Hello and welcome to another issue of “Dirty Filthy Snuff”. I’m Lou Ford, and due to a network problem this is a replacement for the last one that may not have been posted. I would like to start by presenting a piece of artwork by my friend King. He is a very talented man, and I’m a big fan of his work.

It’s a beautiful piece, and one fitting for this blog/literary magazine just like this one is too:

Talk about a tragically humorous turn of events. If this kinda thing happened more often I don’t think hunting would be deemed a sport. It would be more of an act of defense. I don’t know, but could you imagine going hiking with the fearful prospect that Bambi may  turn you into his bitch. “Don’t drop the pine cone”.

That reminds me of a corny joke: Joe was going bear hunting for the first time and he was extremely excited. He could hardly contain himself as he loaded his car with his gear. Out in the woods his anxiety reached its peak as he caught sight of a small black bear. Joe’s heart almost beating out of his chest, he raised his hunting rifle, and took aim. Shooting the bear, Joe’s joy exploded out of him, and he laughed at his accomplishment, that is until there was a tap on his shoulder. Caught off guard, he slowly turned around to see a brown bear towering over him.

Looking down at Joe, the said this, “You got two options, either I maul you to death, or I fuck you in the ass.”

Not wanting to die, Joe fearfully chose the latter. And so the bear had his way with Joe, leaving him wounded and traumatized. Alive, it took Joe several weeks to recovered. Once healed, Joe decided that it was time for pay back, and so he decided to go bearing hunting again, in an effort to hunt down the creature that had harmed him. Back out in the woods, a brown bear had caught his eye and Joe shot it. Now extremely happy, he felt redeemed. That is until he felt another tap on his shoulder. Terrified he turned around, and standing before him was a Massive, giant Grizzly Bear.

Staring down at Joe the Grizzly bear explained, “You got two options, either I maul you to death or I fuck you in the ass.”

Once again Joe horrifically chose life, and so the grizzly had his way with Joe. Alive Joe was once more left alive, but deeply wounded and traumatized. It took him several months to heal, but once he had Joe had decided on attempting to get revenge, and so once again he set to go hunt down the grizzly, and kill him.

Out in the forest, Joe was able to track down the bear. Seeing it in his sights, he shot the large creature. In a triumphant expression of joy, Joe hollowed loudly. He could really taste the sweet satisfaction of vengeance, Joe even went so far as to do a celebratory/touchdown celebration dance in honor of his victory. But then he received a third tap on his shoulder. Jolted into a phantasmal state Joe once again turned around. There towering over him was this monstrous mountain of teeth, claws, and white fur that was a Polar bear.

Staring down at the terrified man, the bear smirked “Be honest Joe, you don’t come out here for the hunting do you?”

That entertaining? If not try this sketch drawn by King.

It’s a constipated Pikachu on the toilet.

With the economy being so bad, I have come up with an idea for a good business, as well as a good way for the common man to get some kind of justice. The idea is to have a singing telegram service that would deliver “Fuck-you-a-grams”.    

Had enough of the Trials and Tribulations of life? Hate how unfair the Universe is? Do you hate your boss, your ex, your parents, the garbage man, or maybe even your children? Do you want to tell them how you feel, but don’t want to dirty your hands? Do you not want to have to deal with the consequences, and just stay anonymous? No problem. Contact us at 1-800-FUCK-YOU or at www.ihateyoufuckingassholecocksuckerwhoreprickpratebitch/makemeworklateandmissmykidssoccergamewhileyoufuckyoursecretary/wifewhowonttouchmebutwillthrowherselfattheupsdeliverymandrainourbankaccountalcohlicpainkilleraddictedslagwhogavemechildrenwhoarenothingmorethanmouthstofeedwhoonlywantbrandnamethingsandconsidermyveryexsistenceanembaressment/husbandwhocouldcarelessaboutmytirerlesseffortsatlookingmybestbutwillmasturbatetoourdaughters17yearoldfriendandfuckmysisteronouranniversaryimpregnatingherdemandinganabortionbutthennotpayforit.com and we’ll take care of it for you. Just look at our menu of options and decide what would fit best for you. A singing fuck-you-a-gram? Maybe a kick in the nuts, or how about a scalding hot cup of coffee in the face? Whatever it is we can work it out, because after all we’re doing it for money. So remember when just thinking fuck you isn’t enough, but saying it could be too detrimental call us because after all, just like lawyers, it’s our job to fuck people over.

And now ladies and gentle men it’s time for “What Really Chaffs My Nuts”:

Do you know what really chaffs my nuts? John Wayne Bobbit. Yes the asshole who while intoxicated had raped his abused wife, who later that evening had castrated him. That’s the dickmunch I’m talking about. Now I know he hasn’t really been in the media’s spotlight recently, but while I was suffering the world wide web, I came across the Lorena Bobbit case. Reading about it made me realize one thing, how fucking stupid does someone have to be to decide that the best career field to go into after being made into a fucking unick of sorts would be porn. I mean seriously, what would be so appealing about some wife beating frankinpenis trying to work his former dismembered member to pleasing some porn star in hope’s of actually being able to achieve the “money shot”. The other question I got is what fucking production company, or director had the enlightened epiphany that a piece of shit like that would somehow be the best choice for such a roll.  “John Wayne Bobbit: Uncut”?

 Seriously, how much fucking revenue did that honestly bring in? And oh yeah, what was the pitch like in that conference room?

“So, guys get this, and before you say anything just hear me out … a porno staring that dude who got his dick sliced off by his wife, Lorena. What’s his name? Joe? John? Yeah, John Bobbit. See apparently that freak somehow still has some movement down there, and well he really needs the money, so I figure we bring a shit load of hot ass porn stars as filler cause you know it’s in their contract, and hey instead of a fluffer, we’ll just have to get a really powerful shop vac to help John out. I guess if that doesn’t work we always got duct tape and popsicle sticks.”

Really, who the fuck signed off on that? And I mean the idea of then becoming a UFC fighter, wouldn’t it just be common sense in some instances that with a very symbolic “organ” like his dick being sliced off that you might want to refrain from activities that would put it at risk. Yes, you might feel extremely inclined to prove yourself to the world after that, but in all honesty, I really do not believe that anyone is going to take you seriously after that.

The only good thing that came out of Lorena mutilating him is that it showed that abuse is not acceptable, and that there are consequences. In fact he was lucky she didn’t kill him. By that happening did in some senses bring awareness to the truth that many suffer from that pain, and that more needs to be done. Johnny boy probably got what he deserved though I don’t entirely agree with the violence. And that’s what really chaffs my nuts.  

And so in honor of you John “The Unick” Bobbit, I’ll end this segment with this image.

Well, that’s it for this issue of “Dirty Filthy Snuff”. Until next time,

Lou Ford

Hello and welcome back to another issue of Dirty Filthy Snuff. I was gone for two weeks so it's time for me to play catch-up. Since the last time, I guess a lot has happened. The Royal Wedding which is basically the equivalent of Cinderella only with less integrity. But hey, I mean with a family that has had to cover up as many  scandals as the Royals, I guess this is a good thing. I guess the Royals are the British Kennedy's. Anyway, here we are at another installment of "Dirty Filthy Snuff", and there are just so much to cover, like tour guides, sheep skin condoms; I don't know other stuff that chaffs my nuts.

Oh, yeah when there is memorabilia, like this picture shows,  concerning the leaders of a countries nation, and not just campaign crap, but other such things as cheesy coffee mugs, or t-shirts I think says a lot. But anyway, here's something you'll really like:

 I am sorry to say, but this week we will not have any short fiction, so I'll have to find another way to entertain you until next time when I should have more creative fiction to share. With that being said, try this out and see how you like it:

  Yeah!!! What the fuck would you do if you saw this fucking thing crashing up on the shore in front you and your girlfriend? The shark bits your girlfriend and she screams this bloodcurdling scream that hit just the right tone that you blast a dookie outta your ass. You feel the warm mushiness as you frantically run to the rescue of your love. Charging, you jump kick the bear whose Tommie gun bursts chew up the sand before you. As the two of you fall time slows as the two of you kung fu fight in mid-air before slamming to the sand. There's a squeal, and when you look up there is Flipper, all buff, and welding a pair of nun-chucks. As that porpoise twists, flings and juggling the deadly weapon, you hear that Flipper is playing the theme song from his T.V. show with each slice of the air. You use the five point exploding heart technique on the grizzly bear. He firers off the machine gun, as he collapses when his ticker burst inside his chest. His roar echos in your ear as your attention turns to your girlfriend. She grasps on to you as her little bloody stumps kicked feverishly in the air.
"I can't feel my legs!"
As she squirts blood all over the place, her nubs are a blur ....

Okay, let me stop there. Don't know what the fuck happened but at least you got a little creative fiction.


Anyway, I think that it is about time for "What Really Chaffs My Nuts".

Okay, and now it's time for "What Really Chaffs My Nuts".

Ya know what really chaffs my nuts? Tour guides. Yeah the people we pay to load us on a bus, a stuffy bus with a hairy, middle aged driver ( the same 45 your old man we see in all those cheesy Hollywood movies who is on the Blvd. in a Dodge Aries trying to pick up the underage prostitute, the drive is that 45 year old ) while she tells us the edited version of the "famous" history of a sight as she handed out cheap ass head sets for us to listen to while we're walking ruins that have now been overrun by strays, and the mentally ill panhandlers. Then once that is done she proceeds to sell you down the river. What I mean is that have you ever seen the movie "Deep Water" where the two scuba diver where left behind and ended up being eaten by sharks, well that's what she do to us. "Now we'll give you some time to shop for souvenirs" and then she abandons us in a sea of con artist, merchants, and pick-pockets who once they see we are tourist then they start a feeding frenzy.
"T-shirts!"
"You want buy rug"
"Flags!"
"Real gold and silver jewelry. Cheap, I make good deal-good price!"
 After wards she come in like the lackadaisical parent picking up her kids at day care, a smile on her face all excited about what fun we may have had, not caring that one of the worker is actually a Megan's Law applicant.
"Did you buy all the gifts you wanted?"
And we somehow despite all the pain, all bullshit, and the gauntlet of half truths, we all answer "yes". We smile and listen to her conclusion before she asks for the cheap headsets which we later realize were probably just wiped down with Lysol before repackaging them. At the end of the day the bus drops us off at our hotels, our Cruise ships, or our resorts with a hug and a kiss to mask the fact that she's just fucked us in the ass with a soft cock. And That's What Really Chaffs My Nuts.



The last piece of this is "Questions That Make You Go Hummm!"


This issues question is:

Which would you be more willing to do? Would you be more willing to kiss Gary Busey, open mouth, for 30 seconds if it meant you wouldn't have to retrieve Janet Reno's birth control pills that fell out of her purse and into the excrement collected in a porter potty?

Think about it and get back to me.


Until next time,

Lou Ford.