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By adam on November 23rd, 2009
dr. hows: will-san do you make thank giving dinner?
*will-san stare wistfully, longfully, beyond the pane of the window of his dwelling; the cherry-blossoms gently stray from their mothertree as the sun rises on a new dawn. will-san tighten the red headband and sheath his katana.
 dr. hows on a nuderun will-san: Hows I Do Not Eat Turkey Not After She Died…
dr. hows: will-san…
*dr. hows sit on a couch, he take a cane and pushes a priceful flower-vase from the table and it crashes, breaking into dust; a gust of wind gather up the dust and sprinkle it throughout the land; this dust is used by a child in Wyom for make a mudman.
dr. hows: shut up will-san
* * *
ld. cutty: hows you cant not order this treatments
dr. hows: he will die unless he get a brain removal do you want this patience to die?
ld. cutty: why he is needing a brain removal?
dr. hows: he has bbs, butt-brain syndrome, his brain a butt
ld. cutty: well do you have proof?
dr. hows: the butt-brain scan was neg. but I know it to be bbs
ld. cutty: ok remove this man butt brain
dr. hows: you’re boobs are stick out
*dr. hows hobble away however instead of fading into the horizon’s shadow he instead appear larger until the television screen fills with the deep brown of his hairs, and now you are in a folicile and you see his brain, now you are through the brain and seeing with the eyes of dr. hows, curmudgeonly genius, wow what outlook! the world look like macaronni and cheez
* * *
will-san: I Have Spent All Day Preparing This Meal A Feast In Your Honor And Now Everyone Should Be Arrive Shortly
*will-san place a photo-representation of his beloved, Ambre, onto the table of his dinning room, betwixt a turkie and stuffing’s of various flavors: turkey, apple, chicken, poultry, mutton, leg of lamb, oil, etc. will-san pours the cereal into bowls and places them around the table. the feast is bountiful and buoyant.; truly a well-balanced celebration of thankingness. will-san light a candle in honour of his beloved lost, he kneel down and concentrate his chi for the development of meditational sacrifice. will-san look upon the clock and watch as all five clock hands rotate wildly; a demonic mudman is unleashed. will-san draws his katana, assuming the ready position.
***
dr. eric foreman: we cannot complete this surgury due to a complexity: upon opening the man’s skullbone, we find no butt brain at all.
dr. hows: the butt is there, as i well know; such a butt belies apart from the view of mortals. however, i am late for will-san’s feasting, you shall remain at the hospitle to run tests that will invariably come back neg. i shall think fondly of you, here, wasting your precious life, while I partake upon a delectable supper.
* * *
 apple stuffings *dr. hows arrive at will-san feast for thanks, but the turkie is a’shambles, thanks to the mudman whom was arriving through the sands of time; though will-san stave off the monster, thus defending the honor of his departed beloved Ambre and keeping her spirit crystal, which he wear upon his breast, untainted by the dark arts, the feastings are devastated by the wargoings.
will-san: House I Cannot Fight Any Longer… And My Dinner !!
*will-san pick up the photopicture of Ambre, the glass of the framing finds itself now cracked. a soloistic tear of will-san splatters – splot – onto the framing. dr. how’s pick up a leg of turkie and bite down upon it, he chews and enjoys.
* * *
*all the gests begins to arrive: ld. cutty, her sexmate lookus, chace, all but lowly dr. eric foreman’s, who sit alone testing a man with a butt for a brain, all alone in hospitle, a black man brought down upon by a man (this man is dr. hows). ambre floats in the room: a ghost; will-san close eyes and feel her presents, a smile develops upon his face, and as dr. hows plays a piano, plink plonk, will-san cut the turkie with his mighty blade.
dr. hows: let us all say we are thankful
all presence: we are thankful
dr. hows: will-san for which are you thankful?
will-san: I Am Thankful That This Day Was Not Besmirched By The Demonic Mudman Time Traveler. I Am Also Thankful For My Departed
dr. hows: you are caring too much will-san, you career suffer while you worrie haphazardly. what are you thanking for chace
chace: Perchance, I accept thine offer to expound upon this issue thou broached; for I do believe that I needest to thank yonder Will-san for this pleasurable feast, upon which I will engorge my diaphragm, in order to erase the void of my broken marriage and the guilt of the murder executed by mine hands.
dr. hows: you are marriage became broken because you are guilting, thus you become what you hate most, a fat child. ld. cutty what is your thankfulness in regards to?
ld. cutty: i am thankfulness for lookus and my children, which did not spring from my loins but which i do appreciate besides.
dr. hows: cutty……..
*dr. hows look upon cutty cleaving breasts. he look a sad man, make a frowning face, a furrowed brow: a mongoose decrying the death of its mate, roaming its stomping grounds alone. dr. hows look upon this mongoose, the mongoose of his mind; it flap wings and attempt to fly, but it is weighed by the heaviness of dr. hows’s soul.
dr. hows: how does everyone?
everyone: oohh we are felling sleeping
*dr. hows watch as his acquaintances nod heads, and each falls into their food: they drugged. dr. hows smile, a jackal in the night, as he chew the mutton stuffing from ld. cutty’s plate.
By adam on October 12th, 2009
 Jim Gaffigan's Beard Comb Over I apologize that I haven’t had time to write new updates lately. I am always on the lookout for guest submissions, however, and famous comedian Jim Gaffigan, who enjoyed some of my tweets, offered to contribute to the site. If you are interested in producing content for voraciousbunnies.com, feel free to email me at adam@voraciousbunnies.com. Thanks, and enjoy! – Adam
You know when you’re watching TV and you see some guy get put into a medically induced coma? There’s some medical show and a guy comes in with his face all torn up because his daughter cut him with a sword, and then the doctors are like “The pain is too intense, let’s put him in a medically induced coma.” Then he gets to nap for like a month and gets food through a tube – none of that pesky chewing involved. How lucky is that guy?
This guy’s a jerk! I was in a coma for six weeks! My daughter is an expert swordsman!
You know what’s terrible? Green beans. I hate green beans! My wife is like, “Eat some green beans,” and she puts them on my plate and I say “absolutely not, hell no.” And then I eat them, because they’re in front of me.
But I only just realized that those same green beans are in green bean casserole. How bizarre is that? I’ll eat that stuff all day! When you put those crunchy things on top, and add some cream of mushroom soup. I didn’t even know there were beans in there!
This guy is so dumb, I hate him with all of my heart.
What are those crunchy things? Do you guys know? They’re actually onions. I know. I thought they were tiny hash browns, or maybe seasoned chunks of fried pizza crust. I know too much, I don’t know if I can eat it anymore.
But he just said he eats it all the time! He’s weird.
Don’t you hate it when people say that they know too much? They’re like “I know too much, I can’t do this anymore. I know too much, I can’t eat that Hot Pocket because I know what’s in it.” That’s a lie, no one knows what’s in a Hot Pocket.
*Hooot pockeettt*
This guy is a jerk, I’ve heard this joke a million times!
I heard they were going to start serving Hot Pockets at the Waffle House. Can you imagine that? I don’t think I’d ever stop barfing. And how about White Castle? You go to White Castle, and your options are either a sack of six burgers or a box of 20. They trick you, because it kind of sounds like Christmas. “Santa Claus is coming down the chimney with a big sack of burgers for you!” “Open up this box Timmy, it’s a Crave Case!”
That sounds like a sad holiday, maybe I should cut this guy a break.
 One time when I was in 7th grade I got yelled at in sports study hall in the Cafeteria and when the principal told me to stand up I was fidgeting with my glasses and I looked exactly like this.
My Christmases, ever since I turned 30, have been kind of rough. Couldn’t get home one year, so I ate White Castle and Hot Pockets with a Steak’um at a Waffle House.
Hey, you know what, would you like to come over for Christmas dinner this year?
Don’t you just hate it when people invite you to Christmas dinner? Inside you’re like, “I don’t want to see these people for another second, can’t I just take a nap?” But then you feel bad turning them down. “Well, you’ve just offered to take me into your home and let me intrude upon your family traditions out of the kindness of your heart, not to mention offer me a free home-cooked feast, but I feel awkward in social interactions and want to go to Dunkin’ Donuts instead, so I’m going to have to pass.”
You are the biggest jerk I know, I don’t know why I keep coming to these shows.
You know what everyone likes? Iced coffee. It sounds stupid, right? At first I was like, “Ice in my coffee? That sounds terrible!” but then one second later I saw someone drinking one and I was like, “Well I guess I’ll try one. Heeeeey this is pretty great, it has all the great taste of coffee, only like I left it sitting out for 3 hours!” But for some reason, I can’t stop buying them. “Yeah this tastes like crap, I’ll take 3 dozen.”
Hey, I like those! This guy is a jerk.
Wait until I tell you about the time I was pale!
By adam on September 1st, 2009
 mr. house wield The Cane of Ages as ld. cutty watches horrored *mr. house sit in an office, bounce a ball, bounce a ball, bounce bounce the ball is full of water and air and the blood of a martian, the ball hit the glass wall and float away out the window, lost in the clouds of the sky, a twinkle and it becomes a star in the night
mr. house: gruff i hate this repetitive occurrence.
*lady doctor cutty walk upon the office. ld. cutty wear a lady suit with a skirt and a bulbous buttix.
mr. house: you have a big buttix ld. cutty, I want to squeeze upon it
ld. cutty: mr. house I have a patience you must see
mr. house (scoffing like a horse, who whinnies at the mosquito which heretofore affixed itself upon its leg): NO NO NO NO NO
ld. cutty: he has a peenis on his brain
mr. house: it is blagners-weiners syndrome, of course, fetch me my ball (mr. house points his cane at the open window and motions it in the approximation of a mango’s shape)
ld. cutty: he also has a bloud clot in his air ventricle
mr. house: (looks with eyes out of nowhere in particular, in space perhaps a dimension unseen, who knows what this man sees when looks that way, sometime he stare at a plate, sometimes at a wall, always he pull out the answer from a trick in his mind) interesting… (eat a pill)
***
*house and Wilson eat a food in hospitle cafeteria, they sit by the table*
mr. house: Wilson I am going to eat your treats
Wilson: House Please Don’t Eat That
mr. house: i licking the bag of chips
Wilson: Ugh House Go Right Ahead You Have Ruined My Appetite
mr. house: (smirks, a jackal in the wild, a true fiend and scoundrel) i have a patience he has a weiner on his brain and a bloud clot in his air ventricle, we already check the pressure gauge and the lion’s bone, my team runs a test, but I do not care for his safety or well being
Wilson: House You Do Care You Are Just Afraid To Admit It
mr. house: fat chance do you want to see a monster cars crushing event
Wilson: Yes Do You Have A Ticket
mr. house: yes … for your eggs salad sandwitch (eat a pill)
***
*mr. house eating a pill and walking down the hall way; he limp upon his cane, which is know as The Cane of Ages. other doctors walk around him and ask him questions about the patience
doctor eric foreman: house we need to discover what clots the air ventricles, and fast
mr. house: you black, it is drugs, you know about this drugs because you black and black ones sell drugs and smoke them
number thirty ten: no it not drugs we look in his home, toxx screen neg., could it be hinklesons-porters disease
mr. house: you are a bisex, you like to lay with both men and women, you are wrong because the patence is lies, you say hinklesons-porters only because you are facing your own grim death and also enjoy both sets of human genitalia.
tolb: no you are wrong god damn the toxx is neg. but it’s not hinklesons-porters because he can still see out of the eye in his left socket, the answer is that he simply breathed too much water morans
mr. house: you cheating jew go away god you are a dumb baby (eat a pill)
 indian man kumar kumar: what if the toxx tester was a false neg.???????
mr. house: that is correct haji
chase and allison: hello we are walking alongside in the background.
***
mr. house: why is this patience dyeing!!!!!
Wilson: Maybe You Actually Do Care About This Patience, Please Admit So Accordingly
*mr. house get a look in his eye, he travels away into another land, far away in his own brains, he eat a pill and look at a plant for one min., then hobble away hurriedly as might a stilted flamingo
***
*mr. house enter into a surgery-room, he enjoys no protection against the demons lying within the patiences’s open flesh.
mr. house: do not remove this man weiner brain
surgon: however, we must remove his peenus from his brain, because he is here and i know not what to accomplish otherwise
mr. house: shut up you dumb man, he is on drugs the whole time, watch this
*house take a markur and write on the patience forehead, he write “i have a weiner in my brain, please do not remove” atop this slate of flesh. slowly the marker fades into the flesh, it bubbles and glows, tiny black bubbles as occurs naturally in a pit of tar, and slowly it forms a black circle, a portal to hades, upon which a weiner appears; house sprinkles a small amount of water upon the head weiner, and it dissolve into a small pile of dust. mr. house gather weiner dust and place it within the patience’s mouth, the curative dust pours through the body’s stream of bloud, and the curative powers within are unleashed. thus, the man, cured of all past and future disease and wound, open his eyes and sit upright on the table, ready to begin anew an immortal life filled with adventure and mystery and intrigue, forever healthy, forever strong, escaping the slow crawl of time’s sands*
mr. house: haha you eat you own weiner (eat a pill)
By adam on August 21st, 2009
 dough hefferman *dough hefferman sits on couch a lazy fat slobman. dough drink a beer and eat a chips. dough drops a chip in the couch and pours the crumbs into his mouth as a filthy neanderthal
dough hefferman: i want chip
*dough remain stationary but turn head leftward to gaze upon fallen chip. his stomach swells with the girth of four watermelons packed into a bulbous bag of slop. crumbs litter his black t-shirt. he wear sweat pants of gray.
*dough opens mouth so wide and emits loud piercing noise; chip begins to shake and quake, suddenly flying toward his mouth: he suck it up. crunch munch he makes the noise and swig a beer.
*carry hefferman walk through front entryway and carry six of bags of food, clothes, first aid and survival supplies.
carry hefferman: a little HELP DOUGH???
dough hefferman (drooling): gurrggle??
carry hefferman: there are more bags in the car dough! please help me
dough hefferman (grunts, slowly crane head toward carry as a truck carefully backs up on the highway): i must level with you, i just ate chip and i need digestion *pats the fat, pooled and gelatinized underneath the black t-shirt and smiles
carry hefferman: UGH FINE, have you move all day? i am gone for 3 hours!!!
dough hefferman: re-lax-a-sheeee-ooownn
carry hefferman: well dough you disgusting sack of fat meat curling up inside a hibernation bear, you need moving soon for tonight we join a movie with decon and kelley.
dough hefferman: aawwwulllll rieeegghttt *gets up from couch hop up and down as the salmon hop out from the stream* what do we see BLOOD
 we see blood monster 2 MONSTERS FROM EXPLOSIONS CITY II: THE PERFECT CRIME
carry hefferman: ugh no we see GIRL MOVIE SENTIMENTAL ROMANCE starring sandra bullsock and huge grant.
*dough hefferman swig a beer, pout face, the fat melds into empty mass of flesh upon the face reformulates as a puppy dog, a sad hound wishing for an extra scrap of hot dog from the table
carry hefferman: sigh ok dough we can see blood monsters 2
*dough hefferman thrusts his hips and shakes his rumpus, the vibrations and subsequent gust of farting air open the window to the kitchen, where arther looks in
arther: so you kids going to see a moving picture film? i once met the great oscar in a mcdonalds restaurant while i was working there for a spell after i dropped out of college on account of a certain mishap involving the dean and a chicken i was harboring for a cuban national, before i was fired for unionizing the workers
dough hefferman: GRAAHAHHH ARTHER YOU ARE SO CRAZY
*dough hefferman stomach fat turn and twists forms a spiral of devestating power with the force of a twister suck his shirt off his body now dough is barechested and his stomach fat with pacification retreats into fleshy pouch
arther: SO YOU’RE A SLAVE TO THE MAN, THE CORPORATE MASTERS??
***
*carry hefferman in the room fancifying oneself for film outing among decon and kelley, she put on earrings and make up and a dress of the finest silver
carry hefferman: DOUGH DECON AND KELLEY ARE HERE ARE YOU READY FOR TO GO TO THE MOVIES?
dough hefferman: uh i watch game
carry hefferman: we are going to see blood monsters 2
*switch to downstairs, dough hefferman sitting back on the couch. his beer emptied. he look into kitchen window and notice a soda pop and chocolate chip bag
dough hefferman: ARTHER can you get me foodstuffs and bring to me so i neednt move?
arther: HELP I HAVE LOCKED MYSELF IN THE DRYER MACHINE AND THESE SOCKS ARE SO HOT
*dough hefferman grunt disapproval. he look at foodstuffs amidst the great longing of the lioness mother watchful for the returning of her cub: he concentrate so hard the mind of dough reach unknown plane of consciousness. he neednt move for he send a ghostly apparation to the soda pop and chocolate chip, the spirit harbor the treats and deposit them direct into the mouth and esophagus of dough
*dough hefferman return to realistics in sweaty mass of lumps, wipe forehead
dough: per-spir-eeehhhh-sheee-owwwnnn
By adam on August 15th, 2009
 St. Fulbert of Chartres The Bishop Fulbert of Chartres actively promoted the Catholic Church and the cult of the Virgin Mary in France in the early 1000s. Fulbert wrote many well-known letters, poems, and hymns, but recently, a scholar discovered a series of political tracts ascribed to the influential bishop. I will share them with you here, as they are translated into English.
THE FULBERT REPORT as issued on this, the fifteenth day of the month of August in the year of our Lord one-thousand and nine, to the literate, land-owning men of Chartres, and those in this vicinity who aspire to one day own a plot, and who thus are deeply concerned about the plight of land-owners, including the possibility of any wretched taxes levied onto the land-owners therein the borders of Chartres.
This FULBERT REPORT concerns the nature of the efforts to reform health and wellness issuances by the scoundrel Rodney Davies, who refuses to confirm the circumstances of his very birth through forthright and legitimate documentation, casting doubt upon his identity as a Frenchman of Anglican descent, and perhaps indicating that he sprang spontaneously from the devil’s gnarled touch upon the Great Tree of the misted dark forest on the African Continent.
Mr. Davies, a merchant and scholar who ruthlessly maligned his way into the vassalage through the machinations of the nefarious ACORN organization, an association so entrenched into the devil’s schema that it will surely influence society henceforth until the Day of Judgment, wishes to overhaul the excellent health and wellness regimen that serves the constituents of Chartres by the Excellency of Our Lord Jesus Christ. Heretofore, I will enumerate the most galling policy changes set forth by Mr. Davies, the great scalawag, toward the devilish regression of our health, wellness, and fitness, and the encroachment thereof unto our everyday experience:
Proposal One: Mr. Davies wishes to slash apart the fabric of our blessed social organization and replace our familiar feudal system with a nefarious, heathenistic structure imported from the tribal African Nation. This aforementioned social shift would rest your health upon the hands of the “godless death harbingers” or “doctors” who use their dark magical potions, elixirs, and surgical implements to render the body incapable of receiving the Lord’s healing, as administered by ordained clergy.
Proposal Two: After receiving the last rites and upon the receipt of the Lord’s touch, the soul of a man escapes his earthly frame and begins its ascent Heavenward. What, then, remains of man’s shell of clay and dirt? Should not you be afforded the opportunity to choose the location of your form’s decomposition and rot?
Mr. Davies, Satan’s proudest minion, wishes to infringe upon your freedom to choose the location of your body’s decay by collecting corpses in wheelbarrows and dumping them into the river.
Proposal Three, of which Our Highest Lady, the Virgin Mary, Mother of God, would certainly disapprove: Mr. Davies advocates the criminal prosecution of any proprietary organization which sells “meat which is rotten, vegetables which are rotten, fruits which are rotten or otherwise spoiled, and bread infested with mold, lice, or insects.” Good men of Chatres, do not these measures seem an extreme undertaking? Do you and your neighbors require another man of the elite bureaucracy to unnecessarily inspect your food for you, a task that certainly you may undertake by your own volition? Such wasteful appropriation of money will only result in the advocacy of taxation to be levied upon the nobility; this theft will drain funds designated for protection, thus increasing the risk of attacks by heathens, Spaniards, and other barbarians, which will effect more health-related travesty. Never before has such a counter-productive measure been proposed.
Mr. Davies’s plan lacks sense and wisdom; in response, I, the Hon. St. Fulbert of Chartres, propose to allocate available funds to volunteer prayer-response teams designed to appeal most vociferously to Jesus Christ the Lord and His Virgin Mother, who may judge righteously from his seat in Heaven whether the sick or injured may live or die, and if he should die, whether he should burn for eternity amidst the company of one Mr. Rodney Davies, or whether he should serve his time in Purgatory (please be aware, under my conception, the family of the newly passed may request the prayer-response service to pray their fallen brethren more rapidly into Heaven, for a nominal fee), or whether he should enter Heaven directly, a fate surely reserved for those who take up arms against Mr. Davies and his Satanic health reformation operations. Voice your opposition to Mr. Davies’s health and wellness issuance reformation: take up signage proclaiming him a scoundrel, a devilish ne’er-do-well, a tragic child of Satan’s mind, as available for a nominal fee in the cathedral vestibule.
Thus concludes THE FULBERT REPORT on this the fifteenth day of the month of August in the Year of Our Lord one thousand nine.
By adam on August 1st, 2009
 Welcome, Something Awful visitors. I hope that, after reading the review below, you’ll check out “kings of queens”, a bizarre reimagining of the hit sitcom The King of Queens, and “THE FULBERT REPORT”, a parody of The Colbert Report starring St. Fulbert of Chartres (it’s funnier than it sounds, I hope). Thanks!
Zack Parsons, longtime writer for humor website Something Awful and author of My Tank is Fight, casts his second book, Your Next-Door Neighbor is a Dragon, as a travelogue/novel mash-up – or, perhaps more accurately, a self-insertion travelogue fanfic – that explores some of the most popular subcultures developing on the Internet. Rather than study the subcultures in their online iterations, Mr. Parsons travels through several states to interview the people behind the furry avatars.
Mr. Parsons’s Something Awful articles range from the utterly bizarre to the understated and wry. Perhaps his funniest work lands somewhere in the middle; for example, his caricature of Levi Johnston, the father of former Gov. Sarah Palin’s grandchild, constructs the teenage father’s online persona as a hilariously half-informed, yet sympathetic, rambunctious redneck. Your Next-Door Neighbor is a Dragon tends toward the subdued, which, despite its odd episodes, allows the narrative a sense of truth. A grotesque prologue depicts a distracted Zack sustaining an intense injury to his hand while discussing the genesis of his book with his publisher; this injury, and his medical treatment, straddles the line between the improbable and the normal. Mr. Parsons maintains this level of uncertainty over the veracity of the narrative throughout much of the book, which highlights the discussion of bizarre Internet subcultures at the expense of really funny commentary. That said, this fictionalized, undocumented, and often incredible book offers some worthwhile insight into the nature of Internet subcultures, including furries, voraphiliacs, otherkin, fanfiction writers, Ron Paulites, self-diagnosed Aspberger’s sufferers, and a cult compound.
Your Next-Door Neighbor is a Dragon expounds on one major, overarching theme considered by Plato in his “Allegory of the Cave,” in the poetry of the Romantics, and in the Postmodernists’ texts: that reality, that a person’s conception of the world and how it functions, is constructed by an individual based on the stimuli available. Your Next-Door Neighbor is a Dragon offers one postmodern caveat to this theme, which seems to refer directly to the motto of Something Awful: the Internet really does make you stupid. The prisoners shackled in Plato’s cave and the Romantic poets wandering about the woods and enjoying nature could not comprehend the Internet’s hypertextual sensory overload. This concept is best represented in the first chapter’s discussion of an “Internet scholar’s” experiment, which saw Zack locked in a chamber and bombarded his senses, eventually influencing his mental reactions to stimuli; and, each of Zack’s acquaintances suffers from a distorted sense of reality, an arrested development, and a nearly unshakable sense of righteousness. For example, when Zack confronts the incongruity between Janus’s religion and somewhat grotesque sexual stories, Janus responds with the incredulous rage of someone who recognizes that his or her worldview is threatened.
Rather than churn out a stream of continuous jokes, Your Next-Door Neighbor is a Dragon employs a subdued tone throughout much of the work in order to highlight the interesting discussion of Internet subcultures. However, several very funny moments interrupt the piece’s faux-journalistic mood. Most notably, the chapter on sexual fanfiction stories, which describes budding Internet authors who crudely recast their favorite fictional characters into XXX-rated situations, elicits tear-inducing hilarity; reading Janus’s samples aloud without laughing is a near-impossible feat. The vague references to and recitations from the Super Bible are also excellent; these jokes, apparently throw-aways, are actually integrated nicely into the narrative.
But the tone begins to shift during the chapter on Lindsey Dawn Riley, a grotesque and frightening character featured in several of Mr. Parson’s Something Awful articles, and this section (despite having nothing to do with Internet subcultures) makes up the most engaging and consistently funny portion of the book. This chapter moves seamlessly into an interaction with the evil leader of the white power website Stormfront (whose image reminds me of Dick Cheney leaving the White House in his wheelchair on the day of President Obama’s inauguration), and, in the final chapter, an outraged Zack antagonizes the leaders of a cult known for recruiting its lonely members from the Internet. Your Next-Door Neighbor is a Dragon, then, offers intriguing insights and sporadic moments of laughter when it sticks to its supposed premise, but really engages the reader near its conclusion, when it moves away from its initial structure.
In Your Next-Door Neighbor is a Dragon, Mr. Parsons presents a unique, thoughtful, and fun narrative about the real lives of men and women that dominate the Internet’s most prolific and strange subcultures. Though Mr. Parsons’s book is not filled with the kind of wacky, zany, random humor that one might expect from an Internet humor writer, its wry explorations of Internet subcultures, occasionally punctuated by laugh-out-loud moments, conclude in a very funny and surprising finale.
By adam on July 18th, 2009
I’m starting to get a feel for the kind of content that I want to produce… but in the meantime, here are some more classic moments from VB’s past:
voraciousbunnies.com was originally hosted by $4.95.com. Back in 2001, it was pretty much an Internet rule of thumb that companies named after a price were extremely trustworthy and reliable. Unfortunately, $4.95 could not withstand the dreaded Nimda virus:
10/13/01::adam
2-3 weeks ago (I lost track), $4.95 was struck down with the dreaded Nimda virus. Unfortunately, $4.95’s 1987 version of Norton Antivirus for Apple IIe could not defeat this monstrous threat to the Internet community. Understandably, $4.95 was down for several days, and we all feared it dead, until, approximately one week later, through some sort of voodoo magic, the site miraculously resurrected itself. For awhile, nothing could be seen at their site but the cryptic message “4″, but soon this was changed in favor of a small explanation as to the situation, and promising a return to full operation in 36-48 hours. It was at this point that the site became available to the needy public once again, but we had no access to our FTP; in other words, we couldn’t update at all. Two weeks later (today – which is much longer than 48 hours, by my estimate) our magical FTP powers were finally restored to us. Naturally we are all very happy with the situation that has just transpired.
The solution? Change hosts, “once I get my mom’s credit card number.” A later post suggests that our mommies would not assist us with the host-changing procedure, and we continued to patronize $4.95.com for another year or two.
I wrote two absolutely horrific “raps” at some point; these mostly consist of random words strewn together (for example, “Mutha shit ass word”). Alex’s friend Nathaniel “Nasty Nate” Nathan, however, contributed a fine rap ballad that cuts to the heart of American racial issues in the immediate aftermath of 9/11. It was posted on 10/14/2001, and is entitled “No Title”:
Im nasty nate and my shit is tite/
Im really black but ppl think Im white/
when they call me a cracker I shoot lyrics on sight/
you got beef with me? comon lets fight/
Ive got a whole collaboration/
of fans and hoes from around every nation/
they love to flow with my lyrical divination/
they love to tune into my spiritual station/
you think you can stand my freestyling heat?/
Ive got bass and trebble in my beat/
Get off your feet and take a seat/
While I rhyme without any sheets/
I bust your cap with my 9 and smile/
Im rebel’n while propel’in freestyles/
Nothing good happened in November. I wrote some commentaries that, at the time, I thought were at the apex of humor. Topics include the legalization of marijuana in Jamaica (though I never smoked pot), a ridiculous minor league baseball game (watching a bench-clearing brawl is a memorable experience that will live in my heart forever, but I was not funny enough to do it justice), a review of the first Harry Potter movie (I never read any of the books or saw the movies), a discussion of the Gary Condit scandal (I made up a bunch of stuff), and a discussion of chemical warfare (in which I mostly considered the implications of mutated animal crackers).
That’s all for tonight. I’m afraid that these are kind of stale/lame, but my reasons for putting these posts together are, first, to share the random bits of humor that are hidden amidst this awful garbage; second, to enjoy the nostalgia; and third, to archive/memorialize most of the different aspects of the site.
That said, I’m getting to some more interesting stuff, and I’ll be adding some new content soon.
By adam on July 9th, 2009
Welcome to voraciousbunnies.com! I don’t know why you’re here.
VB was originally developed in August of 2001 when intrepid computer nerd Alex designed it, I wrote for it, and Craig drew a bunny (at the top) for it. We all got bored of the site in the next minute or so, but not before posting funny bullshit from Todd and Mr. W. and Doctor Wu and Nasty Nate. And by “funny bullshit,” I mean things that we thought were funny eight years ago but are mostly terrible in retrospect.
Out of some odd sense of nostalgia, I decided it would be a great idea to recreate voraciousbunnies.com. Probably the smartest aspect of this plan was the decision to reuse the eight year old site design.
I don’t really know what you’ll end up seeing here, exactly. I’ll be updating, and so will Craig, and maybe I’ll prod Alex into doing something. Others are welcome to contribute.
Periodically, I’ll post some random humorous moments from the old site. This heavily edited process is designed to give you a false impression regarding the quality of the site’s past incarnation. Here are some to get started:
Humble beginnings at Angelfire:
8/13/01::alex
Today marks the beginning of voraciousbunnies.com. The site starts off with a humble beginning at Angelfire.com, but soon shall aspire to greater heights. So far, we’ve just been thinking of possible subsections. Good day.
Armed with my 9th-grade infinite knowledge of Microsoft Word, I decided to create a video game. The synopsis is below; it really isn’t funny, but unlike most of this trash, it kind of reminds me of my present sense of humor. I remember that I thought it would be funny if the game’s storyboard was something like, 10 minutes of introductory text, some dialogue, and then you start out in a room, and you enter the next room, and then you win.
8/31/01::adam – SOLAR: The Burning Ball of Fire Story
The year is 2098. The Earth is an unkind place to humans and animals alike. Wars plague the planet, and giant machines called “Robots” have claimed the planet for their own. These “Robots” have forced the human race into slavery, and kill any who stand in their way. You are Jonnas, a young son of a dust miner in the Sahara Desert. You must lead a mismatched group against the Robotic Empire, to achieve freedom against the metal monsters. The Sun is the key.
I also reviewed the hit shareware game “Olive Wars,” a vegetable warfare simulator. I removed the part where I compared my computer hard drive crashing to 9/11.
9/18/01::adam – Game Review::Olive Wars
Have you ever just wanted to throw broccoli into the sky and squeeze an olive so that the red thing shoots out and hits the broccoli as it flies past in the air? Well say no more.
Haha, “Well say no more” is such a terrible sentence. What is supposedly being said? Maybe I just had a terrible concept of quotation marks and meant “Well say ‘no more!’”
My review is pretty scathing:
Now, if you haven’t played “Olive Wars” before, I would like to extend to you an invitation to run away from this beast as far as you can….
You try to shoot the healthy snacks out of the sky, and try to avoid them on their way down. Fearsome. There are several supporting characters, including but not excluding:
- Mushrooms
- Broccoli
- Corn
- EVIL CORN
- White ball things
- Red ball things with a yellow border that gives you another red thing for you to shoot! Vegetable ammo!
- Some other renegade foods.
While this game is not meant for vegetarians or fans of the hit show “Veggie Tales”, it is a HUGE WASTE OF TIME. DON’T PLAY THIS GAME!! PLEASE!!
But if you must, the “40 Games for Windows” disc is available at your local Wal-Mart for about $10. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
 Olive Wars Action Shot
This takes us through September. I’ll definitely share more in the future, because this really only scratches the surface (upcoming highlights include a certain drawing with the filename “dalesend.png” and updates from our friends Todd and Mr. W.). If, for some reason, you want to email me, I have a fancy new email address: adam@voraciousbunnies.com.
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