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Tuesday, July 27, 2010

"Jones!" Not Indiana, Koala.

(We pick up with Koala Jones in the jungle)
Swinging from the vines he pauses, “Hmmm, wasn’t I supposed to be doing something?” He was supposed to be torturing a man he had been paid to kidnap last week. Mr. Timmly died three days before Jones even thought about that. What brought Koala Jones out to the Brazilian jungle? What else, but hot koala tail. The tribe of women that Koala Jones visits every year in July weren’t actually koalas. Despite the delicious looking women in the pornographic films you may have seen before, a lot of them are hairy legged beasts, for this Jones identifies them as koalas.

Back at the village, Jones is mid-conga line when a tiger (I don’t care if those can be found in the Brazilian jungle, Koala Jones is a bad ass) came out of the brush and stood right in front of the first conga koala. Jones dove into action before a single hair on those Brazilians’ tanned legs could be harmed. With him belt undone, yep you heard me, he jumped on the tiger’s back and rode that beast all the way into a cave. Once in the cave Jones realized this was the tiger’s home. She had brought him back to her cave for naughty things. Jones knew it because her paws were soaked to the bone. What’s a koala to do but wax that dirty, Brazilian, tiger meat ass?

In the morning Koala set out on foot with a Capri Sun drink and “after stink” that could keep a bear away. Happening upon a waterfall, Koala went for a dip, without his belt. He heard something coming, it was a group of homosexual men. Before Jones could get out someone had pulled off their clothes and hopped into the stream right on top of him. Nearly suffocating Jones under all that meat, Jones escaped and found his belt. As he walked away he heard a suggestion for “Who’s in my mouth?” He was glad he hadn’t seen or heard of that game before.

Back in NYC Koala Jones bought a pack of Starbursts. They just hit the spot.

It probably seems strange to some that Koala Jones wears a belt, but without it he would be unable to speak and inspire the world like he does. The belt once belonged to a Unicorn that happened upon Jones in the wild. The Unicorn told him that he tired of the ability to speak, because he was mythical and could never be seen by human eyes. Desperate to hear someone else speak, he gave the belt to Koala Jones. As soon as he gave the belt over, Jones attacked. Unicorn meat is believe by some to be the secret to eternal life. Jones felt nothing more than a full stomach and something that tasted like fried chicken. This would be the first kill for Jones, unfortunately it would not be his last run-in with a Unicorn, nor would they forget what he did to a fallen brother. Knowing that Unicorns are less likely to chase him in public he sought out the biggest population of people he could hide in. Koala Jones is terribly racist so China was out of the picture. But after finding a brochure for New York and seeing the level of woman offered out there he knew where he had to make his new home.

After watching the latest Robin Williams movie, Jones needed a rest, it was just so bad. Jones headed for the bedroom… a shadowy figure could be seen approaching his balcony. As Koala closed his door and prepared to sleep the night away, someone was standing on his balcony. Just as the door closed a Unicorn with fire red eyes pressed his face against the glass with an evil look.

To be continued…Peaces

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Koala Jones, episode 1


And now for the ongoing adventures of Koala Jones!

It was a Sunday, most weeks Jones spent Sundays basking on his patio snacking on Eucalyptus leaves, not today though. A phone call awoke him from his normal post-orgy sleep, he had to crawl through dirty women-strangers just to answer. “And who has me standing here buck naked at 11 AM talking on the phone?!” It was a distraught man going on and on about his missing father. The only thought that kept going through Jones’ mind was whether or not he used protection last night. He stared blankly at a mole on his palm wondering if it had always been there or if one of these women had given him something that needed urgent care. Suddenly, “So will you help me? Or do I need to call the police?” Without thought, or certainty of what had really been asked while he was distracted, Jones replied “You’ve have the wrong number, I’m not a detective.” The rest of the afternoon was spent planning his Monday… Jones’ had been paid to assassinate a CEO of an evil conglomerate.

Monday:
“I don’t want to pop this thing but if you don’t tell me the security code I’m afraid it has to go!” Koala Jones was extracting information from a security guard, he was a big man but one of his testicles was in a koala death grip. He gave Jones the information he was looking for, unfortunately that testicle still had to be removed. As Jones ran up a staircase desperate to pull of his mission on time he noticed a half eaten Snickers bar on the ground; he ate it. The CEO, Mr. Timmly, had security like the president of the United States of America. Koala Jones wasn’t much for hand to hand combat, that’s why his clients love him. In keeping with his reputation of being discrete Jones’ swallowed a lot of grenades, it’s hard to identify anything when you blow it to the Stone Age. The “pick up” went according to plan, now to hide his hostage until he received further demands from his client.

Tuesday (getting to know each other):
“I hope you like The Weather Girls, because no matter what the forecast, it’s always raining men.” These were the first words that Mr. Timmly heard while coming out of a dream. Looking around he couldn’t place if he was in a basement or if he was in an attic, either way it smelled heavily of ammonia. “What’s that smell? Where am I? What the f*** is that smell?!” Mr. Timmly asked. He was being hidden in Koala Jones’ poop room, the other rooms had sleeping women fresh off a Monday night orgy and they could not be disturbed. “I’m sorry I had to put you in my poop room, I had no where else to put you. Mayonnaise?” Though he declined the mayo, Mr. Timmly questioned why a Koala had kidnapped him and what he wanted. Jones replied “Well, it appears you’re an adulterer, your wife doesn’t think much of that. She is paying me a lot of money to send her pictures of you being tortured. So, I’m going to play this Weather girls song until you beg me to stop. Then, when I feel you’ve truly had enough, I’m going to put on the entire series of Friends and you’ll watch every episode.” Confused Mr. Timmly asked “And after that I can just go?” Koala Jones responded “No, then she wants a picture of you dead. Enjoy this song and enjoy the series.”

Wednesday:
Koala came into the room, he pooped, then he left. Mr. Timmly was still enjoying the song It’s raining men. Unrelated: Nothing good came on The Movie Channel that night, nothing good ever comes on The Movie Channel.

To be continued... with car crashes, laxative drinks and more sex than you can shake a stick at. Check back soon.

Peaces

Monday, July 12, 2010

I can't diagnose that, because I'm not a doctor.



Two thugs in an alleyway:
#1: Step, Step, pivot, smile, dip… no! How many times are you gonna flex right there when you know it’s dip?!
#2: Sorry, I don’t even know where my head is at.
#1: Maybe the King and I isn’t something you care about anymore. Maybe you’d rather not turn a classic into an all black rock opera that takes us outta the ghetto and away from this life.
#2: You that ain’t true, I just had to bury another homeboy that got caught up in the mix yesterday. Damn this penis!
#1: It wasn’t your dick’s fault that Jerry tried to get a taste and turned to drugs when you denied him. It was wrong, he was family… and you ain’t gay. Now c’mon, from the downbeat…
#2: (sniff) Let’s roll!

I’ve begun planting money in hopes that a money tree will form. If I’m gonna move I will need at least $72 dollars. C’mon money tree.

“No, no more Ziti for me, it’s Ramadan.”

Let us take a moment of silence for the first man to slap a woman’s ass and mean it as a compliment. Respect must also be given to the first freak (in a good way) to take the compliment and sleep with said man. Respect

“Excuse me Miss, but how many times am I going to have to make quips about the day before you ask me my name? I want some Tang and I thought I was being a gentleman about this; but you gon make me go the other way. So, Spain won the World Cup huh?”

Sex is a crafty distraction put in front of us by the Plutonians. Do they know they succeeded? Good question, I prefer to think they didn’t plan how long it would take to get here correctly.

I want Chipotle so bad I’m doing the pee pee dance. Wait… no, apparently I had to urinate. Damn, why do I always guess wrong?

I’ve been listening to Mariya Alexander’s podcast since Friday, I’m addicted. Don’t know why I jumped on the bus so far after everyone else, but me likey. I would like to go on with Jack of All Trades and hear his side of the story. “What story?” Pick one, I guarantee there are plenty of stories in his past worth our time.

Bad grammar makes me grip the hilt of my sword. I’m just old fashioned that’s all.

Harry Belafonte (pictured above, looking just as sensual as always) is the constant in every conga line in the 21st century. Bless him…

“Lotion…” Huh? “Lotion is what someone with ashy hands like your needs most.” Oh, actually I’m just here for stamps, does the post office sell lotion? “Nope, I just didn’t want you to shake someone unsuspecting person’s hand and cut anybody. Stamps are $5.00.”

Looking back, I cabbage patch while getting ready to go anywhere, far too often. I’m totally abusing the running man.

M’kay, I’m off to stare at my soda bottle until it’s lunch time. Hooray!

Peaces

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I blog during work to keep from sleeping. Unless people from my job are monitoring this, in which case "I love my job; I have a family". My dog Max is the man too. Other than that I think reading this blog gives a pretty good idea of what I'm about. Red Jell-o, need I say more.

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