"Truckin'" Plays In The Background

It's been a while, folks. You know why? It's damn near impossible to get the image of Jimmy, pinching and rubbing his nipples in the "big-boy" pants while recounting the latest events of his life.

Me and Z went out to the Pinto ( didja know if you are a bit lysdexic 'Pinto' can be 'Pinot'), and Z got our emergency "Jimmy pants" from the trunk and wordlessly handed them over. Once, safely loaded, and I do mean LOADED, in the Funky Green Love Machine, Jimmy began to regal us with his new found royalty.

It began as such, Jimmy rubbing his nipples and grinding his ass on the seat like Axl Rose with hemorroids. "I took the sacremental Candyflip", Jimmy intoned, holding forth a silver packet. Zanna squealed "Candy!" and made a grab.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Thank the Force it was dropped out the window before she got it. Jimmy can't hang on to shit.

Enough of that, here is the story Jimmy told to us:

After he partaked of the Sacrament, Jimmy was awaiting his vision while restlessly tending his BBQ. As he reached for the charcoal, a tiny hand gripped his. Stunned, he looked down to witness a tiny, winged elf who was reaching for the same charcoal. Introductions were made, and this is how Jimmy became King of the Prairie Elves. Turns out the Prairie Elves are a Skunk-Worshipping Cult. Every year, at the heighth of the summer solstice (the real one, not that satanic thing the Wikkans do) the Prairie Elves make a pilgrimage from the plains to Moose Taint, acquiring (read 'stealing') charcoal briquets as they go. They gather, they fast, they build a huge effigy of a skunk out of said charcoal, complete with a stripe made from the undies of the resolute down its back. Then they burn it and dance all night to the flames of the stolen.

And when Jimmy did the naked macarana.....they kinged him.

When he said those words and crawled into the trunk of the Pinto to sleep, it was all good. Then, the trunk flew open, the pants flew off, and Jimmy, much like the god Nike, shot like a bolt of lightning into the woods. Winter is coming, lil' J, winter is coming.

Z and I will be on the hood of the Pinto, drinking 40's every night laughing , after dominating the corndog biz, until further notice.

We were invited, why are you throwing US out?

Z and I are back in Moosetaint county, slinging corndogs to the throngs of tourists at the 7th Annual Slosh-a-Palooza Beer Festival and Expecting Mother Doilie Blow out (down at the exhibition barn). The beer is rockin' and the new moms are crocheting their prego hearts out. Oh, I always say CROTCH-etting in my head. Good times, and good business. Drunks and hormone-crazed fuck-trophy carriers go apeshit at our stand. Z had a brainstorm and dumped pickle juice into the cotton candy machine. I swear it's like crack to the ladies.

Then we get a call from the bar, some incoherent shrieking about Jimmy and nudity. I gotsta check this out!

Arriving in a blue cloud of Pinto smoke and ICP rapping about juggalos Z and I look at each other. We can hear Jimmy ranting from the parking lot. Z exclaims "I knew I shoulda worn my fighting heels, not this damn open-toed set!"

What the fuck? Focus! We hauled-ass inside and there was Jimmy. He's Axle-dancing on the bar, throwing chunks of turkey-bologna at 3 baying hounds, swinging a mop at anyone who gets close to him. Butt nekkid. That can't be hygienic. His eyes are all pupils, and yelling something about Prairie Elves, the Sacrament and skunks. He spots Zanna, and immediately gets off the table. She has a calming effect in the melting mind of the fried. It's all those years of making our fryer her bitch, methinks.

He raises the mop like a mighty saber of the righteous (god, that tree did a number on his junk) and grandly proclaims "I am the Voice of Reason, bring a round of mead to my friends, and all shall become clear as you hear my story, good folk"

Yeah, they threw us the fuck out.

The Prodigal Corndog

We know. It's been a while. But you can smell, that right? Do you smell that? That's right...as T would say...thats the stench of whiskey and broken dreams.

You might be wondering..where have you been? Well, let's just say when you reach for the stars sometimes they'll burn you. Let's just say...what doesn't kill you, will at least take you to court and makes you wish it would kill you because it's alot cheaper to be dead than using your good funeral clothes for court. What I did right there is called foreshadowing.

Okay, so here is the deal. We were pretty successful with the corndog stand and we bought a restaurant. We called it the Corn Hole. It was going along pretty well except there was only the two of us and let me tell you....I cannot be the only one in the kitchen prepping the food by myself all the time while T is managing all the day-to-day shit like keeping a full body hairnet on Helga - and she's just a patron. He was able to muster up the finesse, though. That man can tell you to go to hell and make you look forward to the trip.

Anyhow, business had been really good. On the suck end of it, is the only time we got to spend together anymore was in the restaurant. So anyway, one night we're laying in bed and I just said, "hon...we've GOT to get a sous chef. We can't do this kitchen shit by ourselves anymore" And so T says, "what a coincidence because Jimmy told me that a bunch of sous came in from the Dakotas".

And that made me strangely uneasy because if you knew T like I knew T, he needs to think about these things first. Weigh the options...do the math.....because six dozen of one is like two in the bush or something, I don't know. He's the smart one in the family. But I digress.

So the next day I'm in the kitchen pouring the old oil into T's special "bio-fuel recycling receptacle". Then I hear the kitchen door open and in walks T with dark haired mexican looking dude. He's kind of big with long black hair. T introduces him to me as our new sous chef. I'm PSYCHED. But that lasts only momentarily.

I ask dude what his experience is. I figured he worked at LaQuinta or some shit and had some kitchen experience. I wasn't expecting much because I don't have any respect for the Dakotas or their food.

First of all....he's not Mexican. He's Indian. Feather, not dot. T didn't fully understand what I meant by soux chef...so he brought me a SIOUX chef. You've got to love the guy though. He never questioned me for one minute when he thought I requested an Indian man to help us in the kitchen. Turns out this dude is a direct decendent of Tatanka Iyotaka, more commonly known as Chief Sitting Bull. And his name was Red Bull. And he used to work at Red Robin and had a brief stint at the Waffle House.

Turns out Red Bull had a mad buffalo chicken wing recipe that he modified from Red Robin. We thought we'd take full advantage of his skill and start advertising, "RED BULL GIVES YOU WINGS".

You'd think living in a small county like Moose Taint, that Red Bull The Energy Drink wouldn't get wind of these play on words and whatnot. But like T says...when the wind blows just right...you can hear shit from miles away.

Long story short: We got sued by Red Bull the Energy Drink. Red Bull the Sioux counter-sued (or is that counter-siouxed?) Red bull the Energy Drink for stealing his name to begin with. He won. They dropped the suit on us because technically, we made no reference to the energy drink. We just happened to have a decendent of Sitting Bull with a kick ass buffalo wing recipe. There is no law against that. I mean, technically, buffalos don't even have wings. This shit could have gone on forever.

All this drama and bullshit just made T and I realize this restaurant shit is not for us. I remember sitting in the courtroom and he leaned over and whispered, "Remember when we used to lay on the pinto and drink 40's?".

So we're taking the corndog stand out of storage and I've got a couple of 40's in the fridge. Freakshow Joe is still looking for a way to make a quick buck (and still has moments of fecal incontinence after the goring incident). Jimmy still lives in the woods. Helga still has a crush on T...and rumor has it that the BinLadin brothers are still harboring a grudge against us.

Excellent.

Hindu's: The Final Re-Incarnation of the Nazi's?

Corndog Trailer arrived in grand fashion at the Haye's, Kansas Cultural Arts Center for our most recent gig. By "grand fashion" I am refering to the massive backfire our Pinto cut loose with as we pulled into the parking lot, sending a couple of WWII vets into flashback to D-Day mode. I can't help but find octegenarians yelling "Incoming" and creeping through bushes amusing, but Z, bless her heart, ran over to help calm them down. Damn, girls got a shake that measures on the Richter scale. I filmed the old man after Zanna got him an ice-cream to sooth him.

We were in Hayes due to an invitation to sling corndogs at the Hindu Indian National Dialogue Of Native Traditions. India Indians. Dots, not feathers.

Things started out roughly, due to a translation problem with the word "corndog". We were proudly explaining that we use only the highest quality all beef franks, when the coalition head Padma Brah flipped. "Holy Vishnu, how can dogs of corn be made of beef, how is this possible!" He then lapsed into Hindu-speak, gibbering away. My mind drifted off to thoughts of Slurpee's. When I snapped back to reality, I inferred that both dog and corn were acceptable but beef was not. Padma Brah went on to explain "While researching places in the States United to hold our convention, we chose Kansas specifically because it is home to the delicious Rhode Island Red and had no real beef industry such as Louisiana and Hawaii are known for."

Riiiiiggghhhhht. I explained we had plenty of non-beef specialitys we could cook for the convention tomorrow. Later that night, sitting on the hood of the Pinto with some 40's of Old E, laughing hysterically we learned what Hindu's and H.I.N.D.O.N.T.s eat, by borrowing a bit of wi-fi from the nearby Prairie-Foof Hotel (where a Dalton Gang Died For Your Sins convention was in full swing.) Bet they like corndogs.

Well, the next day, Z and I trotted out the revised menu. Buffalo wings, corn on the cob, deep-fried macaroni and cheese bits, and.....were shocked as we carried our trays in to the Cultural Arts Center. The place was covered in swastikas, and the Indians were all wearing the swastika on their colorful clothes. Z and I pride ourselves on being sensitive to other cultures and open-minded, but....the international symbol of evil? Hindu's believe in reincarnation...could these people believe they are the final resting place of the souls of Hitler and Goebles? I decided to find out, tactfully.

When the people came up for their food, I would say "Schiece", which I think means hello in German. No reaction. Z put a white pillow case on her head for a while as she served, nothing but odd looks. When they paid us as they were leaving, I smoothly slipped into the conversation "So do you guys have a Jew and Gay problem in Bollywood?" Padma Brah advised us to seek help, and left, giving us our own swastika's on the way out.

Seemed like nice folks for a bunch of racist sociopaths.

Can't wait to tell Amy from Wak-a-Mole and Jimmy about this. Well, on to NASCAR, to serve corndogs and deep-fried snickers to throngs of drunken fans. Our people.

Sam Jackson, Always the Humanitarien...or however the fuck that is spelled

Corndog Season is here!!!

Z and I are busy like rabbits on a mix of Viagra (tm) and meth (not tm) now that NASCAR, summer, carnivals and general fun-ness are available due to the warm temps. So this is gonna be short, people. Make hay, when the sun is shining.

What I would like to say is a basic add for our Corndog business. Seeing as Z and I both have a bit o' the Wop in us, genetically, we decided to combine our sauces and throw it on some pasta. In light of S. Jacksons epic film, "Snakes on a Plane", we chose a relevant name:

"Spaghetti: with MUTHA-FUCKIN' meatballs on a MUTHA-FUCKIN' plate"

Still working on a kid friendly sign, mutha-fucka's.

Peace and shit.

The Pupa Stage

I will come right out and say it's pretty fucking ironic that a brand new post come out on the first day of summer when Corndog Season will become full-speed ahead. It's also ironic that I'd rather sit here and write a post for the first time in ages instead of helping Helga put on her fully body hairnet.

T and I have a lot to update you all on...but I have to go make batter and the situation at hand is this: You may or may not remember the situation last year with Helga and Hannoush's death. (read here and here to familiarize yourself) . After she left Moosetaint for Auchwitz, she thought life would be better and she could get away from the tragedy. But as we know, no matter where you go, there you are and things didn't go well. So Helga came back to the town and the freaks that love her (in my case I tolerate her since she has a mad crush on T) and that's Moosetaint.

She needed a gig. Moosetaint refuses to tout a bearded lady anymore because it's synonymous with "the incident". Of course, we pitited her and hired her to help out with the stand.

It's been 3 weeks and we have hadto give back over 60% of what we've taken in because of "hair in the batter". I don't know why I put that in quotes, but there it is. Now, Hannoush's brothers are fucking PISSED she is back, let alone the fact that we hired her and it's only made the war between the Granny's and the Bin Ladins worse. So bad that those fucking camel jockey's called Health and Human Services on us. And the FDA. And the CDC.

First let me tell you...I have a shitty fucking filing system. I couldn't find readily find ANY of the paperwork I had to produce for these fucks. It took me and T an entire day to sift through the Pinto and we finally found everything stuffed in an an old G.I. Joe Thermos wedged under the driver's seat. Okay, so we get the HHS and the FDA off our jocks AFTER we proved that have stayed up-t0-date on all our shit. All we had to do is promise that we'd make a full body hairnet for Helga. Which, essentially is a pair of crotchless stockings from Fredrick's of Hollywood sewn onto mosquito netting. Have I mentiond I can't sew? So, I just velcroed the mosquito netting to the waist of the stockings. I don't give a rat's fuck...technically...we're in compliance.

Oh yea, and if you are wondering why crotchless stockings are okay....it's because ironically, the bearded lady shaves her twat. I don't know. I've never understood that since the night of the incident.

Okay, so we get that shit out of the way and now we have to deal with Helga's "emotional issues". Because some kids surrounded her when she went to use the Porta-Potty and when she came out ensconced in her fully body hair net, they asked her if she was in the Pupa stage and would she eventually turn into something beautiful.

We can't fucking win. anyway..gotta go. That batter aint' gonna bat itself.


FDA link: http://www.cfsan.fda.gov/~comm/foodbiz.html


Food safety: http://www.foodsafety.gov/~fsg/foodlaw.html

Eugene

Tranny is gone. I'm SO hating life right now. I just got done eating Chef Boyardee out of the can, standing in the dark in the pantry. Then the bell rings. I'm figuring it's Jimmy, or Amy or SOMEONE. I would even settle for Freakshow Joe at this point. I'm lonely, what can I say.

So, I opened the door and it's Tranny's cousin, Eugene. Now, I only know Eugene from pictures and Tranny's "family flatulence" stories. Eugene hugs me like he's known me for years..picked me off the ground and everything. Eugene smells like a delicate combination of onions and Old Spice. Eugene just went out the the truck to get the rest of his stuff. I took a picture of Eugene with my camera phone while he was out there. I promptly sent it to Tranny's phone. And I'm going to leave it up to you if you want to see Eugene for yourself. That way you have no one to blame for what you are about to see, but yourself.

Welcome to Hell. I'm Zanna...I'll be your hostess.

CONIFEROUS, Not CARNIVOROUS

Damnit kids, this will likely be my last post this year. The construction company I am working for until Blessed Corndog Season starts up in the spring picked up a month-long contract. In fucking Miami. No, not that Miami. Ever see a 3000 foot deep hole in the ground, surrounded by the most god-awful cacti and inbreeders imaginable? That Miami. Miami, Arizona. I may just be a little bitter, because Zanna isn't going, at least at first.

She originally wanted to come along, as I was explaining that the entire state wasn't a blasted desert hell-hole, and I could show her some places that Arizona Highways Magazine will never find. I went on to explain that AZ has the largest coniferous forest in the United States....that's when she freaked. She kept proclaiming "no tree is gonna eat me" and "are they Ents?" and "I don't like the meat-eating forests". I eventually calmed her down, and she agreed to visit after I send her some pics of the trees NOT eating me. It will still be a long few weeks till she comes down. I'm worried there won't be cell phone reception, as well.

As a farewell gift, I tied Freakshow Joe into a mini-stuff-sack, and strapped him on the back of a train hauling short-stack pancake mix, small fries and rutting grunion. He won't find his way back to the Taint for a while. Hope he doesn't drown in his own shit before someone finds him.

Well, folks, I am off to glean my last remaining hours with Zanna, maybe have a few 40's and "put something that thumps in the boom-box."

Might as well get used to speaking spanish full time again, soooo......Hasta luego, muchachos, and Feliz Onyordog!

Freakshow Joe on Jerry Springer

Because he only made $12.37, Freakshow has given up his month long dream of being a Michael Jackson impersonator in local train stations. His next scam to get some publicity was to take his show on the road and take care of a personal problem on Jerry Springer.

Freakshow Joe lost his girl Nicole to a stump named Josh. Me and T didn't even know he had a girl named Nicole. All I know is Amy from the Whack-A-Mole is going to be B to the Ullshit when she finds this out. But honestly, between you and me, Freaskshow has been getting a little too big for his proverbial britches and has basically been a fucking douchebag, so I don't blame her.

Remember how I told you a couple of weeks ago, he got pissed at me in the bar and got on top of the bar and took his clothes off? He does the same thing on stage at Jerry Springer. For whatever reason, he takes his clothes off, then dances on the pole and then goes and pummels poor Josh again. He also moons the audience and I wish they didn't "fuzz out" his asshole because you really need to see it to truly understand what that bull did to him. I think then it would really bring home that whole "fecal incontinence" problem he seems to only have on my couch. Little fucking fucker.

Anyway, it didn't turn out the way he planned. And now he's emotionally devastated. And guess who the fuck is on our fucking couch? Yea...you guessed it.

Thanksgiving "Gift"

We weren't going to post anything while we were away for Thanksgiving but I just wanted to share a nice picture T's niece made for me and presented to me in front of everyone at the dinner table yesterday. And then everyone at the table got really quiet, except for T who was pretending to cough to cover up the fact he was laughing. Then all of a sudden everyone is saying at the same time, 'pass the (insert here)".

I was fucking pissed. But then I forgot about it when T said he was in the mood for some "pudding pie". But now I'm pissed again.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING! Leave a Message...

I'm sorry I'm laughing so much. T said he'd be quiet while I recorded the message but he knows how to make me laugh. And my Chewbacca doll is what kills me every time. Plus he was making it dance. Happy Thanksgiving from the "Taint!

Freakshow Joe: Tour de Midgit Petite (mee-geet pa-teet)

Well, T is still sleeping and I’m jacked on caffeine because I bought one of those old school Italian espresso makers yesterday, made a pot and drank it ALL. Aaaaaaaaaa ya ya ya yaa ya. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzing!

Anyway…Freakshow Joe has limped his sorry ass back to the Taint. I was on the couch watching Food Network and how to turn “Thanksgiving Disasters into Delightful Delights” or some shit, I don’t know. All I know is if you have enough butter and parmesean cheese, apparently you can fix anything.

So, T walks through the door, looking a little sheepish. And who jumps out behind him with his mouth wide open and his arms outstretched…like I’d be GLAD to see him. That’s right…. Freakshow. He knew I wasn’t glad to see him. I still get feel nauseus knowing his fecal dna is still engrained in my couch. I remember when I saw that Seinfeld episode when Poppi peed on Jerry’s couch and Jerry got rid of it and I was thinking, “it’s brand new…just turn the cushion over”. But, when it happens to YOU, and midget feces is on the underside of the cushion you are sitting on and the offending midget is standing before you….I can’t describe the feeling. Rage? Yes, maybe it’s rage.

So it was everything I could do NOT to bite through my own tongue and yell, “WHAT THE FUCK” because that would be rude. So, Freakshow comes in, hops next to me on the couch, plants a kiss on my cheek. I’m looking at T intently – you know because I always think if I look at him HARD he can somehow read my mind. Ha ha ha. And he’s got that, “I’m sorry, I had nothing to do with this, I didn’t KNOW” face on. It was the same face he had the time I woke up and all my panties were dipped in corndog batter. ANYWAY..

So, you know, what are you going to do, he’s here, right? I ask Freakshow, “whassup, how you been..” kind of shit….T gets us all a beer. So, Freaksow takes NO time to take out this CD and put it out DVD player…..”check it out…..this is my new gig”.

T is sitting beside me at this point and Freakshow is standing by the television. All of a sudden, we see this “little person” dressed up like Michael FUCKING Jackson…going balls out on a dance routine at some train station. And doesn’t Freakshow start dancing in our livingroom in tandem with the video. So since we really can’t just laugh out loud or say anything…T starts pressing his leg against mine. And I press back just so he knows I’m with him on this being a 10 on a scale of 1-10 for being fucked up.

When all is said and done, we’re like, “Wow..dude..that’s awesome…how did you learn to move like that.” And it turns out…his hips pop in and out now pretty easily after the “incident”

So T offers to take us out so we’re at the bar and we’ve been there awhile and Freakshow is tanked at this point and he looks at me and goes, “so…whaddayathink..you think this dance thing is going to pay off or what?’

And you know how like…if you want to hide the fact that you are smiling sometimes you can lift the drink to your face to kind of hide it before you answer? Yea, it doesn’t work well. I put my drink down and said, ‘yea..I think you’ve got mad skills, Joe”. Then he gets all pissy, leans over and kind of hisses, “you think you’re the only one that can dance, don’t you…” Then he stands up, takes ALL his clothes off except for the g-string, and gets on the bar and starts doing his Michael Jackson routine.

Holy fucking shit. T was laughing so fucking hard there was no sound was coming out. I was laughing only because he was laughing so hard. Because I’ll tell you what…it’s no laughing matter getting a glimpse of “midget junk” from the side of a g-string.

Anyway, to make a wicked long story short, he ended up going home with Amy from the Whack-a-Mole. He left his DVD here so I uploaded it to youtube so you can see his “performance”. Imagine it naked. Not pretty.

We’ve got errands to do today so I’m going to go wake up T and take advantage of “morning wood”. I love yelling “Timber” when we’re all done. Ohhh, the things that make my life worth living. ;)

Open Letter to Walrus Gumboots

Here in the Taint we don't ususally go to these extremes. Except for that time Cock Ninja got pissy and we did a post about him after he said he was never coming back, and all he ever wanted to do was make us smile...and cry.

I didn't get T's OK on this, I usually like to because this site belongs to both of us. But I would like to say to you, Wally....on behalf of the "family". And OK, I didn't clear it with them either. I'm basically riding bareback with no panties here.

Anyway, on behalf of the "family"...and my apologies to anyone I missed..(Apache, LadyJane, Pinky Nip, Anastasia, Instant Ass Hat, Dragulf, Twzzlrgrl, Stallion, and yes..EVEN Cock Ninja). I present you this video "hallmark card" if you will.

Its cold out there in the Internet, my friend. Listen to the words of the song man...it's so fucking poingant. And when you are done wearing that "mask of false bravado," you'll know where we'll be.

Hold me, T. The glitter graphics are taking my emotions over the edge.

Public Service Announcement

Quality Time

It’s been a rough few weeks in the Taint. T and I haven’t been connecting like we usually do…he’s working days in construction; I’m working nights at the club. But last night, I had the night off and I was hell BENT on making sure it was “quality time”.

I see T sitting on our couch, relaxing after a long day at work. He’s leaning back into the softness of the couch, his shirt open. He has his eyes closed, half listening to something on television while absentmindedly running a hand back and forth over his chest. He doesn’t notice that I'm there at first. He didn't expect me to come until much later in the evening, but here I am.

He opens his eyes and sees me sitting across from him on the edge of the recliner, stroking my thigh with my hand. T smiles when he sees me, and I can tell from the look in his eyes that he needs what I want to give him as much as I need to give it.

Slowly, I stand, not making a sound and stroll over to him. He stands when I get there, putting his arm around my waist. I slide my hands around his neck, letting them meet on the nape of his neck and pull him closer. Our lips touch and I open my mouth, awaiting his tongue. He slides it in, casually seeking out mine. When he discovers it, he become hungrier. His lazy strokes become slightly rougher caresses.

Before we get too into kissing, I break free from his mouth, and make my way to his ear, trailing light playful kisses along your cheek. I trace the outer edge of his ear with my tongue, before licking his earlobe and taking it between my teeth and tugging gently. I continue, making my way down his neck kissing, sucking, and biting my way to his collarbone. I place a finger where his shirt opens, and slowly push it back, just a little, tracing his collarbone with my tongue. First the left side, then the right, following that. I move his shirt farther back and he shrugs it off as my lips lightly skim his shoulder.

He runs his fingers through my hair as I begin working my way on down his body. First kissing the left side of his abdomen, then his right. Moving lower, I find I have to get on my knees to reach him. Looking up at T, I give him a sly smile and unbutton his pants. I trail my finger over the bulge in his jeans before I unzip them.

I kiss the skin around his waistband, working my tongue under it occasionally. Sliding my hands around his waist, I grab his trousers near the pockets and pull them down, making them pool around your ankles. I slide my hands up his calves, under his briefs, up over his thighs and back down again before sliding them up and pulling off his underwear as well. Naked now, he steps out of your puddle clothes and recline on the couch. T lay his head back as I lean in and slowly lick the tender area of his abdomen….getting closer to what it is I’m really after.

Making a "v" with the index and middle finger on my right hand, I lick between them and slide them up and down the underside of his shaft, rubbing his bulging veins while I continue to lick. Finally, I get to the edge of skin that meets his balls. Leaning down, I lick his right ball, taking it in my mouth and gently sucking on it, while I run my left hand over his hip. I lick my way across to his left side and do the same thing, working my way down as far as I can go, before I need to turn back. I trail kissing back up his balls, in anticipation….

I slide both my hands up his thighs and then, let my right caress his hip and come to rest there, while I bring my left up and place it gently on his shaft, squeezing the base gently as I do.

Looking into his eyes, I give him a wicked grin and I lean in closer and playfully flick the head of his cock with my tongue. I pull the skin of his shaft down gently. I put my lips over it and begin to suck just the head. While I suck, I slide my hand up and down his shaft.

I begin taking more and more of him into my mouth until he touches the back of my throat. I can feel that he’s brushing against the ridges on the roof of my mouth. I begin moving myself up and down over his shaft, around the tip, sucking as I move up to increase the friction. When I reach the tip, I swirl my tongue around it once, before going back down.

Going faster now, I take my hand, which had been lightly gripping the base of his penis and make it slightly tighter. I move it up to meet my mouth on its way back down your shaft and then use it to lead my mouth back down to the base. I lightly run my free hand over his hip and around the back of your thigh, down to the bend in his knee and back up while I continue.

Feeling T start to tense up, I bring the hand that was caressing his hip up and gently cup his balls. Jiggling them slightly, I feel you stiffen even more. Moving up and down his shaft faster and faster, I feel his cock pulsing in my hand. I thrust his cock in my mouth, once, twice more and as I go down the next time, I feel him shoot your warm liquid in my mouth. I suck hard, milking T’s cock of every last drop he can give me.

When he finishes, I move up one last time, squeezing the last leftover drop from the tip of his cock, and run my tongue over the whole head again. I take my mouth off your cock and run my tongue over the veined underside one last time.

I stand up then, watching you watch me. I take a step back, and undress, first my shirt, then my short skirt, followed by my bra and panties. I smile at you and sit beside you. You put your arm around me and I put my head on your shoulder. You kiss my forehead and we sit quietly for a few minutes.

You squeeze my shoulder and say, “Hey….you wanna get those 40’s out of the fridge and sit on the hood of the Pinto and chill for a while?”

Fuckin’ right I do.

Come to Jesus

If anyone is looking for me, I'll be getting my freak-on at the Grace Church tonight.

Love me hard and love me often,

Zanna

Stripper Down

I fucking told her she didn't have the upper body strength to do the pole. Does she listen to me? Nooooooooooo, of course not. Why listen to Zanna...she's just some silly fucked up bitch "lati-da'ing" her way through life, right?

Well, to my DELIGHT, Amy from the Wack-A-Mole took a fucking header today during pole practice. Between you and me..she fucking sucks as a dancer. Fucking sucksdonkeydickandchokesonthespunk. I mean check those moves out. I don't even like looking at her with clothes ON let alone off. Thank God when I'm in the club it's dark and I'm drunk.

And because you were a cunt to me today Amy..I'm posting this. And you're on your own putting Clearisil on your ass.

I think tonight, perhaps..I will dance to "Come to Papa" by Bob Seger. Makes me feel like grinding on a stranger's lap. Always did. Always will.

Anyway, heeeereeeeesss Amy.

Something Fishy in the Taint

As Zanna has mentioned, I am back to construction for the winter. We are building a huge house for some trust-funder punk from scratch, and today we were clearing trees on a sidehill, in an early season blizzard. The picture is my boss trying to show off in his truck, and planting it firmly between 2 trees.

The crew and I said fuck it, we'll dig it out tomorrow; then went to the bar. Chainsawing in a snowstorm sucks. Sometimes you just gotta quit early.

Anyhoo, you know how after drinking all day sometimes a story comes out that you may regret later? Our laborer, Chucky Chez Ezz, told just such a story moments ago. I hauled ass to borrow some wi-fi, while the story is fresh.

Last winter, Chucky was working at Flap-Ass Mountain Ski Resort and Bass Fishery, when in walked a woman he hadn't seen in years. Turns out she had married and had children. And was the first woman to give him crabs. They were partying one night several years ago, one thing led to another, they humped and a day or so later it was like a micro-jungle on his genitals. Chucky used the old fashioned method his granddad taught him to get rid of the little parasites.

Get 2 bricks, kerosene and a match. Cover your pubes in the kerosene, light it. When the crabs crawl up your penis to escape the flames from the enchanted forest, smash them with the bricks while they are stranded on the tip.....

Well, 2 months later he was drunk at another party when Charlize Tuna showed up. Yeah, they fucked like grunion under a full moon, and yes, she gave him crabs a second time. I mean, this girl had to keep ice in her panties to keep the little guys fresh. Chucky decided to try removing his pubes entirely this time. With Nair.

Well, after getting crabs twice from the same girl he swore off relations with her ever again. For about 3 more months. You guessed it, Chucky was drinking heavily at the Booze-O-Rama Nightclub when Charlize arrived. He was going down on her in the bathroom, when it dawned on the poor bastard he was tonguing the Tuna that gave him crabs twice. He stopped speaking for a moment.

Slowly, Chucky said "I threw up directly onto her twat." He then wiped it off, fucked her, and went home with his THIRD case of the crabs.

To paraphrase a wise man, diamonds may be forever, but you never forget the first time you eat crabs.

Just Got Me a Winter Gig

I gotta do this quick because I'm on in about 10 minutes. But I just want to let you all know, that I've gotten my winter gig. I applied for 4 jobs.

1. Moose-Taint County short bus driver
2. Moose Taint County Bowling Alley Girl
3. Moose-Taint County Geriatric Facility and
4. Dancer at the Deja Vu. Moose-Taint County's local strip club.

I got the dancing gig.

Now, before you ask me if I'm part of the "Trifecta", as they like to call the 3 "facially-challenged" ones, I'm not (not that I feel like one of the 50 beautiful ones either-not today anyway) However, Amy from the Wack-A-Mole, is part of the "Trifecta". And man, was she bullshit about that in the "prep" room when she made me put flesh-tone Clearasil on her ass-zits before she went on tonight.

T has gotten a carpentry gig...which I'm not so sure how well it's going since I JUST got a text message which read, "motherfucking snakes on a motherfuking plane!" And when I texted back, "whaddayamean?" There was no response. It is so cryptic and yet says so much at the same time.

They just escorted some dude out because he gave Amy from the Wack-A-Mole a dollar and asked for change back.

Well, time to tuck up that tampon string and get this party started. I'm dancing to "In the Evening" by Led Zepplin (click the link if you want to hear it). I've danced before and that song makes me feel sexy as FUCK. I'm thinking it's good for my first time out at this place tonight.

I'm gonna be human for a minute. Not try to be funny or sarcastic or anything. But you know what? All of a sudden I am missing T big time. Like, it makes my chest hurt and I feel like I could choke on the lump in my throat. I'm nervous to go on and he makes me feel better and we worked together all season, and I dunno...I just wish he was here right now.

Anyway, they just "announced" me. Wish me luck...

There is No Place Like Home

First, just let me say it's good to be back at the corndog trailer and T's very strong, muscular, tree-choppin, chainsaw usin' arms. Oh and that the wedding sucked.

The whole fucking time I had to listen to my cousin go on and on about the time T set her fake tits on fire and "I chould make T pay for new one...pesos don't grow on tress, ju know".

No, bitch, pesos DON'T grow on trees so why don't you go and pray to the " Virgin Mary in a Bathtub" thing you have in your yard and maybe there will be some kind of fucking miracle.

I would also like to say that the Mexican heat coupled with fine polyester wedding garb tend to be a lethal combination. With that said, I would like to say this. JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE MAKING EYE CONTACT WITH ME DOESN'T MEAN I CAN'T TELL YOU ARE SCRATCHING YOUR BALLS. During conversation, just because you have made eye contact with me does not mean I no longer have peripheral vision. And I don't mean just one of those "adjustments" men make...or the patented "quick scratch"(the one where the guy's eyes dart around to see if you saw him). I mean...the kind of scratching that makes me want to mace you dead with "Tough-actin' Tinactin' and a bic lighter. I'm just saying.

Anyway, T has given me a RIGHTEOUS welcome home. Breakfast in bed has got a WHOLE new meaning, now. And I'm hoping that Wal*Mart will have something to get the "meaning" out of the sheets if you know what I'm saying (wink, wink, nudge, nudge). Ahoy, matey!

We've also got to get the Moose-Taint County Sunday paper and check out the classifieds. We need to get jobs for the winter now that corn-doggin' is gonna be on the backburner for the winter months.

In the meantime, here is a video they gave us as a "wedding keepsake". We had to dance to the song like 3 times at the reception. Where of course, my cousin, while she was dancing, had to keep pointing out how her tits don't bounce in unison thanks to the fact that, "ju husbang burn my eeeemplangts." God. Fucking GET OVER it. Sell your donkey or something.

The Cadillac of Hallucinogenic...er Spiritual Offferings

Ok, I was just down at the laundromat, and I met some crazy Indian chick who kept babbling about yoga. She said her name was Shama, which means inner light or spiritual insanity or something....wait, that can't be a name....She must have said Shamu, like the whale. Cause that fucking fish was Spiritual, yo. So spiritual I got thrown out of Sea World for smuggling a deep sea fishing pole and some tackle into his tank. Z and I woulda eaten tons of smoked fish for a whole year! Bastards.

Where was I? Oh, right, Shamu the Indian. That would be East Indian, not an American Injun. Well she was going on and on about how you could "focus your inner light" and "get in touch with your real self" and a bunch of other shit. And you know, while I was hastily folding my underwear trying to get away from this chick, something magical happened.

The words "I must inject Zanna's Information Super-Highway with My One-Way Conduit of Information as soon as she is off the plane" emaneted from my chest in a sepulcher tone. I said thanks to Shamu and her dot and hopped in the Pinto to find Jimmy.

Together, we drove down to Little Pocks shop. For those of you who have not put my mystical experience together yet, let me spell it out for you. Little Pocks is an Injun, from the Slapaho tribe, sells KILLER bud and Zanna gets nasty when she hasn't got any in a while, especially stoned. I think I have said enough.

Pocks didn't think "Little" looked good as part of the name of his store, so he has named it "Small Pocks Blanket Army Surplus" and does a good business. We went in, the er...peace pipe was passed and some Peyote was distributed. A bout of prayer to the Native American Church, of which I am a member, and a generous re-distribution of lunch into the toilet ensued. The initial rush of this perfectly legal to Church Members cactus always leaves me a bit talkative till I settle into the whole "in touch with the world" thing peyote does. Figured I'd make small talk, and since the NFL is back for the season, I reminesced:

"Little Pocks, remember that glorious game many moons ago, when the Cowboys massacred the Redskins, on the Redskins own field?" Quothe I. "Well, I was at that game, and was jumping up and down so much that I had a Wounded Knee. Felt like an arrow in there, as if each stand would be my last" That reminded me of cold which reminded me of Frozen Custard from KFC, so I decided to expound on my love for the Colonels Custard, when Little Pocks threw me out of the store. Why is this always happening to me?

Ah well, Little Pocks always gets over his snits, I got the green and a headfull of cactus dreams and Jimmy to party with tonight, Zanna home in 4 days...life is good in the Taint.

Why I Hate Breast Implants

The next 2 weeks may be a bit slow for new posts, Zanna is out of town.

Z is going to her favorite Uncle's wedding in Truth or Consequences, New Mexico, along the banks of beautiful Elephant Butt Lake. Why, you may ask, are you not going, Tranny? The reason: I am banned from being around her second cousin. Apparently, at a barbecue a few years ago, I lit cousin Chelsea's brand new breast implants on fire. I say, hey, if I don't remember no one should hold it against me...but Chelsea doesn't seem to see it that way. And as she is the bride, I am respecting her wishes to stay away. This time.

So I plan on drinking Jim Beam straight from the bottle, throwing hot-dogs at PETA activists and lesbians for the next 2 weeks, listening to Patsy Cline and generally being miserable. Cause you all know that my life is meaningless without Zanna.

Hell, Z and I even tied Freakshow Joe up, put him in a Saltine Cracker box and sent him C.O.D. to White Castle Burgers in Minneapolis together, right before she left. Who else is gonna do that with me?

So, I will post when I am sober enough to type, and if any of ya'll would like to get stupid in Moose Taint County for the next 14 days, I will be slumped in a pile of empties behind the corndog trailer till she gets back.

Damn yous, fake titties, DAMN YOUS!!!!

The Show Must Go on...

And by that I mean get that fucking FREAKSHOW Joe off my goddamned couch. Here is a guy who two weeks later is STILL complaining how he got "violated". I'm thinking at this point he should have considered himself lucky because if it wasn't for date rape, he'd never get laid.

Have you ever SEEN a midget in tighty-whiteys? I don't even know how to spell whiteys. I'm not even going to check. All I know is I am offended by it. I'm sitting there with my laptop, TRYING to help Spanks out by writing stuff for her blog and Joe keeps suggesting "stories". And you want to know what his voice sounds like? Like someone sucked down a entire fucking cannister of helium.

Oh and can I just mention about the "fecal incontinence" Joe has been experiencing since the incident? I don't even know why I put fecal incontinence in quotes. Because it is what it is. So those tighty-whiteys have skidmarks you can see from the outside and it's in my face everytime he has to pass me to get back on the fucking couch. WHICH, I attempted to Scotchguard heavily yesterday when T took Freakshow to his follow up appointment.

Did I mention the fecal incontinence? Did I mention I HAVE A MIDGET ON MY COUCH WHO IS SHITTING HIMSELF?

And let me tell you something about fucking SCOTCHGUARD. No where on the can does it say it say that more is not better. So what do they come home to? Me sitting on the floor Googling "Scotchguard Dangers" in the middle of a smoke filled living room with a fan blowing smoke out the window and me CRANKING Randy Newman's "Short People". Yea, they both looked a little uncomfortable when I saw them through the smoke. And T is all like, ' why do you Google "scotchgaurd dangers" AFTER you set fire to the cushions?" and suggests that perhaps smoking a joint while scotchguarding is a BAD idea. (and when I googled it I found out it supposedly causes liver damage. So when my liver shits the bed I'm not going to know if I should sue the Moose-Taint distillery or 3M. Great).

So I just turned the fucking cushions over. That's why they have two sides . Right? Right. I should have just went to the fucking dollar store and got a tarp and put it on the couch.

T says the only thing that can fix this badass mood of mine is his patented "attitude adjustment". He's calls it an adjustment.....I call it a grudge fuck. Either way it works.

End rant.

Where the Fuck is David Caradine These Days?

The end of summer has historically been a bit crazy in the "Taint", and this year is proving to be no exception. First, Hannoush dies in a fit of mole-induced vaginal asphyxiation/neck breakage, then Freakshow Joe gets a hot-beef injection on TV, and now this: A rogue ninja assaults poor Mr. White's "family".

Over the weekend, a dazed martial artist wearing a ninja mask and the sign of his rank, a paisley belt, was seen stumbling around town. He was drinking Mad Dog and talking to himself. Jimmy reported this ninja kept speaking of "supercheeks and spanking the fish". Jimmy has completed reading the Da Vince Code recently, and is convinced this mysterious man's ramblings may be of the utmost import. Poring over these words with his magic decoder ring has led to no revelations yet.

Then the ninja came in contact with Mr. White's chicken coop. Zanna, who had been tailing the stranger to determine if he was Mexican, told me a radical change came over the man. The fog lifted from his eyes, and the words "Tom Cruise Loves The Cock" were shrieked as he sprung into action. Ancient Japanese fighting techniques and the bottle of Mad Dog were used, the hapless chickens stood not a chance. Minutes later twenty chickens lay dead and the stranger was gone, only a few pecker marks from the largest cocks scarring the hands of the lunatic.

Mr. White, seen here, was devastated by the loss of his "family" and vowed revenge. Never have I met a man who loved chicken more.

Z and I found Mr. White in the street yesterday, overdosed while drowning his sorrows. His wife, Kay "Clucks", and son Ghengis Khlan say he should be alright to continue his vendetta later this week.

Jimmy was seen scampering towards the river with a case of Mad Dog, his decoder ring and a kimono this morning, I have no doubt this mysterious "Cock-Ninja" is still lurking nearby.

Happy Birthday!!!

I'd like to give a big Moose Taint County Birthday shout to reader Lesli B. Ann.

We are having a clam bake in your on her.

Pubic Service Announcement

No, that's NOT a typo in the title.

I just wanted to post this before I surprise T with breakfast in bed.

Click on the picture to read. Feel free to thank me later.

Summer Wrap Up...

<<<----- Let's just call it an "action" shot and leave it at that, okay people? It happened so fast and it's blurry because I panicked and just hit the button on the camera. What happened right before was Freakshow Joe went up behind Stallion at the "Granny Gear" station, pulled down his skivvies and exposed his junk to the crowd. It only helped sales. It's what made him "borrow" a couple of hotdogs and do this.

So T&I haven't had a chance to mention how we made out last weekend on the sales front. It's been a tough week what with all the media in town because of Freakshow Joe's accident. He's out of the coma now and is "resting comfortably" on our couch. Well, as comfortable as a midget can be with T leaving fake "love notes" from the bull where Joe can find them. I like the one that says, 'why haven't you called?" or taking one of the summer sausages out of the gift baskets he got and poking him with it going, 'want some?...no?..you sure...?" LOL...good times.

And you know what? I don't care if I NEVER see another fucking gift basket for the rest of my life. We've had so many of them come to the house. It's gotten to the point now where I just take them and put them in the closet. Cuz Christmas be just around the corner motherfuckers and there is only so much summer sausage a midget can eat.

Anyway, thanks to Stallion, we've sold out of ALL our corndog thongs AND baby-doll T's. He even sold over 100 of our "My other car is a camel" bumper stickers, I saw them around the park, on wheelchairs and the inside of the port-a-potty doors. Which was an excellent idea. Because in one of those you NEED something to get your mind off the:

1. Stench

2. and if you are a female, something to focus on while doing the patented "hover" stance. This is a move where you must not let your pants touch the ground and not let your ass touch the seat. AND hold your purse while holding your breath.

Okay, you know what? I know what you are thinking..."why does she keep rambling like this?" She never stays on point. How does T put up with her? Well, I don't have an answer. All I can say is imagine what it's like to be in my head, okay?

On the corndog front...we sold out completely. Thanks to our beloved Spanks...who started out strong....and ended even stronger. She implemented something only she could have come up with...the Louis Vuitton Corndog. Yes. She painted a corndog to look like a Louis Vuitton. Buy 3 corndogs, get a chance to win. Sheer fucking brilliance.

YOU, my friend..get to pick whatever gift basket you want out of our closet. I'd say you too, Stallion but after last weekend I think you are going to have enough McFlapps to last you through the winter!!!

We'd like to congratulate lucky customer Jennifer for winning the coveted Louis Vuitton Corndog!!!

Because I Can

Posting because fair is fair and it's a witty retort to the McFlapp.

Again, this has nothing to do with anything. Posting it because, as the title clearly states.....I can.

If anyone sees T have him come back to "The Power Base" immediately....the boom box needs an adjustment.

Moose Taint Theatre Presents.....The Facts of Joe

As you may already know, in Moose-Taint County we like our midgets short, our corndogs fresh and our video footage direct from the source, rather than waiting for CNN-(M.T. County Special Disclaimer Edition) to put it up on the telly. That is where good ol' Aunt Sylvia came in.

She thought about getting the un-sensationalized video footage of Freakshow Joe's heroic tribute to Steve Irwin for as long as it took her to down a 40 of Old E, and a half pint of Winner's Cup Vodka. Then, she pulled out her teeth and went to visit our local special outreach CNN-(M.T. C. D. E.) cameraman, who was on loan from our slightly larger sister-county, Buffalo Nacho Parish. Septic-Foot Sam, as he is known in these parts ,videos all the special events, and Sylvia wanted answers. I never did learn the whole story of exactly how my saintly Aunt got her claws on this tape, but I do know she wasn't seen without mouthwash for a week, and Sam managed to look simultaneously horrified and happy at the same time.

So, with no further ado, fresh news without spin....May those fuckholes at Fox News take a lesson in objective reporting.

The Field Marshall of the Extravaganza was beside himself after reliving the awful footage. Out of his own pocket, he is flying in the best proctologist money can buy, from San Fransisco no less, to attend to poor Joe when he is finally coma-free.

Though, why a small city like San Fransisco has a world-renowned proctologist is beyond me. Zanna and I are just relieved that with incredible medical expertise such as this, Freakshow is sure to be fine.

Freakshow Joe Still in ICU

It is so heartwarming to see Moose-Taint County come out in droves to support Freakshow with a candle light vigil.

I'm taking a break and getting T some coffee in the hospital cafeteria and took advantage of the wi-fi because we just feel it's important to keep you updated on his status.

He is still in critical condition.

In the meantime, I would like to post another "public service" announcement from Stallion's uncle Guisseppe. Who did NOT enjoy his experience at Hannoush's brother's stand, "All Pork, All the Time and Carpets" this weekend (but who fucking does). Although we are very heavy hearted right now..it is still our duty to provide our updates from "The Taint".

Tragedy in Moose-Taint

It is with heavy hearts that we let everyone know that there was an incident during the Moose-Taint Bi-Lingual Bull Fighting Extravaganza.

Please send good vibes in Freakshow Joe's way.

We will update you on the rest of what happened over the weekend shortly, but just wanted to let you all apprised of current events.

*Group hug*

Freakshow Joe Readies himself for big performance

Here is my dramatic black and white of Freakshow Joe that I took this morning. Kind of gives it that "timeless" look/feel. Even though midgets kind of come with that on their own.

So here he is filling out paperwork that says the park is not liable if he gets hurt during his bullfighting gig that is coming up later today..to which he will dedicate to Steve "Crocodile Hunter" Irwin.

I don't have much to say after that. Crikey, indeed.

Poise and Rationality

Well, Spanks is SHITFACED and on the couch. She's after burning holes with her cigarette into the corndog suit and the bows on her shoes have come undone are COMPLETELY muddy.

I can hear Tranny, Stallion, Jimmy, Freakshow Joe & her husband Craig outside laughing their asses off about something. It must be at Sylvia and Flo because there is music on and Flo can't resist to get her groove on when the music is on. Then again, Tranny is so off the wall and has a unique way of seeing things, it could be him just making fun of the way a cricket is chirping and he'd have everyone laughing. It's why I love him with the red hot intensity of a thousand suns.

Listen to me getting all sweet...

I'm so fucking beat. It's been a long day. I don't post videos on our blog unless they are something we took ourselves but today I feel like posting a regular music video. Why? Becuase I fucking LOVE Panic! at the Disco and because this video pretty much kind of gives off that "Moose-Taint County" vibe. It really does.

If someone asked me if I had to choose a music video to live in for the rest of my life, I'd pick this one. Only because it feels like home.

My Postcard from Helga

Mine came in the mail today. She CLEARLY has a thing for my betrothed. Of course T is telling me that she is Polish, and this is what the Polish DO - they gets things backwards all the time. But my woman's intuition tells me different. She meant what she wrote.

Gotta go, we have to go pick up Freakshow Joe at the train station and then get some hotdogs and snickers and get the show on the road for today.

Postcard To Tranny from Helga

Click on the picture to see the Whore's postcard to MY man.

Update:

Murdering Whore.

Ain't She Sweet

Isn't Spanks a vision of loveliness in her Corndog outfit? It took us a while to get a good picture because me and T were DYING laughing.

My sides still hurt from laughing after she said she thought the suit was going to give her a yeast infection.

Update:

You know what else makes me laugh...those bows on her shoes. Fucking FETCHING I tell you. FETCHING.

Bringing Sexy Back Corndog Style

One thing (of the many) that you've got to love about Spanks is that she's a giver. And that she'll agree to just about anything when she's wretching between drags of her cigarette.

Being that Labor Day is one of our last best weekends for the corndog stand, it's usually the weekend where T & I go all out and make people feel like the end of the world is coming and you better get your meat on a stick now. Because it's a long time until spring. And for all you know, you could be dead by then.

We have a virtual marketing "corn"-acopia, if you will to boost corndog sales this weekend by what we figure 3x that of last year. And we need to since now we have to find other ways of making money between now and spring. I mean, we've got a couple of good months left of certain fall events and concerts but it's not like summertime. So I called Spanks last night during the VMAs. Which sucked ASS and not in a good fun way. Nothing like Jack Black saying they all sucked and making sure nothing changed. Anyway.........

Spanks agreed to bring sexy back and wear a corndog suit for three days and parade around the park looking all cute and phallic. She'll give improptu tarot card readings in which she will elude to the 'customer' that something in their future doesn't seem quite right and you better get that corndog now because you never know.

Right now, Stallion is busy shining up his Italian Cornuta getting ready for this weekend (I have a suspicion that meant he was rubbing one out at the time because at one point...he just stopped talking, dropped the phone...sighed and then said he had to go take a nap). Stallion will be selling our corndog thongs with our new logo that was done for us by Jane's Eyer. He'll even have a "dressing area" by the big tree near the woods (diagonal from the corndog stand). Because he CARES that you get the proper fit. He's working on making the dressing area handicapped accessible, because he is all about equal opportunity. Follow the melodic sounds of the "Thong Song"

My sexy baby with the super hot yang has been working on the new batter based on E=MC Hammer and has nearly perfected it. He also just got a postcard from Helga (addressed to JUST him, mind you). That I would post if I could get a fucking picture on this shit.

He also got a call that Freakshow Joe was coming back - and he had eluded to some "unfinished" business after the last time he was here. Something about that makes T VERY fucking happy. He's also created something that he wants to drop off at "All Pork All the Time and Carpets." It's a secret though.

I have a good feeling about this weekend. A good feeling that something bad is going to happen. Which means it's time to backup my digital camera and sonyhandicam files and get ready to capture some moments. Although it would help if I could upload pictures to this bitch of a blog and for some reason I can't and it's driving me ape-shit.

Anyway.....have a GREAT weekend everyone....

Love, Tranny & Zanna

Romancing the Stone

You know how like..Sometimes you see someone and think "Oh I would NEVER fuck THAT"? And you think to yourself (or out loud, if you were me), "Sa-weeet Fancy Moses, this person would make a freight train take a dirt road...."

But then you hang out with them for a while (dramatic pause) and you get to like them and then you start to see the beauty in them (or you get drunk and then your beer goggles are set on "stun"). Either way, you know what I'm getting at.

Well, as you know, T and I do like to hang out with Aunt Flo and her bitch-on-wheels sister Sylvia. Hanging with a couple of old nasty whores makes you not fear you own imminent agedness and when they are drunk and feisty they actually make it look fun. Christ, do I ramble or what..anyway, Jimmy comes out and hangs with us too and he's..well...there is no real delilcate way to say this...he's developed a penchant for the "older ladies".

Wait..that WAS a delicate way to say that.

Let me put some "patina" on it. He's into banging old pussy. The fucking Sahara Desert has more moisture than the snatch he's banging. (And for a grammatical dissertation on the word "bang" please click here)

So, me and T go get Flo and Syl and head on out to "Stinky Pinky All Night Bump and Grind Country Bar". We walk in and there is Jimmy.....trying to get his fuck on with Ms. Loretta.

Jimmy is trying his damndest to woo her and he's pouring her a heady elixer of vanilla Ensure and Kalhua. Ms. Loretta has got the gout, rheumatoid artheritis and some scoliosis. That's not the worst part though. The worst part is the halatosis. We THOUGHT she had Stolgitis but it turns out that was her maiden name.

T was taking bets that her "McFlap" was sporting some serious salmonella (which reminds me of the time we walked in on Jimmy going down on Flo...he looked at us like a deer in the headlights and yelled, "I'M NOT EATING IT, I'M JUST SMELLING IT")....But I digress... (ADD sucks).

I knew something was going on because T could barely get his whiskey down through his shit eating grin. He hits my arm and points and I turn to look and Jimmy had taken his penis out and is showing Miss Loretta the effects of Dr. Jumbo's Penis Enlargement Cream.

Flo got jealous, stood up and loudly accused Loretta of making such shitty doilies they couldn't even stand up to "gentle cycle", Loretta accused Flo of being a whore and to go back to her house of ill-repute. To which Flo's response was, "at least it's a house of ill repute with a good reputation" (that was funny to me at first..now..not so much).

Anyway, Jimmy did not get his fuck on that night.

The offended Miss Loretta wheeled herself out in a tirade and jacknifed herself out on the handicapped ramp and T had to pull her back up and couldn't resist a making an OUI comment.

So, now Loretta has a new "hobby". For fucks sake, Jimmy. Don't "draw" on her again. Keep it in your pants before you get your sac blown off. If she uses buckshot, your balls are going to look like one of her piece of shit doilies. And do you REALLY want to be accused of not being able to handle the "gentle cycle?". Dork.

50,000 Battered Women.....

....and all these years you've been eating them plain...(badoom-boom---thank you, I'll be here all week!)

T's latest and greatest invention. The "Boom-Box" sandwich. You can eat it plain or it can make special sauce for his corndog. Oh so tasty and satisfying.

This has nothing to do with ANYTHING. Why am I posting this? Because I can. Because I know you freaks and you can't LOOK AWAY. You don't want to. And you won't. Not for a while. G'head. Click on the picture..then you can see it better. Do it.

I'll be at the corndog stand autographing copies of my twat (aka "The Boom Box"). C'mon down. And that expression that is on your face right now? Look at me like that when you get here. Because people who leer at me all dirty-like makes me feel pretty. And then this song will play in my head.

Yea, you know what? It's only sexual harrassment if it's unwanted. That there is a fact AND a loophole.

*du nu nu nu nu....I'm lovin' it*

____________________IN RESPONSE TO NICK'S POST

Yes, Nick, there is a cuntastic array. You want fries with that?

Hot Meat on Meat Action

There is a reason The Onion is America's finest news source. That reason is diligent reporting. Zanna and I use it as our main source of current events coverage, and that is why we have so much information other people are unaware of.

Just last week, The Onion scooped Food Network! See, Z and I watch Food Network religiously for all the new food trends, we intend to stay on top of the corndog pile. While F.N. snoozed, The Onion reported that America's #2 condiment (behind ketchup) is now...

Meat.

F.N. didn't have diddly-squat to say about THAT, although Bobby Flay, that over-rated little bitch, is trying to make it look as if he knew about this trend years ago. Suck up to the meat-condiment hard enough, Flay, and the meat you are looking for will enter your little homo mouth.

Soooo, I went to "Right? Of Course Right! Meats" the kosher deli, intending to buy some bacon. They didn't have any, no sausage or pork loin either. In fact the Israeli born butcher, Ariel Caroll, spoke loudly thru his nose, and threw me out, kept yelling "kosher, kosher". What kind of meat market has pickles, but no bacon?

Zanna and I were planning on experimenting with bacon-wrapped jalapeno dogs, after watching some Rachel Ray. And doing it doggy style. (That idea revolutionized TV watching, thanks Bloodhound Gang). Ray's show isn't called "30 Minute Meals" for nothing!

Oh, the Onion also pointed out that Alice in Chains is playing a reunion show in Denver...Denver, pshaw, what kind of hillbillly actually lives in Colorado?

I digress. Occurred to me to ask; who did Alice find to play the Ouja board?

Helga, We Hardly Knew Ye....

Being a bearded lady - you get some flack just because you're a freak. Being a bearded lady with a shaved twat..you get flack and alot of questions. (Like if you'll shave THAT, why won't you shave your face?) Being a bearded lady with a shaved twat who just killed a man - well, it's even too much for Helga to take.

The updated coroner's report came in and it turns out Hannoush did not die of asphyxiation. Helga snapped his neck in two during her ferocious orgasm. Z, being the kind soul that she is, whipped up some of her famous guacamole to cheer Helga up (because NOTHING cheers a bitch up after killing a man like some guac). Helga was face down in the bowl, when some school children began dancing around her, chanting "She's eating Wack-a-Mole-Lay". I chased them off, but the damage was done. I KNOW she's a woman, but it is awfully hard to comfort someone with a beard as thick as mine.

The final straw came, when she tried to pay her respects to what may have been the lamentable love of her life. The Bin-Laden brothers decided to send Hanoush off in a traditional Arab manner, complete with the tent they used to skulk in the desert in. Z whispered in awe "What a beautiful pavillion, I always thought they just cremated themselves in crowded bazaars"

Well, Helga for one, is also an immigrant, and not ignorant about other cultures feelings, so she felt dressing in the traditional chador would perhaps keep the Bin-Ladens from wreaking vengeance, until her respects had been paid. Not the best thought out plan, but at least they didn't recognize her. What they did see was a beard sticking out from under the veil....and freaked. The words "Salamaat Al-Cross Dresser" were shrieked, hummus was tossed and Helga ran crying.

She told Z and I she was going back to the family farm in Auschwitz, Poland, where she had happy childhood memories. Her grandfather was some sort of employee at a childrens camp there during the war, and loved it so much he left Germany and happily grew beats and cabbages there for many years. I guess he was eventually executed by an Israeli firing squad in the 1960's, but I never did get the full story.

Helga "The Bearded Lady" Eichman, we are going to miss you

Corndog Love

WOOT!!! We just got a package in the mail with a video made just for US!!!! It's called Corn Dog Love by the Barnyard Playboys from Brooklyn (hmm...recent visit by Stallion's uncle Guiseppe from Brooklyn and now this..coincidence?....I think not!).

I knew our corndog batter based on the theory of relativity was going to inspire someone to do something besides take a Bliblical shit.

That's right, I said BIBLICAL. Think about that for a minute..I don't have to explain it. I know you know exactly what I mean. Go ahead, tell me you don't.

I hope Corndog Love gets stuck in your head.

Sno Cone Trailer for Sale

8' Sno Cone trailer complete with what's left of accessories and extensive pornography collection. A steal at 1,200.00. Usually goes brand new for over 6K (the sno-cone trailer not the porn collection).

Comes with free Camel and Habib Van with a cool bumper sticker.

Death By Camel Toe

R.I.P. (Rest In Pussy) Hannoush Bin-Ladin 1962-2006.

A tragic accident at the park today. Really don't know how to explain it except for just telling it like it is.

Turns out Hannoush was a fucking pervert. He figured out when he was dating Amy from the Wack-A-mole that he could check out ladies' bosoms as they wacked the moles. Meanwhile, back at the bat-cave, Helga (aka..the resident bearded lady) also figured out (simultaneously) that if she sat on the wack-a-moles after hours...she could..how you say in English.....I dunno...get the "moles in both holes?"

Yea.. you know what I'm saying.

So it's after dark, and Helga is sitting on the Wack-A-Mole machine with a stein of German lager...and Hannoush decided to up the ante by taking the back of the Wak-a-Mole machine off. Well, as he strained to get a better look into Helga's "mole-habitat"...a piston comes up, making one of the "moles" whack Hannoush in the chin..violently thrusting his head firmly into her gant.

Apparently, the death throes of a goat-licking camel-fucker are greater than the cordless Bunny Pearl. Helga had the greatest orgasm of her life. And as Hannoush prepared to meet Allah, he realized, there's no such thing as 70 Virgins. And that the Koran never said anything about a giant clam suffocating you to death. Imagine dying in that kind of confusion. Allah-Akbar, indeed.

T and I heard the sirens and ran to see what all the commotion was about. The fireman showed up, with the jaws of life..but it was too late.

Helga was angry..she though she finally found THE ONE. Before us lay death, dissapointment, heartbreak and devastation - all accompanied by the entire Moose-Taint County Fire Department.

Do you want to know what the irony of all this is? The beared lady shaves her snatch. Go figure. If that's not enough to make you stand there at 1:20 am and scratch your ass in disbelief, nothing is.

The only good thing is the Wack-A-Mole machine was saved. And as soon as the Dollar Store opens in the morning, me and Amy are going to go get some Febreeze to Febreeze the moles. Cuz you know...we're all about customer service.

We'd like to dedicate this song to Hannoush....

Focusing on Cheech

I strained my back muscles a few days ago. Let's just say it involved me, Z, vodka and a stump. Well, this Chinee doctor comes to the stand sometimes, and he said he could fix it using this technique called an Accu-Punch-Here. Sounds a lot like voodoo, only the good doc is going to bypass the doll and stick pins directly in me. Methinks about it.....why the hell not?

So, this morning finds me laying down on a table, in my underwear, while Dr. Mai Phat Duc Dong sticks needles in me. Felt kinda tingly, like Pop Rocks in your blood. He looked at my tongue and checked my pulse, and told me my yang was to hot. Shit, tell me something I don't know. Said I need to eat more leafy vegetables to cool it off. I told him that was up to Zanna.

Well, while I'm laying there, Dr. Duc Dong begins telling me about this fad sweeping China, started by some guy named Feng Shooey. Apparently this Feng Shooey will come to your house and re-arrange your furniture, and put little mirrors all over the place to help people focus on Cheech. Love Cheech and Chong, and think its great the Chinee are learning about them.

But, it turns out that Cheech is some kinda energy, and that if your furniture and mirrors are placed just right, you can be more prosperous, and have better energy. And with a billion of those little guys wanting their furniture moved, I bet this Feng Shooey is gonna be so rich he can hire Bill Gates as a garden-boy.

Hmm, I wonder what Chong means?

Then Dr. Duc Dong pulled all the needles out, and damned if my back isn't as good as new! I'm all about the Chinee medicine now, except for those rancid herbs he told me to make into tea. Tastes like catshit smells, and looks like septic water.

When I told Zanna about the visit, she smiled from ear to ear. She's pretty smart about a lot of things, and went straight to Walmart to buy a bunch of mirrors to hang all over the bedroom, to "focus as much Cheech as possible on your Super-Hot Yang."

www.drjambo.com

So. Yea. The other day when we were at Stallion's place filming Uncle Guiseppe's dissertation...we let Jimmy use our laptop. And the first place he went? Porn (naturally). And the second place? Ebay. His purchase? Dr. Jambo's Penis Enlargement Cream.

Of course he had it sent to OUR P.O. Box at the fucking post office. So you can imagine my surprize when I go to pick up the mail. I'm like, "WTF...i can't BELIEVE T would spend his money on this shit" and then of course I had to go and think if I had made any corndog references at the stand that might have made him feel inadequate...that would have made him buy this crap. But there is no way because I always call him my 100% USDA Aproved Piledriver. Yea, it doesn't flow off the tounge when you read it but saying it when your riding the white pony that is Tranny...it rolls off.....screaming.

So I get back to the stand I just hold it up. Neither one of us had to speak words..it's all in the exchange of looks and body language. He's looking at me like, "YOU BITCH why did you buy that" and I'm giving that, "YOU BASTARD why did you buy this?" So mathematically, two negative looks equal one positive look. And that's when w we came to the realization.....JIMMY.

So T gets this look across his face-he's going to have FUN with this so he goes to the woods to see Jimmy to drop it off. And hits him with a mindblowing statment that is way BEYOND, "if there is a tree in the woods and no one is there to hear it, does it make a noise?"

"Dude...don't you think if you put this on your dick, then your hand is going to get bigger too?"

I love when he comes up with shit like that.

We Met Jesus' Brother Today.

There is this guy that me and T know by the name of Italian Stallion..good looking kid....comes by the stand every once in a while and just kind of leans against the stand to make it look like cool people like to eat corndogs. I also think he is the reason why the sales of the "ladie's corndog thong" are through the roof right now (and we have a new logo and I haven't uploaded it yet but we will have the new and improved thongs at the stand next week....shout out to Jane..whassup giiiirrrrrrrrrrl) But I digress...

Today, Stallion brought his uncle Guiseppe to the stand. Guiseppe is up from Brooklyn and we got to talking about the whole Hannoush incident and you know...Uncle Guiseppe is a smart motherfucker. Stallion always said he was but when you meet the guy, it's like.."whoa". He's got such a presence.

You know how sometimes a person will come along with advice and counsel so riveting that you actually feel like something inside you changed? Like you're eyes have been opened? (similar to but not EXACTLY like the feeling I sometimes get when I watch Martha Stewart and I think, why the fuck didn't I think of that).

Anyway, T asked Uncle G if he'd mind if we swung by Stallion's after we closed the stand, so that we could capture his valuable advice on video. If only Guiseppe was here during Corndog Code Orange.

Jesus has a brother, my friends. And he's a fat Italian man from Brooklyn.



Oh, and I'd also just like to thank T for being so nice to me and wrecking my personal plan of being a bitch all day. You sure know how to make a woman feel good about herself even when she's on the rag and wearing a hairnet. ; )

The Dog Food Diet

A word for those of you who haven't heard of BigJim: He is the richest guy I know, the inventor of the "Dog Food Diet". Yeah, THAT BigJim. For those of you who aren't health concious like Z and I, that is the most effective weight loss program since Atkins. Effective in its simplicity, it is based on common dry dogfood. You buy a large bowl, and fill it everyday. That is all you eat at first, dry dogfood and pure water....no human table scraps for you, buddy. The genius is in the diets simplicity. You eat as much as you want, whenever you want, but ONLY dry dogfood and water. As the weight comes off, you are allowed a half-can of wet dogfood twice a week. See, it is also a full body health plan, because after the first 6 weeks you are allowed a single rawhide once a day, or when you've been extra good, to help keep your teeth shiny. Later, once your fat-ass is svelte again, you are allowed egg yolks to help keep your hair shiny. Incredibly popular in Canada, Los Angeles and Miami, it is keeping models skinny, and saving the lives of lard-asses everywhere. Buy the book, fatso, he explains it much better.

And he made a fucking fortune with it. Said the idea came while pulling bong hits and watching his neighbors cockapoos hump.

I met BigJim years ago, at the Calgary Stampede. We were both broke and working as rodeo clowns. A rogue bull got loose and BJ was to heavily muscled to fit into the barrel, and was almost gored to death before I managed to distract the bovine, and we've been friends ever since. Here is a video of one of BigJim's finest moments. BigJim is..well...the big one. He's graceful. Graceful like swan.

DUI and Some Cross Border Fun

Good morning boys and girls, and a splendid day it is! Well, mostly. The good news always comes with some bad around here.

Last night was a blast, Zanna, Aunt's Sylvia and Flo, Jimmy and I all went to the "Stinky Pinky All Night Bump and Grind Country Bar" for libations and dancin'. I, personally, have white-boy disease, so I like to hold down the table and slug beers while watching the girls and Jimmy shake a leg. Zanna shimmies like a waterfall, and NO-ONE does some dirty boppin' like Flo and Jimmy.

Closing time came and went, and no one could stop Jimmy from taking one last spin in the truck. I thought I tackled him and took his keys, but Z says I missed my leap and roughed up some foliage instead. You can see the results of Jimmy's DUI test here.



I'll bail him out later. Good news: Our Canadian friend BigJim is on vacation, and will be swinging through Moose Taint County for some corndogs and good times. Everyone loves BigJim, but I think he read "Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy" one to many times, kinda takes the towel thing a bit literally. You'll see, eh?

Music to Dip Corndogs By

Oh what...like this wasn't going to happen eventually? We already have "Granny Gear" that we sell at the stand. I mean, who DOESN'T want a thong with a corndog on the front? It's our hottest seller.

Here's the T&Z imix album: Music to Dip Corndogs By. It's a very bizarre compilation. And, as you can see, it has an average rating of 5 stars. But it only has one vote. And that was me.

There are only 9 songs right now but it's kind of like..how you say in english...a "living imix" so it'll update as the blog progresses. Its basically just songs that we have linked to on this site (will have to add "where is the love" later) and some that will be linked eventually. You know you don't want it. It's crap. But you want to see it. So click here.

Where is the Love....

Just found out a couple of other ways today to piss off Hannoush. You put a a nice bright red bumper sticker that says, "MY OTHER CAR IS A CAMEL" on his fucking "Habib Van". You know, those vans that are synonymous with terrorism? Yea, those. We call them Habib vans. And we think you should too.

T also rigged up Hannoush's "boom-box" (not to be confused with my twat, which is what T and I like to call it) to play one song over and over again. He can't change it, can't turn it down and can't shut it off. T is like fucking McGyver with this shit- it's AWESOME. Nothing like seeing a VERY angry Muslim listening to this song, trying to keep his composure while he sells his sno-cones. Noooo sir.

And by the way.. Hurricane Sylvia hasn't hit yet. Sorry this post is so short but I have to go look for her. And T is sending me to Home Depot to get some stuff because he is currently creating a MASTERPIECE.

Winning the War Against Terrorism

Jihad may be afoot, but Hannoush is an asshole. And I think we are close to having him spontaneously combust. As you can see by the "anonymous" posts in the below thread, our subtle, but frequent ridicule have reduced him into a babbling mad-man.

He seemed so composed today at the sno-cone stand. Smiling at the children when they told him the sno-cones tasted like he smelled. Children can be so cruel...and even crueler when T gives them 1.00 each and to harass the fucking camel jockey. And we also had a secret weapon that we cashed in today.

We got hold of a video of Hannoush and his brother's most embarrassing moment as part of the Iraqi Resistance Movement. A moment we played on a loop on our laptop at the corndog stand. ALL FUCKING DAY. And you can clearly see, he's always been a sniveling retard. They wouldn't even let him be a suicide bomer. So much for Paradise and all your virgins, Hannoush. Everyone knows you'd cum in your pants before you got there anyway. Amy from the "Wack-a-Mole" game told us that you roll like that (whassup girl!!!!)

Anyway, Hannoush accused me today of having penis-envy. You know what I said? I said, "Hannoush, I'm GLAD I don't have a dick because then I'd have to fuck losers like you up the ass".

Here is the video of Hannoush being an idiot like usual. God, he's such a dumbfuck he makes me want to throw out all my pita bread.

Is This Considered Biological Warfare?

Let me preface this by saying that I have nothing against the people of the Middle East and their delicious gyro meat, I just hate the PTT. The PTT consists of 3 brothers: Hanoush, the sno-cone guy, Feisal, the falafal dude and Aladin, the devout Muslim owner of "All Pork, All the Time and Carpets".

It all started several years ago when Feisal decided to steal Zanna from me, by naming his eggplant dip Zannaganoush. Not being one to take a flagrant attempt at woman stealing lightly, I retaliated by placing "Falafal makes you Feel Awful" signs all over Moose Taint County. I also encouraged the locals to refer to Feisal as Weasal. And it stuck. I mean look at the guy, how could it not stick? The brothers three declared Corndog Stand the enemy at this point, and it has been scattered skirmishing ever since. Hannoush even called Z "Harlot of the Great Satan" at the Dollar General! She twisted his nose and introduced his sack to a 99 cent jar of out-dated Vienna sausages. Painful, and an understated social insult at the same time, Z has a subtle sense of immediate revenge.

Now, I am sure those fools have done something to Aunt Sylvias box....to easy....thinkin' it was for us . I can't open it til dear, sweet Aunty shows up with the key, and it is starting to smell funny. Like artichoke dip and old sex.

Those camel fucking goat lickers always announce the beginning of some Anti-Corndog jihad with Allah Akbar stickers, and this time I am having a pre-emptive strike.

The constantly mastubating cat (God, where does it ALL COME FROM!!!!) and the hummus recipe gave me an idea: Pussy in gloved hand, I went commando style into the falafal stand.

Someone better call Homeland Security, cause tomorrow's hummus is gonna have some Anthrax in it.

Question

Does anyone have any tips on how to get DNA off of stuff? And if it also works on grass stains that would be a bonus.

Thanks!

Corndog Code Orange - High Risk of Terrorist Attack

Let me just say this. On my PERSONAL Security Advisory System, I start at "guarded" not "low". "Low" shouldn't even be an option. T and I are at Code Blue during "REM"sleep, so I'm just letting that be known. Some would argue that makes "guarded" the new "low". But what I'm saying is that we're "guarded" 24/7. I'm rambling now. Sorry.

If we weren't forced to go by the national scale, T and I would currently be at code yellow, however, because we personally start at blue, we are currently elevated to "orange" or "high".

We have decided to elevate our personal terrorist level due to the fact that Sylvia has been MIA for the last day and a half and a "live animal" crate arrived, addressed to T, with a well-worn sticker on it that says, " Allah Akbah" and a recipe for hummus. We thought there was huge bag of suspicious white powder in it...but it turns out it was Sylvia's cat curled up in the back. So we named him Anthrax.

T is currently devising an evacuation route for us and ordering various "survival" items online. Me? I'm just going to the Dollar Store to get a squirt bottle so I can spray the cat. Because it masturbates in the corner. I am usually spunk-tolerant. Hell, NOBODY is more spunk-tolerant than me. But I draw the line at cat spunk.

T just walked by me saying we might be going to code red. He went in and shot this video of Anthrax - and listen to the music in the background. We don't play Middle Eastern music, okay? Just not down with it. AT ALL. You can't dance to it and there is usually too much going on in that kind of music and it makes the bones in my face ache. Seriously.

You don't have to be Nostradamus to see what's coming. With the "Allah Akbar" sticker, the hummus recipe and NOW the mysterious music? T always said that would be our PTT (Personal Terrorist Trifecta). He called it 3 years ago and he wrote it down. It's on a piece of paper in the visor on the driver's side of the Pinto. And here it is. It has come to pass.

Stay tuned. T is going into a zone right now. He makes me feel safe but at the same time I feel scared. And if you don't believe me about Anthrax, just look.

Hurricane Sylvia is En-route

Well, T just sat on the Pinto and went through the mail. We got a letter from the Kingston Gated Community with a video in it. Turns out, Aunt Flo has a sister..and her name is Sylvia, and Sylvia has been getting her bitch on with the neighbors at The Kingston. And the "association" has had a meeting and got her evicted. So, Sylvia and all her fucking doilies, efferdent and plastic covered furniture are heading in our general direction with an ETA of Saturday. Batton-down the corndog stand, because Hurricane Sylvia is en-route.

So I looked at this video a few times and I'm like, So..what..you call the cops on an old lady because she tried to burn your house down? Fucking SUCK IT UP. If I was old and some hoity toity bitch talked to me the way this chic is talking to Sylvia, I'd try to burn your house down too. Becuase I'm old and I was there first and I invented fire so I'll do what I want with it.

Billie Ronda's Famous Bourbon Franks

T and I don't like to post anything about hotdogs that's not battered and fried, but this sounded like a good recipe so I'm going to post it because we've got some Rachel Ray haters coming to the site and they probably would like to see a recipe or two. This is and EVOO Free recipe, bitches! Enjoy!

So, I was at the monthly "Ladie's Luncheon" yesterday and sat with Miss Billie Ronda (she's the one in front of the stuffed fox) and her daughter-in-law Felicia when we got to talking about the corndog stand and she told me about this recipe. And I'm not surprised it contains alcohol. I'm pretty certain that's a main staple in her diet. I'm going to write it verbatim as it is on the napkin she scrawled it on, except my comments on using 100% beef hotdogs and the hot tip on how refrigeration prevents food poisoning.

____________________________________________
1/2 cup good bourbon whiskey
1/2 cup tomato ketchup
3 tsp dark brown sugar
1 lb franfurters (Billie Ronda didn't say they had to be all beef but it's what T and I recommend)
Toothpicks

Stir together bourbon, ketchup and sugar in a pan set over low heat. Now put the heat up, but don't let it boil. Cut franks into bite-size pieces and add. Stir a bit, cover the pot and let sit on the back of the stove overnight (T and I recommenend putting it in the refrigerator overnight though - being in the food biz we're kind of sticklers like that). Next day, when you've got folks coming, just heat it up again without it bubbling. Then you've got yourself something - just make sure you've got toothpicks and a load of napkins for the drips. Toothpick 'em. Put on tray and surround with saltines.
____________________________________________


And just for the record. Something just dosen't feel right when you are eating lunch next to something that's been taxidermed. I don't know if that's the correct word for it. I should ask T and wait to publish this but I'm not going to. You know what I mean.

Update: Just saw Jimmy at Bunghole Liquors taking a leak on the side of the building, so I stopped to chat. Turns out that stuffed fox wasn't a centerpiece or table decoration. It's Billlie Ronda's "cat" and she takes it everywhere with her. I guess Jimmy was supposed to taxiderm her real cat when it died but it's body got stolen (T said Jimmy got drunk and did something to it with fireworks) and he replaced it with the fox and she doesn't even notice the difference. I can't wait to get old and not give a fuck anymore.

Jesus Needs a New Mechanic

As you all know, Jimmy our mechanic has a very special bond with the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Being that T and I are still feeling guilty about the time we freaked him out with the "I will Survive" Jesus Video (which we thought would cheer him since he was still shook up from the "monster pig" incident).

So when we came upon this article, we HADTO show it to Jimmy. Turns out Jesus Cristo (pronounced in my head at the current moment as HEY-SUESS CREEE-STO so read it that way) is looking for a new mechanic because Gus Feigurt is an asshole.

Which first of all, can I just say, even I knew not to go to Gus Feigurt when I jacknifed the Pinto that time and knew it was better to go with the wierd guy at the deli who turned out to be Jimmy. But it just goes to show you know one really knows what the fuck is up when it comes to mechanics. So anyway, T brought the article to Jimmy. And now I'm not sure if we did Jimmy a favor or not. It's not every day you get to work on Jesus' ride..and Jimmy only works on domestic..and we're kind of thinking J.C. drives a foreign car.

So I'd like to just say, J.C., if you are reading this...please give Jimmy a chance. He's a little wierd but he means well. And thank you for helping us win the corndog competition. And bless T and all the "Corndogians" that stop by the stand and the people who read and post comments on our site. And if you could please kill Hannoush the guy with the sno-cone stand, I would appreciate it. Amen.

To read Jesus' rant, click here. And fuck you Gus Feigurt!

No Time for Losers, Cuz We Are the Champions...

This is going to be a brief post because if you think I'm missing out on any of the party that is going down tonight, you've got another thing coming.

BUT...WE WON!!!! T did it! Just like he said he would! Our corndog scene "Korntrina' won first place today at the corndog festival! We won 500.00 and T is walking around like he's the King of All that is Corndog! He's so happy right now,...singing "We are the Champions" and swaying back and forth by the bonfire holding his trophy. I would say "ours" but he's been so focused and diligent and determined..this is all his, it really is. Korntrina might have been my idea but he made it happen.

So feast your eyes on our winning styling.... it is of social and political importance...it's based on last year's devistating hurricane, Katrina. We call it: Korntrina. Look at the detail people. Look how T made the car look submerged. You can almost sense the desparation in that corndog in the front. His little arms out...wandering, searching....

KORNTRINA
The Looters and the Leavers

And here is a picture of Everett and Mary getting ready to present T with the first place trophy:

Tomorrow, me and T are going to Lowes and we are getting some wood and some plexiglass to make a trophy case for the corndog trailer. Life is good, my friends. THIS, is what it's all about.

E=MC Hammer

Ok, it has been a crazy few days, Zanna and I have been busy correcting a few glaring errors in Mr. Einsteins Theory of Relativity. As Z posted previously I was beginning to have my doubts about the accuracy of E=MC squared, while preparing an entry for the annual Corndog Festival.

Ok, a quick aside about our entry....it is gonna win this year. Our entry is a brilliant effigy of hope, humanity, soul and submerged penii. Zanna, being the soft touch that she is, convinced me that we should make a statement about Americana's hopes and dreams this year, and after a merciless hot-oil debate, I agreed. Her silver tongue just slipped the debate in her favor. She is such an idealist, always volunteering with children and others. Why, just last week, she taught an entire boy scout troop to squirt milk from their noses! Without sneezing!

Anyhoo.......

For those of you not familiar with Einstein's most noted work, allow me to give a glimpse into how it is used to make corndogs. Mass of the weiner coupled with Cornmeal batter Squared is equal to the Eatability of the completed corndog. Brilliant in its simplicity. Until I experimented with merely doubling the cornmeal batter. The result is sheer genius, if I do say so myself. And I do. Roughly .41766% less batter is used, creating a 58.234% meatier taste, while at the same time saving product AND making the corndog even more delicious! And you didn't think that was possible. How many times have you bit into a sub-standard corndog at a second rate fair and thought "Where is the delicious wiener flavor, I didn't order cornbread?" Not from Corndog Trailer, not EVER! Nothing but delectible wiener with the precise amount of fluffy coating, served on the most wonderful invention, a stick. For our discerning customers, nothing but the best.

So, in essence "Einstein", perhaps you should look into E=MC(2). You are using way to much cornmeal to make those friggin bombs.

Boy, all this thinking has made me want to go have a 40 with Z on the Pinto, and maybe look into differences in the Coefficient of Gravity and it's effects on the overall corndog cooking process.

And maybe boogy to some "U Can't Touch This" in honor of helping physicists worldwide in their work. Cause, Mr. Einstein, wherever you are, you can't touch my newly improved and diligently battered weiner!

Turkey Bologna Still on the Hoof/Go Italia!

Ok, Zanna finally dragged me away from my corndog project, she said I needed some fresh air. We get down by the river, and she's all playfull, wants me to cover my eyes and count to 30 while she goes and hides. Twenty-eight counts later, I open my eyes, and she is still standing right in front of me. Butt-nekkid. Oh my. Nothing to do carry her to the nearest tree-stump and spend some time frightening the wildlife.

Well, after a while, we come up for air, and are laying in the grass, enjoying the sunshine, when we hear something crashing out in the woods, heading our direction. Moments later, the hugest 12-point buck I have ever seen runs through the clearing. Moments after he disappears from sight, who should show up but Jimmy. He's running, shrieking "Here Kitty, Kitty!" at the top of his lungs, the shotgun pointed backwards over his shoulder, and throwing Pez from a feedbag. Yes, he is naked. Mostly. Zanna said, in an amused way "Did he seriously duct-tape his johnson to his leg?" In a way, it makes sense, running naked tends to bruise the nutsack.

Seeing that enormous buck is making me reconsider hunting season this year. I haven't hunted in a few years, due to moral and ethical concerns. Not my concerns, mind you, but the moral and ethical concerns of the Moose Taint County Sheriffs Department. I mean, really, I keep explaining that just because my AK has a 50 round clip doesn't mean I'm going to use all those bullets in one deer!

Anyway, that was this morning, and I just snuck away from the impromptu street party in town to borrow some wi-fi and write this: Italy won the World Cup. Now, any time the French lose is a cause for celebration, but more so if the local register-jockey at the liquor store is an ex-OSS agent with one leg...named Eileen. When Z and I first got to town to pick up some well-deserved Sunday 40's, Eileen was already in fine form, dancing a sort of hoppity jig with her own leg. That's right, she popped her own prosthetic off to dance with it, singing to the tune of "Amore" her own rendition "Team Italia makes me high, like a big pizza pie (covered in) marijuana. MARIJUANA!". She then started throwing free booze to the crowd, and asking people of French decent to step forward, so she could bean them in the head with her peg. After all "If head butting is good enough for the Italians, you frogs can taste my stump!"

Well, Z and I were happy to swill free booze, and I am of Italian decent, so in the spirit of things, I began handing bottle rockets out to whom-ever wanted to light some off in celebration. You may want to watch this.



I gotta get back, who knows what will happen next!

Get Well Soon, Aunt Flo!

We all know how much Aunt Flo loves to party. We also know she gives blowjobs for cash to supplement her monthly social security check.

Well, last week during the festival (how we missed her at the festival T and I cannot even FATHOM)... she fucked her neck up doing keg-stands. And because of the neckbrace, she can't "perform" her usual duties so she had to get a for-real paying gig and she is NOT happy about it.

T and I love you lots, Aunt Flo!! God willing and the creek don't rise, you'll be back on your knees in no time!!

BREAKING NEWS: E may not equal MC2!!

So, I was on my way down to WalMart to get some Massengil when I'm stuck at the train tracks because this freight train was taking FOR-FUCKING-EVER. And I see this guy.

And I'm conflicted.

Part of me wants to run this ass-clown down for basically calling me a dick (yea, I'm taking the sign personally) and part of me wants to give him money because it says "God Bless" on the sign. But I'm not giving him shit because he didn't capitalize the G in God and so that's how I can justify why I'm not giving him anything but a dirty look and the finger as soon as traffic starts moving again (hey, I'm not as stupid as I look but who could be).

So me and T are taking a break from the corndog stand this weekend. We basically need to hose it down and air it out after last weekend's Festival. But its good because it gives us time to work on our new project. T entered us in the 2006 corndog festival contest where you make a scene out of nothing but corndogs. It can be anything. Last year, we came in third with our rendition of "Neverland". We should have won. But apparently our "corndog children" weren't realistic enough because they weren't anatomically correct. Give me a fucking break. T said we're putting penises (or is more than one penis, penii?) on EVERYTHING this year.

THIS SHOULD HAVE WON.

And you may ask yourself, "why hasn't T been posting lately." I'll tell you why. This man is so driven about this contest. He's not himself at all. He just sits on the hood of the pinto sketching out our "master plan" and thinking about what we are going to enter into the contest this year. He's hunkered down. He's not eating. He's not tapping my ass. I even heard him mumble something about how Einstein was full of shit and that E does NOT equal MC2. And if it doesn't...that means we have to change how we make our corndog batter because we based it mainly on the theory of relativity.

Jimmy is back from "sabbatical"

Well, a few posts ago, you might remember that Jimmy has been MIA. We did set a trap for him in the woods, with a pack of turkey bologna and a six pack of Canadians under it but he never showed. Which worked out because we ran out of beer at the festival and went back and got them before they skunked.

Jimmy re-appeared at the festival a new man...telling T he was on "sabbatical". T told me later the "sabbatical" was really just the time the cops had Jimmy in protective custody but that Jimmy thought it was detox and now felt he was clean and sober enough to start drinking again. You know, a fresh start.

Well Jimmy wanted to celebrate that he was now born-again and he went and got some fireworks. He might have been born again but alls I know is he was born again stupid. If we knew this show was going to happen, we would have sold corndogs at it. Maybe even Cornbasa. You can see T at one point start towards the clusterfuck but then stops. You can hear me ask, "Is that Jimmy's truck" near the end to which some little kid gleefully replies, "YEA!"

Fuck those coordinated, orchestrated fireworks...this HERE is entertainment. Man I fucking love this town.

Rock out with your Cock out!

Thats Cock with a capital C baby. Wow....you ever have one of those weekends when you are GLAD it's fucking over? Well, I just came from one. We ran out of hotdogs at a critical juncture and T was SOMEWHERE at the festival during said juncture in nothing but a kilt and our BJs card so I could't go get then in bulk. So I ended up going to the local place and ended up making Cornbasa and Cornwurst. Which we were able to charge more for (ca-ching!!!!). Necessity is the mother of invention, bitches! Pay me!

Can I also just throw in how the little things T does makes me smile? Like when he's drunk and thinks its sexy to approach me with his kilt up and his erect penis dipped in corndog batter. Rock out with your cock out baby! I get all the perks. ; ) I love my job. And I love it more when I don't worry about how sanitary the batter is. I can't even tell you how good it is to just have that devil-may-care, "that couldn't possibly be a pubic hair in your corndog, ma'am I think that's YOUR eyelash" feeling. It was a "throw your hairnet to the breeze' kind of weekend.

Speaking of which...get a load of this bitch in front of our corndog stand rocking out to Sammy Hager's, "There's Only One Way to Rock". What a whore. A dirty, dirty drunken whore. (try to ignore T's conversation with one of our customers about something he heard on NPR and old people in Mexico...). It always comes back to Mexico with him..........love ya, babe!

Corndog Trailer is Gonna Rock the Home Field

Well, the town Z and I live in may not be as exciting as Indianapolis, or even Jacksonville, but our city council pulls something out of their ass every once and again. This time it is a 4rth of July music festival they are calling "The First Annual Musical Bridge Festival" I don't know who came up with that stupid name, but it is a 4-day punk rock/reggae spectacular. On the reggae side they brought in Burning Branch, Rusted Root, Shanti Groove and the Kenny Rastas are Roasted. I only heard the first few names on the punk end before I was hollering with excitement, and didn't catch the rest: The AB Fucking Hates You Revival, Rancid and The Drop Kick Murphy's!!!! They also said "Manny Moore" would be playing, but I've been to a zillion concerts those cats were supposed to play at, and I've never seen them take the stage.

I'm not sure what an influx of hippies mixed with a contigent of skinheads will be like, but Corndog Trailer is ready with some easy-to-hold while moshing or groovin' food.

The 'Murphys! I can't believe it! I gotta go dig my kilt out of storage, I hope Zanna didn't modify it into that school girl uniform she was parading around in last night. And by "parading", I mean gyrating. For all of 15 seconds until I could get to her.

J.K. Rowling is a Crazy Bitch

Right. I just read on the Yahoo! news that J. K. Rowling has considered killing off Harry Potter in the last book. WHAT?

Everyone knows that magic, house elfs, basilisks, giblets of fire, (I ADORE Bbq giblets) all of that no longer happens, and that shit only happened during the Middle Ages. Thusly, Harry Potter is an historical documentary, not a work of fiction as Rowling has come to believe. I don't know where the fine line between brilliant historian, and psycho nut job lays, but JK has clearly crossed it.

I understand that certain historians get a bit to attached to their work, but seriously, an historian as driven as Rowling? Someone who has made history accurate and fun enough that even children wish to read it, again and again? For shame, Rowling, for shame, you no more have the "power" to "kill off your creation" than I have the power to pull bong hits with Ghengis Khan and Cleopatra. And how cool would that be?

Well in other news, Zanna has gone to the Piggly Wiggly to buy a whole pound of Turkey Bologna, she has this idea to lure Jimmy out, Bugs Bunny Style, and catch him in a box. The plan becomes a bit hazy as to what to do with him then, but I just want her to be happy. And, watching her bent over, tying string to a stick, to pull out the box makes ME happy. Cause those are some short shorts. And it takes her forever to tie a knot. And she doesn't mind me coming up behind her, to "help with this little bit of string you got here"

I am a lucky, lucky bastard

I love this town and oh yea, Jimmy is MIA

You know, just when you think you want to pack up the corndog trailer and the pinto and start fresh....you see things like this that really make you realize there's no place like home. And of course as soon as we saw the sign, we looked at each other, smiled and T pulled a u-ey so fast I actually spilled my beer. That there is the worst form of alcohol abuse!

We had a great night. I got drunk and danced my ass off for T to all his favorite songs on the jukebox..then decided to give him a lapdance in the corner of the bar to this song (it's called "get inside" by Johnny A..I thought I was being sooo fucking coy with that one..yea, baby...get inside..get inside ME..you know you want to..).

The only thing is, in hindsight...why is it I feel compelled to:

1. sing into my bud bottle
AND
2. Hold it up over my head like the fucking statue of liberty when I dance.

At the time, I'm the sexiest motherfucker this side of the equator. And yet, the next day....there is this sense of shame.

But get this...so we saw Jimmy in the parking lot on the way home and he was still complaining about how that vision of a monster pig eating Jesus was haunting him. So T said, "c'mon with us and we'll drive the pinto to the top of that hill where we can latch onto someone's wi-fi and I'll show you something to get that vision out of your head". I figured we were gonna go look at porn.

Anyway make a long story short, we showed him this video and me and T were laughing so hard by the end of the video that we barely realized that the pinto door was open and Jimmy was gone. Then again, maybe we just told him to leave. It's really just a blur for me. But I think he's missing. If you have a sighting, please call: 1-334-756-3336.

Yet Another Reason to Hate Mimes

I have to admit, I am a little worried about Jimmy waiting for a deer with that shotgun. First, I am wondering if he knows which end of the boom-stick is which. Second, I hope he has deer slugs in that thing, because if he thinks buckshot is for bucks, this is going to be real messy. And we all know who Jimmy is going to drag that deer to, for skinnin' and Turkey Bologna makin'. Me. Hell, it's not even deer season.

Being the civic-minded good Samaratin that I am, I headed over to the liquor store to find out if Jimmy was alright. Zanna took the Pinto to Walmart (something about needing wax for the taco, I guess we're having Mexican for dinner), so I took the Beast of Burden in. Like Zanna says, nothing like the feel of some powerful wood between your legs.

I bought a couple 40's, and questioned the register jockey, Peg-Leg Eileen as to whether there had been any unusual ambulance activity. So far, so good, Eileen, balancing on her one good leg, said a couple of truckers saw an empty pile of bottles and an empty pair of shorts by the road, and no Jimmy.

Then, since it was slow, Peg-Leg Eileen decided to regale me with the tale of how she lost her leg: "Aarrgh, it was during the war, I was part of the OSS team dropped behind German lines outside of Paris. We were trying to bolster some resistance among the Frenchies, when a single German soldier appeared out of nowhere. I was unprepared for the bold French reaction, didn't realized an entire infantry regiment could turn and run so fast. They left behind a small mime-field to distract the German. I was so infuriated at the "man-trapped-in-a-box" routine that I kicked the first mime in the head, and it bit me. By the time I shook it off, it'd left a pretty good wound. Of course, all the clean, white bandages had been made into surrender flags, so I caught the gangrene, and had it amputated below the knee. Imagine, a regiment surrendering to what later turned out to be a lost German Army Potato Peeler, First Class. With a speech impediment and a mop as his only armaments. Fucking frogs."

I'm going home, the hammock beckons. The true horror of war is to much.

Pssst...your "jimmy" is hanging out...

Usually when I tell T his Jimmy is hanging out, he looks down, smiles then tackles me.

But this time, it's different. T and I were almost home when we came upon Jimmy just sitting there hanging out, on 2 cases of fine Canadian lager and holding a shotgun by a deer crossing sign.

I guess seeing a monster pig eat Jesus can have a profound effect on a man. He says if being a "vegetarian" was going to land him in jail, he was giving it up.

That's right, you heard it here first (as opposed to the 5:00 news)...Jimmy has made the executive decision that he isn't going to live off of wooodland mushrooms anymore and has decided he's going to shoot himself a 12 point buck and turn it into turkey bologna.

We just drove away at that point...T didn't have it in him to explain that turkey bologna wasn't made of venison. Not after my reaction when T told me the corndog at Buddahland was actually made of tofu. It was ugly. And I don't want to talk about it.

But you KNOW that Jimmy will go back to eating mushrooms....it's like when me and T drink too much and we wake up the next day, look at each other and say, "I'm NEVER drinking again.....until tomorrow."

Best Analogy Ever

This must be how a parapalegic guy feels when he's getting a blow job.

Eating a Buddahland corndog fucking sucks. You know your eating it...you know you are supposed to enjoy it.

And yet, I don't feel a fucking thing.

Tossing for Buddha

Ok I had to come clean about the whole panty incident, and not by choice, either. While Z was asleep last night, I saw Budddha Land Amusement Park, and pulled into the parking lot for the night, we have to go check it out. Anyplace that bills itself "Terrify your way to the one, true light" is ok by me, and Zanna loves coasters.

We woke up on the hood of the Pinto, refreshed and rarin' to go, went back to Corndog trailer, opened the door, and.....Out jumps Freakshow Joe, screaming "Take this, corn-crotch!!!" and covers the two of us in silly-string, before escaping into Buddha Land.

I explained to Z that I had caught the little bastard red-handed, deep frying the panties, but I let him go for 2 reasons:

A: I was laughing so hard at him standing on 3 crates of cornmeal I couldn't beat his ass, and

B: Well, she did stuff him in a dryer, shower him in Miracle-Grow, video him dancing naked and made him carry us shots of Jaeger on his head until she finally passed out. (She is so cute when she is unconcious, all sprawled in every direction, looking vulnerable)

I told him it would be our secret, but as everyone already knows, Never Trust A Midget. I forgot about the 1/2 life of their mini-promises.

Anyway, I bet he is hiding around either the Self-Immolation Mine Ride, 7-Fold Gate of Death or the Sherpa This! Free Fall. And, I totally want to see what the Deli-Lama is selling for lunch, may have some good ideas. Can't wait for the place to open, dare-devil rides and a midget to toss.

Jimmy Funny Like Bob Hope

We finally had cell phone signal for like 10 minutes when we got a frantic call from Jimmy. Apparently he "foraged" and found a particular strain of a certain fungus that made him trip his ever loving socks off. And when he was alone and naked in the woods....saw a monster pig eat Jesus.

Well, being the good citizen that he is, Jimmy proceeded to the Grace Church to alert all of the Good Lord's followers that the second coming of Jesus was abruptly ended by a giant Sus scrofa domesticus. And no-fucking where in the Bible did it EVER say that.

So, while at the Grace Church Jimmy decides to fix the sign out front - you know...cuz the way he figures it the non-believers should be alerted - "cuz that there is the Christian thing to do"...and everyone knows non-believers like to eat at Denny's so they'll pass the Grace Church en route.

Anyway, Pastor Dan defended himself against Jimmy in the only way he knew how and it was to throw Holy Water at him. And now Jimmy thinks he's on fire so T stayed on the phone with him for over an hour convincing him if was on fire, he'd be dead by now.

The police are there - and there is a monster pig...but turns out it was just the one that got stolen from the Easter Seals Camp. No sign of Jesus though. Which sucks because I would have wanted his autograph. He was so hot in The Passion of the Christ. What he wasn't? He so was.

Short Note about Panty-Battering

What is it about Walmart? The fact that they have absolutely everything you need to survive just turns Zanna on!

Speaking of whom, I am writing a quick note, while she is off to "fertilize the Super Fund Site", as she likes to call using public restrooms. I need to sneak off and surprise her with some sexy new under-duds as well.

I am having quite some fun, watching her try and figure out how her other sexy-things got the corn dog treatment.

She should know by now that No-One batters her panties but me...

Off to find a lingerie store to see what 50 bucks and a coupon will buy.

Take the Long Way Home

We're at the Starbucks/Barnes And Noble bookstore making a pitstop right now. So, I'm having an espresso and he's in getting a Rand McNally map. They have wi-fi here so I thought I'd sit down and post a little something.

True to one of my favorite Supertramp songs, we're taking the long way home (that harmonica riff gives me the chills and makes me close my eyes and rock my head back and forth like Stevie Wonder). Anyway, this trip feels like a vacation.

Last night we stopped at Wal*Mart to watch American Chopper in the sight and sound department. We got a couple of chairs out of lawn and garden and kicked back. I love how people look at us when we pull that shit. Anyway, they were out of Pemmican Beef Jerkey and we had to settle for Oberto brand. Which T was not happy about but I told him, I said..."baby..if beef jerkey is the only thing you have to worry about right now, then we're doing GOOD".

That's when I noticed he was getting a hard-on. So in my usual sexaaaay-style I said, "oh, no baby..it's swelling up...maybe you have an infection...I think I need to suck out the poison".

Then we went into sporting goods and did it in the tent. BOING CHICKA BOING BOING. When we were done, I'm thinking I have him where I want him...you know in the "afterglow" and this might be a good time to hit him up on why my panties were all in that corndog batter. I'm figuring while we are at Wal*Mart I could probably get some new ones. So I asked him...and all he did was smile that evil little grin, kiss me on the forehad, put his pants back on and walk back out into Sight and Sound.

DAMNIT!

Between that and this American Chopper Build a Bike game I am starting to get a little....mad. Not midget-melee mad, but you know? I have a right to know why my panties were in corndog batter, don't I???

Videos from Yesterday

T asked me to post these before we hit the road. He video taped the "dancing girls" above while I, in my most drunken state, videotaped what is below 4 rousing seconds of midget ass. (T says I did that AFTER the dryer incident). I don't know and I can't remember but I'm sure it seemed like a good idea at the time. God. I don't even KNOW me. I wasn't going to post it but T said it was the only way to make sure everyone got the full weekend 'experience.'

Good Times.....good times....

Well, from what T told me, I had a fucking ball last night. I got so drunk after we closed the stand and the last thing I remember was putting "Freakshow Joe" into the dryer. "A REAL man can handle the permanent press cycle" says me. I remember fucking ROARING laughing when I heard the thuds and the cursing. I pressed my face up against the dryer and yelled, "the only reason I didn't put you in the washing machine is cuz you can't wash off ugly!"

Then I remember T holding my hair when I got sick. Then I just gently faded to black after that. Or maybe not so gently. You'd have to ask T.

I'm sorry I can't make this post much longer for the moment but I have to #1 - take a shower #2, help T load up the trailer and #3 - find out who dipped ALL my panties in corndog batter. Only to notice all my signs that say, "Cordog man's best friend" have been crossed out and have a doodled picture of panties with the phrase "Nickers - it's so satisfying" Obviously a take off on my fried snickers yesterday.

But I will say this...despite the fact that I have to go commando today (which is really normal, I only wear panties for special occasions anyway) we had a FUCKING ball on this trip. I love T, he's so good to me. Never gives me shit when I'm being crazy unless it's really for my own good. And even then, he's good about it. I can hear him outside now, he's helping this older lady fix the flat on her Sno-cone trailer so she can head out. I guess it got impaled during the midget melee yesterday.

A Small Incident at Noon

The most awesome thing happened today! Zanna and I got to witness high-noon midget warfare! I would have paid for a show like this!

The Mini-Crips showed up from Lower South Central, at the exact same time the Half Pint of Bloods arrived from Little 8-Mile. Both gangs were intent on one goal: Stealing those tiny sportscars the Shriners are driving at an exhibition at the track.

They were all swaggering, and drinking 6 ouncers, words were exchanged, tempers flared, they were very short with each other. In a small amount of time pocket knives and tricycle chains were pulled, and a general melee ensued. Z and I were jumping up and down with excitement, you should have seen those tiny little guys go after each other. We saw a midget toss another midget!!! The Shriners managed to escape during the confusion, I hope those pics of their terror-filled flight from a carpet of munchkins come out. After a little while, the security guards showed up, but most of the mini-gangsters were already hiding in spare tires and flower pots.

The regular midget population, bless their tiny souls, refuse to let this incident tarnish the sporting event. They are buying mini-dogs, small fries and deep fried Snickers Bites, Zannas newest invention. Those things are gooey-delish. As a bonus, for at least this race, people have larger than usual smiles on their faces. Z refuses to waste anything, so we are using the shroom' oil to fry things until it runs out....

This is one of the many reasons I can't live without her; great ideas and a rockin' chassis.

Sunday Sunday Sunday!

<<----- (Map we got to tell us where to put the trailer). It's Sundayl We got here to Michigan, oh I'd say early this morning around 2:00 am. My baby is so tired..he insisted on doing all the driving (probably because the LAST time I drove, I turned the pinto on it's side). So this morning I thought I'd give him a little extra "sumpthin' sumpthin' to relax him and set the day on a positive note. (insert porn music here)

I guess there was some crazy shit going on here last night and the fried dough guy said he made a killing yesterday - more than he's ever made at the MIS (Michigan International Speedway). And the crazy shit I mentioned?...we heard (to T's MAJOR delight) that there has been some midget gang-warfare in the area. So I just backed up our digital camera photos and made room for what could be....some of the best fucking photo ops ever.

We've got a very busy day ahead of us. I'm considering deep-frying Snickers bars. No one is doing them here. The return on investment would be huge. We can charge 4.00 for what costs us about 1.30 to make.

Gotta go....I have to go put up the "CORNDOG, MAN'S BEST FRIEND" signs all around. T is out right now in the parking lot putting them on windshields so I better have SOMETHING accomplished by the time he get's back.

Jimmy Comes Through

Zanna and I are STOKED!!! We got a call from Jimmy bright and early this morning, he was talking a mile a minute, but I eventually understood the Pinto was done. We walked out to the "garage", and there it was, whole again, and purring like a mountain lion ear deep in deer guts!

Jimmy had taken the duct tape and cotton balls off his damaged goods to let them air....eeww, I hope he travels south for the winter, things could be bad with no pants around here. Time to payup, Zanna was starting to count the fat Geico cash out when the following conversation ensued:

Jimmy: "Nooo, dudes, that is what the Maaaan wants."
Tranny: "We owe you for fixing the Pinto."
Jimmy: "I'm all about the barter system, man."
Zanna: "I think he wants more turkey bologna, T."

In the end we wound up paying for the parts in cash, 2/3rds of a lb. of turkey bologna, a sack full of corndogs, the socks Zanna was wearing and we deep-fried the rest of his bag of shrooms. I asked Jimmy if he was worried about the deep frying taking away some of the "magic" of the mushrooms, and his reply was "Dude, you don't get it, now, even the shrooms will be Fried!"

Can't argue with logic like that.

Road Trip!

T wouldn't let me go with him this morning to go see Jimmy so I'm stuck here making "ad signs" for this weekend. I'll be honest with you I am STOKED for this road trip! We'll be heading out later today to go to Michigan and I can't fucking WAIT! I woke up this morning with this song in my head...Probably got stuck there from that commercial the song is always on.

Anyway, T decided we needed to up-the-ante so we upgraded to 100% ALL BEEF Franks for the corndogs after he read this article. He's always thinkin, that one. It's that kind of fast thinking that got us the corndog trailer to begin with.

So like I said I just made these signs that say "corndogs - man's best friend" You know why? Meat on a stick is the #1 way to go when you are holding a 32oz Bud Draft, that's why. There is no need to put down one to manage the other. The only decision you need to make is left hand or right hand. Ambidextrous eating. It's practical.

And I'll tell you something else...you put a guy eating salmon next to a guy eating a corndog and who is having the most fun? Not the salmon eater with his little paperplate on his docker shorts keeping his knees together so he can cut his fish. Take a look at your corndog man. Free to flail at any given moment . God Bless America.

Anyway, that's going to be the marketing strategy for this weekend. And I have my own personal strategy for my man and me this weekend.....it's called "the cornDONG".

At Least Bring the Pinto Flowers

Well, being the trusting s.o.b. that I am, I had to go sneak into the woods, and see what Jimmy was doing with Pinto. Zanna wanted to go, but I was like "Baby, if you could only swing through the woods like you swing on that pole...." She got the idea of putting on some stilletos and thigh-highs, to see if that would help. I told her I'd be back in an hour, but the shoes and stocking were a fucking GRAND idea.

A little while later and I'm watching Jimmy work and wishing that guy owned some pants. At least his junk was hidden by the cotton balls and duct tape we used to stop the bleeding from that tree/sack incident. He keeps screaming "Magical Faery Dust of the Mechanic Gods!!!" and wiping his nose with a pinecone. Pretty sure that "faery dust" was made in a bathtub by a toothless 19 year old. Not that it matters, he's working like he's possessed, and polishing each part before installation. He better remember to stop gratuitously rubbing his package on the engine block when he test starts the engine.

Then it hits.....why the fuck am I sitting in a bush, watching a naked man work on/hump a car, when Z wants to walk in the woods in damn near nothing? Somedays the elevator just don't go to the top floor.

When second thoughts are one thought too late

Well, the 2-for corndog dinner sale was a raging success and we sold them in record time. Which was good because I was nervous to go into the woods to see Jimmy and I just wanted to get it over with. I know, I know...this Jimmy thing was MY idea. But the only way I can explain it is like....you know when sometimes NIGHT will make you think it's a good idea to sleep with someone but then DAY tells you otherwise? Like that. Except reversed. Because now it's night.

I'm just glad T had the foresight the other day to tell the towing guy to put the Pinto where he did. Because that hill really made it easier for us to get some momentum when we had to push it to the "garage".

So, we get there and leave the pinto by the side of the road and we head on into "Jimmyland". I have to say, I'm always impressed by T's maneuverability in the woods. He's quick and stealthy...moves like a cat, I tell you. And even though I WATCHED him step over the tripwire, guess who tripped over it? Yea, that would be me. T scratched his ass in disbelief and looked down at me incredulously and all I could say is, "I'm graceful like swan, no?" He knew he didn't need to answer that.

So then T makes the woodland creature noise. In our anticipation, the silence of the woods seemed almost loud and then Jimmy pops up out of nowhere, NAKED...gets in both our faces and goes, "do you know where you are? You're in the jungle baby...you're gonna diiiiie..." I said, "oh my God, I love that song" and then T elbowed me and told me he wasn't singing and be serious.

Jimmy then bounds out in front of us and shimmy's up a fucking tree. Now, you think I'm wierd...I'm sitting here thinking that's fucked up, I wasted a 1/2 pound of turkey bologna on this guy, the pinto is NEVER going to get fixed in time and all T can say is, "How much you wanna bet he just WRECKED his nuts on that tree". I said, "five bucks". Game on!

Anyway, turns out Jimmy ate some "mushrooms" and once he came down from the tree and the shrooms, he said he could fix the Pinto in time for our trip to Michigan. T and Jimmy pushed the Pinto into the woods where Jimmy's shed was and we can come back and get it later tomorrow.

And as it turns out, I lost the bet and ended up owing T 5.00. Jimmy done scratched up his undercarriage but good.

I am SO dying to listen to some Guns n Roses now. Remember that song..."I used to love her, but I had to kill her..." Yeaaaaa. Good times. I'm making a mix for the ride to Michigan.

Jimmy Called

T finally got a call from Jimmy. He called from the payphone down next to Bunghole Liquors (you can't make this shit up, people). T said he sounded a little incoherent.

We made and "appointment" to meet Jimmy at his garage in the woods after we closed down the stand for the evening. Apparently we have to make some woodland creature noise when we get past the tripwire. I only overheard part of the conversation...I'm letting T handle it. Because personally, I refuse to make noises like that unless he's got me on all fours. If I started just doing them randomly it would take all the sincerity out of it you know? Right? I can just picture it in my mind's eye right now. I'd do the noise and T would look at me like:

1. I was a whore or
2. "Oh, so you can make that noise anytime you want how do I know you aren't faking it you lying bitch"

And yes, I can get all that from a look.

I have to get back to the stand now. We're running a dinner 2-for special to get rid of the older hot dogs because T got a really good deal on better ones at Sam's yesterday.

Tequila and Tobacco

Holy shit what a night! I am so glad Aunt Flo came down from the trailer park to meet Zanna, all is good in the world. I can't believe they managed to do tandem keg-stands, what a sight to behold. Although Aunt Flo's skirt piling around her head brought back a few emotional scars I was trying to bury. Zanna was smoking Backwoods, A-Flo unfiltered Camels, I was snorting Copenhagen. Z tried to tell me to chew it, but I can read, it says "snuff" right on the can. Then the Cuervo came out. Flo was trying to show some ol' dance moves from her days waitressing at the "Dirty Pole" back in Amarillo. Zanna started telling jokes her mom had taught her, in Cubanese. And I, well folks, lets just say that no matter how big the umbrella, that flying shit from "Mary Poppins" was total special effects.

Well, I better stop puking into my coffe, it's going to be a busy day, I have to get on that crack-head mechanic about the Pinto, we need to be to Michigan International Speedway in 3 days, and the Corndog trailer isn't pulling itself.

Goin' with the "Flo"

USUALLY, when I say my "Aunt Flow" is in town I mean I'm on the rag. However....

After a long discussion this morning, Tranny decided I should meet Aunt Flo and get all this bullshit out of the way before the wedding. I had to agree. I can't help it. I just can't.

So T calls Flo and tells her to hoof it on down the stand. Now let me tell you something. Everyone has got their idea of what beauty is, right? And you know the old saying that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? Well, let me tell you something. There is nothing more beauteus than Aunt Flo in the distance in a pretty pale blue skirt and red lumberjack shirt...with a cigarette in her mouth...AND CARRYING A BEER BALL. I'm not being sarcastic. She should have been encased in some kind of luminous shroud with that HALLELUIA coming out of it.

Call me crazy, but I can almost see what T saw in her. She's a hot shit and she sure can shake what her mama gave her. I took this video of Flo getting down. I was drunk and laughing and now I can't figure out how to get it right side up so I figure it's just easier if you turn your head. You go Flo...You go.

Tales of Family Love and Spork

Goddamnit Les, you man-hating bitch, get off my Kool-Aid. I already told you Zanna is mine, all mine, and bringing up those old rumors will get you nowhere.

How to explain to Zanna about Aunt Flo? When I was younger, my foster parents had kicked me out. I won't go into all the details, but let's just say it involved their favorite cat, a Roman candle and the Moose-Taint County Fire Department. Good ol' Aunt Flo had the graciousness to allow her favorite nephew to stay. It was late one night, and Aunt Flo had been drinking more than usual, and she started asking me some personal questions, like "So nephew, do you know the proper way to kiss a girl?" She was on me like a drunken lion seconds later, trying to show me how to french-kiss, when some cousins showed up. Long-story short, Tranny and Flo are married, haunted the rest of my Junior High career.

I spent all morning sanding the new ride, I don't think Zanna enjoys me looking for splinters around the "playground" nearly as much as I do. I've been having some fun with her, asking if she "wants to take a spin on the woody" and "shall we put some gas in the hog". She smiles that little smile and starts unbuttoning her blouse, then stops and tries to decide what I mean. Thank god, she has so far decided that as long as the shirts part off....

Like we used to say about our ol' hound dog, Spork, Cute, but not so bright. I love her though. And I miss Spork, he would chase parked cars for hours.

Well, off to the Sam's Club, I hear they got a new shipment of all beef franks in, and I am just dying to see if they are good quality.

Wave "adios" to the Stray Mexican...

And say hello to fucking "Aunt Flo" and the INS.

It's been an eventful night, I will say that much. I closed down the stand and came back only to log on to the blog and see that we FINALLY had a comment. Dare I say out loud, that when I saw "1 Comment" under the "Turkey Bologna" post my nipples got hard. It's true. Then I clicked on it and hey immediately inverted upon reading about my Darling husband-to-be's "situation".

I'm not getting into it here but he better have a good explanation.

I'd like to take a moment to give a shout out to "leslie b ann" (cute handle, Les...) for the "hot tip" of the evening! (and Tranny, now you know who to blame for you not getting any tonight - fucker!)

So, anyway I went to go post back to Les but I heard something outside. Hearing the rapid amble under the guise of night....I knew instinctively.....trouble was afoot. (ha ha..where the fuck did THAT eloquence come from?).

And a sure as a hole in a goat, it was (I need to trust my womanly instinct more). I ran out just in time to see the Stray Mexican looking strangely alert and cunning. His eyes were wide, his ears were alert.

He was in trouble.

I've seen this look only once before. I was frozen in terror. But somehow, by the GRACE OF GOD, had the fortitude to lift that 40 to my lips.

Fear parches me.

This was all too reminiscent of the time Pedro got popped. Tranny has never gotten over it and has longed for a new Mexican ever since. I don't have to tell you..you know the story...

As I stared at Stray...I could see red and blue lights reflecting in the whites of his eyes as peered out from the fernage.

It was then I realized that it was all over but the crying. And as they took Stray away, this song started to play in my head...

And as pissed off as I am at Tranny right now.. I'm just glad he wasn't here to see this.

Mi corazon es muy triste, ahora. Porque del situacion del Tranny, y este situacion con "el stray".

Oye Como Va and Chimichanga. Taco. Salse Verde.

Turkey bologna not the only deal at the deli today

Geico is giving us 600.00 to get the Pinto fixed. Which is good since we only paid 150.00 for it. The hard part now is finding someone to work on it.

And then I ran into Jimmy at the supermarket where he was doing Whippits in the corner by the deli. I got my number (I love it when I get 69 - these are the little things that just MAKE my day) and that's when I saw him sucking out the nitrous from the containers of whipped cream.
(Oh, and a side note: don't you hate when you are in the supermarket and they have that canned music and one of those wicked fucking cheesy songs gets stuck in your head like this one..)

Anyway, yadda yadda and blah blah blah, turns out Jimmy has his own "garage" in the woods. I asked him for his number but he said he'd have to call us because he's "living in his car" right now. So, I gave him Tranny's cell number and a half a pound of turkey bologna and called it a deal. But essentially, it'll be up to the T-man.

*sky rockets in flight....afternoon delight...* DAMNIT GET OUT OF MY HEAD.

On The Road Again

If you told me yesterday that a corndog with string cheese combined with the mellow sounds of Steve Miller would make me feel like my world has gone back on it's axis I would have told you to fuck off. And if I did that, I would have to apologize because it's exactly what happened. Tranny woke me up to this Corndog creation and the fact he took the time and ate it with me...well, I know he's not mad at And I'm glad he's not down with the Mexican in the bushes.

So, we needed to get a temporary ride while the car is in the shop. We looked online and found this sweet machine for cheap money. Tranny said from now on I have to wear my long pants when I ride "The Beast of Burden". I looked at him kind of confused and then he said, 'NO NOT WHEN YOU'RE ON ME..."

Anyway, we rode 'the Beast' home. I only got 4 splinters in my thigh and one in my ass.

ha ha...I just had an idea. I saw a "scratch and sniff" bumper sticker at the Family Dollar yesterday. I'm going to go get it and put it on the part of the bike where I sit.

You know what? I'm the funniest girl I know!

Love Cheese

I woke early this morning to the most glorious of all things: Zannas arms around me, and the sound of her snoring directly into my ear. Who would have known a woman as beautiful as her could make a noise that would scare a bull-rhino out of rut? And I love her for it, we spent the 6 bucks an alarm clock would have cost on Backwoods Cigars.

What the fuck? Is that a picture of that Mexican with his head in the bushes? We are so getting an un-tainted one, fresh from the border! Maybe from Jalisco, where I understand there are no paint-chips.....

Zanna is feeling so guilty, I just have to do something special for breakfast. I was upset about the Pinto for about a 1/2 second, I keep trying to tell her it's ok, all that matters is her, but she won't listen.

Got it! I'm going to corn-dog batter some string-cheese, put the stick in the center, like a "t", and we can eat it like the spaghetti scene from Lady and the Tramp. I'll put some Steve Miller on when it's ready. Afterwords we can go look for a temporary ride while Geico gets us some well-deserved Pinto cash.

Give me a Gold Star for Effort (Damn It!)

Okay, I feel wicked guilty and I owe him and we've got nothing to lay on tonight anyway, so I go and try to lure this guy out.

He's not the brightest Mexican this side of the boarder. I found him with his head in the bushes. He obviously prescribes to the "If I can't see them, they can't see me" theory. How he got here, I have no idea.

I don't want this one. I want a NEW one that we picked fresh off the boarder. And I mean no disrespect. I'm half Cuban, myself. Not to say that Cubans and Mexicans are the same but you know what I mean.

Anyway...I didn't try that hard to get him. I took a picture and brought it back to Tranny. He's got to understand..getting a dim Mexican was the reason the boarder patrol popped Pedro to begin with.

Aww...Tranny's fast asleep.....I'm gonna go spoon him. He's so fucking cute.

Owing T-Man

Okay..I should have called Tranny. But I was too busy trying to think of what to put on that fucking police report AND being COMPLETELY bullshit at the manager and the clerk at the Family "Dollar" Store. I have a RANT about Family Dollar. If it says DOLLAR everything in the store should be a DOLLAR, right? But it's not...there is stuff in there for like 10.00 - it's bullshit.

But I digress...

I knew I was in trouble when I walked up and saw Tranny just standing where the Pinto usually is. By this time of night we are usually laying on it drinking our 40 and dreaming about better things. I didn't call, I'm never this late. He was so cute scratching his beard and just standing there doing nothing. Can I just tell you how cute he is when he doesn't know you are looking?

Then he saw me walk up. Sans Pinto. Nothing worse than seeing him adjust his glasses to MAKE SURE he's seeing what' he's seeing. I saw that "There you are
"happy face" morph into the, "wherethefuckisthecar" face.

Well, make a long story short - because I "wrecked" the Pinto, (and "wrecked" is in parenthesis because "wrecked" implies it will never be fixed again - and it will be..) now I HAVE to go and lure out this Mexican he found skulking around today. I'm like, "I thought that was what we were going to do on our honeymoon" and he's all like, "You owe me, now Zanna".

Fine he didn't really SAY it..but the way he looked at me said it. And maybe it's just my imagination because I'm feeling so guilty. Fuck it. I'll go try to find the mexican and lure it out.

Stray Mexican

Boy, I sure can't wait until Zanna gets back the Dollar General Store...hmm, she has been gone a while....

Anyway, I was walking around the racetrack today, and I saw a stray Mexican roaming around the back alleyway. He had that semi-feral look in his eye they get, right after crossing the border, but before they get employed for $3 an hour or 50 cents a bushell. I bet if the two of us sneak down there around dusk, we can coax him out of hiding with a corndog dipped in Ranch Style Beans. She is always so good at getting them to eat right from her hand quickly. I've been a little distraught, ever since the INS put Pedro in the Pound, but with a little luck, we may yet get a Brand New Mexican. I bet this one has teeth!

I hope Zanna gets back to corndog stand soon, I can hardly wait to see the look of wonder in those beautiful, Nascar/Tranny lovin' eyes!

Pinto Project On Hold

I can't really say anything yet about this accident because I haven't filled out the police report with "the truth".

All I know for right now is that this is a major snafu in my wedding gift plans. And I guess our transportation in general. The other thing I know is that it tipped over on the side without the gas tank. With any luck, once I fill out the police report, the Pinto will be in the shop, and I'm going to collect some bennies from Geico.

When you stand back and look at it. This could be an "act of God". I've said too much already.

The Grannys

The Grannys

I am the luckiest man ever. Zanna accepted my proposal. Sure, I may have ruined a pair of pants, kneeling in the corndog grease, but the stand is where our love truly blossomed, it seemed the only appropriate place. She was so excited that we had to put the blinds down, if the corn-dog stands a-rockin' go elsewhere for your funnel cake. She then ran right out and rolled a wino for enough change to get us each a bottle of Old English. I can't wait to lay on the hood of our Pinto tonight and discuss a new suspension. At some point I will have to sneak off and shave my pubes, the mini-skirt I am weaving her is taking more fuzz than I had anticipated. Thank goodness for Rogaine.

Pimp my Pinto

Usually, I just say that to Tranny when I want to get it on.

I was at Walmart this morning getting some more Aqua-Net and I saw this ROCKING Pinto. Me and Tranny have one and everynight we lay on the hood and fantasize about how we're going to trick out our second best investment ever (first best, Corndog trailer).

So, I'm thinking about pimping out the Pinto as a wedding gift for him. The way I figure it, just because he's marrying me doesn't mean he'll love me forever. But with a tricked out Pinto like this....fuck yea..he'll love me forever and then some. And so will his friends. And everyone that comes to the stand.

And what else is good about this - the gas tank is too far up to hit, virtually eliminating any chance of me and my man going up in a blaze of Pinto Glory.

http://www.fordpinto.com/blowup.htm

We're getting married

Tranny proposed to me last night. I knew he was going to. I could tell something was up. He fucked up the corndogs all day and that's not like him. He kept putting the dogs in the fryer without the stick. Do you know how hard it is to put the stick in the corn-dog AFTER the fact? It's not easy and it's hot and it's fucking dangerous. I can't tell you how many times he would chastise me and tell me "you're gonna get hot oil in your eye and burn your retina and then you'll only be able to look into the sun with ONE eye...is THAT what you want?"

Of course not and here he is doing it. But it turns out it was because he was nervous. I don't know why...he knows I wouldn't say no.