Tuesday, October 7, 2008

The McGuillermosteins
America’s Hungriest Dysfunctional Medical Expert Hillbilly Family

George walked in the door with a dead koala bear between his lips. Millicent had already been back for twenty minutes. She brought Kale. Mylee didn’t have such good luck and had one bullion cube that might have been chicken but the wrapper had been removed. Father didn’t think they should eat it because of where it was found (in Yourlee’s butt crack) but Gertrude insisted, saying it was just flavorin’ so it didn’t have to be clean. Clump climbed up the side of the house and came in through the window dragging something disgusting behind him. He was grinning hole to hole and kept saying, “entrails, entrails”

Note: Clump, though dumber than a text only edition of Hustler, had a fortuitous fluke deformity which gave him an insect like body with 6 legs, an exoskeleton, and the ability to live for up to nine days without his head. Father believes he is what all humans will someday evolve into. Unfortunately mating is out of the question because there isn’t a women on earth who would fuck a bug.

“Mother pardon my heaven beetles, Clump you have got to be one of the silliest cuddle bunji muffin willows that ever walked the red bumpy streets of Moldavia. That ain’t nothin’ edible, scholar, you brung 13 feet o’ sea wheat,” said Tropical John.

“Quit yer Vlad maimed jabberwockin Mr. Lime-in-de-Coconut, this heres the entrails of a very voluptuous walrus. That’s good eatin’ right there. Some capers and a cap full of white wine, simmer twenty minutes till tender, and you’re feasting like a Donner,” said Clump.

“Gertie, You ain’t gonna taint the pot with that mess are ya?” said the Tropster.

“Yer mighty well certain I ain’t, San Tropé. We’re not goin’ hungry again tonight…And quit droolin’ on the ko-wally, Gorgeous. Just take it into the garage and skin it, Widja? Ya mangy mildew hospice,” said Gertrude.

“Aunt Gertie, Yourlee keeps flickin her boogers on me and I don’t like stuff that comes outta her half o’ the body. Tell her to—” said Mylee, before she was (Gert)rudely interrupted.

SHAAADDUP! I hate yer voice! I hate the way her mouth opens slightly when you talk! I hate the way you poop all over each other when one of ya sneezes! I can’t believe something so ugly and maldeformed came outta the body of such a beautiful creature as yer mother, may she rest in peace. Now stay outta my sight before I separated ya with a melon baller!” said Gertrude in one of her typical tirades which always end with a threat to separate the twin wretches with whatever cooking utensil she had in her hand at the moment.

Everyone was amused the time she tried it with a piece of muslin cloth. Said the narrator who was the only one who was amused.

“Now, now, now, now, now call off your coyotes there Ger, ger, ger, ertrude, the twins never asked to be conjoined. We, we, we, we was just havin’ a little fun, what with Father gettin’ his sur, sur, sur, sur, sur,…” tried to say Sputter, the brudder with a stutter.

“SURGEONS LICENSE!” interjected Gertrude impatiently.

“—geons license brand new that day and things just got a little outta hand,” finished Sputter.

“I wershed you never done GOT that surgeons license, Father Bother! Yer plumb MEAN! Aw-haw-haw-haw-haw (sob) Aw-haw-haw! Ka-HONK (wheeeeeze)” Said the dominant surgically conjoined twin, Mylee. The other twin, Yourlee has, since conjunction, been reduced to a sad mimicking ape of her sister with no independant autonomy apart from her ability to defiantly flick boogers.

“Well humpy dumpy doo dingy, Sputter. You hurt their feelers. What have you got to say fer yer stutterin’ self, Hooked-on-Phonics? (gee they sure do cry weird don’t they?)” Trailed off Tropical John (a.k.a. Fruit Punch, which they never refer to him as in this story due to the intense homophobia they all share, meaning they’re all gay as jay birds.

“Muh, muh, muh, ME? It were FATHER! He done did the dang stitchin. Iffin you’d ke, ke, kept both their renal glands. We coulda cut ‘em apart after ya sobered up. Ya old COO, COO, COO, COOT!” struggled Sputter who was obviously sexually abused by Father, who is always Ironically referred to as Father.

“I’m workin on a new gland for ‘em, Stutter Butter. But that FRAM filter ain’t gonna do the trick.”

[to be continued but this is just too weird to continue without huffing more Aquanet.—numbsain]


Anonymous said...

Pretty bunch aint they?

Anonymous said...

Weyel howdya doodee Numbsain, Imsa da one widga preety eyes, fancy takin it on sometime you low hanging piece o meat you, weyel cud eat some fine tripeandonions and swill with some beers before makin out, is you in or out there dude?
Bet youdoo

numbsain said...

Well, you sure sound like a sexy little mess o' innards. I'd like to grease you up and slide ya betwixt my molars. Then I'd conjugate some verbs witchizz and blow my old chisolm trail all up on yer back 40 sporty! Hope ya don't mind if the goats watch, real up close like. I just cain't bust my nutty unluss a billy goats nibblin' kibble out o' my fart cannon.

Oh and by the way, TC, yer sam drippy they're purty! Them's my kin folk.

Anonymous said...

Oh shux, I haint never had such a sweet talkin to in oyl mar lyfe, isa rekon us cud really gettit on, now dont yu go a wurryin about no ole billy now, its all redy for you shaved and well greased up ready,should slide better than the north pole.
I must just add how I can see the likeness wi your kin

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