Copy Link
Add to Bookmark
Report
Mikes Madness Issue 19
Mike's Madness #19
This is Steven Tyler of Aerosmith and you're reading Mike's Madness no. 19!
OWW!
(Note: Steve Tyler didn't REALLY endorse this edition of Mike's Madness.
He's never even HEARD of Mike's Madness. He's never read it, or read of it.
Just because HE'S famous and I'm a total nobody doesn't give him the right
not to read my stuff and ignore my threatening telegrams! THE BASTARD! THE
COMPLETE BASTARD! ARRRGH!)
And now . . .
BrrrBrrr BrrrBrrr BrrrBrrr . . .
[CLICK!]
"Good afternoon, Isley POST. Can I help you?"
"Yes, this is Mr. Meatbeater. Why hasn't my photo been run?"
"Because there's no interest in a photo captioned 'My Dog looks like Adolf
Hitler'."
"And why not?"
"Because he doesn't."
"He does! He does!"
"Mr. Meatbeater, if there's anything in the universe that looks less like
Adolf Hitler than your dog, science has yet to discover it."
"But what about the moustache?!"
"Ah yes -- the moustache. We took the liberty of examining it and
discovered it was not a moustache, but half a shellacked dog dropping
which you attached to your dog's nose with a roofing staple."
"Be fair! The glue wouldn't hold -- too much moisture. . ."
"Regardless of how it was attached, we are not running your photo because the
citizens of Isley have no interest in a dog that looks like Adolf Hitler,
especially when it doesn't."
"That's just your opinion! Many people have told tale of how eerie the
resemblance between my dog and the late Chancellor Hitler is!"
"We figured you'd put forth that hypothesis, so we tested it beforehand.
We went out with a picture of your dog and several other file photos and
asked people which one looked the most like Hitler. The vote for your dog
was quite low."
"How low?"
"None."
"I can't believe that!"
"I counted the votes twice."
"Well you've seen the photo! YOU must admit the resemblance!"
"Sir, the only reason there is any 'semblance in that photo is because you
re-touched it with a black Crayola. It's a crafty ruse, I admit, but one
our readers are sure to see through."
"Blimey! The photo must have generated some interest!"
"It did. The R.S.P.C.A. was quite interested, as they are in any photo of
a German Shepard with a turd stapled to it's nose, the word HITLER shaved
into its back and a Nazi flag sticking out of its ass. . ."
". . . oh bloody hell!"
"In fact, they were so interested in your dog that they insisted we give
them your address, which we did gladly. They should be by any time now. . ."
"Uh . . . Well . . . uh . . . I must be going now! Cake in the oven, you know!"
(sound of knocking at the door) "Keep the photo!" (sound of door being
broken down, dog starts barking) "Cheerio!"
[CLICK!]
Next week in the Isley POST:
Strange Resemblances!
---------------------
A cat that looks (nothing) like Benito Mussolini!
A dolphin that was (never) mistaken for Joseph Stalin!
A stoat that has (no) resemblance to Kaiser Wilhelm!
Dan Quayle and a Horse's Ass: Can YOU tell them apart? (not bloody likely)
. . And now on BBC-2:
(occasionally)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I N T E R E S T I N G P E O P L E
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Good evening and welcome to Interesting People! And tonight, we have
many interesting people on our show, the first of which is Ron Plots,
a council fox catcher in North Hampton! Welcome Mr. Plots!"
"Good evening, Fred!"
"Mr. Plots, how do you catch foxes?"
"Well, I bait a trap with a dead chicken, and when the fox comes into the
trap, the door closes in behind him, thus immobilizing the little bugger!"
"And then?"
"I stick me tongue up its. . ."
[cuts in quickly] "Well that's very nice, but unfortunately, Mr. Plots
must run off on some very important business! Thank you for being here
Mr. Plots."
"No I don't!"
"Yes you do. . ."
"I don't!"
"Hit the road, Plots!"
"Blimey! I'm not puttin' up with this kind of abuse!"
"Get off the stage, you great sod!" (two men come out and drag him off)
"Ha ha . . . What an interesting person! Next we have Mr. Marcel Dubois,
author of 'Germans: A Complete History of the Bastards'. . ."
Dubois: "Good evening, mon ami!"
". . .and Mr. Frederick Von Rickenback, author of 'The French and How to
Beat the Holy Living Shit out of Them'."
Rickenback: "You die, froggy!"
"And tonight they'll be discussing German reunification. Mr. Von Rickenback..."
**BANG!**
". . .Well, I'm afraid since you've shot Mr. Dubois, we'll have to award
the debate to you."
"Deutchland Uber Alles!"
"Uh-huh. . ."
"Tomorrow the World!"
"Sure. . ."
"Authentic piece of the Berlin Wall, 50 marks or $25 American!"
"Now That's more like it!"
And now . . .
No. 18: A scene from the 13'th Century
A scene from the 13'th Century
"'Oly Relics! Get your 'oly Relics 'ere! Oh, 'ello there Abbot Blackadder!
Wish to buy an 'oly Relic?"
"Common scum, what sort of relics might you be selling?"
"Uh . . . got wood from the Cross, hair from John the Baptist, that sorta
thing. . ."
"Hmmmm. I already have all of those. Got anything else?"
"I got the foreskin of our 'oly Father."
"Now THAT'S interesting! How much?"
"5,000 quid for one, or 8,500 for two. . ."
"TWO?!"
"Uh yeah, that's right . . . one of the Unmentioned Miracles."
"And which Unmentioned Miracle might this be?"
"The Miracle of the Two Dongs."
"Are you suggesting that Our Lord is built like a Swiss Army knife in the
genderative sense?"
"A bit. . ."
"Funny, that's exactly how much brains I give you credit for."
"Look, I gotta fob these foreskins off on someone!"
"UH-HUH! And does the word 'heresy' mean anything to you?"
"Abbot Marlow at Westminster bought two. . ."
"THE BASTARD! 'e ALWAYS gets the good stuff! Right! I'll take the same!"
"8,500 quid, sir. 'Ere you are."
"Thank you, my good . . . uh, whatever you are."
"My pleasure, sir."
"WAIT A SECOND!"
"Yes sir?"
"One of these is black!"
"Uh . . . that would be another one of the Unmentioned Miracles."
"Funny, I've never heard of these Unmentioned Miracles before. . ."
"That's because they're unmentioned."
"Much like your intelligence. Where, praytell, can I find mention of these
Unmentioned Miracles?"
"The Book of Clyde."
"The Book of CLYDE?!"
"'e was one of the Unmentioned Prophets."
"And you're about to become a victim of the Unmentioned Kick in the Groin!"
"Such gratitude after I sold you two good foreskins!"
"The only thing 'good' about these foreskins is that they're all the evidence
I need to shove a bushel of burning faggots up your bum! Now I suggest you
come up, with all possible speed, evidence that these foreskins did in fact
belong to Our Holy Father and are not just stripped from some poor Turkish
bastards you caught in the middle of a drunk!"
"I got it right 'ere! A letter confirmin' their originality!"
"Let me see that. . .
Dear Sir, this letter is to confirm that these 10 (crossed out) 8
(crossed out) 6 (crossed out) 2 foreskins are in fact mine and not just
stripped off some poor drunken Turkish bastards. Signed, Jesus Krist."
"All the proof ya need, Abbot!"
"All the proof I need to have you burned at the stake! I thought Our Lord
would be a bit better in the spelling department. . ."
"Maybe he was in a hurry!"
"Maybe this isn't His writing at all, but that of some poor little sot
who's about to be pitched into a cauldron of boiling oil!"
"Are you castin' discretions on this letter wot took me almost five whole
minutes to write?"
"Yes. ."
"Oh, that's alright then."
"I'm afraid that you must suffer horribly for your crime of fobbing off
semi-authentic (read that as 'wholly fraudulent') religious artifacts."
"What's that then? Burning at the stake?"
"No. . ."
"Boiling oil?"
"Nope."
"I've gotta read the next bit?"
"Bingo!"
And indeed, it was truly horrible fate. More than Steven Tyler could
EVER take (if he read this stuff, which he doesn't and probably for a very
good reason). God it was terrible! Just nauseating. Wholly repugnant.
Well, see for your self. . .
And now it's a good time for. . .
(Umm, before I start this, I should
really let ya know there's almost
no "good" time for this at all. It'll
be poor in the morning and it'll be
poor in the evening. In fact, the only
time it won't be poor is when you've
burned five good joints and inhaled
some amyl. Then it'd be passable.
Just thought I'd let ya know that.)
A . L . F .
(Australian Life Form)
(Oh gawd)
Whiney Willy: "Hooooooonnnnnneeeeeey, where's AAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLFFF?"
(John Cleese stomps in drunk, dressed in full Australian garb: Shorts,
a hat with corks dangling from the brim; that sorta thing.)
ALF.: "OI! Me name's not ALF, ya basta'd!! It's BRUCE!"
W.W.: "Sorrrrry Brrruuce. Where have you been?"
ALF.: "I' been a'chunderin' on the Abbos' lawn!"
W.W.: "You didn't spew on the neighbor's lawn AGAIN?"
ALF.: "They're only bleedin' Abbos!"
W.W.: "They're the Huxables, you twit!"
ALF.: "OI!!! 'oo you callin' a 'twit' then, aye?!" (Jumps into fighting stance)
W.W.: "Calm down, ALF. . ."
ALF.: "BRUCE ya cocksucker!"
W.W.: "Bruce. . ."
Kate: (from off camera): "Willlly? Willy, what happened to those three cases
of Foster's we brought home 10 minutes ago?"
ALF.: "Blimey! I'm 'ad!"
W.W.: "You drank THREE cases of Foster's in TEN minutes?!!"
ALF.: "Well . . . BLIMEY! It's only 8:30 in the morning, in't it?!
The real drinking don't get started 'til NINE, ya whiner!"
W.W.: "Ummmm AL . . . uh, Bruce, I think it's time we discussed household
expenses. Last month we had:
Phone: $25.00 (Willy should learn to phreak!)
Water: $10
Electricity: $56
Gas: $15
House and car payment: $3,900
and . . .
FOSTER'S: $8,471,259.15 (at least)."
-------------
ALF.: "It's thirsty work, chunderin' on an Abbo's lawn, ya wheeze!"
W.W.: "What about the time you traded in our car for a sheep?!"
ALF.: "Ya can't fuck a Buick then, can ya?!"
Lynn: "He's got a point dad. . ."
ALF.: "OI! oo's the Sheila?!"
W.W.: "That's my daughter, you stinkin' Aussie! Go play with your sheep!"
Kate: (still from off camera) "WILLLY! The cat's been shot!"
ALF.: "Blimey! I'm 'ad again!"
W.W.: "You shot LUCKY?!"
ALF.: "'e didn't live up to his name then, did 'e?!"
Kate: (still off camera, but a few steps to the right of where she was last)
"And there's a huge pool of vomit on the back porch!"
W.W.: "Getting sick on the Huxable's lawn I can understand, but why'd ya
have to puke on MY porch!?"
ALF.: "It's me scale model of Lake Regurgitation! Reminds me of home. . ."
W.W.: "You have a vomit-filled lake at home?"
ALF.: "Ya, it's right in back of The Heave and Spill Bar & Grill in
Queensland. . ."
Dear Sirs!
We here at the Australian Board of Tourism would like to inform the
readers of this column that there's more to Australian life than drinking
lots of Foster's and then spewin' it back up again. There's cricket,
rugby, and lookin' up Sheilas' skirts. Roit good fun, that! Not to mention
the ever-popular havin' one off with a sheep!
Uh, Pardon me. . .
[glug-glug-glug . . . BRRRRAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLPH! {gush gush gush}]
Old Crone 1: "Eeeewww! That's DISGUSTIN'!"
Old Crone 2: "Right in the middle of such a nice letter, too!"
1: "They shouldn't let Aussies on the telly, you know."
2: (surprised) "Oh?"
1: "Yes, they cause too much trouble!"
2: "Mrs. Flatulence saw an Aussie durin' the Blitz!"
1: "BLIMEY!"
2: "It was 'orrible!"
1: "Wot? The Blitz?"
2: "Noooooo, seein' the Aussie!"
1: "Wot ever did she do?"
2: "SHE SHOT 'IM! She shot 'im DEAD! Said a Stuka's wot done it!"
(cut to German pilot standing in front of a Stuka)
Pilot: "Ess beeg lie!!"
(cut back to old crones)
1: "Did the fuzz believe it?"
2: "Naaw, they executed her the next day."
1: "THAT'S A BIG LIE!!"
(cut back to Stuka pilot)
Pilot: "Told ya!"
(cut back to old crones)
2: "IT ISN'T!"
1: "I saw Mrs. Flatulence at the shops on Tuesday! 'ow could she be at the
shops if she was executed durin' the war?! My case is assuredly air-tight!"
2: "BLIMEY! I'M 'AD!"
(door comes crashing down and in stomps John Cleese, Australian at Lager
. . . err, Large.)
ALF: "MOMMY!"
2: "BRUCIE! Brucie's come back from 'stralia where 'e's been fondling
sheep!"
1: "Nice money, that, 'eh Brucie?"
ALF: "No mum! I'm livin' with some idiot family in L.A. now! Come 'n join
us then, aye? Free Foster's!"
2: "Can we go a-chunderin' on Abbo's lawns?"
ALF: "All we want, Mum!"
And so the happy family staggered off to L.A. where the immigration
laws aren't as well enforced and where even Steven Tyler could find a
menial job. That was until the next bit. . .
FECAL SOFT pre-sentssssssssss . . .
T U R D - P E R F E C T !
It's a word processor!
It's a laxative!
It's Turd-Perfect!
Not just any shitty software package! Turd-Perfect does graphics, spell
checking and keeps you regular! Personally endorsed by Dan "Shit for
Brains" Quayle! Perfect for the up-and-coming Republican. Used to write
Ronald Reagan's speeches! God it's swell!
(available only on Macintrash)
Remember: Only dopes use GUI!
-----
(C) 1990 Yucks For You, Inc.
Comments & Flames to Author:
{ ucbvax | uunet }!ucdavis!spked!sactoh0!smb (Mike Beebe)
Mailing List Requests: smbancroft@ucdavis.edu (Steven Bancroft)
All Back-issues are available by E-mail request from smbancroft@ucdavis.edu
or by anonymous ftp from bikini.cis.ufl.edu [128.227.224.1] in directory
/pub/mikesmad.
