Radio Bloemen Pret
From Tribalradix
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Live from San Quentin prison, it's Radio Bloemen Pret; your cure for baldness wherever you are. We adumbrate across the airwaves to the queenest of your nipples, being the titration tube that you cure with your wok powders.
On tonight's episode a whole gluttony of amusements for your pleasure! Including our currently favoured schnizzazznonizzle, Fears That Don't Exist but Should, Japanese Perversion of the Day, Facts about Vladimir Lenin, A list of inherently funny words in decending order of how terrible the concepts behind them are, and The Adventures of Public Dick. With your host Fagalackadasicalicorishitizzitudeistactical Johnson. It's 9:03 (somewhere), so call us up at 11111111111, OR RECEIVE A FACE FULL OF SLIME courtesy of Slime co Slime Inc. Which brings us to our first presentation: Fears That Don't Exist but Should
and people teeth. Creepy.
What's more scary than something which is discomforting both before and after the event in two entirely different ways? Nothing.
yet we have them. Why do we have them if we don't need them? Evolutionarily they should have disappeared. They must, therefore, have some nefarious evolutionary purpose the nature of which we are not yet privy to. And nefariousness is to be feared.
freakier than a midget Steve Ballmer.
jism. You'd be surprised what camels get up to.
Technology right.
you've lost over the years will one day rematerialise in your sock drawer, exploding it into two hundred thousand separate pieces which will take just over two years to glue back together.
unable to function in Modern Society with all our phone menus.
be depleted to unmanageable levels, causing ice cream price inflation to 23% above the current levels.
Way too much pressure to be #1!
Panama are far too sinister to be a mere canal. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. HA. And now, for our next feature, something involving questions about the politics of the 80s. Oh, actually, that's cancelled. Instead, feast your ears on... Japanese Perversion of the Day. Today, we feature... as our perversion of the day Nintendakke!!! Like most of us, we bet that you have boned your computer at one time or another. But as usual, although the Japanese came last to the party, they managed to take it to a whole new level. Nintendakke, as the name suggests, is the act of group copulation over an electronic gadget fetished up into a frenzy by the media. But there's a twist! You see, those japanese folks love the video games. Possibly more than life itself. Definitely more than a kick to the scrotum. Perhaps more than a pie, but less than several pies. And so, Nintendakke was born. Nintendakke is the act of buying a new video game, and then soiling it before putting the disc into the console for the very first time. It gives you massive luck, as the Video Game Gods smile and shine their good fortune onto you. First born shortly after the Wii came out, in a damp Tokyo apartment where four people's stick waggling got a little out of hand, Nintendakke is now popular in all echelons of society from the hobo on the street who makes fat women pee, to the prime minister in his mansion who keeps the country free. But what for the future of this latest rank obsession? Scientists at the recently rebuilt Osaka University are trying their hand at a robotic love juice additive that multiplies your seminal output using nanotechnology. Simply inject a little of the substance into your bollocks before the act of copularity, and effuse over your disc. Then sit back and enjoy as the goo swamps the room, the town, the CITY, THEN THE COUNTRYSIDE AND OMG WE HAVE TO BRING IN GODZILLA TO SLURP IT ALL UP AND SHIT IT OUT OVER THE UNITED STATES AAAAAHHHHHH WE STILL HATE THEM FOR WHAT THEY DID TO HIROSHIMA AND NAGASAKI. Well. That was enlightening. Almost as enlightening as a lightbulb, or a revolutionary on fire. Nothing lights up the night streets quite like a leninist running down the street, engulfed in flames, shouting something about how people should share their water to better benefit the community. What a crackpot. Speaking of leninists... FACTS ABOUT VLADIMIR LENIN
change operation at the tender age of just eight months old. She was renamed by her doctor, who was drinking a lot of gin.
(Actually, I don't, this is just an example.)
cock from over twice that distance.
Answers on a postcard.
one. Vladimir Lenin is very capable of simple tasks.
snacks. We are in no way paid by the good folks of Hot Pockets Inc for this mention.
dried infants.
only banana milkshakes; chocolate or strawberry or vanilla milkshakes would make his rectum angry.
Lenin. It said, "The Turk has taken me hostage and driven me to Leningrad. Send reinforcements".
snorted an entire legion of caterpillars that he discovered possessed the magical ability to transform into Welshmen. He only got an accent. That was Facts. About Vladimir Lenin. And while we're on the subject... A list of inherently funny words, in decending order of how terrible the concepts behind them are aids, tuberculosis, syphillis, kalamazoo, gonorrhea, georgia, lupus, expectorate, kazoo, hobgoblin, tanktop, bunion, donger, spinchter, hoboken, garbanzos, ribbed, weasel, hobo, kumquats, chant, pensive, guacamole, sonorific, chump, prune, melancholy, applet, hitch, coconut, chainsaw, succotash, fiefdom, plunge, llama, gubbins, potato, robotics, pants, wattle, thirty two, ontology, cow, chicken, pickle, gazebo, monkey, vibraphone, wiggle, mastication, quiz, pimp, gadget, planet, galoshes, exhonerate, hockeypuck, turtle, bonus, load, duck, titmouse, spatula, and titilation. My, my, we sure taught you a lesson there didn't we? And now for our next lessob. Whoops, that was a typo in the script. This is in the script too, incidentally, not an ad lib. I don't ad lib things. (Yes, that was also in the script!) These streets. My streets. They're also your streets. From California Boulevard, to New York St. The streets need cleaning, and I am a cleaner. I clean up scum. Not literal scum, but human scum: people who have given up on living a good life. Given up on caring, on loving. Bad people. People who need a flash of light in their lives, a sizable load to let their hearts see love again. And underneath this trenchcoat, shines the truth. Shines the shiny shine of justice, a sense of what's right, and what's righter. I am Public Dick, and these are my stories.
The sun is barely hidden, ready to peep above the horizon. On Feplington High Street there stands a man. A tall man, a good man, an encouragely man, with a kindly face and the trappings of one in whom you can trust. An old lady walks up to him for assistance in crossing the road, which is besmirched with commuters driving to the nearby evil internet startup complex. The old lady smiles at the kindly man, and the kindly man unzips and offers his penis to the kindly old lady, who lies down quickly and unconsciously on the ground. "What a rude old lady she in fact turned out to be", exclaims Public Dick to the incessant passing traffic. What a rude old lady indeed. The sun shines on Public Dick's bulbous knobend of justice. It's time for work. Public Dick enters his office, his secretary smiling to see him. It's time to right some wrongs, right? Wrong. Wrong some wrongful rights that are rightfully wrong. The crims who are wrong in their rightness will be wronged by a system which is wrongfully right, and rightfully only Public Dick can wrong what's right to the right, back to being wrong. Which can only be right. That's Public Dick's motto. "What's the first case of the day?", he asks his secretary. She is asleep already due to her Percodin addiction, but Public Dick already knows the answer. The answer is Amy Wong. The answer to everything is always Amy Wong. Wong is right in being the most wrong of all the crims in town. And if Wong is wrong, that can only be right for Public Dick. Public Dick gives a quick flash of justice to his sleeping secretary, and then he's off to the filing cabinet in the basement, lorded over by the mysterious anonymous janitor, Jason Camberwick. "Sup Jason?", asks Jason, speaking to himself as he always does. Dick pays no attention and slinks past the janitor. He steps out into the street, the bright sun burning his eyes, the thought of Wong burning in his heart. But not his cool, dormant dong. Public Dick does not entertain penis burn jokes, only rightful justice. Then! Suddenly! Tune in next week to find out. We can't be bothered to write an ending for this. So, your homework for tonight, is to write an ending, record it, and then play it to yourself in your lonely room in the backwoods of your main, on the hill of idyllic fiefdom, in the back garden of the princess of doom's chambermaid, way up on a planet in the sky where penis jokes are forbidden and the people are sorrowful and [written by sean b(oners) palmer, and cody b(oner has) woodard] |
