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Dan Sroka's Unpublished Proceedings

Obituary

Lardos Mourn the Passing of a Heavyweight

Dallas, Texas. True to his word, and the suicide pack he made with two of his hefty peers, Sheister Slob Doughboy died last night when his heart, kidneys and liver exploded in a massive fatal grand finale. The 500 lb monster had previously vowed to eat himself to death before Christmas, and Doughboy was the first of the three monsters to reach his goal.

Doughboy, 48, spent most of his career as a lazy-assed bean counter in his sheister brother-in-laws fly-by-night accounting firm. He developed a do-nothing attitude and style that fostered the now famous phrase “sitting around with your thumbs up your ass”. Doughboy spent a lot of time with his thumbs up his ass.

The fatboy, who consumed 44 deep-fried turkeys and bushels of other food since embarking on his suicide pack just before Thanksgiving, left behind a gruesome nagging wife and two ugly stupid brats.

The other two lardos took a brief break from their eating frenzy when Doughboy collapsed from his chair and fell to the floor. He was dead instantly. Chief Hakio Hardturd, remembered his buddy, between mouthfuls of deep-fried turkey: “He was a big boy”, stated Hardturd, as he reached for the food Doughboy had left uneaten at the table.

Sheister Doughboy was dragged outside and placed in a make-shift grave dug in advance, by volunteers, that were aware of the three Texas fat boys quest for death by Christmas. His big ugly carcass was tossed in the hole and he was covered over. No prayers were said.

Bamberg Bordello

Oh, I’m sure you’ve been there. Just your usual honkytonk bar and slut house. Enter, and wait for some fun.

Rhythm guitar roaming with Ed Roland/Will Turpin asking you “Do you know where the sun goes When the water falls? Do you know where the rain goes When the water falls?” *That rhythm will get in your bones. There’s a lot of rhythm in this place.

Your eyes adjust to the low light levels and the pulsating beams in sync with the rhythm. Have a seat at the bar and order up a Wurzburger or a Bamberger. Watch it- that shit will knock you for a loop.

There are some heavenly sights in this place. Plenty. She’ll be coming over to see you in a minute or so. I’ll guess; She’s blond and has a figure that would make you wish you’d known her when you were so much more worthy. But that don’t matter. These bordello babes know you’re not there to listen to Ed Roland/Will Turpin.

She knows what it is you want. You’re not salivating from that beer. She’s got what it is you want.

Buy her a drink. No, she won’t have any beer. How about a 30 DM glass of water. But you buy it, sucker that you are. And know what- she sings too. How heavenly. “She’s a picture perfect child of innocence” she whispers in your ear. Hear that rhythm guitar. Don’t you want some rhythm?

The music kind of fades away, for the moment. Oh, what lovely eyes. You know, even without looking, this girl is heaven sent. Feel it in your bones.

That rhythm comes back and you move to another location. Now the two of you are alone together. Just you and this babe, and the rhythm that somehow is still playing in your bones. She sings to you “Do you know where the sun goes When the water falls? Do you know where the rain goes When the water falls?” and you melt to a water fall.

Before you realize it the music/rhythm stops. Pay your DM bill and get the fuck out and don’t come back. But the sucker that you are- you’ll be back. You won’t get that melody or that rhythm out of you. It’s pretty much there for ever.

See you next week at the Bamberg Bordello.

Pill-popping Drug Addict Won’t Be Home For Christmas

He’s out on the street somewhere down there in the southland. Maybe he’s in Florida with all those worthless old dolts. Or he might be down in Texas with the wetbacks and illegal aliens. Or he might be in racist Alabama. But he’s out on the streets.

Human Waste Heroinballs

That’s the man known as Heroinballs. A worthless, filthy vagrant. Drug addict and alcoholic. A proletariat scum-bag leech. He’s got no home and he’s got no wife. He’s got no life, as far as that goes.

Don’t feel sorry for the human waste. Forty plus years of contributing nothing to society and taking everything.

“I’ve always hated that worthless fucker”, commented Baluga H Cornhole, rigid authoritarian and strict Machiavellian tough guy. “If he was here now I’d kick him right in his heroinBALLS. It would serve the ass right” blurred out Cornhole as he spit a big green and yellow hawker on the street below.

If you see this man somewhere in your community- just do him a favor. Put a bullet through his brain and put him out of his misery.

*Ed Roland, 1995, “When The Water Falls”, Roland/Lentz, from the CD “Collective Soul”

3/08

The Unpublished Proceedings are a division of the Dan Sroka Humor Network. If you would like to be notified whenever new writings are added to any of these sites send a BLANK email message to this address: satire-by-sroka-subscribe@yahoogroups.com

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