As I unwrapped the package, I caught an initial whiff that made me look to see how close the dogs (and their asses) were to me.  After the second whiff, I thought maybe I was finally seeing symptoms of the brain tumor I’m convinced I have.  This particular cheese smelled exactly like dog shit.  So much so, that I checked my shoes. 

I needed a second opinion, someone to say, “No, it isn’t a brain tumor. That cheese smells exactly like poop. How very strange.”  And that’s one of the reasons people get married or have significant others, right?  To smell stuff for you?  So I called my husband into the room and made him smell the cheese.  The poor guy went right in for a full-on smell instead of the wary, cautious sniff he usually employs when asked to smell something that ain’t quite right.

He ran, nay, fled from the room, dry heaving, eyes watering, cursing the very existence of cheese.  I heard him in the bathroom for the next 5 minutes heaving and choking and trying to wash the memory of the poopy-cheese from his nose.  I felt pretty secure in the knowledge that this wasn’t my hibernating brain tumor.  This was some bad, bad cheese.

Fat Dog Raids Peanut Butter Stash

Damn this obesity!!!

It’s a common occurrence in jail to overhear some douchebag telling a group of guys that he just benched 300lbs a few weeks ago.  Meanwhile, you saw him fail to do 10 pushups the night before and he only weighs 150lbs. 

What about the ubiquitous claim of having “a lot of bitches” to come and bond them out?  I heard that all the time.  Usually from idiots who had a $100 bond and they couldn’t get any of their “bitches” to come bond them out.  Guess they need to work on that pimp hand!  Maybe the guy that benched 300lbs (see above) can help them design a program to pimp that pimp hand.

Another favorite of guys in jail is the “I pay your salary” claim.  Yeah, right!  Most of the time they aren’t even paying their fines, or child support, or taxes.  My wife had some dumbass claim that he paid her taxes!  He must’ve been certifiably retarded…right?

Sleeping Or You'd Already Be Dead!

Notice the fangs that protrude.  He’s trying to lure you into reaching your hand into his lair – while cooing about what a sweet boy he is.  Seconds later, after you pull back a bloody stump, you won’t be baby-talking him anymore.  You’ll be too busy running away.

Damn! You just drooled on my shoes!

I hate you sometimes.

If you had to pick,

Would you like a midget or

A dwarf in your trunk?

If zombies arise,

I hope they are the slow kind.

Fast ones are no fun.

Go away zombie!

You’ll find no brains to eat here-

Only cereal.

I would like a job

That involves peanut butter,

Vodka, and firemen.

Her Side Kick Is Very Powerful

A few of our other favorites:

“Compensated Endorser” = spokesperson, or just plain whore

“Encore Presentation” = for Christ’s sake, it’s a re-run

“Made Redundant” = laid off and don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out

Delilah obviously has metabolism issues. Damn this obesity!!!

Hellku- A “poem” of a fixed 5-7-5 syllable form that often simply points out the obvious, the clueless, or the demented things in society that has moved the poet.

Composing hellku is a great way to look like you are really thinking at work, or to blow off steam while you are in the express lane at the grocery store and the woman with 30+ items and 6 dirty children ahead of you waits until the last second to pull out her checkbook and laboriously pay for her groceries and cigarettes.

Some of our favorite hellku topics are zombies, rude people on cellphones, bad parents and their children, and anything weird that tickles our admittedly off sense of humor.

Shotgun, Shovel, Bat;

These things keep zombies at bay.

Poison? Not so much.

Die, zombie! Die! Die!

Or at least move down the street

to the blue crackhouse.

If I wanted to

hear your phone conversation,

I’d call you myself.

If you hit my car

While talking on your cellphone,

Call 9-1-1, bitch.

I think your child is

possessed by demons from hell.

It’s not “just a phase.”

If you don’t want to

discipline your rotten child,

I’d be happy to!

Reality shows

are not very real at all.

Too many fake boobs.

Why are clowns scary?

Oh yeah-  make-up, leering, and

alcoholism.