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Tag Archives: pervertry

Recalling A Simpler Time When Perverts Made House Calls

31 Monday Oct 2011

Posted by Smaktakula in Crime, Culture, News, Stupidity

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

anachronisms, Brody Hall, Corry, dingus, exhibitionism, flashers, full Monty, genitals, intoxication, junk, man-meat, Pennsylvania, pervertry, perverts, public nudity, your mother must be very proud

By Smaktakula

Exposing Your Junk To Perfect Strangers Is A Time-Honored American Tradition.

The modern world changes with such baffling rapidity that innovations in technology, fashion and language are transforming yesterday into an unrecognizable anachronism.  The information age has rendered obsolete the newspaper, the personal letter and the DMV.  Thanks to the plethora of pornography available at a keystroke, even the naked human body has become a curious relic of a bygone age.  Pennsylvania pervert Brody Hall made a game effort to turn back the clock on our cynical era by returning some of nudity’s whimsicality and sense of fun.  But like so many other gentle dreamers, Hall found himself crushed beneath the weight  of an impersonal, uncaring societal juggernaut.

A devotee of the lost art of flashing, Hall treated his hometown of Corry, Pennsylvania with an up-close-and-personal view of the young man’s dingus.  After ensuring that he was sufficiently liquored up, Hall knocked on random doors throughout the forgotten backwater, rewarding those who answered with a full Monty.  Hall later explained that his intentions were to “scare the children.”

Your Mother Must Be Very Proud.

But as with so many lofty goals, Hall’s plans met with an insurmountable obstacle: an uncaring, anesthetized society with no time for such old-timey foolishness.   So it was that Hall’s luck ran out when he unknowingly displayed his genitals to Corry’s chief of police, who wasted no time in bringing an end to the exploits of the dangling do-gooder.

The local authorities contend that society is safer without being forced to regard Hall’s waggling man-meat, and perhaps they’re correct.  Maybe there’s no longer any room in this age of instant gratification for a charming relic of yesteryear like the flasher.  Still, society owes a debt to men like Brody Hall.  Thanks to small core of dedicated craftsmen who continue to practice exhibitionism, a charmingly anachronistic piece of our heritage is being preserved for posterity.

Horatio Coxswain, The Legendary 'Marysville Masher,' Was Famous For Exposing Himself While Riding A Bicycle.

A Funny Story About Clowns

19 Monday Sep 2011

Posted by Smaktakula in Culture

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Bozo, Carrot Top, clowns, Insane Clown Posse, John Wayne Gacy, Joker, KISS, Michael Jackson, mimes, Pennywise, pervertry, Smaktakula's hatred of clowns

By Tardsie (from the common folklore)

In which  we retell an old tale about a boy and his tormentor.

The Greasepaint Horror

Clowns: We Just Don't Like 'Em.

When Johnny Weems was just seven years old, he begged his parents to take him to the circus which had just come to town.  Having never been to an actual circus, the boy’s head was filled with visions of fabulous and impossible beasts, of acrobats performing astounding feats, of circus peanuts and of iridescent cotton candy spun to the size of a basketball.

At first the circus proved to be everything Johnny had imagined.  He gawked at the sideshow grotesqueries and flashy barkers lining the concourse.  He pestered his parents vainly for a dollar to play one of the midway games, and a little later, driven half-mad by the smell of frying batter, importuned for an elephant ear and was once again disappointed.

"I'm A Deranged Alcoholic! Now, THAT's Funny!"

Johnny’s heart galloped in his chest as he took a seat between his parents under the big top.  The three cheered the antics of Lord Leopold’s dancing poodles, and gasped as the Family Garamond cheated death time and time again on the trapeze, soaring untethered for long moments through naked air, and then, grabbing the waiting bar just as rude gravity began to reassert dominance over human pretensions of flight.  Caught rapt by it all, Johnny couldn’t remember when he’d had so much fun.

When Mr. Chuckles the Clown gamboled into the spotlight, Johnny had no way of knowing that with this harlequin would come his own complete ruination.  The clown’s face was painted in a garish red frown, which rendered somewhat ironic the very-visible grin beneath the greasepaint.  Clots of hair the color of a Los Angeles sunset and the texture of steel wool stuck out from under a broken-brim fedora perched atop its head.

Mr. Chuckles danced across the big top, stopping once or twice to perform a slapstick routine for the laughing crowd.   Then, the clown came to a stop at a point on the ring almost directly below where Johnny and his parents sat in the grandstand.

This Image Holds The Distinction Of Being The Most Disturbing We Have Ever Featured.

Johnny and his parents laughed in nervous surprise when a spotlight suddenly shone down on them.  Without their knowing it, the clown had nimbly stepped up the riser until he was standing over them, the spotlight marooning the four in a tiny island of light in the big top’s inky sea.

“Why hello there, young man,” the clown said to Johnny, its voice booming and merry and dark, “How do you do?”

Johnny turned first to his mother and then to his father—both were studiously looking elsewhere—before looking back at Mr. Chuckles and offering a tentative “Hello?”

Pennywise, The Malevolent Glamour From Stephen King's IT, Is Unique Among Clowns In That He Only Kinda Sucks.

Then Mr. Chuckles said, “I’ve got a question for you, my lad,” he said, trailing off and leaving the audience—Johnny included—waiting on his words.  In a tone of overdone mock-seriousness, the clown asked, “Are you, sir, a horse’s head?”

“No,” said Johnny, giggling a little.

Mr. Chuckles pointed at Johnny, the mouth-beneath-the-mouth a black O of derision, howling hysterical laughter.  “Didja…Didja hear that, folks?” Mr. Chuckles managed between fits of laughter.  Cocking a thumb in Johnny’s direction, the clown said to the audience, “If he ain’t a horse’s head, this kid must be a horse’s ass!”

Look, Whether Or Not You're Sexually Attracted To Men Is Completely Irrelevant; You're Still Really Fucking Gay.

The crowd roared, the sudden explosive laughter swelling the tent, homogeneous and titanic.  Running through it like an errant stitch was Mr. Chuckles’ vulgar staccato cackle.

Johnny’s parents weren’t laughing.  Their scarlet faces were exquisitely expressionless as they fled the laughter that seemed to dog them all the way to the car.   Johnny’s parents did not speak to him for almost three days, taking their meals in silence and passing the boy wordlessly in the hall, lips pursed in unvoiced, implacable disapproval.  When Robert and Julia Weems finally did speak to their only son, it was to upbraid him for embarrassing them so badly by turning out to be the horse’s ass they had all along known he would be.

Fortunately, This Photo Cuts Off Where It Does. Nobody But The Police Needs To See What Timmy Endured.

Life grew no kinder toward Johnny in the ten years that passed before the circus returned to town.  He was an unpopular boy; no school friends came to play at his house, or he at theirs.  Johnny was hardly ever invited to birthday parties, and his own birthdays were sad, solitary affairs.  Puberty only exacerbated his awkwardness, transforming the pallid and china-delicate boy into an oily, ugly, spastic thing that no one really liked to look at or to have around.  His nights were choked by bitter dreams haunted by the hysterically cruel laughter of some half-remembered demon of latex and greasepaint.

Late in his senior year of high school, Johnny summoned the gumption to ask out Tiffany Cox, although Johnny was not altogether sure that the girl whose honey-bond hair and deep, understanding eyes had enraptured him since her she had shown up at school on the first day of second grade even knew he existed.  Johnny caught a break when Tiffany told him she’d go out with him, but only if he’d take her to the circus, which had just come to town.  “Nobody else wants to go,” she admitted.  Johnny couldn’t say just why the thought of the circus filled him with a sudden, bowel-loosening hysteria, but the thought of spending an hour or two alone with Tiffany was enough to steel his resolve and push his vague terror into a dusty corner of his consciousness.

"Oh My God, No! I Never Tried To Fool Anyone. Just Look At the Way I Dress, Honey. The Only Reason I Never Went Public Was For Bruce's Sake. Mr. 'I'm-Not-Gay-Even-Though-I-Have-Great-Sex-With-The-Joker.' Oh Mercy! That Bitch Has Some Serious Daddy Issues."

Johnny invested all his energy into planning the details of the date.  At the door of her parents’ home, Johnny presented Tiffany with a bouquet of flowers which had cost about as much as a used car, but the smile with which she favored him made all the extra hours he’d spent washing dishes at Hunan Garden seem a bargain.

They were both laughing by the time the time they stepped out of Robert Weems’ Pleistocene-era Buick in the strip-mall parking lot where the circus had taken root.   Over the next hour as they strolled the midway, Johnny discovered that in addition to being the most beautiful girl in the world, Tiffany was also a hell of a good time.  They both took turns at Pitch ‘Em, Johnny secretly hoping he might win a stuffed bear for Tiffany, even though he knew full well the games were crooked.

"But KISS Doesn't Belong Here!" You Say. We Disagree. Show This Picture To Any Junior High School Student And They'll Ask, "Who The Hell Are Those Clowns?"

The two of them munched on candied apples as they took their seats under the big top.  When Tiffany said simply, “I’m having a great time, Johnny,” the young man was glad for the darkness that hid his flushed face and grateful, unbelieving tears.  It was the best day of his life.

The crowd roared when the ringmaster made his grand entrance to open the show, which—initially, anyway—proved to be a good one.  Tiffany and Johnny delighted at the antic feats of Lord Leopold and his seven trained poodles, and marveled at the gravity-eschewing prowess of the Family Garamond on the trapeze.  When the dauntless Sir Rodney Braveheart thrust his unprotected head into the open jaws of a lion, Tiffany pressed her face into Johnny’s shoulder.  He found himself wishing the moment could somehow be stretched out like taffy and thereby made eternal.

Magical Scottish Clown Ronald McDonald Created His Eponymous Fast-Food Chain To Bring Happiness To Children All Around The World. That, And To Fuck The Hamburglar.

Then Mr. Chuckles strolled into the ring, sucking the warmth from the afternoon like marrow from a bone as dark memories long-buried flooded Johnny’s brain, erupting unexpectedly from the dark clay of his subconscious.  The clown had changed not at all from the thing in those dark recollections, including the fedora which was no more or no less broken than it had been a decade before.  The garish frown was still belied by the savage and big-toothed grin which lay beneath it like a waiting viper.

The clown’s eyes fixed instantly upon Johnny, and to the young man’s horror, Mr. Chuckles began to jog toward him, climbing the riser until he was standing next to Johnny and Tiffany.

Ask Yourself This: Does A Healthy Person Distort His Features And Spend All His Free Time Making Balloon Animals For Seven-Year-Olds?

The clown hushed the obedient crowd with an exaggerated wave and turned to speak to Johnny, its voice painting even the far corners of the tent with dark hilarity, “I’ve got a question for you friend,” the harlequin asked, pausing a moment before finishing, “Are you a horse’s head?”

Johnny blinked for a moment, dumbfounded.  The same question as before, Johnny remembered, but there had been a catch; it was some kind of trick question.  Even as he thought these things, he heard himself answer, “No.”

The grin spread like oil beneath Mr. Chuckles’ Day-Glo frown, displaying an uneven collection of yellowing, tombstone teeth.   “Well then, you must be a horse’s ass!”  The clown pointed at Johnny and began to guffaw, the crowd howling in jolly agreement.  Although he could not look at her, Johnny knew that Tiffany was laughing, too.

It's Commonly Believed That Mimes Remain Silent Throughout Their Routines. This Is Not Entirely True. If Kicked Squarely In The Nutsack, They Will Make Noise.

Johnny slunk out after Tiffany, laughter trailing him as before, as if it had stalked him like a patient beast for all these years.  When he finally caught up with Tiffany, she was brusque.  “I’ll walk home,” she said, leaving Johnny to stew alone in the mocking laughter which still clung to him like a repugnant odor. Tiffany Cox never spoke to him again.

The years which followed extinguished any pale hope Johnny might have entertained that he would leave behind with his youth the misfortune he bore like a scar.  He settled for a girl named Stella Stubinski, a round, beady-eyed thing about a million light-years from the decade-gone Tiffany Cox.  Johnny dropped out of junior college just three credits shy of his associate’s degree to marry Stella when she got pregnant, forever dooming his long-held ambition to own a lawnmower repair business, relegating him instead into a life of repairing lawnmowers for other people.  Stella bore two more children before running off with her YMCA Tai Chi instructor, leaving Johnny with three snotty, yowling brats who were the spitting image of their mother.  It was about six months after Stella left that Johnny’s doctor told him he was sterile, and undoubtedly had been since puberty.

His Favorite Party Trick, "The Thriller," Ensured That This Smooth Criminal Had To Leave Japan In A Hurry.

Johnny endured the myriad daily indignities of his dead-end existence with a fatalistic aplomb, surviving by looking beyond them with the monomaniacal fanaticism of a zealot to the time when he might take action against his troubles.  He never questioned the source of his woes.  His myriad miseries, he knew, sprung from a single, malevolent source: Mr. Chuckles the Clown.

During the twenty grinding years which passed before the circus stumbled once again into town, Johnny scoured the newspaper every week for news of it with the same fatalistic intensity as an old man reading the obituaries.  When at last he saw that the show had come home, Johnny felt neither a sense of elation nor of terror over what was to come, but rather the calming feeling of an incipient denouement, as if great gears had come together and a tremendous but invisible machine had come roaring to life, ready to put the world in motion.

John Wayne Gacy: If Serial Killers Had A Uniform, This Would Be It.

Johnny arrived at the circus in his rusted-out Sentra.  He moved like an unseeing apparition past the sideshows and carny games, ignoring the barkers’ calls inviting him to donate what little money he had into one of their unwinnable scams.  He didn’t glance around until he was under the big top, and then only to find his seat in the grandstand.

Johnny sat through the parade of acts and characters–the grandiloquent ringmaster, Brunhilda the Dancing Bear, a new generation of Flying Garimonds and a superannuated Lord Leopold with his pack of arthritic, and by now entirely blind, poodles.  Johnny’s eyes were cast through time rather than space, waiting for the implacable arch-enemy with whom he found himself inextricably bound either by the vagaries of indifferent fate.

Even before Mr. Chuckles sprang into the spotlighted darkness of the ring, Johnny could feel the terrible coldness of its coming.  The contours of time grew fuzzy as the clown neared Johnny’s section of the grandstand.  The coming greasepaint horror comprised the whole of Johnny’s vision; it was as if he and this thing were the only two beings in existence.  Johnny had come here a broken man with nothing to lose and just this one shot at redemption.

Listen Carefully, Children. First You'll Want To Pierce Its Heart With A Wooden Stake. Then, Cut Off The Head And Stuff It With Garlic Before Burning The Body Parts Separately. Do It Now, Before It's Too Late.

The combatants’ eyes met a final time as Mr. Chuckles bounded up the riser, stopping in front of Johnny’s seat.  Lifetimes passed before Mr. Chuckles spoke.  “Why, hello there, Sir!” the clown said, the cheery warmth of its voice belied by the cold deadness in its eyes.  “I’d like to ask you a very important question.”  Then, pausing dramatically, “Sir, are you a horse’s head?”

Johnny began to act even before the question had left Mr. Chuckles’ sneering lips.  The clown stepped back in what Johnny thought might have been a brief moment of fear when Johnny stood, righteous energy coursing through the ruined man like an electric current, alive with the joyous certainty that his moment had come at last and had found him worthy.  This was the moment for which he had been born; in this struggle to define his existence, he would slay the beast or be slain by it.  Bursting with implacable purpose, the words sprang from his lips just as he had practiced them a thousand times, ringing true and clear throughout the tent, a stinging, righteous riposte to the infernal harlequin:

“Hey,” Johnny said, stabbing an accusing finger at Mr. Chuckles, “FUCK YOU, CLOWN!”

Age Ain't Nothin' But A Number To A Clown.

The Eternal Pervert

22 Friday Jul 2011

Posted by Smaktakula in Celebrity, Crime, Culture, Stupidity

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Celebrity Death Watch, credulity, dead celebrities, Elvis > Michael Jackson, Elvis Aaron Presley, former child stars, future drug overdose, Jim Morrison, King of Pop, Kurt Cobain, LiLo, Lindsay Lohan, Michael Jackson, pederasts, pervertry, perverts, skepticism

By Smaktakula

The line between healthy skepticism and credulity is razor-thin.   Sorry, kids–Michael Jackson is dead.

The King Of Pop Is Touching Little Boys In Heaven Right Now.

Jim Morrison?  Dead.

Kurt Cobain?  Dead.

Lindsay Lohan?  Tick . . . Tick . . . Tick . . .

You’ll notice we didn’t include Elvis.  Some things are too serious to joke about. ∞T.

I Swear, Officer–I Thought The Lady Was Already Dead When I Tried To Have Sex With Her

08 Friday Jul 2011

Posted by Smaktakula in Crime, Culture, Culture, News, Stupidity

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

douchebaggery, Kansas City, mashers, Melvin L. Jackson, Missouri, molestation, pervertry, sex crimes, sexual assault, stupid criminals, WTF?, you got a real purty mouth

By Smaktakula

Seriously, Where Can You Go To Meet Nice Girls Nowadays?

No one will argue that attempting to sexually assault an unconscious woman on a city sidewalk in broad daylight is not only breathtakingly callous, but utterly moronic as well.  Yet apparently, that’s just what one man did.

"Were I To Do It All Again, I Imagine I Would Take Better Care To Ascertain That The Victim Was Truly Dead Before Deciding To Embark Upon A Course Of Molestation."

But what separates 48-year-old ne’er-do-well Melvin L Jackson of Kansas City, Mo, from the rank-and-file masher is the novel excuse he provided to the authorities upon being caught in the act.  The reason for his heinous shenanigans, Jackson assured the police, was because he assumed the helpless woman was dead, adding that sexually assaulting an unconscious woman was “simply disgusting.”

"Hey Girl--You're Kinda Quiet. That's Okay, I Don't Like Talking All That Much."

TSA Employees Now More Hated Than Child Molesters

08 Friday Jul 2011

Posted by Smaktakula in Culture, News

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

bunglers, child molesters, clowns, creepy old perverts, douchebaggery, even Jesus thinks Fred Phelps sucks, groping, hated organizations, idiots, inappropriate activity, incompetent boobery, pederasts, pervertry, Reverend Fred Phelps, short eyes, Transportation Security Administration, TSA, Westboro Baptist Church

By Smaktakula

Ridiculously Low Pay And The Opportunity To Surreptitiously Grope Strangers Is A Surefire Way To Attract The Best And Brightest.

Given the several recent high-profile blunders by employees of the Transportation Security Administration, their already low standing in the community has plummeted even further, dropping their societal acceptance ratings below even sweaty, giggling child molesters, long regarded as society’s bottom-feeders.  TSA employees can take a dubious comfort in knowing that although they are the most reviled and lowest-paid drones in all of the transportation industry, excluding perhaps Bombay rickshaw-wallahs, the TSA is at least as well-regarded as are the screaming jackals of the Westboro Baptist Church.

"I Don't Care Much For The TSA, Myself."

Feel That The Total Lack Of Privacy And Myriad Degradations Of TSA Checkpoints Just Aren't Worth It.

"The TSA's Crude Recklessness Gives Honest Pervertry A Bad Name."

"Hey,--Don't Lump Us In With Those Assholes!"

Headlines 05.11.11

11 Wednesday May 2011

Posted by Smaktakula in Celebrity, Cinema, Culture, Music, News, Religion, Sport

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

American Indians, Baseball, bingo, blackjack, cockfighting, Dodger Stadium, dodo, drugs, Geronimo, hackers, Harry Reid, headlines, Iran, Jim Carrey, Los Angeles Dodgers, Native Americans, Navy SEALs, nudists, nutmeg, Osama bin Laden, passenger pigeon, pervertry, Robitussin DM, Shania Twain, Texas, untalented stars, whippets, whiskey

By Smaktakula

In which we opine on various news headlines without reading the articles.

***

The Costars: Jim Carrey paired with penguins ~ With each film Carrey reaches further down the evolutionary ladder in his thus-far-futile search for a less-talented co-star.

Hackers group says it will attack Iran Sunday ~ The best attacks are unannounced.

Armless Dude Throws Out Ceremonial First Pitch At Dodger Stadium ~ Figuratively, one assumes.

He May Look Dangerous, But Actually He’s Quite Armless.*

Police Bust Cockfighting Ring at Texas Children’s Party ~ We hope they’re talking about chickens.

Were Navy SEALs justified in shooting an unarmed Osama bin Laden? ~ Funny–the dodo and the passenger pigeon were just debating that very thing!

American Indians object to ‘Geronimo’ as code for bin Laden raid ~ Geronimo is a hero to Native Americans and an inherent part of their culture.  The tribes also objected to the code names ‘Bingo,’ ‘Blackjack’ and ‘Whiskey.’

Come On Now–Jack Daniels Does.

South Korean man found crucified in abandoned stone quarry; police investigating ~ Hopefully the authorities kept an eye on him for a few days–a couple millennia ago, one of these things got a little out of hand.

The University Has No Clothes ~ Sounds like the college we remember.

Harry Reid Injured by Parked Car ~ He has great health care, so why not?

Fake Bin Laden Photos Fool Some Lawmakers ~ America’s legislators, like her public, are remarkably easy to fool.

Turns Out This Is A Fake.

Wearing Only a Smile, Nudists Seek Out the Young and the Naked ~ And how is that different from what sexual predators do?

Man killed in tractor collision has been identified ~ To get yourself killed in a collision involving vehicles which travel slowly in straight lines and rarely meet, you’ve really got to be trying.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

SHANIA TWAIN NEARLY LOST VOICE OVER DIVORCE ~ Currently she and her ex share joint custody.

Teen high on bath salts allegedly kills neighbor’s goat ~ Bath salts?  Who gets high from bath salts?  Get yourself some nutmeg or Robitussin-DM at your local Albertsons.  While you’re there, grab a couple whippets.

“I Can Hear My Hair Growing!  Can You Hear It? It Goes ‘Skriiiiitch! Skriiiiiiitch! Skriiiiiitch!’ Oh God, I Am So Fucking High Right Now.”

For more fun with Headlines, you’ll want to check out:

  • Promethean Times Responds To The Headlines
  • Headlines II
  • Headlines III
*Apologies. ∞T.

Disney Unveils New Forum For Online Predators

16 Wednesday Mar 2011

Posted by Smaktakula in Crime, Culture, News

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Disney, internet, Mickey Mouse, NAMBLA, pen pals, pervertry, social networking, Togetherville, you got a real purty mouth

By Smaktakula

"Huh-Hi There Little Buddy! Huh-Who Wants His Picture On A Milk Carton?"

Disney recently announced its purchase of Togetherville, a social networking site aimed at children ages 6-10, a group heretofore excluded from the social phenomenon.  Industry insiders contend that a demand for such services already exists, and reckon that the move will help to peel more pre-teens away from non-internet–and therefore useless–activities such as playing outside or spending time with family and friends.

Wildlife Authorities In Kenya Issued An Amber Alert Today. Citizens Are Advised To Be On The Lookout For A Blue 1980s African Pachyderm.

For a generation completely stymied by the concept of pen pals, Togetherville will be first instance of remote social networking among young children.  Proponents claim that an early introduction to such sites greatly increases a child’s ability to make superficial friendships, which in turn can help her develop life skills such as obsequiousness and insincerity, which will enable her not only to survive, but thrive on her quest toward middle-management.  Likewise, early indications show that parents are pleased with Togetherville’s potential, which in studies has been shown to increase “shut up time” in children by a whopping 75%.

You've Got It Easy. Previous Generations Were Occasionally Forced To Talk To Their Children.

Disney’s announcement is expected to be warmly received by pervert activists, who have long been working to change societal impressions of pedophiles, particularly among children.  The North American Man/Boy Love Association (NAMBLA) could not be reached for comment, as the majority of its membership is hard at work fabricating online personae.

If It Makes You Feel Better To Know It, This Guy Loves Your Kids At Least As Much As You Do.

Cunning Runt Realizes Babysitter Fantasy

02 Wednesday Feb 2011

Posted by Smaktakula in News

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

adult diapers, arson, astronauts, autism, babysitting, botched similes, copping a feel, Craigslist, cunning runt, diapers, dumb kids and the dumb things they do to fuck up their lives, hobbits, homunculus, Icarus, loser, Marcus Antonius, Mark Anthony Richardson Jr., Mark Antony, million dollar secret, molested, Oklahoma, Oklahoma City, one's a cunning runt, pathetic, perfect scheme, pervert, pervertry, ribaldry, Rome, short people, short people are plain evil!, shrimpy weirdo, Smaktakula's distrust of short people, stupid people, that trick never works, What's the difference between herpes and a midget con-man?, wretched

By Smaktakula

This Crafty Homunculus Devised A Way To Ensure He Was Molested By The Babysitter Every Time.

People said Mark Anthony Richardson, Jr. was stupid.  A loser.  A Do-nothing.  The authorities called him a firebug, and no less than his own mother claimed that her 21-year-old son “lives in a fantasy.”  And yet somehow, this much-maligned misanthrope managed to pull off –literally–one of the cleverest acts of pervertry heretofore seen in America.  But like the similarly-named Roman general of historical renown, Mark Anthony flew too far too fast, and came plunging to earth.* The Oklahoma City man now faces one count of sexual battery and seven counts of outraging public decency.

The plan seemed foolproof.  Mark Anthony responded to Craigslist babysitter postings by posing as a man named David who needed care for his severely autistic adult son, Alex.  Alex still wore diapers, David explained, and would need someone to change him.  Mark Anthony, who stands a Hobbit-like 4’9″, would also play the feeble-minded “Alex.”

The Tiresome Singer Is Culpable For Myriad Crimes, But Babysitter Groping Isn't Among Them.

The unsuspecting babysitters, believing him severely disabled, were happy to oblige the pint-sized pervert, even when he showed up in a taxi at 2:00 AM, naked but for a soiled diaper.  Mark Anthony was nothing, if not committed.

The midget’s ingenious ruse lasted for some time, during which babysitters changed his diapers no fewer than seven times.  Once, on an overnight stay, Mark Anthony was able to cop a feel from his babysitter’s eighteen-year-old daughter.  When the daughter awoke and complained to her mother, she was told that the diminutive groper couldn’t help himself, and to just go back to sleep.  It seemed that Mark Anthony had found the million-dollar secret.

That Mullet Could Not Have Given A Clearer Indication Of What Was To Come.

But beauty is ephemeral, and so too are beautiful things.  Gradually, the babysitters became concerned when Mark Anthony would repeatedly became sexually aroused during the changing, and would sometimes run away, forcing his victims to tackle him.  It was not long before the authorities entered the picture.

The tiny freak’s mother, who spoke to the press on the condition that her name not be used, acknowledged that Mark Anthony–on probation for a 2008 arson conviction–has “some mental disabilities,” and that her son needs to be institutionalized.  She also indicated that she hoped no one would ask how so handicapped an individual, and presumably in her care, could be out at night committing crimes without her being aware.

"Houston, I'm Doin' #1 Right Now!" Astronauts Also Wear Diapers, But For A Different Reason.

The party’s over for Mark Anthony Richardson.  If he is convicted–and given the evidence against him, acquittal is unlikely–the puny creep will be forced to register as a sex offender, and so will end any chance he might have had of repeating his clever acts of ribaldry.  But others, with records as-yet unblemished by sex crimes, may still assume the mantle which has been so rudely torn from Richardson.  In this way, the shrimpy weirdo’s filthy burst of ingenuity should not be viewed in terms of his sad fate, as it is the fate of only one man.  Rather, see his Christ-like sacrifice as necessary to promulgate the Good News of his message.  Dirty little Mark Anthony has struck a victory for us all.

Laugh All You Want. Dressing Like This Makes Smaktakula More Comfortable.

*Icarus.  You’re thinking of Icarus. ∞T.

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  • Teachable Moments
  • The Garden-Destroying Cross-Lot Food Fight
  • My Beef With That One Guy From ‘Fast Times At Ridgemont High’
  • Shelly The Parasitic Yoko of Pervert Alley
  • Welcome To Pervert Alley
  • A Profoundly Philosophical Question
  • My Friend Joey Park, Part III
  • My Friend Joey Park, Part II
  • My Friend Joey Park, Part I
  • Headlines: In Which No Puppies Were Harmed Or Abducted
  • Profiles in Loutishness
  • Bet Your Bottom Dollar That Tomorrow
  • Mea Culpa: 55 Cent
  • Goat Mayo
  • Headlines: More News We Don’t Understand
  • The Aging Gunslinger
  • Hungarian Fone Kard
  • Fresh Socks For Homeless Walter
  • I’m An Ass, And I’m Sorry
  • Headlines: I Was A Caveman’s Love-Puppet
  • Untruth & Consequences: Debriefing
  • To All The Girls I’ve Loved Before
  • My Missing Medal
  • Promethean Times Questions Existence Of Sri Lanka
  • Headlines: Shaking And Stirred

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