Laaadieees and geentlemennn! PRESENTING my 1,000th post on TNT! (I can't believe I've posted a thousand times on this site.) Hear ye! Hear ye! Hear ye...

Laaadieees and geentlemennn! PRESENTING my 1,000th post on TNT! (I can't believe I've posted a thousand times on this site.) Hear ye! Hear ye! Hear ye! Reeeead aaaaaaall about it! - "Rat Meat In My Spaghetti Sauce?" - BOOM! CRACKLE! BOOM! SPARKLE! BOOM-BOOM-BOOOOM! - (sound of fireworks going off) - not to be missed! Just click & read! Please? Pretty please? Pretty please with sugar on top? Pretty please with organic, all-natural cane sugar from Hawaii on top? (Think about it - other than time, energy, and the fundamentally good mood you're in - what have you got to lose?) *PIC*
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Friday, August 15, 2008 03:26 pm

Rat Meat in My Spaghetti Sauce?

by Marcus Hunt

Today I was utterly shocked and saddened to learn that not only were the remains of James Brown exhumed and moved to Denmark, but that the entire New York Yankees baseball team was abducted by a UFO.

Life is getting so depressing these days. James Brown - our renowned “King of Funk” - gone. And then, to make matters so much worse, the New York Yankees - going, going, gone! The Yankees were a cherished American institution, and with such a phenomenal history. I remember Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel singing their hearts out with such passion, “Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?” But no one’s ever figured that out! What I reckon, is that the entire platoon of Joe’s future teammates just went there too, wherever it is - bat, ball, and glove. In any case, these things represent an American tragedy beyond all capacity to cope. Staring blankly at my monitor, tears streaming down my face, catatonic shock is all that I can feel.

But life isn’t always this bad, I guess. It still has its little pleasures. Right? For example, here’s something I found out about just yesterday. I don’t want to get into this too much - it’s a fairly personal matter, (tee-hee-hee!), but - I recently discovered a brand new way to ahhh… well, you know - “make the ole mojo over”- if you know what I mean? I can’t wait! As an upstanding member of the baby boomer generation, and what with my “boom” pretty much all “boomed out” - what have I got to lose, I ask? With my newly re-galvanized, naughtily elongated… ahhh… well - I’m planning on… hey, I can’t talk about this! It’s way too embarrassing! Besides, there are too many decent, respectable families out there - families with innocent teenagers, and I, for one, am not gonna talk about things their cherubic minds simply can’t handle. As for myself, however, I’m looking forward to things getting pretty… darn… wild. Ooooo, baby… am I ever gonna zoom to the boom-boom room! Let the good times va-va-vrooooom!

I’m feeling much better now. I’ve all but completely forgotten about the poor, shanghaied Yankees, and I can always unearth my sacred collection of 45’s and listen to “I’ve Got You (I Feel Good)” or “Sex Machine” if I want. I’ve still got you, James Brown!

Hey, good news! I just found out the Rolex watch I sent to Corky Kirkland got delivered. Hmmm. . . I must be suffering from “McCain’s Syndrome,” that dreadful brain decrepitude they just discovered. I don’t seem to recall sending a watch to anyone. Aren’t those Rolexes kind of expensive? And who’s Corky Kirkland?

And what’s this? “Va, Euro Pharmacie, vous allez adorer?” Pardon my French, but I don’t speak a damn word of French. Can’t recollect I know anyone who does, either. I wonder who sent this? How would they know me?

Uh, oh! Gadzooks! I just found out some e-mail I sent never even got delivered! It must be the one I sent my daughter, Moonglow - only e-mail I ever sent to anyone. What I wanted to do was send her a nice letter with a postage stamp adorned with exotic flamingos. I was saving that stamp just for her. But no - she gets on the phone insisting I learn how to use this confounded computer. How in tarnation could it not get delivered? Damn it all!

Now listen up. To make a long story short, I have a business associate who works for the government of outer Mongolia. In order to help him extricate a large sum of residual cash earmarked for a defunct sewer system project - trapped in a Mongolian bank like a glow-bug stuck in a jug - and then help him donate a modest percentage of said funds to poor, sunbaked llama ranchers living in flimsy, jerry-built yurts, what he’s gonna do, (bypassing the government goo), is transfer the whole astronomical wad of it directly into my company’s bank account right here in Big Gulp, Texas. And padre, this is no small peanuts we’re talkin’ about - a net profit for me and someone else of damn near seven whopping goose eggs. This is a sure thing, and you can take my Texas word for it. It’s perfectly legit, and I personally guarantee it. All I’m cow-pokin’ for is a business buddy who can cough up another measly two-hundred and fifty G’s, same as I did, and two weeks later it’s a done deal, Jack. What we’re talkin’ about, amigo, is a fifty-fifty split of $8,236,581.13. First come, first serve - just pick up the phone and gimme a jingle.

Holy cow! Well I’ll be a… I can’t believe it! They’re putting rat meat in spaghetti sauce!