Tuesday, April 3, 2007

Vol. 8: 'Tartan' Tangy, or 'Dr. Jerkyll and Mr. Cargo'

Have you ever invented anything but kept it a secret?
--Charles McTaint
Penknife, Ontario, Canada

Dearest Mr. McTaint:

Is that your real name? Not to be nosy or nothin', but not since the first two years of my friendship with Sicilian olive magnate Scrota San Perineuma have I found myself stifling a little giggle there.

--Cargo, Mr.
Denver, Colorado USA

Well, Mr. Cargo, let me start with three paragraphs of stupid, barely coherent, rambling hoo-hah I write while smoking marihuana cigarettes and watching one of my many digitally restored copies of Juice Tiger infomercials! The massive erection from my inflated ego, extreme mental illness, and amazement at the visual spectacle of Jack LaLanne's rock-hard buttocks chiseled from top quality prehistoric Anglo-Saxon Manstone, will leave barely enough blood for my brain to formulate my latest bullshit blog entry consisting largely of esoteric pop culture references, self-righteous drivel, and lowbrow bathroom humor!

I'll then proceed to lower my already Oompa Loompa-high standard of writing and dispensation of information by not actually doing my job and answering the damn query, but instead shooting a completely unrelated one right back, because I have taken it upon myself to make sure the Douchebag Renaissance leaves an indelible mark on our doomed children's precious futures. Under my evil and altogether unwholesome influence they will surely choose the worst nursing homes imaginable for their elders, at least one of which will staff people much like them: dumbed-down defecations of the Cargo Generation who will dress us up like robots and shove us into leaf chippers, having mistaken them for giant robot tanning beds.

Speaking of answering the damn question: Yes, this is my real name. I am a second-generation Scottish-Canadian, if you must know, and a proud member of the McTaint clan with a lifetime subscription to the McTaint Society's monthly newsletter.

You suck, Cargo. You suck like Mentos dropped in Diet Coke in a black hole that's being played backwards on Betamax. I hope you know that. I'm sorry I ever asked you. Sure, it was kinda ballsy of you to be honest with me and ask, but that also makes you a bit of an ass. You're somewhere in between those two, if you will.

--Charles Gareth McTaint
Penknife, Ontario, Canada

Most esteemed Mr. McTaint:

I suck like so many things, and catastrophic chemical reactions in deep space are indeed a big part of my sucking regimen. I am quite honored to be deemed a general nincompoop and corrupter of children by such an insightful, straightforward individual. Thank you for laying my curiosity to rest in regards to your name.

Hey! Is there a DeLorean parked nearby? 'Cause you're right down the street from Marty McFly!


(15-minute pause while Mr. Cargo is kicked and slapped mercilessly by a Lilliputian street gang)

To answer your original question: Indeed! I repel insects in my home (even behind the walls!), glow in the dark, my whites become whiter simply by my wearing them and never taking them off, and I can hear colors, which I also keep from fading 40% longer than the leading unlicensed sham advice/answer columnist! A horrible side effect is that parts of my memory become inaccessible for random amounts of time, so I can never remember whether it's the magic corduroy pants, the double-jointed bagpiping helper monkey or the cucumber salad I just plugged in to recharge.



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