Subject: Mike's Madness #26
From: [email-masked] (Steven Bancroft)
To: [email-masked]
Date: Mon, 15 Mar 93 16:11:33 -0800

From: [email-masked]
Newsgroups: rec.humor
Subject: Mike's Madness #26
Summary: 
Followup-To: 
Distribution: world
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Keywords: Mike's Madness #26

Good Evening and welcome to the Antique Shopper . . .

Our first item is sent in by Mr. Thomas L. Scumbeater, and it's a wonderful
commemorative plate entitled "Who's a fat git, then?", specially
commissioned for His Majesty King Richard the XXIII on the occasion of his
consuming an entire baked horse during the Festival of Saint Flatulence in
1493. The plate is done in Crayola on Chinette and therefore isn't worth
the shit it would take to cover up this odious piece.

Next on our parade is another commemorative item, this one created in 1850.
It's worth is zilch, however, as there is absolutely no interest in
collectable rectal thermometers, even if they do commemorate the discovery
of hemmorhoid balm.

And finally, a wretched piece of garbage unsuitable for anything but lining
the bottom of nuclear waste dumps, issue #26 of Mike's Madness. . .

Now Playing in Cinema I:

Like "Cops"?

Like "Star Trek - The Next Generation"?

Then you're gonna have sticky underwear after you see:

     - - - - - -    - -    - - - - -
     K N A R K S    I N    S P A C E
     - - - - - -    - -    - - - - -

Join us in the 24'th century where science has lead us to an awe inspiring
advance in marijuana horticulture: An eighth of greenbud that doesn't
attract 50 "friends"!

Wesley: "PSST! Data! Data - over here! I copped a jay from my mom's
        stash! Dude - it's ALTERIAN!"

Data: "Young Ensign Crusher, I believe Alterian weed to be
      approximately 190% THC with some inert ingredients, which are also
      THC. Quite a . . . stony experience . . . as the vernacular goes."

Wes: "Cheese it, dude! It's Capt. Picard!"

     [Dudes, a few years ago, when TNG first came on, I posed as
     Hunter S. Thompson and crashed a Trek convention. Like all the
     main dudes were there, including Patrick Stewart. And there
     were like these HELLA gross chicks all lustin' after him. Dude
     - these were like whale chicks - 2 tonnes minimum, smelled
     like fish and you'd have to hold your breath to fuck one.
     Anyway, I was all "Dude! I'd hella hate to be Patrick Stewart
     because if one of these chicks caught you, you'd have to gnaw
     your own dick off to get away" and this chick sees me. I mean,
     I only knew she was a chick because basketballs normally don't
     have tits. She was like 4'2, a good 250 pounds [actually,
     there's nothing "good" about 250 pounds, lest it be the truly,
     righteously, wholly stony greenbud], wearing polyester, and green
     pants with this hella nasty wet spot around the crotch. And
     this nasty ol' woman spotted my alarming red-and-yellow press
     badge from across the convention floor and waddled a beeline
     towards me, pushing all sorts of normal people aside with her
     body odor.

     And she asks:

     "Are you a reporter?"

     And I said:

     "I remember this one time I was in Monterey and this fish
     cannery exploded, and even the stench of 9,000 tonnes of dead
     haddock rotting for 6 days under the summer sun smelled
     roughly 30 trillion times better than you do."
     
     Ignoring my ever-so-subtle rebuke, she asked:
     
     "You know what I'd do if I got Patrick Stewart in bed?"

     And I looked at her and whined:

     "Oh Christ, I'll give you 50 bucks if you don't!"

     And she began to describe, in hateful detail, a sex act so
     foul you wouldn't do it to a fox (at least not an attractive
     one). And when she arrived at, many vile hours later, "And then
     I'll make him sniff my panties" I blew three chili dogs and a
     good two gallons of Budweiser all over the front of this
     spherical woman. I then excused myself and jammed outta there
     and was back in Sacramento within the hour. 

     Moral: Dude - never, NEVER take your pants off at a Star Trek
     convention.]         -----

Picard: "Ensign Crusher! What is that you have behind your back?"

Data: "Alterian marijuana buds, Captain."

Wes: "KNARK!"

Picard: "Holdin' out! Why you little --"

Wes: "CAPTAIN! LOOK OUT! It's a grody 300 pound woman with a wet crotch and
     the hots for you!"

Picard: "AGGGRRRRRGGG! KILL IT! KILL IT! THROW SOAP AND DOUCHE AT IT!"

Data: "Ivory and Massengil right away, sir."

Wes: "GOT HER! Listen to her scream!"

Data: "Victory over foulness, Captain."

Picard: "Hey - where did young Ensign Crusher go?"

Data: "Computer -- Locate young Ensign Crusher."

Computer: "Ensign Crusher is blazing massive doobage in holodeck 3.
	  Program: The Last Prostitute."

Picard: "That's punishment enough. Commander Data, will you join me
        in my ready room?"

Data: "I thought you'd never ask . . ."

There will now follow a note from some whiner who watches
WAY too much TNG . . .

     Dear Miscreant,

     In your recent "humor" piece, you featured our beloved
     Commander Data saying "You'd". Commander Data would NEVER say
     "you'd" because he does not use contractions. However, he did
     say "Go fuck yourself, Beverley" in a recent episode called
     "Wesley Gets the Crap Beat Outta Him By a Couple of Ferengi",
     which was only shown in Australia.

                              Sincerely,

                              Mr.
                              Iwatchwwaytoomuchstartrekthenextgen
                              erationandmybrainhasturnedintospam.

P.S.: Speaking of Spam, it's time for the next bit . . .

#73: The next bit
#73: The next bit

Now playing in Cinema II:

Nominated for 7 Academy Awards including Best Picture and Most Likely to
Cause Violent Stomach Upset . . .

     Jodie Foster: "I stayed up late one night . . . I saw grandpa
                    herding them in the barn . . ."

Based on a story so nauseating that even a German might spew! 

     Anthony Hopkins: "Then what happened, Clorice?"

Proof that no act is so henious that someone isn't willing to try to make a
buck off it.

     Jodie: "Grandpa opened their little cans . . . I saw the pink
            meat . . . the jelly . . . they began to scream . . .

>From the author who brought you "THE GREAT ST. LOUIS ENEMA MASSACRE OF
1923", "TEENAGE MASTURBATION: A HOW-TO APPROACH" and no small number of
other books he shoulda kept to himself . . .

      - - - - - -      -      - -      - - - - 
     S I L E N C E    O F    T H E    S P A M S
      - - - - - -      -      - -      - - - -

     (filmed in glorious, 90mm Revolt-O-Vision)

Man standing in a huge heap of dung: "Oooooo! I wish there was some
                                     kind of software to go with that
                                     movie . . .

BOTTOM! 

                                     Oh, I wasn't 'posed to say that."

And now for Mr. D.Q. of D.C. . . .

#74: Also the next bit
#74: Also the next bit

D.Q.: "That's a link, innit? . . . NO! I don't wanna go back on
       the re-election trail, George! The nasty ol' press always
       makes fun of me! I have to sleep with Marilyn, isn't that
       punishment enough?"

     [Oh yeah, Mariyln Quayle - babe-a-licious. NOT! Someone PLEASE
     buy that woman a .12 gauge paper sack so we won't have to look
     at her face again. She's all turning reporters into statues at
     the press conferences and the snakes on her head keep biting
     children. I'm serious, she's the coyote date from hell, and
     Zippy went off and married her! If we'd seen her at the '88
     convention, we'd known Quayle was incapable of making rational
     decisions. I'd like to have seen Dan's internary for his
     wedding day:

     10am - order "Hooked on Phonics"
     11am - try it without the training wheels - again
     12am - Marry the ugliest woman since Grace McDaniels
     1pm  - See if "Hooked on Phonics" got here yet
     2pm  - ask mom about that "vagina" thing
     3pm  - see the ugliest woman since Grace McDaniels naked
     4pm  - blow
     5pm  - honk
     6pm  - spew
     7pm  - see if "Hooked on Phonics" got here yet
     8pm  - ralph
     9pm  - etc.]

Anyway, about that software . . .

You let 'em talk you into Windows . . .

     "Hey - what's this Unrecoverable Application thing?"

You let 'em talk you into Unix . . .

     "Hey - what're all these letters by the filenames?"

You shouldn't have let 'em talk you into this . . .

     "Hey - how come the only thing on my screen is
     'I can help you catch him, Clorice'?"

-----------------------------------------
NEW Lectorbase IV: Silence of the DRAM's!
-----------------------------------------

     "Hey - who took all these bites outta my nudie .GIF's?"

Available at all finer software outlets and slaughterhouses!

Lectorbase IV: "What's it do, this spreadsheet you sssssseek?"
(Personally endorsed by Ed Gien, Albert Fish, Alfred Packer, the
entire Uraguayan National Rugby Team and that Dahmler fella)

Also available atcher friendly local software dealer . . .

-------------
Jodiebase III:
-------------

     "Hey - there's something hinkley - er, hinkey - 'bout this
     thing . . ."

And now, presenting another amazing case from the files of England's most
amazing detective, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, in:

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Sherlock Holmes Nicks 5 and 8 From Watson and Spends it on Hookers and Coke"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Sherlock, I seem to be missing 5 and 8! Have you seen it?"

"I nicked it and spent the lot on hookers and coke, Watson."

"By Jove! Another case solved by the amazing mind of Mr. Sherlock Holmes!"

"Right.  Give us a fiver or I'll crap in your hat."

"I 'aven't got a fiver!"

"Very well, then . . . "

ZIIIIIIP!!

Now on BBC 2 a new program that's sure to amaze and delight you and
make you forget that France is a mere 25 miles away . . .

         L E T ' S   C R A P   I N    Y O U R   H A T !

(APPLAUSE)

Smarmy TV announcer: "Yes, yes, well played by a Mr. S. Holmes. --
                     mebbe a little preference for little boys and cocaine,
                     but a great mind never-the-less. And now on our show,
                     please welcome Mr. Tim Cancer of Ballsworth. 'ow are
                     you then?"

Tim: "I'm fine. Luv'ly day, innit? 'ere -- what's that man doin'
     over by me 'at?"

Announcer: "Never mind that! I understand you have an interesting
           hobby, derailing British Rail commuter expresses."

Tim: "I NEVER! Wha'? That man's taking down his trousers . . ."

Announcer: "No he isn't!"

Tim: "'e is so! Why's he squatting over me hat?!"

Announcer: "Just a local custom. I understand you slept with
           Felicity Kendell."

Tim: "'E JUST CRAPPED IN ME HAT!!!"

(Applause)

Announcer: "Another happy contestant. Now get sotted, you nasty
           little fox molester!"

Tim: "Wha? Them photos was FAKED!"

Announcer: "No they weren't either -- I had helpful and beloved
           Commander Data analyzed them photos, and it is indeed you
           engaging in completely undescribable vulpine harassing activities!"

Tim: "KNARK!"

Data: "It could be worse. I could sell Apple products . . ."

Tim and Announcer: "EEEEEEeeeeeeeewwwwwwwww . . ."

Data: "Here, do not forget your hat."  (SPLAT!)

I had ANOTHER dream.
And, it too, was horrible.
I was at work (and we all know why I'm not telling you where I
work) when Harry Bawls, the local Crapple Rep., came back into the
store.

     "Whazzup scuz?" I asked politely.

     "That's 'cuz' you dreary lad," he informed me.

     "Not in your case."

     "Boy, we got a new promo for the Apple II GS. A celebrity
spokesperson!"

     "Who? Rin-Tin-Tin? That'd make sense, a dog for a dog!"

     "Silence you insolent youth!"

     "So what poor sod is whoring their talent to push that dog dump the
Masters of Sunnyvale mistakenly call a computer?"

     "He's a political celebrity of the highest order! A man of his time! A
thinker amoung men!"

     "So you guys got Dan Quayle, huh?"

     "Bingo, m' lad!"

     "Oh gawd."

     "He had nothing to do with it."

     "That's for damn sure. Okay Harry, what do the Masters of Sunnyvale
want us to do?"

     "We want to bring Dan in the store and . . ."

     "FORGET IT! It took us WEEKS to clear the reek from that little
mis-hap with the II GS: The Next Generation! Bring Danny Boy in here and
we're gonna need an OCEAN of Lysol to remove the stench of bullshit from
the store!"

     "Are you insinuating our beloved Ex-Vice President would speak
anything but the truth?"

     "He's endorsing the GS, ain't he?"

     "Touche' you little bastard."

     "You better watch it, Harry. I'll bring that Compaq 486/50 over here..."

     "KEEP IT AWAY! KEEP IT AWAY!"

     "Thought so. If you ever got within 20 feet of a Compaq, that tiny wad
of phlegm that's been acting as your enfeebled brain would burst into
flames like the stinkin' Hindenburg."

     "Where did this firm acquire you from, lad? What happened to that nice
salesperson who used to sell our products?"

     "Spontaneous human combustion -- he strayed too close to a Compaq.
Lose more Crapple salesmen that way. They take one look at all the power
and it simply overloads the few brain cells they have."

     "Where'd you say that 486/50 was again?"

     "It's close, Harry. Trust me, it's close. And if ya smart off again,
I'll show you the product release for IBM's 586 board!"

     "That idle threat scares me not, lad. I know if IBM just sent out the
product release, it'll be at least another year and a half before the item
is actually in stores."

     "Well, ya got me there. HEY! Crapple should adopt that policy!  That
way people would have time to dig a slit trench or whatever else you're
supposed to do when there's a major disaster."

     "Look lad, I want you to put some of these pamphlets on the shelf.
It's Dan's endorsement of the II GS."

     "Lemme read that . . . HEY! This is from Rin-Tin-Tin, not Dan Quayle!"

     "Truth is not even Dan is dumb enough to endorse the GS!"

And now . . .

Number 30: Rin-Tin-Tin's endorsement of the II GS
           Rin-Tin-Tin's endorsement of the II GS

     Y'know, after a long afternoon of eating squirrels and biting
non-whites in the crotch, there's nothing I like better than pinching
off a nice, healthy log.  Just kinda hunker down and push 'til I
tremble.  Makes life worth living.  But what always amazes me is that
afterwards some tech from Crapple will come streaking out from behind
a tree yelling "Another CPU for a II GS!".

---- MEMO ----
   From: The Masters of Sunnyvale
     To: All Authorized Crapple Dealers
Subject: Verboten Vocabulary.

Is nicht on der speken uf:

o Crap (nope)
o Utter crap (nien)
o Complete and utter crap (nyte)
o Garbage (not even)
o 2 MHz (iz nitch on der speken of this vun)
o Cash refund (iz especially nicht on der speken of zis)
o Dog turd (don't you do it)
o Consumer protection legislation (say it and you'll go the camp)
o Richard M. Nixon (well . . . a little is ok)
o Compaq (absolutely none of this!)
o Steve Wozniak sucks the shmegma from slimey green donkey dicks!
o Hey! Who put that in there?
o What?
o THAT! ^
o "Hey! Who put that in there?"?
o NO! The other one!
o The "what" part?
o No no no! You know!
o Uh, 'fraid I don't, guv.
o The thing about donkey dicks!
o "Steve Wozniak sucks the shmegma from slimey green donkey dicks"?
o SHHHHHHHHHHH!
o That it then, innit?
o Yes! I wonder who put that in there?
o Hey, who's that bloke in the "Compaq" shirt?
o I dunno . . . HEY! WHAT'S THAT IN HIS HAND?!
o It's a Compaq Systempro Quad 486!!!
o ROTTEN BLOODY CHRIST!!

     * * *  huh-BOOOM! * * *
     crackle-crackle-crackle

"It's burst into flames! It crashin and falling! And all of humanity with
it! Flames, some nearly an inch high!  The shrieks of the .  . . oh - it's
out now."

     This famous broadcast and scores of others just like it can now be
yours to listen to and enjoy in the comfort of your own home, barn or
outhouse! Scam-Tech proudly announces (for those of you who are not in
law enforcement):

     GREAT ANTI-CLIMAXES OF HISTORY!

Thrill to men almost landing on the moon!

"Uh roger, Huston, one-niner-six, 5 yards and descending . . . a
little to the right now [beep] . . . 3 yards . . . picking up a
little dust. Firing jets . . . 1 yard . . . we're in shadow now
[beep!] . . . contact! Roger, Huston - the Eagle has landed.

     Oh shit, we're in Cleveland!"

Get all hot and breathy as the Japanese nearly attack Pearl Harbor!

     "And here come the Japanese planes! Score of Zero's filling
the air! This is Hickam Field! We're . . . oh, they've gone now.
Nevermind."

Become nearly orgasmic as the first atomic bomb doesn't explode!

"7 . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . "

[dead silence]

". . . bummer, dude."

Eject long, ragged spurts of seminal fluid as Mike's Madness comes
to an end!

(push the button, Frank)

Assorted offensive tripe keyed in by no other than: Mike Beebe.

-----
(C) 1993 Yucks for You, Inc.

Mike's Madness is written by Mike Beebe.
Mike currently has no internet mailing address.
Send all feedback to <[email-masked]> and it will be forwarded.
Back-issues: anonymous ftp from <bikini.cis.ufl.edu> (128.227.224.1)
             in directory /pub/mikesmad. (Thanks, Eric!)
Mailing list additions/deletions: <[email-masked]>