryan Brine’s Pickled Sausages

And 1 Gallon of Vinegar Vally’s Pickled Pork Hocks

for The LOW, LOW PRICE OF $59.99

Introducing Pickled Pete’s BRAND NEW Luscious ALL VEGAN Line of Pickled FRUITS AND VEGETABLES:

” A FINE BRINE VEGAN” AVAILABLE NOW!! Guaranteed to be Green as fuck.

BOGO SALE! Quart Jar of Pickled Top Self Tofu for Just $9.99 HOW DEVINE!

Pickled Products make Kids Happy, Hearty, and Healthy! Puts MAD HAIR on Your Chest AND Genitals! Excellent Prevention for ANY and ALL of Ass Caners (Domestic OR Imported!) Stops Dolphin Rape, and aids The Coalition of Children Around The World Without Cocaine.

Try Our Pickler Pete’s Lovely Line of Pickled Goods for SENIORS! 4.25 Pound Jar of Pickled Prunes just $19.99 This Weekend ONLY!!

Clearance! Get 10 for $10 Get 10 lb. of Pickled Beets for $10!

The BarFly Bar and Lounge

Here’s Our Weekly Drink Special Run Down For This Week!

Mad Dog Mondays- Glass of Mad Dog 20/20 Fortified Wine for $1.50

MD 20/20 Flavors: Dragon Fruit, Purple Rain, Tangerine Dream, Banana Red, Peaches & Cream, Blue Raspberry, Buck Bunny, Cranberry, Electric Melon, Key Lime Pie, Kiwi Lemon, Lemon Ice, Orange Jubilee, Red Grape, Spiked Melon, Sour Apple, and Strawberry Kiwi.

Tequila Me Tuesday: $3 2 for 1 Shots of Pepe Lopez, Montezuma, & El Toro

Wet Your Whistle’s BEER BELLY BAR (All Beer Bar) with Specials On

Pitcher of Bud Light and Clamato $2.50

Bucket of Natty Ice or Natty Light for $6.00 (# of Cans 12)

24 oz Beers for a Buck: This week featuring Schlitz, Rolling Rock, & Olympia

40 0z Thursday Specials: Get a 40. oz of Colt .45, Old English 800, King Cobra, or St.Ides for $1.99!

FUBAR Fridays: MOON”Motherfucking”SHINE will put a smile on your face!

$12 Standard Mason Jars of: Proof Positive (609 Proof)

White Lightning White Whisky (619 Proof)

Ilikea Opossum Paul’s Moonshine Vodka (732 Proof)

RumRunner’s Moonshine Rum (882 Proof)

AND

Jimmy Crackcorn’s Corn Rye Moonshine. (976 Proof)

ALL DAY EVERCLEAR SPECIAL Evercleaf Cocktail $3.75

BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND……

SUPER SHOT Saturdays featuring Shot Specials!!!

.50 Cent Shots of Mr. Boston Blackberry Brandy, Canadian Club, Monarch Gin, and Old Grand-Dad

3 Finger for $3 Special on Oro Tequila, Gordon’s Gin or Southern Host

“God Save Me! “Sunday Hangover Breakfast is BACK AGAIN!

For all those idiots who drank their asses off the night before The Barfly offers a particular Breakfast known for its alleged Cure to the Hell of the Next Day’s Hangover, HAVE NO FEAR BARFLY SUNDAY BREAKFAST IS HERE!

This Week on the Menu- The Old Timer Special!

Consisted of: 12 oz Shank Steak, Spam Hash w/ Bacon, and 2 Slices of Pork Roll.

Served with a Side of Scrapple, a Pickler Pete’s 1,000 Year Old Pickled Egg

AND a 32 oz. PBR (Can) FOR ONLY $2.99!!!!

The Weisenheimer Theater and Movie Exchange:

Saturday Night Slaughterfest Featuring some of Your FAVORITE B-Horror Slasher Films!

This Weeks Triple Feature is:

“Shoot My Face Off I Like It” From the Demented Director of Denmark Emil Mikkel

“Disembowel Me as I Giggle” from Redound Japanese Horror Fanatic Akasuki Hiromasa

AND

“Copulating With Corpses” The U.S. Version of “Necrophilia Nights” from The Infamously Dark and Disturbed mind of Lithuania’s Master of Sheer Terror Von Dire

SHOW STARTS PROMPTLY AT THE STROKE OF MIDNIGHT EVERY SATURDAY NIGHT. COME IF YOUR DARE, BUT YOU MAY NOT LIVE TO TELL THE TALE!

FOREIGN FILM FRIDAYS featuring the finest Foreign Films from Liechtenstein, Guam, Antartica, Mongolia, South Africa, Fiji, and Turkey JUST FOR STARTERS!!

ROCKY HORROR PICTURE SHOW AT MIDNIGHT EVER SUNDAY ALL YEAR!

AND REMEMBER Tuesday Night Troma is BACK AND BAD ASS!

All Troma Movies All Day Dawn to Dusk: Inquire about our Enema Express Pass Today and don’t miss a single moment of Troma’s Famous GORE! NUDITY! SEX JOKES! PUKE,PISS,and SHIT! All in the Name of Independent Cinema for OVER 42 YEARS and COUNTING! (Show Times: 1st Film Starts when the Theater Opens and Over after the Last one Plays before Closing!)

Coming Next TUESDAY!!!

COMING NEXT MONTH!

AND BE SURE NOT TO FORGET THE Weisenheimer’s WISEAU WEDNESDAY!

Every Wednesday This Year there will 6 showings (9am, 12 noon, 3pm, 6pm, 9pm and 12am) of the Notoriously Shitty Movie “The Room” by The Mysterious Tommy Wiseau.

“The Room” has been called by many The Worst Movie EVER MADE!

“The Room” had Movie Theaters posting “NO REFUNDS FOR THIS MOVIE” posters!

“The Room” One Critic’s Review Read “Watching This Movie is like Stabbing Yourself in the Brain REPEATEDLY!”

COME ONE, COME ALL Join us in the Rising Cult Following of Wiseau and “The Room”

Those were the ones we selected. Perhaps one day We will do this again, but Dunno.

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober

Insane Text Exchange

WARNING TO ALL READERS: OBJECTIONABLE MATERIAL

This is the most recent and most entertaining Text Exchange between SpaceDog and Myself. Enjoy.

SpaceDog: U need to pull up your pants and clean up your voicemail. Did u know that men with unclean voicemail are 95% more likely to contract Syphilis and 180 timeshare likely to infect their partner? Its horrible i tied my own tubes. But i feel like u get Syphilis more than me hence my text. Multiple shots in trader joe’s to be the most Portlandia crime ever.

Les: First I’m not wearing pants so Ah-Ha! I like my voicemail FILTHY like a Pecker. 180 times that’s it?!!! GREAT now my Crabs have Syphilis AND HERPIES! Shots at Trader Joe’s SHOTS! SHOTS! SHITS!

SPaceDog: Lol

Les: Headed home from Porn Shop, gonna grab some Pickled Eggs, and Budweiser, Hit you up when I get back to Base Camp (Named after all the Cocaine Smoking or Free Basing going on there.)

SpaceDog: I just like gay hulu and i get a massive cock. ok cool.

Les: Also to get rid of Crabs soak Your Junk in Vodka and then cover it in sand. That way the Crabs get Drunk and Stone Each other to Death.

SpaceDog: Id like to do that to get my crabs to work again, between 20 year old Tweens doing vaginal stretches and the male lifeguards moving out of masturbatorial range my life has been no bed of roses. Im just watching cool gay stuff online.

Les: