Hahahahahahahaha! April 13, 2010
Posted by Princess Wordplay in Rants/Raves.Tags: funny, links, rants, software piracy, stupid people
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Check out this guy in a writing forum asking for illegally copied software! Hilarious! http://ow.ly/1y8m2
Lesbian Humor Magazine Relaunches 04/10 March 31, 2010
Posted by Princess Wordplay in Rants/Raves.Tags: comedy, funny, gay, Humor, lesbian, links, magazines, queer, reviews, sneak previews, zines
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I don’t care how straight (or male) you are, there’s no denying lesbians are often hilariously funny people. Do I even need to mention the likes of Ellen DeGeneres or Wanda Sykes to prove the point?
It’s no secret this poor little queer girl (aka moi) is always ready for a good laugh at herself, her dearest sweetheart, or other people of similar sexual orientation.
That’s why I hit the roof when I met editor Candy Parker, who announced she and her staff were bringing GAY e-magazine out of hiatus in April of 2010.
The fun didn’t end there, though. Candy gave me an advanced copy of the April edition and invited me to contribute to future issues! Word around the campfire (mmm s’mores…) is that readers might be seeing a K O’B byline in the June issue.
And now for a dirty little secret: a little birdie told me that the April issue scheduled for release tomorrow is actually hitting the website at 8:30 PM EST TONIGHT!
So go ahead, head on over to http://www.gay-e-magazine.com/ a few hours early for your very own (free) copy.
Kissing girls not required. (but I do recommend it).
Hear tell she fancies the lettuce (News Flash Fiction) March 30, 2010
Posted by Princess Wordplay in Humor.Tags: England, fiction, flash, funny, Humor, lesbian, news, short story, situation comedy, Telegraph, toilet, UK
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Rated M for coarse language and sexually suggestive themes
The Fiction:
Government Office for the West Midlands – Birmingham, UK
03.30.2010 09.37 GMT
Penelope Welles was a secretary, and a damn good one. When she was on duty, no phone messages went undelivered, no files remained unfiled, and no visitor sat unannounced. Her boss, Mr. Rupert Kingsley, often boasted to his colleagues that he had the best assistant in the West Midlands, and few would choose to bicker.
Despite being extraordinary, Penelope was still human; and like all humans, she occasionally felt the need to tinkle. Now was one of those times. She peaked her head into her boss’s office and asked:
“Mr. Kingsley?”
“Yes Miss Welles?”
“I’ve got to use the lav in the worst way. Do you mind?”
“Why, certainly not, Miss Welles. Go on with it, I’ll mind till you get back. Don’t forget now, they’ve installed those bloody timers, so keep it under ten clicks or it’ll have you in the dark.”
“Does it really save the electrics like they say?”
“Don’t know, but they sure are a bugger when you’re in a cubicle doing the business.”
Penelope hurried down the hall and into the lady’s loo where she stepped into an empty cubicle. She lifted her skirt, lowered her knickers, and sat to do her bit. Presently she heard a voice.
“Wot’s that now, who’s there?”
Penelope recognized the voice.
“Rose? Rose from accounts? Is that you?”
Rose confirmed.
“Yes, it’s me. You’re that fetcher from the tax office, right? Penelope, was it? Kingsley’s your pitch, I think.”
“Right you are.”
“Come tell, how you been?”
“Right fine, but a bit of the aches.”
“On your monthly then?”
“Oh no, that was last week. Just wrenched me ankle a bit.”
“How you do a thing like that?”
“Now there’s a funny line. I was…”
The two women sat on their toilets long after they were finished, conversing and gossiping through the cubicle wall, unaware of the amount of time that was passing. Eventually there was a muffled click and the whole loo went completely dark.
“Bloody hell,” said Rose, “The fucking timer’s gone.”
“I’m closest, I’ll get it” Penelope said. “Just need to wipe me labs.”
There was some noise as she fumbled for the toilet tissue and wiped herself dry.
She stood up, reached down, and encountered a problem.
“Oh, bloody hell!”
“Wot’s it?” asked Rose.
“The elastic from me knickers is caught around the heel of me pump.”
Rose laughed.
“It’s not funny!” said Penelope, “I can’t see a thing it’s so fucking dark in here.”
She stooped to undo the snag, lost her balance, and fell headfirst into the cubicle door. The flimsy lock buckled, the door flew open, and Penelope spilled out onto the floor of the loo.
“Quite the racket!” Rose called, “You alright then?”
Penelope winced in pain, and then answered.
“No, I don’t rightly think. I’ve a huge lamp to the head and me ankle’s gone buggered again. I don’t think I can walk.”
“Keep yourself, I’m coming.”
Rose righted her knickers and felt for the cubicle door lock. She opened the door and stumbled blindly until she touched the edge of the washbasins. She began to creep slowly along the edge toward the light switch, until…
“Oh bloody hell; I think I’ve caught me blouse on the soap dispenser.”
“Come off it Rose, how’d you go and do a thing like that?”
“I don’t fucking know! It’s so bloody fucking dark in here!”
Rose pulled gently, but not quite gently enough. With a series of popping sounds, the blouse’s buttons let loose. The snag let go and Rose stumbled back, tripped, spun, and fell face down on Penelope.
“Ow, you bloody lummox! That fucking hurt!” Penelope cried.
In the struggle to right themselves, Rose’s brassier was pulled down and Penelope’s skirt was flipped up. The two women were still wrestling in the dark when the door opened and the light came on.
Lola the cleaning lady looked down at the lump of female on the floor. The skinny blonde one on the bottom lay with her skirt up and her knickers around her ankles; and the dark haired, full figured top one sat with her hand between the other’s legs and her exposed breasts hanging in the other’s face.
“Wot’s this?” asked the astonished Lola, “Bunch of lezzers?”
Penelope gazed wide-eyed at her.
“No… oh goodness no… it was the lights… an accident! We’re not lettuce lickers, are we Rose? Erm, Rose?”
Lola ignored her answer, turned away pale-faced, and pushed her cleaning cart swiftly down the hall.
Rose stared down at Penelope silently for a moment. Finally, she spoke.
“It was an accident, yes. But I… well, I am. Didn’t you know? Seem the whole bloody office knows.”
Penelope took her turn at an awkward silence, and then answered.
“I didn’t, but it’s… it’s alright… I’m not against it or anything. You… you do have lovely bosoms”
“Thank you” Rose said as she pulled her bra back up.
“I’ve always been a bit curious, you know” said Penelope.
“Fancy a drink sometime?”
“I’d love that, but right now I think I need a doctor. This ankle is fucking killing me.”
“Of course,” she told her, “I’ll call for one straight away.”
To herself, she whispered “Maybe those bloody timers aren’t so bad after all…”
The Interview (narrative fiction) March 17, 2010
Posted by Princess Wordplay in Humor.Tags: Day, fiction, funny, Humor, Ireland, Irish, Paddy, Paddy's, Patrick, Patrick's, Saint, short story, St
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“Callaghan’s the name, James Callaghan. How can I help ye?”
His voice was as thick as the room temperature stout that he was drinking, and it flowed just as quickly.
“I’m on vacation, sir, from America. When I told my boss at the Press Gazette I would be in visiting Ireland on my European tour, he begged me to do an interview with a real Irishman. I was wondering if perhaps you could participate?”
“Why, I’m right flattered missy, though I’m not so sure what’d be so special about an ordinary man like me. I work the day, take to the drink at night, just like a lot o’ good men do.”
“It’s because of the holiday today and…”
“Ah! Say no more! Tis a fine day for celebratin’, indeed it is. I’d be honored to tell ye everthin’ ye wish to know.”
I smiled warmly and placed the voice recorder between us.
“Well, can you tell me something about him most people don’t know?”
“I can. A great many folk think he was Irish ‘imself, but he wasn’t. Born In Scotland, he was.”
“Scotland? I always thought he was born in Britain?”
“Britain! From who’s dirty blasphemous lips did ye hear that? The man weren’t perfect, but he sure as hell weren’t British.”
“You said he wasn’t perfect – so why did they make him a saint?”
“Well, that I can understand. Flawed in blood he may have been, but he was pure in spirit. He brought the good spirit to many a man for many a year. The Lord has to smile on a man like that, even if he is a Scot.”
“So you’re saying he saved Ireland?”
“O’course he did. He wasn’t the only one, though. There were at least five others involved
in the work, though he’d be the most famous.”
Feeling that I had plenty of material for a short feature article, I turned off the recorder and thanked Mr Callaghan. I offered to buy him another pint of stout, which he cheerfully accepted.
Before bidding him ado, I cleared my throat and recited the line I had spent hours practicing.
“Beannachtai na Feile Padraig!”
James Callaghan cocked his head and gave me a peculiar look.
“St Patrick? Did ye say… Sweet mother o’ jaysus, todays the 17th!”
He quickly drained the entire pint of stout, faster than I’ve ever seen anyone drink anything. He slammed the empty glass down and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
“St Patricks day! And here I thought it was John Jameson’s birthday!”
“Hey you shitefaced bunch ‘o drunkards, it’s St Paddy’s day!” He called to everyone in the pub.
A murmur echoed though the room, and everyone began bolting for the exits.
“I’m sorry to run out on ye missy,” he said, “But I’m late for Mass!”
***
A word of advice to my fellow journalists out there: Never look for interviewees in an Irish pub. Ever.
***
A note from the author
Don’t forget to raise a glass to your favorite patron saint today.
Catholic, or otherwise.
The Sacrifice (Narrative Fiction) February 24, 2010
Posted by Princess Wordplay in Humor.Tags: couples, flash fiction, funny, Humor, love, marriage, relationships, short story
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He was furious now, his voice cutting through the air like the sonic boom of a fighter jet.
“You’ll never get away with this. No living person has the right to make such a choice. You can’t do this to me. They’ll burn you. I swear to God you’ll burn for this!”
Let him talk, I’d made up my mind. When you know what you want, there’s no turning back. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. I better try to keep him calm. Let him accept his fate on his own terms. There’d be far less pain that way. I tried to calm him down, just a little.
“I cannot help what must be done. It’s time you accepted this is what I must do. I’m so sorry that it has come to this. You might think I’m lying, but I do mean that. I didn’t want it to be this way, but things change. People change. Over the last six months, you have seen me change. Can you deny that?”
He stood there in silence, pondering his situation. I could see the fight draining from him, slowly, like spent bath water in an old claw foot tub. He knew that I was right. Life would never be the same. For a moment, I felt pity for him. It was to this man I had proclaimed my love. He was the one I had sworn myself to for life. I couldn’t deny that. I spoke those words before God, family, and friends. I made a vow. Was what I was about to do to him beyond my right? What authority did I have to proclaim myself a dark angel, a soldier of God, to bear the sword of righteousness that would cut the very soul from him, leaving but an empty shell?
No, no, no! Now was not the time to lose my nerve. I was doing this for the greater good. Not even the Lord could deny that. It was then that my beloved spoke to me again. Humbled, but still hoping, he pleaded with me.
“Don’t do this to me. There has to be another way. I’ll do anything. Anything at all. We love each other, don’t we? There must be a better way, a compromise. Please don’t hurt me like this. Morgan, please…. don’t.”
Then suddenly, it was over. He had finally bowed his head in shame, broken. The air grew quiet, like the calm before a great storm. Victory was mine. I felt a kick from within, and rested my hands on my swollen belly. I softly whispered my closing words to the man I had taken as my Husband.
“I love you, Jason. I always will. You know that this is for her, our baby. You know that no matter what, she must be my priority. I need to do right by her. I know that in time, you’ll forgive me.”
The man came back then, wanting to know if we had made our decision. I took a step back. This was Jason’s time. As a man, it was critical that he was the one to say the words that sealed his fate. Anything less would destroy him. He gave the order, and it was done.
“We’ve decided. Let’s do this. ”
The man was pleased, grinning like a Cheshire as he led us to the room where it would all conclude. You could tell he was going out of his way to be kind. He could smell the fear, sense the pain. He offered us something to drink, and we accepted. The air in that room was so hot and sticky, not from the weather, but from the raw emotion that clouded over us at that moment. The man said his words, and in a few minutes it was over.
“I have everything I need. Just sign on these lines, and here, and here. Oh, and of course I’ll need those keys to your Corvette. Trust me, folks, you won’t be disappointed. This is the finest minivan on the market today.”
Gee, Never Thought of That (News Mircofiction) February 23, 2010
Posted by Princess Wordplay in Humor.Tags: banks, forclosure, funny, Humor, microfiction, news
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The Truth:
http://www.wlwt.com/news/22600154/detail.html
The Fiction:
As the black Mercedes rolled up the driveway, a horrific scene came into view. The once grand home lay half destroyed – a twisted pile of wood, vinyl, glass, stone, asphalt, and drywall. The other half was following suit, giving way to the blade of an enormous Caterpillar bulldozer.
The occupant of the car was Daniel Fairborn, president of the Hillcrest Community Bank. The bank was foreclosing on the home in the morning, and Fairborn had come to speak to its occupant personally. It was his understanding that the owner found the situation very unfair and was plotting some sort of revenge. Daniel had expected resistance, but not this.
He jumped from the Mercedes and ran towards the house, waving his arms and shouting “Stop!”
He felt silly, realizing that a half demolished house was worth no more than a fully demolished one. The driver of the dozer saw him, turned his way, and started charging towards him. Daniel held his ground, and the dozer came to a halt without harming him. The big machine growled as the diesel engine shut down. From the operator’s seat came a loud, booming voice.
“I told you I’d screw you like you screwed me, Fairborn!”
The voice was that of the home’s occupant and mortgage holder, Anthony Porter.
“Damn it Tony, have you gone completely mad?”
“You’re the mad one, Fairbanks! What makes you think you can steal a man’s home and get away from it?”
“We’ve been through this Tony. It’s not the banks fault you couldn’t afford to pay your loan. I don’t like doing these things, but business is business.”
“Well now you get nothing! How’s that for business?”
Daniel ignored the question and presented one of his own.
“How much did it cost to lease that Cat?”
“About 700 bucks.”
“How’d you pay for it?”
“Cash. What’s it to you?”
Once again, Tony ignored the question.
“You had about 700 dollars in cash?”
“Yea, so?”
Daniel answered this time.
“Your house payments are only $625”
Good Christian Values? (News Flash Fiction) February 23, 2010
Posted by Princess Wordplay in Humor.Tags: Apple, flash fiction, funny, Humor, iPhone, news
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The Truth:
The Fiction:
The intercom button on the telephone blinked rapidly, and Rodger had a feeling he knew why.
Oh hell, she’s 20 minutes early.
With the snail’s pace of a man on death row, he answered the intercom page.
“Yes”
“Mrs. Cambridge to see you, sir.”
He saw no point in delaying the process.
“Send her in”
Rodger thought she looked a lot like she sounded: a violin with the strings set too tight. She had a pointy head on a skinny neck with a noticeably wider body. He stood as she entered, walked around to the other side of his desk, and held a chair for her.
“Good afternoon…”
“Penelope Cambridge, President of the Modern Christian Families Association” the violin squeaked.
“Yes, I remember” he said to her, and to himself he mumbled “You won’t let me forget”.
The violin started in on a lengthy solo.
“I am exhausted! There is simply no parking anywhere around here and I had to walk nearly four blocks and the elevator took forever and I don’t understand why you have to have offices on such a high floor and I thought your receptionist was a bit rude and there’s nothing to drink only coffee no fruit juice how terribly unhealthy caffeine is bad for you!”
Rodger was both surprised and disappointed she did not collapse from lack of oxygen.
“I’m sorry about that” He said. It was a blatant lie, but seemed to satisfy her.
“Now about your visit here today, Mrs Cambridge.”
He hadn’t thought a physical meeting was necessary, but she wanted it and his boss had insisted upon it. The MCFA, once a group of bored, neurotic housewives; had evolved into a large and powerful special interest group. Getting on their bad side could cause serious PR issues and hurt Apple’s sales drastically. Rodger had been ordered to “kiss that woman’s ass”.
She produced a familiar looking electronic device from the depths of her purse.
“A few months ago we bought this H phone”
“iPhone” Roger corrected.
“Yes, thank you. We bought this iPhone for our son Jeremy. It is a wonderful product and does a fine job keeping him in contact with his father and I, as well as his bible study friends. He likes all the little gadgets on it. I remember how excited he was when he found out he could dinload…”
“Download.”
“Yes, thank you. …found out he could download his favorite Fish videos. “
“Fish videos?”
“They’re a Christian rock band, you know.”
“Of course.”
Rodger had trouble keeping a straight face after being presented with the idea that Fish was a Christian band. He suspected that Jeremy’s bible study friends might not be as devout as his mother thought, but elected to keep his mouth shut.
“The problems arose, Mr. Curry, when I caught Jeremy and some of his friends looking at some new hap…”
“App?”
“Yes, thank you. It was some slideshow of naked women!”
“I can assure you, Mrs. Cambridge, that we have examined the app you reported to us and the women are not nude. They are simply modeling bathing suits.”
“Those are not bathing suits! They are rags!”
The voice echoed in Rodgers head: I want you to kiss that woman’s ass.
“I agree, Mrs. Cambridge. They are highly provocative and inappropriate.”
“Good Christian girls would never wear such things!”
“Oh, absolutely not.”
“It’s unclean, sinful, the wardrobe of Satan!”
“Apple is 100% behind you on that statement, Mrs. Cambridge. “
“Do you know our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, Mr. Curry?”
“Of course. I pray ten times a day. More, if I can help it.”
“As a good Christian, you must understand where I’m coming from.”
“Crystal clear.”
“So how do we solve this problem?”
“Why, we delete the unholy contraband from our app library, of course.”
“Excellent. I have here a list of over 5000 others that the members of the Modern Christian Families Association have located.”
“We’ll purge them all!”
“Oh how wonderful! God bless you, Mr. Curry!”
“He already has. He sent you to enlighten me with the fact that minions of Lucifer were poisoning Apple’s good Christian content with this vile filth.”
Penelope Cambridge began to blush.
“I was only doing my duty.”
“You serve our Lord well.” he insisted.
“Good day, Mr. Curry. And… may Peace be with you.
“Peace be with you, Mrs. Cambridge.”
Rodger flipped through the list of apps she had brought, waiting a few minutes before picking up the phone. The voice on the other end was filled with curiousity.
“Well, how did it go?”
“We’ve got about 5000 apps to purge. I’ll fax you the list. Send emails to all the companies telling them to resubmit the apps as 18+. Let them know they should publicly deny knowing our motive for deleting the apps and act puzzled about the entire situation.”
“That’ll work?”
“Sure. I see the Playboy and SI Swimsuit apps aren’t on this list, which means the bible thumpers don’t know how to view the mature audiences list.”
“Ha! Good thing too. Over three quarters of that content is porn-based.”
“No kidding. I’ve got almost 4 hours of BDSM videos on mine.”
“So that’s why you call it the iStroke!”
“You know it!”
Kiera Solves Global Warming February 19, 2010
Posted by Princess Wordplay in Humor.Tags: funny, global warming, Humor
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1. Gather every jet aircraft in the world in one location.
2. Point each aircraft with the engines’ exhaust side pointing toward the sun.
3. Firmly apply the landing gear brakes and chock the wheels.
4. Fire every engine and open all throttles to the maximum.
5. Stop when planet is a safer distance from the sun.
6. Laugh in the face of death.
7. Avoid fast food on December 21, 2012 (long story – don’t ask).
8. Await next crisis.
The Real Armageddon February 19, 2010
Posted by Princess Wordplay in Humor.Tags: 12/21/2012, apocalypse, armageddon, end of the world, funny, Humor
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The Aztecs had settlements much further north than published history leads us to believe. Secret archeological digs done by the CIA uncovered a temple beneath the desert outside Roswell, New Mexico.
Knowing this discovery was special and understanding the importance of secrecy, the CIA ordered the construction of “Area 51″. In what may be the world’s greatest successful use of Sigfried and Roy style misdirection, they crash-landed a remote control experimental aircraft and used undercover agents posing as lunatics to spread a rumor about aliens.
The ploy worked so well, everyone in the last half century has been spending so much time trying to uncover the mystery of an alien crash landing that never happened they haven’t figured out the truth: The Aztecs were really the Atlantian and the temple outside Roswell is the secret entrance to the LOST CITY OF ATLANTIS.
The wealth of knowledge discovered in the Atlantian Great Library has been slowly used to further technology without appearing overly suspicious. Examples include Richard Nixon’s toupee, (admit it, you never noticed it was a rug) the microcomputer, minute rice, the Ford Festiva (hey, the Atlatians weren’t PERFECT), Beanie Babies, Post-its, Al Gore’s Internet, DVD, BlueRay, Electronic fish locators, and Stride gum.
While this is all fascinating, the Great Library revealed an even more remarkable discovery – a volume revealing the exact events that would lead to the end of the world on December 21st,2012. According to the ancient text, a new strain of superbacteria that has developed immunity to all antibiotics, extreme heat, and freezing will emerge, infecting the entire stock of McDonald’s McRib patties.
The initial outbreak will kill millions quickly yet painfully as the bacteria multiplies and builds a wall inside the trachea, asphyxiating it’s host. The death toll will reach over nine billion during the lunch rush. Panic will ensue, which of course works up an appetite, which of course everyone will want to satisfy with a delicious McRib. Hence, the horror of wave two.
t’s obvious that since the McRib is a product that is assumed to contain some theoretical amount of a product that may be or is at least associated with pork, the Jews will be misled. They will start to believe they are right and that this is the first coming of the messiah and their faith has saved them. The bacteria is also capable of spreading through the air, and with corpses piling up it’s estimated this false hope for the children of David will last about eight minutes.
The US Government, knowing this is coming, decided there is only one way to stop the coming of the apocalypse: KILL ALL PIGS. They set to work developing a strain of influenza that would render the pig extinct before the day of reckoning in 2012.
We all know money is tight nowadays, so to save money the government passed up several American research facilities for a cheaper one in Mexico. Obviously, quality standards weren’t what they should have been and now H1N1, meant to attack only pigs, is killing everything. Transcripts from a ultra-mega-top-super-secret meeting list the Surgeon General as saying “oopsie-daisy!”.
