What a wonderful day to hang myself....

(front door opens to a dark abandoned D&D headquarters)
Hello-o-o-----o--------o???
Anyone here?
Wow, the old office looks so sad these days.
(flicks light switch to reveal the distressed remains of the once prestigious HQ)
Oh, look at the rotting dog carcass! I remember when PK asphyxiated himself while pleasuring his anus when i was using it as a sock puppet.
And the hole in the bathroom stall when we tried to play who's wiener tastes worse after 2 seconds in a bloody asshole with the intern. Damn I miss those days. I wonder what the old crew is up to now?
Too bad this will be the last time that I look at this old place. It has come to my attention lately that I am so fucking cursed with this college football shit that I am bringing this disaster to and end. I had to watch Utah pull of that crap and I really don't want to hear them bitch for a year on how they deserve to be #1. Be thankful you are number 2 you British cigarettes!

Utah - you are why I am hanging myself.

And Oklahoma....why lose to Florida? Why? I hate hearing that God sucking mother fucker Tebow with his big tittied ass girlfriend say how great he is and how much he has done for society.

Oklahoma - you are why I am hanging myself.

Fox. Really? I heard your spare ass BCS crew tell me all game how much Tebow has meant to college football and how the Gaytors are destined to win.

Fox - you are why I am hanging myself.

Fiesta Bowl was a great game....if you do not hate Texas. Well I fucking do. I was upset that tOSU lost and I really think that I am a curse to Buckeye nation, but I would rather suck on Mark Mangino's underboob than have that Colt McCoy fuck-knuckle win another game.

Texas - you are why I am hanging myself.


Is it a bit much? Possibly. But after 8 months crying my bloody rectum to sleep after sucking dick and taking bribes for a quick shot from a rusty AIDS infested meth needle to the forehead while in rehab, why wouldn't I.

(the noose tosses above the doorway to the old office as I tighten it up to make sure I don't screw this up. I fit my head inside the noose and snug it to my neck. A mild erection occurs)

Well...didn't expect that. Fuck it, just jump off the stool and call it a day.

Ok, maybe one last quickie.

Savant: Dude, what the FUCK are you doing?!? Where have you been?

(Hairy Carray, Pork Chop U and PK follow Savant in the doorway)

I thought this was done? I thought we boarded the place up for good? I thought more than anything we realized we suck at this and ran out of material?

PK: Well we did. We were going to light ourselves on fire in here and burn down with the building.

Oh.....sorry to ruin that bag of fun.

Pork Chop: 3 BCS losses in a row really buried us too.

Hairy Carray: Hey Poon, why is your back to us?

Uh....no reason.....

PK: You have got to stop masturbaiting......

Poon: Why?



The end?

And the winner.....

Hairy Carrey reacts to the realization that PorkChop didn't pick a winner.

I was going to write about the final four. Yes, I know I didn’t capitalize it like CBS wants me to—but we don’t get any advertising dollars from them and I still don’t have a cool, expensive car that makes me feel good about myself, so go pound sand up your ass.


I might be the least qualified person of all the writers (and I use that term loosely) on D&D to write anything about basketball. This year, I have paid less attention to the NCAA tournament than I have to my stepson’s World ofWarcraft game. No titties, no watchie.

I wasn’t even going to fill out a bracket for the first time in 20 years. I didn’t have the emotional depth to think about it after Ohio State took the skin bus to poop town. I mean, really, the NIT? Can anyone else see that turd merchant from Florida spray painting on the wall yet? Or is it just me?
So some dude from down the hall came by my office on Thursday morning at 10:30 and told me to write a check for $11 and fill out a bracket. That’s right. Eleven dollars. Mars, bitches.

So I filled it out in two minutes, which is what everyone says when the bracket they filled out sucks harder than Billy Joel at Ozzfest. And I had listened to some fuckface at ESPN on the radio that morning who said, “Ooh Georgetown, when they get through putting the hurt on everyone, it’s going to be worse the CIA’s Phoenix Program in Vietnam. Nothing but chalk.”

It ends up, all four No. 1s make it to the final four and the people who make the brackets are breaking their elbows patting themselves on the back. Come on, starch scrotes. Everyone in the world fills out at least one bracket where all the No. 1s go to the final four. My cat is winning the pool right now with that bracket.

So instead, I was going to talk about Davidson, a team that played pretty well before succumbing to the mohair anal beads that are the Kansas basketball program. And then I was going to talk about M Pork Chop U, because when I went to school, I’m pretty sure we were in the Southern Conference with Davidson. Back then, MPCU was a decent basketball school and the football team lost to Morris Harvey (College, not University). In 1985, or some other shitty year, we got a big boy tournament berth and closed down Third Avenue and threw girls in the air with stadium blankets before some fucker screamed, “Raid the 7-11!” and all 1,000 of us ran in and took every ounce of beer. And there was no rape.

And I think I remember a roadie where we went to a game against Davidson and the girls there specialized in rimjobbery. But I might be mixing up my Southern Conference schools.

So I went to MPCU’s website to corroborate said late-night scuzzery, buffoonery and other sodomies. And what to my wandering eyes appear? An abortifacient (look it up, or better yet, read a book). That’s right. My school’s crapulent website doesn’t even mention its inclusion in the Southern Conference.

And the Southern Conference website, powerhouse that it is, doesn’t even mention my school, except for Jeff Montgomery. For real. And he’s from Jackson, or is it Wellston? I can never keep them straight.

No wonder Memphis has won 37 (4,323) games in a row. Jesus, they play my squadron.
So fuck me, I guess. It’s as if MPCU didn’t play in any league that exists other than the honey-laden oases of the Conference USA. Mid America doesn’t want to remember the ThunderClap, seeing as we went stampede on everyone and heard the lamentations of the women and saw our enemies driven before us.

So, here it is. Kansas wins because Psycho T isn’t that good (do they play?). And UCLA wins because of some John Wooden thing. And then, Poon falls into the RiverWalk and is saved by a Ben-Wa ball, who is subsequently arrested for public cunnilingus.

Pork Chop Out

(Ed: So it's up to you, Turd Burglar, to pick your own winner. MPCU ripped a hammy while sitting on the fence and left it in your capable hands. So?)

How to build a drink with ice without your wife noticing

I want to tell you about something that happened to this dude named Porkchop and how he’s trying to come to terms with it.

When Porkchop came back from a vacation this summer, Porkchop’s wife was not very happy with him. It seems he acted ugly in many ways and drank enough booze in 10 days for Porkchop’s brother and brother’s wife to call mom and tattle. Then Porkchop’s wife, “We need to talk about our future together.” Anyone who is married knows what this veiled threat is all about.

So it’s cutback time for Porkchop, who knows how good a gig he has, working from home and slapping his yambag all the time. So now he can’t drink on Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday, which represents a turmoil that’s significantly less than sporadically amusing. And when he does get to drink, he has to be responsible and quit before Porkchop morphs from Professor Porkchop into Fuckface Porkchop. The probability of this happening, he explained to me, indicated a potential statistical anomaly based on past performances. So that means when Porkchop’s lovely wife and family are in bed and he’s supposed to have stopped slugging back his cups, he has to sneak, which seems like a perfectly cromulent thing to do at the time. And yes, he says, before you raise your goddamned accusatory eyebrow, he knows is one of the classic indicators of alcoholism. But nevertheless, he is not going to AA because Porkchop will not submit to religion because he believes, as Einstein taught, religion is a bunch mumbo-jumbo and there probably is a god somewhere but he really isn’t interested in whether Porkchop can have another drink or two before he goes to fucking bed.

The rest of this essay is based on the assumption that a good liquor drink must be served in a glass rocks glass with plenty of ice. Otherwise, just guzzle it out of a bag, wino.

So he says the first thing to be careful of is slamming the cabinet door. Porkchop has those kinds of hinges where the door pops up about ¼ inch before it closes, and it makes a loud bang even if he keeps his hand on it. Then, the careful opening of refrigerator, which, depending on his paranoia, may include slipping his fingers beneath the rubber gasket that seals the door to break the airlock quietly. Now, one must remove the ice bucket from the freezer (not sliding but lifting and pulling) and carefully retrieving one ice cube at a time without disturbing those ice cubes contiguous to the original. With a dish towel wrapped around the glass to muzzle the clinking noises of ice falling into a rocks glass, carefully place one cube at a time inside, making sure not to upset the tedious balance of cubes already at rest. Of course, you don’t close the refrigerator while doing this so you don’t have to open it again. Quietly replace the ice bucket, then tip the glass to the side while the warm sweetness pours into thirsty vessel. Some nights, Porkchop must open another can of Sprite Zero (three to four drinks can be created per can) and this is quite difficult, because when the tab pulls and the interior gasses escape according to the laws of osmosis, it makes a loud cracking sound easily detected by the motherhearing of a wife even when she is sleeping. So place the unopened can under the shirt and wrap the non-opening hand around the outside. Slowly pull the tab while hiding in the downstairs bathroom with the poop fan on, then skulk back to the kitchen carefully avoiding the floorboards that squeak in the middle of the floor where people have been walking for 60 years.

Mix the bubbly with the marinated ice and happy juice. Almost anyone can handle the rest, including quietly installing the rocks glass in the back of the dishwasher’s top rack after you move the glass that was back there to the front so it will throw the dogs off your scent trail.

If you see Porkchop on that terrible TV show Intervention, he’ll be the one swinging punches at those in his family and friends who try to keep him from leaving.