THE ULTIMATE ANTI-HERO
Battles between various TV commercial & infomercial spokespeople, spokesanimals, spokethings, and the products themselves.
This is Page 13 of 15 href="http://ledmuseum.candlepower.us/misc/tvbattle.htm">RIGHT HERE is page 1, RIGHT HERE is page 2, RIGHT HERE is page 3, RIGHT HERE is page 4, RIGHT HERE is page 5, RIGHT HERE is page 6, RIGHT HERE is page 7, RIGHT HERE is page 8, RIGHT HERE is page 9, RIGHT HERE is page 10, RIGHT HERE is page 11, RIGHT HERE is page 12, RIGHT HERE is page 14, and RIGHT HERE is page 15.
ROUND NINETY NINE: RON POPIEL vs. THAT GODDAMN COPROPHILIAC 4-FINGERED HAMBURGER HELPER HAND.
This "unwholly" battle shall take place on the set of the Pocket Fisherman infomercial. The set is equipped with what you'd expect to see on the set of a TV infomercial: boom microphones on long poles, large video cameras on wheeled dollies, portable carpeted walls on casters, thousands of watts of hot light bulbs, and hundreds of folding chairs. Also present are twelve dozen (144) Ronco Pocket Fisherman units and 8 Showtime Rotisseries. The single restroom equipped with a rather standard wall-mounted porcelain uranator, a rather standard tankless toliet with turbo flush mechanism & a Church brand seat/lid assembly, a large Scott TP dispenser with single-ply toliet tissue in it, a dirtied green roller towel in a dented and obviously vandalised case, and a small metal wastepaperbasket -- also dented as though somebody got pissed at it and kicked it rather hard.
Additionally, the parking lot has a number of automobiles parked in it, including a black 2000 Dodge Caravan, a lime green Chevrolet pickup truck, a teal 2009 Toyota Camry, and a 1977 AMC Gremlin sporting a dull baby shit brown paint finish.
The contestants do not necessarily have to ***USE*** everything here, but they are at their disposal if needed -- or if desired.
That goddamn coprophiliac 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand doesn't have a fucking clue as to what's going on here as this isn't a kitchen or a shopping mall parking lot, so Ron Popiel zooms ahead first.
Ron goes right for a Pocket Fisherman, bates the hook with a conveniently-placed worm, casts, and tries to get that goddamn coprophiliac 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand to take the bate. But nothing of any significance happens.
And do you know why Ron, you fucking little piss ant?
It's because that goddamn coprophiliac 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand is a hand, and hands do not eat worms for Christ sakes!!! (well, this particular hand eats poop!)
That goddamn coprophiliac 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand goes into attack mode next. It skitters into the employee's john, fishes out a pair of seriously menstruated women's panties from the wastepaperbasket, brings them out to the set, sneaks up behind Ron, and stretches them over his head!
Ron shouts, "EWWWW!!! THAT'S FUCKING GROSSER THAN GROSS!!!" while he rips the dirty underwear from his head. He quickly shoves them into one of his Showtime rotisseries, duct-tapes the door shut, carries the filthy stinky rotisserie to the nearest exit, and hucks it as hard as he can! The Showtime flies through the air in a ballistic trajectory, and smashes through the driver's side window of the AMC Gremlin parked out there.
Ron then plugs another one of his Showtimes in and opens its door, chases after that goddamn coprophiliac 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand, catches it behind a camera dolly, brings the struggling, writhing, squirming Hand back to the set, crams it into the Showtime, duct-tapes the door shut, then sets it & forgets it! Before turning to leave the set, Ron shouts, "HAND HELPER...MAKES A GREAT MEAL!!!"
THE WINNER ROUND NINETY NINE: RON POPIEL!!!
ROUND ONE HUNDRED: ONE OF THOSE INFERNAL CHARMIN POO-POO BEARS vs. THAT GODDAMN QUEER FOUR-FINGERED STUPID SODDING HAMBURGER HELPER HAND.
This battle shall take place on the floor of the Charmin toliet paper factory. The factory is equipped with what you'd expect to find in a factory that makes toliet tissue: a number of conveyor belts in different speeds, vats of steaming wood pulp, large ovens for drying the wood pulp, machines that cut the perforations in the finished toliet rolls, and machines that put plastic wrapping over 2, 4, 6, 8, and 9 rolls of bungwipe at a time. There is also a large "test" bathroom equipped with 35 American Standard Neorest 500 Elongated One Piece Tankless Toliets with Integrated Washlet* (a "Washlet" is a type of bidet) and 70 rolls of Charmin Extra Strong with Butt Pillows.
The contestants do not necessarily have to ***USE*** everything here, but they are at their disposal if needed -- or if desired.
That infernal Charmin Poo-Poo Bear goes first here because it's on its home turf (that, and that sodding queer Hamburger Helper Hand doesn't have a fucking clue here as this isn't a residential kitchen or a shopping mall parking lot).
That stupid blue dead bear ("dead" because it's a cartoon bear!) goes directly into the test bathroom and grabs a roll of Charmin Extra Strong with Butt Pillows, clomps back out to the factory floor, and starts looking for that sodding queer Hamburger Helper Hand (yes, it 'plays for the other team' hahaha!!!)...he soon finds it wandering aimlessly around underneath the machine that wraps the bungwipe in plastic film. That stupid blue dead bear sneaks up on the Hand from behind and starts to remarkably quickly wrap the Hand with the toliet roll, Within twenty or twenty five seconds, the Hand is completely encased in the buttwipe and the bear casually tosses the merferator on the floor (instead of carrying it to the wastepaperbasket).
But the Hand rather handily chews through its TP prison (it's toliet paper for Christ sakes!) and soon escapes!
That sodding queer Hamburger Helper Hand runs to the employee's can, fishes a blown rubber (used condom) out of the wastepaperbasket, skitters across the factory floor in search of that stupid blue dead bear, sneaks up behind it underneath a conveyor belt, and tries to snuff out its "life" by shoving that fucking yucky gross used condom down its throat!
But nothing of any significance happens.
And do you know WHY nothing happened, you stupid sodding deformed little prick?
It's because that stupid blue bear is a CARTOON bear, and cartoon bears do not need to breathe for Satan sakes!!!
That stupid blue dead bear, now quite thoroughly pissed because of that fucking yucky used rubber, chases the Hand into the test bathroom, slams the bathroom door behind it to ensure that the sodding queer Hamburger Helper Hand can't escape, and keeps on chasing the infernal bloated red & white Hand 'round and 'round...this actually goes on for close to an hour before that Charmin Poo-Poo Bear has to sit down on the toliet to leave a shit. It drops a stool, wipes it ass with the Charmin, and examines its bunghole with a hand mirror to be certain that the bungwipe didn't leave any of those evil little white things behind.
The bear forgets to flush...yucko!!!
While this is all going on however, the Hand sneaks out of the bathroom.
That stupid blue dead bear looks around the bathroom (including behind all 35 shitbowls) and then notices that the bathroom door is ajar.
It starts methodically searching the factory floor, and soon spies that sodding queer Hamburger Helper Hand near the top of the wood pulp vat! It climbs the little ladder to the top of the vat, and chases that homosexual Hand 'round and 'round the rim...O NOOOOOO!!!! That stupid blue dead bear loses its footing and falls in!!! The Charmin Poo-Poo Bear is unexpectedly quickly pulled down, and never does reappear! The Hand starts doing a victory dance, but O FUUUUUUCCCCCKKKK!!! It too falls in the vat and is rapidly pulled down where it also perishes!!!
THE WINNER ROUND ONE HUNDRED: MUTUAL ANNIHILATION!!!
* The toliets are equipped with Washlets in the event that one or more of the the testers find the toliet paper ineffectual; they can wash their bunghole with the Washlet and then pull up their drawers with relative confidence that their asses are poop-free.
ROUND ONE HUNDRED ONE: THAT STUPID SODDING TALKING MINI-WHEAT WITH FLOATING GLOVES vs. THAT STUPID SODDING HOMOSEXUAL HONEY NUT CHEERIOS® BEE
This battle shall take place in the kitchen of a pet-owning household. The kitchen is equipped with a double-bowl sink & garbage disposal, douchewasher, refrigerator, range, microwave, and numerous small TV infomercial appliances. Under the sink, there are several containers of Raid™ in aerosol bombs, 47 cans of Alpo® brand dog food, and two bags of Purina® Cat Chow™ for the family cat -- which is probably piddling in its owner's T-shirt drawer...AGAIN!!!...(the owner wonders why his V-neck T-shirts always smell like cat urine, but has yet to put 2 and 2 together). The kitchen has a moderate infestation of Stag Beetle grubs (larvae), piss ants, cockroaches, and rats; and the home in general has a light infestation of crickets, carpet beetles, click beetles, termites, grasshopper nymphs, and silverfish. The driveway has a 1976 Pontiac Grand Prix sporting a dull baby shit brown paint finish parked in it.
The contestants do not necessarily have to ***USE*** everything here, but they are at their disposal if needed -- or if desired.
The Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee gets off to a rip-roaring start here because it's already out of its box while that stupid sodding talking Mini-Wheat is still trying to get out of its box. If its 8 layers are suppose to make you smarter, you'd think that the sorry little prick would have packed a box cutter since its last battle. :-/
That sodding homosexual Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee (yes, it 'plays for the other team' hahaha!!!) buzzes around the kitchen for a moment, then lights on the counter directly above the cereal cabinet waiting for that talking Mini-Wheat to emerge. The little bastard finally emerges...that stupid bee then flies directly over it, fully intent on ripping its bunghole off...er...ummmm...I mean, "fully
intent on planting its toxic sting right between that little fucker's eyes".
The Bee flies directly toward the Mini-Wheat, turns its ass toward him just before impact, and bounces harmlessly off (well, it did nock the Mini-Wheat over) without implanting its poisonous sting into the little 8-layered cocksucker!
And do you know WHY nothing happened, you little piss ant?
It's because you're a drone (male), and drones have no sting (venomous or otherwise) for Christ sakes!!!
That stupid sodding talking Mini-Wheat jumps the Bee's bones...er...uh...I mean, "jumps on the Bee's back" and starts yelling, "One two three, you can dance, like you were, born in France" as if it would phase that winged asshole. But nothing happens!
And do you know WHY nothing happened, you pathetic cringing little milksop?
It's because the Bee has no ears, stupe!!!
That sodding homosexual Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee flies to the downstairs bathroom, gets a bottle of shampotty (the home renter's roommate is angry with him, and decided to take revenge by peeing in his shampoo!), flies back to the kitchen with it, and squirts the toxic, smelly shampiddle at that stupid sodding talking Mini-Wheat. The stream of shampee follows a mainly ballistic trajectory across the kitchen, and hits that stupid sodding talking Mini-Wheat rather squarely!!!
That sodding homosexual Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee thinks he's victorious, but O NOOOOOOO!!! It slips in the puddle of adulterated shampoo, falls into it, has its spiracles (small breathing holes along the sides of its abdomen) clogged, and unexpectedly quickly perishes!!!
THE WINNER ROUND ONE HUNDRED ONE: MUTUAL ANNIHILATION!!!
ROUND ONE HUNDRED TWO: THAT STUPID SODDING QUAKER OATS PRICK vs. THAT FUCKING FAGGOTY HONEY NUT CHEERIOS® BEE
This battle shall take place on the floor of the Quaker Oats factory. The factory floor is equipped with conveyor belts, huge steaming vats, a closet containing leather gloves, safety vests, hard hats, and other assorted foo-foo (items of that nature); and the employee's can contains a sink, an American Standard toliet with cistern and standard flushing mechanism, a Kohler K-4917-0 14-3/4" Vitreous wall-mounted porcelain uranator with a Sloan spud valve, a Lily toliet paper dispenser with Scott brand single-ply toliet paper in it (single-ply because the assrat bastard who runs the joint is too goddamn cheap to have two-ply bungwipe put in), five packs of matches (on the floor), a soured mop in a dirty plastic pale (with truly fucking disgusting dark grey mop water still in it), and a filthy roller towel.
The contestants do not necessarily have to ***USE*** everything here, but they are at their disposal if needed -- or if desired.
That fucking faggoty Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee attacks first even though this isn't a residential kitchen or a Cheerios® factory. He begins with the usual...he circles his prey from above, fully intent on planting his venomous sting right between the Quaker Oats prick's eyes...he makes a dive toward him, and turns his ass toward him just before impact...THUD!!! goes the Bee as he bounces harmlessly off the Quaker Oats prick's head...nothing happened; no sting or poisonous venom sac was deposited.
And do you know WHY nothing happened, you little piddle wingless hymenoptera?
It's because you're a drone (male), and drones posses no sting (but they do have wings) for Satan sakes!!!
That stupid sodding Quaker Oats prick slides into the offensive position now. He tries to lure that fucking faggoty Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee into one of the huge steaming hot vats of unfinished Quaker Oats hot cereal; but since that little piss ant Bee doesn't detect the odour of Honey Nut Cheerios® up there, he simply flies to the employee's john.
Ohhh this is too perfect! That stupid sodding Quaker Oats prick follows the Bee into the can, and slams the door behind him so that the creepy little insect cannot escape. The Bee buzzes 'round and 'round; daring that stupid sodding Quaker Oats prick to capture it. After buzzing around for just over an hour, the Quaker Oats asshole collapses on the bathroom floor -- totally wiped out by his fruitless chase of that fucking faggoty Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee. The Bee takes the mop out of the mop bucket, drags the bucket over to the Quaker Oats prick's head, and dumps it in his mouth! That stupid sodding Quaker Oats prick starts choking and gagging. on the toxic mop water, yells, "PISS YOU!!!THIS SHIT REALLY FUCKING REEKS, AND IT'S THE MOST FOUL, AWFUL, HORRIBLE THING I'VE EVER TASTED!!!", starts choking again, and soon drowns in the fucking yucky truly foul dark grey mop water! The Amish prick passes micturition (urine) and defecation (feces) as he dies, and soon becomes worm food (or fish food if his final wishes were to be creamated).
THE WINNER ROUND ONE HUNDRED TWO: THAT FUCKING FAGGOTY HONEY NUT CHEERIOS® BEE!!!
ROUND ONE HUNDRED THREE: THAT GODDAMN QUEER TACO BELL DOG vs. THAT GODDAMN BISEXUAL 4-FINGERED HAMBURGER HELPER HAND.
This battle shall take place in the kitchen of a Taco Bell restaraunt. The available weapons and defenses are: three open (lidless) deep fat fryers, a carving station outfitted with various sizes of unserrated knives, a number of ovens for heating taco shells, making burritos, etc., two large gas-fired griddles for making taco meat, a motorised marinal chamber, and six rather heavy cash registers. The restrooms are equipped with Kohler K-4917-0 14-3/4" Vitreous wall-mounted porcelain uranators with Sloan spud valves, white Kohler Cimarron toliets, a ROLLSAVR brand toliet paper dispenser with the phrase "DO NOT EXCEED 3,250RPM!" scratched into it with what appears to have been the tip of a pocketknife, a soured mop in a dirty plastic pale (in the men's room), a filthy roller towel (in the women's room), and a freestanding tampon vending machine (also in the women's room). The lavatory (sink) in the woman's room is busted.
Additionally, the parking lot has a number of automobiles parked in it, including a teal 2002 Dodge Grand Caravan, a fire engine red Ford F-150 pickup truck, a silver Mercedes Benz sedan, and a 1976 AMC Pacer sporting a dull baby shit brown paint finish.
Since that goddamn bisexual Hamburger Helper Hand (yes, it likes both meat AND fish, hahaha!) doesn't have a sodding clue as to what's going on here since this isn't a residential kitchen or a shopping mall parking lot, that goddamn queer Taco Bell dog goes on the attack first!
The dog shouts at the Hand, "YO QUERO TACO BELL!!!" (Taco Bell is gay?) thinking that it would somehow phase that goddamn bi little prick.
Well, it doesn't.
And do you know why, you furry little 4-legged piss ant?
It's because that goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand is a hand, and hands do not have ears for Christ sakes!!!
The Hand goes to bat next...first thing it does is skitter to the women's bathroom, runs to the tampon machine, puts $1.50 in quarters into it, and emerges from the restroom a moment later sporting a Tampax Pearl tampon in a slightly damaged wrapper. It goes right up to the dog and shoves the still-wrapped tampon into its mouth, whilst caterwauling, "DOG HELPER...MAKES A SHITTY MEAL!" hoping to suffocate the dog as the tampon swells & expands.
Well, nothing happens.
And do you know why nothing happened, you deformed alcoholic 4-fingered little asshaberdasher?
It's because you forgot to take the wrapper off the tampon!!!
That goddamn queer Taco Bell dog goes for the marinal chamber, and finds a queerly-placed box of Hamburger Harmer nearby. So it rips the top off that bitch, dumps it into the marinator, and adds two cups of hot water -- hoping that the odour of the Hamburger Harmer will attract that goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand like flies to a pile of shit. The Hand is indeed drawn in by the stench, but sniffs & snuffles at the goddamn marinal chamber a few times and skitters away!
The goddamn queer Taco Bell dog decides to try something else...while that goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand is in a nearby corner, the dog lifts its leg and piddles all over it!!!
That goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand now realises that it smells like dog pee and makes a mad dash for the employee's can...damn, locked! It then unexpectedly rapidly skitters out of the kitchen, through the seating area, and to the women's bathroom. It climbs up to the sink so that it can douche itself off under the faucet, turns the water on, but nothing happens!
The Hand then jumps headfirst into the shitbowl, but finds that some fuckweed (a real dillhole) left a big fat sewer pickle in it but forgot to flush! YUCKO!!! Now the Hand smells like piss AND shit!!! That goddamn queer Taco Bell dog comes into the bathroom, sees the Hand struggling in the feces-filled john, and flushes!!! The Hand goes 'round and 'round, but it isn't going down. The dog picks up the toliet plunger and starts furiously pumping at the bowl, joyously yelling "HASTA LA VISTA YOU STUPID SODDING BISEXUAL HAMBURGER HELPER HAND!!! DOWN THE SHITBOWL YOU GO!!!"
THE WINNER ROUND ONE HUNDRED THREE: THAT GODDAMN QUEER TACO BELL DOG!!!
ROUND ONE HUNDRED FOUR: MAURY POVICH vs. THAT GODDAMN BISEXUAL 4-FINGERED HAMBURGER HELPER HAND.
This fight shall take place on the set of the Maury show. The set is equipped with the kind of things you might expect: boom microphones on long poles, large video cameras on wheeled dollies, portable carpeted walls on casters, thousands of watts of hot light bulbs, hundreds (or even thousands) of folding chairs, etc. Also present are two pay telephones. In the men's room there is an American Standard toliet with cistern and standard flushing mechanism, a Kohler K-4917-0 14-3/4" Vitreous wall-mounted porcelain uranator with a Sloan spud valve, a Cormatic toliet paper dispenser with a half-used roll of Scott single-ply bungwipe in it (single-ply (single-ply because the assrat bastard who runs the joint is too goddamn cheap to have two-ply bungwipe put in), a soured mop in a rusted metal pale, and a Dyson brand electric hand dryer. The women's room has an "OUT OF ORDER" sign hanging on the door, and the door is locked.
Additionally, the parking lot has a number of automobiles parked in it, including a black and rust-colored 1998 Jeep Grand Cherokee (that's in terrible need of washing!), an ugly orange Dodge pickup truck, a silver Delorean, and a 1970 Ford Maverick sporting a dull baby shit brown paint finish and missing its right-rear quarterpanel.
The contestants do not necessarily have to ***USE*** everything here, but they are at their disposal if needed -- or if desired.
Since that goddamn bisexual Hamburger Helper Hand (yes, it likes both meat AND fish, hahaha!) doesn't have a sodding clue as to what's going on here since this isn't a residential kitchen or a shopping mall parking lot, Maury goes on the attack first!
Maury straps that goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand to a chair, affixes a bunch of electrodes and a chest strap to it, and calls an 'expert' over to administer one of those polygrip tests. The polygrip test examiner asks the Hand questions like, "Do you really help hamburger?", "Do you add water?", "Do you bake the resulting mix in the oven?"
That goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand answers in the affirmative to all three questions, so the polygrip examiner frees it and sends it back onstage.
Maury then says, "And the results are in...in the case of Marisol, you ARE NOT the baby daddy!"
We've got ourselves a cold one here tonight folks...it would seem that nobody has a clear-cut advantage in this battle!!!
That goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand skitters out to the parking lot, goes directly over to that Ford Maverick, and finds the door unlocked and the keys still in the ignition. So it gets in, slams the door shut behind it, and then locks both doors. The Hand then starts the POS car, puts it in drive, but finds that it cannot reach the gas or the brake. It sees a cane on the front passenger seat, so it gets the cane and uses it to press the accelerator pedal...but O NOOOOO!!!! The cane somehow gets stuck, and the Hand cannot free it before the old beater of a car lurches forward, zooms out of the parking lot, crosses the southbound lanes of the nearby expressway, crashes into the jersey barrier and goes up in a rather large fireball!!!
The Hand passes micturition (piss) and defecation (shit) as it dies, and soon becomes fish food (ashes)!!!
THE WINNER ROUND ONE HUNDRED FOUR: MAURY POVICH!!!
(with a little help from an old beater car)
ROUND ONE HUNDRED FIVE: THE CLAIROL HERBAL ESSENCES 'O YES!' SLUT vs. THAT GODDAMN BISEXUAL 4-FINGERED HAMBURGER HELPER HAND.
This fight for the ages shall take place in a hair salon. The salon is equipped with what you'd expect to find. There are six stylist's stations, each equipped with the following: swivelling stylists chairs, shampoo bowls plumbed with both hot & cold water, overhead cabinets brimming full of hair color, peroxide, perms, hairspray in aerosol bombs (spray cans), and other hair chemicals (some quite noxious; others not). The counters are equipped with large mirrors, handheld and bonnet-style hairdryers, electric clippers, multiple bottles of Paul Mitchell shampoo & conditioner (a few stations also have Clairol Herbal Essences shampoo), and containers of Barbicide with combs & brushes in them.
The single restroom is equipped with a rather standard wall-mounted porcelain uranator, a rather standard tankless toliet with turbo flush mechanism & a Church brand seat/lid assembly, a large Scott TP dispenser with single-ply toliet tissue in it, a dirtied green roller towel in a dented and obviously vandalised case, and a small metal wastepaperbasket -- also dented as though somebody got pissed at it and kicked it rather hard.
That goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand doesn't have a fucking clue as to what's going on here as this isn't a kitchen or a shopping mall parking lot, so the Clairol Herbal Essences 'O YES!' Slut makes the first move here.
The cunt runs right for one of the stylist stations and latches onto a large bottle of shampoo. She flips the top, and directs a stream of the toxic, smelly shampoo right toward that goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand (yes, it likes both meat AND fish, hahaha!). The shampoo comes out of the bottle in a thick stream, follows a ballistic trajectory across the salon, and splatters harmlessly to the floor near a stylist's chair on the other side of the salon. "DAMN, I MISSED!" she screams as the shampoo bottle runs dry.
That goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand starts going from station to station, methodically dumping each bottle of Clairol Herbal Essences shampoo into the shampoo bowls, and washing it down the drains until the bubbles stop...apparently, its goal was to deprive the Clairol Herbal Essences 'O YES!' Slut of all of her shampoo so that she does not have a fucking orgasm when she washes her hair!
The Clairol Herbal Essences 'O YES!' Slut goes into the can, unrolls a bunch of the TP, and emerges -- on the prowl for that goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand. She soon corners it near the front door of the salon, and starts winding the TP 'round and 'round the Hand. But nothing happens.
And do you know WHY nothing happened, you fucking shampoo-loving little cunt?
It's because your nemesis is a hand, and hands don't need to breathe for Satan sakes!!!
The Hand goes to another stylist's station and pulls all of the combs, brushes, and scissors out of their jar of Barbicide. It takes the jar, and goes on the hunt for that shampoo-loving little fucker. The Hand soon finds her at another stylist's station, desperately looking for some Herbal Essences shampoo so she can shampoo her hair and have the big "O". The Hand aims the Barbicide jar toward her pussy (NOT CAT!!!) and lets 'er rip! The disinfecting solution hits that cunt in her skanky ho cunt, and she screams, "O YESSSSSS!!!" Clearly, this isn't exactly the outcome the Hand was hoping for!!!
The Herbal Essences slut has finally had it up to here {holds hand horizontally above head} with that goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand. She grabs a can of hairspray from another stylist's station, holds a cigarette lighter in front of it, takes aim, and when she has the Hand in her sights, simultaneously sprays the can and lights the lighter. A huge tongue of flame shoots across the salon, and immolates the Hand almost at once!!!
The Hand passes micturition (piddle) and defecation (doody) as it dies, and soon becomes fish food (ashes)!!!
She grabs the fire extinguisher by the door to put out any lingering flames (so her favourite salon doesn't go up in smoke), gets a broom & dustpan to sweep up the ashes of the Hand and deposit them into the wastepaperbasket by the cashier's desk, and gets a mop from the bathroom to clean up the shampoo that she had squirted across the room a little while ago (the motherfucking pussy cunt bitch ho is a neat freak I guess!).
THE WINNER ROUND ONE HUNDRED FIVE: THE CLAIROL HERBAL ESSENCES 'O YES!' SLUT!!!
ROUND ONE HUNDRED SIX: THAT FUCKING FAGGOTY CARTOON CAPTAIN CRUNCH vs. THAT GODDAMN BISEXUAL 4-FINGERED HAMBURGER HELPER HAND.
This totally "unwholly" battle shall take place in the kitchen of a pet-owning household. The kitchen is equipped with a double-bowl sink & garbage disposal, douchewasher, refrigerator, range, microwave, and numerous small TV infomercial appliances. Under the sink, there are several containers of Raid™ in aerosol bombs, two boxes of Hefty large kitchen can plastic garbage bags, 47 cans of Alpo® brand dog food, and two bags of Purina® Cat Chow™ for the family cat -- which is probably piddling in its owner's pants drawer...AGAIN!!!...(the owner wonders why his Dockers always smell like cat urine, but has yet to put 2 and 2 together). In the cabinet to the left of the microwave, there is a box of Captain Crunch with Crunchberries, a box of Grape Nuts, and two boxes of Wheaties (one is open). The kitchen has a moderate infestation of Goliath Beetle grubs (larvae), piss ants, cockroaches, and rats; and the home in general has a light infestation of mice, crickets, carpet beetles, click beetles, termites, grasshopper nymphs, fleas, ticks, and silverfish. The driveway has a 1977 AMC Pacer sporting a dull baby shit brown paint finish parked in it, and a somewhat flattened metal garbage can lying on its side -- flattened since it was accidentally run over by the dustcart (garbage truck) because the truck's driver was texting something on his cellular telephone -- what a buttsnoipe!!!
The contestants do not necessarily have to *USE* everything listed here, but they *ARE* at their disposal.
That goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand (yes, it likes both meat AND fish, hahaha!) gets off to a running start here because the good 'ol Captain is still trying to get out of that whipped-ass unopened box of Captain Crunch.
It skitters up the row of drawers that have silverwear, sharp knives, slotted spoons, etc. in them (stopping at the knife drawer momentarily to fish out this big-ass meat cleaver), scampers across the Formica countertop, and then stops just above the cereal cupboard to lie in wait for that fucking faggoty cartoon Captain Crunch to emerge. That goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand doesn't have to wait too long; the Captain found a plastic sword in the cereal, sharpened it on his eyebrows (they're on the outside of his hat, so he was in no real danger of putting an eye out with that thing!), and used it to gouge numerous holes in the cereal box, thusly allowing his escape. The Hand swings at the dear old Captain as the cupboard door opens, BUT IT MISSES!!! How could the Hand possibly miss when his target was right there?!?
The Captain realises that he's under attack, so he does what any good captain would: he gets two boxes of Hamburger Harmer out of the cupboard, a large mixing bowl out of another, and a slotted spoon out of the utensil drawer. He preheats the oven to 625°F (329.4°C) and begins to think about he may lure the Hand into the death oven. Then he pours some hot water out of the faucet and into the mixing bowl, reads the directions on the side of the Hamburger Hurter boxes, and rips those bitches open and dumps them into the mixing bowl. That goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand is horrified by what it sees next: That fucking faggoty cartoon Captain Crunch took some Liquid Paper® and crossed out the word, "HAMBURGER" and wrote the word, "HAND" in very neat block lettering over it!
This just can't be good for that deformed, 4-fingered little piss ant!!!
The Captain sees the Hand skittering across the counter, so it attempts to box its ears...but nothing happens!!!
And do you know WHY nothing happened, you sorry little prick?
It's because that goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand is a HAND, and Hands don't have ears for Christ sakes!!!
Suddenly, the Geico "Hump Day" camel bursts into the kitchen, caterwauling, "WHAT DAY IS IT? WHAT DAY IS IT?!?"
It whips out its pecker and directs a powerful stream of concentrated urine toward the Captain and the Hand! The stream of hot corrosive camel piss gets them both quite thoroughly. Realising that they now reek rather strongly of pee, both of them run to the downstairs bathroom and jump into the Kohler Cimmaron toliet. The Captain hits the water first; followed in less than a second by the Hand. That fucking faggoty cartoon Captain Crunch is held underwater by the weight of that goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand, and he soon perishes. The Hand, having landed facefirst in the bowl, also drowns!
Both the Hand and the Captain pass micturition (potty) and defecation (poopie) as they die (although the Captain makes phoney-bologna fake doody and fake dry pee-pee because he's just a cartoon, hahaha!!!), and soon become worm food!!!
THE WINNER ROUND ONE HUNDRED SIX: MUTUAL ANNIHILATION!!!
ROUND ONE HUNDRED SEVEN: THAT FUCKING HOMOSEXUAL GEICO GECKO vs. THAT GODDAMN BISEXUAL 4-FINGERED HAMBURGER HELPER HAND.
This battle for the ages shall take place on the set of the Geico insurance commercial. The set is equipped with the kind of things you might expect: boom microphones on long poles, large video cameras on wheeled dollies, portable carpeted walls on casters, thousands of watts of hot light bulbs, several storage lockers with numerous cans of green & white paint, a goddamn old beat-up Kirby upright vacuum cleaner, a standard broom & dustpan, several pushbrooms, two boxes of fluorescent light bulbs, and assorted & sundry stage props appropriate for a Geico Insurance ad.
The employee's can is outfitted with a Kohler K-4917-0 14-3/4" vitreous wall-mounted porcelain uranator with a Sloan spud valve, a black Kohler Rialto one-piece toliet, a Cormatic brand toliet paper dispenser with a very small amount of Scott brand toliet paper in it (the dispenser has the phrase, "DO NOT EXCEED 3,250RPM!!!" neatly scratched onto it with the blade of a knife), a soured mop in a dirty plastic pale, a Toilaflex brand toliet plunger, and a severely dented metal swing-top wastepaperbasket.
The contestants do not necessarily have to ***USE*** everything here, but they are at their disposal if needed -- or if desired.
That goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand (yes, it likes both meat AND fish, hahaha!) gets off to a running start here because that fucking homosexual Geico Gecko is still trying to escape from a box of fluorescent light bubs in a storage locker.
The Hand lies in wait outside the storage locker for that goddamn small lizard to emerge...it soon does, and the Hand tries to box its ears, but was totally unsuccessful!
And do you know why you failed, you mangy deformed little piss ant?
It's because your a fucking disembodied hand, and your fingers cannot get both of the Gecko's ears simultaneously!!!
That fucking homosexual Geico Gecko comes right back, and shouts in this phoney-bologna British accent, "SAVE MONEY? HIP HIP CHEERIO!" thinking that it would phase that goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand. Well, it doesn't.
And do you know WHY it doesn't, you green sorry little prick?
It's because your nemesis is a hand, and hands don't have ears for Satan sakes!!!
That goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand wastes no time in going just offstage and grabbing one of the boom mics, bites off the cord, and carries the sodding heavy thing across the set to where that little green dickhead is...the Hand swings that heavy fucker at the Gecko, but all that happens is that part of the fucking homosexual Geico Gecko's tail gets smashed and amputated. The Gecko skitters up a nearby wall, and (being self-regenerating) grows a new tail.
That fucking homosexual Geico Gecko has had it up to here {holds hand horizontally above head} with that goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand, so it goes on the warpath!!! It skitters across the framework ceiling, and starts unscrewing those light bulbs and hucking them at the Hand!
POW!!! {tinkle} POW!!! {tinkle} POW!!! {tinkle} POW!!! {tinkle} go those hot bulbs as they impact the floor all around the Hand. Now out of bulbs, the little green peckerhead goes to a storage locker, fishes out a can of green paint, and waits a moment for the Hand to come into range. When it does, the Gecko dumps the paint all over the Hand!
Bullseye!!!
The Hand, now thoroughly douched with the viscous green shit, suffocates!
The Hand passes micturition (piss) and defecation (shit) as it dies, and soon becomes worm food!!!
THE WINNER ROUND ONE HUNDRED SEVEN: THAT FUCKING HOMOSEXUAL GEICO GECKO!!!
ROUND ONE HUNDRED EIGHT: PROGRESSIVE INSURANCE FLO "HO" vs. THAT GODDAMN BISEXUAL 4-FINGERED HAMBURGER HELPER HAND.
This fight shall take place on the set of the Progressive insurance commercial. The set is equipped with the kind of things you might expect: boom microphones on long poles, large video cameras on wheeled dollies, portable carpeted walls on casters, thousands of watts of hot light bulbs, a maintenance locker with numerous cans of white paint, and assorted & sundry stage props appropriate for a Progressive Insurance ad. Also present is that roller skating disco prick with the ghetto blaster on his shoulder.
The employee's bathroom is outfitted with a rather ordinary uranator with a Sloan spud valve, a maroon Kohler Cimmaron toliet, a Cormatic brand toliet paper dispenser with Scott brand toliet paper in it (the dispenser has "DO NOT EXCEED 3,250RPM!" very written on it in nice block lettering with black marking pen), a soured mop in a dirty plastic pale {the little bucket is full of gross, stinky, fucking yucky brown mop water}, and a rather severely dented metal swing-top wastepaperbasket -- dented as though somebody got all pissed at it and kicked it).
Additionally, the parking lot has a number of automobiles parked in it, including a silver 1999 Ford F-150 pickup truck, a lime green Chevrolet Impala, and a 1971 Ford Maverick {with the keys still in the ignition} sporting a dull baby poop brown paint finish.
The contestants do not necessarily have to ***USE*** everything here, but they are at their disposal if needed -- or if desired.
That Progressive douche takes first blood here because that goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand (yes, it likes both meat AND fish, hahaha!) is totally fucking clueless as this isn't a residential kitchen or a shopping mall parking lot.
She starts by going into the maintenance locker and getting a can of white paint. She pries the lid off with a large screwdriver that just so happened to be handy, dumps much of the can into a paint tray, and grabs a conveniently-placed paint roller and proceeds to slather the already-white walls with another coat of paint.
That goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand slithers up to Flo and says, "HAMBURGER HELPER...MAKES A GREAT MEAL!!!" as if it would phase that pitiful excuse for a used douche.
Well, it doesn't.
And do you know why it doesn't, you little 4-fingered deformed little piddle wingless hymenoptera?
It's because Flo "Ho" sells insurance, not groceries for Christ sakes!!!
Flo "Ho" goes on the rag...er..uh...umm...THE RAMPAGE next...she chases that goddamn bisexual 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand 'round and 'round the set; this eventually leads the Hand out the back door and into the parking lot. He climbs into that ugly old beater Ford Maverick, locks the doors, and starts the POS. He shifts it into drive, and the car begins to slowly move forward. But since the Hand cannot reach either the gas or the brake pedals and it's too light in weight to turn the steering wheel, the car slowly moves across the parking lot, then down a steep embankment where it plunges several hundred feet to the shallow river at the bottom. The Hand is trapped in the car as the wreckage of it slowly fills with water. This causes the Hand to drown and subsequently perish!
The Hand passes micturition (urine) and defecation (feces) as it dies, and soon becomes worm food!!!
THE WINNER ROUND ONE HUNDRED EIGHT: PROGRESSIVE INSURANCE FLO "HO"!!!
(with a little help from an old beater car!)
For more about these pussywhipped pieces of shit motherfucking things called "ads", please visit Commercials I Hate.