Raiding of the "pimp" drawer.

[MangyKid Ver.4.3]

Yes, many a time I have, in a trance, put pen to paper and let the good funk flow. These splendous writings have been kept secret, stashed deep in the nearly endless depths of the "pimp" drawer, until now. I now consign them to the interwebverse, for the perusal of all. Let's start with something tasty.

Maybe, Maybe not:
A Tale of indecision. Or hesitation. Maybe both.

Once there was a guy that did something, but he wasn’t sure if it was right or wrong. At first he thought it was, but he wasn’t sure. Then he started leaning toward the notion that what he did was wrong. But regardless of whether it was wrong or right, millions of people had died from his actions. Or perhaps nobody died, it could go either way really. I’m not sure.

But when he wrapped his lips around that triple-decker cheeseburger with bacon and olives, man, everything was right. Or maybe everything was wrong. Well, he wasn’t hungry anymore, so that’s good. Unless his hunger was helping to feed starving children somehow, in which case maybe it wasn’t so good. Regardless, he chomped that bad boy down and then got another one, then another one, and another, and he just kept eating until his girth could no longer exit through the doors of that fine burger franchise, and he had to pay to have a new reinforced 5-foot-wide steel doors installed. But while they were being put in, he ate some more. He was screwed.

Not really though. Well, maybe he was kinda screwed. But it doesn’t matter because a person by the name of Billy the Bugboy was coming into the restaurant at that very time, and ordered the Mega Whopping Super Funk Burger, which required the use of a black hole to be made, as no human force could compress the grease into the substantial patty that is known as “The Heart Clogger 2.”

The Heart Clogger 1 never existed, the patty was given the 2 simply so it would seem more intimidating. It didn’t really work. Unless it did, I don’t really know. One thing I do know is that Billy the Bugboy died a horrible, fatty death. The End.

 

[MangyKid Ver.4.3]

Now for something saucy:

Effervescent Sunshine
of a
Ticklish Variety

Underneath the tiling of one’s heart, there exists a chamber that is made of pure porcelain, and in this chamber resides the Jelly Gland. Many a Jelly Gland goes unnoticed, never being called upon for its purpose, an unused appendix of unknown potential. But those few that have discovered and embraced their Jelly Gland know the joy of having various jellies produced in their own body.

Those who have mastered their gland are able to produce jellies of many flavors, be it boysenberry or cherry, grape or olive. But only one man is known to have modified the Jelly Gland itself, to make it produce marmalades and jams, and occasionally preserves if he is in top condition. This man’s name is unknown, but he is known on the underground jelly railroad as “Old Jinglejells”.

His Jelly Gland modifications were made by an alleyway surgeon, paid in packs of cigarettes, and instructed in the procedure by Jinglejells himself. The procedure was complex, but the rapscallion was able to complete it successfully, despite extreme blood loss and infection. Jinglejells is a hardy man, and withstood the pain and subsequent infection like a true hero, and after having his porcelain chamber oiled and fitted with oyster shells, he was prepared to produce the finest jellies this world has ever seen. And he has.

His finest jelly, named “Nurturing Nectarine Nectar” is sold for 7 cents per ounce. Yes, it is a very low price, but he thinks his finest jelly should be available for all. His lower quality jellies sell for higher amounts, as he feels it isn’t as important that people taste the glory of his gland through these inferior jellies. Some question his marketing logic, but I find it to be as sound as Puget.

If ever you come upon a store that stocks Jinglejells’s finest, y’all best bust out your wallet and purchase as much as you can carry. Because when you’ve tasted jelly that is secreted from the gland of an elderly man that has had surgery performed upon himself by a questionable character in a dark alleyway, you never go back to Smuckers.

 

[MangyKid Ver.4.3]

And a double-decker mealworm burger:

Julius the Orange

Julius the orange may not have been as fragrant as his brethren, but he was still a delicious citrus in most regards. His seeds were firm, His stem and leaves cleanly removed, his skin was the same color as those legendary oranges of lore (orange). Sure, his skin may have lacked the distinct pungent aroma that characterizes oranges, but it’s what’s inside that counts. And you know what Julius had inside? Caterpillars.

Yes, Julius had become the host of a large caterpillar colony that feasted upon his innards. He went blissfully unaware of this for some time, as oranges have no consciousness, but soon he realized, somehow, that tiny butterflies-to-be were devouring his very essence.

Frightened for the golden fruity treat that was beneath his skin (A skin he was once proud of, now fading and with several holes), Julius decided it was time to take action. But an orange can do no action, having no muscles, or even consciousness. And so Julius was doomed to have his delectable, juicy insides consumed, and his rind used as a caterpillar shelter of sorts, until he withered away into a brown lump of decomposed matter and rejoined the earth, to make more orange trees grow in the grand circle of life. It’s beautiful, but also somewhat cannibalistic. With his last dying not-breath (oranges can’t breathe), Julius took solace in the fact that he would become part of many oranges in the future.

Dairy Air

One fine day as the sun dipped below the horizon, and the bats shot from the trees like pebbles inauspiciously grabbed by a child and launched from a poorly made slingshot, a man walked alone. He was just a sad lonely dude, nobody cared. But what we did care about was the gigantic ant that was attacking the city at the same time. Yes, in the center of main street a six-legged aberration of incredible proportions was wreaking havoc, Attempting to steal entire cheeseburgers from the patrons of various franchises.

True, at 8 inches long an ant can’t do a whole lot to damage a city. But it’s still ridiculously huge for an ant, and taking into account that ants can carry over 50 times their own weight, they could move things around most efficiently. And if there was a whole colony of these mutants, they could start carrying around all sorts of things! Like babies! But we’ll just stomp on them, it’s ok. The End.

 

[SaiyajinNoOuji]

i hate you die

 

[handsome rakshas]

 

[ranemaka13]

I remember years ago - in your more "archaic" versions - you were lame as hell.

WTF happened?

 

[MangyKid Ver.4.3]

Baby, suckas evolve like pokemonz. You start out a larvae-type thing, like a Weedle, like back when I posted on BSOM, then you get to a more Kakuna-like phase, probably hit that when I tried to argue pointless crap on here, and then finally you evolve into the devastatingly powerful flying pokemon known as Beedrill, and become semi-competent and write pointless and extremely short "stories" with grammatical errors.

 

[MangyKid Ver.4.3]

And my post count is stuck at 295 by the way. It sucks really, because my posts are clearly of a much better quality than everyone else's. Therefore, I implore you, moderators to add 40,000 posts to my total so I may rise through the BBS ranks and smite the peons. Thanks in advance.

 

[Walter]

I love your writing. If I ran a magazine, I'd hire you in an instant. And as for your post count, your wish is my command. You deserve it for overcoming the haters in this thread.

 

[MangyKid Ver.4.3]

Several phrases come to mind. "Damn Straight" would be fittingly arrogant, or "You know how I do", which would show how I keep it real on the streets. But I will dip into the modified internet lexicon and go with:

w00t

 

[yota821]

XD In the end, the Schnoz always wins.

 

[SaiyajinNoOuji]

sweet merciful crap.... We are going to die.

 

[MangyKid Ver.4.3]

You know it.

C:\SMITE.EXE


Oh hey, more crap.

Puppy Love ‘99

Trekkin’ down a lane most funky, I stumble upon a filthy box of discarded puppies. I inspect the svelte canines as they writhe within the refuse that is both their bedding and sustenance. Without hesitation, I pull one of my trusty grenades from my bandolier, pull the pin out ruggedly with my teeth, and drop it in with the puppies. Knowing nothing of the doom that will be theirs momentarily, they begin to play with the grenade as if it were a toy. One bites at it and breaks several of his teeth, soft from puppyhood and the malnutrition that the puppy litterer no doubt imposed upon the poor, defenseless puppies.

I reach the end of the alley just as the deafening blast occurs. There are no yelps of pain. The puppies are practically disintegrated, the few remains of the adorable creatures fly in all directions, spattering the sides of the alley with entrails.

Putting a mark of a puppy head with X's for eyes into my bandolier, I congratulate myself silently on a job well done. It has been a long road since the discovery of my true calling, and now I have eradicated nearly a score of those dastardly puppy boxes, And I come ever nearer to my final encounter with the puppiest box of puppies that ever was a box filled with puppies.

 

[Vaxillus]

I want to have your baby! But unfortunatey, that would require expensive surgery which I have not the money for. Mangykid, you make this forum 100 times better, not to mention 100 times more frightening to my girlfriend. We are not worthy of such eloquent writings.

 

[SaiyajinNoOuji]

I want to have your baby! But unfortunatey, that would require expensive surgery which I have not the money for. Mangykid, you make this forum 100 times better, not to mention 100 times more frightening to my girlfriend. We are not worthy of such eloquent writings.

You original bastard!

 

[MangyKid Ver.4.3]

Vaxillus, your brown nosing has given you official BFFL status. SaiyajinNoOuji, you are downgraded to WFFL. Still a friend, but last on the list. I wouldn't let you borrow my go-kart, if I had one, but I would give you a ride home from soccer practice if it was raining.

I'm still trying to work out the details on smiting the infidels, if you want to throw out some ideas I'd be grateful.

 

[Walter]

Keep writing. It'll show these losers what's what. They aren't creating anything.

 

[MangyKid Ver.4.3]

Looks like I'll be laying the smacketh down, writey-stylee. Look on ye faithless, and despair. The reckoning is upon thee.

Biddle Bubbly Week

“Swerve around them thar potholes,” I instructed the driver, “And where’s my complimentary can of peas? The service in your cab is crap.” But the driver was unfazed, and continued driving the toboggan on wheels down the slippery slope to pothole-land. After the 17th pothole caused me to spill my mug of apricot juice all over my favorite oriental robe, I complained quite loudly, “Where’d you go and put your third toe? A trickle of hope spills on your lap, spinach-tooth.”

This also did nothing to raise the ire of the mad taximan, clad all in black, but not really, he was just a naked black guy. I guess. I couldn’t see him, so I’m just assuming here. Nevertheless, we reached our destination in about half the time, and at twenty times the average risk of an accident due to this skilled driver’s reckless abandonment of all sense and speed limits.

I stepped out of the purple cab made from a gigantic carved-out potato (the starchmobile), and took the first of many steps to my ultimate destination: The Funk Office. As I went to take my second step toward that funk capital of the new world, my ankle broke beneath me and splinters of bone shot through my skin, flying through the air like angry bees and piercing the skull of a nearby child. As he wailed in pain, blood spurting from his head in a horrific fountain of crimson juice, I apathetically sawed my leg off and attached leg number 2: electric boogaloo. As I closed up my case o' legs, I took a few seconds to enjoy the view. I laid on the cobblestones in front of a store that claimed to sell the best cup of Groobok this side of the 7th sun, surrounded by 70-foot-tall flowers that dripped liquid candy under a sky filled with flying vegetables and mythical harpies.

Unfortunately, while enjoying this view, a stampede of giraffes snuck up on me and trampled my body into a flattened and useless collection of organs and flesh.

 

[MangyKid Ver.4.3]

239 Bananaberry Blitz Lane
Giggity Giggity, GG
July 93rd, 2045



Wachovia Center
3601 South Broad Street
Philadelphia, PA 19145



Dearest Sirs and/or Madams:

Y’all best be pumping up some juice for my consumption when I get down there to experience the sonic assaults of my most dear band, Prince of the Pancakes. And I’m not talking some silly watered-down fruitcake drink, I want some supersweet nectar that would make god pucker up. And would it kill you to put a little umbrella in that? No, it won’t, stingy.

Also, I would be much obliged if you would reupholster my seat with a checkered pattern so it will match my jaunty new suit. I try to color-coordinate as much as possible, as you always have to make a good impression on all who see you. Seven eight nine, seven eight nine, looking mighty fine.

Now for all of you beefcake bastards down there, keep your grungy mitts off of my hotdogs. I paid for these devolved sausages with my own money, and I don't need your white trash paws greasing them up any more than they already are. As for Magic the Gathering, Paul has a weakness for cheesecake, so if you distract him with the custardy treats, he will probably be too preoccupied with devouring the dessert to be able to demolish you in that fabled card game of questionable taste.

Keepin’ it rizzle,



Ezekiel Cornfeather
Grand Wizard

 

[MangyKid Ver.4.3]

Jungle Bells

Underneath the twisting branches that climb skyward from the trees of the Eleanor Bradley Memorial Jungle, a small boy clutches a vine and swings forward, screaming at the top of his prepubescent lungs with primal rage, and as his momentum runs out, the bell that the vine hangs down from lets out a deafening toll. The sound waves crush the small jungle boy’s ribs, liquefying his organs and killing him within moments. His cold, dead hands still hold tight as his dead body swings to and fro, sliding slowly down the vine.

TALK ABOUT A DEATH GRIP, LOL!

He was but the first sacrifice to the Jungle Bells, a horrible burden on the jungle peoples that thrive within the Eleanor Bradley Memorial Jungle. It is this small tribe of ancient, magical peoples that created the mystical Jungle Bells, and now force their young children to ring them, and ultimately be destroyed by them because of some ignorant and superstitious belief. But is it really just superstition, or do these bells really cause chocolate chips to fall from the sky as the Jungle-dwellers claim?

My answer leans toward no, but one can never be too sure.

The journey I have taken into the heart of this beetle-infested, humid, smelly jungle has brought me many inspirations and revelations, and I’ve needed a few inocculations due to inclinations of certain animals toward mastication of the human anatomy. But these devastations and immunizations have only increased my ultimate gratification in finding these elusive people.

When I first encountered the tribe of naked pygmy warriors, they attempted to sever my spine in a spiritual ritual. Unfortunately (for them), their spears were made from hardened mud and couldn’t break the skin of a 120-year-old, 600 pound woman suffering from a vitamin E deficiency. So I slaughtered every single one of those bastards. I boiled their flesh in their own blood and feasted upon their corpses for more than 3 weeks straight, gaining their strength and wisdom through digestion. It was pretty cool.

 

[xechnao]

It is what the digital does on man's expression and inspiration: makes him ignore the smells as the most important part of any priority he might have.

Unfortunately, this path is mostly graphics and gameplay, perhaps, only, without real air or odour.

Sorry.
But don't despair! Personality is one priority and so, if personality there is, you still posses all that you need to survive, even if some of it is hidden somewhere, by some jerk.

 

[MangyKid Ver.4.3]

True, odors weigh heavily on the common man's mind, but if his priorities shift toward the unintentionally harming, do you truly think his favorite color will change?

Do the drastic baubles that captivate infants serve a higher purpose than, perhaps, God himself? It is this dilemma that gives me pause and makes me take time to tickle the finer things.

 

[xechnao]

To answer your dilemma:
It makes no real sense to be anything lesser or higher than God, whoever.

 

[SaiyajinNoOuji]

Oh my fucking god their merging...

 

[MangyKid Ver.4.3]

Gingerbread Spatula:
A Tale of Torrid Passion

Never had I seen a piece of cake so large, so intimidating. Its moist insides tempted me beneath the sweet exterior, the decadent roses made from hardened icing upon the top tantalized my senses. It was were superb. I wanted to enjoy the cake, in a very oral way.

But the cake was not to be mine. I looked away from the window of the bakery, and back to my exposed penis. I waved it a bit in the hopes of attracting the attention of the baker or the customers within, but none paid me any mind. Perhaps my member was lacking in significance, the people not being able to notice me waving my average organ like a proud pirate flag. Or, perhaps they had simply grown accustomed to my flaccid phallus being waved about in the 16 years I had been doing it.

Yes, rain or snow, I find it my duty to brandish my fine phallus to all passersby. For 23 years I have done this daily, putting all other interests on hold, eschewing all other joys but for the fleeting pride and euphoric effect that exposing this sacred article of intercourse to those who enter my territory brings. It is my singular and sincere passion. My calling has caused me much pain; and much trouble with the “indecent exposure charges” I keep hearing about from the law-keepers. But the infidels will never understand what fuels this exhibitionism, why it is necessary that all inspect the wrinkled glory of my no-no zone.

Nevertheless, it appears that a new calling has found me, and now I must acquire this most delicious cake. With no hesitation, I instinctively pull out my ubiquitous crowbar, and smash open the window. As I hear the bakery owner sigh and say “Third time this month!” I reach through the shattered glass and grab two fistfuls of the glorious cake, and run away, zigging, zagging, and laughing heartily through mouthfuls of the unbelievable cake.

Truly, spring has sprung.