What’s Yr Sign? The Upstate Ether Zodiac

 

THE UPSTATE ETHER ZODIAC

Redneck Dawg (March 21 to April 20):
Dim and one-dimensional, you’ve got your base tastes down pat and have no interest whatsoever in exploring anything new. You are an open book: shallow as a puddle and simple as Bisquick.

Baygenie Ken (April 21 to May 20):
Shifty and untrustworthy, you profit off the hard work of others, and then rub their noses in it after the fact. You think you can hide behind your masks, but no amount of disguise will hide the shortness, baldness and fatness in your soul.

Spartacus Crab (May 21 to June 20):
Pushy and dictatorial, you’re more than happy to bring on epic meltdowns just to satisfy your own interests. Feigning to be a team player, you’ll throw everyone else under the bus, and then hope it runs out of gas before it hits you.

Albany Jones (June 21 to July 20):
Tidy and organized, with a masterful sartorial sense, you are the hidden wizard who makes things tick from your secret bunker beneath the Empire State Plaza. If the babes knew you existed, you’d be a playa, but you opt instead to love your machines instead of other people, potential unfulfilled.

Ol’ Dirty Piece of Strange (July 21 to August 20):
You have an undeniable animal magnetism that drives the ladies mad and makes the men step aside when you come up the sidewalk, screaming and shaking. But that’s okay, since you just came from their houses, where you were diddling their wives. Who cares if your trousers stink?

Richie Muffinstuffer (August 21 to September 20):
The world is handed to you a silver platter, which you lose, but the world hands you another one, since there’s an endless supply of silver platters out there for the likes of you. Endlessly cheerful, because you have no wants, people are drawn to you because of what you can buy them. But, hey, you have so much money you can buy and still have plenty for yourself later. So why be stingy?

Underpants Gnome (September 21 to October 20):
Big attitude in a little package, with a chip on your shoulder the size of a redwood and the worst job this side of the offal tasters. People pity and fear you, though the fear tends to outweigh the pity, especially when they see you writhing about in a pile of their intimate garments.

Pee Pee Dog (October 21 to November 20):
Cuddly and easily excited, eager to please but accident prone, you mesmerize and horrify people in equal parts.

Gobrin Shalk (November 21 to December 20):
Xenophobic and paranoid, always seeing slights when none are intended, convinced that everyone is out to get you, you lash out every time someone tries to make inroads with you, and are destined to a lonely, bad-toothed life and dismal, painful death, probably at the hands of a large sea mammal.

The Wailrus (December 21 to January 20):
Oh, the whining! Oh, the angst! You are a blathering bundle of complaints and petty whimpers, the world handed to you on a platter, which you hate because it’s silver plate, not sterling. And silver plate makes your teeth hurt, probably because of the cancer. Oh!

Special Kitty K (January 21 to February 20):
Not the brightest bulb in the box, people tend to give you what you want, even if it’s bad for you, because it’s easier than trying to explain stuff to you. When people say they’re laughing with you, don’t be so sure.

Fucking Sucks Monkey (February 21 to March 20):
You are the bummer dispenser. No matter what’s going on, you will be there to tell everybody that it’s not as good as it used to be, or not as good as your other thing, or just not good at all. Thing is, nobody thinks you’re worth a tinker’s damn either, but they’d just rather avoid you that tell you that.

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Asbestos

Karellen: I have some asbestos insulation in my basement that needs removing. I’ll pay anyone $100 to do the work and will supply a soft red handkerchief for protecting your airways. Who’s up for the job?

Stoney Stone Stoner: Dude, count me in! That’s easy money, brah! Koff! Koff koff! Koff!

Wintermute: When you finish Karellen’s basement, you can come take care of the tunnels under my basement, and my tree house, too. The best commercial bid I have for asbestos remediation work here is pretty steep, what with all the rules and laws and safety and whatnot, so I’m prepared to double Karellen’s offering and pay $200, plus a handkerchief of a color of your own choosing, plus some duct tape to wrap it around your head so you can work with both hands. How’s that grab you?

Stoney Stone Stoner: Whoh, most excellent, dude! Those tunnels totally rock, what with all the grubs and the earthworms and the meat down there!

Karellen: Good man, Stoney! And, you know, asbestosis and mesothelioma normally take 30 to 50 years to manifest after asbestos exposure, so if you plan to be dead by 40 anyway for other reasons, then this is totally the gig for you. It’s basically free money!

Mustapha Mond: I did my own asbestos work. I cut small chunks off and dropped them in the trash every week and nobody was the wiser. Just spray it down with water beforehand and you don’t have to worry about getting a lungful of the stuff.

Karellen: Well, my understanding is that you really have to breathe in asbestos dust frequently to develop a problem. A small occasional exposure won’t do much. In fact, it may even put a little hair on your chest.

Wintermute: Fire retardant hair, at that!

Stoney Stone Stoner: Whoh! Maybe I can add some water and work the dust into paste for my back! I’d totally like to be fire-retardant on both sides! Heh! Koff heh! Koff!

O’Brien: Oh, I can’t believe what I’m hearing here. The truth is that it only takes a single asbestos fiber to form a lesion in your lung. But the fibers are so tiny, and the resulting lesions are so tiny, that it can then take years before it grows to the point where it’s a problem. Don’t mess with this stuff without protection and insurance, Stoney. Seriously.

Stoney Stone Stoner (Checking the Internets): Hey, Overdingles! From what I can find on the web, it seems that you’re not in danger as long as the asbestos is in good shape and you don’t disturb it.

Asbestos: Yeah, that’s right, bitches. Leave me the fuck alone. If I am encapsulated (painted or wrapped), and non-friable (not crumbly), then I’m not a pressing problem if I’m in an area where you don’t go very often. Tiles are the least worry. So just you stay on your floor of the house and I’ll stay on my floor of the house and everyone will be happy. Motherfuckers.

Ossifa Tlinklitniktikutl: That true, but on other hand, if asbestos is exposed to air and crumbly, then fibers are so small that even just walk past them generate enough air current to make them fly about. They get sucked along in wake of you and womenfolk and walrus, and eventually end up everywhere in igloo. This not safe. Ice Marshall come and take womenfolk and walrus, and put you on ice floe alone with no clothes if attempt to remediate asbestos without proper Nunavut license and payments made in seal hides and penis bones.

Drunknard: You guys are all full of shit. When I was a kid we had asbestos sheaths covering the pipes in our basement. I remember swinging around on them with the asbestos dust falling all over the place and I’m perfectly fine. If I were you Overdouches, then I wouldn’t be such a pussy. I’d just go down there with a hefty bag and a crowbar and take care of business. Then I’d use the bandana to wipe my brow when I was done.

Wintermute: I dunno, Drunky, old pal. I’ve heard some of the shit you cough up. You might want to get that looked at.

Drunknard: Do you mean my poems or the green shit that flies out of my mouth?

Wintermute: The green shit. I am pretty sure I saw insulation in there. Or chunks of spleen.

Drunknard: I’m pretty sure the insulation has been buried in the tar from one hitters and Winstons. I’m perfectly safe.

Drunknard’s Spleen: We all good, yo! I think that was stomach linings you saw there.

Drunknard’s Lungs: We’re Drunknard’s lungs and we’re happy as can be! ’cause every day he puts a bunch of weed in we!

Drunknard’s Colon: We’re Drunknard’s guts and we’re happy we can say! ‘cause we gave him quite a firm productive bowel move today!

Drunknard’s Brain: I’m Drunknard’s brain and I just can’t think for nuffin’! ‘cause Drunky’s gone and filled me up with robitussin!

Drunknard’s Liver: I’m Drunknard’s liver, soon your hunger will be sated! You don’t need salt or pepper, ’cause I come pre-marinated!

Redneck Dawg: Wez Drunknarz baws? Kinna snuffsem? Pliz?

Upstatetherville

Nibbling on fatback, nuts in our nut sacks,
looking at work that should not be ignored,
We’ve crawled from our bed sheets, to come work on spreadsheets,
but leave them to wait while we visit the Board.

Wasted at play again in Upstatetherville,
On the man’s dime, posting pictures all day
Some dooders cuss that there’s no biddies for us,
so we can’t, get the tuckus in play.

From stateworker flunky to Fucking Sucks Monkey
to baw-wicking dawg and to Albany Jones
we pile on the drivel, as work output shrivels
and get nothing done ‘fore it’s time to go home.

Wasted at play again in Upstatetherville,
On the man’s dime, Yarrr, it’s Pirate Raccoon
Some dooders pause to check out Sloth Bear’s big claws
or to wish, someone else would post soon.

We blow up our livers, suck asbestos slivers,
Cough up some spleens, post some pictures of b00bs
We stew in our hating, and save our berating
for incoming innocent sensitive noobs.

Wasted at play again in Upstatetherville,
On the man’s dime, find a job for McFlig
Some dooders moan that we’re all sad and alone
just because, no one comes to our gigs.

Published in: on March 17, 2010 at 12:32 am  Leave a Comment  

Arrrrrrrrrrr: Lunch Pirates vs HMS Finance and Administration

Lunch Pirate Arrrrooseveltfranklin: Arrr matees, is it time yet?

Lunch Pirate Brrrrransonmissouri: Aye, look! That be a fella with a bagged lunch! I be hungry fer some cutter!

Lunch Pirate Carrrrrrrylchessman: Avast, ye scurvy lubber, what be ye name?

Bag Lunch Fellow Scrod: My name is Scrod. Please don’t hurt me! Just take my tuna sandwich! I don’t want any trouble!

Lunch Pirate Darrrrrrbycrash: Scarrrrrrrrod, eh?? By jiminy, e’s one of us! Arrrrrrr!!!

Lunch Pirate Carrrrrrrylchessman: Arrrrrrrr!!!! Scarrrrrrrod!!! Great Lunch Pirate name!! Climb aboard, me boy! Take up the jolly roger and sail wi’ we!!!

Lunch Pirate Brrrrransonmissouri: Arrrrrrrrrrrr!!!! Wi’ we!!!

Lunch Pirate Arrrrooseveltfranklin: Arrrrrr!!!!! Arrrrrr!!!! Arrrrrrr!!!!!

Lunch Pirate Brrrransonmissouri: Arrrrrrr!!!

Lunch Pirate Scarrrrrrrod: Ar?

Lunch Pirate Arrrrrooseveltfranklin:
Seems slim pickin’s in Cubic Hell today, matees. Methingks we’ve overharvested these pitiful lubbers and need to sail to fresher climes, rich wi’ carry-in hot cuisine and three marrrrrrtini lunches!

Lunch Pirate Carrrrrrylchessman: Arrrrr!! To the Executive Harbor!!! Arrrrr!!! Let’s knock the bung out the rum barrel and commence to singin’ and dancin’!! Arrrr!!!

Lunch Pirate Darrrrrrbycrash: Errrrrrr . . . . . . arrrr? Me seems to ha’e left the rum tun back at ye secret lunch pirate hideout, matees. A thousand parrrrrdons.

Lunch Pirate Brrrrrrransonmissouri: Ye great gapin’ idiot! How arrrrrrr we supposed ta’ sing and dance and have a jolly time if thar’s nae rum?!?

Lunch Pirate Scarrrrrrrod: Ar? I believe there may be some scotch up in the Vice Presidential Harbor. We’re not allowed to have it down here in Cubic Hell. It’s for the suits. Ar?

Captain of HMS Finance and Administration (shooting out of the fog and passing with a stone’s throw of the Lunch Pirate Ship): Ahoy there, would you happen to have any Grey Poupon?

Lunch Pirate Arrrrrooseveltfranklin: Arrrr! Aye, we got yon pommy mustard. We’ll bring it on over to ye, if’n ye’ll pull asides us.

Captain of HMS Finance and Administration:
Good fellows, there! Pulling alongside, aye! Welcome aboard! Let’s strike up a jolly spot of background music to give good grace and atmosphere to our celebration! Wait . . . what’s this? That’s not mustard! Those appear to be sabers in your hands!

Lunch Pirate Chorus: Arrrrrrrrr!!!!!!

Captain of the HMS Finance and Administration: Ye gods! Ye be lunch pirates! How could I have been such a fool!

Lunch Pirate Darrrrrrbycrash: Arrrrrr!! This music is horrendous, ye great gaping Vice Presidential ponce! It’s somewhere between Rush and Muzak! Arrrrr!!! It’s Kenny G! Ye gads, man! Aren’t there any girls on your ship? Hae ye no baws?

Redneck Dawg: Nuhsuh. Nuh baws heh. Assa bawwess ships. Ah hats it.

Executive Vice President for Sales and New Media Marketing: Ahsa gud rumz! Nah ah stAARRRvin, di’ zey no leave any muzztud? I sought we’s gon get muzztud?

Captain of HMS Finance and Administration: We were hornswoggled, Media. These lot are nothing but a bunch of scurvy lunch pirates.

Lunch Marines: What appears to be the problem here, gents? Shall we sing our theme song to remind you of our awesome Lunch Pirate killing prowess? Huttah!

From the halls of Montezoo-oo-ma
to the shores of Albany,
We will fight the lunchtime pi-hi-rates
on the air and land and sea.
First to fight for bag lunch lo-oo-sers
and the guys out at the trucks,
we are proud to take names la-ha-ter,
now lets get some pirate fucks!

Lunch Pirate Arrrrrooseveltfrankin: Arrrrrrrrrr!!!!! They’ve caught up with! Turn tail! Flee!

Lunch Marines: We’ll chase ye round the world an’ to hell and back, ye scurvy dogs. Unhand those french fries! Drop the falafel and come out with your hands in the air!

Lunch Pirate Brrrrrransonmissouri: We’re scupperred, lads! Every lunch pirate for hisself! Disperse to the boats! Batten down the hatches! Always pee in the lee! Red right returning! Even red nuns have odd black cans!

Lunch Pirate Carrrrrylchessman: Arrrr! How’d you know about me and that nun with the odd black cans? Did she speak!!

Lunch Marines: We know all your inner secrets, ye predictable thieving bastards! Avast!

Lunch Pirate Scarrrrrrrod: Ar? I’m really not sure what I’m supposed to do now. What does “avast” mean anyway?

Pirate Grammarian: “Avast” means “stop what you are doing.” Pretty simple stuff, really. Not like some of the other sailing lingo, which can get totally key-razy. Sailors use words like “fid” and “boom vang” and “clew” and “cuddy” and “gollywobbler” and “gunter rig” and “head knocker” and “lapper” and “luff” and “pushpit” and “screw” and “sheets” and “tang” and “trim.” It’s quite the verbal culture.

Lunch Pirate Arrrrrrooseveltfranklin: Arrrr . . . it’s no wonder we’re always horny when we come ashore after talking like that for months.

Lunch Pirate Carrrrrylchessman: And I thought that was from all the non-stop sodomy.

Pirate Chorus: Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!!!!!

Published in: on February 14, 2010 at 4:13 pm  Comments (1)  

Voltron Power: Sloth Bear vs Wolfareen

AMSTERDAM, Netherlands (AP) – Bears killed and ate a monkey in a Dutch zoo in front of horrified visitors, witnesses and the zoo said Monday. In the incident Sunday at the Beekse Bergen Safari Park, several Sloth bears chased the Barbary macaque into an electric fence, where it was stunned.

Sloth Bear: Now that I’ve tasted monkey, I’ll never be happy with the Purina Sloth Bear Chow ever again. I’ma gon’ eat everything in the zoo now, bitches!

Ether Gallery: Good God, look at the claws on that monster!

Wolfareen: Whoa, whoa, whoa! You’re all impressed because that bear ate a little monkey? I can take down a muffuckin elk, bitches! Don’t toy with the wolfareen!

Ether Gallery: Maybe they could put a safari park in the mall and throw the prison inmates in there. Let the sloth bears and the wolfareens have at them. And is it just us, or does that bear look stoned?

Sloth Bear: I ain’t fuckin’ wit’ you, Wolfareen. We on the same team. We fuck shit up. We like Voltron, yo.

Monkey (in hell): Being eaten fucking sucks.

Wolfareen: Word up, striped homey bear. Now gimme some of that monkey meat, yo. Elk’s all gamey and shit.

Sloth Bear: That monkey meat’s makin’ me feel muffuckin slothful. I ain’t got ‘nuff Voltron power to fuck shit up right now. And my stomachs is kinda startin’ to hurt now. Oww! Ow ow! Oww!

Monkey (in hell): Joke’s on you, bear. I been eating my own feces all day! Ha! Ha ha, I say! Ha!

Redneck Dawg: Assa won funnah munka. Ho Sloff Behz, sevza munka baws fah me?

Monkey (in hell): Baws? You can’t handle my baws!

Redneck Dawg: Awwww. Assa won mean munka. Funnah, but mean. Wemma snuffsa baws, munka! Wemma snuffsem!

Sloth Bear: Yo yo yo, I’ma be sick! Bleeurggghhhh!! Bleee-eck!!! Bleee-arrgghhh!!! Bleee-uccka chukka pukkka koffa koooffa hack! Hack! Hack! Gack!

Redneck Dawg: Awwww. Assa lotta munka pooks, Sloff Behz. Kinna hazzit?

Sloth Bear: I lied. I only want the Purina Sloth Bear Chow from now on. Wild meat disagrees with my disposition. You win, Wolfareen. You have true Voltron Power. I’m just a big ol’ bitch with claws.

Wolfareen: Told you so, you Ether Gallery pusstards. Now step aside and let a Wolfareen get to work. I see a caribou steak in my immediate future.

Published in: on February 12, 2010 at 3:03 am  Leave a Comment  

Baws

Ah lahks em. Kinna snuffsem?

Published in: on January 25, 2010 at 1:56 pm  Leave a Comment