If I was an Ordinary, Run of The Mill Fart, I'd be a little miffed that nobody really knows how to write down what I sound like yet everyone seems to be able to impersonate me like a total pro. I'd also be a little bummed that "pfffft", which is the closest anyone ever really came to accurately writing out what I sound like, just means miffed or put off which is exactly what I'd be at this very second.


If I was Really Bad Breath and Also Kinda Dickish, my favorite words would be words like "WHO", "HOW", "WHY","HARRY" and any other super windy word that'd unleash me into your face and I'd probably often think about how clever I was to mostly take up residency in the hot jerky holes of interrogators and such.


If I was an Older Wiser Experienced Pee Splatter in Some Gas Station's Men's Restroom Out On The Highway, and some new young pee splatters were complaining and generally being ungrateful about this or that, I'd probably lecture them about how lucky they were to be wiener pee splatters and not vergeena pee splatters and then I'd go on and on about difference between the dude's bathroom and the chick's bathroom and how the chick's bathroom was certain death for the likes of them and so on and so forth but I'd make damn sure to be funny and entertaining while I was doing it because it's important for young pee splatters to have role models and it's important for older pee splatters to remember what it was like to be young and drippy.




Also, I can't seem to stop being Lou Reed.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught pretending the urinal pellet is Ellen DeGeneres or a sandwich or something.
Your Master of I Don't Care-emonies,
Laci Peterson

If I was a Chair Recently Owned By Louie Anderson I would probably smell like mustard or refried bean poop and my legs would probably hurt like hell and you just KNOW he thought the name of the show was The Family FOOD when he auditioned and that he was suuuper bummed when he found out he had to stand up the whole time.




If I was a Squeeze Bottle of Mustard With Barely Enough Mustard Left That You Have To Shake The Crap Out of it Just To Barely Get A Teensie Bit Of Mustard to Spray Onto Your Gay Looking Hot Dog, I'd say; "Hey everybody, listen to me impersonate a pissed off dolphin!"




If I was a Dolphin Just Hanging Out at a Human Picnic, every time some smartass started squeezing the empty mustard bottle trying sound like me I'd say in my best retard voice "Hey everybody look at me, I'm a total douchebag who thinks mustard bottle dolphin jokes are HIGH LARRY US..." then I'd shoot a cold raw hot dog slathered with refried beans and mustard out my blow hole and then I'd drool or make some spit bubbles that would drip down my snout thingy.




If I was The Internet's Latest Porn Craze, I'd be a website filled with tons of close up shots and videos of mustard slathered raw hot dogs going in and out of dolphin's blow holes in slow motion with microphones that pick up the sound really good. Oh yeah, plus refried beans.




If I was Big Fat Louie Anderson's Screetchy Sphincter, I may as well have dried up crusty mustard all cracked and stuck to the skin and hair in my immediate vicinity because it's totally easy to imagine and most people probably already assume it looks something like that and it's also easy to imagine that I would sound like a dolphin or humpback whale when I released Louie's hot poisonous winds. A tattoo above me that read "refried beans" with an arrow pointed at me would be cool too.




If I was a Chair Recently Used By Pamela Anderson I'd probably be glad that chairs can't get hepatitis C.



That's all for now.
Don't get caught screaming for Moesha when you SHOULD be screaming for LESSesha!
Your Dimestore Variety Nuclear Jizzicist,
Bjørk

If I was a Hippie Girl's Armpit Hair, I'd probably go "HA HA HA MOTHERFUCKERS!! GUESS WHO AIN'T GOIN NOWHERES!! HA HA HA" but then I'd feel faint and dizzy because when you laugh really hard you have to breathe in really hard and then I'd think, "Fuck this stank ass bacteria shit , I'm outta here." and then I'd jump out of her armpit and into your BK Veggie Burger.




If I was VIOLENCE, every time some hippie CockBurger said to me; "You don't solve anything", I'd take my *V* and I'd shove it pointy side in into his mouth, spreading it open like a grinning idiot, then I'd take my *I* and beat him over the head with it, then I'd take my *O* and put it around his neck and I'd tighten it up all the way, then I'd cram the foot part of my *L* up his ass, then I'd fork my first *E* into his left elbow pinning him to the wall, then I'd staple his dick to the floor with my *N*, then I'd thread my *C* into his mouth and out his neck, and then finally fork my last *E* into his right elbow pinning it to the wall. Then I'd just stand there and giggle to myself: "heehee, "Actions Speak Louder Than Words", heh heh heh, who came up with that bullshit?"




If I was TRANSCENDENTALISM, I'd whisper into the wind: "You can't even prove that last joke happened. Maybe it was all in your mind. Maybe your spirit MADE it happen and therefore it's the only thing that EVER happened thaaat reeeally maaaatterrrrssssssss. There's reeeeally nooooo waaaaaayyyyy oooffff knooooooooowwwwiiiiinnnnnng."




If I was a Monarch I'd declare: "I will use all the power of the military of this kingdom to hunt, find and destroy VIOLENCE and TRANSCENDENTALISM wherever they may dwell" and then I'd sit back in my throne and be all "Whoa, trippy, none of that even makes sense. How is it that I can even be a king? King of WHAT? Maybe *I* am Violence." Then I'd beat the crap out of the court jester, have sex with a bunch of hot peasant broads and kill myself.




If I was A Hippie Dudes Pickle While Reading This Blog Post, I'd be all -- boner on the first one, not boner on the second one, huge boner on the third one, confused half boner till the peasant part of the fourth one then gigantic boner thinking about the court jesters hat, and then I'd get to this one and I'd totally french fry my spud reading about myself reading this post. It'd be totally spiritual, almost transcendental really.




That's all for now!
Don't get caught asking some random IM chick for three nouns and then writing a whole hippie Burger King post around them because you already wrote the hippie armpit one before you asked her.
Your Favorite Who Wants To Be A Millionaire Lifeline,
Conrad "CockBurger" Bain

If I was That Scene in That P.B.S. Nature Show In Which a Hated JerkFuck Subordinate Monkey Kills The Beloved Head Monkey and All The Other Monkeys Stand Around With Watery Eyes Mourning Their Fallen Leader, Stroking The Fur On His Belly and Hugging Him, I would only be sadder if maybe, in their grief, all the mom monkeys drowned themselves in the stream and the baby monkeys were left to fend for themselves under the reign of the new evil monkeyking who kills the fat grey haired grandpa monkey by gouging out his eyes and blinding him causing him to constantly fall out of banana trees and slowly starve to death.

Or maybe laughing hyenas could just kidnap and eat all the baby monkeys while the mom monkeys stood around screaming, that would be sad too.




If I was The Annual P.B.S. Membership/Fund Drive, instead of showing the best music programing interspersed with begging, I'd just loop all the scenes of super cute, dying, starving baby animals and then I'd say stuff like, "we can't afford to film cute dying baby animals without your generosity so unless you want us to STOP filming cute dying baby animals, I suggest you get out your motherfucking checkbooks" because EVERYBODY loves shows with cute, dying baby animals.




If I was The First Violin Player To Ever Be In A Rock Band And Not Come Off Like A Total QueerBag, as I'd play, I'd stab sports team mascots in their eyeballs and ears and buttholes with the end of my bow and blood and poop and maggots'd spurt out all over the crowd and my face would constantly be on fire, my crotch would shoot lasers and my shoes would be made out of rotting baby seal meat. Also, I would ONLY play "The Devil Went Down To Georgia. ONLY.




If I Was A Baby Monkey And I Was Being Filmed For P.B.S., I would look straight into the camera and mouth the words "please help me" as I let a single monkey tear roll down and off my face onto my murdered mother's lifeless heart.




If I was The Best P.B.S. Special of All Time, I'd be a special in which 100 abandoned dying baby animals sang all the great Motown hits with a full orchestra and a special appearance by the violin player from the last joke who'd of course be playing The Devil Went Down To Georgia over the top of Sexual Healing by Marvin Gaye. AWESOME FUCKING MASH-UP!




If I was The Devil, I'd probably never go to Georgia because it would just seem super gay and like I was trying to relive my glory days.




That's all for now!
Don't get caught imagining SEAL being clubbed as a fuzzy white baby seal and then thinking how weird it is that he actually has the scars AND the really weird fact that fuzzy WHITE seals eventually DO turn into shiny BLACK seals. Freeeeaky.
Your M.V.P. (Most Manhandled Princess),
Sam Donaldson

If I was The Word "Misogyny" I would keep reeeeal quiet about the fact that a reeeally ugly girl TOTALLY MADE ME UP instead of pushing away the pork rinds, going to the gym and wearing a little concealer.




If I was a TV Judge, every once in a while I'd give some old lady who ran over her neighbor's sprinkler the death penalty.




If I was The Word "Figure" I would hate it when people said "Figger" but even more when they said "Fegro", although, I might let the words "Bigger", "Digger", "Vigor" and "Trigger" call me "Figga" even though I think those words are totally inferior.




If I was a TV Courtroom Bailiff, every once in a while I'd take out my billy club and club the crap out of some feeble old man if he made the judge repeat something because he couldn't hear what the judge said on account of bein super old.




If I was One of Those Retards Who Can't Fegro Out The Difference Between "YOUR" and "YOU'RE", I'd just write YER or YO instead, because then everyone would just think I was making fun of rednecks or negroes which is totally rad. Although the joke would probably be bittersweet seein's how I would probably BE a redneck or a negro. But then again, self deprecating humor is pretty popular too. However, at that point, it's not really humor anymore, it's just ignorance and while my ignorance may be funny to you, I'd just be back to living as just an ordinary retard. FUCK YOU INSENSITIVE ASSHOLES!




That's all for now!
Don't get caught imagining Paul McCartney beating the crap out of Stevie Wonder with a big white elephant tusk while screaming "DIE YOU FUCKING BLIND ASS EBONY FUCKING FUCKWAD!"
Your N.A.A.C.P Janitor Relations Chairman,
Montell Williams

If I was a Breast Cancer Lump, I would start a website called FantasticBreastCancerRecipes.com to inform the people on how to cook me right. Maybe then people would stop talking so much SHIT.


If I was a Testicular Cancer Lump, I'd be all, "DUDE, fucking chill out. I'm making your balls bigger" and then I'd tell scary stories to all the little sperms so they'd freak out the second they flew out of the pee hole and onto some dudes face possibly scratching him.


If I was a Sperm, I'd get all annoyed and say "Gaaah, what a fucking hot dog convention, where are all the chicks?" and then I'd look around to see if I could tell which sperms were homos.


If I was a Pee Hole, I'd totally learn how to whistle.


If I was a Dying Sperm in a Sock, I'd wiggle my way over to one of the other sperms and I'd say stuff like "Don't you go dyin' on me Jeffery!" and I'd whip him with my sperm tail whenever he seemed to be drifting off and then when I was the only sperm left living I'd look out over the death and carnage and I'd give the best speech ever given and then I'd shoot myself in the head and die with dignity and no one would ever know but me and some other bacterium who already lived in the sock.



If I was a Dirty Sock Bacteria and all of a sudden a billion sperm came sliming on in on some wad of goop, I'd probably stop and watch them as they glooped around looking for chicks. Then I'd shake my head back and forth really slowly while muttering "how sad" and then when the emperor sperm gave his final speech while gazing out upon the billions of corpses of all of his people I'd probably cry a little and then I'd get back to eating my Doritos.


If I was a Deep Fried Breast Cancer Lump, Lightly Salted, with a Dash of Paprika, and Dunked in Sweet Mustard, I'd say to Charlie Rose: "Oh Charlie, stop, there are lots of recipes on that website, I didn't change the whole image of breast cancer all by myself" and he'd say "Perhaps, but without YOU, there would be no McLumps and that's really when public opinion shifted" and then I'd blush and giggle a little and say "That's true I guess."



That's all for now.
Don't get caught getting hungry while thinking about breast cancer.
Your Gigantic Load of Crap,
Ghandi

If I was a paraplegic, I would dress up like a pretzel.


If I was a giant soft pretzel at the mall and I ran into one of those faggy little dry pretzels in a bag I'd say; "Hey Bag Pretzel, a 130 year old woman called, she wants the dryness of her vagina and the brittleness of her bones back!" and then I'd get all stretchy, steamy and wiggly and unwrap myself just to make that dry little brittle dickhead feel like a butthole.


If I was an actual Butthole, I'd probably lay awake in bed at night thinking about what it would be like to be a pasta machine with all those attachments, because I'm pretty sure I'd dream of making poop in all the popular noodle shapes.


If I was an inventor with a giant factory at my disposal, I would immediately begin manufacturing a pasta machine that looked like Gary Coleman taking a poop. I know what people want.


If I was the most annoying party guest ever, I would be a hippie Italian dude with dreadlocks and I'd talk about my idea for a new restaurant called The Pastafarian and then I'd explain how all the employees would wear rasta hats with fake dreadlocks made out of noodles and they'd have to say "Pasta mon" all the god damn time.


If I was Reggae Music, I would hold a press conference and admit that Bob Marley was my only real accomplishment and then I'd plead with hippies and frat dudes to stop giving me a bad name and making me want to kill myself.


If I was Suicide, I'd want to polish up my public image so I would legally change my name to D.I.Y. because then when people killed themselves people could say: "Yeah, Charlie D.I.Y.ed" which if you pronounce it and say it out-loud, (Deeyewied), it sounds like a really cute babytalk way of just saying; "Charlie died."


If I was a dude named Farley, I suppose my nickname would be Fuck.

I f I was a fake boob, I'd have a little squeaker placed inside of me just like Rubber Ducky, then EVERYONE would be fond of me.



I f I was a fake turd, I'd have a little squeaker placed inside of me and then i'd legally rename myself Rubber Dookie™ and the rest goes just like the last joke.



I f I was a Rubber Dookie™, I could feasibly be re-inserted into a butthole, squeaked using only sphincter action, videotaped, and sent around the world as an email attachment sent by people who just barely discovered the internet and email.



I f I was 1996, Poop emails, along with Bottles In a Vagina emails, Fish and Vegetables In a Vagina emails, and Dog Penises In a Vagina emails, would be attributed to me and I would forever be known as the year in which friends seared these unforgettable images into the minds of other friends because it was just way too easy and totally hilarious.


I f I was 1997, I would be the year in which millions of emails were sent with the subject: PLEASE STOP SENDING ME POOP EMAILS!!