THE ULTIMATE ANTI-HERO
Battles between various TV commercial & infomercial spokespeople, spokesanimals, spokethings, and the products themselves.
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ROUND ONE HUNDRED NINE: THAT GODDAMN SODDING PHONEY-BOLOGNA FAKE CGI GENERAL INSURANCE "GENERAL" vs. THAT GODDAMN SODDING PHONEY-BOLOGNA FAKE HONEY NUT CHEERIOS® BEE (THE 'BLING-BLING' INCARNATION.).
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, a flyswatter, 47 cans of Alpo® brand dog food, and two bags of Purina® Cat Chow™ for the family cat -- which is probably uranating in its owner's sock drawer...AGAIN!!!...(the owner wonders why his argyle socks 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 1977 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.
That goddamn sodding phoney-bologna fake CGI "General" gets out of the gates first because that goddamn sodding phoney-bologna fake Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee is trapped in the cereal cabinet by the family cat which has decided that now would be a good time to spray the cabinet doors.
The "General" waits patiently by the cereal cabinet for that goddamn sodding phoney-bologna fake Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee to emerge...when the cat has finished uranating on the doors and walks out of the kitchen (and into the bedroom to undoubtedly piddle in its owner's sock drawer because the asshaberdasher never cleans out its litter box!), the Bee emerges -- it has these dorky looking sunglasses on and is dressed in this glittery outfit like it's some kind of rap star -- the General shouts, "{two loud toots of a rape whistle} FOR A GREAT LOW RATE YOU CAN GET ONLINE GO TO THE GENERAL AND SAVE SOME TIME!" as if it would somehow phase that goddamn sodding phoney-bologna fake Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee.
Well, it doesn't.
And do you know why it doesn't, you piece of shit little CGI piss ant?
It's because insects don't have ears for Christ sakes!!!
The Bee goes on offense now. It buzzes high above the "General" and hovers there momentarily, fully intent on ripping his bunghole off...er...um...fully intent on planting his venomous sting right between the "General"'s eyes. It rapidly flies toward the "General", turns its ass toward him at the last moment, and bounces harmlessly off the "General"'s face with no poisonous sting & venom sac deposited.
And do you know WHY no toxic sting & venom sac was stuck in the General's face you little asshat?
It's because you're a drone (male), and drones possess no sting for Satan sakes
That goddamn sodding phoney-bologna fake CGI "General" looks in the cabinet under the kitchen sink, sees the flyswatter, and grabs it. He goes on the prowl for that goddamn sodding phoney-bologna fake Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee, sees it buzzing just overhead, and starts swinging at it with the flyswatter. The first several swings miss, but that last swing connects rather squarely with its target, sending the Bee flying across the kitchen and straight into the cat's water dish!!!
Victory, sweet vict...O WAIT!!! The family dog comes around the corner, and since its owner (somebody involved in total and complete asshattery) forgot to feed him last night, goes right for the "General" and eats him on the spot!!!
The cat comes in a few moments later, sees a bug floating in its water bowl, and eats that gosh darn-diddly-arn Bee -- so both of our contestants whirled down the shitbowl tonight!
The General passes micturition (piddle) and defecation (dookie) in the dog's mouth as it dies, and soon becomes worm food; while the Bee becomes a fudge bunny within a couple of days!!!
THE WINNER ROUND ONE HUNDRED NINE: MUTUAL ANNIHILATION!!!
ROUND ONE HUNDRED TEN: THAT GODDAMN SODDING PHONEY-BOLOGNA FAKE CGI GENERAL INSURANCE "GENERAL" vs. THAT GODDAMN COPROPHILIAC 4-FINGERED STUPID SODDING HAMBURGER HELPER HAND.
This "unwholly" battle shall take place on the set of the General Insurance commercial. The set is equipped with what you'd expect to see on the set of a TV commercial: boom microphones on long poles, large video cameras on wheeled dollies, portable carpeted walls on casters, and thousands of watts of hot light bulbs. 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 Navy blue 2000 Dodge Caravan, a 2014 candy apple green Kia Soul, a yellow 2003 Toyota Camry, and a 1977 AMC Gremlin sporting a dull baby shit brown paint finish.
That goddamn sodding phoney-bologna fake CGI "General" gets out of the gates first because that goddamn coprophiliac 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand doesn't have a fucking inkling {not a baby fountain pen, hahaha!!!} as to what's happening here as this isn't a residential kitchen or a shopping mall parking lot.
Much as in the last battle, the "General" shouts, "{two loud toots of a rape whistle} FOR THE BEST CAR INSURANCE RATES IN TOWN CALL ONE EIGHT HUNDRED GENERAL NOW!" as if it would somehow phase that goddamn coprophiliac 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand.
Well, it doesn't.
And do you know why it doesn't, you sorry, sorry prick?
It's because the Hamburger Hurter Hand is a HAND, and hands don't have ears for Satan sakes!!!
That goddamn coprophiliac 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand goes on the attack next...it goes to the Fred Meyers store next door, shoplifts two boxes of Hamburger Adulterator, a medium mixing bowl, a slotted spoon, a bottle of Liquid Paper®, and a black felt-tip marking pen...gee, I wonder what it has planned?!?
It returns to the set of the General Auto Insurance commercial, and starts mixing that stolen shit up.
The "General" is aghast when he sees the boxes of Hamburger Adulterator -- the Hand took the Liquid Paper®, used it to cover the word, "HAMBURGER" and wrote the word, "GENERAL" in large, very neat block lettering over it!!! This just can't be good for that little CGI dickhead!
The "General" dashes to the back of the set, but runs smack into one of those carpeted walls -- must be those fucking huge eyebrows that cover his eyes that made him do that!!! He then fastwalks into the bathroom, and goes "dumpster diving" in the wastepaperbasket for something...he emerges a moment later, runs up to that goddamn coprophiliac 4-fingered stupid sodding Hamburger Helper Hand, and holds up a pair of seriously menstruated woman's panties in front of the Hand's face...the Hand backs away in terror of the dirty underwear, but uses the slotted spoon to swat them out of the "General"'s hands (the slotted spoon is now all fucking yucky and gross, but he never intended to eat the General Helper meal anyway!) The Hand starts swatting at the "General" with the
spoon, and repeatedly clocks the little bastard in the head with it!
Once the "General" is unconscious, the Hand shoves him headfirst into the bowl of General Helper, and crams the little fartknocker deep into the bowl with the dirty underwear, causing him to asphyxiate in the mixture.
The "General" passes micturition (pee-pee) and defecation (poo-poo) into the bowl of General Helper as he dies, and soon becomes worm food!!!
THE WINNER ROUND ONE HUNDRED TEN: THAT GODDAMN COPROPHILIAC 4-FINGERED STUPID SODDING HAMBURGER HELPER HAND!!!
(Hey, it has to win one of these things at least once in awhile if it wants to stay in the game!)
ROUND ONE HUNDRED ELEVEN: ONE OF THOSE GODDAMN QUEER KIA "RAPPING RATS" vs. THAT GODDAMN BISEXUAL 4-FINGERED STUPID SODDING HAMBURGER ADULTERATOR HAND.
This battle shall take place in the kitchen of a pet-owning household. The kitchen is equipped with a double-bowl sink & garbage disposal, refrigerator, range, and numerous small TV infomercial appliances. Under the sink, there are 47 cans of Alpo® brand dog food and two bags of Purina® Cat Chow™ for the family cat -- which is probably passing micturition in its owner's pants...AGAIN!!!...(the owner wonders why his Levis 501s always smell like cat urine, but has yet to put 2 and 2 together). 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 crickets, carpet beetles, click beetles, termites, grasshopper nymphs (larvae), and silverfish.
Additionally, the driveway has two automobiles parked in it, which are a 1979 AMC Pacer sporting a dull baby shit brown paint finish, and a 2014 candy apple red Kia Soul.
Since that goddamn bisexual Hamburger Adulterator Hand (yes, it likes both meat AND fish, hahaha!) has homefield advantage, it gets off to a rip-roaring start in this un(holy) battle for kitchen supremacy!
That stupid sodding goddamn bisexual Hamburger Adulterator Hand immediately skitters up the oven door and preheats that bitch to 625°F (329.4°C) and thinks about how it's going to lure that gosh darn-diddly-arn queer Kia rat to the death oven.
The Kia rat corners the Hand by the oven, and then starts loudly spouting off that goddamn rap music, saying, "You can go with this, or you can go with that. You can go with this, or you can go with that. You can go with this, or you can go with." as if this was going to phase our deformed hand-shaped " friend".
Well it doesn't.
And do you know why it doesn't, you sodding furry gay little piss ant?
It's because the Hamburger Adulterator Hand is a HAND, and hands do not have ears for Christ sakes!!!
That stupid sodding goddamn bisexual Hamburger Adulterator Hand scampers across the counter, gets a medium mixing bowl, a slotted spoon, three boxes of Hamburger Adulterator, and dumps the boxes into the bowl. Then he gets some hot water out of the faucet, pours it into the bowl, and starts mixing that shit up.
That goddamn queer Kia Rapping Rat is horrified by what he sees next: that stupid sodding goddamn bisexual Hamburger Adulterator Hand got its fingers on some Liquid Paper®, painted over the word, "HAMBURGER" on all three of the Hamburger Adulterator boxes, then took a black felt-tip marking pen and wrote the word, "RAT" in very neat, large block lettering over it!
This just CAN'T BE GOOD for our tire-loving "friend" here!!!
While the Hand is busy mixing up that bowl of Rat Helper, that goddamn queer Kia Rapping Rat goes outside and into the driveway to see if it can escape in one of the cars. He first tries the Kia Soul...damn, locked!!! It then tries that AMC Pacer...click...clunk...***CRASH!!!*** The driver's side door of that piece of shit car falls off and comes crashing down to the driveway, crushing that goddamn queer Kia Rapping Rat!!!
The rat passes micturition (potty) and defecation (poopie) as it dies, and it rather rapidly becomes worm food!
And the winner i...O WAIT!!! That stupid sodding goddamn bisexual Hamburger Adulterator Hand falls into the sink while doing a victory dance, and the family cat brushes up against the switch for the garbage disposal right at that moment {stellar timing there Nikki!}, grinding the Hand into a bloody pulp!!! It doesn't even have a chance to piss or shit because the garbage disposal ground it up so fast!!!
THE WINNER ROUND ONE HUNDRED ELEVEN: MUTUAL ANNIHILATION!!!
ROUND ONE HUNDRED TWELVE: RON POPIEL vs. GEORGE FOREMAN.
This battle shall take place on the set of one of George Foreman's "Lean Mean Fat Reducing Grilling Machine's" infomercials. 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 a number of Lean Mean Fat Reducing Grilling Machines (from George Foreman's private stock), a very large wall clock with a sweep second hand, and some "Knock Up the Fat" posters that plaster the phoney-bologna walls of the set. The restroom is equipped with an American Standard Neorest 500 Elongated One Piece Tankless Toliet with Integrated Washlet (a "Washlet" is a type of bidet), a large Scott TP dispenser with single-ply toliet tissue in it {because the asshaberdasher who owns the building is too goddamn cheap to have two-ply bungwipe put in!}, 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, among which are a 1976 AMC Gremlin sporting a dull baby shit brown paint finish, and a 1976 Pontiac Grand Prix that has a gold paint finish accented with white trim.
George gets off on the right foot here because he's on home soil. He runs right to the back wall of the set, rips down a few of his "knock up the fat" posters, wads those bitches up, and tries to stuff them down Ron's choaking throat. But nothing happens.
And do you know WHY nothing happened, you sorry, sorry prick?
It's because you ripped down & wadded up too many of your goddamn posters, you little piddle wingless hymenoptera!!!
Ron retaliates for the attempted murder by grabbing one of his Showtime rotisseries from his set right next door, setting it down on a counter, and smacking the door of the machine with a small claw hammer. But nothing happens.
And do you know WHY nothing happened, you little piss ant?
It's because the door of your cheap-ass rotisserie is made of TEMPERED glass!!!
George goes on the warpath now. He grabs one of his many Lean Mean Fat Reducing Grilling Machines, plugs it in, and proceeds to cook a hamburger in it. "Look at the lines!" and, "Look at those beautiful grill lines!" comes out of George's little cocksucking mouth as the meat sizzles in his grill.
WHY O WHY does he keep harping about those goddamn burn marks his grill leaves on the food?!?
Anyway, when the hamburger is done, George scrapes it off the grill with a spatula and immediately drops it down Ron's pants!!! Ron screams in pain as the hot hamburger patty burns his rod & nutsack!!! He involuntarily uranates, putting out the fire between his legs.
Ron, now thoroughly pissed (both figuratively and literally, hahaha!!!), grabs George by the head, shoves it into George's Lean Mean Fat Reducing Grilling Machine, and weights it down with one of the large video cameras that pepper the set. George screams for a short time, and stops soon after as his brain starts to boil. George passes micturition (piss) and defecation (shit) as he dies, and soon becomes worm food (although his head becomes fish food {ashes}).
THE WINNER ROUND ONE HUNDRED TWELVE: RON POPIEL!!!
ROUND ONE HUNDRED THIRTEEN: THAT GODDAMN BISEXUAL 4-FINGERED STUPID SODDING HAMBURGER CONTAMINATOR HAND vs. THAT GODDAMN HOMOSEXUAL 4-FINGERED STUPID SODDING HAMBURGER CONTAMINATOR HAND.
{No, you aren't seeing things...one of the Hands is a clone, hahaha!!!}
This battle shall take place in the kitchen of a pet-owning household. The kitchen is equipped with a double-bowl sink & garbage disposal, refrigerator, range, and numerous small TV infomercial appliances. Under the sink, there are 47 cans of Alpo® brand dog food and two bags of Purina® Cat Chow™ for the family cat -- which is probably passing micturition in its owner's underwear drawer...AGAIN!!!...(the assclown wonders why his Joe Boxers always smell like cat urine, but has yet to put 2 and 2 together -- how about because his kitty's litterbox hasn't been cleaned out in over five weeks!!! YUCKO!!!). The kitchen has a moderate infestation of Carrion Beetle larvae, piss ants, cockroaches, mice, hornets, and rats; and the home in general has a light infestation of Jerusalem crickets, carpet beetles, Goliath Beetles, termites, grasshopper nymphs (larvae), and silverfish.
Additionally, the driveway has two automobiles parked in it, which are a 1977 AMC Gremlin sporting a dull baby shit brown paint finish, and a 2014 lime green Kia Sorrento.
Since that goddamn bisexual Hamburger Contaminator Hand (yes, it likes both meat AND fish, hahaha!) {the original, not the clone} -- has homefield advantage, it gets off to a rip-roaring start in this un(wholly) battle for kitchen supremacy!
It begins by skittering up the oven door and preheating that bitch to 625°F (329.4°C) and thinks about how it's going to lure its doppelgänger into the death oven.
Then it quickly scampers across the countertop, gets a large mixing bowl, a slotted spoon, and two boxes of Hamburger Contaminator and wastes no time in mixing that shit up.
That goddamn faggoty Hamburger Contaminator Hand (the clone) catches a whiff of something yummy, and is soon confronted by the original bisexual Hand on the countertop. The cloned Hand is mortified by what it sees next: the original Hand (the bi one) had taken some Liquid Paper®, painted over the word, "HAMBURGER" on both boxes, then used a black felt-tip marking pen to write, "CLONED HAND" over the whited-out area in very large, neat block lettering!
This just CAN'T be good news for our cloned "friend" here, folks!
While that goddamn sodding bisexual Hand is still busy mixing up that Cloned Hand Helper, that faggoty-ass cloned Hand skitters across the counter and opens the knife drawer. There, he fishes out this big-ass serrated bread knife from the drawer, and chases that stupid sodding bi hand around the kitchen with it, fully intent on ripping its bunghole off...er...uh...I mean, FULLY INTENT IN SAWING OFF ITS SACK"...ummm, that's not it either..."FULLY INTENT ON SLICING OFF ALL OF ITS FILTHY LITTLE FINGERS!!!"
That goddamn sodding faggoty Hand swings the bread knife wildly around, but each slash of the gleaming stainless steel blade misses; the only real damage being done is that there are a few shallow cuts in the cabinet doors near the oven and a couple of nicks in the Pergo flooring by the sink.
The homeowner comes in right at that moment, wonders what the fuck is up with two hands locked in Mortal Kombat, flips the oven door open, tosses the two combatants into that fucking hot oven, kicks the door closed, and shouts, "HAND HELPER...MAKES A GREAT MEAL!"
Both hands pass micturition (pee-pee) and defecation (poo-poo) as they die, and soon become fish food.
THE WINNER ROUND ONE HUNDRED THIRTEEN: MUTUAL ANNIHILATION!!!
(with a little help from a slightly bewildered homeowner)
ROUND ONE HUNDRED FOURTEEN: THAT GODDAMN BISEXUAL NASONEX BEE vs. THAT GODDAMN HOMOSEXUAL 4-FINGERED STUPID SODDING HAMBURGER ADULTERATOR HAND.
This fight shall take place in the bathroom of a woman with nasal allergies, and quickly move to the kitchen. The bathroom is equipped with the usual: a mirrored medicine cabinet stocked with common medications & remedies (including two bottles of Nasonex nasal spray), a vanity with sink, a hair dryer, a standard toliet with cistern and ordinary flush mechanism, a roll of Charmin with Butt Pillows mounted to the right of the toliet, a plunger, a broom & dustpan, and a bathtub.
The kitchen is equipped with a double-bowl sink & garbage disposal, refrigerator, range, and numerous small TV infomercial appliances. Under the sink, there are 47 cans of Alpo® brand dog food and two bags of Purina® Cat Chow™ for the family cat -- which is probably passing micturition in its owner's underwear drawer...AGAIN!!!...(the asshaberdasher wonders why his Fruit Of the Loom briefs always smell like cat urine, but has yet to put 2 and 2 together -- how about because his kitty's litterbox hasn't been cleaned out in over five weeks!!! YUCKO!!!). The kitchen has a moderate infestation of Carrion Beetle larvae, piss ants, cockroaches, mice, hornets, and rats; and the home in general has a light infestation of Jerusalem crickets, carpet beetles, Goliath Beetles, termites, grasshopper nymphs (larvae), and silverfish.
Additionally, the driveway has two automobiles parked in it, which are a 1979 AMC Gremlin sporting a dull baby shit brown paint finish, and a 1967 Pontiac Grand Prix with a nice candy apple red paint job.
The contestants do not necessarily have to ***USE*** everything here, but they are at their disposal if needed -- or if desired.
That goddamn bisexual Nasonex bee (yes, it likes both meat AND fish, hahaha!) takes first blood here because it's on home soil -- that goddamn homosexual 4-fingered sodding stupid Hamburger Adulterator Hand has no idea about what the fuck is going on in this tiny little room.
That goddamn bisexual Nasonex bee flies directly to the medicine chest and retrieves a bottle of Nasonex nasal spray, and (in that fake phoney-bologna Mexican accent) shouts, "NASONEX...DAY OR NIGHT! NASONEX!!!" as if it would phase that fucking pussywhipped piece of shit Hand and at least temporarily disable or immobilise it. Well, it doesn't.
And do you know why it doesn't, you sorry little ass blossom?
It's because the Hamburger Adulterator Hand is a HAND, and hands don't have ears for Christ sakes!!!
That goddamn homosexual 4-fingered sodding stupid Hamburger Adulterator Hand goes on the rag...er...uh...ON THE WARPATH next. It spies the roll of bungwipe next to the can, unrolls this big-ass wad of it, dips it in the shitbowl to moisten it, and then starts tearing off little wads and lining them up neatly on the toilet seat. The Hand then begins to systematically launch the toliet wads at that goddamn bisexual Nasonex bee, but most of them miss! However the second-to-last one connects with that stupid bee and nocks it to the floor.
Just then, the family cat comes in, sees a bug squirming on the floor, and promptly eats it!!!
The Hand starts to do a victory dance on the toliet seat, but O NOOOOOO!!!! It falls into the bowl and soon drowns in the water because it can't swim and its fingers are too short to pull itself out of the water!
The Hand passes micturition (piss) and a bit of defecation (shit) as it dies, and soon becomes worm food; the Bee becomes a fudge bunny a couple of days later.
THE WINNER ROUND ONE HUNDRED FOURTEEN: MUTUAL ANNIHILATION!!!
(with a little help from the toliet!)
O, and this fight never even moved into that kitchen -- such a shame too, what with all of the wonderfully hot and electric death machines in there!!!
ROUND ONE HUNDRED FIFTEEN: THAT GODDAMN SODDING PHONEY-BOLOGNA FAKE HONEY NUT CHEERIOS® BEE (THE 'BLING-BLING' INCARNATION.) vs. THAT GODDAMN HOMOSEXUAL 4-FINGERED STUPID SODDING HAMBURGER HURTER HAND.
This fight shall take place in the kitchen of a rather ordinary lower-middle class household. It is equipped with a double-bowl sink & In-Sink-Erator garbage disposal, Fridgidaire refrigerator, Jen-Air 4-burner electric range, G.E. Profile microwave, Sears Kenmore douchewasher, and numerous small TV infomercial appliances. Under the sink, there are 47 cans of Alpo® brand dog food and two bags of Purina® Cat Chow™ for the family cat -- which is probably passing micturition in its owner's T-shirt drawer...AGAIN!!!...(the asshaberdasher wonders why his Hanes Tagless T-shirts aways smell like cat urine, but has yet to put 2 and 2 together -- how about because his kitty's litterbox hasn't been cleaned out in over five weeks!!! YUCKO!!!) and a 46 oz. bottle of Cascade Dishwasher Liquid. The kitchen has a moderate infestation of Carrion Beetle larvae, piss ants, cockroaches, mice, hornets, and rats; and the home in general has a light infestation of Jerusalem crickets, carpet beetles, Goliath Beetles, termites, grasshopper nymphs (larvae), and silverfish.
Additionally, the driveway has two automobiles parked in it, which are a 1976 AMC Pacer sporting a dull baby shit brown paint finish, and a 1976 Pontiac Grand Prix with a nice gold paint job with this gorgeous white trim (which, unfortunately, is up on blocks).
The contestants do not necessarily have to ***USE*** everything here, but they are at their disposal if needed -- or if desired.
That goddamn sodding phoney-bologna fake Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee gets out of the gates here first because that goddamn homosexual 4-fingered sodding stupid Hamburger Harmer Hand {yes, it likes meat but not fish, hahaha!!!} is still trying to get out of the cubboard which has this asinine childproof latch on it.
The Honey Nut Cheeerios® Bee flies directly to the knife drawer and fishes out this big-ass meat cleaver, struggles to drag the heavy thing across the counter to the cupboard where the Hamburger Harmer is stored, and lies in wait for that goddamn homosexual 4-fingered sodding stupid Hamburger Harmer Hand. The Hand finally gets the childproof latch on its cupboard to disengage, and emerges -- fully unaware of that big nasty meat cleaver above ready to lop its fingers off!!!
But the Hand emerges from the cabinet unscathed because that goddamn sodding phoney-bologna fake Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee fell asleep on watch!!!
That goddamn homosexual 4-fingered sodding stupid Hamburger Harmer Hand skitters across the kitchen floor, climbs the drawer handles until it reaches the counter, and silently slinks over to where that goddamn sodding phoney-bologna fake Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee is...it thinks for a moment, grabs the big meat cleaver, and tries to whack the Bee's pee-pee with it!
Fschwing! goes the gleaming carbon steel blade, but it misses the Bee's ding-a-ling by just a couple of millimeters!!!
That goddamn homosexual 4-fingered sodding stupid Hamburger Harmer Hand really needs to get some eyeglasses!!!
The goddamn sodding phoney-bologna fake Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee is woken up by the sound of the meat cleaver hitting formica, quickly buzzes to the cereal cabinet, and gets this totally blinged-out box of Honey Nut Cheerios®. He places the box on the counter, and starts very loudly rapping about some buttmunch stealing the honey -- hoping that its discordant "singing" will somehow phase that goddamn homosexual 4-fingered sodding stupid Hamburger Harmer Hand and incapacitate or even momentarily disable it.
Well, it doesn't.
And do you know why it doesn't, you sodding little pitiful excuse for a used douche?
It's because the Hamburger Harmer Hand is a HAND, and hands don't have ears for Satan sakes!!!
The Hand goes on the rag...er...um...I mean ON THE WARPATH next!
It grabs a box of Hamburger Harmer, a medium mixing bowl, and a slotted spoon. He preheats the oven to 625°F (329.4°C) and begins to think about he may lure the Bee 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 Harmer box, and rips that bitch open and dumps it into the mixing bowl. That goddamn sodding
phoney-bologna fake Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee is horrified by what it sees next: That fucking faggoty Hand took some Liquid Paper® and crossed out the word, "HAMBURGER" and wrote the word, "BEE" in very neat block lettering over it in black marking pen!!!
This just can't be good for that fucking rapping spermbag Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee!!!
While that goddamn homosexual 4-fingered sodding stupid Hamburger Harmer Hand is mixing up the Bee Harmer, that goddamn sodding phoney-bologna fake Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee buzzes high above the Hand, fully intent on ripping its bunghole off...er...uh...I mean, "FULLY INTENT ON PLANTING ITS VENOMOUS STING" into the Hand's ass!
It buzzes into position above the Hand, and makes a beeline (no pun intended) toward the Hand's backside...it rapidly accelerates, then turns its ass toward the Hand at the last second. Just then, the Hand turns around, forcing the Bee to make a minor course correction. The Bee bounces harmlessly off the Hand's back and into the bowl of Bee Harmer! The Hand quickly turns around again and smacks the Bee down with the slotted spoon! He pops that bitch into the oven and slams the door shut!!
The Bee passes micturition (piss) and a bit of defecation (shit) as it dies, and soon becomes fish food
The family dog hears all of the ruckus in the kitchen, sees a hand jumping around on the Pergo kitchen floor, and promptly wolfs it down!
The Hand becomes a fudge bunny a couple of days later.
THE WINNER ROUND ONE HUNDRED FIFTEEN: MUTUAL ANNIHILATION!!!
(with a little help from the puppy dog!)
ROUND ONE HUNDRED SIXTEEN: THAT GODDAMN SODDING BEATS PILL BLUETOOTH IPHONE SPEAKER vs. THAT GODDAMN HOMOSEXUAL 4-FINGERED STUPID SODDING HAMBURGER HURTER HAND.
This fight shall take place in the kitchen of a rather ordinary lower-middle class household. It is equipped with a double-bowl sink & In-Sink-Erator garbage disposal, Fridgidaire refrigerator, Jen-Air 4-burner electric range, G.E. Profile microwave, Sears Kenmore douchewasher, and numerous small TV infomercial appliances. Under the sink, there are 47 cans of Alpo® brand dog food and two bags of Purina® Cat Chow™ for the family cat -- which is probably passing micturition in its owner's pants drawer...AGAIN!!!...(the asshaberdasher wonders why his Dockers pants aways smell like cat urine, but has yet to put 2 and 2 together -- how about because his kitty's litterbox hasn't been cleaned out in over five weeks!!! YUCKO!!!) and a 46 oz. bottle of Cascade Dishwasher Liquid. The kitchen has a moderate infestation of Carrion Beetle larvae, piss ants, cockroaches, mice, hornets, and rats; and the home in general has a light infestation of Jerusalem crickets, carpet beetles, Goliath Beetles, termites, grasshopper nymphs (larvae), and silverfish.
Additionally, the driveway has two automobiles parked in it, which are a 1976 AMC Gremlin sporting a dull baby shit brown paint finish, and a 1977 Pontiac LeMans with this gorgeous candy apple red paint job (which, unfortunately, is up on blocks).
That goddamn sodding Pill Bluetooth Iphone speaker gets off to a rip-roaring start here because the owner left his Iphone on the kitchen counter. First thing it does is use Itunes to buy the song, "Fight 'Em 'Till You Can't" by the thrash metal group Anthrax, turns the volume on itself up to 11, and blasts that horrendous "music", hoping to distract or even temporarily disable that goddamn homosexual 4-fingered sodding stupid Hamburger Hurter Hand.
Well, it doesn't.
And do you know why it doesn't, you sodding little pitiful excuse for a used douche?
It's because the Hamburger Hurter Hand is a HAND, and hands don't have ears for Satan sakes!!!
That goddamn sodding Pill Bluetooth Iphone speaker is mortified by what it sees next: That goddamn homosexual 4-fingered sodding stupid Hamburger Hurter Hand is mixing up a bowl of that Hamburger Hurter shit, and it then took some Liquid Paper® to cross off the word, "HAMBURGER" & write the word, "SPEAKER" over it in large block letters with a black Magic Marker!!!
While the Hand is mixing up that bowl of Speaker Helper, that goddamn sodding Pill Bluetooth Iphone speaker runs to the oven, pulls off all of the knobs, throws them in left-hand bowl of the kitchen sink, and grinds those bitches up in the garbage disposal. But little does that speaker know that the goddamn homosexual 4-fingered sodding stupid Hamburger Hurter Hand had already preheated the oven to 797°F (425°C) in preparation for that goddamn sodding Pill Bluetooth Iphone speaker's immolation.
That goddamn sodding Pill Bluetooth Iphone speaker has to think up something, and think up something FAST!!!
It skitters up the row of drawers on the other side of the kitchen, opens the knife drawer, and fishes out this big-ass serrated bread knife. The speaker carries it over to the Iphone, dials its owner, and knarks on the Hand. Then it carries the knife over to the Hand which is still mixing up that bowl of Speaker Helper, swings the gleaming carbon steel blade, and neatly slices off all of its fingers! All that the Hand has left is its thumb, and it can't do any more damage without its fingers. As bright blue blood squirts up and splatters all over the ceiling, the speaker throws it into the bowl of Speaker Helper, tosses it into the oven, slams the door shut, and lets the Hand burn baby burn!!!
The Hand passes micturition (pee-pee) and defecation (poo-poo) into the bowl of Speaker Helper as it dies, and it rather rapidly becomes fish food!
THE WINNER ROUND ONE HUNDRED SIXTEEN: THAT GODDAMN SODDING BEATS PILL BLUETOOTH IPHONE SPEAKER!!!
ROUND ONE HUNDRED SEVENTEEN: THOSE GODDAMN QUEER KEEBLER'S ELVES vs. THAT GODDAMN BISEXUAL 4-FINGERED STUPID SODDING HAMBURGER HURTER HAND.
This battle shall take place inside a hollow, rotted-out tree. The surprisingly generous space is outfitted with conveyor belts of various sizes and speeds, two rather potent gas-fired ovens, vats of *HOT* (~350°F {~176.67°C}) melted candy compounds, a box forming machine, several Class ABC fire extinguishers, and one Class D fire extinguisher (for extinguishing flammable metals like sodium, potassium, zirconium, and magnesium).
The contestants do not necessarily have to ***USE*** everything here, but they are at their disposal if needed -- or if desired.
Those goddamn queer Keebler's Elves have the homefield advantage, and fully intend to take full advantage of it by attacking first. They start by attempting to lure that goddamn bisexual 4-fingered sodding stupid Hamburger Hurter Hand (yes, it likes both meat AND fish, hahaha!) to a conveyor belt leading directly to a fucking hot vat of molten candy compound.
But that Hand doesn't take the bate.
And do you know why it doesn't, you little pieces of shit animated piss ants?
It's because there is no trace (not even a faint lingering odour) of Hamburger Hurter on it!!!
The Hamburger Hurter Hand goes to offense next...it tries the same trick of luring those goddamn queer Keebler's Elves to a conveyor belt leading directly to a fucking hot vat of molten candy compound. And they do indeed hop onto the conveyor belt of doom, because they smell cookies and other shit that Keebler makes stinking up the belt! But they all hop off just before it reaches the burning hot vat.
That goddamn bisexual 4-fingered sodding stupid Hamburger Hurter Hand wanders around the inside of the dead tree until it finds an Erlenmeyer flask full of sodium metal (what those goddamn queer Keebler's Elves are doing with a bottle of metallic sodium may never be known!!!), runs off with it, and drops it into one of the very hot vats of candy compound. The flask hits the inner rim of the vat, shattering it and allowing the sodium metal to come into direct contact with the hot molten candy. That goddamn bisexual 4-fingered sodding stupid Hamburger Hurter Hand disappears for a moment and then returns with a large glass of di-hydrogen oxide (water), which he pours over the sodium. And if you didn't learn this in Jr. High or High School chemistry, the sodium erupts rather violently into flame as soon as the water touches it!!!
Those goddamn queer Keebler's Elves grab the Class "D" fire extinguisher, rather handily put out the burning metal (the elves may be small, but they ain't dumb!!!), and dispose of the contents of that candy vat -- candy and all.
Those goddamn queer Keebler's Elves return the "favour" with a less delicate maneuver: they corner that goddamn bisexual 4-fingered sodding stupid Hamburger Hurter Hand behind a box-forming machine, spray a bunch of Silly String all over it, and then light that shit with a cigarrette lighter!
The Hand goes up in an orange fireball; it passes micturition (piss) and defecation (shit) as it dies, and it rather rapidly becomes fish food!
THE WINNER ROUND ONE HUNDRED SEVENTEEN: THOSE GODDAMN QUEER KEEBLER'S ELVES!!!
ROUND ONE HUNDRED EIGHTEEN: THAT GODDAMN QUEER MAXWELL (THE GEICO PIG) vs. THAT GODDAMN SODDING PHONEY-BOLOGNA FAKE HONEY NUT CHEERIOS® BEE (THE 'BLING-BLING' INCARNATION.)
This battle shall take place in Hawaii at an all-male (gay) Saturday night luau. The luau is populated mainly by tourists in these faggoty-ass colorful flowery Hawaiian shirts; many of the tourists sport waste bags and cameras slung around their necks. A guest coordinator has a large table with brochures and leis; a short distance away, a good sized buffet is present. Not far from the buffet, a large bonfire is burning.
The contestants do not necessarily have to ***USE*** everything here, but they are at their disposal if needed -- or if desired.
That goddamn queer Maxwell (the Geico pig) takes first blood in this battle because that goddamn sodding phoney-bologna fake Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee is still trying to escape from its seriously blinged-out cereal box. So Maxwell goes under the buffet and waits...and waits...soonly enough, the Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee chews a hole through its cardboard and rhinestone prison and starts to buzz up toward the upper surface of the buffet. But Maxwell intercepts him, and immediately starts screaming, "WHEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!" as if it would phase that little winged peckerhead.
Well, it doesn't.
And do you know why it doesn't, you piece of shit little CGI piss ant?
It's because insects don't have ears for Satan sakes!!!
That goddamn sodding phoney-bologna fake Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee goes into beast mode now...it flies to a position approx. 1 meter above Maxwell's ass and hovers there for a moment...it then zooms down at full speed, fully intent on planting its venomous sting into Maxwell's bunghole! It turns its butt toward the asinine piggy at the last second, and ****THUMP!!!***
The stupid sodding bee just bounces harmlessly off without having deposited a poisonous sting & venom sac.
And do you know WHY you bounced harmlessly off, you little asshaberdasher?
It's because you're a drone (male), and drones possess no sting for Christ sakes!
The tourists are hungry...six of them grab Maxwell, shove this long-ass stick up its bunghole, push an apple into its mouth, and place him over the roaring bonfire!!! The pig oinks loudly a few times, then mysteriously goes quiet! That goddamn sodding phoney-bologna fake Honey Nut Cheerios® Bee is very happy now, and jumps up & down at the edge of the bonfire in a bit of a victory dance!
And the winner i...O WAIT!!! A puff of wind blows the bee into the fire, where it rather quickly perishes and becomes a "krispy kritter"!!!
They both pass micturition (pee-pee) and defecation (poo-poo) as they die, and rather rapidly become fish food {ashes}).
THE WINNER ROUND ONE HUNDRED EIGHTEEN: MUTUAL ANNIHILATION!!!
(with a little help from hungry, faggoty tourists and a bit of breeze)
A short time after Maxwell is consumed by the tourists and is nothing but a shrivelled blackened head and a pile of bones on the ground, somebody spots that seriously blinged-out Honey Nut Cheerios® box, shouts in that stereotypical lispy nelly voice, "ooooh rhineschtoness!", rapidly (but somewhat painstakingly) removes all of the "bling" from the box, puts it in a quart zip-lock bag, and carelessly tosses the now-denuded box into what remains of the bonfire.
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