That His Excellency, the one true savior of
the Jah people and Mike Tirico, Conqueror of Zab Judah and Purveyor of
Atrocious Atrocities, The Most Venerable and Esteemed Sir Jean-Luc
Bertrand Vincent Van Dingleberry, has passed. His funeral will be held in Matanzas on Jueves, because, in his own most intricate words,
"Yo soy un hombre sincero.
De donde crecen las palmas.
Yo soy un hombre sincero.
De donde crecen las palmas.
Y antes de morirme quiero.
Echar mis versos del alma"
We are all in mourning. In his absence, it is I, noble Ser Saucy of the house of McFuck, that will serve as King Regent. That said, you bitches better recognize. I will carry out all action as King Regent with one thing in mind:
What would Jean-Luc do? Jean-Luc would tell you to suck his cock, because fuck it, that's just the way he rolls. After all, YOLO.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Survival Is A Test of The Testes
Eons upon eons ago, tucked away in a dusty little corner of a then-semen-fueled internet resided a source for all things nothings and everything, gay things and black things, sometimes even Jewish conspiracy things. In the years since the inception of this fine piece of morose cockwashing, a lot of heroin and herpes has been consumed by the creative parties involved in the pissing on wolves that this blog entailed. Some of us died. Some of us grew up. Some of us are now serving multiple life sentences in San Quentin for the rape and murder of an innocent milk man. But our spirit lives on. And as of tonight, so does this page, with a little flickering heartbeat of fuckbucketry. We may not be chronically masturbating 8 year old teens obsessed with bowl hits and brown bitches anymore, but in our hearts we still lick the butter out of our dogs' assholes. And with that spirit still tucked away inside of our cockruminating fuckweening dickshitter hearts, we can proudly reintroduce this fine piece of work into our tainted bloodstreams.
So sit back, kindly Fornicate Under the Consent of the King yourself, and have a horrific and tragedy-filled day. May your loved ones die with the dick of a doofus lodged in their ears.
So sit back, kindly Fornicate Under the Consent of the King yourself, and have a horrific and tragedy-filled day. May your loved ones die with the dick of a doofus lodged in their ears.
Monday, April 20, 2009
We Apologize
It appears that over the weekend, one of our staffed writers decided to fulfill his state-mandated community service requirement by bringing a busload of special needs children into our workplace. As expected in these potentially disastrous scenarios, one of them found himself fascinated by the computer that said writer left on and open to the New Post section. And, well, yeah...you all saw.
What you just read below was not a test; it was a mistake. It was a massacre upon the entire world of media. It was a backstreet mugging of an innocent language. It was rape. It was wrong. But rest assured, we promise to hold this deformity's parents accountable to the fullest degree for subjecting you, the loyal readership, to this unspeakable travesty. And by "this deformity," we, of course, refer to writer Jean-Luc Bertrand Dingleberry.
As of this post, that motherfucker of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed limp llama dick is skating on the thinnest of ice. If this trend of open-air idiocy continues, we will not hesitate for a moment to replace him with, literally, that 10,000 monkeys typing theory.
For the time being, however, feel free to send your local Soviet Phonebook writer a bag of steamed vegetarian turd.
Signing Off,
Your Fearless Leader
What you just read below was not a test; it was a mistake. It was a massacre upon the entire world of media. It was a backstreet mugging of an innocent language. It was rape. It was wrong. But rest assured, we promise to hold this deformity's parents accountable to the fullest degree for subjecting you, the loyal readership, to this unspeakable travesty. And by "this deformity," we, of course, refer to writer Jean-Luc Bertrand Dingleberry.
As of this post, that motherfucker of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed limp llama dick is skating on the thinnest of ice. If this trend of open-air idiocy continues, we will not hesitate for a moment to replace him with, literally, that 10,000 monkeys typing theory.
For the time being, however, feel free to send your local Soviet Phonebook writer a bag of steamed vegetarian turd.
Signing Off,
Your Fearless Leader
Sunday, April 19, 2009
OH MOI GOD
BREAKING NEWS FROM OUR PREVIOUS STORY
EL CAGADOR CAGALISTRO HAS BEEN CAPTURED
HE HAS BEEN IDETIFIED AS HAL NEWHOUSER
CHOWDERDICKS
EL CAGADOR CAGALISTRO HAS BEEN CAPTURED
HE HAS BEEN IDETIFIED AS HAL NEWHOUSER
CHOWDERDICKS
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Image To Be Retired
Readership, countrymen, robber barons, landlords...Soviet Phonebook is many things, but self-indulgent is not one of them. We are masters in the art of recognizing borders and knowing our limits- after all, we're convicted felons and ex-lacrosse players. And as such, we are well aware- and on the scene- when a certain image has already reached its critical usage mass. In this case, it's happened within 24 hours of SP's humble existence.
So, it is with great honor, a tinge of heartfelt sadness, and in spirit of SP, some self-righteous feigned moral outrage ("Oh. My. Goodness. That is just sick and wrong. And now to Susan with traffic.") that I call for the permanent retirement of the infamous turdpedo picture, which has already been used in consecutive entries.
Turdy, we hardly knew ye. R.I.P.
For the untimely death of this revered shitshuttle, we place not the burden of blame on Most Venerable Jean-Luc, but rather, on the mind-numbingly mundane shoulders of Mediocre Money's Average Economist, Dungbeetle Dave Farrelmackis, who is currently out fucking a lady in an uncomfortable place- like the back of a Volkswagen.
May he feel the wrath of 1,000 constipations.
So, it is with great honor, a tinge of heartfelt sadness, and in spirit of SP, some self-righteous feigned moral outrage ("Oh. My. Goodness. That is just sick and wrong. And now to Susan with traffic.") that I call for the permanent retirement of the infamous turdpedo picture, which has already been used in consecutive entries.
Turdy, we hardly knew ye. R.I.P.
For the untimely death of this revered shitshuttle, we place not the burden of blame on Most Venerable Jean-Luc, but rather, on the mind-numbingly mundane shoulders of Mediocre Money's Average Economist, Dungbeetle Dave Farrelmackis, who is currently out fucking a lady in an uncomfortable place- like the back of a Volkswagen.
May he feel the wrath of 1,000 constipations.
Cockstallnacht - Night of the Broken Cock
From the Archives of His Excellency, the one true savior of the Jah people and Mike Tirico, Conqueror of Zab Judah and Purveyor of Atrocious Atrocities, The Most Venerable and Esteemed Sir Jean-Luc Bertrand Vincent Van Dingleberry.
It was a sunny day this morning, drivers were driving, walkers were walking, workers were working, and dicks were flaccid. Bustlers were bustling through the boisterous community.
At approximately 9:34 AM, a woman, who wishes to have her identity concealed under the name CockWhopping TittyVulture, was gruesomely and perversely attacked by what is now known locally as the Brown Massacre.
As miss TittyVulture was walking down Candydick Avenue, our unknown assailant, who will, for reasons which will soon reveal themselves to our readers at home, be known as "Asshole of Zyklon B" proceeded to pounce on her, in what eyewitness reports describe to be much in the motion of a cheetah pouncing on a gazelle and take a massive shit directly on miss Cockwhopping's face.
After doing aforementioned despicable deed, mister Hemroid of Cyanide proceeded to competely remove his pants and undergarments and release one of the most horrifically putrid farts ever to be whiffed by human nostrils.
Our culprit then decided to very specifically tell the public, who at this point looked on in terror and disgust, the difference between his, as he refered to them, Mystical Releases of Bowel Discharge. Key differences in his "Shits", as we commoners normally refer to them, were generally defined by their texture and structure. The Weapon used on miss C.TittyVulture was photographed and shown below.
(We warn you, the following image may be too gruesome for the eyes of the innocent)
All we have to say here at Soviet Phonebook is walk with caution, folks of the one last true kingdom of god, Papua New Guinea, for this Cagador Cagalistroso is still on the loose.
Stay tuned for more coverage on the matter.
It was a sunny day this morning, drivers were driving, walkers were walking, workers were working, and dicks were flaccid. Bustlers were bustling through the boisterous community.
At approximately 9:34 AM, a woman, who wishes to have her identity concealed under the name CockWhopping TittyVulture, was gruesomely and perversely attacked by what is now known locally as the Brown Massacre.
As miss TittyVulture was walking down Candydick Avenue, our unknown assailant, who will, for reasons which will soon reveal themselves to our readers at home, be known as "Asshole of Zyklon B" proceeded to pounce on her, in what eyewitness reports describe to be much in the motion of a cheetah pouncing on a gazelle and take a massive shit directly on miss Cockwhopping's face.
After doing aforementioned despicable deed, mister Hemroid of Cyanide proceeded to competely remove his pants and undergarments and release one of the most horrifically putrid farts ever to be whiffed by human nostrils.
Our culprit then decided to very specifically tell the public, who at this point looked on in terror and disgust, the difference between his, as he refered to them, Mystical Releases of Bowel Discharge. Key differences in his "Shits", as we commoners normally refer to them, were generally defined by their texture and structure. The Weapon used on miss C.TittyVulture was photographed and shown below.
(We warn you, the following image may be too gruesome for the eyes of the innocent)
All we have to say here at Soviet Phonebook is walk with caution, folks of the one last true kingdom of god, Papua New Guinea, for this Cagador Cagalistroso is still on the loose.
Stay tuned for more coverage on the matter.
Mediocre Money
Hello, my name is Dungbeetle Dave Farrelmackis. I'm 20 years old and I'm going to be in school for 12 more years. I like Mike Piazza and popcorn. I am a federal highway slut, and that is how I make money.
With my expertise, I will guide your economic policies. HAHA!
Most recently I masturbated to 69 cheating wife porn while watching Sportscenter. I see big things in the future for Dodger 1B Wilmuck Mongtard, which is why my first economic slide-piece is:
With my expertise, I will guide your economic policies. HAHA!
Most recently I masturbated to 69 cheating wife porn while watching Sportscenter. I see big things in the future for Dodger 1B Wilmuck Mongtard, which is why my first economic slide-piece is:
- Buy Houses: Houses are good for living, pissing, shitting, and owning a dog in. In them you can watch Vin Scully sex a goat and masturbate to it with the razor edged top of a can of tomato soup.
On occassion I also like to go to the movies with pussy of the fairer sex and fart a black plague in their eyeballs. This is why I believe in Harvey Dent:
- Invest In Offshore Accounts: Texas is quitting America soon. Put your money there.
I am not a crook, unless you happen to catch me shitting on your doorstep. Then, I guess that's illegal. And I'll just go back to my U.S. Government class, which I've taken 7 times:
- State Quarters Are Cool, I Suppose: When you buy stock in a state quarter, you will have what I decorate my bedroom with. I am only missing South Dakota. Also, you are helping the economy directly by spending more money and spending it on money.
Good idea, commenter BaboonWampBalls2. Everyone could just play hangman. That might help.
For the last six months, I've been chasing the myth of Zapdos from my computer, which is proving harder and harder by the minute. But even with that, this team has no hope for this season. They should quit:
- Get Rich: In dire economic times, this is the best advice. Find a way to make lots of money, hide it in Texas or Switzerland, and buy a Pac-Man device. Sex a goat.
Yeah. Bye.
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