straight from the sphincter: fly on the wall's reports of president bush's love for fart humor corroborated by inside sources

yep, friends. the most flatulent president in history. obsessed with fart humor. you thought rory was kiddin'? frick no. rory wasn't kiddin'. the puerile obsession is part of dub's fiction based reality. as pointed out by U.S. News and World Report, w even likes to let 'em rip in an effort to amuse new hires. oh razor-tongued tina of fuzzy and blue, rory bows his head in thanks for your post vindicating his and fly on the wall's work. some said it was silly of rory to post about bush's out-of-control sphincter songs. but rory had a journalistic obligation to bring the story to the people, despite the skepticism, the turning away, the revulsion. truly though, it was fly on the wall who broke the story of dub's wind. oh fly, clairvoyant insect from a distant planet who selected rory as his earthly messenger to humankind! oh remarkable fly, we celebrate tonight, you and I! like an eruption from the 60-year-old cheeks of dub, the foul truth will out!


Oh, dub indeed farts indiscriminately. He said to this child in church: "Son, you'll always remember the day you stood before this pew. May god love you." Then, a sound similar to the scream of a ferret being brutally wrung like a wet towel tore through the seat-seam of his tailored trousers leaving a stain that few would see:



dub sometimes envelopes those less fortunate than he in the warmth of his bottom-fed humor. he craves the attention, the laughter, the acceptance he feels when another being is amused by the windsong escaping his puckered flesh-trumpet.



for those who never visited and those who might wish to revisit now that even the most skeptical must accept the fair, balanced, accurate coverage of dub's babbling bowel, the gibbering madman's methane-breathing under-mouth, rory offers you easy access to the complete compendium of rory 'n' fly's coverage of the pennsylvania avenue pooter, the crawford crepitator, THE MOST FLATULENT PRESIDENT IN HISTORY:

roryshock: President Bush Reveals Puerile Obsession With Fart Humor Under Stress in India. Indian Muslims Outraged. "This is worse than the cartoons," some say.

roryshock: The Most Flatulent President In History Photo Essay II: More Scenes of Bush's Puerile Humor From the First Stench-Trench

roryshock: The Most Flatulent President In History Photo Essay III -- Nero Fiddled, Bush Farted

roryshock: Most Flatulent President In History -- IV

roryshock: the most flatulent president in history "rides" again

although not entirely about the first flatulence, the following post reports bush's attempt to woo German Chancellor Merkel with nether-mouth-music:

roryshock: bush admits to lusting after german chancellor merkel after he "glimpsed her soul"

Harmless in Nature -- Potentially Dangerous in Sauerbraten: the Cicada.

rory, rory, rory, what the frick brings this on? well, it's like this, rory's head voice sez to rory's head ear:

"This possibly drowned annual cicada you fished from the drink recently isn't really frickin' annual, now, is it?" Whatchoomean? It's been said many times, many ways, but here's how it's put in A Field Guide to the Insects of America North of Mexico:

Most cicadas are large blackish insects, often with greenish markings, that appear each year in July and August; their life cycle lasts 2-5 or more years, but the broods overlap and adults are present each year.

yabbut, rory, ain't they "annual" in the sense that there are adults present annually. yabbut, rory, when one hear's the term "annual" one thinks that the life cycle takes a year, or something, doesn't one? alright, alright. but rory was reminded by all this of something that is beyond debate, beyond semantics, beyond scientific or psuedoscientific quibbling. oh frickin' A, as they say, "If one thing is certain," it's that my old dog, Junior, long gone, sure as shit not forgotten, loved to eat cicadas. annually. here's old Junior. handsome sumbitch, innit-hee?
this photo was taken by a wee child, roryz son, hence the artistic cropjob. shows the soulful, cicada eatin' old Junior. rory could tell you storyz 'bout him. those were the dayz for dogs. how he made love to a naugahyde jacket in front of guests--like it was nobody's business--with a happy ending, how he climbed 20' up a tree and leaped off into a bush, how he became buddies with a skunk, how for a time he trotted shotgun for a "bum" who scavenged a makeshift bar parking lot for dropped dinero after a new day's dawn, things like that. fuckin' canine kerouac, he was. but on the subject of cicadas: he loved 'em. he'd leap into the air and snatch 'em, chomp 'em still buzzin' in his chops. no mammal has out-experienced the ecstasy of old Junior during the onslaught of the periodical cicadas, the smaller black and red ones that come out every 13 or 17 years as the brood erupts into a brief-in-the-frickin-cosmic-scheme-of-things buzzing festival of sound and sex. for old Junior was it the buzz or the flavor or the joy of the hunt? or all of the above and a smell that we humanz can't appreciate? I dunno. never leapt into the air and caught one in my teeth and chomped it still buzzing. but then maybe rory should give that a try anyway. if for no other reason than to renew appreciation for the eye-snout coordination of good old canis familiaris.

but, then, rory, you ignurnt sumbitch, turns out plenty of folks eat cicadas. and it seems to be a well-known fact that dogs 'n' catz love 'em. mostly seems to be the periodical cicadas that are big for eatin'. cause there are so many it's like pickin' ripe grapes off a vine, perhaps. yummity yum yum cicada's are good 'n' good for ya too. tastes a little like crawdad. and as the link points out they're low in fat and high in protein. so what about recipes. shee-it, there are lot of 'em. for 'sample: try some curried cicadas or perhaps cicada sauerbraten.

But just when rory starts thinkin' it's safe to eat cicadas he comes across this specimen of the infamous literary form known as the DISCLAIMER! HFS!

**Disclaimer: the University of Maryland and Cicadamaniacs do not advocate eating cicadas without first consulting with your doctor. While many people do eat cicadas, there is no guarantee that they are safe for every person to eat. As with all foods, it is possible that certain individuals, will have allergic reactions to substances within the cicada.**

HFS!!! CICADA MEAT CAN BE DEADLY!

So, rory'll make a dr.'s appointment before eating a cicada. when the assistant asks "What brings you here today, Mr. Shock?" rory'll just fuckin' say, "Well, I'm planning to eat some Cicadas, but I think the Dr. will want to run some tests to make sure that is safe, or something." forget the frickin' dr's appointment. I dunno 'bout you, but I don't advocate spending the money to ask your dr. whether it is safe for you to eat a cicada. I don't think the frickin' average dr. has any frickin' clue about cicada consumption safety. here's roryz plan. I'm gonna eat my first cicadas just outside the local emergency room. i'll sit there for as long as it takes to be sure I'm safe. but if I start to feel the onset of serious problems I'll go inside and tell 'em to get on the good foot and help me 'cause I got a bad case of cicada poisoning.

Disclaimer: roryshock duz not advocate eating cicadas without preparations being made for sudden painful death. in fact there is very little that rory advocates you do unless you are prepared to die. but that's another subject. if you must eat cicadas, do so close to a well-staffed emergency room, preferably one that has personnel trained to deal with adverse reactions to cicada consumption and that will take your medical condition seriously instead of stripping you naked and giving you a suit of paper jammies, a shot of thorazine, and a bed in the rubber-walled hotel, pending evaluation by a psychiatrist with whom you have trouble communicating because of differing native tongues.

oh yeah, rory almost forgot: here's where you can get the recipes prefaced by the disclaimer, if you desire, and if you dare: more yummy but dangerous cicada recipes.

aw, fuckit. i think I'll just have a cup of coffee. my currently living best canis familiaris buddy recommends coffee over cicadas anyhow.

the most flatulent president in history "rides" again

nope, he's not just a two-fingered monkey chokin' sumbitch. he's also the first gasbag. the most flatulent president in history. if the administration had a band, it'd be Talking Sphincters. clickitup:



dub was responded to the following question at a recent press conference: "Mr. President does your administration have any new initiatives to report to deal with the global warming problem?"


just before the next photo was taken, dub had made an off-the-cuff remark about how he wasn't hearing enough "thank you's" from the Iraqi people, and said, "With all the resources we are pouring into Iraq, they should be thanking us a whole lot more, but they're afraid to thank us because of the Islamic fascists." He then mounted the immobile, gasless Harley and pretended to ride. pretty frickin' symbolic, rory would say. but who the fuck would've thought that he'd add his own motor noises to the sillyass spectacle?



at least when the prime minister of japan lip-syncs it's to elvis and he doesn't use his nether mouth. what a frickin' cutup el presidente is, though.

dub sure-as-shit luvz ta play pretend. here he saws the air and makes sawing noises. notice the immaculate work gloves. every time you see a photo of the sumbitch working take a look at the brand-spankin' new work gloves that haven't even got a bit o dirt on em and haven't even taken on the form of real human handz at all. like cartoon character gluvz. make-believe man. like a kid with a toy tool belt. but at the same time the photo is symbolic of the larger dub again. makin' believe with his little saw. but causing death around him. look at the felled plant life around him. why? because he likes to "clear brush." why does he need to fucking "clear brush." he is clearing brush for the sake of clearing brush. recreational brush clearing. what a fuckwad. course somewhere in the convolutions of the pea in the first noggin' he has begun to believe that "clearing brush" is manly. like mounting a Harley, even if it ain't goin' anywhere. here is the manly man playing air saw.



by the frickin' way, that cycle image causes rory to recall that danger is just out the back door even when dub mounts a frickin' non-motorized two-wheeler and lets one rip:

roryshock: Bush Indicted On Wanglingo for Reckless Bicycling: privilege to Operate Wheeled Vehicles Suspended for Ramming Policeman

dub diddles as the world burns

Regarding the following picture, rory draws no conclusions, draws no frickin’ lines between the photo of dub touching himself during a tense moment and the passage that follows the picture. Suffice it to say that at least one head of state may have been airbrushed out of this pic ... or ... was Chancellor Angela right?



“Sometimes an adult with dementia or another form of brain illness will begin to masturbate compulsively or publicly, either at home or in a long-term care facility. Often this is triggered by a change in medications, a worsening of the underlying condition, or a new medical problem that has developed. Much less commonly, compulsive or public masturbation develops in adults who were previously healthy. Under these circumstances, a thorough medical evaluation should be perfumed [that frickin’ typo is in the original and rory thought it was too frickin’ good to correct] to look for new neurological or psychiatric illness.”
erudite bit on compulsive baton polishers



I dunno.

Chilito Numnutz to Spearhead Nude Flight Program in Name of National Security

what? you're frickin' suprized? incredulous? wtf? of course bush's secret hatchet man is a kristian killer klown. truth of the matter is, flyonthewall smuggled this image of chilito to rory's hard drive. chilito's true identity is not even known by the president. he only reveals himself to a select few while in his kkk suit, as depicted here. now that we've got that little detour out of the way, lemme tell you, chilito claims to have solved the airline security problem.

A memorandum he has distributed to Homie Security Head Miguel Cherkoff, rumbo, w, and chainee, says, among other things: "check-in would be expedited and security enhanced if airline passengers traveled naked and shackled to the seats. a slightly harsher version of this has proven entirely safe in transporting enemy combatants, known terrorists, and innocent captures all over the world in recent years on our 'black flights'. shackling would actually enhance our ability to respect privacy as it would largely obviate the need for cavity searches, since the passenger would be denied access to any instrumentalities that might be carried in the form of what is known in the parlance of the trade as 'koester weapons.'"



Polls of airline passengers yielded suprising results: 47% said they would gladly travel nude and shackled into their seats if it meant they were safe and delays for security screening could be reduced. (Compare to earlier numbers regarding willingness to submit to cavity searches in the name of safety). roryshock: Submit to a cavity search? "By all means go ahead," respond many, particularly if the "war on terror" is mentioned!

Random Rory: Blindspots

Not too long ago rory was watching a pair of lovely rattlers in company.


pair of rattlers. a boy and a girl. took a photo. never noticed the earthworm. in the picture, it looks like it's headin' the same way as the snakes. didn't see the earthworm 'til I got back and downloaded the picture. but it was there. just that it was invisible to my snake-charmed eyes 'n' brain. made me wonder if its image was in my brain at all. maybe just not at the conscious level. dunno. maybe it wasn't in there at all?

how in the hell could that be? dunno. made me think of a trick roryz dad showed him when he wuz a kid though. something 'bout a blind spot and a penny on the floor. the human eye has a blind spot where the nerves and blood vessels leave the retina. scotoma, some call it. fancy word for area of diminished vision within the visual field. so, you can check it out very easily. it's fun even if you've done it before. make something like this on a piece of blank paper:



make the marks about 2" apart. doesn't hafta be exact. doesn't hafta be an X and an O, either. could be a tiny george frickin bush on one side and a mouse turd on the other. rory knowz which one he'd make disappear first in that case. anyhoo, first close your left eye and look at the mark on the left with your right eye. move the paper slowly backwards and forwards in front of your face. At a certain point (fairly close ... maybe 20 or 30 cm) the mark on the right will disappear. For this to work you've gotta really focus on the mark on the left. no peekin' to the right. You can of course do the same thing other way around: close right eye; look at right mark with left eye; adjust distance of paper; left mark disappears. how come? 'cause there's a frickin' blind spot. see, we pretty much always make up some of the shit that we "see." happens in the brain. If you don't feel like makin' marks on paper, try it right on your computer screen with rory's x and o. should work okay, and you'll look funny to boot with one eye squinched and your nose a few inches from the screen.

all of which reminds rory. it's so damn easy to forget blindspots of all kinds. rory damn sure has more than those in the eyeballs. good to remember the existence of blindspots once in awhile. if at all possible. which it isn't too often.

U.S. Air Force to Bomb High Crime Neighborhoods to Establish Buffer Zones

What if the Israeli self-defense methods were used here to battle evildoers AND there were a frickin’ “Truth in Leafleting Law?” rory has learned of a secret plan to use those methods here, a plan hatched by Rear Admiral Chilito Numnutz and approved by Rumbo, which is a Condi-hair away from approval.



Imagine, if ya will, an Amurikin high-crime neighborhood will be leafletted the day before bombing begins. The leaflets blown about the neighborhood by the harbinger, the aerially-detonating propaganda bomb, will read:

“You have 24 hours to vacate. We are not interested in hurting you. We are only interested summarily executing the murderers, thieves, rapists, child molesters, and miscellaneous bad people living within your neighborhoods, using ordinary homes as shelter. We intend to create a buffer zone around a community of safer suburban homes, as there was a recent violent incident in an affluent neighborhood adjacent to yours instigated by a thug from your neighborhood. As a result, we plan to turn your neighborhood into a wasteland, bomb it into rubble, cut off electricity, blow up your local gas stations, and blast apart the roads, bridges, and train tracks in and out, in order to deny bad people a safe haven next to good people. You will have no source of clean water or food if you stay home. However, remember there is always some risk that we will blow you off the remnants of the ruined roads as you try to flee. The Lebanese woman depicted in this photograph near the gutted hulks of fleeing vehicles seems to have trouble comprehending this phenomenon and remains in denial of the beneficial aspects of the Israeli self-defense actions she just witnessed.

We hope this informative leaflet helps you avoid the confusion she experienced. Please understand, you are not our stated target even if we place you in our gunsites and kill you. For example, sometimes it is difficult to tell the difference between evildoers and the people, say, delivering fruit, transporting humanitarian supplies, or just running away in terror from the violent forces of good.

Please understand, relatively hairless apes all look the very similar from the cockpits of aerial death delivery systems. The evildoers themselves foment these unfortunate mistakes, which we regret in advance as tragic, by making efforts to dress and behave like ordinary humans. It's all part their guerilla effort to escape justice. Please, even as you or your loved ones lie bleeding from shrapnel, or masonry fragments imbedded in skin, or perhaps writhe while screaming from white phosphorus or gasoline burns, keep in mind that criminals and terrorists are our intended targets, not you or your loved ones. Thus your pain does not bother our conscience in the least. You see, there is a moral difference between the bad things evildoers do and the much more widespread and hideous destruction we wreak. For example, this scene elicits no pangs of remorse because the Lebanese child shown here died for the stated purpose of preventing terrorists from violently killing:



Yes, there is a moral difference when we kill. We state that we have good intentions, for one thing. It is the criminals and terrorists you must blame for the violence we will inflict upon you. You must blame them as well for the children crushed or blown into pieces, the destruction of your humble homes, the loss of all you have, as we destroy your habitat. The criminals have made us into the violent monster that we are. It is really not our fault. We have no choice. We must defend ourselves. We have no control over the fact that for every suspected violent criminal or terrorist that we manage to assassinate extrajudicially we will kill ten times more innocents for whom we cannot even fabricate a scintilla of suspicion. We merely seek to establish a safe zone around our neighborhood. That is our intention. We do not intend to hurt you, although we acknowledge that we inevitibly will. And remember if you had killed or incarcerated the criminals yourself, we wouldn't be forced to destroy your lives now. Thank you for your cooperation as we work together in violence to solve the problem of violence. Oh, and be out by sundown or face certain death. --The Mighty Righteous Ones.”