Sunday, December 12, 2010

Operation: Anti-Claus

Target: Saint Nicholas

Alias: Santa Claus

Age: Unknown

Occupation: Mad Scientist

Charges against Santa:

1. Kidnapping and genetically manipulating of midg-uh--little people to have pointy ears and speak in cheery songs. Also known as "elving."

2. The enslavement of aforementioned mini-mutants.

3. Illegal gamma radiation exposure experiments on reindeer.

4. Unlicensed, unregistered aircraft operation.

5. Millions of counts of breaking & entering.

6. Mass bootlegging of toy brands & pirating intellectual property.

7. Unlawful factory operation, theft of natural resources and environmental pollution.

8. Illegal surveillance and invasion of privacy of billions of children.

Below map is an outline of engagement and elimination of target. 

Parachute down to Rudolph. Sever his nose to disorient reindeer.

Get to Santa with grappling hook. Snap his neck.

Tie toy bag to his leg. Push him out of sled into Arctic Ocean.

Guide reindeer back to The North Pole Military Base.

Sleigh will make sneaking pass the defenses easy.

Set explosives in the factory and elf cottages.

Free Mrs. Claus and deflower her.

Mission Accomplished.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Star Trek is Racist

You mean to tell me that you can travel ten times the speed of light, bend space, create sentient robots, a personal matrix, rearrange molecules to make food, destroy planets and completely defy the physics of the vacuum of space by hearing explosions and lasers in space, but the Black dude is blind? C'mon! I mean, is it just coincidence that in the future Kunta Kinte is disabled--you know, someone looked at differently? Just sayin...

Geordi LaForge. The BL_ _ _ Guy
And he never got laid. He couldn't even bang Whoopi Goldberg (of Captain Planet fame). And blindness is a prerequisite to bang her!

Whorf. The Former Thug Who Made It Outta Da Hood.
Black. Angry. Savage. Doesn't speak the same way he did while growing up. I see "stereotypecast" written all over this one. And he's a f@cking Uncle Tom sellout.

Data. Named After the Asian Kid from Goonies.
The robot. Uber smart. Yellow skin. Never smiles. How subtle. He was also built with an unnecessary penis, as he has used it. Robots with dicks? Sounds like a very Japanese thing to me. I'm just sayin'...

-------- Short Intermission ---------

Deanna Troi's fine ass single-handedly raised the stock value of lotion and tissue in the early 90s.

------- back to our regularly schedule program  --------

You'd think humans might be a bit more brown in the future. Apparently, humans will still believe in reproducing only with their own skin color. And you wonder why aliens don't come here. We're galactic trash. Racism in the supposedly most intelligent life form on the planet is the dumbest thing in the Cosmos.


I wonder why there aren't any gay people in the future or in any other alien race. But then again, it also seems that Jesus never showed up.
Just sayin...

Friday, October 22, 2010

The Pet Poop Police

Contrary to what would normally seem obvious, NYC sidewalks aren't made of concrete. They're made of centuries-worth of layers of a dog shit. New Yorkers let their canines crap anywhere.

Those days = Over.

Introducing a new agency in Homeland Security:

The Pet Poop Police.

Or more uncleverly known as PPP.
Do not call them the Poo-leese.

First we'll start a DNA registry of all dogs at:

The Department of Dog DNA.

For lack of options, also known as the DDD...yet another agency in Homeland Security.

Dog DNA will be collected at pet purchase or birth and saved in a supercomputer database at DDD headquarters.

Register your canine. Or be fined.

Whenever there's unpicked poop on pedestrian premises, the PPP agent takes a sample of the pungent poo and sends it to the DDD. The DDD traces the doo doo dung directly to the dog owner, and fines them the amount it'd cost to keep them in jail for a month...while keeping them in jail for a month. With their dog.

If you're caught in the act of non-poopscoopianism, your dog will be lightly sauteed in garlic butter and fed to the homeless.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Are You Self-Gay?

A really weird, possibly made-up discussion

Someone:  If you masturbate, then technically you're having sex with yourself.

Hunter:  True. I think.

Someone:  Well, that makes you gay. Or bisexual.

Hunter: I don't know exactly what it is that YOU think about while jerking off, but I ain't thinking about me.

Someone:  The guys in prison ain't thinking about the soap-dropper.

Hunter:  Yeah, but masturbation isn't exactly self-rape.

Someone:  Well, did yourself ask yourself if it was okay to do that to yourself?

Hunter:  Well, I didn't put up much of a fight. I'd say it was mutual consent.

Someone:  Well, what if you met yourself from a parallel dimension and you two had synchronized psychic brains? Would you jerk him off?

Hunter:  Maybe. That wouldn't make me gay. That'd make me a multi-dimensional traveler experimenting with the fabric of time and space. At that point, all rules of experimentation are off the table. Dude, if you had a f@cking multiple personality disorder, and one of them was a hot chick would you have a wet dream with her? I mean, hell, man...shut up.

Someone:  Well, would you suck your own c@ck?

Hunter:  What?! Dude. No. Conversation. Over.

Someone:  I mean, you drink your own saliva. That's like tongue kissing yourself. You're totally self-gay! You think you're pretty hot, don't ya, huh?

Hunter: If I called you a b!tch and smacked the sh!t out of you, would that be like hitting a woman?

Thursday, September 30, 2010

How to Save Your Little Girl From Hip Hop...

One day I heard this little girl rapping. Her mother was right there. Singing with her. A very trashy rap song.

Now do you want your little princess singing raunchy, misogynistic, whorish rap songs?

Have you ever caught her "droppin' it to da flo?" or "Droppin' it like it's hot?" and all those other disgusting dances better reserved for strip clubs? Well, that stripper is someone's daughter. Someone's mom. Maybe your mom. Maybe your daughter.

No. Not
your daughter.
Do you know why? Because you're going to prevent that from ever happening!

Buy your little boo boo bear the all-new "Electrified Stripper's Pole." And she'll drop to the flo' every time until she learns her lesson about crap music. She won't be singing' "Make it Rain" anytime soon–because water conducts electricity! Her subconscious mind will equate stripping and freaky dancing to pain and power outages.

Electrified Stripper's Pole for Girls (and young sons who you suspect will grow up to be gay or transgender because you mistakenly named them "Shannon" or "Ivory.")

"She'll drop...because it's hottttttttt!"

You can become a better, more attentive parent today for the "shockingly" low price of $19.99 + tax.

Sunday, May 23, 2010

The Autoblography of Frenzy Hunter - Phase 1

I remember
the soft warm moist area, the perfect place. Trapped within freedom. Fish-gill'd and submerged in perfected temperature aqua, being massaged by flagella fingers on my every nerve ending.

They say the younger one is, the slower time moves for them. So perhaps a zygote perceives eternity.

What is this chaos?! I'm being pushed out...rejected by the pleasure, the sustenance. The Everything. Squeezed out like the last bit of a poor man's toothpaste.

Apparently, eternity isn't immortal. It died.

Birth happened. Life occurred. Eyes opened. Alarms when off.

And suddenly, from only knowing warmth, I'm cold. Felt like...
Children's Hospital, Antarctica.

They severed the cord of my only source of nourishment. I inhaled their gritty particulate-filled cologne stenches, coating my lungs with pseudo-purified sludge.

To make sure I understood something, they smacked me so I'd cry. Release the saline.

PAIN rules here, boy.
Pain, suffering and then death. Oh you don't believe us? Well, we're going to cut the skin off the tip of the one thing that can ever return you partly to the pleasure you just came from, but with reduced potency. A circum-exor-cism to give you only a spectre-glimpse, to tease you, so that you may experience pain more deeply. You'll search for this pleasure ever after...and never have your fill.

Trust us. We are doctors.
We are here to save you.

Nurse, get the needles and inject this boy with disease-laden vaccine scorpions. It's just like a little voodoo doll with a soul injured with every prick.
(Pricks.) And take some of his blood.

Now give him back to his mother
scarred, bled, violated, cold...Now feed him poison. Give him a sip of fluorinated chlorine pool piss to quench his thirst. He's had a long journey.

...and has a lot further, farther to go.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

The Play with Boys Bunny

Have you ever met a character who was just a bit more animated than most people?
The kind who speaks very effeminately, maybe dresses in drag and kisses men?
You know--

Bugs Bunny.

I'm not saying Bugs is gay. I'm just saying he occasionally dabbles in transvestism and gets his proverbial rocks off by teasing his ever-confused secret lover Elmer Fudd.

Now I'm not saying Elmer's gay, but I think the whiskers would be a dead giveaway of Bugs' masculinity. But Fudd is known to be confused too, as you'll soon see.

Look, we all know bunnies are horny little beasts...
...and will hump

Look what a cock-a-doodle will do!

But I can understand Bugs' confusion. He has no genitalia.

But it's Elmer Fudd I'm concerned about. He's kinda sick in the head, and needs psychotherapy. The mask of Hannibal Lecter kind. He wants to eat a male rabbit, but bang a shemale one?
He is a tad bit messed up. Look at what Bugs has put him through! The guy doesn't know who he is anymore--A man, a woman, gay, lesbian, bi, interspecies-ist!

[See exhibit A below]

By the way, Tweety Bird, hermaphrodite mutant child dwarf clone of the giant genetic abberration (also a spawn of the avian version of Hermes and Aphrodite) Big Bird, who impregnated itself, is not gay. Hermaphrodites, especially mutants, can't be gay.

It's been brought to my attention that there are many suspect closet toons.
Let us not forget the inseparable Shag "He" and Scooby "Doo"...

But really...that's just bestiality.

The Man, The Myth, The Poedophile.

Disclaimer: You should probably not believe most of this stuff. Probably.

Today, 1836 years after his lord and savior was crucified, Edgar Allen Poe became [the hero of] R. Kelly, the self-proclaimed "Pied Piper of R&B."

Peddy Ed Poe,” as he was later known, was 27 when he married his prepubescent 13-year old cousin, Virginia “Aaliyah” Clemm, in a Presbyterian church. They wrote on the marriage certificate that she was 21, blatantly lying in the face and in the house of their Lord and Savior.

Afterward, they went on their honeymoon to try to make some mentally disabled babies. Through divine intervention, they didn’t succeed at getting down with that syndrome. Rumor has it she was cursed with never finishing puberty.

Thank the Lord, who apparently decided to not do any savior-ing. Rather He was blamed by some for striking Virginiaaliyah down with the disease that affected many incessantly incestuous harloteens of the 19th century—Tuberculosis.

Virginia, unrepentant even on her deathbed, told her Peddy Bear that after she died she’d be his guardian angel. Due to the depth of their sins, R. Peddy wasn’t so sure about this. It’s said in many pagan circles that Poe performed a voodoo ritual that would one day bring him and his beloved back from the grave to perform pop music.

The ritual consisted of urinating on a voodoo doll while singing the magic words “I believe I can fly. I believe I can touch the sky. You and me [ooh baby] shall nah nah nah never die!”

Monday, May 10, 2010

Cyborg is Just Another Word for Cool Super Powers

One day you're going to be as cool as a cyborg. With Super Duper Powers!!!
I know you're telling yourself, "Caca del toro, Hunterino."

Oh, but no. Would I lie to you? No. Because otherwise I'd just keep these super powers to myself and dominate you all. The proof is below.

Just look what you get for signing up for the prototype stage:

1.) Pseudo-Telekinesis
First we've figure out how to operate machinery with our brains.
See exhibit a--The Jedi Trainer Toy. A frickin' toy that operates on measuring brainwaves.

They always start with the kids, don't they?

But trust me, MIT and this German company are going further. Soon you won't need to even touch the computer. Telekinesis. Sort of. Well, it's not. But it's still an awesome power to have.

2.) Super Sight
You'll have to get your reality augmented to always be able to "see" the web. Here, check out Layar. Of course spammy advertising will pay for all this for you, as you're about to see. But soon after being connected you'll begin to see the world like this:

You're going to have to be able see this new reality stuff with stuff like this:

4.) Super Strength

With this exoskeletal armor like this that multiplies human strength. Created by a company, ironically, called Cyberdine.

5.) Telepathy

Your mobile phone will be in your brain, so that's convenient.
You're going to need a wi-fi connection, now ain't ya? Yes you is.
Not to worry. The Koreans have figured that part out for you. Human skin transmits those signals super awesomely.

6.) Unlimited Power Ups!

Wireless electricity, too. Thanks to Tesla.

Soon you too can be a super hero like...

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Now Zombitches Are Attacking Me!

Okay, so last night I had a another weird dream.

There was a rap concert on a basketball court contained by barbed wire fencing. Apparently, even in my dreams rap concerts bore me.

So I climbed the fence to escape. I saw why the barbed wire.


Hot Chick Zombies. In Bikinis.

Zombified, ugly and rotting. But undeadly sexy. I mean, they were like Sirens of Greek mythology. You know the ones that sang to sailors and made them commit suicide? Yeah, them. But not.

Instead of mesmerizing voices like the Sirens, they had robust, pulsating, glowing, hypnotizing asses.
The Gluteus Necrophilius were beckoning me to them by some unholy bitchcraft. But I was strong.

At first.

They were walking backwards towards me, pulling off their bikinis, revealing those decaying, but smooth, but oozing, but tempting, but gross...asses. I was in a trance, succumbing slowly.

The leader started grinding her undead ass on my crotch. And the circus tent went up.

Then her head twisted around Exorcist-style and tried to bite my shoulder. I held her drooling face back and ripped off her foot and shoved it in her mouth like a sock so she wouldn't eat me.

Take that, succubus!

The taste must've been delicious because she went crazy gnawing on it with what teeth she had left. This was my chance to escape.

But I got caught in her ass trance (or so I want to believe) and I pulled down my pants--
Paranormally horny, supernaturally stiffened.

Then I realized I was still under the zombie spell and shook it off right as she was finishing her foot/food and turning her lifeless, starving eyes to her fresh Human Carpaccio. Me.

Her drooling teeth were chattering with hunger like that Cenobite from Hellraiser.
I pushed her off and started running with my pants at my ankles, so I wasn't much faster than top zombie speed.

Luckily, in all dreams I can fly if I remember I have the ability.

I didn't do that.

I woke up. It was smarter.

I was sweating. And there was drool on my pillow.

I don't drool. And then there was the circus tent.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

An "Errorist" Attack on Me

Taxi: Where are you from?

Hunter: Washington, D.C.

Taxi: America? I hate Americans.

Hunter: Hmph. So.

Taxi: Do you know where I'm from? Can you guess?

Hunter: No.

Taxi: Go ahead. Guess.

Hunter: No. Make this right. And a left at the roundabout.

Taxi: I'm Pakistani.

Hunter: That's nice.

Taxi: You call me terrorist. And kill my people.

Hunter: I don't call you a terrorist. I call you a taxi driver. And I don't kill people.
I make ads. You make this left please.

Taxi: I don't like Americans.

Hunter: You don't like tips either.

Taxi: Oh, I'm not serious. All countries, all people are bad and kill people.

Hunter: What's your name?

Taxi: Faisal.

Hunter: Faisal? How coincidental. That's the name of the arrested Pakistani suspected of putting that failed bomb in Times Square the other day. He was arrested at the airport on his way to Dubai. You can drop me off here. Thanks.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

The Creation of Jobs

On this day, one thousand nine hundred and fifty-five years after Christ allowed himself to be treated harshly because of a woman alive millennia before him bit a forbidden fruit of knowledge of good and evil, Steve Jobs was born. And he was good.

But he was seduced by the dark side—also known as LSD—and dropped out of college. He then went to India to search for spiritual “enlightenment” through pagan rituals and “paying respect” to graven images of laughing fat Asian men dressed like pimps.

The LSD gave him malevolent multi-colored pixilated visions. He wanted to project these on to children, so he left India and became a video game maker. With this he could control their minds and destroy the symbol of their humanity—the opposable thumb.

But he was just getting started. In the year 1984, using the symbol of the original evil (the aforementioned forbidden fruit of smartness), he founded Apple Computers. He launched the empire with a TV commercial (during the Super Bowl, no less) depicting a sexually charged armed woman disrupting a peaceful gathering of cancer patients watching an inspirational movie. She smashed their movie screen with a sledgehammer. Bitch.

Apple then set in motion what we know as the graphic user interface—computer screens with "icons" you can click on to do stuff. He used this to dominate all human interaction with computers--effectively enslaving humanity to computers. These interfaces are inseparable from living. Banks, hospitals, power plants, and military...there is no escape from it.

Then there was the iPod. And no one was immune to the subconscious message sent by U2’s Bono The Irish Gandhi’s writhing silhouette iPod TV commercial.

But Jobs' job was not done. He was quoted as saying: "I would trade all of my technology for an afternoon with Socrates."

And you know what that means. He's building a time machine. And when it's complete he'll open a rift in the space/time continuum causing a temporal paradox that’ll reverse the universe back into Nothingness. And his purpose will be fulfilled.

We cannot let this happen.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

Taint Valentine's Day

Today is Valentine's Day, the day on which we celebrate love, romance, depression, guilt and regret.
The holiday is named after Christian priest, St. Valentine, who was martyred on 14 February, 269 years after Christ was crucified in Rome--the place where the word "romance" originates, ironically...

The tradition of exchanging love notes on Valentine's Day originates from Valentine himself. I don't know who started the whole buying flowers, chocolates, jewelry, teddy bears and dinner. But if Valentine started that, then I can understand why he had to be made an example of.

Anyway, due to a shortage of enlistments, Emperor Claudius II forbade single men to get married in an effort to get more recruits in the army. Most of the other Roman priests gaily went along with this plan of keeping the boys separate from girls. And of course, being ancient Rome, the army had a "Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Everyone Already Knows" policy.

Seeing this act as mean and unholy, Valentine performed secret wedding rituals in defiance of the emperor.
He was discovered, imprisoned, and sentenced to death by decapitation. While he was losing his head in jail, Valentine fell in love with the daughter of a prison guard, who would come and visit him. I don't know why a prison guard would let his daughter visit a hardened criminal, but anyway...

On the day of his death, Valentine left a note for the young woman professing his undying devotion signed "Love from your Valentine." I guess it isn't hard to tell a woman you'll love her for the rest of your life if you're about to head off to the afterlife. But the Romans were not finished with the dead romantic. Like Christmas and Easter, they then stole the holiday legacy from him, and gave it to a naked winged boy named Cupid, who shot arrows into your heart. Since then love forever became synonymous with pain.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

El Libro de la Cara

Today. 2004. Mark Zuckerburg launched what was at first called "The Facebook". These days it's known simply as Facebook, or WaceTime.

The website's name comes from the student directory book with names and photos that's distributed to incoming students at many universities.

Harvard sophomore Zuckerburg, a comp-sci major, had gotten the idea for doing an online facebook when he was slightly drunk on a Tuesday night. He'd just been dumped by his now regretful girlfriend and was looking for a distraction.

Whereas most college kids would probably opt for the less savory stimuli of the net, he got off by a hackjob into the Harvard database, copying photos from dorm lists and putting them online onto The Facebook, of which he wrote the code.

In its first few hours of operation, hundreds of potential Illuminatus Skulls & Bones members, I mean--Harvard students, used it to look at over 20,000 photos of their classmates.

A few days later, the site was shut down by Harvard and Zuckerburg was charged with a number of disciplinary things, including violating privacy rules and breaching security. They dropped the charges for some reason, then called him to a secret initiation of blood sacrifice with a virgin monkey, and to set up the secret plan for dominating the world through status updates and pointless sharing.

Today, about 350 million addicts around the world actively abuse Facebook as a Social NOTworking tool. And now gajillionaire Mark Zuckerberg can get any half-naked girl's picture to chat with him. For free.