Thursday, March 31, 2016

Monday, February 01, 2016


Live blogging from the den of Satan's bunghole, our intrepid reporter, Heidi Holst interviews Trump:

HH: Hello Mr trump

DT:How did you get in here? where is my security?

HH: Would you say damn Mexicans is your number one issue?

DT: Security? What the hell is going on here?

HH: What about animal rights? Do you like doggies?

DT: Listen, I don't know who you are or how you got into my private bathroom, but I hate dogs and Mexicans

HH: Thank you, Mr Trump and where is the tampon machine?

DT: No problem. security!

Monday, April 21, 2014


Wednesday, March 12, 2014


After many years of operation we regret to say that Holstville and Downtown have been consumed by the barn fire

Friday, August 30, 2013

Labor Day

Jimmy shot Earl over a sink sponge. Film at 11.

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

My Tales Of Doe by Stephen Morgan La Follette

Chapter 1
Doe, Roy, and Me

"Dammity!" - Roy Doe

The sun was hot on our necks as we marched up the hill that August afternoon. Panting and dripping with sweat, we stopped at the place in the road they called five points to catch our breath. Dave sat on a rock and quickly jumped up, swatting away a few dozen hornets whose nest had been disturbed. Joey watched Dave in detached amusement as I stopped, stood in place, cocked my head, and yelled, "Car!"
We all jumped behind the manzanita bushes and into the ditch. A sharp, grinding sound could be heard in the distance. "Ella's VW," I said, leaning on a patch of soft dirt. Joey nodded his head in acknowledgment as he continued watching Dave shoo the hornets away.  The grinding sound grew louder and soon a crusty, rusty VW bug emerged from around the corner. As the vehicle passed, we all got a whiff of the acrid scent of burning oil, cigarette smoke, stale beer, and dog shit.
The danger passed, we all climbed out of the ditch and made our way down the hill to our destination, Wordino's.
When we arrived at Wordino's, he was sitting indian style in his tent that was set-up on the deck of his brother's cabin. He was carving a small pipe and listening to a David Bowie tape on his JVC boombox. Joey sat down next to Wordino and pulled out a golfball sized chunk of Lebanese hash and pushed it under Wordino's nose. Dave swatted away the remaining hornet and I pulled a 24 pack of Schmidt's sportpack beer out of my backpack as the sun began to set.