littlewillie's Open Salon Blog

Blue Velvet Christmas

Tue, 20 Dec 2011 19:12:22 -0500

Santa Claus double checked his naughty or nice list. Only the nice ones got gifts, but Santa had a weakness. Santa liked to visit one of the naughty girls. Her name was Dorothy Vallens.

Dorothy Vallens was the headline lounge singer at The Slow Club in Lumberton, North Carolina. Lumberton was a boring, quiet suburb. Compared to Lumberton, Dorothy was like an exotic, forbidden spice. "Blue Velvet" was Dorothy's signature song, and patrons of the club would not leave until she sang it.

Santa crouched trying to hide in the fireplace. Dorothy glided across the living room wearing her blue velvet bathrobe with nothing on underneath. Dorothy paused in front of the fireplace.

"Come out so I can see you. It's not fair that you get to see me and I can't see you."

Santa crawled out and stood up to face Dorothy. His red cheeks were on fire as were his loins.

"My secret admirer. Now it's my turn. Take off your clothes. Do it before I call the cops."

Santa slowly removed his clothes. Dorothy smiled at the sight of Santa's swollen candy cane. Dorothy knelt down. Santa closed his eyes.

A loud banging on the door interrupted Santa's ultimate fantasy.

"Oh my God. It's Frank! Hurry. Get back in the fireplace."

Frank Booth was Lumberton's local drug dealer and certified psychopath. Frank was obsessed with Dorothy, and in order to keep her as his girlfriend, he kidnapped her husband and son.

"Who the fuck were you talking to?"

"No one."

Frank slapped Dorothy hard across her face.

"Don't you fucking lie to me. Don't you ever fucking lie to me!"

Frank saw the red hat that Santa forgot to bring back to his hiding place. Frank held up the hat and pushed it into Dorothy's face.

" Nobody here, huh. What the fuck is this?"

Frank took out his gun and prowled around the room. He pointed the gun where Santa was hiding.

"Who is this fuck? I ought to kill you right now you miserable fuck."

"Please Frank. Leave him alone. He's just a neighbor."

"Oh a neighbor. Well howdy neighbor. What's your name, fucker?"

"Santa."

Frank punches Santa in the stomach.

"A fucking comedian. Go get me a fucking beer. Hey Santa, you want one? What kind of beer does Santa like to drink?"

"Heineken."

"Heineken. Fuck that shit! Pabst Blue Ribbon is what we're having. Hey Santa. Have you ever been to Pussy Heaven?"

"No."

"If you're really Santa Claus then you can bring me a present. For Christmas this year, I want a big bag of FUCK. Can you get me some fuck?"

"No."

"You know what my friends say about me, Santa. I'll fuck anything that moves!"

Frank turns around and takes out his amyl nitrite inhaler. Frank sucks down several hits and then puts on some lipstick. Frank grabs the back of Santa's head and gives him a long kiss. Frank pushes a piece of blue velvet fabric into Santa's hand.

"Baby wants to fuck. Stick it in my mouth, fucker!"

Santa gently puts the blue velvet into Frank's mouth. Frank rolls around the floor, humping the carpet while making horrible sounds. Finally, Frank finishes, and adjusts his pants.

"Has anyone ever sent you a love letter, Santa? I'll send you a love letter. Straight from my fucking heart. You get my drift? A bullet straight from my gun into your head. You get a love letter from me and you are fucked forever!"

Frank exits the house slamming the door. Santa and Dorothy stare at each other in shock. Dorothy strolls toward her bedroom, turns her lovely neck to Santa and says, "I don't think it would be a good idea for you to come back next Christmas."

Rick Perry Orders Texans To Use Wildfires To Burn Books

Wed, 7 Sep 2011 18:09:07 -0400

By executive order, Governor Rick Perry has ordered all his fellow Texans to take advantage of the wildfires by burning all books that could be considered: unpatriotic, pornographic, anti-Christian, antipasto, pro-homosexuality, pro choice, communist, socialist, atheistic, agnostic, or any book published in a language different than American.

"I urge all Texans to view the wildfires as a message from God to purify your homes, bookstores, libraries, and schools from unamerican influences, such as books. Help thy illiterate neighbor by pointing out if they possess any satanic verses."

When asked if he feared that the ranch of former President George W. Bush would be engulfed by flames, Governor Perry replied, "The only good bush is a burning bush."

Governor Perry reminded that anyone caught burning a bible would be executed at the earliest possible opportunity.

"We here are law abiding citizens in Texas. If God commands us to use the wildfires to purify our Christian souls, then that's what we will do. If you can't stand the heat, then get out of Satan's kitchen."

Save Lives And Money! Adopt A Pe(s)t

Thu, 2 Jun 2011 12:06:01 -0400

The recession has taken a terrible toll on almost everything, including our nation's pet population. Thousands of pet owners have been forced to give up their beloved pets because they can no longer afford to care for them.

As a public service, I have come up with a free alternative to pet ownership for those who miss the companionship of a pet. All you need to do is open your eyes, along with a few windows and doors. Why go to a pet store and spend money on gerbils or hamsters when there are so many stray mice in dire need of a home. Soon your new pe(s)ts will race inside to greet you - moths, ants, spiders, flies, will joyfully fill your house or apartment. Never again have to worry about having enough money for pet food or the cash for a vet visit.

The spiders will eat the moths and flies, and the ants will eat whatever is left (including you if you are not careful). For those who are pro choice, make sure you have enough insect condoms to inhibit overpopulation.

Most people have no idea how affectionate insects can be. They love to crawl all over your body. They forgive and keep coming back even if you yell curses at them or accidentally step on their mother. This is the kind of unconditional love that people who are not allergic to bug bites yearn for.

You don't need to despair anymore about having to live without a pet. Take a chance, open your heart, and adopt a pe(s)t. You'll be glad that you did.

Trump Demands To See Osama's Death Certificate

Mon, 2 May 2011 14:05:49 -0400

Location, Date, & Time: New York, Trump Towers Penthouse, May 1, 2011, approximately 11PM

"Should we wake him?" nervously asks one of Donald Trump's personal assistants.

"You know what happened to the last guy who disturbed his beauty sleep."

"No. I don't know what happened. I never saw him again."

"Exactly."

"If we don't wake him up to let him know that Osama Bin Laden was killed by American forces in Pakistan, then the shit is going to hit the fan."

"And whoever wakes him up will be fired."

"Let me do it. I'm sick of working for this pompous, arrogant, asshole."

"He's such a lousy prick. I can't take it any more. I'll do it."

"No! I want to get fired!

"So do I!"

"Okay. Let's both do it at the same time."

The assistants slowly approach the forbidden zone, otherwise known as Donald Trump's master bedroom. Loud snoring emanates from the sound-proof room. The door is locked.

Assistant number one has a wild look in his eyes and says, "All the years of verbal and psychological abuse. Finally some payback."

The assistants begin pounding and kicking the door as hard as they can for about thirty seconds. They step back from the door.

The snoring has ceased. Total silence. Then a low howling begins which morphs into a horrible roaring sound laced with obscenities.

"The Donald" emerges from his lair. He is wearing custom-made Spiderman pajamas. His red comb-over hair struggles to emerge from a lunchlady hair net. He is foaming at the mouth, screaming in tongues, gesturing spastically with his hands.

"Mr. Trump. We are so sorry to disturb you. Osama Bin Laden is dead. Killed by American special forces in Pakistan...

Mr. Trump starts jumping up and down like a child, singing, "Obama is dead!" over and over.

"Mr. Trump. Please listen carefully. Obama is alive. Osama Bin Laden is dead."

Trump pauses. He looks confused. He starts dancing and singing again, "Osama is dead!"

Trump calls for security. "Escort these douchebags out of the building. You're both fired."

As they are being led to the elevator, the assistants are smiling, "Thank you Mr. Trump."

"The Donald" throws off his hair net and starts to get busy. He makes a few phone calls. "I want everyone in my office in ten minutes. Are you sure Osama Bin Laden is dead? I don't care what the President says. I want proof. I want a notarized, circumsized copy of the death certificate by nine in the morning or you're all fired!

Top Ten Things To Do While Waiting for OS To Load...

Tue, 29 Mar 2011 18:03:41 -0400

My high-speed internet connection is no match for Open Salon. I glide effortlessly over the world-wide web, trolling for nuggets of wisdom and free porn, but as soon as I meander to the OS website, my supersonic surfing slows down to an elderly snail's pace.

I stare helplessly at the words "waiting for open.salon.com" and "loading"and I curse the Greek god, "Chronos," for wasting my time. Aparently, all of the ritual sacrifices I have done for Chronos, such as dumping a Grandfather Clock out of a moving car into the Schuylkill River, have been in vain.

Consequently, after seconds of research, I have compiled a list of activities that one can try while waiting for this mothersucker to load:

10) Braid your pubic hair. No pubic hair. Proceed to # nine.

9) Buy a David Hasselhoff Chia Pet and watch the grass grow out of his head.

8) Learn a new language such as "English."

7) Try convincing a "Tea Party" follower that not all Muslims are terrorists.

6) Go for a walk to visit your old house that is now owned by the bank.

5) Read a newspaper and try to figure out why "March Madness" refers to college basketball instead of what's going on in Libya and Japan.

4) Pretend that you are rich and go test drive some BMW's and Mercedes for a few hours.

3) Call your favorite charity and ask for a refund of your most recent donation.

2) Call up your local morgue and ask about volunteer opportunities.

1) Confess to the murders of Tupac and/or Biggie.