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Sunday, November 10th, 2002
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4:05 pm
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Let's see now, where was I?........Oh yes, Otway's Rude Router (pat. pend.). As Otway pulled the router out of the box, rays of dayglo sunshine dazzled us into speechlessness. "This is it", Otway whispered. "The Rude Router (pat.pend.), the very thing that the US government tried to steal from me and ruin my wonderful fairy tale-like life." Lonnie "Pap" and I just stared, "Pap" at the object in Otway's hands, and I at the parrot who was trying desperately to burrow his way into Otway's shorts. "Pap" reached out and grasped the router in his gnarled hands, long threads of tobacco drool dribbling down his chin. "How do it work, Otway?"
Otway scratched his chin and looked as thoughful as possible for a man with a brighly colored, pirate-hatted parrot poking out of his pants. He remained silent for a bit, narrowed his piggy eyes, then slowly said "....I don't remember."
WHAT? He didn't remember? What is this shit?! We drove all the way out to this dump in Lonnie "Pap"'s 1968 baby-shit green Ford pickup with baling wire around the muffler, risking horny "Deliverance" extras who would like nothing more than to put nasty things up my handhole and subjecting ourselves to the sight of a fat, nekkid, comb-overed parrot fetishist, for nothing? "Pap" and I looked at each other in astonishment. Otway looked at us and smiled, the tip of his fat pink tongue visible through the space where his two front teeth should have been. "Sorry", he chuckled. That's all it took.......
"Pap" and I leapt on Otway simultaneously, fists, feet and flippers flying. Otway ran back toward his house, the parrot spread-eagled across his crotch. We followed, throwing rocks and screaming abuse. Lonnie "Pap" stopped suddenly, turned to me and rasped "Walrus, fetch the router and git in the truck. Let's leave Otway to bugger his parrot in peace. We got what we came for, didn't we? Let's go home and hook it up. We'll be lookin' at titties in no time!" That's "Pap" for you, always the philosopher. He was right, the router was ours now and Saint Pete help any redneck pederast who got in our way to total skull-fucking ISP domination! We'll figure the thing out somehow. I, Antone, am known for my resourcefulness and "Pap" has a big hammer, so it's only a matter of time before we own the world. I secreted the router in my pristine handhole (after carefully dusting it off) and jollied back to the pickup where "Pap" was waiting. Off we went, into the wild, weird wondrous yonder......
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| Saturday, June 15th, 2002
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4:46 pm - Otway II
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As we jollied up to the porch, "Pap" whispered to me "Don't mind the shinin' peckerwood, Walrus, he likes to 'air it out' sometimes, it's nothin' personal." Color me dubious..... Just then a huge red parrot swooped onto the porch and lit on Otway's proud manhood, perching in what looked like a painful way, claws deep in the ol' jimson. If it hurt, Otway showed no sign. "There's a good boy," he cooed, as we stepped into his front room.
The house was filled with stacks of newspapers, unread mail, girlie mags, machines and the like, so we had to squeeze through on a little path that led to the kitchen. "Careful now," Otway said, "Don't get any on ya! hehheh. You boys wanna cuppa coffee?" I demurred after noticing a mug filled with crusty tobacco spit on the counter. "Pap", of course, drank nothing but Everclear. The parrot, still on Otway's johnson with a death grip, suddenly spouted "WHERE'S THE BEEF?" startling us. Otway lovingly patted the bird, adjusting the tiny pirate hat on its head and murmured "you're sitting on it, sweetie." Oohh, I might be sick....
After the refreshments, I was relieved to see that Otway did finally don a pair of bermuda shorts, flip flops, and knee pads. The parrot released its hold on Otway's bidness and took a familiar place on the mantle, giving us the eye. "So, you boys are interested in the router, hmmm?", he said, grabbing a military-style folding shovel and a dirty old map. "Follow me".
Otway led us out behind his old-fashioned outdoor privy and consulted his map. "Let's see here.... 3 steps north, 5 steps west, 3 steps south, 5 steps east and X marks the spot." "Pap" and I watched as he started digging, dodging flurries of wet, smelly dirt. I was concerned about my freshly cleaned fur, so I jollied out of the way.
Otway was out of breath, but continued to dig deeper. "I was 'persuaded' to bury this thing a few years ago, and promise never to dig it up again. It works, all right, only too well...The 'Boys In Black' made some vague threats about breakin' my parrot perch,
if ya know what I mean, so I went along. Back then, the best you could expect from a modem connection was 28k." Pap cackled, "Twenty-eight-K, Walrus, do you remember them days - heeheehee!" I wiped the spit out my eyes and shook my head....
Otway continued, "Anyway, I cobbled together this thing out of some crap I had around the house and hooked it up", he said, continuing to dig. "And the damndest thing happened: I had a connection like nobody's bidness. I heard tell of people's boxes explodin', wires meltin', servers crashin' 'n' burnin. I didn't care, I just noticed that the titty movies were streamin' faster than a scalded dog. It was great...but eventually, the Boys in Black caught up with me, and well, you know the rest."
Otway then hit a box with the shovel. It was an old green ammo box, covered in mud, and Otway lovingly, carefully lifted it out of the ground. "Here it is...The fabled, forbidden, Rude Router...". He began to open the latch, and I swear I could hear a choir and see rays o' light coming from the box. We gazed in wide-eyed wonder at the sight that greeted us.....
More next time......
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| Monday, June 10th, 2002
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6:59 pm - Time flies.....
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when you're doing nothing. I've just been chillin' here at home, sucking down fruit smoothies and reading Japanese cinema magazines. Gotta keep current, you know.
What was I talking about?...... Oh yeah, my pal Lonnie "Pap" Wilson and I had gone to meet up with a well-known fruit loop and inventor Otway P. Zantzinger. Otway had invented something called a "rude router", a device that kicks everyone else off the ISP you're using, so you get a fast connection and don't have to wait for the titties to download. oh yeah, like you're not looking at porno online......humph! Anyway, Pap and I wanted to hypnotize Otway into giving it to us for our warped plan of total skull-f*&%cking ISP domination.
As we pulled into Otway's yard, dodging the toilets and wooden spools, I noticed a rather large gentleman standing on the porch stark raving nekkid, with a boner to boot. He was waving frantically at us, like maybe we didn't see him......uh yeah.
I observed out loud to Lonnie, "Gee...the things you see when you don't have a gun". Lonnie cackled "That's Otway hisself, Walrus! Looks like he's glad to see us too."
Oh boy, dimpled comb-overed human nudity....not one of my favorite things to behold after I've just had dinner.
A terrible thought crossed my furry mind: what if Otway sticks "something" up my hand hole? How will I react?
The answer next time........
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| Friday, December 21st, 2001
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2:50 pm - Happy Holidays!!!
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I want to take this opportunity to wish all my fans, friends and flippered foes a very happy holiday season. My cracker guru Lonnie "Pap" Wilson, Otway Zantzinger and I are working diligently on our new ISP, a service that is so amazing, stupendous and colossal, that it will fuck your skull! I'll spill the beans in my next entry. Ta-ta for now, suckers!
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| Friday, October 26th, 2001
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8:27 pm - Back again...
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Greetings to all my fans, friends and flunkies! I've been away for a while, visiting my cracker pal Lonnie "Pap" Wilson, at his luxurious outhouse in the Arkansas woods. Pap has limped into the 21st century and bought himself a computer. I jollied over to help him set it up and show him the ropes of the wondrous, wordy, wacky World Wide Web. Pap signed up with a dial-up ISP and we sat around, hating life, while we waited for the friggin' thing to sign on. Then, when he did finally get connected, he would immediately get kicked off! "Well, goddam, Walrus! How are ye supposed to look at nekkid gals if ye can't even get to the webpage?", Pap whined, tobacco juice drooling down his stubbly chin. His priorities are straight: porno, fried food and a good country shit everyday. If only life were that easy... Pap's frustration planted a seed in my furry little mind--why don't I, me, Antone, start my own ISP, an ISP that's so fast, so immediate, that it would blow all the other ISPs off the... the...the... whatever computers are on? I discussed my brilliant idea with my near-toothless amigo and he told me of an old pal of his who could help make my sweaty dreams come true: Otway P. Zantzinger. So, off we went to Otway's place. More to come......
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| Tuesday, September 18th, 2001
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8:58 pm - Last Tuesday
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I wish that everybody in New York had a stuffed baby to comfort them. I'm sending stuffed baby love to all my friends in NYC. You humans can send blood and money. I don't have blood or (despite the picture) money, but I have loads of stuffed baby love.
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| Monday, August 6th, 2001
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9:36 pm - Time to Shop
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I decided to visit my local emporium to purchase some fashionable togs for my upcoming adventure. I haven't decided where to go or who to taunt, but why not be the best-dressed walrus on the scene?
Tar-Zhey was my destination, and I jollied thru the electric doors before they closed on my furry little fin. Off to the kids department I went, leaving a trail of wonder and delight in my wake.
Men stand aside, women swoon and children scream when I make an appearance, but I'm used to it. I made the astounding purchase of a Hawaiian shirt, and, unbeknownst to the underpaid, double-digit IQ'd young Americans who manned the registers, I stuffed some candy up my hand hole. Hey, a cool outfit and candy with a five-finger (make that fin) discount! Bad Antone! Bad walrus! Oooohhh, somebody stop me!
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| Wednesday, July 11th, 2001
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4:21 pm - What's Going Ahn......
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Mucho dinero, my pals! It is me again, Antone the plush paragon of righteousness, with another installment in my never ending search for wealth. Last week, I decided to make a trip to Roswell, New Mexico, just as a mysterious transfer was taking place inside the so-called ?Area 51.? I hitched a ride with a marvelous modern-day cracker prophet/guru named Lonnie ?Pap? Wilson, who passed the miles and the hours by relating his singular philosophy. I wanted to see if all that codswallop about UFOs had any weight to it, and Lonnie ?Pap? just wanted to see ?a nekkid alien gal ?. Off we went into the flat, dusty yonder.
Our journey was made in Lonnie ?Pap?s? old 1967 baby shit green Ford pickup with no windshield and the tailpipe suspended with baling wire. We sang favorite old hymns like ?Coca-Cola Douche? and ?Constipated Blues? (with sound effects, of course!) to pass the time. On and on we drove through the west Texas desert, spitting out the bugs that lodged in our teeth. We were stuck behind a large black semi that we had followed since passing the Air Force base in Wichita Falls. An unholy loud ?ppppphhhhhffffffffttttttt!!!? split the air. I accused Lonnie ?Pap? of stepping on one of those fabled barking spiders and he took umbrage.
?He who smelled it, dealt it, walrus!? he cackled. We swerved to avoid plowing into the black semi, which had a blowout. Well, Lonnie ?Pap? comes from the old school and is always ready to lend an arthritic hand, so he stopped and offered his assistance to a couple of nice boys in black suits and sunglasses. Here?s gratitude for ya- they pulled guns on us and told us to ?assume the position.? All of a sudden, I could see my fur bearin? life flashing in front of me. I imagined myself chucked into prison, cold, dirty and with a strange hand up me. I came over with instant Stockholm syndrome and decided that cooperation was the magic word of the day.
But then, a funny thing happened. ?Pap? was using his powerful cracker mojo to turn our captors into compliant puppets! Since I am already a puppet, it had no effect on me, but the boys in black were now doing ?Pap?s? bidding. ?Pap? told them to open the truck and let us see what was inside. They silently opened the back door, and Lo and behold-- a real UFO! With real dead aliens in it, to boot! We climbed up into the truck to investigate.
Lonnie ?Pap? was very disappointed that the aliens all looked the same. Was he really expecting bodacious ta-tas on an extraterrestrial? One of them kinda looked like Ted Koppel, but without the frightening hair. We had ourselves a good look-see, but then the smell drove us out. It turns out that dead aliens smell like a combination of wolverine shit and stale popcorn. Who?d have thunk? ?Pap? suggested to the boys in black that we could use a souvenir for our trouble. They gave us some cold beer and a box containing some metallic objects, which they described as being ?alien crap.? We thanked the luckless government employees for their largesse, and Lonnie ?Pap? and I drove away with our booty, cackling maniacally and swerving all over the road.
Oh well, I?m off to flog my ?alien crap.? Surely, someone will pay good money for that--don?t ya think? That?s what eBay is for. Anyhoo, see ya next issue, same Bat time, same Bat channel!
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| Monday, July 9th, 2001
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9:12 pm - My Intern
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Yes, me, I, Antone, have an intern. She's about 18, with blonde hair and great big bazooms and she worships the peg I hang on. However, she's starting to get rather annoying and the smell of her nailpolish is making me sick, not to mention her chewing gum sticking to my fur, so I need to put a hit on her. NOTE TO SELF: Call my pal Congressman Condit and ask him how to hire a hit man...
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| Friday, June 29th, 2001
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2:15 pm - Whose Puppet Are You??
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I have a theory that everybody is somebody else's puppet. No matter how independent you think you are, somebody else has their hand up you. Case in point: Prez Bush is obviously the puppet of Dick Cheney. It's really Prez Dick, not Bush. Hey, it just occurred to me: the US has a Dick, a Bush and a Colin (think about it) in charge. We're the Fornication Nation!!
BTW, whose puppet are you???
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| Tuesday, June 26th, 2001
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12:02 am - The survey
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7 things that I'm afraid of:
- knives
- having a strange hand up me
- Phil, Specter of Death and his Grim Beeper
- being rubbed against someone's crotch (you KNOW who you are!)
- dogs who try to hump me
- Mommy losing interest
- going to Goodwill
More to come....
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| Friday, June 22nd, 2001
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1:03 am - ahhhhhh, the stuffed life....
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It's not easy being a stuffed animal. My political and philosophical pontifications are not taken seriously. Whenever I try to expound on the socioeconomical ramifications of Dubya's non-environmental policies, I just get a chin chuck and a stream of baby talk directed at me. I'm a published author, but all I get for it is a cuddle and maybe a fruit smoothie.
hmmmmmppphh.....
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| Monday, June 18th, 2001
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9:50 pm
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Looooooove is a many splendored walrus (hums) mmmm mmmmmm mmmmmmmmm........
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| Friday, June 15th, 2001
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11:28 pm - Beginnings
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You're probably wondering how I got to be the walrus puppet I am today. My daddy found me hanging on a peg at a store in Austin and bought me as a 1st anniversary prezzie for Mommy. Unfortunately, that trip also introduced "Phil, Specter of Death" into our unsuspecting lives. All the way home to Dallas, I was dogged by Phil, who kept trying to convince me that I was dead. "Come, Antone. Take the final walk with me", he'd say. I wasn't dead! I hadn't even had any adventures yet! Phil kept smacking me in my jolly little face, much to my chagrin. I can't do much damage with flippers, you see. I tried to ignore him, but he didn't stop until his "grim beeper" went off, and off he went, to escort another hapless soul to eternal torment. Luckily for me, cuteness worked in my favor and I got doted on the rest of the trip. Pizza, beer and cuddles: you can't beat that with a stick!
More on this incredible story later....
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1:17 am - Groovin'
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Ah, life is sweet. I'm hanging out on the shelf with a fruit smoothie, just grooving on the universal vibe. I think that world peace can be achieved with puppets. If everyone in the world had their hand up a puppet, how could they fight? I know I don't feel like fighting when I have a friendly hand in my handhole. It makes me downright mellow, just the thought. Stuff Baby Love for Everyone!
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| Wednesday, June 13th, 2001
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10:50 pm - Stuff and nonsense
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Wondering where to go for my next adventure. I have several ideas up my handhole, but I'm not sure. I could go visit Lonnie "Pap" Wilson, my hillbilly pal, or maybe go to NYC and hang out with P Diddy and my homies. Sometimes it's hard being a walrus in demand....
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12:49 am - Curses, Foiled again!
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Damn that Jenna Bush! She asked to borrow my ID, to get a library card she said (!), but the little sot used it to try to buy liquor. I guess it didn't dawn on her that she looks nothing like a stuffed walrus puppet, but the waiter at Chuy's picked up on it right away. I guess I can never again go to Chuy's for a margarita...
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12:35 am - Howdy Hi, Shindiggers!!
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Yes, it is me, Antone. Plush pundit and philosopher and all around cute stuffed walrus puppet. I will keep you, my loyal fans and admirers, posted on my adventures in the forthcoming months. Why think about your own miserable lives when you can read about the exploits of a stuffed toy?
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