Google+ swCj71E42RfqfgWx3JOogUovB8w Dumbass News: March 2015 : o77OwPu8GHYudT_bxY1ohX-tzdw

Tuesday, March 10, 2015

Dumbass News Is Closed for Bidness



I don't know where to begin, really.

But I do know where to end.

After today, I will not be blogging anymore. For a while at least. My initial thought is to take a month or two off then come back as stoopid as ever. As of right now, I can't say when, or even if, I will resume writing Dumbass News again. Some time in the future I may just post videos of The World's Best Dumbassery on Dumbass Tube. I simply don't know.

There are a million reasons why I should/could continue with blogging, but there is one reason why I can't - mental health, i.e., bipolar depression, PTSD, ADHD, etc. (Yes I am taking my medication and keeping Doctors appointments and all that stuff, but I am still a work in progress.)

All these Alphabet Soup Diagnoses have really messed up thought process. Think of a bowl of spaghetti. That's what the ruminations bouncing around in my brain must look like - chaotic, helter skelter and otherwise jumbled to shit. This is certainly not conducive to producing Written World Class Dumbassery.

While my battle with depression has been an ongoing struggle for more than three decades, I am now at a point where it's not just an "inconvenience", it is my constant companion. I am actually a little bit concerned about it.

I could go into greater detail but I am not gonna turn this post into a "woe is me" whinefest, so suffice it to say that I have some work to do so I can get back to being an abnormal Human Bean.

If for some reason you ever need a Daily Dose of Dumbassery, there are over 1000 Dumbass News stories on my Pinterest page. 

You can also find some damn good bloggers in the left sidebar under "Dumbasses I Read". 

I can't thank y'all enough for all the support you have given me over the last four and a half years, but please know that I have been humbled by it.

Hasta la vista.

Dumbasses.

Monday, March 9, 2015

The Ole Dumbass' Face Pierced With Fish Hooks Trick! Srsly

Hooked on stoopid.....




Dumbass.

Bare Ass vs. Electric Fence Or Face Meet Cow Pie! (VIDEO)



Candidate for the Best Use of an Ass in the 2015 Fred G. Sanford Memorial "You Big Dummy" Dumbass of the Year Awards!

Be sure to watch this all the way through. The end result is the best thing since someone figgered out how to turn agave into tequila.




Dumbass.

***Hat Tip to The Pride of Rockwall, Texas & Scourge of Lake Ray Hubbard, Matt V.***

Sunday, March 8, 2015

Guns, Death & An Ass Whoopin'!

Choices.....


Dumbass.

2 Years Ago Today: Thief Uses I D to Buy Beer From Lady She Stole I D From!

Best of Dumbass News

Thanks to my long time friend Matt Vaughn in Texas, today we are breaking new ground in the sink hole that is Dumbass News. I've come to expect stuff like this from Matt because he is one of the biggest Dumbasses I know. I must admit, however, that I am a bit jealous of Matt. And by "jealous" I of course mean that I would pay an exorbitant amount of money to one of my wife's Eye-talian uncles  (Sicilian, naturally) to put Young Matthew to "sleep with the fishes", IYKWIMAITYD. This would be easy to accomplish because my buddy Matt lives near one of my old fishing holes, Lake Ray Hubbard. This is one of the reasons I am jealous of my friend - because he lives so damn near the lake. Another reason I am envious of Matt is because he has a Harley and I don't. Having said all this, you can easily see why Matthew deserves a fate of nothing less than becoming catfish food.

So, Matt, if you wake up one morning with a severed horse head in your bed, it's nothing personal, bro. It's just bidness.

New Ground

Brianna
The groundbreaking part of our story today involves ID theft. This is a first for Dumbass News. In the past I have written about this stoopid bitch that was cashing Social Security checks - that were written to her DEAD boyfriend! There was also the time that we discovered that credit card theft is a gateway to becoming a smoker.

While cashing gubmint checks made out to your dead boyfriend and credit card theft are fine felonies indeed, they don't compare to the Dumbassery we will learn about today.

May I See Your ID, Please?

Brianna Priddy is a waitress at the Applebee's in the Denver suburb of Lakewood, Colorado. A couple of weeks ago, Brianna's wallet was stolen from her. In the meantime, somebody was going around the Greater Denver area cashing hundreds of dollars of bad checks using Brianna's stolen ID. This is important to remember.

One day Brianna was at work serving some delicious Applebee's menu fare to the upstanding citizens of the Metro Denver area when a young lady came into the restaurant and was seated in Brianna's section. The young lady, whom we'll call Clarice, then ordered an adult libation. Brianna wasn't sure that Clarice was of legal drinking age, so like the Law and Applebee's company policy dictate, Brianna asked Clarice for some form of identification to verify that Clarice was indeed of the age of majority. Clarice happily complied and presented a drivers license to the waitress.

The ID that Clarice showed the server was Brianna's stolen drivers license! This is what is commonly referred to as "Karma" or as I like to call it, "a swift kick in the nuts".

Do Not Pass "Go"

One can only imagine what Brianna was thinking. But, she kept her cool and calmly took Clarice's drink order then proceeded to call the local constabulary post haste.

Clarice was taken into police custody and charged with a bunch of shit that will keep her behind bars for a few years.

Thank you, Matt, for this heartwarming story of what goes around comes around. I can always count on you to deliver the goods, all in the name of Good Old Fashioned Dumbassery.

Now about that horse head....

Dumbass.

Saturday, March 7, 2015

Tacos: Juan More Time!

Viva tore tillas!


Pendejo.

You Had One Job FAIL!

One. Simple. Job.

Or not.

Oh What a Tangled Web We Weave

The Sign Maker Wasn't as Drunk as Some Thinkle Peep

I'd Rather Finish 1rd

Yes Ewe Our

Is Up Down?

Frietruck Parking Only

Dropped Call


Granny Smith Watermelons?

At Least It's Super Sized

Here I Sat Broken Hearted
Dumbasses.

Thursday, March 5, 2015

Dumbass Feminine Hygiene Ad of the Day!

Scrub a dub dub.....


You're welcome, Ladies.

Dumbasses.

Dumbass Sports: Midget Tossing While Drunk!

Best of Dumbass News

Physically speaking, I am a small man.

Some Dumbasses would say the same about my mental capabilities and character too.

The ones who carry these ludicrous thoughts around with themselves are either

  • 1) Liberals or 
  • 2) Those who wish to dethrone me as The Fearless Leader of the Dumbass Horde. 
Let me tell you sons of motherless goats in Group 2 that it ain't gonna happen.

As far as Liberals go, I ain't skeered of a bunch of sissies who want to turn the USA into Fwance. What a perfect match. The Fwench wouldn't fight to save their own mothers and Liberals won't work to save their own mothers. Knowing that, I'm pretty sure that my reign as The Fearless Leader of the Dumbass Horde is safe.

No Fearless Leader Tossing

As I said up there^^^^^, physically I am not what you'd call a candidate to play Middle Linebacker for the Green Bay Packers. I am about a foot too short and at least a hundred pounds too light. As unimposing as I am, there are smaller men in the world than me who are imposing only in the movies and the WWE.

Where I come from we call them "midgets". They prefer to be called "Little People". Forget that noise. My two youngest children (ages 4 & 9) are "little people". A fully grown human bean that got the raw end of the "Verticality Stick" is a friggin' midget!

End.Of.Story.

Besides, nobody in his right Dumbass Mind would dare to try to do some Fearless Leader of the Dumbass Horde tossing. Midgets on the other hand are thrown around, willingly in the great majority of cases, like a drunk hooker at a bachelor party.

I'm just sayin'.

Drunk Guy Shot Puts Midget, Much to Midget's Dismay

The Telegraph reports that "A dwarf claims he was partially paralyzed on his birthday when a stranger lifted and heaved him onto the hard ground outside an English pub."

Did I mention that there was a dwarf tossing event at the pub in question when this incident occurred?

It's not stated in the Telegraph article whether the midget victim, Martin Henderson, was participant in the "Mad Midget Weekender", as the show was called, nonetheless Martin was tossed like a salad at a Weight Watchers meeting. The tosser was a drunk bloke who Martin claims was encouraged by a drunk rugby team into giving Martin the Midget the ol' heave ho. While I certainly sympathize with Martin regarding his injuries, that's where my concerns for Martin come to an abrupt halt.

Martin Is a Dumbass

While no midget deserves to be blindsided and flung around for the sheer enjoyment of some inebriated asshole...oh, wait! That's what dwarf tossing is all about! Watching teensy weensy full grown men getting pitched all over the pub to the bemusement of the likkered up assholes in a pub!

What the hell was to be expected of a shit load of Brits drinking warm beer, for God's sake? These are the same people who drink hot tea also! Haven't these Dumbasses ever heard of ice? No wonder the UK is going to Hell in a hand basket. Warm beer indeed.

Let me go through this ordeal step by step:

  • 1) There is a "Mad Midget Weekender" 
  • 2) At a British pub 
  • 3) That serves warm beer 
  • 4) With a lorry load (<------a little Brit lingo there) of drunk dumbasses in attendance. 
I can't see any potential problems with that set of circumstances, can you?

Evidently Martin the Teensy Weensy Full Grown Man didn't and look what happened to him.

Giving the Runt Credit

I won't list them, but suffice it to say that Martin suffered some pretty serious injuries as a result of being unexpectedly dwarf tossed by some plowed dickweed. He still has significant health issues from his experience. But is that what has Martin so pissed off about this ordeal? Not from what I can tell.

The reason that the Midget in Question is perturbed is because the impairments from which he suffers have  "derailed what he described as a promising acting career" Acting career? In what, short subjects? A mini series? After reading that, I am of the opinion that Martin himself was a few pints along the Drunk Highway on the night in question.

The credit Martin is due is because all he wants out this horrible happening is an apology from the rugby gus that supposedly egged on the Surprise Dwarf Slammer into his Commode-Huggin' Drunk Rampage. After all, this could have rather easily a long drawn out court battle taking God knows how long to determine the outcome of.

Way to go, Martin Old Bean! Your sense of Justice is to be admired.

However, your sense of the common leaves a lot to be desired. Wrong place, wrong time and all that sort of rot. (<-----more Brit lingo there).

Have a nice rodeo warm beer on me, mate.

But seriously get the damn pub owners to ice down some of the ole Amber Current, will ya?

And a pip, pip cheery oh to you.

Dumbass.

Wednesday, March 4, 2015

Dumbass Photo of the Day: Texas Hump Day!

No bull......


Dumbasses.

***Hat Tip to Fearless Mom***

Dildocular Beat Down!

Best of Dumbass News

Most of are pretty fortunate to have (or had, if she has gone on to her Reward) good Moms.

I, for one, realize that Ma Fearless Leader is a keeper.

I have done some stoopid shit in my life and Ma has always been there for me when other family members and people who I thought were my friends abandoned me like Preznit Stomp Feet has dumped (on) our Constitution.

Don't get me wrong, Ma FL didn't always treat me like "Poor Baby Fearless Leader", she has lit my ass up more times than I care to mention.

Still she did it with love.

And a cast iron skillet to the skull.

Please understand I will tell anyone, anytime to politely "go lick a sweaty swamp donkey's nut sack". Including Preznit Head Up His Ass. But not my Mom, the Pope or the Reverend Billy Graham. <--- Dumbass News, Rule 1.

There are, however, Dumbasses who, shall we say, have very little respect for their Maternal Parentage. No, we shall say that some Dumbasses need their spleen extracted. Through their asshole. By the Barbed Cock of Satan.

Cara Claffy (say that three times real fast) is just such a Dumbass.
Vibrator Vigilante

Cara and her mother Sheryl got into a verbal altercation.

This argument escalated rather quickly, with the outcome being blood streaming down Sheryl's face.

As the result of being clobbered on the cranium by a VIBRATOR!

This story takes place in The Land of Entrapment - Nuevo Mexico.

I have lived in New Mexico and let me tell you that they have some very draconian laws with regard to beating your Mother to a bloody pulp with a vibrator.

One punishment for such a heinous attack is a sentence of six months of living in Newark, New Jersey.

And that's just for the first offense!

A second conviction for Assault With a Dildocular Object on Yo Mama carries a far stiffer penalty - watching all twelve seasons of American Idol on continuous loop!

Oh, the savagery!

Isn't there something in the Constitution about cruel and unusual punishment?

It occurs to me, however, that our Founding Fathers never envisioned a crime as atrocious as slapping your Mother up side the noggin with a sex toy. Nor could the Founders have predicted something as God awful dreadful as Idol.

It should come as no surprise that this is not Cara's first run-in with The Law over domestic violence.

Did I mention that Cara Claffy also had a previous encounter with the criminal justice system over drug possession?

Color me surprised.

Dumbass.

***Hat Tip The Smoking Gun ***

Tuesday, March 3, 2015

Disease at the Dumbass Dome: Puking In the School Lunch Room Drama!

Things are swirling around the ol' Porcelain Pony these days at the Dumbass Dome.

Literally.

Over the last week, each member of the First Family of Dumbassery has/is/is again experiencing symptoms of The Crud.

The Crud is a debilitating disorder that manifests itself with any or all of the following maladies, individually or in sadistic combination with one another:

  • A "croupy" cough that sounds like a flock of caffeine-laden Canada geese with emphysema.
  • A headache that feels like someone is pounding you about your skull with 16 pound sledge hammer.
  • Sounds resembling a Mack Truck diesel engine eminating from the stomach-ular region.
  • Nausea of the kind you would get if you chugged a quart of Liquid Plumber.
  • Chunky Style Projectile Puking.
  • Anal emissions that mirror a rancid chocolate milk-battery acid milk shake. This is known as Ass Effects.

In short, that is The Crud.

I have been battling The Crud for seven or eight days, but the currently most-afflicted member of the First Family of Dumbassery is my 12 year old daughter, Issy.

I got call from the Nurse at Issy's school Friday after noon informing me that Issy had just completed an exemplary demonstration of Chunky Style Projectile Puking.

I went and picked her up from school and brought her back to the Dumbass Dome.

After much rest and a bunch of Motherly TLC from Mrs. Fearless Leader, plus the requisite bitchin' and moanin' that accompanies a case of The Crud as experienced by a 12 year old girl, Monday morning arrived and Issy declared that she was feeling well enough to go back to school.

Until just after lunch.

One bite of a cheeseburger and a gulp of milk later, Issy's tummy told her otherwise. By "told her
otherwise" I mean that Issy spewed chunks into her lunch tray!

One of Issy's Alert-and-Sharp-as-a-Ball-Peen-Hammer friends took quick notice of the unfolding drama.

Here's the scene as I understand it:

Issy: Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllllfffffffffff!!!!!!!!!!!! eleventy!!!!!!

Alert-and-Sharp-as-a-Ball-Peen-Hammer Friend: (Very Loudly) My homie's throwing up!

Issy: Baaaaaarrrrrrrrfffffff!

Alert-and-Sharp-as-a-Ball-Peen-Hammer Friend: (787 Jumbo Jet Air Bus Decibel Level) Yo! My Homie's heavin' here!

Issy: Blllllleeeeeeeeeeeeecccccccccchhhhhhhhh!!!!!

Alert-and-Sharp-as-a-Ball-Peen-Hammer Friend: Hey, motherfuckers! My homie is Projectile Puking Chunky Style ovah heah! <---said accent.="" maine="" noticeable="" p="" very="" with="">
OK...I made up the "motherfuckers" part, but the rest of the story is pretty much verbatim as it was told to me.

Issy was taken to the School Nurse, again, who in turn called me, again, and I went to get Issy, again, brought her home and Mrs. Fearless Leader is once again doing a bang-up job of Mommy-ing our Little Girl back to health.

I do think Issy is feeling better now. The Little Shit just ate a large serving of Extra Spicy Hormel Chili (with beans), or as it is now known Ass Effects In a Can.

Raaaaaaaaaaallllllllllffffffffffffff!!!! eleventy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Dumbass.


Monday, March 2, 2015

Dumbass Car Theft Tip: How Not to Use a Brick (VIDEO)



Karma is a brick.....




Dumbass.

Proud Dumbass, Proud Texan: What It Means to Be a Texan by Coach Bum Phillips

Home: Colors Provided by God

What your about to read is something that every Texan should dust off and read every once in a while. We often take for granted what a special place God gave us as a Home and this story will remind and humble us at the same time.

I think as a Texas ex-pat living in New England, I see Texas from a different perspective than those of you still living there. Maybe not being able to go fishing in my beloved East Texas or see for the first time ever the raw beauty and magnificence of Big Bend will do that to a guy. Although I choose to live here, I miss Texas terribly, but she is always in my heart.

God has blessed her, but he has blessed me infinitely more by gracing me with privilege, nay Honor, of being a Texan.

WHAT IT MEANS TO BE A TEXAN
by Bum Phillips


Dear Friends,

Last year, I wrote a small piece about what it means to me to be a Texan. My friends know it means about damned near everything. Anyway, this fella asked me to reprint what I'd wrote and I didn't have it. So I set out to think about rewriting something. I considered writing about all the great things I love about Texas. There are way too many things to list. I can't even begin to do it justice.

Lemme let you in on my short list.

It starts with The Window at Big Bend, which in and of itself is proof of God. It goes to Lake Sam Rayburn where my Grandad taught me more about life than fishin, and enough about fishin to last a lifetime. I can talk about Tyler, and Longview, and Odessa and Cisco, and Abilene and Poteet and every place in between.

Every little part of Texas feels special. Every person who ever flew the Lone Star thinks of Bandera or Victoria or Manor or wherever they call "home" as the best little part of the best state.

So I got to thinkin about it, and here's what I really want to say.

Last year, I talked about all the great places and great heroes who make Texas what it is. I talked about Willie and Waylon and Michael Dell and Michael DeBakey and my Dad and LBJ and Denton Cooley. I talked about everybody that came to mind. It took me sitting here tonight reading this stack of emails and thinkin about where I've been and what I've done since the last time I wrote on this occasion to remind me what it is about Texas that is really great.

You see, this last month or so I finally went to Europe for the first time. I hadn't ever been, and didn't too much want to. But you know all my damned friends are always talking about "the time they went to Europe." So, I finally went. It was a hell of a trip to be sure. All they did when they saw me was say the same thing, before they'd ever met me. "Hey cowboy, we love Texas." I guess the hat tipped em off.

But let me tell you what, they all came up with a smile on their faces. You know why? They knew for damned sure that I was gonna be nice to em.  They knew it cause they knew I was from Texas. They knew something that hadn't even hit me. They knew Texans, even though     they'd never met one.

That's when it occurred to me. Do you know what is great about Texas? Do you know why when my friend Beverly and I were trekking across country to see 15 baseball games we got sick and had to come home after 8?  Do you know whyevery time I cross the border I say, "Lord, please don't let me die in_____"?  Do you know why children in Japan can look at a picture of the great State and know exactly what it is about the same time they can tell a rhombus from a trapezoid?

I can tell you that right quick. You.

The samespirit that made 186 men cross that line in the sand in San Antonio damned near 165 years ago is still in you today. Why else would my friend send me William Barrett Travis' plea for help in an email just a week ago, or why would Charles Stanfield ask me to reprint a Texas Independence column from a year ago? What would make my friend Elizabeth say, "I don't know if I can marry a man who doesn't love Texas like I do?" Why in the hell are 1,000 people coming to my house this weekend to celebrate a holiday for what usedto be a nation that is now a state?

Because the spirit that made that nation is the spirit that burned in every person who founded this great place we call Texas, and they passed it on through blood or sweat to everyone of us.

You see, that spirit that made Texas what it is is alive in all of us, even if we can't stand next to a cannon to prove it, and it's our responsibility to keep that fire burning. Every person who ever put a"Native Texan" or an "I wasn't born in Texas but I got here as fast as I could" sticker on his car understands.

Anyone who ever hung a map of Texas on their wall or flew a Lone Star flag on their porch knows what I mean. My Dad's buddy Bill has an old saying. He says that some people were forged of a hotter fire. Well, that's what it is to be Texan. To be forged of a hotter fire. To know that part of Colorado was Texas. That part of New Mexico was Texas. That part of Oklahoma was Texas. Yep. Talk all you want. Part of what you got was what we gave you. To look at a picture of Idaho or Istanbul and say, "what the Hell is that?" when you know that anyone in Idaho or Istanbul who sees a picture of Texas knows damned good and well what it is. It isn't the shape, it isn't the state, it's the state of mind.

You're what makes Texas. The fact that you would take 15 minutes out of your day to read this, because that's what Texas means to you, that's what makes Texas what it is. The fact that when you see the guy in front of you litter you honk and think, "Sonofabitch. Littering on MY highway."

When was the last time you went to a person's house in New York and you saw a big map of New York on their wall? That was never. When did you ever drive through Oklahoma and see their flag waving on four businesses in a row? Can you even tell me what the flag in Louisiana looks like? I damned sure can't. But I bet my ass you can't drive 20 minutes from your house and not see a business that has a big Texas flag as part of its logo. If you haven't done business with someone called AllTex something or Lone Star somebody or other, or Texas such and such, you hadn't lived here for too long.

When you ask a man from New York what he is, he'll say a stockbroker, or an accountant, or an ad exec. When you ask a woman from California what she is, she'll tell you her last name or her major. Hell either of em might say "I'm a republican," or they might be a democrat. When you ask a Texan what they are, before they say, "I'm a Methodist," or "I'm a lawyer," or "I'm a Smith," they tell you they're a Texan.

I got nothin against all those other places, and Lord knows they've probably got some fine folks, but in your gut you know it just like I do, Texas is just a little different.

So tomorrow when you drive down the road and you see a person broken down on the side of the road, stop and help. When you are in a bar in California, buy a Californian a drink and tell him it's for Texas Independence Day. Remind the person in the cube next to you that he wouldn't be here enjoying this if it weren't for Sam Houston, and if he or she doesn't know the story, tell them.

When William Barrettt Travis wrote in 1836 that he would never surrender and he would have Victory or Death, what he was really saying was that he and his men were forged of a hotter fire. They weren't your average everyday men. Well, that is what it means to be a Texan. It meant it then, and that's why it means it today. It means just what all those people North of the Red River accuse us of thinking it means. It means there's no mountain that we can't climb. It means that we can swim the Gulf in the winter. It means that Earl Campbell ran harder and Houston is bigger and Dallas is richer and Alpine is hotter and Stevie Ray was smoother and God vacations in Texas. It means that come Hell or high water, when the chips are down and the Good Lord is watching, we're Texans by damned, and just like in 1836, that counts for something.

So for today at least, when your chance comes around, go out and prove it. It's true because we believe it's true. If you are sitting wondering what the Hell I'm talking about, this ain't for you. But if the first thing you are going to do when the Good Lord calls your number is find the men who sat in that tiny mission in San Antonio and shake their hands, then you're the reason I wrote this night, and this is for you.

So until next time you hear from me, God Bless and Happy Texas Independence Day.
 
Texas is the damnedest Lady you ever saw - John Wayne.

Amen, Duke. Amen.

***Thanks to texfiles.com***

I Don't: Guy Calls in Bomb Threat to Halt His Wedding!



Best of Dumbass News

Planning a wedding is a difficult proposition.

You've gotta line up rings, tuxes, a wedding gown, bridesmaids' dresses, a caterer, music, a Priest/Minister and most importantly, booze.

Tradition, as I understand it, has the Bride and her chosen co-conspirators helpers doing the heavy lifting on most of these matters.

Sometimes, the Groom takes responsibility for some of the necessary components of the wedding.

This is a bad idea.

very bad idea.

How the hell is a Guy supposed to deal with shit like this? I mean, his mind is probably a thousand miles away from actually taking part in something of this nature. A Groom's thoughts meander aimlessly from "It would be a great day to go fishing" to "How the fuck am I gonna sober up in time for...for...what was I supposed to be doing today?"

You can see why assigning Necessary Wedding Tasks to a guy who is about to go from a life of drinking beer for breakfast, running around the house in his underwear and scratching his nuts whenever he wants to, to a life of being married and drinking beer for breakfast, running around the house in his underwear and scratching his nuts whenever he wants to, may not be in the best interest of a couple's nuptials going off as planned, no matter how meticulously things have been strategerized for The Big Day.

Explosive Wedding

A Groom-to-be in London had at least one very simple but very important Necessary Wedding Task to perform.

It was his Sole Responsibility to book the venue for the wedding.

He forgot.

Now, this is not the End of the World or even the End of the Meticulously Planned Prim and Proper English Wedding.

While it was certainly a Major Pain in the Ass and presented a Large Logistical Problem, a solution to this dilemma could have been (relatively) easy to come by.

Except for The Bomb Threat!

Yes, Dumbass Horde, rather than face the consequences of his actions like a man, the Groom called in a bomb threat forty-five minutes before the ceremony!

This was not a wise thing to do.

While the British may be known for keeping a Stiff Upper Lip, they are also known for being extremely fond
of protocol and etiquette. And calling in a bomb threat hoax less than hour before your wedding is to take place is, to the British mind, bad form, Old Boy.

A judge in Liverpool agrees. He sentenced the Groom to a year in prison.

At this point of the story you would think that all the weirdness would have been put on full display for all to see, wouldn't you?

You'd be wrong.

After doing his time in the British Big House, other than having a poop chute the size of a silver dollar, the Groom's life won't really be that much different than it was before this incident.

The Bride, you know the one left waiting at the altar when the Groom called in the bomb threat hoax, will be waiting for him upon completion of his prison sentence!

Knock me over with a crumpet.

Dumbasses.

Sunday, March 1, 2015

Secrets to a Happy Marriage: The 3 Bs (NSFW)

Gimme a "B"!


Dumbases.

***Thanks to Someone (I Forgot Who) on Facebook***

1 Year Ago Today: Sterile Guy Pays Neighbor to Knock Up His Wife!

Best of Dumbass News

Neighbors.

You can't live without 'em and you can't shoot 'em.

I have been thinking about the virtues and vices of having neighbors over the last week or so.

Why?

I'll tell you why.

There's a lady and her 12 year old son who have lived next door to us for two years. Two years to the day as a matter of fact. They are good neighbors. The lady is very nice, if shy and the boy is a good, respectful kid. My family and I like them a lot. But, today they are moving. It's kind of sad really.

My wife is a great cook and she's forever in the kitchen coming up with something delicious for us and our neighbors.

For example, last summer we had an outstanding little garden in which we grew a ton of mondo, and I mean mondo, zoo-keeny. Heather (Mrs. Fearless Leader), made several batches of zoo-keeny bread and shared it with many, if not all, of the neighbors that live in our building. The Lady and the Kid Next Door were no exception. In return, the lady next door would, on occasion, do something nice for us in return. Just like it should be.

I wish them luck and happiness in their new home. They were good neighbors and we'll miss them.

Having said all that, there's a guy in Stuttgart, Germany that has to be The Best Neighbor in the History of Mankind, or for brevity's sake, TBNITHOM. Even better, let's just call him TBN for The Best Neighbor.

The Best Neighbor Wants a Little Best Neighbor

The Best Neighbor and his wife, a former Supermodel, were trying like crazy to make a baby. I'm sure the guys reading this are thinking....well, I'd rather not write what that bunch of Dumbass perverts is thinking, but I will tell you guys this: It. Gets. Better.

Much. 

Better!

Mrs. TBN
As Fate would have it, TBN was shooting blanks, if you know what I mean and I think you do, and was unable to father a child. I think it's safe to say, however, that he must have had a helluva time trying. But, I digress.

It was then that TBN came up with a plan.

The Plan

Since The Best Neighbor's Little Swimmers don't make it to the "end of the pool", he came up with what he thought was a brilliant idea. He had a neighbor, whom we'll call "The Guy", who looked enough like TBN to have been his brother.

And The Guy had kids. This means his Little Swimmers were able to finish the race.

Or so everyone thought.

This is where The Idea comes into play. TBN's scheme? Give The Guy $2500 to impregnate TBN's Hotter than a $2 Pistol Sex Bomb of a Wife! Being a good neighbor willing to donate his sperm for a friend by depositing it in the appropriate manner into Mrs. TBN, The Guy took the two point five large and boinked Mrs. TBN.

Seventy-two times!

But still no baby.

Something was amiss.

What Was Amiss

It was at this point that The Best Neighbor in the History of Mankind became, shall we say, "irritated"? No, we shall not. "Pissed off" is more like it.

After six dozen times of layin' The Hammer to Mrs. TBN and no with no baby to show for all this horizontal hula-ing, TBN sent The Guy to a doctor to make sure everything was OK with his male ejaculate.

Guess what?

The Guy was sterile, too!

Blanks!

No baby-making Little Swimmers!

And he knew it!

Now this new bit of information brings up quite the dilemma.

The Dilemma

Even though The Guy knew that he was infertile at the moment, he took $2500 from TBN knowing that he couldn't produce a kid for the couple and he porked her anyway?

Seventy-two times?! 

I smell a rat here.

But The Rat, also known as The Guy was about to get his comeuppance.

Remember earlier when I said that The Guy had some kids?

It turns out The Guy thought he had some kids!

Mrs. The Guy fessed up that the kids weren't his! He was shootin' blanks back then too!

Ain't that a swift kick in the No Baby Makin' Gazebos?

It ain't over yet, folks.

More Neighborly Love

Feeling that he had been defrauded, The Best Neighbor filed suit against The Guy trying to get back his 25 hundred bucks. TBN's argument is obvious in this case. The Guy argues that he didn't say he could produce a baby, but that he would try to get Mrs. TBN knocked up.

And, boy did he try.

Seventy-stinkin'-two times.

It must have been an awful ordeal to endure. You know, plowing, and getting paid to do it, a woman that looks like Mrs. TBN over seventy times ain't as easy as it would seem.

The poor The Guy.

He'll have to live with the image of bumpin' uglies with a a former Supermodel for the rest of his life!

Oh, yeah and getting twenty-five Big Ones to do it.

Alas, The Best Neighbor in the History of Mankind is still without a child.

And he's out a shit load of cash.

And he willingly let The Guy screw his wife.

Seventy-two times.

Dumbass.
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