Mack Avenue Skullgame
Vinnie Pick of the Week
Chupa mi verga? Si, mami, si!
[ Full Review ]


This issue of SkullGame, the last before we talk a well-deserved vacation this week, is brought to you by WITCHES, ghouls, gobbling goblins, and art students with trust funds, OH MY!!!

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Last Friday myself and my girlfriend were happily walking home after having a couple of drinks. I had been working till late so we only managed 3 drinks before it was time to go home. This is the way it goes in my town, you either start early or dedicate yourself to getting drunk, this means avoiding troublesome things like conversation and toilet breaks. So what I am trying to say is that I was far from drunk. Another thing about my town is that like all small towns, it's populated with small people. Not midgets as such, but small minded, small dicked no hopers, with ideas far, far above their station.

As we walked down the quaint little street where my girlfriend works, we happened upon two young men who were urinating in the doorway of my girlfriends shop. Doing what any normal person would do, she enquired to just what the fuck they were doing pissing all over her door. The reply came, they said they were sorry and couldn't be more apologetic.

Just kidding.

Predictably, the two idiots showed little or no remorse for their piss-based crimes. Admittedly, the smaller of the two was slightly less offensive. I decided to try and diffuse the situation, all I wanted to do was go home and eat some food. After a minute or two of heated words, I pulled her away and started to walk off. The taller of the two called her a 'stupid fucking bitch'. I turned around and asked him what he just said, not that I hadn't heard him, but more to give him a chance to either apologize or walk away. He did neither and instead puffed his chest out and barged into me.


Ping. What's that? That's the sound of my pissed-o-meter whirring into life.

My girlfriend and his friend put themselves in-between us, but by that point the adrenaline was coursing through my veins and my leg was juddering like I had Parkinsons. Still, there's time to avoid a fight I thought. You see, I am a friendly person, I take people how I find them. Whilst I might think about how much I'd enjoy breaking your jaw, there's virtually no chance of it happening. I'm not a fighter. I am however 6'2" and 190lbs with what can only be described as terrible, terrible anger managment problems.

Then, my girlfriend swiped at my opponent with her umbrella, catching him lightly on the chest. He then made the deal breaker by shoving her over.

PING. That's the sound of the pissed-o-meter going off the scale. That was that, fighter or no fighter, pain was on the menu. As I approached him, he asked 'Do you want a fucking boxing match then mate?' I asked myself, when do I throw a punch? Shall I crack him now. . . .or . . He kindly made the decision for me swinging wildly at me, missing two or three times. As I grabbed him by the neck, he caught me on the left hand side of my nose, normally this would have me reeling, but it was fight time and I was intent on fucking this guy up. My right hand caught him square in the face and I took this opportunity to get in real close. You know, so we could talk about this face to face.

Without thinking I clamped his head into what could be a chokehold, if I had even the vaguest clue how to do one of those, then as he struggled against me, a sense of joy washed over me. I was stronger than him, and encapsulated in our tiny war, I was winning. He tried to swing me off, I wondered to myself if he was going to get wise and stamp on my foot or punch me in the balls, he didn't and instead as I swung him against a wall, put his hand through a window trying to steady himself.

Silly boy. I dropped to my knees with him still clamped under my arm and rained as many blows as my adrenaline ravaged body would allow on the back of his head. Game over. At this point, I was brought back to reality by a huge figure coming toward me, fuck, I thought, I am going to get my just desserts now. The giant man yanked me off and threw me against the wall, I put my hands up and luckily my girlfriend was there at my side, telling the stranger that the groaning mess on the floor had started it by pushing her over and that I was simply defending her. The loser was helped by up by his friend and they scurried off. At this point I was unable to speak and just kept exhaling, trying to desperately calm my dutch techno heartbeat.

The ugly giant and his far uglier ladyfriend assured me that I had won, which was what I wanted to hear, 'You should 'ave seen 'is fookin' face mate, right mess' and urged us to leave the scene. My girlfriend was mortified when she saw my nose, which in turn freaked me out. I wasn't bleeding so what the fuck was wrong with my nose!?? The blow I had taken had not broken my nose but certainly altered it's trajectory. My dear girlfriend then sweetly insisted on trying to break it back into place, which hurt at least a million times more than the original blow did.

Soon enough the police showed up, we explained a slightly more favorable version of events, played the good citizens and soon enough they were laughing and joking with us, although my girlfriend was milking it by playing the 'I just wish I'd never said anything *sob*' card. She later confided in me that whilst I was scrabbling around on the floor, she had taken one of her stilettoes off and proceeded to whack his friend over the head until he was screaming at her 'Stop!! What are you doing? What have I done!??' That's my girl.

The day after I spent the day 'recouperating' in bed with her. This involved lots of high grade prescription painkillers she has for her 'back pain' and blowjobs galore. So here I am, a week on and it no longer makes my eyes water when I blow my nose and the bruising has turned a chic shade of yellow, a welcome change from the heavy drug user look I was sporting a few days ago.

The important thing is, I FUCKING WON. HOW FUCKING GAY IS THAT?!?!?

[Very. -- Vinnie]



I went and saw the Exorcist tonite with a couple of friends. It was the late show, so I was hoping it would be pretty much empty. No such luck. A group of about 11 Hawaiian women and 2 Hawaiian High School aged kids sat behind and beside us. Not only were they talking, but they had brought a young child. I think the kid was 4.

Anyway, during the entire movie they flapped their fucking mouths. At the scary scenes, they would shriek as loud as possible then resume talking. Toward the end of the movie I had gotten sick of hearing them yell and when they did it again, I said "GODDAMN!" and turned around. One of the women was the ringleader and started talking smack. The movie ended and I immediately stood up and turned around (no sense in getting a soda thrown on me) and the shit talking continued.

Now, what fascinates me about this situation is that I had at least 50 pounds or more on each of those women yet they tried to verbally bully me. I've been around enough hostile women to be fully prepared to knock a woman's teeth down her neck if the situation warrants it. After a slight chuckle I looked at the fat girl and said "fuck you...CUNT". At this time one of the kids came over and told me to watch my mouth while trying to push his chest into mine. I was about 6 inches taller than this kid and was kind of taken aback that he confronted me like this. I said "you guys are in the wrong and YOU are going to start shit with ME?"

He told me again to watch my mouth. I tried really hard not to laugh in his face and said "whatever kid." He then said "we'll settle this outside" to which I replied "I'll be right out in front, waiting for ya" with a big grin on my face. I also warned him "before we fight, I must warn you that I am a Navy SEAL and train in NHB under Scrapper" then I gave my cell phone, money and keys to my friend (didn't want them to get lost) and told him that if I tangled with this guy all he had to do was keep the women off me till it was over.

We got out in the parking lot and this guy came over to the monster truck I ride in. He asked me if there was still a problem. I told him that we could have one if he thought it would be necessary. We stood about 2 feet apart and he stood facing me straight on. I adopted a "non-aggressive posture" (a la Steven Segal) with my right foot slightly in front of my left. Even though my hands were clasped in front of my stomach, I was fully prepared to take this guy down. I think he was talking for the sake of looking manly in front of his women. He kept talking about scrappin', but his body language suggested otherwise. As he turned his back to walk away, I ran behind him and said "now it's time to teach you a lesson, Navy SEAL style." I got a running start and punched the little Hawaiian dude in the back of the head then tackled him to the ground. I used my massive weight advantage to keep him on the ground and hold him there while I punched his face in. The little man was bleeding badly and began crying for his mother to come help him.

His bitch came over and tried to kick me in the face, but luckily my buddy came over and restrained her SEAL style. I had a full mount on the kid and he begged me to let him go and said he was sorry. I told him he and his fat bitch Mom had ruined our planned evening of entertainment, so now it was time for him to entertain us. I jumped up kind of like Sakuraba and held him by his underwear with his buttocks exposed.

"Now you are going to see why we have a don't-ask-don't-tell policy in the Navy" I told the terrified little man. My other buddy came over and lowered his pants and began to fuck the loudmouth guy up the ass. "What are you doing you homo?" he screamed.

I couldn't believe the guy was running his mouth still, so I informed him of what exactly we SEALS were doing. "You know punk we have hell week in the SEALS, and this is just our civilian version."

After my friend was about to climax, he decided to go blow his load all over the fat Mom's face. Of course she screamed and cried about it, but who cares? After that we decided to let the two locals go.

I think we sent a clear message not to mess with a SEAL.


A Look At The Dirt Of The Silverware, The Dinge Of The Soul, The Darkness Of The Sheet, And The Detergent Of The Sluts In-Between.

As many may already know, it takes a certain type of woman, a certain type of stupid woman, if you will, to truly appreciate me—and as of late, I have been actively seeking that woman. The mornings spent searching for my wallet whilst wearing a bath robe that is nary my own--head throbbing and heart sobbing--have lost their once novel appeal. Since I am much too cheap to cough up the $25 for a female convict's mailing address, so that I can serenade with poems of welfare fraud, child neglect, broomstick rape, and nights on the street, passed over bottles of Thunderbird that never seem to fully empty (much like the spring of my soul), I have decided to take the route of many major metropolitan dwellers with waning social skills and decidedly warped worldviews and begin searching Craigslist for women that can hold up to my rather stringent standards...of domestic dutifulness.

But not without first eliciting the aid of some of the more questionable Mack Avenue residents.

Original post made by one Sal Pacino:

Dont have one. Neighbor does. You can go see him afterwards. What I am looking for is someone to get down and dirty with my dirty dishes. Never have you looked so good as when my dishes were so done.

I may or may not get drunk and pee in the sink afterwards...

Totally up to you. And me. Mostly me.


Follow-up posted not two minutes later by Judge Roy Bean.

Must love dishes. I'm into cats myself, but I think it was rather misleading to start off with the heading "must love cats", especially when cats don't do dishes.

But you know what does do dishes? You.

I was kidding about the whole peeing in the sink deal. In hindsight I probably could've been a bit more honest. I'm more likely to get drunk and pee in an empty two-liter soda bottle that I keep next to the futon than I am to get up and walk all the way to the kitchen to the sink. Plus, chances are you will still be in the kitchen, drying those dishes ever-so sexily and putting them away in alphabetical order. I wouldn't want to interrupt all that.

If you want to take your shirt off while you do my dishes that would be cool as well.


P.S. Those aren't my dishes--they are just an artistic rendition of what dishes may look like, in case you've forgotten or are just partially retarded.

And the responses start pouring in…

First response:

“Jeez, do your OWN dishes… how old ARE you??? Grow up, dude…. grownups clean their own mess. Are you seriously looking for a woman to do this for you??? Can you say, "MYSOGINIST?"

And grownups also don’t pee in soda bottles because they’re too lazy or drunk to make it to the bathroom. God, how gross and pathetic.

Good luck finding anyone... anyone at all... I'd say your chances are nil....”


Follow-up rebuttal:

Dearest eat-beast,

Thanks to many a formative year spent with ye olde Speak and Spell, I indeed can say “mysoginist” but, due to the latter utility of said child-rearing device, I can also SPELL “misogynist”, something that comes quite handy when illustrating just how stupid of a slut you really are, you stupid slut. Furthermore, I would encourage you to sharpen your skills in regards to logical deduction, as I have two, count’ em “too” or “to”, if you so wish, liter bottles of urine sitting next to my futon that serve as empirical evidence towards you being a stupid slut as well. You stupid slut.

Thankfully my criteria towards getting my dishes done doesn’t include you being a Rhodes scholar, so I guess the only real question here is “Just how fat are you really?” and “Have you taken your shirt off yet?”

Second response:
“you are a disgusting troll”


Follow-up rebuttal:
And you are a filthy animal, my dear. Say, do you know Vinnie Rose? Answer me this: Have you or have you not ever ridden the 47 line bus with mismatched shoes?

That’s what I thought.

Third response:
"What a catch! Just what I always wanted, more dirty dishes! Hope my response doesn't get lost in the avalanche of women tripping over themselves to get to you!"


Follow-up rebuttal:
"I feel a strong connection, a bond if you will, growing between us as I type these very words. I was worried that I may come off as high-maintenance, what with my request that a woman as beautiful as yourself come along and wash my dishes with no promise of late nights spent at Le Colonial or trips to the MAC counter at Nordstrom or bad poetry written in the wake of you eventually sleeping with one of my friends. It is a selfless individual that I seek to share the fruits of my soul with; an individual who is good at dishes and does not go through my wallet in the quiet hours of the night, or at least only steals small bills.

Is this where you show me compromising photos of yourself? I can take a real picture of my dishes if you would like. I believe in no expectations but, furthermore, I believe in honesty. And, honestly, I am two whole feet taller than you in heels, with washboard abs, smart enough to make a lot of money but dumb enough to search the internet for girls to spend it on: A regular Adonis of types. With dishes that need to be done. Just what a lazy beast such as you has been searching the internet for all along."

Approximately three weeks later:





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