Don't Nobody Go In The Bathroom For 35, 45 Days

Good god. I'm actually ashamed of myself. Myself and the 20-pound brown baby boy I just dropped off at the pool, if you get my drift. If you don't, I mean I just took a shit large enough to choke a horse. Hear me now?

Don't get me wrong -- I love a good shit. Moreover, few do it better or with more regularity than yours truly. But some things were never meant to see the light of day. And that... that... monstrosity I just left in the bathroom? It's one of them.

Double damn. My houseboy, Kang, just walked past the bathroom door and dropped to the ground like a sack of flour. Here's hoping smelling salts will bring him around, 'cause christ knows I'm not in the mood to answer a lot of stupid questions from Immigration.

Grow Up Already

Yes, so I received a call from the idiot I mentioned in my last post. Naturally, he was looking for me to do some free work for him. Equally naturally, I told him to shove off.

Some people. Oh well, I can't dwell on that now; turns out Pete's Poontang Emporium has a new girl, Mandy, who's amenable to my recently acquired fetish. Needless to say, I'm eager to test her out. Actually, the test drive's already begun -- Mandy's thumb is currently jammed up my ass, and is in fact the only thing keeping a tidal wave of ExLax-induced diarrhea from forcibly exiting my bowels.

So, if you'll excuse me, time for this precious flower to earn her paycheck. Don't wait up.

Oh Christ

I can't believe this doofus is back. I could've sworn he was dead.

Oh well. He better not expect me to do anymore pro bono work for that little retard organization of his, I'll tell you that much. I have much better things to do these days. Like OxyContin. And whores.

Free At Last

"Linda?"

"Yes? With whom am I speaking?"

"It's me, Oz -- Oswald Carver, an old friend of Ken's."

"Oh, Oswald, of course. How nice to hear from you."

"Yeah," I said. "Look, I just heard the good news. You know, about Ken's exoneration. Congratulations."

"Thank you, Oswald. I just wish he could be here to enjoy it."

"Well, I'm sure he's enjoying it wherever he is. Say, on his yacht. Or a private beach in Aruba. Maybe a castle in northern Germany..?"

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing. I jest."

"Well, it was in very poor taste--"

"Yes, so it was. But hey, how are you holding up? I promised Ken I'd check in with you, you know, see how you're doing."

"I'm doing as well as can be expected. Yourself?"

"Oh, fine," I said, scratching my testicles. "So listen, you maybe want to get together for sex sometime?"

"What?!"

"You know, sex. A little humping and a pumping? A little you lick my genitals and I lick yours? A little I say it then you do it? A little parlez-vous francais? C'mon, whaddya say?"

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Oh, for christ's sake -- don't play coy with me. We both know your husband died months ago, and that an old broad like yourself doesn't get many chances for action. Besides, I'm only offering as a favor to Ken."

She had a few more choice words for me, then the line went dead. That's when Ken busted out laughing.

"Hoo-hoo-hoo! That was great, Oz -- great!" he bellowed, taking another pull from what was now a half-empty bottle of scotch. "Man, I woulda loved to have seen the look on that bitch's face! Screw you, Linda! Screw you! Poppa's a free man, and he ain't never coming back!"

"Yes, so, what's next for you, Kenny Boy?" I asked, pulling two fine Cubans from the humidor on my desk. "Africa? Asia? Certainly not Antarctica?"

"Don't worry about me, Oz," he said, looking around furtively. "I got it all figured out, see? All figured out!"

"Good for you," I said. "Here, have a cigar."

He gladly accepted, then it was my turn to laugh when it exploded upon ignition. This wasn't your run-of-the-mill novelty store exploding cigar, either. No. It blew his head clear off, turning his neck into a pulsating geyser of blood.

Fortunately, the paranoid bastard had taken to keeping his Swiss banking info on his person after faking his death a few months back. The rest, as they say, will soon be history.

I May Never Go To Vegas Again

All right, I'll admit it: I like to romp in Vegas. Who doesn't? You'd be crazy not to, what with the non-stop gambling, drinking, eating, puking and more drinking & eating. And whores. And, yes, Vegas' "anything goes" attitude is exactly what makes that kind of action possible... but they're anything will have gone way too far if this reprehensible initiative becomes law.

Letting people legally buy marijuana? Why not let kids buy crack and heroin in the school cafeteria while you're at it? Next thing you know, they'll be marrying homosexuals, letting servants use the front entrance and all other sorts of nefarious business that Mssrs. Sinatra, Martin, Bishop, Lawford and... and... and that dark-skinned fellow never would've allowed back when they ruled Vegas. No sir.

That's it, I'm off to draft a very angry letter to my congressman. Maybe even my senators while I'm at it. I realize they have no influence over Nevada's voters, but goddammit, if I don't speak up now, who'll speak for me when the beatniks try to take over my state?

Battlestar Galactica Could Be A Lot Better

Don't get me wrong, it's a damn good show. And that's coming from a man who hates science fiction. In fact, I once set fire to a kid back in high school shop class 'cause he was always going on about robots and spaceships and all that crazy shit. But that's not the point. The point is, Battlestar Galactica isn't a great show for one simple reason: no naked boobies.

I mean, goddamn. What's the use in changing half the male characters from the original series into chicks if they're not going to pop their tops on a regular basis? Hello? Even the space whore in season 2 didn't get naked on camera -- what the hell was that all about? It's like hiring a monkey and not forcing it to eat a banana.

Speaking of hiring, maybe I should give Madame Ching's a call to see if they've got any whores who look like Boomer. You know, bring the mountain to Mohammed. I'll let you know how it works out.

Goddamn I Love A Good Cockfight

Get your minds out of the gutter. For one, what you're thinking of is a swordfight. For two, I'm talking about the Sport of Kings. No, not that one. The other Sport of Kings. The one that involves two roosters tearing themselves to shreds for the amusement of drunken, howling bettors. Right, that one.

So anyhow, it was a good night. Every cock I bet on won. What's more, I spent the winnings on the ugliest Mexican whore I could find, then gave her a savage beating in a roach-infested motel strategically located behind an abortion clinic. What can I say? I was on a bad side of town. People live like animals over there, and they deserve what they get.

Alright, I gotta split -- I shit my pants on the drive home, and need to wake the houseboy and tell him to go scrub down the Hummer's interior before feces soaks into the fine Corinthian leather seats. Then it's straight to bed for me. I would take a shower first, but I'm beat, and what do I care if my sheets get shitty? It's not like I'm the one who has to wash them, right?

The Guys At The Office Are Gonna Love This

Yeah, so, I hear you've been looking for me. Too bad -- I've been busy. Busy with business, dammit, and make no mistake: the business of Oswald Carver is most assuredly business. And business is good.

Unfortunately, good business inevitably comes hand in hand with a strained labor force. Which is why I decided to splurge and buy a motivational poster for the office. You know, one of those slickly produced signs with a tranquil image and some sage words underneath, all set around a central theme: Perserverance, Endurance, Stubbornness and the like.

At any rate, here's the one my staff will be enjoying come tomorrow; "click for a larger version," as they say. Also, if you're interested in getting one for your own office, might I recommend this site? Their custom craftsmanship is unparalleled -- tell 'em Oz sent you.