No time for witty intros this week, we've got a jam-packed update that's bursting at the seams and trying to fit into that old pair of jeans! Special thanks this week go to: Don "Motorcycle" Jolly and Jason "Vengeance Otter" Johnson.
I Want Everyone To Know That We Will Be Ending The Meeting Today With “Rock and Roll”
Okay, just so no one gets surprised, I’m not going to be ending Today’s staff meeting with a boring old “Thank you for your time” or a decisive but dull “let’s get cracking people.” The Mr. Hardwick who would say those things is dead, and I am using his mouth to mold each and every one of you into a weapon of pure sonic vengeance.
You see that new Jag out in the lot? The one parked horizontally across the five handicapped spaces? That’s the new me. I bought that cat last night with my kid’s college money. When I am on the highway and I accelerate and it makes a sound like a robot giving me a blowjob, that is when I’m all “hell yeah” and I know I made the right decision.
From now on, I am a man of action and not of words. Do not be surprised if, instead of asking you to turn in a late report like a pussy, I just run up and totally drop kick you for no reason. That is now the way I roll and you had better get used to it.
Also, if you are a fly honey I am no longer going to keep all my thoughts about you bottled up in my erection. Instead I’m going to just say shit. Shit like “daaamn girl,” and “you lookin’ fine mama.” I would like to offer my sincerest apologies to all the foxy tender ladies who I have denied this privilege to in the past. Rest assured it will not happen again.
So, at the end of the meeting today I am going to punch the table really hard and say “Rock and roll.” This is your signal to go out and rock and roll. If some of you don’t seemed pumped up enough, I might punch the table again or maybe a third time.
Rock and Roll.
Fun-Guard For Kids Product Proposal
It’s a scientific fact : 60% of all childhood accidents are the direct result of something really fun. Getting a concussion from bike jousting, receiving severe lacerations from the Pizza thrower Ninja Turtles vehicle – even choking on Captain America’s real die-cast metal codpiece, all are fatal – and all are fun.
How do we keep our youth safe? Why, with Fun Guard – the latest creation from the safety wizards at State Og.
Fun Guard’s patented “huge safe with a lock on it” technology allows you to keep your kids safe from the fun things they crave so badly. For mild fun protection, simply seal your brood’s favorite toys away like the organs of an Egyptian king – assuring that their childhood will be filled only with harmless and washable tears. Alternatively, lock children away in the same safe – for high grade fun protection. The safe is so fun-proof in fact that even the most fun of oxygen nitrogen mixtures, common breathing air, cannot enter. Amazing!
Production Note: Good effort, Tom. It still needs improvement. Play up the danger angle some more. Also: maybe the safe should have a heating mechanism, so that the metal gets really hot at random points during the day? Otherwise good work. Keep it up, Tom.
Dr. L. Brynner’s Guide to Comforting the Victims of Natural Disasters
Hello there, aspiring saviors of the human psyche and fellow anti-insanity crusaders. As State Og’s lead psychiatrist, I, Dr. L. Brynner, am writing this brief article to help you, the common man or common non-man thing, better serve his or its community immediately after a natural disaster. As a mental health professional, when I first heard about the devastation caused by hurricane Katrina, two thoughts went through my mind: One, I possess a desperately needed skill-set that can help the victims better bear this tragedy and, two, a disaster area two-and-a-half-thousand miles from where I live is the last place my parole officer would think to look for me.
Having just returned from my undisclosed safe house in the ravaged city of New Orleans, I’ve learned a few things about helping those in need. I hope by sharing my knowledge and experience you will be able help those in need after a natural disaster, or at the very least you should print this article out and slip it under your neighbor’s door so he can be the one who learns how to help and can later save your bacon, if you really want to be lazy about this.
So a natural disaster, such as a hurricane, just struck and you feel inclined to go out and directly help those in need. What’s your first step? If you said, “Why that’s easy to answer, Dr Brynner! My first duty would be to seek out those requiring assistance and give aid to the best of my ability”, don’t bother reading the rest of this article, because mentally-challenged people like you are the first to die in these calamities, thanks to a little thing call Natural Selection, even if you are no where near the disaster area. Please try to die in as a hygienic and mess-free way as possible, since those of us more fit than you may need to eat your dumb carcass and possibly craft your pelt into a crude pair of lederhosen and a matching hat to keep warm. The proper response to my question is to take a nap. Yes, that’s right. A nap. Even if you aren’t tired, or just woke up, you should still lounge about for a couple of days. If you’re not well rested, the people you try to help might sense weakness on your part and turn on you, especially if you’re very delicious looking.
After you’ve rested and have finished a novel or two that you’ve been putting off reading for far too long, you are ready to start seeking out those in need. In many situations, such as those involving flooding, some type of vehicle may be necessary. For example, many people after Katrina used boats to help their distressed neighbors. Personally, I feel this is a mistake, because seeing a boat floating around in the middle of a residential area only serves to remind people that their hometown has been flooded and their simple minds might not be able to endure the added stress. Research shows that during such emergencies people need their morale lifted and I believe that the vehicle you rescue people in is the best place to start when it comes to raising survivor morale. To address this issue, prior to arriving in New Orleans, I had State Og’s engineering team design for me, not a boat nor a helicopter, but a car. And not just any car, but a replica of the No. 3 Chevrolet Dale Earnhardt raced in his last Daytona 500, which is exact in every way to the original except for being eight times the its size. In fact, the engineers had to build a robotic exoskeleton for me to get in and drive this heroic tribute rescue car. Not only did this triumphant vehicle rise the spirits of all the downhearted who saw it, it size allowed me to keep it mostly dry by driving over the rooftops of houses.
When I came across my first desperate and isolated group of survivors huddled on top of some dilapidated house’s roof, I realized the dilemma before me: these people were far too dirty to risk messing up the nice interior of my new ride and I couldn’t bear the thought of them on top of the car risking scratches to the paint. Suddenly, I knew my only choice was to get out and protect this group personally, until the authorities arrived, presumably driving something they didn’t mind soiling with survivors. This leads me to the third lesson about helping disaster victims: they need a strong leader to be present among them.
So, still encased inside a 50-foot tall robot, I strutted across the part of the lake that was once 34th Street and leap out of said robot. Landing on the roof, I announced to the family of seven victims that I was there to protect them and that if they do exactly everything I said they’d be fine and I (At this point, I removed my jacket revealing a what could be described as a vest made entirely out of string and sticks of dynamite.) wouldn’t have to blow them all to hell with me. I then ignited a road flare to let them know I meant business. By the looks on their faces, I immediately knew I had established myself as the one in charge of the situation.
Before I could continue with my rescue any further, I sighted a police boat, crewed by several rifle toting officers, including a very pissed off looking Sergeant David Kenyon, a.k.a. my parole officer, speeding towards us. Sadly, I didn’t think Kenyon would understand how my deep-down desire to help those in need compelled me to take flight, so I jumped back into the exoskeleton and retreated to my gigantic rescue car, leaving behind my bomb vest with an ignited fuse—giving my pursuers a choice between chasing me or saving the family I left the explosives with.
Now that hurricane Wilma is expected to slam into Florida soon, it looks like my services will be once again in demand. This time, however, I’m going to get there before disaster starts. So, if you happen to be in the Gainesville area and see a forty-foot high NASCAR car doing doughnuts around one of the suburbs, wave me down and I’ll give you a coupon good for 20% off on preoperative transgender substance abuse counseling.- State Og Representative
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
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