HaHaa!
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
The Eaton County sheriff's department said two women fled a Lansing-area TJ Maxx discount store after spraying a security guard with Mace.
A deputy found one of the women behind a trash compactor.
Deputies say the woman wouldn't say where the other woman was hiding.
Shortly afterward, authorities got a call about a woman trapped in the trash compactor.
Tyree Monique Tate of Delta Township was pulled from the machine by rescuers and taken to a hospital, where the 26-year-old later died.
DELTA TOWNSHIP, Michigan (AP) -- Michigan authorities say a shoplifting suspect died after being crushed in a trash compactor where she was hiding.
The Eaton County sheriff's department said two women fled a Lansing-area TJ Maxx discount store after spraying a security guard with Mace.
A deputy found one of the women behind a trash compactor.
Deputies say the woman wouldn't say where the other woman was hiding.
Shortly afterward, authorities got a call about a woman trapped in the trash compactor.
Tyree Monique Tate of Delta Township was pulled from the machine by rescuers and taken to a hospital, where the 26-year-old later died.
Calling All Hos
Wand of Wonder is holding it's 12th annual Nappy Headed Ho contest. The rules are simple. Send us a picture showing your nappy headed ho activities and we'll post them with disturbing perverted comments and encourage the rest of the internet to self gratify to them.
Please, don't make this any more than it is. It's only our way of getting pictures of you naked.
Please send all hot pictures to hex2323@yahoo.com and all ugly pictures to Malach. Contest ends August 30th, midnight, to make it sound official. Winners will get embarassed, possibly arrested (we hope!).
Geordi LaForge: ADVENTURE!!! 3
Monday, August 18, 2008
Geordi couldn't sleep. He got out of bed and looked at the stars through Picard's bedroom window. Shame and guilt washed over him.
"Star light," he whispered, "Star bright. First star I see tonight."
"Geordi, come back to bed," Picard mumbled.
"Wish I may, wish I might," he sang.
"Do what the captain says, assmeat," Riker said, smoking a cigarette from the kitchen table. Geordi sighed. The slap of the phaser set to stun hit him like a Klingon prison movie. Riker leaned in, "You want me to taze you again, you pink boa wearing bitch? If it weren't for the Captain's ridiculous infatuation with you, I swear I'd fuck goat milk out of you."
Geordi held still as Riker pulled him close in a ball and started humming. Once Riker was asleep Geordi slipped away from him and said, "Have the wish I wish tonight."
Q appeared, "Hello, LaForge." Q said.
"What?" Geordi said.
"Lights," Q said, and the lights came on. "Don't worry about your precious crew mates, LaForge. I gave them... nyQuil!!!!"
"Wow!" Geordi breathed.
"Yes. I'm quite clever, but I don't like any of you," Q said.
"Is it true that you can do whatever you want?" Geordi asked.
"Listen, milk dud," Q said, "You don't question the Q Continuum. Don't. Just just. Gah. NO! No I can't, okay. I can't do anything I want."
"Seriously?" Geordi said, "That's not what I was told."
"You hear a lot, LaForge," Q said, "But now I must tell you something that may drive you insane. For all of my glorious mind bending powers, I can't check a simple warp drive."
Geordi's heart jumped. He told himself to play it cool, look like nothing just transpired. "Well," Geordi said, "I'm kinda handy at checking a warp drive..."
"Are you?" Q asked, smiling. "But how often do you check it?"
"At least once every fifteen seconds," Geordi said.
"I... am..." Q searched for the precise word, "Impressed. Come. Come work for me."
"Do you mean it?" Geordi screamed with glee.
"I do," Q said, "With one small hitch." Geordi frowned. There was always a hitch. "Kiss me," Q said, "Kiss me and the world of ward drive checking can be yours. Do it not, and you can go back to bed with your Captain."
The drew close. LaForge braced for impact.
The crew watched on in amazement. Geordi wished he was dead.
"So, dreaming about having sex with the Captain, AND Q," Riker said. "Ha. I knew you were a sausage salesman."
"Oh! Oh!" Picard said laughing, "This new 'dreamwatching' technology is priceless."
"Hey," Geordi protested, "I can't control my dreams."
"Rewind the kiss," Picard said, "Rewind it. Engage!" Geordi had suffered through the last three hours watching his dream in front of everybody. But, he laughed a little titter. The screen went dark.
There was an image of Deanna Troy. Then, an image of Geordi appeared behind her with scissors. The stabbing was vicious, and then he cut all her hair with the bloody implement, to boot. Everyone stopped laughing.
"Geordi," Troy whimpered after the shocking images. Geordi laughed.
"LOOKS LIKE I CHECKED OUT HER FUCKING WARP DRIVE, EH RIKER????" He screamed. "Has she found out about that E.D.? HUH? DICK SUCK WAAAAHHH BEETLES!"
"Mister Worf," Picard shouted, "Detain Mr. LaForge!"
"Not now," Warf said, "I have a headache."
To be continued....
Meet your Figureheads - The Angry Veteran
Friday, August 15, 2008
I have know him for 20 odd years
The Angry Veteran, we went to the same high school. We are friends. We were both in Drama. I know things. Exclusively for the WoW, a video the Angry Veteran did in 1989 to show off his "Rap Skills".
I am Malach, I am so proud of him
The Continuing Adventures of Geordi LaForge: Episode 2
Thursday, August 14, 2008
"You're in sick bay," Dr. Crusher told him. "It seems space syphillis nearly killed you."
"Uh," Geordi groaned, "I have to go check the warp core."
"No no no," Dr. Crusher said, "You need your rest. Lt. Steve can handle the warp core."
"Lt. Steve?" Geordi said, "But he can't handle a kitten without it getting pregnant."
"Wesley," Dr. Crusher said, "Watch him." Wesley crusher strutted up to him.
"Yo, G-L-F, waddup!" He put his hand out. Geordi rolled over. "No love for your brotha man?"
"Wesley, you're not even black," Geordi said.
"You straight trippin' G," Wesley said. "Yo, whats da jibber jabber 'bout you and Warf hittin' skins in the pen?"
Geordi's communicator squeaked. "Goerdi," Captain Picard said, "I need you on the bridge, immediately."
"Captain, I'm stuck in sick bay with Wesley," Geordi said.
"Wesley?" The Captain shouted, "Yo, waddup, playa!"
"Yeah, JLP, belee dat!" Wesley hopped up on Geordi's bed and started dancing.
"Get down," Geordi yelled.
"Get down!" Wesley agreed. He danced like mad.
"Get down! Get down!" Picard agreed, "Go Geordi, it's yo birthday!"
"It's not my birth day, stop!" Geordi said.
"Stop," Picard shouted. Wesley stopped. "Hammer time!" Picard shouted.
"Data to LaForge," Data said over the communicator.
"Go ahead Data," Geordi said.
"Geordi," Data said, "I'm still having trouble with that repetative distraction I told you about."
Geordi sighed. "Data, look it's natural. We all go throw a phase like this..."
"It's been 122 1/2 days," Data said. "My android sythoskin is starting to wear off. I can see metal."
Geordi's communicator clicked. "Geordi," Picard said. "Are you coming up to the bridge or what? There's a bee in here."
"I'm in sick bay," Geordi said.
"A bee, Geordi," Picard said, "I'm frightened of them Geordi! Geordi! LaForge to the bridge with the bug spray. Geordi! Bees. Help. Help."
"Have Riker kill it," LaForge suggested.
"Fuck off, homo," Riker said in the background.
"Son of a bitch stung me!" Picard said. "Geordi, how long will it take to reach the planet of the bees? A few minutes?"
Wesley came back dressed in gangsta gear. "You gonna be the bitch in my new gang," Wesley said. Geordi kicked him in the nose, killing him instantly.
"Murderer," the computer said. "Red alert. Red alert."
Worf dashed into sick bay.
"Hmmmm," he said, eyeing LaForge, "This day is looking better already."
To be continued...
The Continuing Adventures of Geordi LaForge
Saturday, August 09, 2008
Geordi checked the readouts from the warp core three times, just as he always did. Everything was normal. He'd done such a good job repairing it that it no longer required his attention. He checked the warp core again. His communicator twittered.
"Geordi," Captain Picard said.
"Yes Captain?" Geordi asked.
"What are you up to?" Picard asked.
"Checking the warp core," Geordi said.
"Mmmmhmmm," Picard purred, "Guess what I'm doing."
"I don't know Captain," Geordi said.
"Guess," Picard said.
"I, um," Geordi said, "I'm kinda busy."
"Guess, Geordi," Picard said, "That's an order."
"I don't know, reading?" Geordi guessed.
"Wrong," Picard said. Geordi sighed. He tapped a few harmless buttons on his display. He heard a loud, echoing fart come from his communicator. "Captain," he groaned.
"That's right," Picard said, "Pooping on the toilet. Blast."
"What now?" Geordi asked.
"I clogged it, Geordi," he said. "Geordi." His communicater twittered three times. "Geordi. Mr. LaForge to the can!"
"Captain," Geordi groaned.
"Geordi," the Captain said, "LaForge to my ass!" His communicator squeaked endlessly. "Geordi!"
Goedi LaForge was upset. He wanted to put a note in his log, but Troy (that nosey bitch) would find it. He sighed. His communicator chirped.
"Riker to LaForge," Riker said.
"Here, sir," Geordi said.
"We have a situation," Riker said gravely. "My food thingy is broken."
"You mean your moleculor synthesizer?" Geordi asked.
"The," Riker grunted, "The food thing. The fucking thing. LaForge, fix it now. We don't have a few minutes."
"Did you turn the power on?" LaForge asked. Silence. "Commander, did you try the power button?" Geordi heard a smashing sound.
"It's broke," Riker complained. Geordi heard more smashing. "It's not the power button. Someone fucked up the buttons. What is that smell?"
"Clog on deck 10," Geordi sighed.
"Captain shot off too many brown photon torpedoes again?" Riker asked. "Well, you're busy. I'll just starve, thanks old friend. Thanks a lot." Geordi's communicator clicked.
"Geordi!" the Captain said. "Zippers. Up or down to close?"
"It's velcro Captain," Geordi said.
"Velca-fuck-what?" the Captain shouted.
"Captain," Geordi said, "I have to go. I have to check the warp drive."
"Geordi," Troy's voice came from behind him. "I have some concerns about your latest painting. You were thinking of treason again."
"What?" Geordi asked.
"Five bars of gold plated latinum," she said. "Oh, and stop thinking about me naked. I'll ruin you."
"Geordi," Picard said.
"So hungry," Riker said.
"Look just shut up all of you!" Geordi yelled.
"Treason," Troy muttered into her communicator, "Told you so."
"I just want to check the warp drive," Geordi said. He heard a flush and splashing.
"Fuck," Picard yelled, "He's sabotaged my toilet!"
"He punch my food thingy several times," Riker said, followed by a crash. "He just broke the lamp with his mind."
"I've got his glasses," Troy said. Geordi was even blinder than normal. He felt a kick in the nuts. He passed out.
He awoke to the sound of grunting.
"Ah," Worf said. "You're awake. I like my prison bait squirmy."
to be continued....
Murk's New Year's Rockin' Eve- A Tale of the WoW
Thursday, August 07, 2008
I was determined not to spend this past New Year’s Eve the way I had the previous year, staring through a drunken haze at stroke-afflicted Dick Clark mumbling and slurring his way through a backwards ten-count as the ball dropped over Times Square. I jumped in my Hyundai Accent, popped some Real McKenzies in the tape deck and weaved my way over to the palatial estate of Dr. Robert J. Murk, where, I knew, I was certain to find a Great Gatsby-esque party in full swing.
Or so I thought.
Instead I was met at the gate by my bug-headed acquaintance, Dr. Mantodea, who had just opened the door to his metallic green Cooper-S. I stumbled out of my car clutching a handle of Beefeater and staggered toward him.
“Mantis!” I yelled. “Happy New Year, you old son-of-a-bitch!”
Dr. Mantodea regarded me with inscrutable, insectoid eyes. “There have not been a sufficient number of ‘Fuck Yous’ uttered since the dawn of time to properly greet you, Piper. I hope you die.” He got in his car and drove away before I could say anything else.
I made my way to the door, where I was greeted by Murk’s stodgy English butler. Rumor has it Murk has his own Academy of Servitude somewhere in Europe, from which only the most disingenuous, wheedling, sycophantic and servile are chosen to be his servants. This one betrayed none of these qualities, to me at least. His lip curled in a sneer as he beheld my kilt.
“You,” he said.
“Me,” I agreed.
“The doctor is in the conservatory. At his organ.”
I snickered. He glared.
“This is a dry house, sir. Your…beverage…must remain outside.”
I thrust the bottle into his hands, gin sloshed over his cufflinks. “I’ll find my own way, Jeeves.”
I wandered around the first floor for what seemed like hours, following the crashing, thunderous notes of a somehow familiar tune. At last I found Murk in an expansive marble hall, seated before a towering medieval pipe organ. He pounded at the keys in a frenzy, causing the organ to moan, wail and scream in agony. I listened for a while, fascinated, until at last Murk collapsed across the keys, spent.
“Wow,” I said.
Murk lifted his head beneath his bowler hat and blinked a few times. “Ah, Piper. Forgive me if I do not rise. I was just playing my favorite composition. It always leaves me emotionally and physically drained.”
“What was it?”
“The most beautiful piece of music I have ever heard.” A solitary tear rolled down Dr.Murk’s face. “It’s called The Curly Shuffle. Anyway, what brings you here?”
“It’s New Year’s Eve, Murk. I thought I’d spread some cheer.”
“How trite. I suppose you have a New Year’s resolution as well.””Not yet.”
“Well, you should resolve to change your kilt. It smells of stale gin and balls.”
Murk was clearly not in the holiday spirit. Did I mention I was carrying my bagipes? Well, I was. I lifted the pipes to my shoulder and fitted the bag under my arm. I blew into the blowpipe and inflated the bag. The drones began to hum in harmony. My fingers moved along the chanter, picking out the melody of Auld Lang Syne.
Murk stared, enraptured. Slowly, he rose from his bench. It was working! Thus encouraged, I continued to play as he walked slowly over to me, a spellbound look upon his face. I realized then hat Murk had never really heard me play. He must be so impressed.
At last he stood before me. He balled up his fist and punched me as hard as he could. In the groin.
My pipes abruptly stopped with a shrill squeak. I doubled over. “Ow! My groin!”
Dr. Murk stared at me coldly. “Do not ever—ever—play that hideous thing in my presence again.”
I felt nauseous. My gin was threatening to make a return appearance all over Murk’s marble floor. “I need your bathroom,” I gasped. “Now.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “You know the way.”
I didn’t; Murk’s house seemed to have an ever-changing and endless number of rooms and passages, different each time I visited. I stumbled out into the corridor and leaned against the wall to catch my breath. When I could breathe again I wandered up a circular flight of stairs upholstered in a Persian pattern. At the top I opened the first door I saw, hoping it was a bathroom.
It was not.
The scent of jasmine and lotus blossoms assailed my prodigious nostrils. I pushed my way through hanging silken sheets. From somewhere deep within this ethereal seraglio, a dusky voice purred. “Oh, Robert,” it said, every syllable drenched in promise and longing, “you came at last.”
Most men would have felt an immediate rush of lust at that succubus’s voice. But I am not most men. I knew better. I knew how much danger I was in, for I knew who it was that spoke.
I had unwittingly blundered into the bedchamber of the smokin’ hot Asian wife of Dr. Murk!
I moved aside another silken curtain, hoping against hope to find the exit before she noticed me. Instead, the veil parted to reveal that same beautiful and deadly woman I sought to elude. She lay upon a luxurious bed, faced away from me, her body draped in a gossamer sheet, one shoulder exposed and bare, revealing a tattoo. Despite my fervent desire to escape unnoticed, I was irresistibly drawn forward to peer at the tattoo. I squinted. I could just make it out.
It was a bowler hat.
Cold sweat broke out on my back. I inched backwards as stealthily as possible, but at that moment I stepped on a large bullfrog that had somehow found its way into Murk’s bedroom.
“RIBBIT,” said the bullfrog. Then it died.
Mrs. Dr. Murk’s head swiveled around, causing the sheet that draped her body to shift a little. Through sheer willpower I forced myself to stare only at her face. Our eyes locked, and in that moment, I was certain of one thing: I was going to die. I turned and ran as fast as I could, tearing silk sheets down in my headlong rush to the door.
She was after me in a flash, one hand clutching the sheet around her naked body, the other reaching for something lethal. Two ornate—and very sharp—hairpins embedded themselves in the wall a fraction of an inch from where my head was moments before. By some miracle I found the door and tore it open. I plunged into the corridor as something big and heavy shattered against the door.
I bolted down the stairs, feet barely touching the surface of each step, kilt billowing behind me. Half a dozen throwing stars thunked into the wall in my wake. Finally I reached the bottom and ran for the conservatory door.
It was locked.
I had little time to panic before Mrs. Dr. Murk landed behind me, her bare feet making not a whisper of sound. One hand still clutched the sheet, the other now held a very long and very sharp sword. She smiled. I felt my bladder let go.
I ran, expecting at any minute to feel the blade plunge into my back. I reached the end of the corridor and risked a look back. She was walking slowly forward, as if she had all the time in the world. I tore open the nearest door and ducked inside.
I was in a library. “Ah, Piper,” Dr. Murk said. “It seems you found me.”
He sat in a leather chair, a chessboard resting on his lap. He had changed into a velvet smoking jacket complete with ascot, and cradled a Meerschaum pipe in one hand. His ever-present bowler hat sat upon his head. From somewhere in the room came subdued music; Rachmaninoff, I thought.
I looked for a lock, but the door didn’t appear to have one. I tipped over the nearest bookcase, barricading the door behind me with a terrific crash. Dr. Murk raised an eyebrow.
Just then, a full three feet of steel—Mrs. Dr. Murk’s sword— was thrust through the door.
“You seem to have upset my wife, Piper” Dr. Murk said. “Perhaps you’d better explain yourself.”
I fell to my knees and sobbed out the whole sad tale. Dr. Murk listened in silence while his wife’s efforts to gain entry to the library intensified. The door was rapidly becoming a splintered ruin. When I finished, Murk sighed and stood, placing the chessboard on a nearby table and returning his still-smoldering pipe to the rack.
“So let me get this straight, Piper,” he said. “You came to my home uninvited, offended my ears with your horrid instrument, entered the private chambers of my wife, ogled her while she was in a state of undress, murdered her pet bullfrog, urinated on my carpet, toppled a Louis XIV mahogany bookcase and have now been instrumental in causing the destruction of my library door. I’m afraid there’s no hope for you, Piper. I’m going to have to shoot you now.” He leveled an antique flintlock pistol at my head and pulled the trigger.
It clicked on an empty chamber.
“Confound it. I forgot I already shot someone today. Be a good fellow and wait while I reload, will you?”
I don’t know how I made it outside, but I even managed to snag my gin bottle on the way out. One thing is certain: next year, if he’s still alive, I’ll be watching Dick Clark.
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