Short and Sweets

Text Messages From Friends #2

maxkreutzer — Sun, 29 Nov 2009 23:29:51 +0000

A Theatrical Discussion with Brandon and Matt

Think about this, The Iliad: The Musical.

They already made that shit, it’s called Cats.

A Social Etiquette Discussion with Brandon and Matt

I’m at a wedding right now with an open bar.

I hate when they have a closed bar at weddings. It’s like, “Hey I’m at your stupid thing, you might as well get me drunk.”

Crotch Rocket

maxkreutzer — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 04:50:56 +0000

Vlad hid under the small shelter of the 1 foot hangover of the roof protecting his parents garage door. He was in a suit with his long hair slicked back. He hadn’t dressed like this since prom. He actually was wearing the same clothes he wore to prom, his grandmother’s sudden death hadn’t given him time to get something new for the funeral and wake which he was currently in the process of avoiding. He lifted the garage door and flipped on the lights. He hadn’t been in the garage since the 8 years he had spent in the special forces. It hadn’t changed much. He went to the corner and ripped off the tarp that was covering his most ingenious invention. His 1973 Triumph motorcycle that he had converted into a Kawasaki crotch rocket. Vlad was an inventor and an adrenaline junkie. The triumph he bought wasn’t douchebaggy enough so he retro fitted it to be a crotch rocket, with one unique addition. Instead of using a key, all Vlad had to do was to slip his member into a very average size slot in the bike. The bike would read his wiener DNA and only allow people who closely matched his DNA to operate the motor bike. Vlad sniffed his bike and smelled something funny. He puzzled over it, he couldn’t understand why his bike smelled like Tuna mixed with spicy mustard. His Uncle Murray had seen Vlad leaving the stagnant house where everyone else was and followed him out to the garage. His Uncle Murray was called uncle Murray even though his name was Jack because he drank so much Jack he had once famously told the cops his name was Murray. “Hey there Vlad. It’s good to see you, we all have missed you. Sorry about Nana.”

“It’s okay, she was old.”

“Well I know you guys were close. What’ve you got there?”

“This is my crotch rocket.”

“Is it still running?”

“I think so, it kind of looks like someone has been riding it. It has a dent on the front fender.”

Uncle Murray continued shooting the shit over the bike when some of Vlad’s cousins came in. Some of his aunts followed, looking for their children, and eventually most of the family and friends were outside in the garage. Vlad felt honored to have the stage, and everyone was happy to hear something other then condolences. Eventually Vlad’s distraught mother wondered in, seeing where all her guests had gone. She was very upset.

“Vlad! How could you show this monstrous thing off to the family feet away from where your dead grandmother is sitting on ice! I can’t believe you are all out here, marveling over the machine that killed your grandmother!”

Everyone seemed confused. They had all been told the grandmother had died of natural causes. The mother felt the need to explain.

“That’s right! Nana was out joyriding and she wrecked into a catering bus! You should all be ashamed!”

Now this further confused the whole family. Vlad had described several times that you had to stick a weenie in the bike to make it operate. Vlad instantly threw up and began crying. The mother’s rage subsided and she felt the need to console her estranged son.

“I’m very sorry you had to hear it this way, Vlad. I’m very sorry to all of you. But it’s true, Nana had a ding dong.”

Vlad barfed another round and gasping for air he cried, “I knew Nana had a dick!”

His mother touched his cheek. “What are you so upset about then?” Vlad barfed again before answering,

“Because now I know what that smell is!”

More Words From the Street

maxkreutzer — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 02:41:42 +0000

Elmo was a varsity baseball player. He had a curveball like you wouldn’t believe. The kid had good stuff, and make no mistake. He was offered scholarships from the University of Florida and Ohio State. I think the choice was obvious, considering he had red fur.

At the Ohio State University, Elmo had a pretty good time. As an athlete, he didn’t have to go to many classes, which was good, because in speech class, he was often docked points off of his tests because of his ridiculously high voice. He also got a lot of attention from the ladies, not that Elmo would have considered taking advantage of a young woman with her head in the clouds. He had learned about being an honorable man a long time ago, from Maria, who I have to point out was Hispanic, because seriously, every time anyone talks about Maria from Sesame Street, they feel the need to point out that she was Hispanic. The circle continues.

One day, Elmo was hanging out with Grover, his buddy from high school, and he decided to smoke some weed with him. Elmo knew that it was a terrible idea, and that he could possibly lose his scholarship if he pissed hot on a drug test, but he was going through some weird stuff with his parents (a redheaded man and some kind of strange monkey). And, as we suspected, Elmo lost his scholarship.

Elmo was pretty depressed. Grover tried to cheer him up by practicing saying the alphabet and stuff, but nothing was helping. He decided to talk to his buddy The Count. When he got to his castle, he tried to begin a conversation.

“Hey, Count, how’s it going?”

“Four coconuts! One, two, three, four coconuts!” yelled the Count.

“Uh, yeah, that’s true, there are four coconuts sitting on that table there. But, hey, I have some serious issues I’d like to discuss with you…” said Elmo.

“Seven jars of peanut butter! One, two, three, four, five, six, seven jars of peanut butter!”

“Are you like, OCD or something? Fuck.”

Elmo left the castle. He was wandering the streets, trying to figure out how he could pay for college. He rested on a bench. A man in a uniform approached him. He seemed legit, not like the usual guys Elmo met on benches in the middle of the night. The man was a recruiter from the Navy ROTC program from Ohio State. They talked things out, and the next thing he knew, Elmo had a scholarship in the Navy, and had all of his schooling paid for.

Four years later, Elmo was one of the most prominent intelligence analysts in the military. His work led to the successful interrogation of over 200 terrorists. He didn’t question his orders, he was simply good at what he did.

One day, however, during a random barracks inspection, a weird, blue-furred, soldier that claimed he was “only looking for cookies” found some incriminating, overtly homosexual mail correspondence in Elmo’s CHU (containerized housing unit, because the military makes everything stupid), and he was given a court martial and subsequently kicked out of the military.

It was a pretty controversial trial. Elmo’s staff was called in to testify. One very tall soldier with yellow feathers and a large beak was the first one called in for questioning.

“Yeah, he was a great leader. He came to work on time, he did what his superiors told him to do, he would work extra hours to accomplish the mission… Man, it was pretty inspiring,” claimed the large bird.

Another sailor in Elmo’s unit was called forward.

“Yeah, man, I thought he was a pretty good officer, I looked up to him and he did everything that his job required, but now that I know he’s gay, my prejudices and stereotypes won’t allow me to work with him, basically because I’m an idiot. I think everyone should cater to my inability to identify with people who have different beliefs or sexual orientation from me.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” said the military tribunal. Elmo was kicked out of the Navy, and had to become a grocery bagger. Because they were kicking out gay guys, the military had to lower their recruiting standards substantially, including letting people with criminal records and mentally-unstable medical records in.

What a stupid fucking system. Oh yeah, the second soldier to testify was Glen fucking Beck.

~Written by Stranford Beckett

Word on the Street

maxkreutzer — Wed, 18 Nov 2009 01:45:06 +0000

It was a sunny 72 degrees and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky on an early Monday morning. A young man with a dream in his heart and a clipboard in his hand knocked on the door of Hooper’s Store. Normally the young man would walk right in to the friendly hometown store, but it was early and the store wasn’t open yet. The store owner was stocking bird seed when he heard the knock. He opened the door with a smile.

“Hey Ernie, what can I do for you today? We got some new flavors of Now and Later in, don’t eat them if you have fillings. Believe me.” He opened his mouth to show a mouth full of teeth missing their caps.

“No thanks, Alan. I’m here to ask for your help today.”

“I love helping, what can I do for you?”

“Well as you know Muppets aren’t allowed to get married in this county. I’m starting a petition to change that. I feel like Muppets should have the same rights as anyone else.”

“Ernie, I’m proud of you. That’s a great idea! Sure I’ll sign. I’ll even leave one here in the store and ask anyone who comes in to sign it.”

“Thanks, Alan. I really appreciate it.”

“No, thank you, Ernie. I think you are helping to restore dignity to this old street. Good luck.”

“Thanks again, Alan.”

Ernie looked down at his first three signatures as he continued down the street. Alan had the good idea of signing two other names as well. He said he got the idea from an Acorn. Ernie would have to ask later how an Acorn could know so much. He stopped at the trailer park and knocked on Snuffy’s door. For some reason, the outside smelled like someone had tried to cover up a burnt grease smell with Lysol. Snuffy was inside sorting some kind of salt on a mirror with his trunk.

“Hi Snuffy, what are you up to?”

“Just getting to normal,” he moaned as he sniffed the powder off the mirror. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m asking people to sign a petition so Muppets can get married. I’d really like your signature.”

“Sure. Here put a pen in my nose.”

Ernie did and Snuffy signed. Ernie thought he he might have put the pen in too hard because a few drops of blood dripped on the sheet.

“Gosh, I’m sorry Snuffy.”

“No. No. That’s not from….don’t worry about that. Before you leave, can you put that spoon on the table and put that lighter in my trunk.”

Ernie kept walking. Everyone on the street was really excited and everyone signed. Everyone but Bert. Ernie wanted to surprise him at home with it. He tried to open the door to their apartment but the chain was locked. Bert had to come let him in. He looked frazzled.

“Bert I have a big surprise for you. Everyone signed this petition saying Muppets should be able to get married!”

Bert looked at the clipboard. He didn’t seem excited.

“Ernie, don’t you think you should have discussed this with me first?”

“I thought you would be excited!”

“This is pretty much a proposal, Ernie. Fuck man. You should have told me.”

“What’s gotten into you?”

Just then Glen Beck came out of the bedroom. He was naked except for a big gold watch around his wrist.

“I did.”

Thoughts from Mark Chestnut

maxkreutzer — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 04:18:47 +0000

Vietnam, ah Vietnam. Such a beautiful place… FOR WAR!!!

I truly love college. I’ve learned a lot during my short stint. One thing that strikes me about college is the contradiction between the knowledge provided and the real world applications, or lack thereof. For example, in my intro. to mass comm. book, Media and Culture, it is written from an extremely liberal perspective. The actual media couldn’t be farther from liberal. There is nothing progressive about mainstream media. It just seems like I’m getting all of this amazing information from going to school, yet once I get to the real world the scenarios are already set up. If I want to get a job working for a media agency, which I don’t want, but if I want that, there would be no way to state the current crises, because the problems would be with the institutions I would be serving.

In “Media & Culture” the book clearly states that Bernays was the father of public relations, and that his intentions were to control the minds of the public. He felt that the ruling elite should drive the direction of society and culture. Knowing this, I see a fundamental problem: my opinion means nothing unless I am one of the ruling elite. The reason many conspiracy theorists are frowned upon, is because it goes against the ingrained perception of mindless consumerism. Do what you are told, that sort of thing. To actually be liberal, progressive, whatever you want to call it, would require a call to examine, in depth, the structure of society and its functions. This process has already begun for me. It is undoubtedly going to be a waste of time, I can already sense that. But to do nothing, and live day by day ignoring several issues that I have a moral opposition to seems to be detrimental in itself. The issue of war is amazing. To be civilized and violent at the same time seems contradictory to me. Violence is a product of evolution. We’ve modified technology around one of the basest evolutionary principles – survival of the fittest – for reasons that don’t add up. We stepped out of the wild long ago, yet our mind to kill has only evolved to a mind geared towards destruction and manipulation. There are others who see the point I’m trying to make.

To call socialism filthy, for example, is a property of propaganda. It really is. To say socialism requires a dictator, and to cite the U.S.S.R or Hitler’s Germany, or any other number of socialist governments requires a lack of objectivity and an ingrained perception. Fans of Ayn Rand often back bourgeois capitalism. Capitalism in its purest form. Every man earning his own wage without government interference. A society where every person thinks objectively and all business practices are unadulterated. They see this, and hear from all sources that our society is capitalist, and they say that everything is fine. There is nothing wrong with the rich being overwhelmingly rich, after all, they worked for it. Why shouldn’t they control all markets and the policies of our government and societal values through media manipulation of the public sect… oh shit.

I’m not sure why I’m writing this. Possibly because each day I become increasingly convinced that the world trade centers were demolished. Someone who denies this and dismisses this fact as a conspiracy, denies the very nature of objective thinking. College professors, supposed scientists, supposedly liberal people, progressive-minded people, dismiss fact as conspiracy. All evidence points to a controlled demolition. 967 architects & engineers believe it was demolished. These are people whom work on buildings, people whom have studied the structural integrity of things for at least 4 years, in many cases the majority of their lives. But because the majority of people believe that two planes brought down three buildings, I am to dismiss all scientific data regarding the subject. And what, call these multiple hundreds of college educated on the subject at hand, these architects and engineers, call them conspiracy theorists? And because the majority of people believe in God, I should believe in God? Or because the majority of people believe in baring multiple children, I should have kids? Or any other number of examples. Because the earth was the center of the universe. You know the argument. There is no fallacy in my logic. On the other hand, to dismiss scientific data in favor of a mass consensus generated not from scientific data, but from the media’s manipulation, this is very fallacious. If this sounds like I’ve lost my mind, then I hope you enjoy your trophy wife & trophy children. Your home in the suburbs and your 5 day work week. This is about the lives of people. Citizens of the US. To actually call into question, that about 3000 of our own citizens were killed at the hands of our own government, simply for economic gain in a region of high monetary prospect, is to call into question our way of life. It is a huge step, and an unmistakably drastic step towards leaving a peaceful society for future generations. There is war at the moment. We pay to kill people for large companies. If you don’t see it this way, you probably never will until it’s too late. It probably already is too late. This mindfuck has been building for the better part of, well, since humans evolved the capacity to think subjectively. I hope for my sake that the girl from the movie “Bob the Gambler” has a doppelganger who would be willing to cherish and nurture my “radical” mindset and sleep with me. That is all. Peace and love and drugs and all forms of sex and heart disease and cancer.

-by Mark Chestnut

Wait Use This One

maxkreutzer — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 04:11:49 +0000

Scott wasn’t quite sure why he was walking down the street, but it seemed like the right thing to do. After all, there was a farmer’s market today, and that seemed like a good opportunity to spot girls. Not that he ever talked to them, seriously, who tries to pick up girls at a farmer’s market?

He walked down every street. He tried to stop at every booth. He felt bad when he stopped at booths he wasn’t going to buy anything from, especially when the booth-operators were minorities, because he had all that white-guilt. You know what I’m talking about.

So, after five hours of buying certain kinds of fruit and denying other kinds, listening to one street band and walking away from another, Scott entered a small alley that didn’t match the rest of the city’s layout. Almost like it was meant to be off-beat. He walked by a little sign in front of a sunk-in book-shop. He didn’t realize what the sign said until he had walked fifteen feet away, because he was thinking of other things, like girls he that had broken up with him, or why there were terrorists.

When he backed up and looked at the sign, it really sort of blew his mind.

“One Day Only: A Book Signing With God!”

He nervously looked inside the book-shop window. At first, it seemed like there was no one there. Then he noticed a strange-looking old man, sitting behind a desk, looking a little bored.

Scott tried to look away from the window, but it was too late. God had seen him.

I think we all know that it’s pretty tough to turn your back on God, so Scott went into the book-shop, and pretended to be interested in cook-books, which was ridiculous, because Scott had a completely emasculating belief that he would eventually wind up with some girl who automatically knew how to cook, and he wouldn’t have to worry about it. Don’t get me wrong, Scott felt bad about this, he knew that women had much more to offer in this world than simply cooking, but he still felt like he would luck out and meet a girl who loved to cook for him, and he would somehow be able to make up the difference, either with money or oral/sexual favors.

So, anyway, Scott sat down in a chair in front of God. God had a funny look on his face, which you really wouldn’t expect, but then again, it’s God, so who are you to question it?

“Are you here for my book?” asked God, more than a little eagerly.

“Oh, I didn’t know you wrote a book…” said an understandably nervous Scott. God held up a copy of the Holy Bible. Scott’s face immediately turned red. “Oh, well, yeah! Of course! I knew you wrote that one!” said Scott, as he fumbled with his collar.

“Stop, I got it. You don’t have to be weird with me. I know you haven’t read the Bible in a while. You aren’t the first one. You know, I never meant for it to be like this, Scott.”

“Really? I mean, you’re God, you can make it however you want, can’t you?”

“Well, yeah, that’s true, I could make everyone be crazy and shit, and bring me my slippers and just be totally crazy, but I wanted to see if people would like me for me. It’s stupid, really…”

“No, it isn’t! I understand… Well, sort of…”

“Here’s the deal. I would love, just love, for someone to talk to me straight up. Everyone’s all, ‘Oh, hey, sir, great haircut,’ or ‘Oh, hey, God, saw what you did with the dolphins… Terrific!’ Just once I want someone to be real with me. Ask me some real questions.”

“Okay… I guess I can do that. Here’s a question I’ve been wondering about for a while… Who is my soulmate?”

“You know, I set shit up so that everyone meets their soulmate. Everyone gets at least one chance…”

“Really?” Scott was concurrently surprised and optimistic.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Scott. You already met yours. She worked in a coffee shop. You made a joke about the Speed Racer movie with her, and wouldn’t you know it, she had seen it, and got your joke.”

“Fuck!”

“Yeah, that’s right. Fuck is right. Do you know how many people saw that movie and thought it was good? Maybe like 5 people in the whole world. I meant it to be a sign to you to ask her out. But, you blew it.”

“Oh, but I can still find her right, God?”

“Yeah… Well, the thing about that is, you get one chance. She’s actually married now.”

“Well, yeah but, I mean, she’s my soulmate, right God?”

“Yeah, she is… But she’s much happier with the other guy than she would be with you.”

Scott was a little thrown off.

“But, she’s my soulmate, right? I don’t understand… How could she be happy with someone else?”

God took a sip of his coffee. “You want to hear something crazy? I cannot function without my coffee. Seriously, I wake up and I’m like worthless. You know who makes a baller cup of coffee? Princess Di. I know, it’s a little soon, but seriously, she got a lot of training in entertaining world leaders, so… You can put two and two together. Anyway…”

“God, you never really answered my question. How is that my soulmate can be happy without me?”

“Scott. Check it out. I never, ever told anyone that their soulmate would make them happy…”

Scott reflected on this for a moment, and said, “I guess you’re right. Who ever promised that?”

God stood up and picked up his copy of the Bible. “That being said, she is still your soulmate. She lives in Malibu. In some weird apartment complex called Riverside Plantation. I think that’s a little racist, but hey, what do I know? I’m just God. Apartment 7. Good luck.”

“Wow, thanks God! Uh, can you autograph my copy of the Bible?”

“Scott, I’m omniscient. I know your thoughts. You don’t have to impress, me, man.” And God put some aviator sunglasses on, and walked out the door. Scott sat, dumbfounded for a little while, and then suddenly stood up and wandered around the shop for a while. He walked up to the cashier at the book-shop and put a copy of the Holy Bible down on her table.

“I’d like to purchase this Bible. You see, God has spoken to me.”

“That wasn’t God, that was Tim Sparkins, he comes here on Saturdays and pretends he’s God.”

“Well, I’ll be damned!”

“Nah, just playing, that really was God. He comes in here to tell people about their soulmates. I hope you find her.”

-Matt Sevcik

NASCAR

maxkreutzer — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 03:11:36 +0000

On TV it just doesnt seem like NASCARs are going that fast. Sorry. I can drive in circles too. Does anyone else remember Liza Frank? What ever happened to that bitch?

Text Messages From Friends

maxkreutzer — Sun, 15 Nov 2009 17:07:33 +0000

Actual text messages from friends. My responses are on the right.

Veteran’s Day With Matt

Hey dude, Happy Veteran’s day.

Thanks, maybe I can repay you on National Asshole Day.

Veteran’s Day With Brandon

Happy Veteran’s Day. You should go to

Applebees and get drunk for free.

Getting drunk at Applebees always costs something.

Usually my dignity.

A Discussion About Matt With Brandon

Will u please tell Matt that Seth

McFarlane’s live show sucked.

It’s done.

He’s such a weirdo.

I know, he just called me Colonel Mustard

and a fuck-face adn then hung up.

I hate that guy.

totally.

A Message From Someone Who Wishes To Remain Anonymous

Dude! Marge Simpson is in Playboy and Sarah Palin’s

book comes out on Tuesday! I’m going to have enough jerk-off

material to last until Thanksgiving!

a few hours later

Hey, how do you pre-order a book?

Mondays

maxkreutzer — Sun, 15 Nov 2009 15:51:51 +0000

I knew it was going to be a long day at work because Bob and Fritz started their usual conversation early. Bob put his hand on his lower back and stretched backward letting out a groan.

“Oh my god I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“Why is that Bob?” asked Fritz.

“I kept having nightmares about health care, Bob.”

“Oh my god I know. I kept imagining a line at the DMV and then I was like thinking what if at that same line they had to give out ban-aids and junk. I mean Fritz, if they pass this healh care, our lives may be over.”

I usually stay out of politics at the office but I felt like I had to say something.

“Bob, Fritz, do you really think it will affect us? I mean, we have jobs and our third quarter was great, and besides, we have our own doctor here.”

“Yeah but what happens if we role up on another boat and we board it and when we start stealing their gold we all get pink eye?” asked Fritz.

“Yeah, we want other people to be healthy too. What if we find some cruise ship and we start raping all these chicks but they have STDs that we aren’t yet immune to?”

“Okay,” I said. “That is a good point, but again, if we were to get pink eye, or STDs that we aren’t yet immune to, we have a doctor on the ship who will fix us. For free. The only people who health care effects are people who don’t have it. If anything, maybe some of those people who had pink eye would have been able to go to a doctor and get it looked at before they touched the gold we were going to steal.”

Bob and Fritz looked at each other. There other buddy Simon walked in. He must have overheard us from the copy room. Of course he had to weigh in.

“Hey Max, I think something you sent jammed up the printer. If you could take care of that it would really help us out. We’re on deadline here.”

I thought it would be so cool being a pirate. It’s really not that cool.

More True Then Funny

maxkreutzer — Sun, 15 Nov 2009 02:57:53 +0000

A young boy, age 12 parked his Razor on his Grandfather’s porch. He went inside and found his Grandfather in his favorite chair. The Grandfather always knew if his grandson rode his Razor over that something was bothering him.

“Hop up on my lap little guy. Tell me your troubles”

“How long before I’m an adult? I hate being a kid, I can’t do nothing I want.”

“What can’t you do that you want to do?”

“I want to grow a mustache like my P.E. teacher. He always gets to hug and kiss all the girls in my class and not me.”

“My boy, let me tell you a story. One day a man woke up and couldn’t find his glasses. He went into the bathroom to shave and because he didn’t have his glasses he messed up his mustache. He kept trying to fix it but he ended up having to just shave the whole thing off. He was on his way to work but he didn’t feel right. He had worn a mustache for 25 years so he stopped at Eckerd’s Drug Store and picked up a package of velcro. While he was there he saw one of his patients. The man was a gynecologist and he saw a woman who had an appointment that day with him. He kept his hand over his mouth while he talked to her because he didn’t want her to see him without a mustache.

‘Hello Gladys, I look forward to your appointment today.’

‘Hi Doctor, I look forward to seeing you as well.’

‘I hope you haven’t been shaving your puss like we talked about. That can lead to bumps and infections.’

‘Oh no Doctor I haven’t.’

‘Good, good, see you soon.’

‘Good bye’

After the Doctor had left the woman picked up a package of velcro. See she in fact did shave her puss and she did have an infection and she didn’t want the doctor to know. When she got to the doctor she noticed that his mustache looked an awful lot like her fake velcro puss hair. She also noticed he wasn’t wearing glasses. She sat in the stirrup and the doctor got to work.

‘You’ll have to excuse me Gladys, but I didn’t wear my glasses today. I might have to get closer then usual.’

‘No problem.’

‘Let me just see here….Uh oh.’

‘I know I know I know, I’m sorry. I shaved my puss. I super-glued velcro down there so you wouldn’t know.’

‘I know that Glady’s. My fake velcro mustache is stuck to it. Im going to try to loosen the glue with some saliva, this will just take a second.’

And 5 years later they were married.”

The little boy thought for a second.

“Grandpa, isn’t Grandma’s name Glady’s and aren’t you a doctor?”

The grandfather winked at him.

“You’ve figure it out boy. Now can you figure out the point of the story?”

He thought for a minute.

“To not worry about your appearance because there is someone perfect for everyone?”

“No you idiot, if you have a traumatic experience eating pussy with some girl marry her because she’ll never expect it again. I haven’t ate pussy in 45 years. Its fucking awesome.”