Short-Bus Degenerates

Short-Bus Degenerates: Not too silent, and sure as hell not deadly! Issue 2 09/01

From the depths of the acid pool of the boognish: It's Short Bus Degenerates, rocking your sac and your brain.

Short Bus Degenerates:

OooOOOooOOhhHhhhhHhhhHH SENOR! No, no, no, no, senor! Wrong hole!

Introduction:

Once again, kiddos, it's time for us to take the retards to the zoo. The boognish is driving, and I am giving out our "tickets." Put the tickets on your tongue, kiddies, and get ready to go to the zoo. Do you see the Purple monkeys? How about the melting llamas? Feast your eyes and ears on the acid rock playing lions. They are tie dyed, pretty neat, huh? Wait, don't freak out yet, you mongloids! We haven't even seen the pink polar bears with the coke.... the vile of coke that it. Cool! Check out those green flamingos! Oh my god, now that's sick! Brown gerbils! Let's get the fuck out of here!

Vinegar Walrus

I once had a pony, and then I accidentally poured salt on it, and it shrivelled up and died! Shall I show you where it melted? Here, take a glass of pony. It has fermented a little, so maybe you can get a nice buzz from my poor dead pony. Where was I? Oh, yeah, that was where I was! Are you certain that you want to know? Ok, I'll tell ya. I was over there. Now I'm right here. I'll be somewhere next. I forgot how to think. Where is my beer?

Mr. Goat Column

Hello, kiddies, I am Mr. Goat. I would like to tell you about cool stuff, so ask me some cool questions, you mongloids!

Why is your name Mr. Goat?
-Geoff Denseski

Good question. Do you see my hooves, and my horns? Do you see that I am furry? Does that answer your question, retard?

Are there any secret ways to win the Special Olympics 1 meter race?
-Biff Mulletski

Well, here is what I would suggest. The concept of aerodynamics would probabally be too difficult for you to understand, but I will tell you exactly what to do. Do NOT run with your arms out and flailing. Do this: Run with your arms behind you, so that the wind doesn't slow you down.

How do I keep people from knowing I am a retard at first glance?
-Closet Retardski

Well, since your mongloid features would instantly give you away, you would have to follow Mr. Goat's retard incognito tips:

To hide your retarded facial features, put a bag over your face. This way, everyone will think that you are either shy, or embarassed about your appearance, which isn't too far from the truth.
To keep people from seeing your mentally deficiant stagger, buy a wheelchair, so the people will think that you are PHYSICALLY handicapped.
To hide the fact that your vocal patterns are retardedally distorted, and to hide the fact that you have a 75 iq, just don't speak. This way people will think that you are a deaf-mute. Because of the bag over your face, noone can try to talk sign language to you either.

Aren't the backstreet boys great?
-Shula Trendski

One word: No!

No?

Do you ever find yourself asking this very question? "No?" Maybe when you want to score some bud, and are told by the pusher, no. No as in "no we don't have any bud." No? Damn, what do they have, I ask... green? Yes, but not sticky green... merely paper green.
Don't take no for an answer, and for fuck's sake, don't sit there drooling and asking yourself that same old goddamned question... "no?" No! No! No! Goddamn!
Fuck!
NO!!
Take your gun, shoot the pusher, and take his dough.

this has beeeeeeeeen a pubic cervix announcement brought to you by Lettuce

or was that "public service..." or does anyone give a fuck?

Play an Iguana Backwards

Have you ever had the vast feelings of happiness that are brought to you by the simple playing of an iguana backwards? I fear not. I have, though. I would like to show you right now, and you shall duplicate my every move. One false move and you're dead, but Butterfly has already told you that. You know, the Joe on your radio dial tonight that persists that one false move and you're dead... hey hey hey... play the iguana any other ways than backward, and you'll feel like you've been drowning in a sea of pain... blah blah blah...
I can't find an iguana, so don't worry about it tonight, aye? They then took some acid and drove into a orange dragon infested swamp. An eighteen legged police officer stopped them, so Jimi gave the pig some tabs, and everything was ok. They then drove to baskin robins and bought ten gallons of chocolate ice cream and went back home to get stoned off of another pound brick in Tony's trunk.

And that is where they found the iguana.

The time to....

Now I will beg you to put on your CGA creativity goggles that you got out of that box of "CGA's Clitty Crunch Cereal" that you had to rape mommy before she bought it for you. Yeah, those goggles that you wear to be transported into CGA Land! Yeah.... to the rest of the world, you look like some stupid dork wearing ugly goggles, but on the other side of those magical goggles is a world that takes place in my mind.

Tony had a job working at the factory. He used to be a mafia man, and his job was "bustin' ass to make a buck." But he quit and started at the factory. His job was to step on cockroaches, and put syringes in bottles of md 20/20. You would think that this was an easy job, but Tony knew better. He knew that he was really employed by aliens. He drank a keg of beer every night before going on his shift, and he would puke in the beakers labeled "MD 20/20 test batch no. 666." He then would proceed to step on the roaches, smoke the roaches, and then put a heroin-filled syringe in every bottle of MD 20/20. The junkies on the street really enjoyed this, and Tony was glad to be of service. Then one day, his boss sent for him. When he arrived at the office, the door opened, and he stepped in. The next thing he knew, he had been teleported to another planet. There, he met his real bosses, the gay martians. It turns out that gay martian beer is the best, and that is how they lured Tony out into the streets of gay Mars. Here, Tony could have all the beer that he wanted, and all the butt sex that he needed. Isn't it colonic? Don't ya think?

As Bootsy Collins once said: "Make MY snake happy!"


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Fun fact: Lettuce is currently listening to an old Bootsy Collins record. Album title: Bootsy?? Player of the Year. Bootsy is best known for his brief stint with James Brown, then his many good years as bassist for George Clinton's P-Funk (A Parlafunkadelicment Thang). I shall pause my writing now so I can get up and boogie down. Yeah, I would recommend this album.... you can find it at in the R&B section at your local record store.... look for it under "Bootsy's Rubber Band," or "Collins, Bootsy." I am going to get up and boogie down once more. Hey, YOU! Whoever is reading this.... GET OFF YOUR ASS AND JAM! Boogie down, funkateers! Who wants to make MY snake happy? Once more I shall get up, and this time I shall set my turntable (sony direct drive) in repeat mode! Now, I shall do the "grab you cha cha cha." Look, just get this fucking album, ok? After that, all you need are the funkadelic patented "ants for ya pants... make ya dance!" C'mon, let's all get down just for the funk of it, 'cause we are one nation under a groove. Free your mind from it's mental slavery, and let's all get off our asses and love each other, and while we are unifing ourselves, lets boogie down. Ya dig?

NICETY!

(if anyone just understood those bootsy and p-funk references up there, you should be commended....)