QUEBEC, CANADA — Early Friday, two camels and a tiger were en route to a Toronto-area zoo all the way from Nova Scotia. They weren’t traveling unattended, of course — all three animals were secured in a livestock trailer that was being towed by a Ford F-550. I don’t know shit about trucks, but the bigger the F number, the better. I think.
The truck driver decided after many hours on the road, to pull over at a motel. While he was sleeping, someone stole the entire rig. Police recovered the F-550 later that day, but the trailer had been disconnected and the animals were gone too.
Everyone in Quebec waited anxiously all weekend for news that a tiger had killed someone, but it never happened. Finally, last night, a tip led police the abandoned livestock trailer with all three animals inside — they had even been cared for.
Investigators were baffled that someone would steal a valuable truck, trailer, and animals only to abandon them a few days later. Police don’t have any suspects at the moment, and their only clue is that they are looking for a person who isn’t very smart.
In order to assist the investigators assigned to this case, I have compiled a list of possible theories of what happened — from least to most likely:
#3: The camels jacked the truck and took it on a joy ride, while keeping the tiger locked up in the back. The truck broke down, but the camels got a local farmer to tow the trailer to a secluded location so they could party. After 3 days of heavy drug use and drinking, the animals decided that zoo life is better, so they anonymously reported their whereabouts.
#2: An animal rights activist followed the truck driver from Nova Scotia and waited until he pulled over for the night to steal the animals. The activist then had sex with the animals and also cared for them for three days until he had to return to his family in Nova Scotia. He does this every weekend, and his wife is totally cool with it.
#1: A professional livestock trailer thief spotted the F-550 and trailer parked outside the motel. He decided to jack the whole rig, ditch the truck somewhere close, and then sell the trailer and those funny-lookin’ humpback horses to a friend. Unfortunately, nobody wanted them because tigers and camels aren’t worth much on the Canadian black market.
Only those three animals know the real truth about what happened, but at least they weren’t harmed or violated in any way — unless my second theory is correct.
As for the thief that got away, he’ll have a great story to tell his grandkids one day: “Did I ever tell you guys about the time I stole a trailer that had a tiger and two camels inside?” — “Yes grandpa, but how does it end? — “I admired ‘em for a few days and then left ‘em alone.”
When it comes to bad drivers, women are second only to retarded quadriplegics. I can hardly enjoy a nice drive in the country without an oncoming woman driver veering into my lane. The other day, a woman rear-ended me in a McDonald’s drive-thru and instead of apologizing, she stuck her head out the window and yelled, “Haha, I’m an idiot!”
That made it all better, ma’am. Oh, and by the way, FUCK YOU!
Driving is one of the easiest things to do right. Being bad at driving is like not knowing how to swallow food or breathe properly. I’ve never been in an accident, and that has nothing to do with luck, and everything to do with being alert — an alien concept to women.
Ladies, it’s easy: Pay attention to the road, learn the difference between the gas and brake pedals, and don’t change your tampon or put on makeup while driving.
NEW HAMPSHIT — 42-year-old Heather Boettner almost killed a man on Saturday morning when her minivan plowed into a coin-operated laundromat. A customer inside the building was struck in the legs, but managed to escape before getting crushed.
Boettner told police that she was on her cell phone when she pulled into the laundromat. She forgot to put the minivan in park and then her foot slipped off the brake onto the gas, driving her forward into the building. Surprisingly, she was not changing her tampon.
The most intriguing part of this story is that NO CHARGES were filed against Boettner after the accident. That’s right: Despite recklessly driving into a building and almost killing a man, Heather Boettner doesn’t deserve any kind of traffic violation at all :/
My only explanation is that this must happen all the time in New Hampshire.
It’s 2010 and you better watch your fucking mouth because it could land you in some deep feces. Nobody knows this better than 75-year-old Draco Slaughter, who is sitting in jail right now for making an innocent bomb joke on an airplane.
Southwest Airlines Flight 373 had just landed in New York on Sunday evening, and the passengers were exiting the plane when a flight attendant noticed an unaccompanied carry-on bag near the back of the plane. “I said it was mine and kidding I also said that there could be a bomb in there,” Slaughter said, as he recalled the incident.
The flight attendant immediately notified the police, who promptly arrested Slaughter. After an investigation proved the airplane bomb-free, rather than releasing the old man with a slap on the wrist, they charged him with making a false bomb threat.
Draco Slaughter remains jailed in lieu of $50,000 bail until he goes back to court Friday. If convicted, he faces up to seven years (basically the rest of his life) in prison.
If I was Draco Slaughter’s grandson, I would find the flight attendant that reported him and punch her in the mouth. I understand that she was just trying to do the right thing, but use a little intuition for fuck’s sake. My 75-year-old grandpa talks about his visits to the moon all the time, but I haven’t contacted NASA to verify. Old people just say dumb shit.
I’m not saying bomb threats should be ignored on a regular basis, but even if Draco Slaughter really did have a bomb, it wouldn’t be very hard to take it from him. A swift punch to the gut, and he’d probably shit himself and then die.
Flying used to be awesome. Before 9/11, even the pilots would crack a bomb joke occasionally. Now, you get a complimentary cavity search if you even try to board the plane while wearing a t-shirt with the “bomb” printed on it.
So now, certain words and t-shirts are illegal on airplanes. What next, black babies will have to be checked with luggage? It wouldn’t surprise me! This is a sad state of affairs, and I think it’s safe to declare that the terrorists have won because from a civil rights point of view, things have only gotten far worse since 9/11.
The armies should come back home and start dropping bombs on the assholes in America that keep perpetuating this fear of terrorism.
TEXAS — Adrian Rendon, 37, was rushed to the hospital Monday morning in critical condition after a fire ignited in his car while he was driving it. He tried to light a cigarette with the windows rolled up and a gas can in the passenger seat next to him.
Rendon somehow became trapped in his Cadillac and was badly burned as the gas can blazed in the seat next to him. By the time the San Antonio fire department arrived, the fire had already extinguished itself because the car’s windows were rolled up — which likely means Rendon came close to burning and suffocating to death.
To further complicate matters, the fire occurred on a busy highway during morning rush hour, so a lot of people were late to work. And it’s hard to convince your boss that you were late because some guy was on fire, especially when you used that excuse already.
It’s illegal to transport gas containers inside a vehicle’s passenger compartment, and people like Adrian Rendon are here to occasionally remind us why we need laws like that. Sadly, this is bound to happen again soon somewhere else — probably Florida.
If you follow no less than 5 people on Twitter you’ll quickly realize that this country’s literacy problem is like a drug-resistant strain of AIDS that even Magic Johnson couldn’t fight off. It just keeps evolving and mutating to the point where some people look like they’ve given up trying to spell and just threw a fucking bag of Scrabble tiles on the floor and then picked up random letters using their sweaty, bare ass cheeks. Then they take the tiles, throw them at the computer like a chimp hurling his own shit, and press “Enter”.
Americans’ choice of reading material seems no better than their ability to coherently combine a subject and predicate, either. Lucky for them, e-readers and iPads are rapidly growing in popularity, so nobody in a Starbucks, airport terminal, subway car or city bus will be able to judge them by the cover of the 700-page abortion of literature they’re struggling to comprehend. Rest easy, you closeted Dr. Phil fans – nobody can see you reading weight loss tips from a fat guy.
Personally, I haven’t the luxury of free time to read since I decided to get married and abandon various forms of contraception such as pulling out (Sure, I could skip this blog post and pick up a book, but then there’d be nobody to salvage Dustin’s sagging site traffic and waning credibility). However, when granted the rare opportunity to kick back and read with no interruptions I generally prefer dark humor, history and especially biographies. As much as I’ve enjoyed Stephen King’s tales of ghostly alien transsexual rapists from New England, somehow I doubt any of it really adds to the little knowledge my aging brain is able to retain.
Sadly our digital and brick & mortar book stores are stacked to the ceilings with more worthless material than an Ed Hardy factory outlet store. Our taste in what we read is as bad as our taste in the food we eat, so it came as no surprise to me to hear that Demi Moore has approached various publishers to shop around her autobiography, quite possibly the literary equivalent of the KFC Double Down.
If I took life more seriously, I’d almost be offended at the notion of a washed-up actress pushing age 50 thinking anyone gives a shit enough to buy and read a book about her life. First, let’s get the obvious out of the way – if you have to “shop around” your autobiography, that means nobody’s banging down your door to buy it. It’s like finding Cuba Gooding Jr.’s Best Supporting Actor Oscar at a yard sale and then going to every pawn shop in town trying to get the best deal for it. I guess acting school doesn’t offer a course on economics, because Mrs. Kutcher has no sense of supply and demand.
Second, what the fuck’s so interesting about Demi Moore? She’s lucky if the tabloids run a back-page story about her leaving a shitty tip at a trendy L.A. restaurant. Most people with popular autobiographies have already had their exploits fully disclosed to the public, but writing their own book gives the readers a first-hand account of what really went down. As far as I can recall, I don’t remember hearing any juicy tales of Demi Moore getting sent to drug rehab or her controversial acquittal of double-homicide. The most interesting thing about her is that she’s undergone more plastic surgery than the Jackson family, and at this point most likely douches with formaldehyde. She’s boring as shit. Even her high-profile divorce from Bruce Willis was amicable, and she probably has the Die Hard Trilogy (sorry, there’s no part 4 as far as I’m concerned) on the same shelf as her family home videos.
“Yippee-ki-yay, mother-of-my-children-fucker!”
Here’s the entire chapter list for those of you wondering what such a fascinating, in-depth peek into the life of Demi Moore may look like:
Chapter 1: A Bunch of Boring Shit About Growing Up
Chapter 2: People Actually Start Paying Me to Act
Chapter 3: I Marry John McClane
Chapter 4: My Career’s Slowing Down
Chapter 5: I Make My Plastic Surgeon an Overnight Millionaire
Chapter 6: I’m Hot and Still Can’t Find Work
Chapter 7: I Divorce John McClane and Marry the Guy from Punk’d
Chapter 8: Wrote This Book and Can’t Believe You Read This Far
Chapter 9: The Book is Too Worn by Now – No Refund for You
I think if I ever saw anyone actually reading this book, I’d grab it from their hands, set it on fire, scorch their eyes with it and throw them down a flight of stairs. This is the kind of book women buy when they don’t want to look dumb reading Star Magazine and feel they’d appear smarter with a thick, hardcover book in their hands. It’s like soccer moms listening to the Black Eyed Peas and thinking they’re hip and modern. Shit is shit is shit, and I wouldn’t use Demi Moore’s autobiography to wipe my ass (mostly because my hemorrhoids need something with aloe).
