After a Long, Post Prison Sabbatical, I'm Back

Well, I’m back! 

It’s taken me a few months, but I think I’ve finally washed the prison stink off of me.  Time to put it all behind me and get back up on that My Pretty Pony and trot into the future.

I felt great, until Julio came storming in this morning.  He was all raging at me.  Thinks I used up all his special conditioner.  I did, of course, but he had no cause to accuse me.  No evidence whatsoever.

He was all like: Did you use up all my conditioner on your back hair?

And I was all: No.  I bet it was Ramon.

And he was all like: It wasn’t Ramon.  Ramon is bald, and I mean, all over.  You should know that.

And I was like: Well, how would I know that?  I’ve never seen Ramon without that black leather hood and matching chaps.  You should know that.

And he was all like: I’ll tell you what I do know.  That conditioner cost me $150/tube.  Next time, ask first.

And I was all: Don’t look at me, girlfriend.  It wasn’t me.

And he was like: And it was mostly full.  How could you have possibly used the whole thing?

And I was like: Well, I didn’t realize it was conditioner.  I mean…

And he was like: Busted, darling.   You owe me.

But anyway, darlings, I need to earn some scratch, and I mean a lot of it, so I can somehow get my butt fixed.  So I'm working up a pilot for the E network that I think should be able to make me the millions I may need.  The prison guards were sadists and they set all the TVs to the Cartoon Network and then busted the remotes, so I've become well versed with the animated genres.  Saw that catdog character and it set my mind a twirlin'.  Anyone remember the cat dog?

Of course you do.  Only, it's not quite edgy enough for today's youngsters.  So, let me introduce you to my new and soon to be beloved character: Skank Ho.  Oh, what hijinx will the two of them cook up, that is when they aren't cooking meth and dodging their pimp. 

Bin Laden's Diary, the Last (And there was much rejoicing)

May 1, 2011

Dear Diary,

My life sucks.  I haven’t been able to leave my compound for years now, and I’m sick of all my videos.   The Arabic satellite network so isn’t da bomb.  They refuse to show any Friends re-runs without digitally rendered burkas on all the chicas, but I’ve got all the episodes of Omar and his Magic Jew-Butting Goat I can stand.  The Pakistani ISP even started blocking Netflix and Hulu, so now I’ll never catch up on Glee.  Will that Puckerman and Rachel ever get brutally murdered?  Will Kurt ever be hanged?  Will Sue finally become a martyr for her cause?  I may never know. 

And the fight isn’t going so well either.  We ran out of ammonium nitrate months ago…and illegal fireworks.  We’ve had to resort to bombs made with Coke and Mentos.  Two of my European recruits were fatally wounded during bomb preparation, but the worst any infidels got was some stained clothing and mild bruising.  Allah u akbar?  Is it even worth it?

Hey, someone’s at the door.  Maybe my Samoas have arrived. No wait, despite the militant uniforms, those don't appear to be Girl Scouts.  It was about that time that I realized that they weren't Girl Scouts at all but a highly trained team of buff Navy SEALs with nightvision goggles. 

Lactose: Free at Last!



Thank you Tracy Morgan!  Your homophobic rant has released me.  I'm free at last! 

The prosecuting attorney and judge decided to completely drop the case.  Tracy Morgan's rant has done me some good after all.  It has proven to highlight at just the right time that homos are at the top of the PC victimhood pecking order, honeys.  It doesn't matter if Tracy Morgan is a black liberal, he still loses to the gay man.  We're the tops, baby doll.  To beat me, it would take at least two disabled black women and an illegal Cuban.

The judge and attorney, being lillywhite and male, realized they could never convict me and keep their careers unsullied, so the case has been summarily dismissed.  If my butt worked, I'd dance a jig.  Oprah bless America!

Bin Laden's Diary Part 11

February 28, 2006

Dear Diary,

Assad’s really turning into a wimp lately.  He’s getting a little too soft regarding our new, younger martyrs.  He’s insisting that I start a ‘Make a Wish’ type program for them or he won’t send me any more Syrian youngsters.  Apparently, the call of the virgins isn’t enough for the prepubescents.  They all want to go to Disneyworld or build a snowman in the desert or be an extra on Glee (whatever that is), or meet Shaq (whoever that is).  The name sounds muslim enough, so I guess that would be alright, if it weren’t so ruddy expensive.  C.A.R.E. hasn’t exactly been coming through with gobs of dough lately.  I mean, to save money I’ve had to start refilling my inkjet cartridges myself with purple ink we stole from the Iraqi voting stations.  It turns out lavender against my standard white printer paper.  That’s right, because I can’t afford ink, all those “I’m proud of your little martry” letters now go out in fear-inducing lavender.  Might as well print them on pink paper, draw little hearts over all of the i’s and put a little checkbox at the bottom: Do you like me, yes or no? 

And Assad wants me to devote funds to fulfilling the dying wishes of his little martyrs-to-be.  Isn’t eternal bliss in paradise reward enough?  I mean, Mohammed H. Prophet, ammonium nitrate doesn’t grow on trees.  Maybe he’ll settle for something on a little less grand scale.  Instead of ‘Make a Wish,’ how about ‘What’s Something You Wouldn’t Mind Doing So Much?’  Like maybe a camel ride or some nice falafel? 

March 1, 2006

Dear Diary,

Assad’s such a buffoon.  Once again, my problems are solved with Photoshop.  Oh yes, Assad.  All of your little martyrs got their wishes.  Digital photos never lie.  I can’t believe they let that pencil-neck run a country.

Bin Laden's Diary Part 10

June 14, 2007

Dear Diary,

I really need to set up a system that ensures that the European recruits are martyred first.  EIEO (Eurpeans In, Europeans, Out).  They’re absolutely retardtastic.  European indoctrination has ruined them, and it’s driving me crazy.  I swear they’re all like exploded, inside-out, martyred watermelons.  Blood-red on the outside and green in the middle.  Francois Mohammed has been trying to get a meeting with me for weeks, but I’ve been blowing the retard off.  So he slips an envelope under my door.  He titled it his Green Jihad Manifesto: Establishing the Environmentally Conscious Caliphate. 

Oh, Allah give me strength!  Droned on and on about how important it was to save and recycle all of our shell casings.  And we need to stop using toxic lead bullets and switch to environmentally friendly aluminum or natural rubber slugs.  Apparently there is a wide assortment of completely organic explosives and poisons and chemical weapons that are ‘safe’ and ‘natural’ and made entirely from wholesome, organic materials.  Apparently it is also imperative that we ensure we don’t use any biological weapons that contain any animal by-products or that were tested on animals.  No animals should be harmed during the making of this jihad. 

His conclusion: “We can ensure the domination of Dar Al Islam and restore the Caliphate without damaging the environment.  Would Allah really want us to dominate a world when we seem intent on destroying that very world through our selfish, day-to-day decisions?”

Mohammed H. Prophet!  Must resist urge to stone!

June 15, 2007

Dear Diary,

Well, I think I finally made Francois happy.  I gave into his hectoring.  He has been thoroughly and completely recycled.  Into pit bull poop.  Completely organic pit bull poop.  Maybe we’ll harvest the nitrates and make him into a nice little organic car bomb just like he dreamed of.  Circle of life.

Bin Laden's Dairy Part 9

December 25, 2005

Dear Diary,

Got a Christmas present in the mail today from George Jr. and Little Dicky.  At first I felt kind of bad because I hadn't sent them anything.  But then I opened the box.  It was a spiral-cut, honey baked ham, a bottle of Scotch, the Gideon Bible with the 'Property of the DC Marriot' sticker still intact and a used copy of The Complete Infidel's Guide to Islam. I hate those two.  And they wonder why I took out their towers.  At least Bill just sent me porn and cigars.

Lactose Update

Sorry I've been remiss to provide updates of Lactose's status.  We've been too depressed.  They've had Lactose on suicide watch.  We still haven't been able to come to terms with this.  First Lactose loses his butt, and now this.  Oprah, why hast thou forsaken us?  You have left us all alone during this our time of great distress.  If you had died, we could have dealt with it, and maybe we could have used your butt as Lactose's new donor, but to just walk away and abandon us during the prime of your life?  Why? Why?  We heard that you were having a contest to select 100 fans to be buried with you in your grand tomb when you pass on, and that cheered us up a bit.  But then your press agent told us it was all a hoax.  Why?  Why? Oprah, why not let us spend the eternities with you?  We've destroyed the Carrie bobblehead.  We will have no one else beside you.  We beseech you.

But anyway, on with the update.  The donor butt that rejected Lactose has been removed.  His medical insurance coverage has been maxed out, so we can't even afford the Joy Behar model artificial butt to replace it.  I stuffed two bags worth of marshmallows in a flesh tone tarp and super-glued it in place, but its just not the same.  And it tends to take on a lot of water in the gen pop showers.  Makes it sag down nearly to the back of his knees.  Takes hours to dry out, and he never can get the shape right again.  No one even gives him a second glance in the showers.  I'm not sure he can live with this.  I'm not sure I can live with this.  He needs a better tuckus.  Donations would be appreciated.  They're tax deductible.

But anyway again, his trial date is coming up next week.  The government decided to try him as a citizen, so he won't be shipped off to Gitmo for now.  We'll see how it goes.  I'll keep you posted.

Bin Laden's Diary Part 8

December 13, 2003

Dear Diary,

Saddam must be getting a little bit bored and a lot bit insane. He keeps on bugging me on FB chat from his hidey rathole. Like I have time for his Shiite. Here’s a transcript of his latest.

SadH76: Hey dude. How’s it hanging?

OBL1: Like a donk, bro. SSDD.

SadH76: Have a lot of time to think. Designed a program for you to train up young recruits.

OBL1: ?

SadH76: Yeah. Like scouts for little martyrs. I’m working up merit badges and stuff.

SadH76: U know, standard skills: wife-beating, bomb construction, Sharia, field surgery, etc. I’m calling the group Jihadis Eliminating Western Society.

OBL1: U R aware the acronym would be JEWS?

SadH76: Duh. Not very optimal, huh?

SadH76: How about Crusading Heroes Raiding Israeli Society Today?

OBL1: Ok, now I know you’re goofing on me.

SadH76: HAHAHA. Can u smuggle me in some Doritos?

If I didn’t need his support? Wait a minute. I don’t. But I do still have Condi on speed dial…..

Bin Laden's Diary Part 7

December 15, 2005

Dear Diary,

Was hanging in Iraq today on account of its election day.  Had some plans to mess with Team Satan here and foment some higgledy-piggledy among the masses.  Felt I needed to be here in person to make sure these Iraqi retards I have working for me get the job done.  Should have just stayed in Pakistan.

Since those Team Satan jarheads have been making it way too hard to get car bombs through the checkpoints, Tarooq got himself a trained camel wired up with a little ammonium nitrate election present for the masses.  He and Shahid were going to walk it right down to election central and kablam!  Take out the whole voting district.  The blast would have painted the whole place purple.  If they had made it to their destination.  Stupid Iraqis.

Turns out last night, Shahid and Tarooq went on a little pre-martyrdom sin spree, so, on the way to the potential blast site, when their camel saw some pretty females and got a little frisky, they only felt it was fair to let the camel have its little sin spree too.  How do I know this?  That numbnut Tarooq took pictures with his cellphone of him and Shahid in front of the camel porn making unhallowed hand gestures and laughing and posted it to his FB page via his mobile. 

By itself, no big whoop.  But during his pre-martyrdom fling, Shahid got drunk and stupid and met an alleged girl named Aiesha.  He kissed the girl, and he liked it.  He liked it so much, he gave Aiesha his cellphone number.  The same cellphone that was wired to the trigger on the ammonium nitrate.  The same cellphone Aiesha dialed up right during the middle of camel passion. 

Body count
Camels: 2
Iraqtards: 2
Infidels: 0
Voters: 0
Number of total martyrs in paradise: 2 (My money is on the camels).

Allah, give me strength.   And less stupid recruits.  I'm looking for some just stupid enough to fall for martyrdom.

Lactose: Rejected

This is Julio.  Just taking a second to update you regarding Lactose's condition.  He was found unconscious in his cell a few minutes ago, and the doctor's are fairly perplexed.  They've never seen this before, but, apparently, his new butt transplant has rejected him. 

I'll keep you appraised of his condition as it changes.

Burn some incense to St. Carrie for him.

Lactose the Intolerant's Guide to Interior Design, Prison Edition

This place is soooo depressing.  I can't get any of my product.  That Red fella who's supposed to be able to smuggle us in anything was all like, Vidal what???  Frosted tips???  Huh?  And don't you know, Proactive won't even ship to this place, honey.  And the yard doesn't even have any pilates chairs.  I mean, hello, warden.  This isn't 1969.  Anyway, I look absolutely hideous.  I'm talking Amy Winehouse hideous.  I used to be so scintillatingly hot I needed welding goggles just to look at myself in the mirror.  Now I wish I were Edward Cullen so I would never have to see myself again.  And I so used to be Team 'Guy who almost hit Bella with an SUV.'  Those films would be so much more interesting without that boring, little angst ridden tramp and her trampy friends.  Then the simmering passion between fang-boy and the wolf could really heat up.  Oh, dear, sweet Oprah, but the depths to which I have sunk and the rapidity of the decline surprises even myself.

I turned around the mirror in the cell and tried to forget, but then lunchtime rolled around.  Sloppy joes, baked beans, this yellowy stuff with an unappealing jiggle (I mean, is jiggle ever appealing, darlings?).  There was no unifying theme here.  I didn't even know whether I should ask for white wine or red.  And where was the palette-cleanser?  Or the cheese course?

To get my mind off it all, I've decided to get back to one of the things I love: critical interior design.  Just check out the bedroom above, girlfriends.  Seriously, honeys, could any of you ever sleep in those beds?  I'd be far too petrified that in the middle of the night I'd be sucked away never to be seen again into the horrifyingly, fantastical land of the headboard, a magical world with all of the creature comforts of the dark ages.  Hello, people?  Is this anyone's twisted fantasy?  No antiperspirant, no mouthwash, soap made from boiling animal remains with caustic lye without modern cosmeceutical additives.  Like I said....oh, I just can't get into this right now.  Not in the mood.  My butt hurts.  And I'm feeling ever so faint......

Thud.

I'm Back, Mostly

Dr. Mengele, if that is his real name, has finally deemed me healed enough to be returned to gen pop.  The ICU was pretty solitary and dull, so I spent the time rewatching Oz so I can get the prison lingo down, homeys.  I'm part homey, now, so I can say that.  I also took the time to finally get around to starting my first novel.  It was Sex and the City.   FABULOUS!  Carrie and the gals are SOOO my sisters, now.  If I can just cling to those memories, they will help me through these cold, dark times.  When Julio heard about it, he got me a Carrie bobblehead.  I dubbed it St. Carrie of Assassi and put it next to my cot where I can genuflect to it nightly.  Sorry, Tyra, but there's a new girl in town.

Anyway, I almost got sent back to ICU.  I was going on my required walk to keep my new butt from deflating and flabbifying, when I felt the thrust of an unwelcome prick.  Stepped on a discarded hypodermic.  Shortly thereafter, I felt so drabulous I was sure I'd caught AIDS from that needle.  Turns out it was just hepatitis.  Praise Carrie, but what a relief.  I mean, who doesn't have hepatitis?  I'm pretty sure my hepatitis has hepatitis.

But anyway, I'm not sure how I will be able to survive in here.  No matter how bad the blankets were in the ICU, the ones down here in gen pop are soooo much more drabulous.  Not only are they not organic certified, not only are they not egyptian cotton, not only do they have no discernable thread count at all, but I don't think there's a shred of natural material in them.  Carrie help me, but I swear with every foul word known to man that the blankets are sewn from the skins of flayed muppets.  I can't spend the rest of my life sleeping with Kermit and Miss Piggie.  I just can't.

I've got to find a way out of this place. 

Bin Laden's Diary Part 6

September 13, 2007

Dear Diary,

There was a knock at the door today, and it was a couple of evangelical Christians. Normally, I would have shooed the infidels away and shot my guards for letting them get this close, but we were getting low on hostages, so I let them in.

Just as they were handing me some of their Literature of the Great Satan, I heard the call to prayer, so I spread out my rug and hit the deck. All the while, they was giggling and yucking it up.

Boy, but Allah must have pretty poor coverage on his network. Just one tower in Mecca?

Better off just subscribing to Verizon. Can you hear me now, Allah? Can you hear me now, Allah? Nope, just a few more degrees toward Mecca. Can you hear me now?

And what’s with this five calls a day plan. Allah’s such a cheapskate. Our God has an unlimited anytime anywhere plan. Free roaming and universal coverage. Giggle, chortle, hahahaha!

Yuck it up, fellas. Real funny. Pair of stupid hacks! Speaking of hacks, once prayers were done, two hacks with my scimitar let them know just how comedic was their genius. No loss. Can’t imagine anyone would pay ransom on those two retards. Still, they were less annoying than Achmedinejad.

Bin Laden's Diary Part 5

August 11, 2007

Dear Diary,

Achmedinejad is getting on my nerves even more. He’s insisting that I host him for a few days here in Pakistan. The hidden imam compels me, or some crap like that. He’s still trying to sell me on his 6 step plan for martyrdom or whatever he’s calling that cluster-crap business model he keeps e-mailing me that keeps getting filtered straight to my ‘Dispose of this stupid craptastic Shiite crap immediately’ folder. Thank you, MSN.

Since I never responded to his spam, he sent this scrawny fellow directly to me with a hand-written request that I welcome him to my home for a presentation. Then he tacked on a rider with a list of demands regarding his accommodations and dressing room and Shiite. The guy must think he’s Katie freakin’ Perry or Lady Googoo Achmed or something. I mean, Mohammed H. Prophet. Check out some of the stuff he wants.

• One 24 ounce bottle of Johnson and Johnson’s Baby Oil, 24 white roses and a baby seal
• Unlimited falafel. Must be cooked in lard
• A variety of tin foil hats. Must be made of real tin foil, not the Reynold’s American substitute that was designed by the CIA to allow the transmission of mind control rays.
• Shakira
• One pack of men’s athletic socks
• All items in the room must be covered in clear plastic wrap to be removed only by the artist
• No toy robots are to be allowed on the premises or he will not perform
• One small rhesus monkey skeleton
• Lots of fish ice
• Three jewish princesses
• A scrying device
• No MSG
• The first three seasons of Sesame Street in a betamax format
• Jack Bauer’s head on a platter

Allah forgive me, but I’m hoping some SEALS take him out soon.

August 12, 2007

Dear Diary,

I just returned Achmedinejad’s messenger to him by UPS ground. I really like their ‘If it fits in the box it ships for only $9.99’ policy. We’ll see if Achmedinejad shows up next week or not. He’s a little guy. I bet he’d fit in the $6.99 box.

Bin Laden Breaking News Part 2

As yall mighta heard, they found a large stash of pornographical videos in Bin Laden's hideout.  My army connections have gone and leaked to me the titles of the videos so's we can get a feel for this man's wicked proclivities.  Turns out his collection consisted of the following:

157 copies of Brokeback Mountaingoat
156 copies of Camelback Mountain
Golden Showers Bring May Deflowers
Girls Gone Wild: Mecca and Medina
National Geographic: Avian Mating Rituals
Babe: Pig in the Blanket
The Lust of the Penguins (Narrated by Morgan Freeman)
Air Bud: Meet Beethoven's 9
Cats and Dogs: The Awakening of Kitty Galore
All Dogs Take Me To Heaven
The Erotic Journey of Dr. Doolittle
Nanny McPhee: The Unedited Director's Cut

I reckon he does seem to have a type.  More on this important story as it develops.

Bin Laden's Diary Part 4

December 11, 2006

Dear Diary,

I had quite the surprise visit today.  Keith Olbermann stopped by.   We had some falafel and a little tea.  Then he hooked us up with some illegal cable from the feed to the military compound across the street, so we can watch him on MSNBC.  He threw in CNN too.  He really thought this would be good for morale, seeing how much the real Americans supported us.  He told us to be sure and tune in for the protests at the White House tomorrow.

December 12, 2006

Dear Diary,

Decided to give everyone a break today.  Whipped up a nice, fresh batch of Jiffy Pop and had everyone huddle around the set to watch our new cable.  Wasn’t as relaxing and morale-boosting as planned. 

The announcer said that after the break they were going to show footage of the infidels marching on Washington, and at first everyone was all ululating and blasting off their AKs at the prospect of watching this great insurgent offensive within the very bowels of the Great Satan, but then the footage started. 

Mohammed H. Prophet!  The room became more and more subdued with every shot of another placard-waving hairy, hippy chick and drum circle reject.  Everyone was like, dude, where are their weapons?  They are going to be crushed.  Have they even been trained in street fighting?  I don’t see any bombs. 

All the aged NPR grannies just stood around waving signs.  Then the Saudis in the peanut gallery started speaking up.

Is that what women look like without burkas?

If so, just take me out back and stone me now.  I think I might be gay.

Is that what the virgins are going to look like in Paradise?  I don’t want even one of those, let alone 72. 

I couldn’t think of anything to say.  Made me think.  What kind of woman is still a virgin when they come to Paradise? 

I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look of pure horror that crept across the face of that poor Afghan kid when the camera panned across the fugly forest of hairy vegans and uberbutch heathers.  Can you blame the poor, trembling kid?

When I go to Paradise, can I get 72 sluts instead?  Say yes, or the martyrdom is off.

I shut off the the saggy boob tube, and it took me nearly 30 minutes to calm the boys down and assure them that Paradise was not going to be a ménage-a-72 with a bunch of hirsute Code Pink groupies. 

Thanks a lot, Keith.   I nominate you for Worst Person of the Day.  Next time you stop by, do me a favor and set us up with HBO/Cinemax instead.  Give my boys something to die for.

Bin Laden's Diary Part 3

November 16, 2006

Dear Diary,

Achmedinejad is really becoming a giant pain in my sphincter.  I thought it was bad after we made the huge mistake of telling him he was all glowy while he was speaking at the UN.  We were just kidding. It was a joke, but he took it all serious.  Then he was all like, follow me, do things in my name, I'm one of the nails of the hidden imam, beeyatches.  And I was like, whatever.  Stupid Shiite!

But it seems he's got way too much time on his hands, and he's gone back to get a business degree online at Stephens Henager.  You know that old saying?  I'm pretty sure it's from Sura 37 or one of the hadiths.  I'm not sure. I never could make it past Sura 14 (snooze-o-rama).  Anyway, you know that old saying: If the only tool you have is a hammer, all your problems look like kneecaps.  Well, Achmedinejad has really grasped the goat by the ears.  Now he's all, six sigma this, and TQM that, and I just want to bury him up to his neck and hurl copies of The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People at him until dead.

I've been getting about a dozen e-mails from him a day pressuring me to come to Iran and attend his Jihadi Management Training Seminar.  Get a load of his introduction.

“My muhajedeen,to break through the strategic gap, we have to level-set all associates to tee-up a flat, service-focused organizational paradigm with benchmarks for long range results.”

Then he tries to entice me with his basic Six Point Roadmap to Paradise.

1. Develop Skill-Set Synergies For Expelling the Kaffir from Mesopotamia.
2. Implement Adaptive Win-Win Map For Scalable ‘Bleeding Edge’ Regional Caliphate
3. Get Strategic Buy-in Aligned with Mission-Oriented Objectives To Break Down Intra-Regional Martyr Projections
4. Champion Mission-Critical Value Statements For Dis-Implementing Zionist pig-dogs
5. Pareto-ize for Stakeholder-Focused Global Sharia Capabilities and ISO 9000 Implementation.
6. Build Mindshare with the Masses with Six-Sigma QC Beheading Processes

Then he attached 78 powerpoint slides of this crap that made me want to volunteer for my own martyrdom just to end the misery. 

Then he sent me instruction about how to develop my recruits with team building activities involving seeing which team can build the largest bridge from a bag of popsicle sticks, matches, scented candles and styrofoam balls.  Just how in the name of Prophet's Brother does this help us restore the caliphate?  Makes me want to march down to Tehran and go full Medina on this retard. 

November 17, 2006

Dear Diary,

To appease Achmedinejad, I do need Iran's support afterall, I tried out his team building exercise.  It was a bloodbath.  There was a lot of ululating.  Team Falcon won. I'm going to need about 16 more recruits now.  Stupid Shiite!

Every Little Thing is Gonna Be All Right

We kept waiting to hear the bad news from the White House, but nothing came.  We should have known there was nothing our dear sweet President could not overcome.  The witch was no match for our dear Barak.  Turns out he has he own African witchdoctor and voodoo priestess on staff.  They saw O'Donnell and her minons coming a mile away, and they have imprisoned them all in an enchanted urn and sunk it in the Potomac.  Clearly, European witchcraft is no match for the dark African arts.  Is there no way in which the ancient cultures of African and Haiti do not exceed our own?

Problem is, the government confiscated the Jackson-2000 Skin De-pigmentizer.  Said the technology was far too dangerous.  It could instantly destroy the entire affirmative action program and the entire bureaucracy built up around it.  And, don't you know, he never could get elected again without the non-white voters.  Can't do anything to upset that fine equilibrium.  So Lactose will never be able to finish his treatment now.  Maybe he can get the tatoo of a big white butt on his big black butt.

Bin Laden's Diary Part 2

April 1, 2006

Dear Diary,

I'm feeling really blue today.  I was checking Facebook and noticed my friends list had dropped.  George Jr. and Dickie had defriended me.  It was like an EMD to the heart.  We'd been through so much together.  It couldn't have been that Twin Towers thing.  That was like years ago, and they said they were cool with it at the time.  I tried texting Mr. Tenet to see what was up, but he just texted back: Dont pretend u dont know.

Not even my goats can cheer me up. 

April 2, 2006

Dear Diary,

Oooh, I just want to stone them both!  That was sooo not cool!  You got me guys.  I am the April Fool.  BFFs.

Darth Bubba: Bin Laden's Diary Part 1

My army buddies have struck gold.  They’ve gone and done finded Osama’s diary midst the wreckage and goat dung of his bed chambers.  We’ll be translatin’ it into regular speak and postin’ it up here fors what you can glimpse into Osama’s inner most feelin’s.  Share his hopes and dreams.  Let us get to know the side of this man only his goats was privy to.  We'll be postin' it in parts as the translatin' is done.

November 13, 2006

Dear Diary,

I am surrounded by retards.  I mean, Mohammed H. Prophet, these new European recruits are plum useless.  What’s the last thing a French holy warrior says before seeing paradise?  “What does this button do?”   Kriminy, but most of them don’t make it three hundred yards past the baggage claim before kickin’ it, and nary a drop of infidel blood is spilt. 

Sent a new crew down to that girls school with a car bomb.  Six hours later, they’re back here completely unmartyred.  I was like OMG, guys, WTF?  And they were like, dude, we got lost and couldn’t find the school.  Can we have a martyr-mobile with a GPS?  I was like, whatever.  Achmed, give them your GPS.  On the way back to the car, they turned on the GPS to be greeted with a tinny, robotic voice saying:  “BLEAT!  Achmed.  BAAAAA!  You’re very good at turning me on.”  Most the newbies gathered around as they kept turning the GPS on and off and on and off again to hear the welcome greeting ad nauseum.  As they were yucking it up, they confused the car fob with the bomb fob.  Exploded the whole crop of new recruits.  Like I said.  Mohammed H. Prophet, I’m surrounded by retards.  I never thought I’d be wishing for more Syrians.  Allah, give me strength.

November 15, 2006

Dear Diary,

Been going over the Q4 expense reports, and we almost spent more on inkjet cartridges than on ammonium nitrate.   It’s all those long “I’m proud of your little martyr” letters I was sending to parents in Europe.  I liked to keep them personal.  I hate cold form letters, but it seems to be a financial necessity now.  Besides, I don’t know nothing about that last clutch of retards.  I’m thinking about switching to the following form letter.

"Dear Mr. and Mrs. _AL-FATIMA____:

Please find enclosed a Ziploc baggie containing the remains of your martyr  _TAROOQ____. Though he is now gamboling in paradise, his comrades and I will always remember him for his ___SAMMY DAVIS JR. IMPRESSION____. Thanks to his holy sacrifice, we are one step closer to __EXTERMINATING TEAM SATAN___.

Yours in Sharia,

Osama bin Laden

It's a Butt-astrophe!

Lactose is still in hospital, and he is depressed.  He hates his new butt.  The color’s all wrong.  Clashes with all his short shorts, especially the pastels.  To quote Lactose: “From behind it looks like I’m sporting low riding, dirty, brown granny panties.  This is SO not fabulous.  I feel like such a Frankenhieney!  Curse you, you filthy Scandi!  Oh, Tyra and Mrs. J, why have you forsaken me?”

The doctors had some good news, though.  The plastic surgery department here is one of the best in the nation, and they had a new machine.  They call it the Jackson-2000 Skin De-pigmentizer.  They said it could turn his chocolate brown bottom back to its pale caucasian hues.  He was so hopeful, but just as they were beginning the treatment, disaster struck.

Remember Christine O’Donnell?  That dreadful Tea Party person who said she used to dabble in witchcraft.  Well, she lied.  She didn’t used to dabble in witchcraft.  She’s a full blown Wicked Witch of the Right.  Without warning, she and her minions spirited themselves right into the De-pigmentizing room and absconded with the Jackson-2000.  Right during the middle of Lactose’s first session.  Now, there’s only a little patch of white on his left cheek, taunting us with its sweet, sweet pinkness, like a sad, lonely honky lost in Harlem.

But that’s not the worst of it.  Like all self-respecting, evil megalomaniacs, the witch informed us of her diabolical plans before stealing our hopes and dreams of a normal future.  They’re going to spirit themselves and the Jackson-2000 into the White House and rip from our dear, sweet President the only thing he has going for him: His Blackness.  They’re planning on leaving him a broken, white, cracker of a man without any victim status to cling to.

As she told us of her plans, the Witch was cackling with glee.  “Free at last,” she peeled.  “Free at last.  Free at last to criticize Obama’s policies without being accused of being a racist.”  Her maniacal laughter haunts me still.

And the worst part was that she was right.  She was so very right.  His policies can’t be supported through logic, reason or common sense.  Charges of racism against the opposition were our only possible recourse.  He’s doomed.  We’re doomed.

I tried calling the White House, but they won’t listen.  I’m afraid it may already be too late.

Scooby Doo, where are you?  If you’re out there, we need you now.

Mr. Whedon, this is a big bad!  Help us!  What would Buffy do?

Lt. Dangle?  Anyone?  Someone do something!

Calgon, take me away!

Lactose's Medical Fund

Does the thought of leaving behind all that you have worked long and hard for your entire life stick in your craw?  Does the idea of leaving your life's worth to your lazy, good-for-nothing, money-grubbing offspring who are awaiting your demise like a pack of rabid ghouls taste of fermented bile?  Well who said you can't take it with you?  Our lawyers have devised a scheme by which you can retain all that you have...and then some.  Upon your death, we will liquidate all of your assets and invest them in a balanced portfolio after you depart the world.  Then, following Armageddon upon the morning of the first resurrection, if you have made the cut, your funds will be waiting for you, minus a small tithe, our 10% fee of the accumulated investment profits, and you will be ready to begin the millennium in the manner with which you have become accustomed.  Of course, should you not make the cut, you can still die with the peace of mind knowing that those ungrateful whelps will get nothing from you.  Maybe this hard life lesson will help them straighten out and fly right.  Can you give them a better inheritance than that?

To set things in motion, contact us at:

The Lactose Medical Fund
The van under the overpass down by the river
Newark, NJ 76544
011 0046 8764-6675

PS. We also offer a wide range of Rapture Insurance policies.  Have you often wondered what would become of your beloved but wayward children after you are taken up in the cloud and they are left to deal with the coming chaos?  Were you aware that The Rapture is not officially considered as death in standard life insurance policies?  Call now and we will send you a brochure detailing our many Rapture Insurance policy options.  Are you worried about your pets, too, because they won't be coming with you?  We have policies and programs to provide for them as well.  Please call us.  Peace of mind is only a phone call away.

Darth Bubba: Bin Laden's Laptop

Been translatin’ up the documents from the Osama compound might furiously.  This secret communiqué here seemed a might bit interesting.  Yall thought Osama was just hidin’ out the past 10 years plum scared to get on with his holy warrin’.  How wrong yall were, my doubtin’ skeptics.  We have uncovered on his laptop embedded in his digital copy of Hip-Hop Line Dancing an accountin’ of the plans he was still a-hatchin’ to bring ‘merica to its knees with his sleeper cells.  Truly he was still focused upon his goals like…. something that focuses.  Glance your peepers upon these and be glad they did not come to fruition. 

·         Call So You Think You Can Dance every week and vote for the least compelling performer.

·         In a highly coordinated attack upon the nation’s water supply, simultaneously pee in every reservoir.  Eat lots of asparagus the night before.

·         Lots of ‘Kick Me’ signs.

·         Wear only white after Labor Day.

·         Start going door-to-door to tell people about the Quran.

·         Toilet-paper the White House

·         In a highly coordinated plan to induce national suicide, simultaneously call radio stations every 30 minutes and request “I Was Born This Way.”

·         Watch Glee on the east coast feed and then tweet spoilers before it is broadcast in the west.

·         Lots of Facebook spam disguised as Osama death videos.

·         In a highly coordinated attack upon the nation’s children, simultaneously steal all the swing seats from the parks.

·         Sneak across the border, contribute nothing to society and leach off of the government.

·         Develop a case of bulimia.  Spend Ramadan in Vegas.  Between sundown and sunrise, suck the buffets dry, starting with the most expensive items.

·         Conduct a highly coordinated chemical weapons attack.   For a month, holy warriors do not bathe, change your clothing or eat anything except for beans.  Then spend the glorious day riding up and down in crowded elevators or in busy subway trains. 

·         No matter where you are or what you are doing, never stop whistling “Friday”.

·         Whenever you are in a public restroom, steal all the toilet paper and never flush. 

·         Only wash your hands for 10 seconds instead of the recommended 30.

·         Buy up all of the seats for the first weekend of Breaking Dawn and then don’t show up.

·         Vote Democrat.

Lactose's Legal Defense Fund Part 3

Gentlemen, don't you love going to the mall or the superstore with your wife or girlfriend or significant other and trying on clothes and browsing through the houseware aisles carressing towels and draperies and knick knacks. Yeah, me neither. Fortunately, our expert team of sociologists has devised a system to end your suffering. If you simply follow our multiple step program, it is guaranteed that your significant other will be too embarrassed to take you out in public again, and, if you excel at the program, you may be rewarded with a lifetime ban from the establishments you frequented. What follows is a small taste of what awaits you in the full program.

1) Always bring along some candy in a large duffle bag. Approach all children and tell them if they want some candy, all they have to do is climb into the bag and get some.

2a) Take all the tubes of Preparation H from the shelf and slip them individually into other patrons carts when they aren't looking.

2b) Remove all the tubes of Preparation H and Crest from their boxes. Then repack the Prepartion H in the Crest boxes and vice versa.

3) Try on clothing without using the dressing room.

4) Set all the alarm clocks in the store to go off at five minute intervals.

5) Ask the staff and patrons if they know which saws, hammers and drills are best suited for bone.

6) Pretend to be a salesman and divert all customers to the nearest competing store telling them that you just discovered that this store supports terrorism.

7) Prowl around the dressing rooms, and whenever someone emerges to check themselves out in the mirror, mumble, "Of course it makes you look fat. You are fat."

8) Grab a couple of bras and wander around the lingerie section, asking each of the patrons, "Which of these do you think will fit me best... 44A or 44B. A or B. A or B. You can touch me if it will help you decide."

9a) Wander around the maternity section. Approach pregnant patron and say, "I think I might be the father of your child. Here's some DNA for a paternity test," and then spit on her shoe.

9b) (Our reserachers determined that this variation of the approach was particularly effective on Walmart patrons). Wander around the maternity section. Approach pregnant patron and say, "I don't think you are the mother of your unborn child. Can I have some DNA for a maternity test?" and then go for the smooch.

10) Go into one of the dressing rooms. When you hear someone pass, stick your hand out from under the door and ask, "Excuse me. Can you spare a square? Quick, does anyone have a square to spare?"

11) Hide in the middle of a carousel clothing rack. When you hear someone approach cry out, "Try me on for size. Oh please try me on."

To obtain the entire, guaranteed Banned For Life program, merely send $150 or a compromising photo of your significant other to:

Lactose's Legal Defense Fund
The Van Under the Overpass Down by the River
Madison, WI 78047

Darth Bubba: Even More Bin Laden Breaking News

According to my army buds, the document dump from the compound has yielded even more interesting information we will be sortin' and divulgin' over the next while. It's more excitin' than the monthly moonshine fest and not nearly as blindin'. First, the question that all have been askin' for years finally has an answer.

Bin Laden had firmly positioned himself on the side of Team Jacob. Which is might surprisin' given the muslim aversion to dogs. More to come on this and other interestin' topics.

Donor Found

I just wanted to share the fabulous news that a donor butt has been located.  By this time tomorrow, Lactose will be sporting a shiny, new, round African American tushie.  It wasn't our first choice, but the only prostitute/homeless guy I could find that happened to have both an organ donor card and a fine posterior happened to be black.  Those are the breaks.  Until we can buy spare body parts on the open market, we'll have to take what we can get.  It will be interesting to see what kind of stir this makes on the beach while he's sporting his new slingshot thong.

Hmm, I wonder if there could be a reality show prospect in this: Part Black, But All Fabulous.

Darth Bubba: More Breaking Bin Laden News

Once more I have beaten the mainstream media to the scoop. On account of all my redneck friends what are in the army, I've got my hands on Bin Laden's last will and testament. We've gone and done translated it from squiggly into normal language, and are presenting it now for your perusal. Remember, you heard it here first.

To my firstborn son I leave my treasures that are most worthy to help him learn how to rain death upon the Great Satan: Grand Theft Auto, my Tyco Flight Simulator and my Fisher Price My First Airplane, though I have lost the pilot.

To my youngest son I leave my entire video collection composed of the Great Satan’s Greatest Satanic Cinematic Hits: Granny Fannies 1 through 7, Mustached Madams, Beach Blanket Bingo, The Godfather Part 3 and Gigli. I hope and pray that these bring you as much pleasure and hatred toward the Great Satan as they have for me.

To my youngest wife I leave my Sweatin’ to the Oldies collection. You remember when you asked me if that burka made your butt look fat. I lied.

To my first wife I leave my commemorative ‘Joanie Loves Chachi’ down comforter. Treat it with love and color safe bleach. It is stained with many memories.

To my middle son I leave my camo-print Snuggie. May it keep you as warm and safe in battle against the Great Satan as it did for me. I could clean my gun while staying wrapped in its loving embrace. I hope I was not wearing this when I kicked it.

To my daughters I leave my McDonalds Happy Meal Toy collection and my Beanie Babies. Always remember that these were wrought in the bowels of the Great Satan.

To my second son I leave my blue cardigan that was a 9/11 gift to me from Achmedinejad. If it becomes stained with the blood of the infidels, dry clean only, please.

To son number four, I leave my copy of Mein Kampf autographed by my good friend and fellow conspirator, Saddam Hussein. He signed it: Here’s looking at jew kid. Saddam was such a hoot.

Lastly, to my goat I leave my collection of half-eaten Big Macs in the old school styrofoam containers. Eat them, my friend. Eat them with your pretty goat mouth.

Lactose is Out of Surgery

Lactose's surgery has been deemed a success.  He's conscious now, and they should be ready to move him out of intensive care any moment now.

He is truly blessed to live in a time of modern medical miracles.  He has become the first recipient of a G.R.A.D. (Gluteus Rectal Assist Device), formally known as the Jarvik Badonkadonk-7 or the total artificial butt.  Performs all the functions of a real butt, only its artificial.  It's not intended to be a permanent replacement, but it will bridge the gap for him until a donor butt can be located.  There were a number of models for him to choose from, but, fortunately, he had good medical coverage and was able to get the full Kardashian. Much better than that scrawny Portman design.  Nothing to hold on to there at all.

Oh, but he's coming, apparently walking on his own and pressed upon by the members of the press.  I can hear the slight whirring of the pistons that are propelling his new gluteus, and they are rippling the silicone casing ever so nicely.  The passing of the flatus seemed ever so natural.  Trailing behind him is his entourage pushing the cart holding the battery pack that powers his new butt.  Overall, it's about the size of a volkswagon beetle.  It will have to be his constant companion until a donor is located, but that's okay.  Drape it with a nice, lacey divan, a few flowers, and it will hardly be noticeable as he sashays down the boulevard. 

The press are asking him questions now, but he can't seem to answer.  He's just mumbling.  What is that, Dr.?  Oh. His jaw has been wired shut.  But I didn't think his jaw was injured.  Oh, it wasn't.  I understand.  I've often wanted to wire his mouth shut too, I just didn't have the means or the anesthetic.  Underterred, the rep from MSNBC is asking a question.  "How is your quality of life?  Two thumbs up for good."

Lactose is holding up two fingers, brandishing them, really, and they sure aren't thumbs.  Brave hand gestures from a brave man. 

I will keep you updated according to his progress.

Darth Bubba: Bin Laden Breaking News

I reckon I got me a pretty big scoop right heres. Billy Jo's been lookin' round on that intertube thingie, and he's found a recordin' of what was goin' on inside the President's situation room during the Obama assault. He's gone and typed it up all nice, and here it is. Remember, you sawed it here first.



Obama: Which of those guys is me? My joystick isn’t working?

Hillary: That’s what she said.

Obama: What…

Biden: Nevermind.

Obama: I think I’ve got a bad connection. My joystick’s not controlling any of those people. Wait a minute, why are all these people here to watch me play Call of Duty?

Biden: They aren’t here to watch you play your games, sir.

Obama: Why not? I’m really good.

Biden: You just think that because you’re still in the tutorial. I’ve explained this to you for months. The real game doesn’t start until you get through the tutorial. And, we aren’t here to watch you play. This is a live feed from Navy SEALS who are going to storm Osama’s compound and kill him.

Obama: No! I’m too young to die!

Biden: Osama, sir. Not Obama. They are going to kill Osama. No one is trying to kill you yet. (Musing quietly: No one but me, anyway. President Biden at your service.)

Obama: Our names are just too similar. And we’re both muslim and hate America. I get us confused all the time.

Biden: We know, sir. Now, why don’t you let the adults talk, and we’ll get to you in a minute.

Obama: Wow, that looks just like a reality TV show. How do they do that?

Biden: They have tiny cameras on their helmets.

Obama: Cool. I want one of those. It would be nice for when Michelle and I are getting busy.

Hillary: So that’s why Bill has one of those! He never wore it around me.

Military Dude: You mean you don’t know.

Obama: I know. I know everything.

Hillary: Know what?

Military Dude: Well, we’d all assumed you’d given Bill consent. Eric Holder assured us, and Bill wasn’t getting many speaking engagements anymore.

Hillary: What are you saying?

Military Dude: Um, I’m not sure how to break this to you, Mrs. Clinton…..

Obama: (giggles)

Military Dude: I guess you should know. Go to www.whitehousehos.cigar.gov. Check the fourth page under the ‘My First Lady’ section. What? Like you all don’t have this in your favorites. It was a great icebreaker with Putin after she messed up that reset button gag.

Hillary: I thought we were to never speak of that again. Now hand me that laptop. (typing)

Obama (still fiddling with his joystick): Are you sure you can't rig it so my joystick controls one of the SEALS? And why is it all dark and stuff? Are you sure this feed is live? It’s the middle of the day now.

Biden: We’ve been through this before. Pakistan is on the other side of the world. It’s nighttime over there. That’s why we don’t let you prank call Musharraf during your lunchbreak anymore. He doesn’t like being woken up in the middle of the night so you can ask him about his refrigerator.

Woman at the back: Do they even have refrigerators in Pakistan?

Biden: Yes, they have refrigerators in Pakistan. They have nuclear weapons in Pakistan.

Obama: What, Pakistan has nuclear weapons? When did this happen?

Hillary: OMG, Bill is so dead! But wait, that can’t be. It is. Chelsea? And with Al? Is that Tipper? Oooo. Let me at him. I’ll warm his globe! (Storms out furiously)

Everyone in the room: (huddling around to watch Hillary’s laptop screen)

Bald Guy 2: Hey, turn up the volume.  This is the best part......Uh, or so I've heard.

Forty-five minutes later, the laptop battery runs out.

Biden: OK, back to Osama. Wait a minute. The screen’s gone black. Was anyone paying attention? Did we get him? Are the SEALS dead? What? I can’t believe this. This was a big effin’ deal.

Obama: Better check with Fox News. They’ll have the story right.

Lactose Has Been Shot

I have some terrible news.  Lactose has been shot.  He’s still in surgery.  The doctors say he’ll survive, but he may not want to.  They apprehended the shooter at the scene.  It was one Sven Keirkegaaard, a Scandanavian nationalist and part of a left wing, extremist fundamentalist atheist group.  I blame Sarah Palin.  She is soooo drabulous.  Her outfits made Lactose beat me on many occasions.

It happened as he was being transferred.  As they were moving him from the maximum security lockdown to the Cesna that was going to take him to GITMO for interrogation, a shot rang out in the Memphis sky.  Shot his butt clean off.  Oh the humanity!   Dirty Scandi!

Lactose would want me to note that while shooting him, Sven was swathed in a dreadful little goth ninja number that was soooo 2009. 

I’ll keep you appraised as the situation develops.

Pray to Tyra for him. 

Lactose's Legal Defense Fund, Part 2

 

Do you suffer from heart disease, toenail fungus, chronic back pain, halitosis, excessive body odor, alcoholism, anal fissures, ulcers, depression, bipolar disorder or any other physical or psychological ailment? Our select team of specialists would like to help you. By combining the ancient arts of acupuncture and chiropractic, the best of modern medicine and psychiatry and the power of voodoo, our team can help you from the comfort of your own home. With the proper materials, we will construct a voodoo doll in your image, and our team of specialists will use it to control, I mean manipulate, I mean perform the requisite spinal adjustments, acupuncture or medical and psychological treatments remotely. We will treat any condition for a mere $99.95. Just send payment along with samples of hair, toenail clippings and three bodily fluids to:

Lactose's Legal Defense Fund

The Van Under the Overpass Down by the River
Farmington, Utah 84025

Or payments may also be transferred directly to our account in the Cayman Islands. Call 011-8999-86754-28374, and ask for Guido.

What are you waiting for? Pervert the black practice of voodoo and use it for good.

Note: You privacy is very important to us. Under no circumstances will your DNA be used to conduct bizarre genetic experiments, to breed my army of loyal ape-man slaves or to create the perfect woman in the laboratory. Nor will it be used to frame you for a crime you didn't commit. Really, you can trust us.

PS No fatties.
PPS Have you ever been convicted of a felony? Is your information already stored within the national criminal database? You may qualify for our special repeat offender discount. Call for information.

Lactose's Legal Defense Fund

Over 500 million children are homeless and go to bed hungry in the United States every second, children like little Cordelia here. For weeks, Cordelia has subsisted only on toaster leavings, her own hair clippings and whatever dew she can collect with and suck from her old training pants. You can make a difference. Open your hearts and accounts and give to the Starving Infants, Don't Die Or Waste Away Young Foundation aka The Lactose Legal Defense Fund. Send cash, checks, bonds, stocks, credit cards (don't forget the PIN), vehicles, jewelry, gold, heirlooms or any other monetary donations to:

The Lactose Legal Defense Fund,

The Van Under the Overpass Down by the River
La Jolla, Ca 07984

Or transfer the donation directly to our account in the Cayman Islands. Call 011-8999-86754-28374, and ask for Guido.

Please give generously. Don't let Cordelia die or waste away young.

Darth Bubba: Obama, the International Man of Mystery

Well, seems that Obama fella finally let the press see his new fake birth certificate, so's I guess we needs to spread some more rumors about him. There are a might plenty of odd things about him that border on the mysterious that just reek of anti-american conspiracies. Just what 'xactly is them mysteries, yall might ask. Well let me tell you:

1) How come, exactly, is Obama never seen at the same time as Aquaman?

2) Exactly why was he missing for seven days last February, and why did he come back two inches shorter and hairless?

3) Why does he sometimes refer to himself as Linda Goldstein?

4) Why did he give explicit instructions to the White House staff to never write his name backwards in red?

5) Why does the laughter of small children cause him to repulse?

6) Why has he never been seen photographed with a chicken or any kind of melon?

7) Why does he have an unexplainable fear of wallpaper?

8) Why won't he release the six months worth of e-mail exchanges between himself and someone known as Sauron?

9) Why, though being seen at the beach often, does he never put so much as a toe in the water?

10) Why, for the longest time, did he insist that Michelle and the kids wear tin foil undergarments, while he was going California style?

11) Why was he seen offering burnt sacrifice in the 17th floor restroom of WT7 on September 10th?

12) Why, if you look very closely at the Apollo landing photographs, can you see the reflection of Obama's full moon in the side of the lander?

13) Why, exactly, did Obama and Qadaffi use the same Brazilian plastic surgeon?

14) Why has he never been seen without wearing socks?

15) Why does he spit to the left and hop in a circle three times each time he touches a bush?

16) Why was he overheard saying the following to Joe Biden: "Kidnapping is such a loaded term. Think of it as surprise adoption."?

17) Why does he look out the window each night before going to bed and whisper: "Bonobo. I'm ready now."?

Remember, I'm just asking questions.

MIA

This is Julio standing in for Lactose the Intolerant, who will be absent for the forseeable future.  The FBI raided his place last night.  Turns out he's being accused of espionage.  Apparently he's been selling secrets to Canada and Switzerland: the secret formulation for Diet Dr. Pepper, Secret Antiperspirant, the secret to Oprah's appeal, the secret for looking fabulous, among others.  It was an awful mess.  During the cacaphony of the raid, Lactose panicked and tried to escape by flushing himself down the commode.   If it hadn't been for his big head.  You ever snake a commode?  Well, extracting him was kind of like that, and, wouldn't you know it, the Feds just left me with the mess. Typical government types.

Anyway, we're trying to get Lactose out on bail.  Donations can be sent to the normal place.

Help us Julian Assange. You're our only hope.

Darth Bubba: Deliver Me

Got tired o’ watchin’ that Foxy News Network, so’s I flipped it over to the AMC. Just in time too. They was showin’ only the most terrifyin’ film what ever got slapped onto celluloid. Done did for the backwoods and banjos what Jaws done did for the ocean. ‘Specially when you’s got such a purty mouth like I got. That’s right: Deliverance. I shouldn’ta done watched it again. Way too scared to shut my peepers, so’s I gots me an idea. I reckon what we’s gots to do is make sure all them hillbilly folks is good and satisfied so’s they don’t come after us regulars like in the film. To assist with that, I’ve gone and devised some pick up lines sure as shootin’ to help them hillbillies’ get themselves someone to mate with that ain't us. Spread these ‘round to all the backwoods areas. It’s fer our own protection.

• Didn’t I see that purdy mouth o’ yours at the family reunion?

• How bout you come back to my place? Maw said you have to be back by 11 anyhow.

• You know, I’ve never seen such a beautiful tooth.

• Boy howdy, but them green eyes sure do reminds me of fresh radiator coolant.

• Get in the truck, cuz….

• Sooeeeey!!!! Sooeeeeey!!!!

• Yer already my sister and my momma, so you might as well be my girl.

• Are you gonna come easy, or do I need to get the duct tape?

• I haven’t seen a tail that fine since I lost my coonskin cap.

• Our lice really seem to have hit it off. Be a shame to separate them now.

• You really remind me of my first love. I reckon it’s that fleece you’re wearing.

• You know, in this light, you look a might like a plump, young Ned Beatty.

• If you and I kissed right now, we’d almost be sharing a full set of teeth.

• Women like you are what got me interested in greased pig wrasslin’. How bout I show you some of my moves?