Great Moments in Amish History

Esau! G’Day to ye!

G’day to ye!

Arr!

Arr.

Why Esau, what have ye there?

Why it be a razor! And some shaving cream!

But Esau, you don’t intend to…to shave, do ye?

That is exactly what I intend to do!

But Esau, the bible says to grow your beard!

Aye, that it does!

And that shaving is proud!

Shaving your beard IS proud.

And we like being plain and not proud!

Aye aye! But the bible does not say anything about mustaches.

Arr! Is that so?

Aye! Tis!

Have ye found yourself a loophole, Esau?

I don’t know what that means, but yes! Now I’m off to shave!

Minutes later…

Esau, is that you?

Arr! Tis!

Looking smooth, m’man!

Thanks!

May I borrow your razor?

You want that smooth mustache look?

Aye! Tis good!

Arr!

Arr!

--Dan Kilian

Constuputid K Words

Flying Blind

She Had Still More To Say, and How!

“I wish we had a gondolier,” she whispered romantically.

“It’s just a small pie!” she said, tartly.

“I might have gotten you virtual flowers, and I might not have,” she said, evasively.

“I’m going to molest your, um…well…” she said, groping for words.

“Tell me I’ve gotten some color! I’ve been to hell!” she said, satanically.

“I’ve got friends who have their hands on the levers of power. Gross friends! And they’re going to use those levers on my behalf!” she said, politically.

“I want to be a flight attendant, or fix bicycle wheels,” she said in a plainspoken manner.

“I’m a primate! Don’t I look cute?” she asked, girlishly.

“I’m an angry drunk! Don’t I look cute?” she asked, girlishly.

“Maybe we could make some money by getting my nephews to do some corrective follow-up landscaping in the first hours of the morning,” she said, entrepreneurially.

“Now I’m naked from the waist down!” she shouted, expansively.

“I was deep in thought considering all the money you’re going to give me, but I’m not thinking about much anymore,” she said, expensively.

“Camping is over. The circus is over. Living in the dessert is over. The traveling craft-fair is over. The evangelical tour is over,” she said extensively.

“It’s my considered diagnosis, I’m getting droopy,” she expertly opined.

“If you think MY shirt’s been torn, you should see my other boyfriend's!” she shrieked, hysterically.

“I may have a black eye, but the other guy has an empty socket!” she laughed maniacally.

“I’m going to be eating alone,” she said wanly.

"I've been given the gift of long legs," she said, solemnly.

--Dan Kilian

The Way She Said It

She Had More To Say, and How She Said It

Regarding Heating of Aquifers as a Result of Ground-Source Heat Pump Based Air Conditioning Systems

The funny thing is that there are colonies of archaeoprotozoans that sparsely populate the fractured shale that underlies the majority of the world's aquifers.  They died back during the Silurian period, the temperatures of the aquifers having dropped to non-optimal levels.  As the aquifers start absorbing surface calories, the environment may become more hospitable to these colonies.

Now I know what you're thinking:  "Zombies.  Hordes of ravenous zombies, feasting on the flesh of the living."  That's what I thought too, having seen enough educational television to know what's what.  But further research (from assumed principles, not the empirical work that passes for science these days) shows that the colonies would likely not interact with topside biology, so the West-Guimard reaction would not occur.

At least not initially.  It turns out that in the process of drilling geothermal wells bits of human DNA can be introduced into the aquifers, which can in turn be incorporated into the pRNA of the colonies.  I'll skip ahead here, since I'm addressing an educated audience.  Thus:

. . . upon achieving the requisite level of connectivity, the sheets of protozoan tissue will have achieved sentience.  This coupled with the higher levels of proteins in the aquifer (resulting in low impedance to chemo-electrical signals) provides an ideal setting for a networked intelligence.  The reflective and amplifying characteristics of certain aquifer geometries may very well result in "spillage" or "leaking" of these signals to the surface. . . .

Again, I'll skip ahead:

. . . blasphemous piercing of the chthonic vaults of the Old Ones, minds torn asunder by those unholy emanations, infants twisted in the womb to shapes not seen on this planet since the moon coalesced from the Great Ring, rifts in the mantle of the Earth spilling forth long-subsumed telluric currents, vomiting forth armies girded not in leather or steel but in the horn-like carapaces they were born with -- or designed to bear by something still more ancient and unutterably evil. . . .

You get the idea.

--Steve Kilian

Ice Cream

A Good Put-Down

The First Insomniac

Oog! What was that? Has the sabretooth gotten into the cave? Maybe Oog should check. Too tired. Maybe Oog just call out oog and see if anything growls. No, don’t want to wake the others. Just go back to sleep.

Oog. Can’t get arm comfortable. Sleep like this. Okay, that’s better.

Maybe tomorrow Oog grab more long branches and stick them over the cave hole. Maybe go down to the pond. Some good trees and branches there. Maybe figure out a way to carry more branches. Sometimes they stick together. Why?

Still awake! Want to sleep! Go to sleep Oog!

Go to make urine. That will help. Walk quiet! Don’t want to wake the others. Sorry Ooog!

Ahh piss wall! Looking at you makes Oog have to make urine even more. Oog like your stains. Maybe Oog will make art like the hunting and sex pictures Ooga makes, only with urine. Maybe art doesn’t need to be about beasts and sex parts. Maybe shapes are enough. Oog think crazy things when Oog doesn’t get enough sleep.

Walk quiet!

Back to sleep. Back to oog. Maybe instead of just calling everything oog, Oog and the other oogs could change the sounds, so each thing gets its own sound, and we’ll know what we mean without even looking at the thing or dancing like it, just by the sound of the oog. Or the sound of the…oogoog. Or the…goog. Oog think crazy things when Oog doesn’t get enough sleep.

Still not asleep!

Does Oog put too much mud on Oog? It’s nice and cool in the hot outside, but maybe it makes Oog look lumpy. Maybe the female oogs don’t like so much mud. Maybe tomorrow Oog will go light on the mud. Why is Oog worrying about that now? Oog needs to sleep!

OOG! Still not asleep!

IS that the sabretooth?

--Dan Kilian

Who is JASON D? K-Riddle

The Sentient Slab

Supermodel To Open Restaurant Chain

Acknowledging that the widely held belief that many models have ribs removed to enhance their figures is true, supermodel Kate Moss is poised to launch the first in a hoped chain of restaurants called Kate's Ribs. Patrons will dine on the removed ribs of would-be models, served in one of two styles: bbq or braised. Portions will be small, and diners will be encouraged not to finish everything.

A special feature of the restaurant will be a monthly "taster's choice" event, where pre-paying customers can visit a web site in advance of their meal and select the model on whose ribs they will dine. Surgery will then be performed, and diners will receive their custom-prepared meal.

Potential patrons are already eating up the idea. "What guy hasn't wanted to eat a 17 year old," said John Boshok of Decatur, Illinois. "This makes it convenient, fast, and legal."

Model and owner Moss concurs. "Our core demographic is a 35-50 year old man who wants a piece of each of these girls. These ribs are just being thrown away. This way the models' surgeries are paid for, and men can sink their teeth into some fine meat. Everyone wins."

The first location is slated to open in January of 2012 in Sheboygan, Wisconsin. Future expansions in other metropolitan areas are being planned.

--Carl Lorentzen

Bad Day at McDonald’s

The Rain

Kuisine

This is a momentous day at the KLOG! We've added a new Category, those helpful tags which absolutely none of you use to navigate this blog! Food is the hot new subject of both reality shows and internet hoopla. Cooking is the one thing some computer app won't soon be able to do for us so that we'll all be cooking and eating for each other as the only viable economy around. So in light of that, KLOG is proud to present Kuisine!

Our newest installment of Kuisine is Klog's answer to the award winning recipe agglomeration site What The Fuck Should I Make For Dinner?

The whole deal with WTFSIMFD is randy talk and ready recipes. Well, we can google up some recipes, and we can get a fuckload saltier, so if it's foul language and recipes you're looking for, you're going to love KLOG's

What The Cunt Should I Make For Dinner?

As I said, it's a fuckload, (Or should I say Cuntload?) nastier than anything on that other site. Get ready for some language that will make you sick to your hungry hungry stomach!

Coming soon: A category devoted to child-rearing, even though there should be a computer app for that soon. It'll be called Kildren, and it's feature will be a brilliant improvement the latest, hottest new children's book for adults, and it will be called Go The Cunt To Sleep.

--Dan Kilian

Top Trek: A Pan Fiction!

The Tipsy Parson: November 3 2009

What The Cunt Should I Make For Dinner?

Well you could eat snot mixed with Jism and anal blood, 

or why don't you try

Tequila Lime Chicken

I'D RATHER HAVE A BLOODY SHIT TAPED TO THE ROOF OF MY MOUTH

I ONLY EAT DONKEY DICKS AND VEGETABLES

What The Cunt Should I Make For Dinner?

Then why don't you fucking

starve to death, you mother fucking cunt.

Bad Day at McDonald’s

Nother K-Riddle (Easy One For a Monday)

What The Cunt Should I Make For Dinner?

Why don't you give yourself a fucking lobotomy

and BE a vegetable,

if you love them so much?

Return of the K-Riddler

The Rain

The Most Brutal Route

The other day I decided to change the voice on my GPS map device.  Scrolling through the options, I eventually selected Nihlator Blackbeak.  So now a visit to a jobsite sounds something like this:

Go forth toward the West ninety-seven chains along the ash-covered road on which your feeble dwelling stands.

To the left the path leads to that which is not your destination.  To the right is that which is to be expected.  The decision is yours.

Proceed toward the northern wastes 3 furlongs.  The bleakness of this passage may be broken by the sight of prisoners of the Ninth Empire rotting in cages that adorn this foul highway – or it may not, depending on whether you have the will to see That Which Might Be.

Keep to the left as the way branches before you.  Others will move toward the right.  That is not your path.

Advance on this new road as it winds through forested lands.  Beware the creatures that may leap from the sides of the carriageway.  For many miles you will follow this route.

A gateway approaches.  A TOLL MUST BE PAID.

The time has come to exit to the right.  The certain road is behind you now.  Ahead lies confusion and desolation.  Press on or return in disgrace.  As always and in all things the choice is yours.  No entity but the bitch-goddess Chaos holds sway in this realm.  Proceed 200 yards toward the Shell Mini-Mart.

FOOL!  Nihlator Blackbeak must return to his map-chamber and plot a new course for your wayward vessel!  How he longs for the time after the Great Unworking, when all shall bow to his will.

Turn left on Elmbrook Road.  Proceed 90 chains.  Turn Left on Trout Pond Lane.  Proceed 90 chains.  Turn Left on Frontage Road.  Proceed 90 chains.  Turn right onto the path that was originally presented to you.  Consider more rigorously your next decision to ignore the advice of Nihlator Blackbeak, master cartographer to the elder kings, court astronomer for Simeon the Gifted, and subaltern to the Seventh Chronarch – yes, the one who filled the Temporal Charthouse before losing his mind and 37% of his body to the tachyphage horde.

Ignore the distractions which litter this rural track.  Signposts, rude shacks from which the locals sell strange vegetables of questionable nutritive value, dilapidated inns calling out their vacancies – all are to be shunned.  Do not slow as you go forward another furlong and a half.

Nihlator Blackbeak can guide you no further in your mission.  Your destination is before you.

Thank you for using Garmin.

--Steve Kilian

Shrines!

Chronicles of the Proceedings of the Hall of Tumescence