Friday, December 17, 2010

U.S. Postal Service Sued Over Stomach Ache

During this time of year, the mail tends to get a little wacky.  Thousands of letters are sent to Santa, thousands of letters to Santa are being shoveled into an incinerator, and of course, the overwhelming abundance of packages being shipped to and fro.

Fro.  The worst kind of package to receive.

Aunt Beth's and Grandma Gertrude's across the nation are bogging down post offices with gifts that need sending to their relatives who almost definitely don't want whatever the gift is.  Mailmen complain of aching backs, groins, and prides, but the truth is, their suffering doesn't even come close to what Michael Sludgefoot went through in the last 24 hours.

Last night, Sludgefoot received a package that he had ordered a few weeks ago.  It was a lamp that looked like a ship.  Despite Christmas being just around the corner, this was not a gift for someone else, but Michael himself.  "I decided to treat myself this year.  I've always loved ships.  Models of ships, drawings of ships, hell, even movies with ships in them," explained Sludgefoot with a sly grin.  "The only thing I love more than ships is illumination and being able to see, so naturally the ship-lamp was a must-have."

If you don't own one of these, you're already ahead in life.

The package was due to be shipped the day he ordered it, but disaster struck at the Ship-Lamp factory.  Apparently, a careless worker had accidentally brought a pistol to work and it went off in his hands 27 times, resulting in a chemical fire that produced a toxic cloud of ship and lamp smoke that is currently hovering over New Mexico.  After waiting close to 13 days in total darkness, the lamp arrived on Michael's doorstep, stained with the blood of innocent factory workers and smelling of screams.  Michael savored the moment.  Michael ferociously tore open the package with every intention of hooking the lamp up and masturbating silently beneath its warmth.

You don't even wanna know what's going on just below that lamp.

Before Sludgefoot could plug the lamp in, something in the box distracted him.  Small, lightweight, peanut-shaped packing peanuts.  "There must have been thousands of them...okay well maybe not thousands, but definitely hundreds," described Michael.  "Or at least a few dozen."

If we had to guess, we'd saaay...there's about sixteen.

Michael had never seen anything like these tiny majestic styrofoam wads.  He held them, smelled them, and did many other things that we keep trying to type, but our computer continues to delete them due to some sort of government "cyber-filth" restriction.  After several minutes of intense inspection, a packing peanut entered Michael's body via a hole.  A few minutes later, another packing peanut entered Michael's body via his mouth.  That's the one we're going to be talking about.  Don't worry about the "hole" one...that one is just fine.

We said it's fine.  Quit thinking about it!  No, we aren't going to show a picture or even hint to where the other packing peanut is located...it's in his anus, okay?

Shortly after ingesting the packing nut, Michael began to feel a slight indigestion.  He guzzled a bottle of Anti-Shit Juice and ate an antacid log.  This temporarily settled the grave situation taken place in his bowels...we stress the word "temporarily".  Not even an hour after Michael ate the peanut, an extreme bout of anal eruptions occured.  He was knocked to the floor by the initial blast and the struggle that ensued tested his faith and will to live.  In a twist of bizarre luck, Michael had recently installed a block of wood to bite down on in his bathroom, so that kept him from swallowing his own tongue during the intense battle his gutty works.


You might not think you're going to need it, but trust us...you absolutely will.

After nearly half a day, Michael's dreadful case of the squirts was soothed.  It might not have taken so long to stop if he hadn't kept eating spoonfuls of baking fat while in the bathroom.  Though the shit may have stopped, that was just the beginning of the battle.  Michael's asshole was in a truly pitiful state.  In shreds one could say...and would say because it literally just looked like a bunch of flesh strips that had been chewed on by a ravenous wolf. 

Asshole, meet Wolf. Wolf, meet Asshole.

Michael did, however, have enough strength and courage to stand up from the toilet and get to the phone.  Although he was on the verge of total rectal collapse, he dialed his attorney's number.  John Wilfe Pratt, attorney-at-law, has helped Michael, as well as many other troubled individuals, in lawsuits with less than normal circumstances.  In 1992, he made a name for himself when he helped a woman get 3 million dollars from God for making her uglier than a Joan Rivers' head mold made out of turds (heyo!).  He helped another man win a huge settlement against the judge that convicted him of manslaughter because he banged the gavel too hard and made his ears hurt. 

If you're going to give someone a life sentence, there's no need to be a douche about it.

Pratt immediately began working on Sludgefoot's case, but it wasn't going to be an easy task.  It's true that Michael did willfully ingest the packing peanut, but they believe he can plead ignorance.  "No one told me I couldn't eat those," said Sludgefoot.  "Why call them packing peanuts if you can't eat them?  It just seems silly."  Pratt also cited the striking resemblance packing peanuts share with pork rinds, which are also one of Michael's favorite snacks.

We've got to admit, he's got a point there.

"What we have here is a direct lack of responsibility within the postal system.  They neglected men like my client and now he's the one paying the price," announced Pratt in a press conference.  "My client is what most would call an adventurer.  A man-child with the curiosity of someone who has been trapped in a dungeon for thirty years.  We cannot blame him for eating the packing peanut.  It is human nature to eat things we are uncertain about, especially when they're called peanuts.  Who we CAN blame is the United States Postal Service for not anticipating this and ensuring that it never happened."

Why didn't you warn him?!  YOU FUCKING BASTARD!

Representatives from the Postal Service have released a statement in response to this litigation being brought against them.  "Mr. Sludgefoot, at this time, poses no immediate threat to the U.S. Postal Service and all that it stands for.  Packing peanuts are a staple in American shipping traditions and we do not intend on changing."  Pratt and Sludgefoot suggested possibly switching to an alternative method of protecting packages, such as Protection Pastries or Fragility Frittatas. 

Who wouldn't want to get their box set of Frasier crammed in a box full of these bad boys?

The Postal Service rebuked with this:  "This is the only case of anyone ever eating a packing peanut in the history of the mail system...that'd be like...banning airplanes because some guy accidentally fell asleep on his face and suffocated on a plane once.  It needs to happen at least seven times before we can even think about a settlement.  That's just the way we roll."

They see me rollin', they hatin'.

The court date is set for next week, but we anticipate the issue will be forgotten by then as Michael has already begun a legal clusterfuckle against the entire world's population of cows for making him drink too much milk and feeling bloated.  Also, he is suing his fridge for making his ice cubes so cold that one got stuck to his lip, forcing him to rush over to his ship-lamp in an attempt to melt the cube, but accidentally got water in the lamp, destroying it. 

Who would have thought there was so many pictures of ship-lamps?

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