I can't tell you how upset and angry I am with Delta for kicking me off my flight because of my emotional support badger. I AM GOING TO SUE THEM AND I AM GOING TO OWN THAT AIRLINE!
I'm kind of the Johnny Appleseed of wet willies. I spread them wherever I go from coast to coast. The lady sitting in front of me on the bus gets a wet willy. The old man in line at the supermarket gets a wet willy. Basically anybody I'm sure can't beat me up gets a wet willy.
Sometimes I use other things besides my saliva and my finger to compose my wet willy. I once used a slug on a guy who was struggling in crutches. Another time I found the perfect shaped turd and used that on a big guy who had been hit by a car and couldn't move. Amazing how wide his eyes opened as I squished it in his ear. I think it helped take his mind off his mangled body, so you're welcome, mister. Another time I put a rusty screwdriver in a little girl's ear.
I like to volunteer at the senior home. Those old people try to get away when they see me coming, but they just can't move fast enough to escape my finger. I sometimes give them the double wet willy. Then I steal their medicine. I always hear them begging the staff to make me leave, but fortunately nobody listens to old people.
Some people act really mad when you give them a wet willy, but I know they’re laughing on the inside. Sometimes they try to claim I'm assaulting them, to which I say, "I'll a-salt you!" Then I throw salt in their face. If they don't find that funny then I know the person is dead inside and I feel sorry for them. Take, for instance, the little girl with the screw driver in her ear. She just fell down and trembled for a few seconds then stopped moving altogether. What a little drama queen! How terrible to take everything so seriously at such a young age. Wet willies are for spreading joy and laughter and bacteria.
And that's why I consider myself the Johnny Appleseed of wet willies. Also of herpes.
At the end of every Mr. Rogers’ show he sang
I'll be back when the day is new.
And I'll have more ideas for you.
And you'll have things you'll want to talk about.
I will too.
Thinking back... The Facts Of Life got a little weird at the end of its run. I guess the writers were trying to shake things up to make the show relevant again. Still, they probably went too far when they added TJ. It was truly uncomfortable to watch.
What an experience it was being a juror on a federal case! Here are a few things I learned from this experience:
The world is going to hell. People don’t know how to take responsibility even for their own kids! Take for instance the time I was on vacation, driving down a desolate road while enjoying the sunset and what do I spot but a baby, I mean a human baby, crawling across the street. Of course, I stop. I'm not a monster! I get out and gently nudge him off the road with my foot. One must be careful because I certainly didn’t want to get bit by a baby I knew nothing about, especially while I was in the middle of nowhere. I had no idea if he had rabies or was diseased or what his story was. Plus, I've always heard you’re not supposed to handle them too much because if the mother finds it she might reject it. Another thing to remember if you’re in the same situation is to make sure you push the baby off the road in the direction it's crawling or else it might crawl back onto the road. As I drove off I thought, I’ve done all I can, it’s now up to you, little guy. I didn't get but a few hundred feet when I spotted a pack of wild dogs headed toward the baby. I said to myself, "I'll bet those wild dogs will raise that baby." It's beautiful how things seem to work out sometimes. And nothing beats the feeling you get after you do something nice. I will always stop for a baby in the road, unless I don't feel like it.
I know it's crass and juvenile of me, but let's address it. Where was that thing relieving itself the whole time it was in her apartment? Did she potty train him? Probably not. He seemed advanced enough that I'll bet he didn't want to soak in his own waste in the tub. So I imagine the first thing he did when he got into some real water was to let loose. I know it's pretty much the first thing I do whenever I jump into a pool.
God have mercy if you witnessed as a child the episode of Mr. Roger’s where a serial killer escapes into the Neighborhood of Make-Believe. It's burned into my memory how the killer catches every single inhabitant and breaks each of their backs, leaving them paralyzed on the trolley tracks. The only thing they could do is scream… and boy, did they. Then the killer lifted the trolley and went down the line smashing all of their little heads with the trolley. It was brutal.
Most people regard this episode as the one that finally jumped the shark, but I understand why Fred Rogers did it. Kids needed to learn that no place is safe, not even their imagination. Plus, the show was coming to the end of its long run. I guess Fred wanted to go out with a bang. And let’s face it, there were at least a few of those damn puppets we all wanted to see killed, like that stupid cat, Henrietta, who would randomly interject “meow” into all her stupid sentences. Also, Lady Elaine Fairchilde, who was obviously a drunk.
Troy Lukkarila talks about the challenges of being a clown on this video rant.
It was a crowded, stand-up rock and roll show. I was standing. My friends were standing. The guy next me was standing behind his standing girlfriend, lovingly holding her shoulders so everybody would know who she belonged to as they swayed in unison to the music. I was secretly checking out the girl when the guy lifted his hand off her shoulder and shoved his finger deep into his nose. Let me tell you, he picked the shit out of that thing, and it wasn't exactly quick, but she was into the music looking ahead at the band. When he finally found whatever he was looking for, he unselfishly gave it to his girlfriend by way of wiping it on her back, then he replaced his hand on her shoulder. She reached back and lovingly rubbed the hand, none the wiser. The perfect crime. And executed so flawlessly. I would have shaken his hand, but… ew.
My neighbor informed me that he and his mathematician wife are moving to Michigan because his wife has a great job opportunity at a university there. On hearing this news, I didn't offer congratulations. I didn't mention Michigan is full of beautiful forests and terrain. No, instead I chose to respond the same way every other lunk headed Floridian must respond, "It's going to be a lot colder up there."
My neighbor politely agrees, but I detect I've killed him a bit inside. He probably can’t wait to move away from his idiot neighbors and everybody else who has said the exact same stupidly obvious thing to him.
I do believe we have a problem in society where people tend to be needlessly cruel to each other, but on the other hand, I deserved mockery for my stupid statement. My neighbor SHOULD have responded with maximum sarcasm, "You mean to tell me Michigan is up north? Well dang! If only my wife had gotten her doctorate in geography instead of mathematics, we woulda knowd that. We just never considered that Michigan is colder than Florida when we were considering this life-changing move. Thank you SO much for enlightening us with your great wisdom. I just wish we'd talked to you before we went through all the trouble of putting our house up for sale."
To my neighbor and the rest of the world, I apologize for my stupidity. For the record, I have a Bachelor of Science degree, so I'm not a complete fucking idiot. I just sound like one sometimes. Feel free to call me out at those times. I promise to return the favor.
I did this when I got in a pillow fight with some sorority girls back in my college days. Trust me, it works! There wasn't a single girl left standing. Who can help but laugh when you see somebody smiling because they think they're going to get a soft pillow in the face, next thing they know, they're spitting teeth out of their mouth? Hilarity!
Also, did you know pillowcase is one word and so is doorknob? In fact, doorknob has been one word since the mid 1800's.
What kind of world do we live in when a guy can't even help an old lady with her groceries without getting arrested for assault? Furthermore, how come a sailor can kiss some broad in the street after we win a war and everybody thinks it's sweet iconic photo, however I kiss a random old lady on the street after the glorious Trump win and somehow I'm a monster. This is not what er voted for! I thought we all understood that this behavior was OK now!
And for the record, I didn't grope her. I wanted to, but I didn't, which shows some remarkable restraint on my part. Nobody shows more restraint than me.
I am sharing some of my favorite art entries from the Florida Clay County Agricultural Fair. Enjoy!
Click here for the full story.
I have to admit it was a damn good punch at the Trump rally for a 78 year old to be throwing. I've always said, if you have to punch a guy, it's best to go with the sucker punch. Even better if the guy you punch is surrounded by guards so he can't fight back. I mean, seriously, who could pass up an opportunity like that?
One time I saw a guy who was trapped in his car due to a nasty accident. I just started punching him in the face because I knew an opportunity to punch a guy without him fighting back is rare. I punched his wife some, too, but she was already dead so I didn't get much out of it.
Some people say it's in bad taste to sucker punch kids, only problem is if they know it's coming they run away, so you pretty much have no choice.
You don't have to sucker punch your own kids because they are easy to catch being that they usually live in your house. Problem is if you punch your kids too much, the state will take them away. Just another example of the government interfering in private affairs. Stupid government overreach. I've always felt that whomever you punch in your own house is your own business.
I came across these stuffed ducklings for sale at an antiques and oddities store in Austin, TX. Who would make such an atrocity? Clearly, there is only one possible answer and it is this:
A woman goes on a pity date with a guy. It is a pity date because this guy’s face is grotesque and his body is somewhat misshapen. He almost looks as though he’s been sewn together with parts from various c-grade humans. The woman is not exactly a looker, but she’s not gag-inducing, either. Definitely hittable.
It’s a beautiful Texas afternoon so they meet at a popular downtown park. As they’re strolling down the paved path the woman points to a pond and says, "Look at those baby ducks! They’re so cute! I would so love to have them… if only they would just stay little and cute forever." She chuckles at the absurdity of her statement. The disfigured guy lets out an understanding grunt.
The woman makes some excuse to end the date early. She feels she’s done her duty showing just a little kindness to the disfigured drooling guy. Did I mention he drools? Yeah, he drools.
A few days later there is a knock at her door. It’s a couple of Jehovah’s Witnesses. She accepts the Watchtower magazine and thanks them. Five minutes later there is another door knock. It’s the disfigured drooling guy who smells like formaldehyde. Did I mention he smells like formaldehyde? Of course he does.
Taken aback, the first thing out of her mouth is, "How do you know where I live?" He tells her there is only one Janet Heekahaunaele in the phone book. Also, he secretly followed her home the other night.
He presents to her four baby ducks. They have been meticulously preserved. Their little webbed feet are glued to a wooden base. What woman could resist such a darling display?
"They’ll be babies forever! Just the way you wanted. Look how cute they are," says the disfigured, drooling smelly man.
She knew it was time to come clean. "Look, I just don’t think I can see you again. I mean, you’re sweet and all… and I appreciate that you would go to all the trouble to catch these cute little innocent baby ducks and murder them just for me…"
"And they weren’t easy to catch, either. Their mother kept attacking me. I finally had to club her."
"I’m sorry, Frank… it is Frank, right?"
"Yeah, Larry. You’re sweet. But this isn’t going to work out. I only went out with you because I felt sorry for you since you’re so disgusting and all and you have very little chance of having any human contact." She closes the door.
"Larry remains outside the door and yells, "But I love you so much I killed baby ducks for you! I doubt there has ever been a more romantic gesture!"
Now I'll bet you’re thinking that Larry breaks in, bashes the woman in the head, drags her off and stuffs her so she can "live" permanently in his home. Well shame on you for thinking such a thing. First off, just because Larry is disfigured and kills little baby ducklings does not mean he is some kind of monster and would kill an innocent woman. In fact, he’s disfigured because he was a war hero and jumped on a grenade to save his fellow soldiers. I hope you’re feeling ashamed of yourself right now for your nasty assumptions because you should.
Also, stuffing a human is not practical because Larry is not a taxidermist. He had to take the ducks someplace to get them stuffed and it wasn’t cheap. It would cost a fortune to get a human stuffed and they probably wouldn’t do it anyway without the proper paperwork. So your line of thinking is making me question your sanity. All that happened was Larry left the woman’s house. On the way home he dropped the little stuffed ducklings off at a thrift store. They were too painful for him to keep. The ducklings were quickly bought by a collector who specializes in strange things.
Now you're like, "Well wait a minute. You said Larry smelled like formaldehyde. Why does he smell like formaldehyde if he’s not trying to preserve dead things?"
For your information Larry is also a professional photographer. Formaldehyde is used in film development. Look it up if you don’t believe me, you big jerk. He spilled a little of the chemical on himself and it’s hard to get rid of the smell, that’s all.
Any more questions? I mean, this wasn’t supposed to be a Q&A session. I just wanted to tell you how the stuffed ducklings came about but then you went down the sick path of murder. You just took it too far, really. You know what? I’m done with you. I don’t think you’re a healthy person to be around. I am now uneasy knowing people like you walk around freely thinking about murdering and stuffing human beings. Please seek help.
When I heard about the new Grace Jones ride at Disneyland Paris, I knew I had to go. As soon as I entered the park, it was
evident that Disneyland Paris is much different than the American version of the park. First off, there’s
nobody there. There was only one other attendant in the park and he just followed me around and spit on me.
I guess that’s a French custom. It’s cool, I just wish somebody had warned me about that one. But at least
there were no lines! You sure don’t get that in Orlando!
But that’s enough about the park, let me talk about the ride. I was worried when I got close that the Grace Jones animatronic would look stupid and fake, but it didn’t. Probably because it’s not a fucking animatronic. It’s really Grace Jones! And as soon as you get within her reach, she picks you up and throws you somewhere. One time she threw me so far I had to pay to get back into the park. She does this all day and she never gets tired. Sometimes she does it while she’s twirling a hula hoop. She’s amazing! I rode her over and over again!
So if you ever find yourself in that shithole of a city named Paris (France) and can’t find anything to do, my recommendation is you head on over to Disney and get manhandled by Grace Jones. It’s magical!
Day after day my inbox is filled with messages asking the same thing: "Are you happy with your penis size?" The other question I get, although not as frequently, is "Are you really as big of a dumbass as you seem?" It sounds like people don't know the real Troy Lukkarila. So in order to shed some light on the mystery which is apparently me, I decided to post some facts about myself.
Sara fell down and broke her leg
But she was all pumped up on some stuff
And ran around in circles.
When she calmed down I had sex with her.
Man, that was a great party.
Jane sat with her back against the wall
She had a puddle of puke in her lap
Some of it was even her own.
I took off her pants
And hosed her down
Then I had sex with her.
Man, that was a great party.
Bill said he could be William Tell
So he loaded up his shotgun
Put an apple on his girlfriend’s head
Then her head was gone.
Good thing we were in Mexico.
I don’t think anybody had sex with her,
But man, it was still a great party.
Like many people, I don't enjoy going to the doctor, but after years of putting it off, I finally decided it was time. You see, I've been suffering with a strange affliction that I've been embarrassed to talk about, but in the interest of helping others who may suffer from the same affliction, I am sharing. For years I have had an embarrassing liquid discharge that comes right from my penis, of all places. According to my doctor, the scientific name is "urination" but the laymen call it "peeing" or sometimes "pissing." My doctor assured me that it is perfectly natural and many people suffer from the exact same problem. He even confided in me that he often suffers from urination. According to my doctor, there are people out there who do urination pretty much every single day.
Since my visit to the doctor, I've learned so much. It turns out there is a whole secret society of people who do urination. In fact, many public buildings have secret little rooms where people in the know can go do urination. They can be identified by strange symbol next to the entrance, which I don't want to describe exactly, because I don't want just anybody going in the secret room, but if you suffer from urination your doctor will show you exactly what the symbol looks like. Or, if you want, email me directly and I will email you a picture of the symbol.
Inside the little rooms there are urination collection devices. Who knows what these places are doing with all this penis discharge. Maybe they make food out of it, I don't know.
There is certain etiquette one must follow in the urination room. For instance, it's considered rude to share the urination collection device, so if they are all occupied, you have to stand there and wait. Also, there isn't a lot of talking going on in the urination collection rooms, so I usually just smile and wink at people, because we're all in the know.
I hope coming out like this helps other people. There is no reason to be embarrassed. Stand up and yell to the world, "I am a urinator and I am proud!" I guess the main thing is, don't hesitate to go to the doctor when it comes to your health. A lot of times it's nothing, but better safe than sorry. In fact, I'm going to the doctor again next week. I don't even want to tell you what anus is discharging, but I'll give you a hint -- it really stinks.
It's difficult for me to decide what I love the most about this plaque.
Is it the sappy, politically incorrect, uncentered text?
Is it the man's freakishly long left leg?
Perhaps it is the way the illustrator isn't quite sure where elbows belong on a human being.
Maybe what I love most is that the man's left arm seems to grow right out of the side of his head.
Is it me or does the man look just a bit suspicious? Maybe a little creepy? Like if this were your child you might tell the disfigured man with the weird smile and long sideburns to back off and quit stooping over your crippled child.
The plaque is not hand-painted, meaning it was probably mass produced. I dream of the conversations that took place between the team of people responsible for this and how they gave each other encouragement to create this monstrosity. I imagine how it probably hung on a wall for years with people taking little notice. One day, a man walked into the building believing there was no magic left in the world. He saw this plaque. He read the words as a tear welled up in his eye, then said to himself in a whisper, "That's so beautiful." The day I found this in a thrift store, that man was me.