Said Kevin Johnson, Chief Prosecutor with the Los Angeles division of the U.S. Department of Justice, “They set the benchmark for setting a course for adventure. Never before have we seen such blatant crimey-ness. They did it on national television, right in front of our faces, and they did it for real. These two shows should be recognized as the first wave of Reality TV. Soon they’ll be making another run, alright. A run straight to prison.”

At the forefront of the scheme were the two major players: Captain Merrill Stubing and Mr. Roark. Both were the alleged drug kingpins in the scheme that trafficked drugs via air to ship to land, infiltrating the U.S. and Canada with an estimated 500 tons of popular street drugs throughout the late seventies and early eighties, including Cocaine (street names: California cornflakes, Foo Foo Dust, Society High), Marijuana (Aunt Mary, Colorado Cocktail, Green Goddess), Quaaludes (‘ludes), and Heroin (Hi, Courtney Love!).

Unknown to most viewers, The Love Boat was actually cruising to Fantasy Island on every episode, where it would pick up a shipment of drugs that had been dropped from an airplane. This may account for the overzealous reaction of Tattoo on every episode, anxiously awaiting the drug drop and uttering those famous words, “Ze Plane, Ze Plane”. From there, the Love Boat would sell drugs onboard the ship and then distribute the rest on its return back to the U.S.

Furthered Johnson, “We believe that the proceeds from these deals allowed Mr. Roark to continuously supply his own addiction to fine Corinthian leather.”

According to the DEA, the major players in the ring were:

Captain Stubing and Mr. Roarke – trafficking ringleaders.

Tattoo – communications officer between air and land; linguist

Dr. “Doc” Adam – overseer of overdoses or drug related maladies.

Gopher - Drug runner…. it wasn’t just a clever name.

Isaac -  Logistics, Personnel, DJ, and Bartender

Julie McCoy – on-board party organizer, known for drug and sex-themed parties such as “The High Seas” and “Coco Puffs and Coladas”.

Vicki Stubing (Captain Stubing’s daughter) – child prostitute / coke whore.

Upon arrest, Captain Stubing commented, “It took you guys long enough to figure this out. As if people would really go on a cruise just for love. It was the 70’s and 80’s, man. It was all about Coke and Ludes, big hair, big shoulder pads, and partying like it was 1999.”

“That was some good shit, ya betcha,” said former Alaska Governor Sarah Palin when asked about the Love Boat’s one Alaska run. “I remember looking west, keeping an eye on those commie bastards from Russia, and that boat would obscure my view. Maybe we should consider charges of hindering national defense, too, ya? I wonder if Isaac is related to Obaaaaaaama….”

All members of the syndicate are currently being held until bail is set at Aaron Spelling’s luxury mansion in Beverly Hills. Calls to the mansion by the WSFB were taken by Torii Spelling and typically involved her asking this reporter what she was wearing.

“We’re sick and tired of not really having anything to protest about,” says event organizer Kevin Johnson. “Oops,” added Johnson, “I just ended a sentence with a preposition. That’s exactly the kind of mediocrity that has us so ambivalent! Our school system let me graduate using that kind of imperfect but not atrocious grammar, yet taught me enough to know that it’s incorrect. Where is the injustice of that? What are we supposed to protest about…sorry, about what are we supposed to protest?”

Added Johnson, “This Administration calls itself ‘progressive.’ We stand here today united against progress of any kind. Comrade Obama needs to understand: we’re here, we’re queer, and we have entirely too much discretionary time and money. Oh wait. We’re not queer. Well, Steve maybe, but not the rest of us.”

Like a defeated samurai in ancient Japan would fall upon his short sword when his shame was too unbearable, Mr. Toyota drove a midnight blue colored Prius with extra thick floormats across the Chuo Expressway, bringing about a silent and honorable death.

Wall Street had a mixed reaction to the move. Early investors interpreted Mr. Toyota’s act as a signal of a renewed commitment to quality and safety.  Other investors were less sure. Kevin Johnson, of Pinto Ventures, a large automobile industry investor group, said “Isn’t that kind of weird? He works for Toyota….and his last name is Toyota? Dude.”

As of July 2009, TwitterPornBots had conquered actual humans in our twitter-realm in terms of followermanship. WSFB was the clear favorite among bots in and around the global pornography industry.

The byproduct of a free and open social networking society means the WSFB has garnered a sizable contingent of TwitterPornBot followers.

However, due to our unrelenting efforts and consistent persistence, we have turned the tables on the TwitterPornBot brigade and have secured a 60% stake in the human twatter market as of October 1st.

While mostly harmless the TwitterPornBots may contain links to sites that harbor malicious code but may also have erotic and titillating profile photos that both stimulate and amuse. It’s a toss up, or off.

A sampling of our actual human follower base shows our popularity to be far reaching, transcending normal sociological borders to include folks such as West Seattle Hardcore, Chow Foods, candidate for King County Executive – Dow Constantine, and that kooky old supercrazy – Charles Manson.

Clearly we have the most broad follower base in the blogosphere and our efforts don’t go ignored.

Please feel free to follow us on the web via Twitter and join the growing diverse ranks of superior human twatters!

The painting, by a little known artist named Leonardo da Vinci, has been relegated to the rear wall in a cafeteria in Milan for almost 500 years and has gone practically unnoticed. That is, until textile worker Fabio Sforkinza noticed something unusual about the painting.

“I was just looking at the painting one day,” Sforkinza said. “It was just another painting of Christ, like all the others. Then, I noticed something. I could see the face of Jesus, plain as day, right there in the middle of the canvas. I fell to my knees and prayed.”

Since Sforkinza’s discovery, Christians from around the world have made the pilgrimage to Milan to lay eyes upon the miraculous appearance of Jesus in a painting of Christ. Kevin Johnson, of Tyler Texas, recently made the trip and was convinced that what he saw in the painting of Christ was none other than Jesus himself.

“I’ve seen Jesus in a Cheeto, a burrito, and a piece of bread. It’s the first time I’ve seen Jesus in something inedible though, and that’s about all I need to know. I don’t care what anyone says, that’s Jesus up there on that painting of Christ.”

http://www.jesuspan.com/

“They can take me away from my home, but they cannot have my hat” declares Zelaya. “There are two things I do without a hat, and being President of Honduras is only one of them, if you know what I’m saying. I also don’t wear a hat when having relations, and by relations I mean sex with my wife.”

Zelaya’s removal was the result of a coup concocted by Honduran elites who feared he was attempting to change their constitution to allow more than a single term, which is the current limit for presidential tenure.

“We don’t need another Hugo Chavez in Latin America” quips Juan de Llardo, Vice-President of the Honduran Project Management Institute. “One of those guys is enough!”

However, concern is growing about what may lay underneath Zelaya’s Stetson Lakota as two of the four Honduran nuclear warheads have been reported as missing and Zelaya was the last person to guard the shoebox that contained them prior to the coup.

“We’re attempting to rule out all other possibilities” says Jose de Huevos Rancheros, Honduran Minister of Nuclear Affairs. “Right now we are just trying to count these things.”

The Stetson Lakota – a 100% wool cowboy hat with a 4 5/8″ crown and 4″ brim – is large and luxurious enough to conceal two Honduran “el loco” class nuclear warheads while simultaneously providing the style, look, and comfort that only Stetson can deliver. The Lakota and all other publicly available Stetson hats can be found at stetsonhat.com.

Stetson. It fits.

The truth is this fucking thing has the ability to kill you and everyone around you. Dead.

Let’s step back from the organically sustainable section at your local organic green market shoppe, and take a good hard look at this deeply lobed assassin.

Scenario #1 – Picnic

You’re at the park with your family. Your picnic basket contains an array of delectable treats, including a freshly blanched artichoke. You’re standing while you prepare the table to receive your food items, when one of your children comes running up to you and you spiral around to grab the mayonnaise when you lance the poor child in the jugular vein and inflict mortal injury.

Scenario #2 – Sunday Dinner

You’re hosting a Sunday dinner. Aunt Fleaux from Boca Raton is in town and you decided to make a special dish; artichoke Parmesan dip. You’re in the kitchen, getting ready to prepare the uncooked artichoke when Aunt Fleaux enters the room unbeknown to you, and grabs you by the waist. You spiral around in fright, the artichoke stem firmly in your iron grip, and project the steely thistle into the belly of Aunt Fleaux causing her irreparable intestinal damage from which she later expires.

Scenario #3 – Those People

In this final scenario, you’re in the kitchen preparing an all artichoke dinner while  looking out the window that faces your street. You notice two of those people coveting your mailbox area and you decide to investigate. Because you’re in a fight or flight state of mind, you’ve still got the raw artichoke in your hand and you’re holding it like a dagger. You approach those people and say, “what’s all this then?”. They immediately flee towards Whiskey Woods and you do not give chase. Instead, you abruptly turn to go back into the house when you impale your neighbor Bob in the groin with your artichoke as he had come out to see what was going on and to assist you if necessary. You see, Bob is very tall and his groinal region is about elbow-level to you and well, it was an accident after all. Bob is not seriously injured, but he may as well be dead after having a raw artichoke jammed into his crotchal area omfg can you imagine the pain.

Clearly you can see the potential life threatening and reproductive  organ defecting capability of the modern artichoke. Don’t you think it’s about time you find another kind of thistle to eat?

“If you were missing a foot, you’d think you’d tell someone about it, right?” said the girl-screaming man, who wished to remain anonymous for obvious reasons. “Look at me, two feet. If one was suddenly gone? BAM! Phone call. I’m not sure who I’d call, but I have enough minutes on my T-Mobile plan that I’d start hitting some digits. This is just too bizarre.”

The West Seattle Police Department was called to the scene and immediately began crowd dispersal. “Nothing to see here people. One foot in front of the other. Keep ‘em moving.” WSPD also confirmed that this is not the first time this sort of thing has happened.

It has been widely speculated that the foot, as well as previously beached feet, once belonged to members of a Qingdao, China dance troupe. The Stilted Shandongers, named after the province in which Qingdao is located, are notoriously dedicated to their trade. It has been rumored that initiation rites into the group require inductees to “sever their feet and throw them into the sea”. Stilts are then surgically implanted where the feet once were.

Asked if Pacific Ocean currents could feasibly carry severed feet from China to West Seattle, Jarl Cederholm of the Pacific Ocean Observation Party (POOP), replied, “Ja.”

When told of this dance troupe / self-mutilation theory, the baldish foot-finding man stated, “How are you supposed to be a real live action figure and kick someone’s ass if you don’t have any feet? That’s just fucking stupid.”

Pete@westseattlefunblog.com

So listen. I know everyone thinks being Ke … I mean “Ben” is awesome and all that. I have a killer body, great hair, fantastic smile, and a smokin’ hot girlfriend known the world over. Fame, fortune, good looks, I have it all, right? I mean seriously, even Brad Pitt hasn’t got shit on me. Yeah, he’s got Angelina and all, and taggin’ that shit day in and day out must have its advantages, but how many fuckin’ kids has she dragged back from Bophutswana or whereverthefuck and set up at the Casa de Brangelina? Christ lady you’re a movie star, not Old Mother Hubbard. Give it a rest.

But I digress. Let’s get back to what’s important here, and that’s me. You think I’ve got it all? Are you kidding me? I don’t care how many friends and dream houses and sports cars I may have, because all that shit? It’s nothing. Meaningless, materialistic bullshit. It means nothing to me. And I’d give every bit of it up in a heartbeat for just one thing.

Please, just give me a cock.

Seriously, this shit is fucked up. You know what sort of numbers I could rack up if I had a dick? I’m literally surrounded by hot-as-hell faker-than-shit chicks who think I’m, like, the only guy in the entire world. And in many ways that’s true. I mean, have you seen the crowd I hang around with? I swear, the chick:dude ratio is like 15:1. And most of the guys? Well, let’s just say that they really dig the chick’s accessories a bit more than the average horndog.

And maybe that’s a coping mechanism, you know? Because those guys? You guessed it: no dicks either. Although if they had them I swear they’d spend most of their time trying to figure out how to adjust their package so it didn’t fuck up the fit of their jeans.

But if I had a cock, I could lay some serious pipe. No competition at all.

Think about how fucked up this is. You’ve seen my body, right? Well, you don’t get stacked like that accidentally. I spend, on average, like 3 hours a day at the gym. And when my workout’s done and I hit the showers, it’s a bit awkward. I mean, everywhere I look, there’s guys. Naked guys. And they all have dicks except me. Me? No dick. And you think guys don’t check? Think again. Everybody checks. I can hear their snickers.

They call me “Mr. Smooth,” and claim it’s because I’m so slick with the ladies. But I know what they really mean.

So please, someone, help me out here. I’m not looking for anything outrageous. I don’t need some sort of Foot Long Jet Propelled Dream Schlong with Optional Kick Starter. I just want a basic, average size, functional ABS plastic cock. It’s not too much to ask. Please, help me become a real fake plastic man.

And while you’re at it, a pair of nipples wouldn’t suck either.