Its been a while since the union workers have been brought in to clean up the factory-Over a year since the steam and midnight oil was being burned.  The Michelle Duggar Fetus Factory was about to turn on its lights and feel hundreds of feet pacing on its floors on a daily basis.  Many of the towns locals (who were still suffering from the recession), lined up to get this freelance job in the factory.  Its uterine wall could fit half of the townsfolk at one time, so this was not only a godly blessing but also an economical one.

Mr. White from the edge of town was the first to arrive.  It’s been hard for him and his family to make ends meet ever since the Cancer.   The bill collectors are on the brink of breaking down his door in order to pay them back the thousands of dollars he borrowed.  Mr White was hired to keep the factory clean, which was no easy feat.  When he swung open the revolving labia doors, he recognized that smell from all of the previous births.  It was the smell of sweat, gasoline, blood and freshly baked artisan breads.  He was home.

He got out his broom and started to sweep up all of the twigs and dead bugs that were covering the tiles.   He started humming along with the radio that he dusted the cobwebs off of and turned on.  It was playing “Rhythm of the Night” by Debarge.  As soon as he heard the songs chorus, he was transformed to a different time- the year was 1988 when Michelle had a normal sized uterus and she was giving birth to her first.  Mr. White was the janitor at the hospital she gave birth in.  He enjoyed having such a close relationship to the mothers in his ward and he wanted to give them the gift of cleanliness.  Mrs. Duggar never got the smell of clean out of her nostrils.  It was a heavenly scent similar to lemons, alcohol and Mr. Clean.  He has been a key member of the team ever since.

When he came out of his trance he realized that he was almost finished with the sweeping and was almost ready to begin the padding of the uterine walls.  At that moment, his team finally arrived!  Lazy Pete, Dirty Steve and Cotton Eye Joe came in with a childish glee recognizing that this was the location where they became men.   Like that of a group of soldiers that experience something beyond words together.  They have endured things that NO MAN should have to see, and it makes them stronger as an outcome.  Lazy Pete continues to serve them a celebratory meal that he created using only local ingredients.  He was making the team, “Cheesy Duggarberries in Velveeta”. 

After the hearty meal of seasonal Duggarberries, they began taking in the excess skin from her stomach and turning it into an insulation of sorts.  She had enough excess skin that could fill the Empire State Building. They found ancient markings on the walls from its past residents.  Mostly claw marks ( like those of someone being dragged to a horrible fate), but a little bit of drawing….stick figures and such.

“We are going to have a long 9 months, aren’t we Steve?” said Cotton-Eye Joe.

“Not as long as the path to the cave” exclaimed Dirty Steve.

They both took a long inspired gaze into the distance.  Alongside the entrance to the factory is a dirt road that leads to the “Dark Cave of Lost Souls”.  This is where some of the unlucky get lost when they go beyond the factory walls.  Never. To. Be. Seen. Again.

To be continued…….

“This picture differentiation game is so much less fun on dead bodies as opposed to sexy babes in bikinis”.

Inside Out.

Just in case your dick has to go outside to chop wood or shovel a driveway, you can buy a sweater for it!  Oh wait?  Is this a novelty item?  This is the kind of shit you buy as a “joke gift” then it ends up being stored in some drawer somewhere.  One day, when in the process of moving or looking for something- you will stumble upon it with a mother, girlfriend, exterminator…whatever, who will never look at you the same and not quite believe this was a funny “joke” gift afterall.  You vagina.

For cold winter nights.

Reusable maxipads that look like watermellons:

What is more disgusting than being a woman at that time of the month?  In no way is this a time of my life when i say to myself “Boy, i feel like a woman!  A woman who has weird shit coming out of her vagina”.  Seriously?  I mean, yes sure…..it is a part of life that is beautiful and shit, but It really really sucks.  I wish it were socially acceptable to banish myself from society until my body decides to behave again.  Having said all that, the weird stuff that comes out of ladies is not something that I want to be reminded of.  I want to flush it or burn it or piss on it then burn it, whatever…..but I don’t want to wash it with my other clothes and find that I have hardened blood clots on my favorite henley.

Bacteria Collection Chamber.

Call me a softy, but I don’t really want to break out into a song and dance whilst juggling animal extremities.

I’m gonna wear your skins like a mask, I’m a meaty meat man working hard.  Bologna looks like big league chew .  This shit is like Hellraiser.  Why is the “meat man” culture so sexist?  Can’t we be co-existing meat “people“.  I think I’m going to vomit, i just watched this three times……

The woman in front of me has a comb-over, a mustache and Jaclyn Smith for Kmart Pants Suit. She orders an Extra Large fruit coolata and 3 orders of hash browns.  I remember that because i thought to myself, “Holy shit!  That’s fucking gross”!

Right as she was paying I started thinking about the awkward conversation I was about to have with the weird Jamaican dude that tries to sell me costume jewelery.  As I’m anticipating my next move, this woman comes in.  She looked a little off.  She stands near the front door completely blocking the entrance way as this balding, mustached lady is trying to get out of dodge, to drink her extra large Fruit Coolata, eat her three packs of hash browns while playing in her pile of dead cats when she gets home.

The woman was about the size of Marlon Brando circa, “Don Juan DeMarco“. She had the hair of a little girl that lives in a neglectful household containing an alcoholic mother and a deadbeat dad.  You know what i’m saying.  Smells like everything bagels and pee.

She is wearing a pair of pants made from floor laminate and shoelaces that are woven on the sides.  She is wearing coral lipstick on her mouth pimples and yellow teeth.  Her skin is the color of Wesley Snipes but is wearing foundation that should be put on by a fucking mime or a clown.  Her toenails are longer than her fingernails, but thats only because she gnarled them off, including bits of glittery nail polish that is likely living somewhere between her teeth.

She looks at the Jamaican Guy and yells, “Boo, you got these?”

The Jamaican Guy walks around the counter to see what she is pointing to underneath the register.  She is pointing to a promotional poster for the new tuna sandwich.

The Jamaican Guy walks back around the counter and says, “yes?”

The woman looks at him and says, “Well, they good?”

The Jamaican Guy says, “Yes.”

She says, “You got these?”

He says, “yes.”

She says, “Well, I see you tomorrow then”.

The man across from me has a ravenous hunger in his eyes.  Like a feral cat attacking a squirrel carcass.  He waits.

The undying lust of processed meats fills his soul (from what i could tell by his nervous twitches and hunger wheezes).  From his Dora the explorer backback, he presents the steel cage with a  package of C-Towns finest packaged bologna.

He examines it like a moth to a flame or a maggot on a dead pigeon.  He stares a lustful stare.  We become one.

He opens the package with utter excitement, twitching at the anticipation of absorbing the vast array of ground animals into his own meats.

Scents of bagels and jewish things diminish and the pungent aroma of garlicky lukewarm animal death fills the bus.  My nose hairs are burned by the aroma.

The man takes the entire pack, instead of eating them piece by piece.  He tears into the meat saucer with the conviction of a soldier.  Within what seemed like a matter of seconds, the processed meats were one with him.

All that was left was the memory and the smell of rancid, sweaty deli meats.

fin.

Black Kid Skin?

He would have totally landed first place on “America’s got Talent”.

I wonder what other celebrities keep a limber instrument by milking a cow?  Chew on that.

He is the overly flamboyant Z-list style expert that randomly appears when equally irritating Carson Kressley is busy.  He recently judged a fashion program on TV Land.    Yes, apparently TV Land is an actual channel.  Robert Verdi dresses like mentally retarded gay executive that has a massive addiction to young boys and wearing female undergarments.

Description on his site:

“He’s a Jersey Boy-cum jewelry designer-cum-television host-cum lifestyle expert-cum rising superstar.”

(no pun intended…..no, really…..you’d have to be strung out on a shit ton of meth to even find him mildly attractive)

Douchey Quote:

“Jewelry is more dependable than a man”

Celebrity Clients:

Eva Longoria, Hugh Jackman and Kathy Griffin.

Looks like:

Sean Patrick Flannery in “Powder” mixed with Liberace.