by Jihady Philly… I got this magazine in the mail the today. It’s called Ignite: The Lifestyle Magazine for Aspiring Jihadists and Bomb Makers. Not sure why it came here. So I called the 1-800 number and got a hold of customer service. They told me there must have been some kind of mix-up and…
by Stinky Philly… I should have packed it in and moved to a desert island a long time ago when I still had the chance. When I was young. Instead, just like Billy Clyde Tuggle, I remained right here in the snake pit while society ate away at me like a bunch of cannibals. Or…
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by Fat Chick Philly… I sneaked another peak at her across the bar, trying my best to not look like I was looking, but it was too late, she had seen me already. Why was I trying to avoid being seen? Because I was shy? Not hardly. I was lonely, and I didn’t want to…
by Chris Hlad… By the end of the third day, Ted had the new house pretty much passable. Of course, his version of passable was a lot different than Valerie’s, his wife. He knew she’d be making some changes, once she arrived; but for now, for the most part, he thought she’d be pretty happy…
by Barry Goldstein… My wife is lovely like ruby-red lipstick. She has the most exquisite, big and bouncy breasts. Every time she rolls over in bed and kisses me good morning, she gives me a woody, and I’m reminded how she came to be my wife. She is my queen. Thanks to her, I finally…
by Orgy Philly… I’m not ashamed to say, I did my internship at this big bookseller corporation. Okay, wait a minute; maybe I am ashamed. I’m not going to say the name of the company because that would be inappropriate. McScrew-Hell. Truth is, McScrew-Hell is not a nice-little bookworm company like you might think. They’re…
by Really Philly… I was down in the French Quarter the other day when I came across none other than Todd Rundgren himself. Who? Todd Rundgren. You know, the singer/songwriter with Top 40 hits in the 70s like Hello It’s Me and I Saw the Light? Doesn’t ring a bell? Bang the Drum All Day?…
by John Rachel… “Danny,” pleaded his mother, “please, eat your dinner, You haven’t touched a thing.” Danny was six years old. “Don’t call me Danny! My name is Flava-yo.” “Please eat something,” said his mother. Then, you can watch TV.” “I hate your cooking!” said Danny. “Why can’t we have McDonald’s?” “I made this special for…
by Philip Loyd… That’s right, your beloved founder Philip Loyd is now doing his crazy Flashbytes thing on, of all places, Forbes. Philip on Forbes. And about whom? What? Hamilton? Franklin? Not hardly. How about William Duer? Huh? Exactly. William Duer and the great Wall Street crash of 1792. Come check out The Panic, as…
