The Midnight News 05.06.04
Posted by Hyatte on 05.06.2004
Big Time TV Shows, A Whole Lotta WHOOO, Eugene, Hide & Seek, Reading Material, and Quotes
I’m Chris and this is the Midnight News Omega. I actually have material here – very little of it my own, precious little of it very funny in a laugh out loud sense, but still FUN!
So let’s go.
BUT, PLUGS
Want to write for 411? Want to review movies? Bitch about Marvel? Talk about Hip-Hop? Scream on about Pac Man? Or even discuss why Triple H is destroying the VERY FOUNDATION OF THE BUSINESS THAT WE LIVE AND BREATHE IN???
Just… if you’re hired, don’t bother me… just… no
APRIL FOOL
So, in last Monday’s column I finally got to reporting all the info I had on April Hunter and her boy Slyk. It’s somewhere in here, and it’s a hoot.
Well, April responded in an e-mail to myself, Widro, and Ashish.
Oh, of COURSE you can read it..
In fact, please DO read it… I’ll dissect it from head to toe in Monday’s column.
Girl has no clue what she’s about to go up against.
WHO WATCHES THIS CRAP??
Smackdown shows up tonight. And it’s the last episode of Friends…
Fuck both of them.
Oh I am SO SICK of Friends… have been for two years now. Gah… it’s over… off to bad movies (and Joey!) for all of them! Jennifer Aniston is not strong enough an actress to be a big movie star. Mathew Perry must have his pet poodle “Puffy” pick his scripts. Courtney Cox is 36 going on 46. Lisa Kudrow ain’t looking like a spring chicken either and if David Schwimmer was any more Jewish his name would be Heimy Schwartz.
No one will miss this show. Except for Scott Keith, but Scooter lives and breathes about 5 years behind everyone else.
Screw Friends… I’m watching Survivor!
But, of course, NO ONE will be watching Smackdown this Thursday… in fact, I predict that ratings will be so low that they’ll actually have to take away NEXT WEEK’S ratings just to cover!
Anyway…
A FLAIR FOR THE JUDGE
Scherer says that Ric Flair wasn’t at Raw because of the birth of his grandson!
AND RUSSO WAS THE FATHER!!! THAT NO GOOD RAT JAP BASTARD!!! HE REALLY IS TAKING WRESTLING TO THE NEXT LEVEL!!!!!!
Anyway, Raw was in Phoenix last week, right? Phoenix, Arizona…
Well guess who these people are:
Van O’Steen and Partners
3605 North Seventh Avenue
Phoenix, Arizona, 85013
(602) 252-8888
Who are they, you ask?
Oh no one, just THE ATTORNEYS FOR THE AIRLINE ATTENDANTS SUING FLAIR FOR SWINGING HIS NATURE BOY AT THEM!!!
WHOOOOO I’m sitting this one out, Vince, brother! WHOOOOO!
WHOOOOO!!!
YOU CAN’T SAY “WEDNESDAY” WITHOUT “T”, “N”, “A”… EXCEPT FOR THE “T”
TNA was on last night.
My thoughts exactly.
But ya know, I was JUST about the applaud them for dumping that loser Erik Watts, so what do they do? Bring the jackass back!
BAH!!
DINSMORE OR LESS
Mr. McMahon, (and you have to believe me, I don’t know WHY he writes columns for my column, but it’s him and he does and I’m THRILLED!!) IMmed me earlier this week… I don’t think he’ll mind it if I post the brief chat…
WWEVinMac: Listen pal, I’m up to my neck in business this week, so I don’t have time for you.
Hyatte1com: No problem, Mr. McMahon, just happy to have you on-board
WWEVinMac: If I remember, I’ll have another Superstar send in something.
Hyatte1com: That would be great, sir
Days went by and nothing, so I figured he just forgot. He’s forgiven, it’s perfectly okay…
Then, last Sunday, I get an AIM message from Eugene. We talked for a bit… and that’s the only thing I’ve gotten, so I’m posting it.
Now, I’m NOT SURE Vince sent Eugene to fill-in… so I treated it appropriately… because it COULD be a scam… and I was scammed once already, by some guy pretending to be Tammy Sytch… and there is no way I’m falling for that again…
No way in HELL! I’ve got Vince McMahon writing for me so now I have GOT to be legit an careful!
So, this is what happened between me and Eugene… if Vince sent him, great, if not… then it’s cool.
You’ll like this… it’s funny… and dig how I channel my inner mark by opening up with some insider knowledge!
WWEeugene2004: Eugene!!! Eugene!!
Hyatte1com: DINSMORE, DINSMORE
WWEeugene2004: Hyatte! King of internet! Hyatte!
WWEeugene2004: eugene column! midnight news!
Hyatte1com: sure.
WWEeugene2004: OORick gay!! Column next week! next week!
Hyatte1com: go for it
WWEeugene2004: Eugene playing with block button. block button!
Hyatte1com: heh
WWEeugene2004: bye bye!! bye bye!! Read column tonight!! Hyatte!
Hyatte1com: Eugene can sure spell properly for a retard
Hyatte1com: grammar is perfect too
Hyatte1com: amazing
WWEeugene2004: Eugene book smart. lots of time on hands. Just street slow! slow!
Hyatte1com: ah, and Eugene quick with the thoughtful explainations
WWEeugene2004: regal helping. regal!
Hyatte1com: Do me a fave and call meltzer a homo right now!
WWEeugene2004: eugene don't know meltzer. but homo! homo! me wrestle in 8 days!
Hyatte1com: and shall I use this full AIM name, or shall I shorten it?
WWEeugene2004: eugene in column? GOODY!! Hyatte's column, Hyatte decides!
Hyatte1com: does Eugene want everyone to instant message him?
WWEeugene2004: Eugene prefers MSN and never uses AIM. MSN!
Hyatte1com: Eugene does good character... almost convincing
Hyatte1com: now, go play with that block button, like you promised ten minutes ago
WWEeugene2004: block! block!!
That was it.
I like it when, right after I called him on his good grammar, he started to forget how to capitalize the first letter of his sentences
I also like it when he started talking like the Hulk… Eugene in column!! Eugene book smart!! EUGENE SMASH!!! GRRRRAAAAR!
Then there was the part where I had to remind him to play with the block button.
I think it’s a fake… but you know, maybe the WWE thinks it’s a good idea if “Eugene” goes online in character in order to drum up Net face heat? It’s possible!
Anyway, I don’t have MSN Messenger and will never get it… but if you do and want to talk to this guy… be my guest.
And hopefully Mr. McMahon will be back next week! write to him and get him all inspired to do another column!
Christ, I’m so awesome, I can’t even stand it!
JESUS DIED FOR STUFF LIKE THIS?
Now that Rob Feinstein has ruined himself (all over the backside of a whole BUNCH’A young boys… BA-DUM DUM), it falls on none other than porn producer, former Indy wrestling promoter ROB BLACK to be the face of dignity in Independent Wrestling!
So… with that in mind, here’s a recipe from Mr. Black.. something he invented all by himself! Get read to cut and paste this, kids… something to surprise Mom and Dad with for Breakfast one Sunday morning!
The Ass Milkshake: by Rob Black:
1- Take several naked men and one naked, desperate, preferably drugged up woman
2- Have each of the men furiously rub themselves until semen comes out of their pee pee
3- Have each man aim and project their semen deep inside the woman’s tuckus
4- Add milk and cream into the tuckus, use a speculum if necessary (one of those rib spreaders for the vagina, so you can see just how much ROOM these chicks have in those things… and good gravy, some of you gals are roomier than a New York studio apartment!).
5- Allow five minutes of mixing and percolating. Use a butt plug and then bang the woman silly, which will incite “blending”.
6- Unplug woman and have her decant mixture into glass.
7- Serve with Fig Newtons.
Rob Black – The Classiest man in the business.
Think that’s bad? You haven’t seen NOTHING yet…
Goddamn it.
You've let me down this time.
I thought I could always rely on you to point me in the right direction vis a vis top pornography. Last week I took your recomendation on board and checked out the high caliber movies of Aurora Snow. And I was mighty impressed.
So this week, I was hoping for some more of the same, another name to sate my wankers cramp. And there was no one to be seen.
Therefore, for all of us out there, might I suggest a new section to the Midnight News - Slapper of the week.
Porn recomendations for all, thats what I say!
No Name Given
Okay, fine… you asked for it…
If you have Windows Media, then click to this Blog page. Nevermind who it is, it’s not important.
You see three hyperlinks? Well, they are three parts of maybe the sickest friggin thing I’ve ever seen…
The First Link? We see a naked Japanese girl shove a funnel filled with EELS in the ass of another naked, clearly drugged Japanese girl. We see the Eels slip in, one at a time. We see the last Eel FIGHT, FIGHT FOR ALL IT’S WORTH to get out, only to get shoved back in.
The Second Link? We see the drugged girl eject the Eels. We see them FLY out. We see them get SPIT out. We see her rectum throb like a frickin’ volcano.
The Third Link? We see the Japanese Girl who didn’t take the Eels inside eat one of them. With glee.
Man… I love the Internet.
Oh, and I described this here because, for Chrissakes, some of you read this while WORKING! Hyatte may be an asshole, but he’s not an Eel-filled asshole!
I wonder if April Hunter ever made an Ass Milkshake?
Anyway, there’s some porn for you… enjoy!
THE MIDNIGHT NEWS BOOK-OF-THE-TWO-WEEK-CLUB
Flea: Only three writers in the world have ever meant anything, Hi-Gyrate
Hyatte: Oh yeah, which ones?
Flea: Stephen King, George Orwell…
Hyatte: And?
Flea: (takes a long, drawn-out, desperate pull from his bong – followed by a nice, generous sip from his glass) and… whoever.
Hyatte: Whoever?
Flea: Yep
Hyatte: Who the fuck is whoever?
Flea: When you know, then you’ll know
********************
Whenever I want to try a new author, I make an attempt to start with a short story collection first, it’s a good way to see where their head is at and to see how they approach different plots and narratives.
Plus, short story collections rock, when they are done properly. Sometimes, this isn’t the case.
Now, I’ve sampled a lot of different short collections from a lot of different writers, and for my tastes, I prefer the short story to be solid: With a beginning, middle, and end. It can be done, and done well… by God I’ve seen it.
Then there are those collections where the short story doesn’t feel like a short story, more like an excerpt from a larger novel where, the reader is required to follow along and understand that the writer is presenting a slice of a larger pie.
And MAN, I hate that.
Now, there are a whole boatload of authors out there who make their money either teaching or editing stories, and on the side they’ll publish a story here and there. Only rarely do they come out with a full-blown novel. These writers are, well, they are a lot like me, they are popular (and respected) within a small knit circle, but generally unknown to the mass audience. They are good writers, but they are also not basing their livelihood on pure sales. I thought you might like to hear about one of them for this edition.
On the back of her book, it says this:
A.M. Homes is the author of the novels Music for Torching, The End of Alice, In A Country of Mothers, and Jack. Her fiction has been translated into eight languages, and she is the recipient of numerous awards, including a Guggenheim fellowship and a national Endowment for the Arts fellowship. Her fiction and nonfiction appear frequently in magazines such as The New Yorker and Artforum among others, and she is a contributing editor at Vanity Fair, Mirabella, Bomb, Blind Spot, and Story. She teaches in the writing program at Columbia University and the New School and lives in New York City.
Pretty accomplished, no? Ever hear of her? I doubt it.
Homes has two story collections out, this one and one called Things You Should Know, and what she likes to do in both is explore themes of change and the dark side of family. She also loves to write about teenagers, she seems fascinated with the them.
Now, the book NOT here is, like I said, Things You Should Know, and it’s OKAY… but not really good, because it exemplifies the problems I have with some short stories, most of what she wrote made no sense as stand-alones, they felt like a sneak peak… and excerpt. And this made ME feel like a moron for not grasping the story she was trying to tell. I mean, really, I’m a damn smart guy!
That was her second story collection, her first is much better, and this is the book that IS here.
The Safety of Objects is 173 pages worth of short stories that focus on the secret lives of regular, everyday suburbanites. Most of the material in here is dark, Homes likes to look at the underside of middle class society. There are no vampires here, no werewolves, no shady hitmen – just a collection of several characters and what they do when no one is looking.
And since Homes is a girl, the stories have a softer, more introspective feel to them.
The Safety of Objects are ten short stories that are pretty easy to read. Such as:
-“Adults Alone”: A married, professional, white collar couple take advantage of their kids being away for a weekend by binging on crack for the first time. (This story was so strong that Homes eventually devoted a novel to this couple)
-“Slumber Party”: two very young pre-teeners have a sleep-over, and have sex, and start a huge fire.
-“Looking for Johnny”: A young boy is kidnapped by a man and is given a new identity, for about a weekend.
-“The Bullet Catcher”: A man becomes obsessed with a teenage girl he spots in a mall.
-“Chunky in Heat”: A fat girl discovers her sexual urges.
The excerpt I have is from the last story in the book, and also the sickest.
The story is called “A Real Doll” and it’s about a boy who starts a relationship with his sister’s Barbie. It’s pretty graphic, and pretty funny:
I took a Valium about twenty minutes before I picked her up the next Friday. By the time I went into Jennifer’s room, everything was getting easier.
“Hey,” I said when I got up to the dresser.
She was there on the doily with Ken, they were back to back, resting against each other, legs stretched out in front of them.
Ken didn’t look at me. I didn’t care.
“You ready to go?” I asked. Barbie nodded. “I thought you might be thirsty.” I handed her the Diet Coke I’d made for her.
I’d figured Barbie could take a little less than an eighth of a Valium without getting totally senile. Basically, I had to give her Valium crumbs since there was no way to cut one that small.
She took the Coke and drank it right in front of Ken. I kept waiting for him to give me one of those I-know-what-you’re-up-to-and-I-don’t-like-it looks, the kind my father gives me when he walks into my room without knocking and I automatically jump twenty feet in the air.
Ken acted like he didn’t even know I was there. I hated him.
“I can’t do a lot of walking this afternoon,” Barbie said.
I nodded. I figured no big deal since mostly I seemed to be carrying her around anyway.
“My feet are killing me,” she said.
I was thinking about Ken.
“Don’t you have other shoes?”
My family was very into shoes. No matter what seemed to be wrong my father always suggested it could be cured by wearing a different pair of shoes. He believed that shoes, like tires, should be rotated.
“It’s not the shoes,” she said. “It’s my toes.”
“Did you drop something on them?” My Valium wasn’t working. I was having trouble making small talk. I needed another one.
“Jennifer’s been chewing on them.”
“What?”
“She chews on my toes.”
“You let her chew on your footsies?”
I couldn’t make sense out of what she was saying. I was thinking about not being able to talk, needing another or maybe two more Valiums, yellow adult-strength Pez.
“Do you enjoy it?” I asked.
“She literally bites down on them, like I’m flank steak of something,” Barbie said. “I wish she’d just bite them off and have it over with. This is taking forever. She’s chewing and chewing and chewing, more like gnawing at me.”
“I’ll make her stop. I’ll buy her some gum, some tobacco or something, a pencil to chew on.”
“Please don’t say anything. I wouldn’t have told you except…,” Barbie said.
“But she’s hurting you.”
“It’s between Jennifer and me.”
“Where’s it going to stop?” I asked.
“At the arch, I hope. There’s a bone there, and once she realizes she’s bitten the soft part off, she’ll stop.”
“How will you walk?”
“I have very long feet.”
I sat on the edge of my sister’s bed, my head in my hands. My sister was biting Barbie’s feet off and Barbie didn’t seem to care. She didn’t hold it against her and in a way I liked her for that. I liked the fact that she understood how we all have little secret habits that seem normal enough to us, but which we know better than to mention out loud, I started imagining things I might be able to get away with.
“Get me out of here,” Barbie said. I slipped Barbie’s shoes off. Sure enough, someone had been gnawing at her. On her left foot the toes were dangling and on the right, half had been completely taken off. There were tooth marks up her ankles. “Let’s not dwell on this,” Barbie said.
I picked Barbie up. Ken fell over backwards and Barbie made me straighten him up before we left. “Just because you know he only has a bump doesn’t give you permission to treat him badly,” Barbie whispered.
I fixed Ken and carried Barbie down the hall to my room. I held Barbie above me, tilted my head back, and lowered her feet into my mouth. I felt like a young sword swallower practicing for my debut. I lowered Barbie’s feet and legs into my mouth and then began sucking on them. They smelled like Jennifer and dirt and plastic. I sucked on her stubs and she told me it felt nice.
“You’re better than a hot soak,” Barbie said. I left her resting on my pillow and went downstairs to get us each a drink.
We were lying on my bed, curled into and out of each other. Barbie was on a pillow next to me and I was on my side facing her. She was talking about men, and as she talked I tried to be everything she said. She was saying she didn’t like men who were afraid of themselves. I tried to be brave, to look courageous and secure. I held my head a certain way and it seemed to work. She said she didn’t like men who were afraid of femininity, and I got confused.
“Guys always have to prove how boy they really are,” Barbie said.
I thought of Jennifer trying to be a girl, wearing dresses, doing her nails, putting makeup on, wearing a bra even though she wouldn’t need one for about fifty years.
“You make fun of Ken because he lets himself be everything he is. He doesn’t hide anything.”
“He doesn’t have anything to hide,” I said. “He has tan molded plastic hair, and a bump for a dick.”
“I never should have told you about the bump.”
I lay back on the bed. Barbie rolled over, off the pillow, and rested on my chest. Her body stretched from my nipple to my belly button. Her hands pressed against me, tickling me.
“Barbie,” I said.
“Umm Humm.”
“How do you feel about me?”
She didn’t say anything for a minute. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, and slipped her hand into my shirt through the space between the buttons.
Her fingers were like the ends of toothpicks performing some subtle ancient torture, a dance of boy death across my chest. Barbie crawled all over me like an insect who’d run into one too many cans of Raid.
Underneath my clothes, under my skin, I was going crazy. First off, I’d been kidnapped by my underwear with no way to manually adjust without attracting unnecessary attention.
With Barbie caught in my shirt I slowly rolled over, like in some space shuttle docking maneuver. I rolled onto my stomach, trapping her under me. As slowly and unobtrusively as possible, I ground myself against the bed, at first hoping it would fix things and then again and again, caught by a pleasure/pain principle.
“Is this a water bed?” Barbie asked.
My hand was on her breasts, only it wasn’t really my hand, more like my index finger. I touched Barbie and she made a little gasp, a squeak in reverse. She squeaked backwards, then stopped, and I was stuck there with my hand on her, thinking about how I was forever crossing a line between the haves and the have-nots, between good guys and bad, between men and animals, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop myself.
Barbie was sitting on my crotch, her legs flipped back behind her in a position that wasn’t human.
At a certain point I had to free myself. If my dick was blue, it was only because it had suffocated. I did the honors and Richard popped out like an escape from maximum security.
“I’ve never seen anything so big,” Barbie said. It was a sentence I dreamed of, but given the people Barbie normally hung out with, namely the bump boy himself, it didn’t come as a big surprise.
She stood at the base of my dick, her bare feet buried in my pubic hair. I was almost as tall as she was. Okay, not almost as tall, but clearly we could be related. She and Richard even had the same vaguely surprised look on their faces.
She was on me and I couldn’t help wanting to get inside her. I turned Barbie over and was on top of her, not caring if I killed her. Her hands pressed so hard into my stomach that it felt like she was performing an appendectomy.
I was on top, trying to get between her legs, almost breaking her in half. But there was nothing there, nothing to fuck except a small thin line that was supposed to be her ass crack.
I rubbed her thin line, the back of her legs and the space between her legs. I turned Barbie’s back to me so I could do it without having to look at her face.
Very quickly, I came. I came all over Barbie, all over her and a little bit in her hair. I came on Barbie and it was the most horrifying experience I ever had. It didn’t stay on her. It doesn’t stick to plastic. I was finished. I was holding a come-covered Barbie in my hand like I didn’t know where she came from.
Barbie said, “Don’t stop,” or maybe I just think she said that because I read it somewhere. I don’t know anymore. I couldn’t listen to her. I couldn’t even look at her. I wiped myself off with a sock, pulled my clothes on, and then took Barbie into the bathroom.
So obviously, it’s all in the kid’s head, and the head is pretty sick.
But most of the stories here are like this, looking at what people really do or think when no one isn’t looking, when the mask of normalcy is off.
A.M. Homes, as you can tell from her brief bio, is a writer/professor and will probably be respected among the literary world the rest of her life, but she’ll never sell a lot of books.
I’m quite sure she’s aware of this, and doesn’t mind.
By the way, The Safety of Objects was made into a movie a few years ago… it came one week, went the next and no one noticed.
So, A.M. Homes is one of the thousands of writers out there who are published regularly and are generally ignored. Yet they are able to get by and make a good living while doing what they love. Which is what everyone should aspire to.
Anyway, The Safety of Objects is a quick read that’ll expose you to a unique viewpoint about your neighbors. It’s a nice, “pass-the-time” book.
I am Hyatte and by God I will MAKE YOU READ!!
A LIVE MIC = DANGER!
I always need more of these. You all are doing great, so keep them coming. Especially Justin Parr, who is clearly the MVP of sending these quotes out. Thanks bro’
Nice, mixed bag of stuff this week… old and new, the usual… plus a KICK ASS 80’s promo with Ric Flair that you will CREAM over… oh hell!
We start off with a little video that someone sent to me, Chris Jericho keeping the crowd warm during a Raw commercial break:
1: This is will be the greatest day since my momma gave birth to me- Junkyard Dog promoting Wrestlemania
2: Let's see who we have in the audience tonight. We have a faggot in a Hawaiian shirt. We have a mom in the front row who taught her daughter how to suck dick. And we have a skankasaurus that’s gonna take nine inches of black dick up her ass so fast she wont know what hit her- Buh Buh Ray Dudley: ECW Heatwave 99
3: Genital warts RULE!- Edge and Christian
4: If Bret Hart has been screwed as much as he said he has he would struck oil by now!- Jim Cornette: Raw ‘97
5: A J Styles, if you dont bring me my belt then you’re a pussy of the highest magnitude.- Raven on NWA TNA
6: I'd hate to end your career tonight… well, not really.- Al Snow to the Rock & Roll Express: Smokey Mountain Wrestling
7: I love Doink. Remember when he had that little guy Dink with him.
Yeah, kinda like you and me. I’m Doink and your Dink!
I gotcha Dink right here, Cole- Tazz and Cole: Vengence 2003
8: You know, Nowinski brags about having a 4.0 at Harvard! Well you could add up all my semesters at West Texas and you won’t get that ‘cause I spent all my time drinking beer, playing football, and having sex with every sorority girl that would talk to me. I had ‘em all: black,white, asian, had a big girl in the Pac 10, and twins in the SEC. But I never had me an ivy league bitch. Well Chrissy this is your lucky year!- Bradshaw
9: I know why the Rock didn't show up. Word leaked out, Vince, you know how things go around the WWF. Stories get out. It kinda slipped out that Monday I was gonna challenge the Rock to a sixty minute Iron Man match, and the Rock, quite frankly, was scared to show up and answer the challenge.- HHH
It's that damn Internet.- Lawler: Smackdown 2000
10: Come on, Bret. Pink and black?- Diesel: January 1995
11: AWWWW…WHOOOOO ah…. no no tell you what, Bam Bam Bigelow made the mistake of walking in here unannounced! He told the whole world that he had competed and wrestled the biggest stars in this sport. Well Bam Bam, open your eyes, Fatso. Thi0s is the NWA! This is the major leagues! This is the US champion! And guess what Fatso, I’m the world champion. So you tell that real creep Humperdink that you better find some other minor league organization to make a name in, because brother, you look around in our dressing room, you got… RAAAAR… the Road Warriors. You got Lex Luger! You got Sting… HAA! You got the Koloffs. And then you look over in the championship side of the room, you got Dom Perignon! You got sex! And you got world championships! You got the Horsemen. Now, never let it be said that I leave Dusty Rhodes out of an interview, ‘cuz Big Dust… God only knows… you and Murdoch, the Texas Outlaws, you’re back in business! Well anytime the Texas Outlaws, or Luger and Sting, or the Road Warriors, or that little creep Jim Cornette and the Midnight Express wanna find out why we style and profile… whooo all you gotta do is walk that aisle, HAA.. whooooo! In closing, lemme say one more time… BIGELOW, woman hate being called fat and Bigelow, right here in front of the whole world, Slick Ric is calling you Fatso!! WHOOOOoooooOOOO- Ric Flair: NWA Television ‘88
WHOOOOOOOO!!!
Ya know what that is?? That’s one of them old school NWA Flair moments when they had time to fill, nothing to do, and they were ahead of schedule, so they just hustled Flair out there to kill three minutes… and NOBODY kills time better than the Nature Boy!! WHOOOOOOOO
ALPHABET SOUP
To take things home, let’s fill up column space and waste your (probablynowherenearimportant) time with something completely pointless with no educational value whatsoever.
Someone sent this to me… someone bored to tears.
He found a website that found all possible ways to take a name, re-arrange the letters, and form new words that may, in some silly way, be descriptive and indictative of the original person or place. Exciting, no?
And… I’m pretty sure the sender is from Britain
Anyway, it’s a fun way to kill 30 seconds… so here ya go!
John Kerry is :
HORNY JERK
Dick Cheney is :
NEEDY CHICK
Ronald Reagan is:
DARN ANAL OGRE
A GRANOLA NERD
ARRANGED LOAN
George Bush is:
BE SURGE HOG
BUGGER HOSE
GOUGES HERB
George W Bush is:
BE SOW HUGGER
GO GUS HEBREW
HE GREW BOGUS
Al Gore is :
ORAGEL
A OGLER
Richard Clarke is:
REAR LARD CHICK
Saddam Hussein is:
DAD'S U.N. MESSIAH
DAD'S SHAME IN U.S.
DEAD MANS SUSHI
MISS HANDED USA
U.N. HEADS SADISM
MAD SINUS HEADS
U.S. IS DAMN HADES
I HAD U.S. MADNESS
Tony Blair is:
ONLY A BRIT
LIBYAN ROT
TINY LABOR
IRAN BY LOT
ROYAL BINT
United States by:
STATESIDE NUT
NUDIST ESTATE
and Hyatte is:
Try Each Shit
Shirty Cheat
Hey Tit Crash
Her Tits Achy
He Thy Racist
Stacy Hit Her
Itchy Hearts
Hate Christy
Trashy Ethic
I Chesty Hart
Annnd that’s it.
Oh, I’ll be back next week. We’ll poke holes in April Hunter, give some advice, talk about this, that, and the other… and isn’t there a PPV next Sunday that I won’t be watching? No, that’s NEXT week… okay then.
Anyway... suck me
This is Try Each Shit