The West Seattle Center for Conventions and Trade Shows (WSCCTS) is hosting the Irritable Bowel Syndrome Association’s 2010 annual show. This year, the title of the show is “Pride: Own Our Philosophy!”

“This year’s POOP theme is about acknowledgement and acceptance for everyone with IBS,” said Horacio Honeybucket from the Washington Bureau of IBS. “We’re not lepers and our affliction is not contagious. We’re just normal people with active bowels who need to build up our pride just to get by in this cruel, shitty world.”

The Ramada Inn at High Point is honored to host the majority of the group’s members. “It’s truly a blessing to have been chosen as primary lodging for this important event,” said Kevin Johnson, regional manager for Ramada. “We’re making modifications to all of our bathrooms which include extra toilet paper dispensers and plungers in every room. We’re also bringing in West Seattle’s top chefs to design a menu suitable to our guests’ needs.”

This year’s Convention Kickoff dinner will consist of Jalepeño Poppers with Mustard, Barbecued Spare Ribs, Grilled Corn, and an assortment of hard cheeses. Beverage choices will consist of Jolt Cola for the squirts and, for the adults, Pabst Blue Ribbon Beer.

Said Johnson, “It’s a little early in the season for swimming, but we’ve fired up the water works at the West Seattle Ramada. So feel free to drop the kids off at the pool before you head to dinner.”

When asked why West Seattle and the Ramada were chosen for this event, Johnson explained, “We rallied so hard to host this event, we almost blew an O-ring. But in the end, our high altitude location was the deciding factor. Shit rolls downhill, and we sit atop Seattle, right here in High Point.”

Pete@westseattlefunblog.com

Dear JT,

I have a very close friend that is having a birthday on Wednesday. I want to throw her a big ass party, but don’t think she’s the type that would go for it. Should I get her a box of cigars instead? Any other ideas?

Best,

Gifts Are Glorious?

Dearest G.A.G. (me),

I’m going to assume this question refers to the ominous day of my birth, when the earth stood still, clouds filled the sky, and baby jesus cried. It’s true, I am opposed to all celebratory events involving myself and other people. Why would I want to ruin a perfectly acceptable Wednesday? I’m curious as to whether this party was going to focus on my big ass, or the fact that I am a big ass. Either would be appropriate, but I imagine the gifts would be more interesting for the latter. Although, if Mike J. Clark were attending…

And gifts. Gifts make me uncomfortable. Invariably some form of positive reaction is desired and that’s an emotion I simply was not born with. I can fake many things, but being grateful for Halloween themed cheese spreaders is not one of them. And why does the best shit come from the person you despise the most? “These tickets to Tahiti are great mom, but I’m still not speaking to you!”

For the seven of you who now read this column (that’s right bitches, up from three!) and don’t wish to be singled out for abuse, let’s still buy me shit and call it bribes. Cigars, as you mention, are an excellent idea. Hella expensive ones though. No plastic tipped swisher sweets even though you think cherry flavor would be fucking hilarious. And booze. Booze is always good. I like vodka. And for those with limited or no funds, the obvious trifecta, boobs. Pictures would be my preference, but I’ll accept an interesting story as long as it’s accompanied by illustrations.

Thank you I guess,

JT

For cigars and booze, please email JT at WTFWJTD@gmail.com for shipping instructions. For the boob trifecta, please cc: Pete@westseattlefunblog.com.

Funstick Enterprises, the makers of “Cock and Bulls” (an agricultural magazine) and “Blowjob” (a publication geared towards hair stylists), seem to be back to their old tricks again. And some local residents who were privy to a preview of the magazine are less than excited.

“It’s nothing but shock value for shock’s sake,” said Ivan Tül, a bagger at Safeway. “I’m sure this is a wonderful, educational magazine that is very helpful for young parents, but you won’t catch me buying it. Their use of implied smut to spawn readership is disgusting. Now, I’m a fan of the funstick; the actual funstick that is, not this parent company you speak of. This is just cheap sensationalism and has nothing about penis in it. This is false advertising and I’m very disappointed I was suckered.”

But opponents of smutty content aren’t the only ones disappointed in the new magazine. Said Jakislav Kuyper, owner and proprietor of Jak’s Adult Stuff Stores, “We don’t cater to Soccer Moms. This magazine isn’t about penis at all. This magazine is to smut what turkey basters are to making children. Sure, there’s a titty or two in there, but they’re all lactating. This goes beyond fetishism and we won’t carry it. Not at Jak’s.”

When asked about the controversy created by the debut of their latest rag, Funstick Spokes-dick Kevin Johnson said, “It’s all a big misunderstanding. As much as I personally like penis, this magazine is in fact called Parents. Due to the economic downturn, we’ve had to cut back on our staff. The graphics department took the worst hit. This cover was actually designed by one of the mailroom guys, Dick Peters. It still says Parents, it’s just a little obscured. We’ve spoken with Mr. Peters about it and he’s very sorry, though he did see a little humor in it. Downright laughed his ass off, he did.”

Pete@westseattlefunblog.com

He’s quite fond of salami, knackwurst, bacon, and any pork product. Looking for a good home with owners that can assist my little green man in conforming to society’s parameters.

Fuck it; just get this horny bastard out of my hair before I sell his skinny little ass to a Cajun restaurant. Good home, nothin’; free to ANY home!

Pete@westseattlefunblog.com

Dear WTF,

I know as a dog owner that dog’s anal glands need to be expressed, but I refuse to do it. It’s gross. Should I try and get a boyfriend for the sole reason of exchanging sexual favors for doing that nasty chore for me?

Desperate

Dear Desperate,

How long have you been a straight female? Although it’s generous of you to offer up yourself in exchange for an unpleasant task, you’re setting your sights entirely too low. Men are already into all things ass. Farting, shitting, mooning, spooning, poking, and kicking. If it’s about an ass, near an ass, from an ass, or just acting like an ass, they’re in. Invite two of them over and they’ll fight over who gets to squirt that nasty shit.

Save the barter system for things that truly matter. Vacations, new appliances, a car. And for god sakes, never marry or move in with them. Besides the endless farting, shitting, and poking, there’s the belching, spitting and snoring. And who doesn’t love skid-marked tighty whities hanging from every doorknob? We need to go back to the days of mystery and intrigue about the opposite sex. No need to see firsthand how closely men are related to chimps, and of course once they find out what a raging bitch you are day and night, you can kiss those gifts goodbye.

I say your shallowness is to be applauded, but it’s a two way street. Use and be used.

JT

JT is a graduate of The University of Sarcasm’s Psychology Program. She also minored in the Veterinarian Arts, Proctology, and Thesbianism. For a copy of her diploma, please email WTFWJTD@gmail.com

Can a single, hot-bodied girl or guy not have a drink in peace?

It seems the “meat market” flair of other regions of our fair city have infiltrated West Seattle and are threatening our funmanship.

We are slowly becoming Pioneer Square. Fremont. Capital Hill. Kirkland. Bellevue. And dare I say, Auburnistan? It’s that bad.

“But there’s a fix for that,” says Ingrid Ibsen, 54, of High Point. Ibsen  has opened a new bar that essentially criminalizes shmoozemanship. Ease Off The Ass occupies a space at 35th and Morgan right next to mega-super-duper pharmacy store, Walgreens, and across the street from U-Haul.

Said Ibsen, “I’m a fan of several bars in West Seattle, but it got to the point where all I wanted to do was pick up hot young men. I realized this wasn’t fair to them and decided, as penance, I’d give them a safe place to inebriate.”

Ease Off The Ass’s mantra is simple: If the patrons get peeved, you’re asked to leave.

“You should hear some of the things I used to say to those poor young boys,” explained Ibsen. She then reached into her low-cut blouse and handed this reporter a laminated card which said the following:

• I may not be Wilma, but I can sure make your bedrock.
• Is that a keg in your pants, cuz I’m trying to tap that.
• Can I have a picture of you so I can show Santa what I want for Christmas?
• Do you believe in love at first sight or do you need me to walk by again?.
• Does this smell like chloroform to you?

“As you can clearly see, there was a distinct need for a place like Ease Off The Ass in West Seattle, ” Ibsen said. “We offer a darkwood environment with intimate lighting, fine Corinthian leather, and designer cocktails. We don’t have security per se, but rather Mood Monitors who keep tabs on the small talk and chatter. And they’re good. As little as a raised eyebrow has been cause for eviction.”

“And we have nachos.”

Asked for final comment, Ibsen said, “Don’t try to squeeze an ass at Ease Off The Ass. See that U-Haul sign across the street? Good. Now U-Haul your ass right on outta here!”

Pete@westseattlefunblog.com

The meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs.

The meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs,the meatballs, so right.

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.

Dear JT,

I have a friend who has lost a TON of weight on some new diet. The diet involves eating 300 calories a day and injecting herself with saliva from elderly feral cats. I know it sounds kinda barbaric, and maybe even a little gross, but ….. she’s lost like 40lbs in a month and … truthfully? I’ve got a high school reunion coming up and I’m thinking about trying it.

What do you think?

McFatty

Dear McFatty,

WTF? Were they out of urine from pregnant women at the spa or something? Too good for the tapeworm, grapefruit, or Jesus diet? What about the vomitorium vulgaris plan. All the rage in Caesar’s time. He had special rooms where you could go hurl between courses so you didn’t have to stop eating. I don’t understand all this diet bullshit. Could explain why I weigh well over two hundred pounds, but I’m thinking it’s more to crush you dead when you piss me off.

How ’bout instead of molesting defenseless animals, you get a real life that doesn’t involve me. Because frankly, I’m sick and tired of these super hot women rubbing up against me while I’m minding my own business, trying to have a beer on a Saturday night, at SkyLark or Feedback or Mission. Wearing my Funblogging is not a Crime T-shirt. Possibly outside hanging with the smokers. Occasionally by the bar, but mostly back in the corner where no one can even see if you’re trying to sit on my lap, and come to my rescue. No one. Can see.

JT

JT wants a gotDAMN sandwich. Maybe even a coupon for one. Send it to WTFWJTD@gmail.com

“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.”