Mack Avenue Skullgame
Vinnie Pick of the Week
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And we're about to have
a 'roid rage!!!
[ Full Review ]








02.10.06
WHILE PRESIDENT BUSH FEARS "ANIMAL-HUMAN HYBRIDS," WE WONDER ALOUD IF IT CAN BE FUCKED. PLUS: JUDGE ROY BEAN SEES A DEAD MAN. FAILS TO TAKE PICTURES, A SLUT SOMEWHERE [PARIS, BRITNEY, COURTNEY?] DID SOMETHING WITH SAUSAGE NOT YOURS. LESBIANS

AND while the entire country of IRAN calls for a National Contest to come up with the funniest Holocaust cartoon [SkullGame will gladly accept all prize monies for that one for our Belzec Schmelzec Laff Riot], Israel dispatches its most feared weapon yet.

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THE KUNG FU JEW!!!



DENISE RICHARDS, IN A CUNTLY MOVE, SIMULTANEOUSLY BESMEARS CHARLIE SHEENS GOOD NAME & COCK BLOCKS HIM FOR FUTURE QUIM BY CASTING ACCUSATIONS OF THE HIV, SLUT FUCKAGE

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OH SURE. THE SEA SLUT IS WORRIED ABOUT HIM GIVING HER AIDS.


LOS ANGELES (SkullGame) -- Actress and Cock Blocker Extraordinaire DENISE RICHARDS hysterically reportedly rushed to a medical clinic for testing after finding out husband CHARLIE SHEEN, went CHARLIE SHEEN on her, and fucked a bunch of fine ass ho's during their marriage.

A representative for the actress has confirmed to SkullGame that the actress was tested for sexually transmitted diseases at a Thousand Oaks, Calif., clinic on January 27, in an effort to destroy Sheen's ho-getting abilities through character assassination. Richards was tested for "HIV", and a string of other spurious blood tests were conducted to detect "every disease known to man," according to a source. "Including the kind that apparently destroys your career."

The 35-year-old actress had been trying to reconcile with her estranged husband for the last 10 months. According to insiders, she finally decided to end the relationship for good after the couple took a holiday in Barbados in December, and Sheen, in a move bespeaking of massive big ball-i-tude, was caught kissing another woman on the beach.

Both parties filed a request on January 4 to have a private judge appointed to their divorce case. Sheen is seeking joint custody of their two children, Sam, 23 months, and Lola, 8 months, while Richards is asking for sole custody.

Bitch.



DISPATCH FROM WISE-UPTONIA FOR LANCE ARMSTRONG

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AGGGGGHHHHHH....LANCE'S EYES!!!!!!!! AND OURS TOOOOOO!!! OUR EYES!!! GAAAHHHHHH!!

LOS ANGELES (SkullGame) -- Cyclist LANCE ARMSTRONG pulled out of presenting at the Grammy Awards Wednesday night because he didn't want to run the risk of stumbling headlong into yet another screeching rendition of Leaving Las Vegas or indeed any song sung by his ex, SHERYL CROW, at the event.

The seven-time Tour De France winner announced his life-saving split from "rocker" Crow over the weekend and didn't feel "good" about attending music's big night at the Staples Center. What on account of the very real possibility of her, her mouth and her songs, making an appearance.

Crow still went ahead with her presenting plans at the Grammys -- she handed out rock supergroup Cream's Lifetime Achievement Award with Sting, and then honored Green Day with the 2006 Record of the Year for Boulevard of Broken Dreams.

She thanking the God of Abraham, did not perform.



"I WENT TO SAN FRANCISCO, AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS DEAD BODY. AND ARRESTED." JUDGE ROY BEAN ENCOUNTERS SAN FRANCISCO GENTRIFICATION FIRST HAND

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"I SUCKED ALIVE & NOW I'M SUCKING DEAD. THANKS. ANYTHING YOU GIVE WILL BE APPRECIATED. YOU FUCK.

I found a dead guy in the alley tonight...

Lots of homeless folk 'round these here parts; as is par for the course in the inner city (let alone the most expensive city in the U.S. where people who can't afford it still try to hang with it; how they even manage to eat without being of the "professional persuasion" is beyond me, because this shit is fucking pricey)...

Being increasingly familiar with my neighborhood, I've learned to cut corners and manuever off of the main strips to save time and preserve the laziness that follows 9 hours of soul-sucking meetings with corporate douchebags. Tonight I decided to venture out to the nightlife with my current housemate the Rev. Isiah Basketball Thomas, certified pimp motherfucker, to celebrate the end of a very trying day. The Rev., being all of 4 ft. tall and of the buck o five variety, couldn't hang for long and thus needed to retreat home after it became glaringly obvious that we weren't to procure any hipster vagina this eve. And also because he was already drunk...and talking of "persian titties"-- while also becoming visibly displeased everytime I blasphemed or took the lords name in vain. But mostly it was because he was drunk. And I didn't have any weed. No weed= no ministry, if you aren't hip to the current evangelical fact.

So he passes out. At 9:00. In his shoes. With the lights on and the sink running. I figure I've done something right...

Still feeling the need to get my crunk on; I hit a local corner store, taking the off-beaten route via a nearby alleyway. He caught my eye immediately, and I didn't have to get too close to know that I had stumbled upon the recently deceased. Live eyes don't glisten in the alley-lights, for some reason. Perhaps hope is a dulling mechanism? One can only speculate. Nonetheless he is obviously dead, and I as I get closer he only appears more dead than what he did 40 yards prior.

"Fuck..."

I hate to think that I'm not the first person to come across this man, but experience leads me to believe that the whole "displacement of responsibility" clause of the human contract hasn't been recently nullified. In the city, as many of you know, you mind your own business...or else.

Well...he looked like a decent guy. Unfortunate? Sure. Riddled with problems that were at least partially brought upon him by himself? Almost definately. However, this is somebody's son, brother, friend, father--and he probably doesn't deserve (any more than the rest of us) to rot in an alleyway.

So I dial 911.

It takes the cops 30+ min. to respond, and when they do they shake ME down--as if I were the proverbial one...

..."but no no no it ain't me babe. No no no it ain't me babe. It ain't me. It ain't me. It ain't me."

They check me for tattoos of gang affiliation, even if I am a well-dressed and, inarguably, a handsome, sophisticated man. Am I Norteno? Am I Sureno? For some reason no one can believe that somebody who found a dead body--and reported it-- isn't a gang member directly related to said death. Normal people just go to Starbucks? Was it because I pointed out their negligence, and sloth-like demeanor is responding to a report of a DEAD BODY IN THE STREETS? I guess, since I don't look like a Mission street person, I must be a drug dealer? I thought to tell them that I do all my drugs instead of selling them, but such probably wouldn't have been a wise decision.

1 1/2 hours later and I finally get home and get to drink my goddamn beer. If finding dead bodies becomes a regular occurence, I suppose I will just adapt and try my best not to acclimate. No need in calling the authorities. Had I been possessing anything beyond my requisite charm and boyish good looks I would have probably been tossed in the can on some bullshit; with no mind being paid to my heeding to the samaritan-like ethos.

I am moving to the Tenderloin to befriend transsexual hookers and the guy that I saw yelling at an coffee shop sign yesterday. He said "they have bulletproof vests lined with caviar". I figure he was just confused. I, on the other hand, am not.

P.S. I am hurting inside now and could really use some sex. Make of this what you will, call your pretty friends, and relay the sob story. K KTHNXBYELOL!!!


 


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