The Big Bang

Jimmy Bob 'EzWilly's Big Bang

I took this one from inside my new Space Shuttle I jacked from NASA. I know, the quality's spectacular for one of those old accordion shaped Polaroids. Jesus is that bright one and God's the nebula on his right. You can't see the Devil, he's a black hole.

Jimmy Bob 'EzWilly's Sexy Buzz Cut Tractor Beam

One fine day while quietly contemplating the origins of the universe(after taking a Big Bangin' bong hit or two) Jimmy Bob 'EzWilly, the young friendly psycho stuffed clown killer, deli meat enthusiast, and resident BS Artist of Hickville, decided to listen to some AM radio to calm his club soda caffeine buzz cut. When he tuned his alarmingly clocky radio to what he thought was a local AM station, he heard this bombastic announcer voice-over loudly voicing over his radio's lack of brain waves:
"Have you ever wondered about the origins of the universe? How did it all get here, who am I, where am I, o God amnesia, etc. etc.? Or have you just been really bored throwing spitwads at Mr. Finkle in Physics? Or maybe you've been one of those cruel strangely repressed abused children who actually enjoyed splitting frogs into gloppy entrails in Anatomy? If you answered yes to any of these questions, you might qualify to be the next contestant on INTERPLANETARRRY JEOPPPPARDYYYY!"
Jimmy Bob naturally was stunned as he rolled another green bat. He thought, "CREEPY. How did he know about me throwin' them spitwads at Mr. Finkle? I hope this radio guy don't call my folks, they'd call up-hare to the school and talk to Mr. Finkle and then Mr. Finkle would talk to Principal Turkeysweets and then the principal would talk to me and then I would tell my folks and they'd put me in the blamed 'ol Box again. And how could a voice know that when a darn shibber-shabberin' voice don't 'en have a brain? Man, I'm getting pear-noit. Course, this could be one of them there uh, uh, flooks, ya know, cause everybody loves splittin' up frogs. That reminds me, I gotta get me some firecrackers." And so he off he went to Hickabillytown on his big unsexy tractor to buy some incendiary gigglesticks at the local fireworks stand, The 'Sploded Toad. He did not thunk another thowt about the creepy bombastic announcer voice on his alarmingly clocky radio. O Lord Jayzus, the sheer suspense of it all.
When J.B.(as his friends who don't like respelling his full name call him) arrived at the 'Sploded Toad he got off his unsexy tractor, popped a woody wedge out from under the pearly door jam, went In through the Out Door up to the cashier and said, "Y'all's got some mighty powerful good'n'cool hair condishnin' in haerr." Connie Flowers: The cashier's name shone somewhat muddily from her 'Sploded Toad entrail-covered nametag. She was not in a "pertikilar good mued" as she was fond of saying--so she replied, ""Hair condishnin...We aint got no dad blamed hair condishnin!" J.B. retorted, "Naah Miss Connie, I done said AIR condishnin'." "OHH, AIR condishnin'. We aint got that either!" she said mockingly. As you can see, her name belied her swarthy prune dried attitude and why-isn't-she-dead-yet-she's-smoked-for-65-years not so nice old lady appearance. After this taking this withered cat's crap, J.B. began to get "slightly purrturd," as he was fond of saying. "Dad gnab it Connie what HAVE you got? That's right, you better get me them a couple of them damn gigglesticks or I'll slice your turkey reallll thick next time you come to the Hogshead deli." Connie looked white with fear(which wasn't much change because she probably couldn't get any whiter) "Heh heh," J.B. laughed to himself, thinking he'd finally put the fear of the Psycho Stuffed Clown Killer in her this time. She wasn't looking at him though. She pointed outside the window, never taking her eyes off the object of her whitish fear. Disappointed, J.B. thought, " 'Ell, what is she afeared of now?"
AT THAT VERY MOMENT(not now, earlier when J.B. made an idiotic comment about working at the Hogshead), a cylindrical quadrilateral and somehow triangular tetrahedron of bluish light had appeared outside the 'Sploded Toad's unenvironmental skylight window, the geometrical bluish light refraction changing the color of the yellow entrails in the parking lot to appear green, and the red ones to purple, etc. The parking lot looked like a bad Van Gogh self-portrait imitation, just with frog intestines instead of ears. Jimmy Bob EzWilly looked out the window and with a loud hickabilly "What the Fik?!" ran Out the In door to see what was going on, Connie close behind, her constant cigarette ashing slowing her down a pace or two. As soon as they were outside in the smelly windy parking lot, they simultaneously realized something: There was something there. Above them hovered a hugely small spacecraft about the size of a Geo Metro(If they made that style of Hot Wheels). Connie said, "I thaink its won of them UHFs!" while her old school mind ran over the simplest arithmetic syllabus known to man to determine the spacecraft's proportions. J.B. retorted, "I bet it gets good gas mileage. I wonder when they quit makin those. Probly after them there car cumpny zekkutovs watched Chitty Chitty Bang Bang the first time. That was real powerful dum."
AT THAT EXACT MOMENT(now) a totally sexy Tractor Beam came whizzing from out from under the tuna can shaped ship, wrapped around the craft itself a few times, bounced off Connie's makeup mirror, hit a spittoon at the local saloon, had a beer while it was there, took a whore to bed, had a cigarette, left without paying and finally settled over J.B.'s open mouthed fly catching head. And the rest of him. Did it beam him up into the UFO? Did it change its UHF frequency? Did it do its best Martian Elvis impersonation while eating fried chicken and banana sandwiches? O no, it merely gloated, glowing over him for 4 HOURS. Of course this was his fault, he just stood there staring up at it because he was still stoned--long after Connie became disinterested and clocked out at the Toad for her "beauty sleep." J.B. shuddered at the thought of Connie in a nightie, but somehow still remained still. Eventually the ship captain, Zeqmander, became tired of shouting this whole 4 hour time over the loudspeaker to the inebriated redneck, in perfect English: "YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED TO PLAY INTERPLANETARY JEOPARDY! GOD KNOWS WHY. TO COME ABOARD, PRESS THE BIG RED BUTTON THAT'S ON THE CONTROL PANEL THAT'S HOVERING RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOUR FACE. IT'S THE ONLY BUTTON ON THE PANEL. IN FACT THEY SHOULD CALL IT THE CONTROL BUTTON, BUT WE HAVE STRICT FCC REGULATIONS. PRESS THE FREAKIN' BUTTON ALREADY!" Finally, after 4 ���½ hours of being dumbfounded, J.B. pressed the Big Red Button. The hovering craft sucked him in slowly with the totally sexy Tractor Beam, like a large yet sexy pecan sky pie pan shaped person sipping a hillbilly mohito through a blue straw of light, and was suddenly was gone.

Zeqmander and the Z71B52 'Mailman' Spaceship

Jimmy Bob 'EzWilly, dumbfounded and high hicky-yet-still-without-a-girlfriend space traveler, woke up inside the slightly environmental cargo hold of the Z71B52 'Mailman' spaceship. When he awoke from his Im-not-from-this-here-neck-of-the-woods stupor, he realized he didn't realize where he was. AT THAT INEXACT MOMENT(somewhere between now and then) Captain Zeqmander rolled around the bendy bend of the mazy mazelike cargo tunnels and stood over J.B. with a smily smile plastered on his plastery redundant forehead.(Since that was where his mouth was located.) Zeqmander took his loudspeaker in hand(or in appendage, if you prefer) and with the ridges of his forehead(i.e. lips) vibrating like opaque red jello, proceeded to yell into it at the top of his voice(which was handy and appendagy because it was near the top of his head) holding the device a centimeter away from J.B.'s face: "ATTENTION, EARTHLING. I"M SO SORRY TO WAKE YOU SO SOON. HEH HEH. WE ARE APPROACHING PLANET SWELL WHERE INTERPLANETARY JEOPARDY WILL BE HELD THIS SWELLIAN LIGHTYEAR IN APPROXIMATELY 1 EARTH ENGLISH CENTIMETER." He paused, and revamped/checked his outdated combination Earth English calculation syllabus/phaserish stun gun/iPhone. "EXCUSE ME, 1 EARTH ENGLISH HOUR. AT YOUR CURRENT RATE, BY THE TIME YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I'M SAYING TO YOU WE WILL ALREADY HAVE ARRIVED." Zeqmander then rolled around the bendy bend on his new Funwheels 'O Monkey Barrel Feet appendages back toward the Cliche Captain's Log Allocation Station, leaving Jimmy Bob slightly blind and mostly deaf. When he awoke from his second what-the-fick-was-that stupor and his eyes and ears adjusted to the slightly environmental black hole skylights, he saw that he was sticking out of an apparently large mailbox. An apparently large red sign above him read, "PUT SPAM MAIL AND USELESS SHIT HERE." He squeezed himself out of the Mailbox and walked to the Earthing Bathroom only a few steps away, following the few Earth English signs, but using the colorful pictures instead of actually reading them. He combed down his greasy hairrrrr and took a quick whizz, thinking: "Why would they put SPAM in with the danged ol' mail?" He thought he might classify as SPAM because of his recent binge on five-finger discounted deli meat at the Hogshead, until he looked into the Bathroom Mirror. There he noticed stamped clearly on his forehead, USELESS SHIT. "Hey! These aliens think they're fucking funny huh. I'll show 'em" J.B. shook a useless crappy fist at the Mirror. He was now more than slighty purrturred at being called catshit. Zeqmander's voice now floated hynotically over the Bathroom pre-installed loudspeaker: "Calm yourself, Earthling. I overheard you're excellent expletives because we have Microhookedonphonics installed in all our Bathrooms. It is much like how you're culture you occasionally talk on the phone while relieving yourself. Also we sometimes mix the recorded sound bytes of Bathroom noises and find them wondrous dance music in our Crappe Clubs. We have no Cameranomicons installed don't worry." While he paused, the sound of coughing on a Crappe Batty Fatty could be heard. He resumed after a few puffs, "In our culture to be called USELESS SHIT is our highest compliment. The World President of our own Planet Crappe, Baroque Obammer Hushisname, has been called USELESS SHIT plenty of times and he's our best yet. Anywhoosis," Zeqmander's voice upgrading to a more commanding executable tone, "WE HAVE ARRIVED AT PLANET SWELL. GOOD LUCK PLAYING INTERPLANETARY JEOPARDY! AT YOUR CURRENT RATE YOU'LL NEED IT. HEH HEH. WE ARE DROPPING YOU OFF NOW!" Suddenly, and without a clear warning, merely a vaque reference, the Bathroom floor quickly trapdoored out from underneath J.B.'s crooked inbred legs and he immediately DROPPED: out of the Z71B52 'Mailman', through the clouds of Planet Swell's Ph fat based totally unacidic soapy rain, past the Big Rock Candy Mountains, into a River of Chocolate Mud that ended in a sewer drain, up(yes he dropped up) through the sewer drain that ended in a WTF titled texting swear drain, down again through the WTF drain, hitting and catching'a'hold of a NO USELESS SHIT BLINDED HICK IDIOTS OR REDUNDANT BEAT DEAD WORDHORSES drain sign, throwing himself up into a Swellian Pukevat, a robotic hand appendage picking him out and giving him a good firehosing while it throwed' him down right into Swellian Ultimate Fighting Ring, lasting one round against Jamba Juice the Fingerhut, smelling what the Crockpot was Kookying, until a final punch into next week landed his crooked inbred legs standing unsightly and unstraightly but catlike next to the Longest Cartoony Sentence in the History of the Universe, somehow exactly at his contestant podium on the wordy floor of INTERPLANETARY JEOPARDY.


Coming soon. . .