I just threw a goddamn steak 40 feet. I swear to the TV set I did. I was sitting there in my living room, minding my own damn business, and I hear this noise coming from my kitchen, a noise which sounded like a cat being shoved under 30 gallons of industrial waste that I found behind the Enchilada Bunker last week after I fell out of the back of my car and rolled down the hill and when I woke up there was all this cheap jewelry in my pockets.
So I hear this noise and I shout, "if that's any of you Patterson halfwits, I'm giving you ten seconds to get the hell out of my kitchen before I open fire on you guttoothed mildew dicks!" Then I started counting to ten but I lost interest around the number two and decided to start unloading the barrel of my 12-gauge Smith and Wesson 20-05 .45 caliber Bushman hunting shotgun with retractable scope and AM radio. Unfortunately my gun was empty because I spent the last 10 rounds trying to remove the neighbors from my yard a couple nights ago after I discovered a couple of them were getting all fancy grabass with my rose bushes. They started screaming out this really stupid lame excuse when they were running off, something along the lines of "oh god don't kill us, my wife dropped her wedding ring in your bushes" or some other bullshit crap lie, but that's fucking ridiculous because I'm the only person who puts his wedding ring in those bushes and therefore that diamond ring I picked up from there that night was mine and if you want to take me to court for it, by god I'll show up and throw a chair at your ugly face.
So anyway I hear all this pansy ass shit noise coming from my kitchen and I'm looking for something to throw but the only things around me are these pillows that fell off the back of a truck last week because I hit it with my car. And then I broke into the back of it and stole the pillows. Then I look over and I see this plate of steak on the end table, which was kind of screwy now that I think about it because I think the last time I had steak was in the summer of 2002.
I picked it up and, dear god, I just threw the hell out of that steak. That thing just fucking flew through the room because I still got all my arm strength from when I was high school quarterback at North Appleton City High and the coach started me in the regional district semi-finals against Deerborn High and on the first snap I called out a fleaflicker and the halfback hiked me the ball and I got it and just fucking threw that thing into the stands and I shouted "I QUIT THE TEAM YOU UGLY SHITBAG RATFUCKERS, GO HAVE SEX WITH YOUR OWN MOTHERS " and then I stomped off the field and got drunk in a grain silo. That was the same night I fought the scarecrow. AND WON.
Hey look it's the Christmas ham. And when I say "ham" I mean YOU ARE FAT AND UGLY, LADY!!! AND DUMB!!!
The steak goes flying through the living room so fast that it crashes through the drywall and creates this big ass hole there, and all this chalk and dust and shit falls to my carpet on top of all the other chalk and dust and shit already on my carpet. I don't think the steak went completely through the wall, because I couldn't see the inside of my kitchen, so I guess it's somewhere inside, probably feeding the 14-foot long mongooses that live in my walls and come out to poke me with plastic salad forks when I've been drinking a lot. One day I'm going to catch one of those evil bucktoothed sons of bitches and I'm gonna take it and march right up to the doors of National Geographic and scream, "look here you bleeding heart liberal commie pinko socialist darwinist commie conservative commie faggots! I told you these things existed! Why didn't you answer any of my mail messages? Now look who's laughing!" and then I'm gonna start laughing my wrinkled ass off but I'm not gonna laugh too hard because last time I did that I started getting a headache and then my left eye starting pulsating and I mistook an Indian lady for a Civil War cannon.
I went into my kitchen and there wasn't shit there except my refrigerator belching up smoke and watermelon pieces and this mannequin I found inside a department store which really pissed me off with its sassy attitude so I walked up to the manager and I said, "this store's gonna get an enema - A Yablonski enema!" and then I strongarmed him to the side and wrenched that fucker off the pedestal and took it home. I didn't have anywhere to keep the damn thing so I tried disassembling it and shoving it into the vegetable crisper in the fridge but the fucker wouldn't fit in there with all the pool balls. So it's kind of sticking out and every time I walk into the kitchen I have to step over a mannequin hand or else I'll trip and spill my marbles all over the linoleum. I had this cat who would always try to jump over the thing and never quite make it because he was all greasy and fat just like every braindead simpslug walking around in this wretched town, so I'd pick up a tablecloth and yell at the cat, "WHY ARE YOU SO GOD DAMN FAT?!?" and then I'd go to sleep because let's face it, time is money. Wait a minute, I don't think I've ever owned a cat?
This guy works at the Appleton City Market. I once caught him fondling the pears. He's got about a billion speakers in his car and some day I'm going to tear them out and shove them up his white trash candy ass.
I never found out what was in my kitchen that day but I think it had chocolate all over its feet cause there's brown shit all over my floor and I sure as hell didn't put it there unless of course I did. It also got crap all over my Sears & Roebucks calendar from 1958 that I keep in my kitchen because it's got this hot broad modeling off this great sleeper sofa with that green and orange checkered pattern I love. I tried to get that design printed on my wedding cake but the no-necked sweathog Mormon working at the store started getting all bossy and shit asking me about the "name of the bride" or some crap so I told him, "hey listen here buddy, I'm a goddamn veteran and I didn't die fighting in 'Nam so I would be forced to marry some dumb broad just to eat a fucking cake," and then I jumped through his store window and landed in a Jeep and drove away popping wheelies. I think that was also the night I had sex with this sexy dame I met at the drug store when I was fire bombing it because drugs are illegal as all shit and if those assholes in the City Council aren't going to do shit about it, then I sure as hell will.
Anyway that calendar reminded me that Christmas is coming up soon, maybe it's even today, I don't know, so this update is about the miracle of the Christmas season and baby Jesus and Mary Magellan and all that crap. Actually I don't know all that much about Christmas because whenever those religious harpies from the church down the road tried to get me to join their church I would shout, "no way, I hate witches!" and then throw a plastic lawn chair at them to keep them away from my property. Actually I think that only happened once because I can only remember owning one lawn chair ever, and that thing had a beer can fused to its arm from sitting out in the sun for like 90 straight months in the summer when I tried building the fence and I ended up digging into the power line and my roof caught fire. I never liked Christmas time because it just reminds me that ever goddamn time I leave my house I'm gonna see a parade of sweaty fat mule people lining the streets and trying to shove their bloated doughy asses into stores like a German shoe cobbler cramming a balloon full of taco meat down a sink drain.
So here, in no particular order, is a list of the absolute worst damn Christmases I have ever experienced in my miserable, god-forsaken life. Wait a minute, I'll put them in order, I'll put them in order by date because I got this notepad here and I'll just tear off the pages and stick them together using this orange crud I found underneath the coffee table. The only problem with this crap is that every time you stretch a gob of it off, it makes this terrible stink like lord only knows what. I think it also shoots spores everywhere, and they're kinda making me dizzy. So if I pass out in the middle of this list and die, I plan on suing you geek Interweb cyberspace potheads for fucking my shit up with your crap.
CLIFF YABLONSKI'S WORST CHIRSTMASES EVER
BY CLIFF YABLONSKI
COPYRIGHT 2004 CLIFF YABLONSKI ENTERPRISES
DO NOT STEAL
Christmas of 1948 - I'll never forget this one because my brother Enoch, that goddamn worthless husk of a human being, came over with all these boxes of gifts shouting, "merry Christmas, ho ho ho!" and generally acting like a glue sniffing jackass. I said to him, "shut the goddamn door, I'm not paying to heat the entire block!" and he just looked at me like the braindead retard he is, maybe because the door was already closed and had been that way for a couple hours, but I meant the door in a metaphysical sense because I'm deep with poetry and emotions and shit. So I take out my baseball bat and start using it to unwrap his presents pinata-style, and he's sitting there the whole time laughing and giggling like a little halfwit. So I start getting pissed off, really pissed off, and I shout, "what the fuck are you laughing about you ditch digging meatskull?" and then he points to the gift I had just opened and it's an empty box full of stolen license plates from Nevada. So I throw all that shit out my window but miss because I'm so fucking angry at that point, and the box knocks over a lamp which lights the carpet on fire, and Enoch's there yelling and screaming like a chimpanzee on dope, so I get in his car and drove it into a tree to protest all those damn dreidels and shit on display at the grocery store.
Christmas of 1985 - Uglycat got the bright idea to dress up like Christmas characters that year, so he went out and stole all this shit and made a costume so he'd look like Max Headroom. He brings me this garbage bag full of bloody entrails and organs and shit they threw away at the slaughterhouse down the road off Lake Meatshores, and I say, "what the hell is this?" and he tells me I'm an abortion doctor and then somebody knocks my door down and all these angry fat sow broads come running into my house calling me a murderer or some shit. So I fall over the couch and hit my head on that big speaker I've got that doesn't play any sound but I can store chewing tobacco inside it. When I woke up, it was 1987.
Christmas of 1976 - I was watching television and that Jack Clark guy was on television talking about Christmas or the New Year or whatever, and let me tell you something, I can't stand that guy. So I start shouting at the television, "TELEVISION, TURN OFF!!!" because I just came back from seeing a movie about the future and I thought I was in it or something, I don't know, I don't remember. The TV doesn't turn off and that just pisses me off even more, so I pick up the end table and try to light it on fire so the fire department will come and then I can ask them to turn off the television for me. I remembered from the Boy Scouts that you can catch shit on fire by rubbing it really fast, so I rubbed it against my pants as hard as I could but nothing happened, so I decided to pass out and when I woke up my entire face was covered with roofing tar.
So that's it. Have a merry fucking Christmas or whatever alternative holiday you celebrate, like that one from Africa where you put on dresses and call up Oprah to talk about friendship.
The singer dove off the stage and crowd surfed in a sort of reverse funeral procession where the person being carried is the only one truly alive. Touching him I felt religious ecstasy and started speaking in tongues and requesting songs that didn't exist.
There's no easy way to put this, so I'll tell it like it is. Bouillon is died. He went missing before the weekend and yesterday I found his skeletonized remains at the bottom of the #3 soup vat during one of my swims. I thought the cream of mushroom soup had an especially nourishing taste, and a lot more clumps of fur and skin than usual.
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