Fer dat which play, I giveth thee my wad. Fer dat which don't, I giveth thee my sympathy. Doom is the best game ebber invented fer da hostile, not much good if ye are a fossile (meant to rhyme, so "fossile" is pron. "foss-eye-ell") Yipper, Rappin Joe Smiley here widda latest and da infestus (no rhyme der) and I have finished me first four lebels ub Doom II..u/l'ed dem, so ye Doom freakoid bastards try it out now, ye hear...U/L New D/l's under on here til approval from Sysop...I 'spose..whatever happened to dat zip verifyer tang? Keep yer skull cracked and point yer finger at da sun..soon it will embell-ish ye...Keep yer underwear band snappin, and ye shall turn red widda turnips in yer garden of life...

Friggin Guy Smilpleton Jr., 3rd abridge-a-mentation

Guy Smiley's Finkelstein
Finkelstein the Deletathorian sat upon his painter's smock. He was quite nude and a little distraught. He had thrice pondered the association between Crispix and The Wheatie. And so he thought, bewittled by his little schemes and intertwined puzzles. He thought so hard, the vein in his forehead began to swell. After pondering only a moment longer, the vein popped, spraying his face with warm, fresh blood. Finkelstein ran his fingers through the moisture and slicked his hair back with the scarlet, sticky bodily fluid, and laughed. He laughed like no other with a burst vein in his forehead had ever dared to laugh. He even chuckled a bit. He quickly poked the business- end of the vein back into his forehead and reached for the band-aid decanter, which was snuggled closely to the cotton swab dispenser, when suddenly, a gloved hand grabbed his forehead from behind, drew his head back, and as he saw the icepick heading straight for his eye, he pondered one last thought. "Power Rangers or V.R. Troopers...."
Tales From The Guy (episode 27)
The thunder crashed. The lightning exploded. Your heart went pitter-pat watchin Felix...the most elusive cat. And so on that midsummer night's sex dream, we all pondered the thought of besetting the Frugal Gourmet aflame. He lookethed as though he deserved some sort of punishment, some of which perhaps would be much too advanced for the simpleton to achieve. So with this, we extracted the remains of one Sir Alec Guiness, whose pompousity mixed with paranoia seemed a choice selection to remedy the situation of which type of dismemberment would be most suitable for the self-acclaimed PBS star. Mr.

Guiness' corpse was not amused. As we confronted it with the puzzle, it began making "frrthhpp frrthhpp" noises, not unlike a common human utter-ance from the buttockal region. It rolled its eyes in a counter-clockwise direction, as if to say "why are you wasting my time?" So we lay the corpse to rest once again, not before decapitating it, for our own selfish egotistical statement of supreme power over the dead. And so the Frugal Gourmet flourished, in his own private PBS hell, but we all knew this would be suitable punishment for the spinach-chinned monsterwe all know as...

(eerie music please)

Guy Sniglet Pervasive Disemployment

Guy Smiley's Firechat Theater presents...>>> The Amazing Flimbone <<<
* Brought to you by Pancho's Roach Villa, just under the viaduct on the south-east corner of Espanol and Selena...Los Eatos Mucho Suave~

Today's story opens with a scene of a crapload of tree stumps, as far as the human eye can possibly focus. A young Flimbone stands short, contemplating the landscape, as if some kind of evil calliope music were dancin in his brain. And one single thought enters his mindscape..the words "my terrior's less tenacious.." He picks a fully-decayed shrimp shell from his bicuspid as he gropes at his crotch. "Ayep..this is the spot to begin my journey, for today is forever and to-morrow nay cometh.", so spaketh the unbecomin Flimbone. "Twice have I pondered the challenge, and once have I been distraught, but nay further, for
I shall furrow this great land with me own hand and a porta-potty." So the Amazing Flimbone went back to his adobe hut and put on his work sandals. He also tookfourth a poop, but I chose to leave that part out of the tale. As he walked back out into the vast tree stump jungle, a tiny gnat attached itself to his upper lip. Acting quickly, the Amazing Flimbone spit and sent the gnat whirling through the air. The spittle landed some ten paces away on the adobe breakfast nook. Flimbone walked over to wipe the spittle up with the palm of his hand when he noticed the gnat struggling to free itself from the green bubble of mucus. As he stared at this dramatic work, he heard a tiny voice say "Help me!" "Help me?", Flimbone muttered to himself. "Help me?" "Yes, help me ye friggin bastard!", uttered the relentless cry of the tiny insect form. "Help you what?", questioned the astonished Flimbone. "Help me break this mucus bubble so I may be set free.", replied the entrapped, helpless mite. "The truth will set you free, my tiny friend.", stated Flimbone. And with that, the Amazin Flimbone slammed his fist upon the spittle, send-ing the small speaking gnat into its white-tunnels and kaleidoscopes of the afterlife, thus giving the gnat the freedom he really deserved, for it was THAT which the gnat truly requested under its utters and moans. This was realized by the Amazing Flimbone, and that's how the Amazing Flimbone got his name...not fer the self-righteous acts of purifyin the land of tree stumps. And so it was written and so it was wrote. Stay tuned fer the World Wrestling Federation...the WWF.."You bored? SLIP INTO A SLIM JIM!"

Yer Welcum.

(c) 1995 Guy Smelber Pod

Bibbles the Chimp
Bibbles the chimp was on the red-eye to Vegas when he spied a balloon bobbing up and down next to his crate in the cargo area. Thinking his luck had finally changed, Bibbles reached for the balloon, but, alas, the balloon was just out of his reach. Broken-hearted and teary-eyed, Bibbles sighed. Why was he the butt of the joke? It wasn't long before Bibbles noticed something else in the dark corner of the storage facility. It was a doll. No wait....It was a genuine Charlie McCarthy ventriliquist doll, staring eerily at him. Upon eye contact, the puppet raised a knife and began walking towards Bibble's crate, smiling. The folks in first class never heard Bibble's screams of terror as he was decapitated and filleted. You see, the spooky puppet was posessed by a demon from hell!
A Golf Ball Tale
Some time ago, a young Mr. wood came to my door delivering a parcel containing a square golf ball. When asked if he was of any relation to the famed actor named Mr Eastwood, he gave me the finger. So I chased the youngster through the streets of midtown Manhattan with a wooden baseball bat that had nine-inch nails pounded into it. The weapon was of my own design,
and was a simple alternative to the Freddy Kruger razor-glove I had originally attempted to construct. When the lad ducked into a bar named "The Blue Oyster", I knew I dared not follow. His punishment awaited him in his own private hell. And so I was satisfied. I will never forget the deliverance of the square golf ball. A short story to appease yer insatiable hunger fer Quaker Oats...

Samuel Polythene and his working thyroid sat upon a bubble, waiting for his sentence. It had been six full years since he came into town to cast his ugly shadow upon the world. This sentencing would determine if he either is a thimble or a basket, neither of which he had hoped to be in his early years, the wonder years, if you will. And so he sat, heavily petting his thyroid, as this was the day his fate was to be determined.