Hey, how you doing? Welcome to another issue of "Dirty Filthy Snuff". Due to things right now being busy, I am still working on one of my most wonderful "What Really Chaffs My Nutts", and so I will now entertain with a clusterfuck of spoofs, and clips. Enjoy!

This is great so far. Are you having fun? I'm having more fun than a homosexual proctologist.

Don't you wish they actually sang this song in church? I do?
And now here are some cute kitties:

And now more kitties!

And yet more:

So do you got diabetes yet? Huh? They need to cut off your foot? Do you actually feel dirty from all the cuteness. Do you need a shower to scrub away all the creepiness that now seems to consume you? Do you feel like your lungs are fulling up with candy? Do you feel used and taken advantage of because your weakness for cuddly, furry animals has been exploited and now your vulnerable to ridicule? Did it make you feel? Well, I got news for ya, they don't make water hot enough to scrub that away.



  Maybe this will cure you?

Do you feel any better? No! Well, at least your not that guy. Am I right, or am I right?

Monkey scratch work for ya? I sure hope so, cause I only got one thing that might work:

Isn't that dirty bastard a shit load of fun? I mean he's like one of those poops that you gotta take when your constipated, and it's all hard, and sharp and painful, and when you push too hard ... oh shit sorry, anyway I hoped you have enjoyed this episode of "Dirty Filthy Snuff". It was corny as hell, but just bare with me, cause soon I'll put out one that is so good, your genitals will explode from your body with such force that you won't be able to tell the if it's an orgasm or just a freak accident that is like spontiously bursting into flames. Your penis or vagina will just be gone. What you think of that, huh? Pretty weird right? Huh, that sucked, I'll see you next time.



Lou Ford

FIN  

Hello hello hello. Ah yes, welcome to yet, yet and yet another episode of the one the only, “Dirty Filthy Snuff”.  In this wonderful installment, I will be discussing about how people who fart in an elevator and then blame it on someone else really chaff my nuts.

What really chaffs my nuts are people who fart in an elevator and blame it on some other rider, or worse, they don’t claim it leaving everyone riding in suspenseful disgust as they look around in bewildered exclamation as to what had caused such an assault on their body in the most despicable way possible, air born.

Let’s be perfectly honest, when you’re in public (well most of us any way) and we fart we’re embarrassed especially if it’s one of those really pungent, green cloud of bio hazardous smog that came  pluming out of our asses that have a burning rectal after taste. Yes that curry after burn that you get the day after a meal at your favorite Indian joint. Kinda like this:  

That is kinda like being in a sona pumped with the fumes of sewage of nursing home residents. And what’s even worse is if you’re in a crowded lift at work lets say, what the hell you gonna do, start interrogating your fellow coworkers. Are you going to accuse the receptionist who  wears those adorable librarian style glass of having that bioharzard coming slapping out from her ass? How about Tony, the mail clerk, or how about the nerd for IT. Are you really going to tell that elfish speaking geek that his superman underwear doesn’t shield him from the guilt of his crime, the crime of assaulting all your fucking nostrils with undigested snack remains from his dungeons and dragons gathering the night before. Or how about the cleaning lady, you know the one, the Hispanic lady with the tits that hang past her knees, and full on “date night make up” plastered to her face. The woman who instead of dressing causally on Fridays, bring her unemployed street vendor son to work. Or how about the bosses new secretary. The one who he always makes stay late to help him “finish some reports”. You know the one who either stalks the boss later, or falls hopelessly in love with him only to be dragged along by the hair for a real relationship cause the boss isn’t going to leave his wife when there a massive, gigantic, big, big, like elephant size, John Holmes 13 inches size prenump. Or how about the asshole from accounting who can’t help but tell you all his sorted sexual escapades no matter how ghastly it maybe. He could drag you aside and start telling you how he paid three hookers to reenact the human centipede, and then have the audacity to  question why his Facebook page got reported for the pics he posted. He’s that guy who that get the words venereal and aerial confused, watches “girl fights” on Youtube, and says the word sweet and in high pitched nauseating tone. He’s that guy who thinks that you guys are the best of fights cause he’s invited you to his cubical to watch Internet porn. And yes he’s that guy who will blame his loud flatulent on you. And then he gets offended when you curse him out for being a dickhead douche bag. 

Then boss or one of your fellow co-workers avoid you, and then stop inviting you to work functions it’s some how your fault, and maybe it is. The fact that you’ve let an asshole, immature 12 year old trapped in a 28 year old’s body who still lives with his parents, watches porn on his lunch hour, and think that dinner at Sizzler is a romantic date into your life could say a lot about you. And what is the result? What is it? Well, as you become more rejected by your peers, slowly depression starts to set in like a festering wound that you’ve accidentally scratched at introducing bacteria into the exposed flesh so that once it do culture it will quickly speak inflaming and destroying the tissue of your psyche until it ultimate become a soul eating infectious contagion that dissolves your very being leaving behind only a gooy by product of your former humanity. Next you can’t sleep with your lover because when you see their expression of pleasure it somehow reminds you of your ex-work friends face when he had let that fart fly and all you want to do is strangle them, squeezing the life out of their entire out of physicality. The depression becomes progressively worse as you become more and more isolated. Your fellow works see you now as the crude, rude, unhygienic douchebag who breaks wind at will, and they therefore reject you further. Pranks become the only social contact you have as whoopee cushions are put down where ever you sit. It gets so bad that you throw your girlfriend out before you go to take a shit so that no one will ever be able to hear your body perform it’s natural functions. The only problem is that then you unwittingly pushes your loved ones away.

The result is that you end up with insomnia causing you to watch Tony Robins infomercials and the Teletubbies until you become slowly psychotic. At the forceful suggestion of your boss you begin to see a psychiatrist. He prescribes antidepressants to you, but they don’t help. Your condition only become progressively worse exacerbated by Tony Robins and the ever presence of such shows as “The 700 Club”, or “The View”. The next thing that seems to happen is that you begin to fantasize about seeking vengeance against that man. Soon that fantasy becomes closer and closer to reality as you find yourself doing research on fire arms, battery acid, and pig farms. Then one day it comes to pass.
You sitting quietly at your cubical, when two things seem to occur simultaneous. The disgusting co-worker who started all that insanity comes over to ask of all things, but "how ya doing?". At the exact moment the ghost of the one and only comedic demigod Andy Kaufman comes to you as his famous character Latka from “Taxi”, urging you to murder that ignorant douche bag. Before you know it you on a bender worse than Martin Lawence. That happens when the scent of fecal matter hits your nostrils, and believing that your co-worker has once again farted in your personal space, and will blame you for that offense, you react the only way you can, expressing you emotion through INTERPRETIVE DANCE!!!! Kinda similar to this:

Interpretive dance!

And more interpretive dance!

But in all seriousness, you attack your co-worker with such veracity that it makes the O.J. Simpson murder look like a tickle fight. And then after you’ve crushed, stabbed, choked, brutalized and violated that co-worker, you end up choking to death on a mouthful of your anti-depressants as the despair, and pressure become so much that the idea of being the recipient of oral sex from a viper seem safe. And just before you breath your last breath, and fade away into that good night you let out the worst most rank, rotten fart possible in front of all your co-workers, the security guard, and the patrol who responded to the call. I guess that's irony.  All that came from a damn nasty, funky explosion of methane gas expelled out of the damn poop shot of some dirty fucker.

Yes, that was the result of someone breaking wind. You see the chain reaction that was started with a small thing; a small tiny event result in something big. You kill a moth here, and a hundred thousand die in Indonesia from a volcano eruption, only in this case an instant of bad digestion, a fart, resulted in a depression, heart ache, substance abuse, isolation, rejection, murder, and death.

All because of this:

And it goes to this: 

Which there buy degenerates to this:

And then results in this:

And finally this: 

Yes, that is exactly what happens, just like how one day you could be walking in the park, and a handy capped ninja might attack you followed by a black Nazi, a pots and pans robot, and a T-Rex to eat the remains ( it happens more than you think ) a little bit of methane gas that come wheezing out of that brown eye we call a bunghole could result in a "Scrubs" like cut away scene that could actually real cost the tax payers millions of dollars when a simple gel tab of Bean-O could stop of this. Damn you Mexican food with your salsa, and re-fried beans! Damn you!


So, with further a due, I will say goodbye. Remember, hold back those farts, but if you can't then do something interesting with it like blow up a party balloon. Those around you will be grateful. And Please claim it. 



Until next time, 


Lou Ford.

FIN