Good Cop, Bad Cop, Fat Cop

Dear Cartman,

I used to be a general, and my armies helped to destroy the Roman Empire. After I cut the head off of a very good man, I was filled with God’s love, and I became a priest. For centuries, I lived inside my church, never going out, until one day, I forgot all about being a priest and became a general again.

Now I can’t decide what to do. There’s this Immortal who everyone is trying to get me together with, but he has a big sword, if you know what I mean. Then there’s this lovely Latin lady, oh, and I met this woman who’s the incestuous sister of a famous poet. Part of me wonders if I should go back to the church, but part of me wants to be the General.

What do I do?

Signed,
Father ‘Fraidy Cat

*****
( Read more... )

A new column appears in the morning paper, as well as on the Internet. It's called "Dear Cartman", and it features the wise advice of one Eric Cartman. People from all over the world write to the eight year old for his unique perspective on their deepest personal issues.

Dear Cartman,

I can't hear the drums anymore! Even though they were driving me insane, I think that the silence will drive me even more out of my mind! Plus, he's keeping me his prisoner! Help me!

Signed,
Harold


Dear Harold,

Silence is golden. Shut the fuck up and put on some Motley Crue, if you want drums. What's driving you nuts is that no one's been banging your fucking bongos, Ricky Ricardo, so quit your candy ass whining, and tell him that even death row guys get a conjugal visits, for fuck's sake. This is why they have riots in prisons, and butt raping, and all that other nasty shit. Unless he wants to toss your salad, tell him to give you an overnighter.

And if he's driving you out of your mind, it's probably a pretty short trip. In reverse. So cut the Folsom Prison Blues and be glad you don't have to wear an orange jumpsuit, OJ.

Candy ass...and what kind of gay name is Harold?

Signed,
Notyomama


***************

Dear Cartman,

My brother is the successful one in the family. He's been a fighter pilot, and now he's a successful politician. Plus, he can fly! How can I ever hope to measure up to him?

Signed,
Not Peter Pan


Dear Not Peter Pan,

Kill him. Take everything that's his. Wear his favorite suit to his funeral when you have intercourse with his wife and girlfriend and secretary. Bury him in a dress.

Or, if you're too much of a hippie pussy for that, shut the fuck up and get over it.

Decisively yours,
Cartman


***************

Dear Cartman,

I'm an Immortal banker, and so good looking that I can't keep the women and men from chasing me around for my studly body. I'm rich, a warlord, tough and hung like a horse. I'm beginning to feel like everyone is jealous of me, and I don't have any real friends. At night, I cuddle up with my stuffed woobie bwankie, and cry myself to sleep, because no one understands my inner sweet side. How can I find someone who will love me for who I am, and just just judge me by my bank account, yacht, helicopter, killer bod and piercing pale blue eyes?

I'm so pathetically lonely! Help!

Signed,
A boy named Sue


Dear Bitch Boy,

Stop killing people, dumbass. It makes you seem unapproachable. Try something new, like doing standup comedy at open mike night, or singing karaoke. Chicks dig it when guys do stupid shit to impress them.

Or, you could just give all of your money to ME! Then you'd be poor and good looking, and chicks love that shit.

Seriously, dude, you have to watch the smug shit, or you'll get sucked into your own asshole, just like San Francisco. It's pretty fucking ugly. Try learning some humility. Poverty makes you humble, or at least look pathetic. Give it a try!

Smugly,
Cartman

Two signals were sent. Two heroes were sent for.

One of them was aboard the TARDIS. His tall, lanky frame strode with purpose and determination, with his three companions behind him. There was the lovely Rose Tyler, and her fiance, Lord Byron. And then there was the stunningly beautiful Aislinn.
( Read more... )

Torchwood Three - Wales

In the dim, but oddly flattering, light of Torchwood Three, Jack Harkness is in his office, singing under his breath while reading his reports.

Bend over like a doggy, here comes the loggy!
We can do it like a monkey, or a froggy.
You can play with my Sony, grab my pony.
I don't like blow-up dolls cuz they too phony!
You liked from the back side? The rough ride?
So dip-dip-dip dive!

Boy, you look good, you need to back that ass up!
You're a big fine man! Back that ass up!
Call me big daddy when you back that ass up!
Ianto quit playing! Back that ass up!
( Read more... )