Editorial: Midget Convoys Made Me The Man I Am Today

By Paul St. Fakename, Esq.

CB Handle: Weaves Drunkenly With Wolves

People tell me, "Paul, you seem to drink an awful lot." That’s when I say, "Why are you people SO GODDAMN UGLY??? Your momma coulda used one of them cow castration kits. Sweet Mother of Mayonnaise!" It usually takes me longer at airport security than most people.

Someday I will be on the news dancing in my full naked glory on the grave of the Where’s the Beef bitch with a pound of 75% lean ground chuck, hurling matzo balls at Girl Scouts and asking the Scoutmom to squeeze my Charmin. I am a child of the 70’s, Goddammit. Which, by definition, means that I love midget wrestling.

Hang on, I need another beer....

Okay, so I was in this rodeo carnival thing with the Six Million Dollar Man and it was run by this Super Friend-loving, pseudo-fascist chicken farmer. Bastard wouldn’t pay for hookers for the midgets. We were all thinking about organizing a sit-in or some other crap and then Steve Austin, he starts up with this, "We got a great big convoy, something something something. We got a great big convoy, something something something--CON-VOY!" And then a thousand of these Japanese midgets jump out of nowhere and we all started singing CON-VOY and got in these Datsun pick-up trucks with the trailer hitches and the gun racks and the liquid center bowling balls and we chased that redneck chicken fucker out of Dade County and started a midget brothel just outside of town. Sure, it folded in two months for lack of midget hookers. Sure, Lizard Tongue and Rubber Duck are dead and gone now. But their legend lives on. Sometimes on a hot summer night you can still hear them in the fields behind the brothel, pissing into the creek and singin’ CON-VOY!

Sure, people complained and tried to get the creek paved over. "They leave their empties all over my cornfield." "Those undead dope fiends stole my weed." "My wife is pregnant with their Skoal-chawin’ lovechild." But we wouldn’t let ol’ Lizard Tongue and Rubber Duck get paved over like that. No way. So Steve Austin ran over those ungrateful bastards with his Peterbilt, doing that bionic "da na na na na na" thing all the way. Of course, then those marshals tried to arrest us for that so we ran them over too. Teach them to fuck with the Six Million Dollar Man and his convoy. C.W. McCall even wrote a song about it all and called us heroes. Too bad I hate that pansy redneck bastard. We’re gonna run him over next year....

So let this be a lesson: convoys are the answer to all your problems. Failing math? Start a convoy. That rash not going away? Convoy. FBI put you on their Top 10 list? CON-VOY! I know, I know--sometimes a man just isn’t surrounded by rankled, drunken truckers, so what then? Sarcasm. Drunken raving sarcasm. Need an example? It just so happens that last month we got our first piece of hate mail. I’ve attached it, and our response, right below. But first, I’d like to dedicate our response to Big ‘Ol Steve Austin, without whose help I’d still be a well-hung barbiturate freak who wrestled Japanese midgets for less than minimum wage. God bless you Steve Austin.

And that little monkey, Bear, too....

Our June front page photo

comments: ARE YOU MAKING FUN OF THE PEOPLE WHO DIED IN KOSOVO? YOU SHOULD GO BACK TO AMERICA AND SUCK YOUR MOM YOU BASTARD!! FUCK OFF AND GET A LIFE.

Dear Anonymous:

I would first like to respond to your comments, if I could, on a purely grammatical level. In future rantings, please don’t overlook the importance of commas. For example, in your letter there should be a comma separating "SUCK YOUR MOM" and "YOU BASTARD." Secondly, though less importantly, "BASTARD" should probably be plural. This publication does have two editors. Who is the "BASTARD?" Me? Rob? Why leave the reader wondering?! I won’t even touch your rampant capitalization fetish. I realize that the rules of punctuation are hard to remember after a few bottles of malt liquor, but, gosh darn it, punctuation is the cornerstone of any obscenity-laced diatribe!

We're sorry you were offended by the Kosovo picture. However, we must point out that we are reasonably certain that the man standing in the picture holding up the sign and looking into the camera was not killed by bombs. On a happier note, we were very glad to see that you apparently found our pieces making fun of high school butchery, the elderly, people with seizure disorders, cannibalism, anal sex and God to be acceptable. We’ll be sure to publish more of that in future editions!

Hopefully you have read this month’s issue and noticed something missing. That’s right! No horrible jokes about Kosovo! It’s because we care so much about you, the reader, that we have taken the space that we had set aside to make fun of that situation and used it instead to make fun of you. Because, here at The American Jerk, we listen to you and your concerns. My mother, on the other hand, is not quite so understanding. Last night she hired two goons to exfoliate your rectum via weedwhacker. As a firm believer in an educated citizenry, I tried to talk her out of it but it appears that she took umbrage at your incest-ridden suggestion and called in favors from some nice Colombian fellows. May God take pity on what remains of your ass.

Yours in Christ,

Paul

Main Archive Table of Contents

July, 1999 Issue Table of Contents

Future of America   Midget Convoys   Career?

Month In Pictures   Moon Over...

Declaration   Join The FBI   Tips For Living

The American Jerk™ and all contents © 1999 - 2005 by Rob Reuter and Paul St. Fakename, Esq., © 2006 by Rob Reuter.