d&d Letters to Santa - Hairy Carrey

Dear Santa,

For 47 years I have defended you and subjected myself to the opprobrium, scorn, and contempt of friends. When you fucked up and didn’t bring me the GI Joe with the Kung Fu Grip—yeah, I was disappointed, but my foster-mom said that that Malibu Ken was a reasonable facsimile. And I bought it. But now………fuck.

I just read you got your ass fired at a mall for telling shitty jokes. That is some embarrassing shit. You work one day a year—and you can’t come up with some good material? Well, I’ve got your fat ass covered on last time, and then you are on your own. When you go back to the mall tonight try dropping a few of these beauties on the kids—they will love it:

Q: What do you call an anorexic bitch with a yeast infection?

A: A Quarter Ponder with Cheese.

Q: What's the difference between a hooker and a drug dealer?

A: A hooker can wash her crack and sell it again.

Q: What do the Mafia and a pussy have in common?

A: One slip of the tongue, and you're in deep shit.

Q: What has got two legs and bleeds?

A: Half a dog!

Q: What should you do if your girlfriend starts smoking?

A: Slow down. And possibly use a lubricant.

Q: What did the banana say to the vibrator?

A: Why are YOU shaking? She's going to eat me!

Q: What did the cannibal do after he dumped his girlfriend?

A: Wiped his ass.

Q: What do you call a ninety year old man who can still masturbate?

A: Miracle Whip.

Q: What is the difference between oral and anal sex?

A: Oral sex makes your day and Anal sex makes your whole weak.

Q: How do you kill a retard?

A: Give him a knife and say "Who's special?"

Q: Why can't Jesus eat m&m's?

A: Because he has holes in his hands.

Q: What’s black, white, and red all over and doesn’t fit through a revolving door?

A: A nun with a spear through her head.

Q: What's the difference between onions and prostitutes?

A: I cry when I cut up onions...

Well, that’s all I got for you, old man. Until then, bring me some good shit for under the tree.

Hairy

'Twas the Night Before Christmas in the D&D Office....

“Whew! Long day finally coming to a close. Can’t wait to join the Down and Distant boys at the bar for our last get together before Christmas. I couldn’t have asked for a better year with a better team than I have had this year. Honestly, I don’t think that Santa could even think of anything to give me that I don’t already have. Sorry fat ass, no need for you this year.”

Poon shuts down his computer by hitting ctrl+alt+delete, but then accidentally locks it instead of shutting it down.

“Fuck”

Unlocks the computer and then shuts it down the proper way. He continues to pack away his paperwork from the work filled day into his brown satchel…NOT A MURSE – A SATCHEL! As he stands up from his mahogany desk, he hears a faint rustling in the background.

“Hello? PK? You still here?”

A tall shadow casts across the floor of the D & D lobby outlining a large built man carrying some sort of item on his shoulder.

“Hairy! Did you bring in that three legged emu with a stiffie you were talking about handling up on? If so, I can leave…..or join…..your call.”

“HoHoHoly shit you are an idiot.”

“Santa.” Poon said with a glazed over look in his eyes. “I thought I said I didn’t need your fat ass around here this year.”

Santa turns the corner from the lobby and comes into full view staring Poon directly in the face. “I don’t think I asked your fucking opinion you perverted shit!”

He then walks slowly through the office turning over desk by desk; shattering lamps and dismantling computers in the process. Poon sits idly at his desk watching the fat man unravel at a rapid pace before his eyes. Once Santa has finished demolishing the D & D office, he stands at the open door of Poon’s corner office pulling two semi automatic assault rifles from his large bag on his back.

“Now it’s time for you to meet my two friends…Naughty and Nice. Which one have you been?”

Poon grabs his 9mm from his chest strap and unloads his clip as Santa fires back with a barrage of short spurts of fire from his rifles. Poon dives across the floor of his office while dodging bullets to crouch behind his couch. Santa stands at the door continuously firing his rounds at Poon.

With a crazy stare the fat one yelled, “MEET DASHER, DANCER, PRANCER, VIXEN, COMET, CUPID, DONNER AND BLITZEN!!!! HAHAHAHAH!!!”

Poon pulls his last grenade from crotch (which he doesn’t need at all to show that he’s got something down there…..seriously, it’s just for emergencies…..seriously) pulls the pin and chunks it right at the door. Santa grabs it mid-air and throws it out of the now shattered window to the ground below. Poon then realizes that he is done for and begins singing the theme to his favorite show to comfort him.

“The world don’t move to the beat of just one drum. What might be right for you….”

At that time he hears a loud yell. “HEY FAT ASS!!!”

The gunfire stops and he glances from behind the couch to see Savant standing right behind a now nervous and fearful Santa. Savant pulls his knife to the fat man’s throat and whispers, “You forgot Rudolph fucker.”

Savant slices through Santa’s throat and softly lays him down at his feet as he bleeds.

“You forgot Rudolph? That’s the best thing you had?” said Poon.

“What would you have said? By the way, a thank you would be in order if you don’t mind”

“I mean I know it was in the moment or whatever, but that was kinda gay. I think I may have rather him just keep shooting at me instead of hearing that crap. How are you going to retell this story with a straight face?”

“Ok dick. You want to sit here and dwell on this and explain to Rosa the maid why there is a dead fat man bleeding to death or do you want to meet up with everyone and not tell them you were singing Different Strokes while Santa Clause fired bullets at you?”

“Why you gotta call me out like that? I suppose you have a deal. First round’s on me. And by that I mean first beer, not that beer-shot-cocktail combo crap.”

“Jew.”

Merry Christmas to all and to all a Poon night!

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?

Da Souf Reegun

Ed: Our face full of NCDoubleA Hoops Pickery continues. Up next, Hairy Carrey. (Short on social graces but LONG on dong.) HC, the dais is yours. Your South Region picks please.

Let’s forget calling this the “South” region, and just see it for what it is. This is the “White Trash” regional—hands down. Just look at the shit-hole towns these poor bastards have to play in. Little Rock—nuff said. Denver—home of snow, more snow, and John Elway and his “eat corn on a cob through a chain link fence” teeth. Anaheim—home of the “Mighty Ducks”—by far, the lamest team name in all of sports (next to Wolverines). Worst yet, if you win two games in those corn-hole towns, you get to go to Houston. Beaner City. Might as well make the poor bastards swim across a river to qualify. No worries. Survive Houston, and it is on to the Alamo. How about playing the Final Four in America, for Christ’s sake?

That being said, the games will go down like this:

Memphis dispatches UT-Arlington and Mississippi State before being knocked out by rising Pittsburgh. After thrashing Cornell, Marquette, and Texas, Stanford meets Pittsburgh for the trip to San Antonio. Brains beat brawn in this one as Stanford and its twin towers head to the Alamo. Ironic, huh? The 7 foot Lopez brothers lead Stanford to the Alamo.

Hairy Carrey Out

SNOT

Another typical Ohio winter—60 degrees one day, 20 degrees with snow the next. I’m telling you, it just ain’t good for your health. So there I was, head filled with more fluids than Linda Lovelace after a hard day on the set. Couldn’t breathe, head achin’. So I call dear old Mum—who else do you call when you’re under the weather. “Zicam”, she says. “Works like a charm and worth every penny.” Well, I tried the stuff, and—well—I’ll just let my letter to the the manufacturer speak for itself:


Dear Zicam LLC;

I have been congested and feeling like hell for three days. I am on an antibiotic and a steroid spray to treat a sinus infection--no relief. My mom called from Florida to recommend your product. As Mom always knows best, I dragged my sick, tired, and stuffed up head, along with the rest of my sorry carcass, to the local CVS to purchase your product. Found it straight off--so far so good.

Opened box--check. Read directions thoroughly--check. Pulled red tab to remove seal from completely wrapped bottle--danger, Will Robinson. Red stripe breaks after unwrapping half of bottle. Worked for another 5 minutes to get frickin' bottle unwrapped--this is wrong--just wrong. Can't breathe, can't get stupid wrapping off bottle. I am a reasonably active, coordinated 44 year old. When I turn 80 I might as well just stumble out into the cold and wait for the dark angel cuz there's no opening that bottle when I am a geezer.

Success at last--aided by a fork, the bottle is open. Following the directions, I "prime pump by depressing several times". The third and fourth pumps emit a stream of gel that hits my kitchen ceiling. While the sound that it made while hitting said ceiling was somewhat pleasant, the task of climbing onto a chair in my head-ready-to-implode state was understandably dangerous, but what is a guy to do?

Finally pumped your product into my nostrils (with, I must add, some trepidation, given the force with which your product hit the aforementioned ceiling). Perhaps what occurred next should have been expected. Perhaps, after enduring several days of stuffed, sore, raw mucous membranes, I should not have gotten the "cooling menthol" intense sinus relief, and gone with the "soothing aloe" instead. But I come from the school of thought that eschews a "mild laxative"--hell, when I'm constipated, I want RELIEF! So, following that theorem, I went with the menthol. Wow.

Even now, 20 minutes later, neighborhood dog owners are still consoling their crazed canines, whose sensitive ears are still ringing with the high pitched screaming that emanated from my residence. The good news--some combination of chair climbing and screaming (and perhaps your medication) has cleared my sinuses for the first time in three days.

So allow me to thank you for your fine product. I am not certain if this is how it is intended to work, but I will be sure to recommend it to all of my sinus challenged friends.

Sincerely,

Hairy Carray
Columbus, Ohio


You know what? Those tools sent me a fuckin’ coupon. I inhaled the napalm those bastards pass off as a natural remedy, and they send me a lousy fucking coupon. Take my word for it. Instead of buying this shit, dip a rag in kerosene, stuff it in your nose, and light it. Word.

I Hate Lou Holtz

Lou Fucking Holtz is the biggest fraud to be perpetuated on college football. Shame on ESPN for putting this cheating fake on the air. I’m sick of his squirrely little mug, his goofy toupee, and his fake “aw-shucks” demeanor, delivered with a lisp reminiscent of Ron Howard from his homo-erotic turn as Andy’s son in Mayberry.

Why do I hate “Saint Lou” so. Let me give you four reasons. Arkansas. Notre Dame. Minnesota. Notre Dame. What do these four schools have in common? They all ended up on probation for violations that occurred when Lou was the coach there. And the biggest coincidence? Saint Lou didn’t know about any of it! What a lying douche bag. What I can’t understand is how he has gotten a pass on this from the mainstream media. Bill Belicheck tapes defensive signals, and people react like he lived next door to movie starts and invited Charles Manson over to dinner. Yet Lou gets four—count ‘em—four schools placed on probation, quits, writes a book, gets a tv deal, and lisps his way through his “pep talk” segment. Fucking douche. For a great read on the subject, Click here.

In the meantime, fuck Lou and the miniature pony the sawed off runt rode in on.

HC Out.

No Excuses

I KNOW. We are the sorriest excuse for a blog in the entire interwebtube world of blogging. No excuses. By that I mean we have them, but I’m not going to try to sway your opinion of us by listing them here. We should stand on our own merits of competent and prolific blogocity. It shouldn’t matter that Poon’s new job as Chief Gnat Shit out of Pepper Picker is taking up all his time. And of course the medication he is taking for his pending “Change” makes him tired and negatively effects his creativity.

Savant hasn’t been seen since he ran off with Fritz the Erasure roadie. We know he’ll be happy as a clam….A clam with a ball-gag permanently crammed in its mouth that is.

Pork Chop, well you know Pork Chop. He’s been on a Hunter S. Thompson-like bender all summer. He’ll eventually tear down the foil off his apartment windows and emerge like Punxsutawney Phil only to realize it’s a cold drizzly late-fall in the Midwest and retreat to his bath-tub gin, Newports and crack whores.

Hairy Carrey, has always been thought of as the supposedly most upstanding and responsible of the bunch…PFFFFFT. He’s been way too busy trying to work the bugs out of his “theft prevention” cameras he installed in the girls locker room at his school. Good news is that theft is down but Ted the janitor is confounded about the origin of all the icing on the floor of the Asst. Principal’s office, and how to clean it up.

Even yours truly may have lost the muse. I’ve just really been depressed since I found out that Rosie O’Donnell was leaving The View. I just love her. I think it's so cute that most of the time you can still see her breakfast of bacon and ranch dressing on her chin. That GD Drew Carey, he must have blown someone to take away her rightful gig on The Price is Right. Bastard.

Seriously, none of that should matter. If we need to we’ll fire the whole fucking bunch of them and run Indy Buckeye and his footie pajama wearing posse in here if we can get some decent production out of this bitch. We’ll pull that trigger in a red hot second. Let this be a warning shot across your collective bow, Down and Distant. Get yer shit squared away and write, dammit. Or you’ll find your self right back where you started, making scary preditory comments on the Hannah Montana fan site.

So as not to have this post be just about bitching and complaining here’s a nice photo of the beautiful and talented Mrs. PK in Seattle, where she and PK were supporting our beloved Buckeyes. More photos available upon request. And, NO Hairy, not those types of photos. You perv.

PK out

Needling Barry

Here at D and D we hold ourselves to the highest standards of journalistic ethics. While blogsters and the mainstream media have had a field day with tragic stories involving Barry Bonds, Michael Vick, and allegedly crooked NBA officials, we have maintained that, like all Americans, these citizens are innocent until proven guilty. That being said, Barry Bonds is a cheatin’, no good, needle stickin, clear and cream usin’ lying piece of shit. He couldn’t carry Hammerin’ Hank’s jock strap. Hell, the only thing that douche bag hasn’t hammered is the backside of his personal trainer, Greg Anderson, who is doing hard time in the pokey for covering Barry’s needle scarred ass.

Oh, I can hear you bleeding heart liberal Hilary lickin’ Osama humpin’ cry babies right now.

“Oh, Hairy, that’s not fair. You have no proof.”

“Oh, Hairy, this is another case of keeping the black man down.”

“Oh, Hairy, you are just pissed because the Cubs have gone 99 years without winning the World Series and the Marlins have already won two.”

OK. That Marlins thing does burn my ass. But the rest of it is just plain horseshit. Want proof. Here goes.

I was at the first annual Anna Nicole Smith Memorial Trailer Park’s Flea Market Extravaganza, and let me tell you, it was a fine sale. I plunked down twelve dollars for a lot of seven shoe boxes full of baseball cards, Garbage Pail Kids cards, and pop tabs (the pop tabs I will send to little Billy Spchinctal, who needs 10,000 more tabs to qualify for a kidney transplant). Over the last few weeks I have been sorting through my cards, and along with a Buddy Biancalana World Series action card, I found damning proof that Mr. Barry Lamar Bonds is a juicer. Feast your eyes on this, sports fans, and tell Hairy that Mr. Bonds hasn’t done more juicin’ than a hooker with a cleft palate.



Wake up, you head in the sand namby-pamby nipple suckers! I implore you, when Barry Bonds steps to the plate in his quest to surpass the rightful king of the round-trippers, all Americans should stand at the ready, hands on their commodes, so when this cheatin’ piece of shit hits #756, they can flush their toilets, sending a resounding message that we don’t give a shit about Mr. Barry Bonds. Nuff said.

Things That Make Me Go “Hmmmmm”

Maybe I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, but I need to get a few things off my chest. Every time I turn on the idiot box, open a paper, or browse through some shitty magazine while waiting for a high school drop out with terminal acne to ring up my groceries, I see pictures of the twosome being marketed as America’s new sweethearts, David Beckham and his tart of a cum-dumpster wife, Posh Spice. This douche bag is being hailed as a “savior”, an “ambassador”, and a “pioneer”. What sport does Beckham play—oh, that’s right—soccer—communist kickball. Give me a break! Look at these pictures:















OK. They are nice pictures. I’ll give them that. But he still plays fuckin’ soccer.

On another note, THE Ohio State University announced the hiring of their new president, E Gordon Gee(k), this past week.

Gee’s first move was to replace athletic director Gene Smith with a younger administrator who he hopes will connect with the student athletes:


Finally, the University of Michigan (U-SCUM) has unveiled a monument to head football coach Lloyd Carr commemorating his role in elevating the OSU-Michigan game to its status as a rivalry:

Bonds: Healthy, Ready and PUMPED

"Beleagured slugger Barry Bonds upon his arrival at Spring Training 2007"

Baseball season is upon us, and all is right with the world. That is, unless, you believe the liberal, east coast media who would like you to believe that Barry Bonds, the best major leaguer in the past 100 years, is a cheat. What the hell ever happened to innocent until proven guilty? One simple glance at the above photo vindicates Bonds, but do you see the liberal whack jobs running this picture of an obviously trimmed down Bonds reporting for spring training just last month? Of course not. Bastards.

On a more positive note, the Chicago Cubs, with new manager "Sweet Lou" Piniella, have the hitters to make a run in the National League. Unfortunately, Prior and Wood rode into camp on the short yellow bus and as go those two chuckleheads, so go the Cubs. Keep the faith, Cubbie fans--next year is the 100th anniversary of the 1908 World Champion Chicago Cubs, the last Cubs team to win the World Series. Look for the Cubs to make things interesting this year, and then to bring the baseball world to its collective knees in 2008 with the most sentimental of seasons.

It's a beautiful day--let's play two!