Schiavo Zombie Fitted With Brain Tube
HELL (DPI) - The zombie of recently-dead corpse Terri Schiavo has been
ordered by a Ninth-Level-of-Hell judge to be fed brain-slurry through a
tube, according to the wishes of her caretaker, Blaspheme the Re-Animator.
"Terri must be given the opportunity to prolong the undeath that the great
Evil Lord bestowed upon her," said the nine-headed demon in a statement.
According to zombie experts, the main difference between the living Terri
Schiavo and the undead Terri Schiavo is the nest of bloodsucking bats
living in her brain pan.
(Reported by Travis Ruetenik)
Media Returns Focus to Earth's 6.1 Billion Non-Corpses
NEW YORK (DPI) - After a heart-wrenching and tragic week
involving four high-profile deaths, the world's media
may want to refocus its attention on the six-plus
billion humans still alive and kicking.
The human family lost a high-profile lawyer,
chicken-processing magnate, beloved church leader,
and... ummm... Terri Schiavo in a matter of mere days,
but after the grieving, there isn't much to see there.
Maybe the media could turn its cameras to the rest of
the world for a while. Granted, we're mostly
average-looking and poor, but we are breathing.
Hold on... Peter Jennings has just been diagnosed with lung cancer!
(Reported by Carl Knorr)
Prince Charles Still Fucking Tired of the Bloody Press
London (DPI) - During a photo-op before a polo match, Prince Charles
expressed his continued aggravation with the press.
"The bloody bastards can snog my bollocks," said Prince Charles, future
King of England. "The way the beastly group of wankers follows Camilla and
me about, it's enough to cause a man to go mad. The plonkers are more
disgusting than the smeg dripping from my royal todger. I wish the whole
bloody lot of them would bugger off." After the photo-op, the future King
saddled up his new bride, the future Queen Camilla Parker Bowles, fed her
a carrot stick and a couple of sugar cubes, and rode her into the stadium.
During the match, spectators noticed that Prince Charles still seemed a
bit pissed off because he received several warnings for slash whipping his
mount. But the match ended on a good note when the Prince scored the
winning goal in the final chukker. As he rode off, Prince Charles made an
obscene gesture in the direction of the press corps and Camilla Parker
Bowles took a dump on the playing field.
(Reported by Dan Burt)
Cheney Reveals NILF List
UNDISCLOSED (DPI) - Vice President Dick Cheney is the
latest and most important public figure to found his
own weblog. Easily the most interesting offering on
the Vice President's blog (web address classified) to
date is titled "Big Time's NILF List." NILFs
(Nations I'd Like to Free) are nations which the
Vice President would most relish liberating -- a list
including such oppressive regimes as Sudan, Saudi
Arabia and Kazakhstan. Iran, also listed, has four
hearts next to its name. Afghanistan and Iraq, while
still visible, are crossed out with a side notation
reading, "Did her!"
(Reported by Lars Eisenberg)
Eric Rudolph Pleads Not Guilty to Box Office Bomb Gigli
Jackson Attorneys Ready "Different Strokes" Defense
New g~%gg>gg Released Under Freedom of Information Act
Defying Order, Slaw Found on Side
Crest Scientists Make Astounding Yearly Toothpaste Technology Breakthrough
Necrophiliac Confesses Inability to Resist CILF
Hey, Girls! Have You Considered Prostitution?
A guest Probeatorial
by "Shirley Sweet"
Let's face it, I love fucking. Men, women, both at
the same time -- as long as I get to revel in the
sensation of naked flesh rubbing against naked flesh,
I am one happy girl. Now that I'm a licensed intimate
service professional at the Mustang Ranch in Las
Vegas, I very well could be the happiest girl in the world!
I wasn't always this happy. Back when I lived in
Peoria, I was struggling to get by working
double-shifts for sub-minimum wage and shitty tips as
a waitress at a diner just to make the rent. On those
rare occasions that I did get to go out, I wanted to
get laid -- end of story -- so I'd just grab the best
looking guy at the bar and ask if he wanted a date.
More often than not, the nimrod would give me his
phone number and say "Call me for dinner." Dinner?
Like I want to spend *more* time in a restaurant? I
want to fuck, John Boy!
I'm an honest person, so this courting game -- going
out four or five times before "allowing" sex, forcing
me to spend wads of what little money I make on
different outfits and weeks of my life between
dickings -- just wasn't for me. Were I to try to
speed up the process, the guy would treat me like shit
and call me a whore. One time I replied such a charge
with "I'm not a whore! Whores get paid for it!" and a
light bulb went off.
With a little research I learned that prostitution is
legal and regulated in Nevada, so I packed up and
moved out to Las Vegas. Within a few months I had my
license, and in a few more I had earned a spot at the
prestigious Mustang Ranch. The Ranch has a diverse
and interesting clientele, all of which pay big money
to get all up in my honeypot -- married couples looking
for a little spice; wealthy playboys who can afford
the best; celebrities and civic leaders willing to pay
extra to keep their freakiness a secret -- and I fuck
them all with joy in my soul and a smile on my
oft-jizz-covered face. Sure, I ball my share of pasty
middle-aged insurance salesmen, but when I make their
combovers stand on end, the tips are to die for!
This is the life for me… I'm getting laid five times a
day and earning about six times what I made as a
waitress. If you're concerned about respect, don't be
-– Mustang Ranch girls are heralded as minor deities
out here. For example: the same man who regularly
tipped me 63 cents for a three-egg scramble and
bottomless coffee for years in Peoria without ever so
much as asking my name just last week left a crisp new
$50 as a tip and said "Thank you so much, Shirley"
after I rammed his poop chute with my studded strap-on
dildo for half an hour.
To him I say: No, thank you... and don't worry: What
happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. And you aren't gay
if a woman does it to you, Reverend.
(Transcribed by Lars Eisenberg)
The premier child psychologist on his home planet
Xargolia before being called to the service of his
Warrior-God Xargol as a conqueror of lesser worlds, Zarxnol
happilly adresses the child-raising concerns of our readers.
Send your questions to Zarxnol at: Zarxnol@DailyProbe.com
Several boys have been bullying our 9-year-old-son
physically and verbally since the beginning of this
school year. When he went to the principal's office
in tears to report the problem, she told him that
tears were not the answer and that he had to get over
it -- being bullied is just part of life. She then
gave our son a pillow to punch, but when he said it
didn't help, she gave him a list of comebacks to use
on the bullies the next time they tease him. We do
not approve of this approach. What do you think?
Angered in Annapolis
Bullying has been an abhorrent facet of human behavior
since time immemorial. Even in this allegedly
enlightened era of human development, larger children
join together into squadrons to purify the playgrounds
of lesser urchins whom they deem unworthy to share in
what they consider their kingdom and bounty. You may
ask, Ms. Gered, why the sages of your socially
retarded species have yet to correct this flaw through
training, conditioning, pharmaceuticals or genetic
engineering. The answer, like the loathsome race of
you braggadocious bipedal buffoons, is simple: the
bullies grow up to control your planet.
Every wealthy, successful human enterprise on this
puny and laughable spheroid is dominated by cartels of
powerful man-monkeys uniting for the purposes of
eradicating, absorbing and/or assimilating their
smaller and weaker challengers. This highly-praised
"free enterprise" economic system that your comical
race depends on thrives only when entire industries
are controlled by corporate oligarchies. Your most
celebrated political systems are controlled
exclusively by royal families and leviathanic
political parties who command nigh-infinite phalanxes
of soul-sworn soldiers, be they military, religious or secular.
Ang, your race is banal. Humans are, at the core of
their existence, selfish blood-lusting barbarians who
love nothing more than wanton destruction. As
individuals, however, they are too feeble to conquer
anything more powerful than a microwave burrito and
too dotterel and insipid to manage that little force
at their disposal. Therefore, they join together to
conquer as a group, along their paths gathering
impotent human barnacles who revel in the vicarious
glory of their selected master's conquests. You
nauseate me, you deplorable humans! Your utter
destruction at the hands of my righteous Xargolian
army will be all the more delicious!
As to how I would counsel L'il Gered, squelch his
fretting by imparting him the knowledge that your
Annapolis shall soon be the under sole province of
Zarxnol, Xargolian warrior -- and those bullies who
currently fuse his Underoos with his rectal fissure
will likely be the first to taste Xargol's destructive
might through my sword!
(Translated by Carl Knorr)