I guess you’re expecting some kind of explanation?
Well, we were in the middle of building this blog when chunks of a sudden, Uncle Clevis was struck with the Sudz Whiffle Poop Virus (SWPV).
Everyone knows that building a blog requires bubbles, dragons, sparkly unicorns, kittens and if you really want your blog to be popular, pictures of Justin Beaver’s spear and Brittany Spear’s beaver. Oh, and cute little Japanese, um, well, let’s just call it Weaboo bait.
Of course the best cyber bubbles come from cord wood foam. As you can imagine, it takes quite a few electrical cords to make even the smallest piece of wood. However, umbilical cords are chock full of wood. “Time to go dumpster diving in the big city!” said uncle Clevis.
Things were going well, Uncle Clevis was able to get all the wood we needed and had just started to work up some blog lather when aunt Firegums (yes, she’s part Native American) pointed at uncle C’s special purpose and screamed “penis beetles!” Actually, I’m not sure if she meant the vintage rock band or the shiny rounded bug; both have previously infested uncle C’s penis so it was anyone’s guess. Most penis beetles are easy dispatched with a handy ice pick or phosphorous grenade. The musical group, however, require more drastic action.
Quite frankly, I don’t need any excuse to shoot uncle Clevis in the dick. So I ran off to get the shotgun and to ward off complaints from my stalker, Janeane Garofalo, a can of environmentally safe pesticide made from the sweat of bitter angry lesbians and pre-suicidal Emo angst (also the name of my first garage band back in the 80’s). Like most environmentally safe products, it does nothing to actually kill the insects however it will make them elect an incompetent touchy-feely leader who will eventually mismanage the entire colony to ruin.
Aunt Trixie (Trixie The Whore’s great niece, and my father’s brother’s son’s daughter’s mother) ran over with a dish full of oyster lipped labia leaches (the natural enemy of the penis beetle). But it was too late! Uncle Clevis had already dumped a bucket full of skwim pudding on his afflicted pink asparagus. No, don’t say yum you sick bastards!
Anyway, the beetles appeared to be dead. You could tell because the one with the large proboscis stopped giving autographs. The fact that the small bug interrupted my blog building and then refused to give me an autograph angered me, so I took aim.
“Boy!” “If you shoot him in the dick one more time, I’m gonna whoop your ass!” said aunt Firegums, her bony tight fist ready to strike. Normally, she would say. “I have a “hankering” to whoop your ass.” I thought to myself, “without the benefit of a hankering, her ass whooping may be of no consequence.” Then again, if the ass whooping wasn’t going as planned, she may pull it out at the last minute. I don’t know what a hankering is, nor do I know where she keeps it, but a surprise ass whooping with a hankering is probably not a good thing. I’ve been beaten with straps and switches and a 4 foot tall wooden Indian so poorly crafted that it looked more like a horse penis than a person. Uncle Jed used to tell her, “‘Gums, you gotta stop beating that boy with that damn horse penis of yours…he ain’t gonna be right in the head if you keep doing that!” That was before he died. After he died, he did nothing to stop her, and I’ll never forgive him for that.
I lowered the shot gun and briefly considered sending a little buckshot Janeane’s way, but she also seemed disappointed that I didn’t shoot uncle Clevis in the dick! So I, let her be.