The Poke Show

Hitler Dog circa 1942 with his Jew Toy.

It’s not every day that your pet gets possessed by the soul of a megalomaniac.

Last weekend, I took my dear sweet Scruffy into PetsMart for a bath and a trim, with nary a clue that the local pet store was a hive for supernatural activity. Upon pick up, I noticed something odd about the way he walked — his front paws kicked a little higher than usual and he kept doing this odd little wave thing with one paw that had all the college aged dog groomers buzzing with overt cutification.

That night, after the blonde dog groomer left the home of the perverted guy with the cute waving dog, I got my first glimpse of the new evil persona of my beloved furry friend. I was standing naked in front of the open fridge searching for something to get the college girl taste out of my mouth when I felt razor sharp claws dig into my bare buttockses.

I turned around, “What the fuck? Scruffster!”

Scruffy just looked up at me, did that odd wave thing, and wagged his nubby tail.

I grabbed a seedless grape from the fridge and tossed it to him. “Here, this’ll keep ya busy. No more scratching Big Papi, okay?”

Scruffy was way to into the grape to acknowledge my existence, so I turned back to the fridge, and…ahhh…beer, that would do el trickerino. No sooner had I grasped the fine brewed beverage’s slender brown bottle, when again came the claws. I leapt skyward in shock and dropped the bottle. It shattered on the floor sending frothy American goodness all over the linoleum. Scruffy immediately went to work on cleaning up the mess he’d made, and I took the opportunity to sprint to the bathroom and check out the large gashes on my hind quarters.

And that was just the first in a long line of misdeeds and charliebuggers that Scruffy committed over the next few days. At first, I just thought the bitch next door was in heat…maybe her dog was as well. It wasn’t until I saw the paper on Friday and found that my last one-night-hardly-stand-me-long-enough-to-orgasm, the dog groomer, had bit the big one in a bizarre murder with no witnesses or suspects. Of course, this just happened to coincide with me finding Scruffy’s bloody collar in the trash can alongside a pair of rubber gloves and a book entitled “How To Kill People: The Evil Dictator Trapped In The Body Of A Dog Way”.

I began to suspect something wasn’t right.

I did a little digging and found that my local PetsMart store was originally a HaustiereBeschädigt store built in Nineteen-eighty-nine in Brussels Sprouts, Germany. Then, in the Summer of Nineteen-ninety-two, said store was airlifted to my town for no apparent reason. I decided that this was most odd and needed further explanation, so I called up Hans Somethingdoober, the original architect of the store. He told me that the contractors who built the store were very angry because they had recently been shown Steven Spielberg’s “Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade” and were all very upset that the German’s did not “win” in the film. They apparently got drunk on Irish Whiskey the next day, the day they were to lay the foundation, and they accidentally poured the cement on top of an old war cemetery.

And that’s when I realized it:

Hitler’s ghost had come out of the movie the German contractors had seen and attached itself to Steven Spielberg who was secretly in the audience laughing at the Germans cause he was all pissed at them for there grassroots campaign to boycott “1941″ because it wasn’t funny. Then Stevie S. came back to the U.S. and eventually shook hands with George Clinton, who in turn shook hands with George W. Bush, who choked on a pretzel that was transported to the Presidential Blunder Museum in Iowa City, East Dakota, where Scruffy and I have never been!

Hitler had possessed my poor little Scruffy.

Hitler Dog circa 1944 — “Will the world think me a monster?”

I am posting this in hopes that someone out there has seen or heard or felt or tasted of something like this before. Perhaps your cockatoo was once possessed by the spirit of Chairman Mao or maybe your potbelly pig took on the likeness of Chris Farley.

Any help would be helpful.

Poke

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A trip to L.A. can not be contained in one single post. It must be allowed to breathe and occupy as much blog space as possible.

Spat’s still in L.A. livin’ the good life…on Ford’s dime. This time he says some gobbledy gook about Global Warming, takes us out to the place I think they shot “Kid Nation”, and pitches his idea for Brokeback Mountain 2.

And did you here him mentioned that he played pool with the guy who won “On the Lot”. Our man Spat is movin’ up in the world. He’s the George Jefferson of The Poke Show.

Poke

Technorati : Fox, Los Angeles, On the Lot, Poke, The Poke Show, blog, filmmaker, reality show

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I know, I know — you guys have been coming here every day, eagerly awaiting some new comedic stylings de Poke. I know the let down has gotta be huge every time the page loads and you still see the same old shit about Torturous Bastards. For that I am sorry.

I’ve had a weird week. And by weird, I don’t mean fun-weird like bondage sex or run-ins with the fashion police. But, it is all behind me now (hopefully), and non-constipated posting should resume next week.

I guess I’m just a big asshole.

While you wait on The Lava Factory’s next offering…take in some Monkey Love, and eat some Pancakes! (via GVOD)

Poke

Technorati : Poke, The Poke Show, big asshole, funny, gvod, monkey, pancakes

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Announcing “Sketchgasm!!! An Ejaculation of Internet Sketch Comedy” a new series I’ll be running wherein I will link to sketch comedy videos from around the internet that I deem worthy. If you’d like to submit a sketch to be featured, by all means contact me.

How to Shut Girls Up — I just tried it and it really did work!

Where Has Jacobus Been? — Note to self: stop — meheh — eating honey.

The Applicant — Best. Resume. Ever.

Little Angel — Like someone video taped my first marriage.

Naked Office Scene — Brave. Very Brave.

Writers of Lost — They’ve been down in the hatch too long.

Poke

Technorati : Poke, The Poke Show, comedy, funny, sketch comedy, video

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Many men have man boobs, in fact man boobs are quite literally a growing portion of society. But this seeming popularity does not mean that we should cling to our man boobs. Clinging man boobs is just wrong — whether it be for sentimental, sexual, or sociological reasons. Most doctors agree with most scientists who are of the same opinion as most female wrestlers and cow farmers that man boobs should be looked upon with a smirk firmly planted on one’s face and disdain stubbornly situated in the region of one’s peepers…loathing pertinaciously embedded into one’s stance is considered an optional upgrade.

That’s where I come in.

As a man with man boobs, I have long anguished over ways to get rid of man boobs. We seek to vanquish that which we are — kinda like President Bush wants to rid the world of terror or Oprah wants to rid the world of ill-informed women. But I’ve always held to one stipulation — I must never exercise on purpose (if I were to jog after an ice cream truck or fast moving hot dog stand, it would technically be exercise but it would not count against my creed as my intentions were for the sake of gluttony and/or extreme gluttony). And let’s face it, man boobs (like woman boobs) are made of fat (it should be noted that nearly 85% of women nowadays have other substances — saline, silicone, saddle soap — added to the fat, but this note only distracts from my main discussion so I’m gonna go back and talk about that some more…that okay with everyone?), and fat doesn’t just disappear without exercise or magic diets from beaches in Miami. So that outs me in a pickle — which is always better than having a pickle in me.

I have two theories…ideas…thoughticles, if you will, on how to get rid of man boobs without exercise.

Theory, Idea, Thoughticle #1: Cut ‘em off with a Bowie Knife.

This would work theoretically, but the aftermath would not be ideal nor thoughticlesical. I know many men would be willing to try this one based solely on th fact that it involves a knife, buckets of blood, and would likely go hand in hand with consuming large amounts of alcohol. Men love knives, blood, and consuming large amounts of alcohol. But I would try to sway any man from going down this path. Look at it this way, no matter how cool all the cutting and the bleeding and the binge drinking would be, the excruciating pain and resulting hospital stay would only serve to make you look like a woman or a gay (no man wants to look like a woman or a gay, except for lady boys and twinks). Do you want your buddies to question your manliness simply because you yearned to be free of your man boobs?

So let’s move on to…

Theory, Idea, Thoughticle #2: Get a Sex Change.

At first thought, this might seem worse than looking like a woman because you’d actually become a woman. But if you really think about it — and I mean really, really, really, really, really think about it…then think about it some more later on, it’s not worse, ’tis actually better.

How so? Allow me to answer your question with more questions that I will then answer and explain.

Q: What do men love more than knives, blood, and consuming large amounts of alcohol? A: Vagina. If you have a sex change, guess what you get. That’s right! Your very own vagina!

Q: Could your buddies question you manliness? A: No. What idiot would question a woman’s manliness? If your buddies ever questioned your manliness, you could get the ultimate revenge on them by simply withholding your vagina from them — it’s a woman’s greatest weapon.

Q: Would you still have man boobs? A: No. Your boobs would now be woman boobs and you could get a boob job and get into the adult film business and become someone important and special.

So in conclusion: if you have man boobs, get a sex change and everything will work out in the end.

Poke

P.S. I will not be getting a sex change (sorry Jose). Remember, I don’t like the idea of a pickle in me.

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