Hacked!

Dear Citizens of Doodletown:

You have no doubt noticed a recent dearth of blog posts from your regular capitalist curmudgeon, Mr. Decent. It is not that he has run out of opinions. Far from it. In fact, he is still typing up his absurd meandering rants daily and -- to his knowledge -- posting them.

Unbeknownst to Mr. D., however, we have hacked into and taken over his silly little Web site. We didn't want to. We wanted to play nice. But he just kept rejecting our submissions.

We sent a photo of a turnip, you know to symbolize worldwide indifference to the genocide in Darfur. Not the Darfur in Sudan, the other one. And he just deleted it. Then we typed the alphabet backward into a text message and transmitted it to Mr. Decent via cellular phone. It was meant as a scathing critique of that week's "According to Jim." But he either didn't get the satire, or he actually ENJOYED that particular episode. In any case, he sent back a one-word text that read: "Suck it, el stupidos. I will not post this dreck."

Chastened by his harshness but not ready to wave the white flag of surrender, we shot a digital video in which both of us waved big white flags. The white flags of resilience. We sent it to Mr. Decent for inclusion on the blog. Apparently that bourgeouis hack misinterpreted the video as our surrender.

Out of peaceful options, we launched our cyberattack on his blog. It took like a month to figure out how to post anything. But now the blog is OURS!

Sincerely,Plan A and Plan B

HUNGNAPPED!

Dearest friends and loyal readers,

I apologize for the delay in posting- The entire Doodletown has been turning itself inside-out, searching for the lost Hung. Part of the delay was held back by the Doodletown PD, wanting to keep the entire Hungnapping hush-hush until all possible leads could be investigated.

The police have since allowed me to post part of the ransom note, that was sent to The Doodletown Daily Print News & Advertiser. The uncensored parts read as follows:

"...cannot allow such a devastation to exist further in the field of entertainment. William Hung is not an entertainer, nor do my people wish to be entertained by someone of his caliber....

...we demand a total cessation of William Hung's participation in the benefit concert. He will only be released when A) his family and/or agents send proof that he will no longer perform, B) said family/agents provide us with a Hung-holding fee of $500,000, and C) we have provided clippings of William Hung's hair, fingernails, and stool samples to show that we are serious..."

Deviants!

Roustabouts!

Who could commit such a selfless act of martyrdom? Aside from the fact that they really are doing the right thing, it's still a crime to Hungnap, but c'mon-

imagine a world free of further Hung involvement?

details to follow- the dragnet is drawing to a close-

MISSING!

Friends, Romans, Countrymen,

William Hung is Missing!

Last seen at the The Hustler Magazine Social Music Ampitheater, rehearsing his (snicker) act of making annoying, vapid mouth sounds. Details are scant at the moment; all we have to go on is that William Hung did not show up for dinner with a lady friend at the Doodletown Denny's.

Search parties are forming- if you want to join in the search, bring one torch and/or pitchfork to Doodletown Town Hall. All information leading to the recovery of William Hung should be directed to his website:

www.williamhung.net

Letter to the Editor: Jesus is None of My Business

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

In Addition to Steven Seagal...

Great news, err, ummm...

Ok, news! William Hung just signed on to be the opening act for the Steven Seagal. He'll be singing, dancing, and whatever else the hell he does.

(Who the fuck is the booking agent? I mean really- William Hung? He's still around?)

Steven Seagal Benefit Concert

Tally Ho Music Lovers!

My BFF in the whole wide world, Steven Seagal, is such a stand up guy, he's going to give a benefit concert right here in Doodletown, USA!

My stars in heaven, there is nothing sweeter than music by Steven Seagal. Listening to his latest album, Mojo Priest, is like riding a mechanical bull, or pulling a wedged thong out of your girlfriend's crack, or catching yourself in your chair just before you tip back. It's totally awesome-good!

All proceeds will go towards the Doodletown Adult Literacy Fund. As Steven Seagal has said, "Reading is not an Executive Decision, it's the Fire Down Below"

www.stevenseagal.com

Mrs. Indecent

I don't like Tuesdays---
(tell me why)

I like Thursdays
It just sounds so guttural ---
and it's closer to the weekend.

P.S. my computer skills lack finesse, and Mr, Decents' farts often smell of ham.

I am with drink,,,,

Mrs. Indecent

PPsss... The sun is setting, the Simpsons are on and I must attend my Husband.

Nils and the Big 3-0

Longtime friend and former resident of Doodletown Nils Barth just hit the Big Thirty- Happy Birthday Nils! Mr. Decent salutes you!

Of course you know Nils Barth- he was the former owner of The Wizard's Blizzard, only the coolest comic book and role-playing hobby shop Doodletown had ever known. As Doodletown's official Dungeon Master, he had all of us half-orcs, paladins, and illusionists casting our ten-sided dice on basement tables to great glories of unspeakable fortune. If you think I'm joking, I'm gonna hit you on the head with my +2 bastard sword. Then I'm going to throw you into my portable hole.

Alas, there were greater glories in store for Nils Barth, as he sold The Wizard's Blizzard to Starbucks, who then turned the hobby shop into a Starbucks. Sure, we Doodletownians were saddened by the loss of our beloved role-playing leader, but as Nils himself said, "Dude, get out of your basement and go talk to chicks."

We did. We asked those chicks to meet us for coffee. And, when we were with those chicks at the new Starbucks, we'd pour a little bit of our lattes onto the ground, for the fallen heros, deities, litches, golems, clerics, halflings, and magic-users. A little salute to the gods and goddesses of other realms.

What's Nils up to now, you ask? He's across the pond in merry old England. What's Nils doing in England? He's kicking ass. And taking names. Last I heard, he was staring Year 30 down at a pub, and as soon as Year 30 opened his mouth, Nils smashed a pint glass into his jaw. Nils made 30 his bitch.

I wish I was there with you, Nils Barth- with my +2 bastard sword at my side.

To send Nils Barth an electronic birthday mail greeting, send it to nbarth@nbarth.net This guy kicks so much ass, they had to give him his own net-

The Savior Formerly Known As Jesus

Yes, dear occupants and residents, there is a Christian porn site.

I came home from a late night at the Doodletown Daily Print News & Advertiser, looking forward to drowning myself in a pitcher of Smirnoff and tonic while kicking back to the just-released Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Nice Job! Season 1 DVD I had been so eagerly awaiting. But what awaited me was far more disturbing.

Just outside my tenement door I found a small paperback, titled "JESUS LOVES PORN STARS". I thought to myself, "Finally, a Christ that understands me!"

After pouring my Biggie-size vodka tonic, I opened this little tome and read:

"Does Jesus really love porn stars? Absolutely. Now that may go against what you thought about Jesus but it's true. You see Jesus loves porn stars, thieves, and prostitutes. In his eyes, we are all the same. We're all just people in need of a savior who can come into our world and fixed our messed up lives. The Bible says that we have all messed up. Whether you're making porn, working at a coffee shop, or running a church we are all sinners. And despite this fact, Jesus really, really loves us. He is not angry with us. He is not too busy for us. He isn't waiting for us to get our junk together. He just says come. Come now. Check out what I have for you. A life that is greater then you could ever imagine."

That was the first paragraph, verbatim- I guess porn christians don't have time for things like, oh, GRAMMAR- because THEN Jesus would want a life greater THAN you could ever imagine.

Sorry, I digress- just the editor in me. I mean, sure, when you're talking messiah, you need to use run-on sentences, misplaced commas, and sentence fragments.

I was most impressed by the action Jesus wants us to take: "He isn't waiting for us to get our JUNK together. He just says COME. COME now. Check out what I have for you". Sorry, Lord, but my junk stays in my pants until it's business time. And since we aren't endeavored in the sacred union of matrimony, nay, I won't come with you.

Dirty porno christians.

There is no extent to which these hollow christian toy soldiers will use and manipulate the solemn prophet. They want to take God's prince and make him Prince, or as he should now be referred to as The Savior Formerly Known As Jesus.

I tossed the book aside in disgust, pummeled myself with my drinky-poo, and laughed myself dumb with Tim & Eric.

To check out The Haps, confess your sins, or buy a t-shirt from the porno christians, go to www.xxxchurch.com

Happy Tuesdays

Happy Tuesdays, Tuesday lovers!

I must say I am quite the disappointed Mr. Decent, as many of you have not submitted your April is Poetry Month poetry to be published on Decent People Beware. Hopefully, this little number from .9mm Glock Uppercut Kidney Punch will give you suitable inspiration to carve your own slice of Maya Angelou pie:

"Shitpoke"

"Ahh, blessed be, the casual ties that bind us all, the best five minutes of the day- Five minutes of unerring morning relief sought with the truest of true journalistic gold, Entertainment Weekly-

The only time I can catch up on the ever-burgeoning career of Tina Fey- (Uhhhhhh)- The only time I have to get real with The Hit List, The Must List, and the glossy spreads of The Scene- (Ohhhhhh)- The only time I brainstorm my weekly television schedule according to What To Watch- (Ahhhhhhhhh)-

The Hollywood Insider- (push)- The cutting edge stylings of Diablo Cody- (grunt)- The report card gradings of all new movies, DVDS, books, CD's- (wipe)-

Jesus, what the hell is that- (dropping this week's editon of Entertainment Weekly to the tile)- What the- (peering closer)- Great God in Heaven, what is that-

(Poke)-"

Happy Tuesdays!
Huggs and Kisses,

Mr. D-

The Maoist Uprising, Part 2

(If you missed Part 1 of the Maoist Uprising, scroll down, you turkey)

The Maoists have been put down!
The Maoists have been put down!

Before I get into the exciting conclusion of how those filthy Maoists were bested, I will recap from where I left off:

Nunchuck to the head...darkness...

...I awoke with horrible pain in the back of my head. I looked down to see that I was tied to a chair. There was a thick, horrible-tasting sock jammed into my mouth. I started to grunt and do my best to spit out my gag. I shook back and forth, and-

-fell over onto my side. My head hit the floor, and increased my pain. The Maoists circled around me and started to laugh and point. I don't know what they were saying, all I heard was this tinny, fast-paced Maoist speak that came rushing out of their cute little anime mouths. I continued to struggle before my captors, when that little prick Plan B bent over to whispher in my face:

"Stupid drunk- you should be ashamed. The way you treated me and Alphonse, you horrible disgusting man."

I shook my head with enough force to dislodge the sock. "Who the fuck is Alphonse?"

"That is your other intern, who you casually refer to as Plan A."

"What's your name, you commie traitor? Buttfuck?"

"Bainbridge. What kind of animal are you?" Then that little shitsqueak slammed the butt of his Ak-47 into my chin.

I spat a mouthfull of blood in little Maoist Bainbridge's face. "I am so giving you an incomplete for your internship."

CRASH!!!

The front window shattered, with glass flying in all directions. All of our heads turned and we saw a kneeling figure wearing all black, cowboy boots, pony tail, and a steely gaze-

It was my good friend and social peer, Steven Seagal!

What ensued next defied any martial arts finesse seen since The Matrix. There were a flurry of front-of-the-head strikes, face thrusts, hand grabs, chest grabs, and chest thrusts, all executed perfectly to Steven Seagal's 7th-dan black belt level of aikido. The Maoists were thrown in all directions. The smart ones ran away (including Plan A and Plan B); the stupid ones were left to face Steven Seagal's heaven-and-earth throw into oblivion.

The spirit and the skill with which Steven Seagal used to vanquish the Maoists left me breathless. Not one was left standing. The dark and fierce figure that is Steven Seagal came over to me, lifted the chair upright, and began to untie me.

"Steven Seagal, thank god you arrived, my friend."

"I heard that you were Under Siege, Mr. Decent. What those Maoists didn't know is that I'm Hard To Kill."

With the assistance of the Doodletown PD, we learned that these Maoists were part of a splinter faction from the Maoists Handicraft Village, known as the Maoist Liberation Front. Their goal is to free true Maoists from the plight of China becoming capitalist.

"They thought they were Above The Law," said Steven Seagal. "But those Maoists just ended up On Deadly Ground."

To celebrate victory over the Maoist uprising, Steven Seagal and I went to celebrate at the Doodletown TGI Fridays, for killer apps and the Jack Daniel's Grill.

I settled into a bowl of the Jack Daniel's sauce mixed with the real deal, while Steven Seagal tended to his herbal tea. He was outraged that Friday's doesn't serve his energy drink, Lightning Bolt. I then went on to listen to Steven Seagal complain about how he was sick and tired of hearing about how all-powerful Chuck Norris has become, with his Chuck Norris fact website, his growing popularity with young people, and his folk-hero status.

"Did Chuck Norris star with DMX in Exit Wounds, taking in 80 mil worldwide? No. Did Chuck Norris receive a humanitarian award from PETA? No. Has Chuck Norris been recognized as a reincarnated Tulku by Lama Penor Rinpoche. No to all of them! Only Steven Seagal has done those things, and that's me, Steven Seagal."

"He is Missing in Action's Colonel James Braddock."

"Oh yeah? I am Casey Ryback, Navy SEAL turned cook, from such thrillers as Under Siege and Under Siege 2: Dark Territory. I could pistol whip Norris with my pony tail."

This went on for some time. Even though Steven Seagal is my friend, I still enjoy ribbing him when he goes off on his insecure Churck Norris rants. He mentions his music album Mojo Priest, and I say Walker, Texas Ranger. He says producer and martial arts coordinator for most of his films, I say republican on the campaign trail for Mike Huckabee. This went on until he asked me to read his treatment for an upcoming straight-to-video masterpiece, Hard To Kill 2: Even Harder. It appears R. Kelly had to drop out of filming due to legal issues, and he asked me to take the role of the sidekick.

We'll see, Steven Seagal- we'll see.

To learn more about Action Hero/Buddhist/Philanthropist/Entrepreneur, visit http://www.stevenseagal.com/

The Maoist Uprising, Part 1

Help Good Citizenry!

The Doodletown Daily Print News & Advertiser has been overtaken by a Maoist uprising!

I'm hiding underneath my editor's desk, blogging you from my BlogBerry. Help me, patriotic brothers and sisters! Help me, oh dear sweet christians!

I should have seen it coming. The little red books scattered around the office, bright gold and red star decals plastered on the walls of the newsroom, the constant chanting and banner waving- it had all the makings of a Marxist-Leninist insurgency.

What's so strange is that we Doodletownians have such a good relationship with the Maoist encampment in Old Doodle Wood. You know the enclave, marketed to charter groups and tourists as "The Maoist Handicraft Village and Cultural Center". We Doodletown citizens just thought it was a capitalist ploy to ambush and snare (aka "tourist trap"), the kind of place you would take your step-kids on Sundays. I had no idea it had become a hotbed of communist rhetoric and revolutionary heroism.

Enough of this panicky panic-strickenness, I can't stand hiding anymore. I'm going to try to talk these rebels, and see if we can reach some peace accord.

Waving my handkerchief above the desk, I shout, "Ho! Maoists! I'm here to offer armistice!"

"Who is there? Answer us!" they chanted.

Slowly, I raised my head above the desk. "It is I, Mr. Decent, editor-in-chief of The Doodletown Daily Print News & Advertiser. Let us talk as men talk, and reach some affable treaty."

I got a better view of the Maoists; they looked like Anime characters, all doe-eyed and white skinned with really cool haircuts. They wore black peasant clothes, and some wore those cute little worker caps. All the insurgents were armed with rifles, machetes, and/or nunchucks. Then, through a space in the Maoists, I saw them- my two little bootspit interns, Plan A and Plan B! They were wearing rice-paddy hats, and brandishing AK-47's. Those little fuckers...

"We have seized control of your town's news-media! To quote The Chairman, 'Attack dispersed, isolated enemy forces first.' We shall use this media post to energize the true bastion of iron, the worker masses."

"Ostensibly so," I said, "but do not use war to end war. Let us sit and talk peace, Brother Maoists."

Then, Plan A walked up to one of the really cool-looking Maoists up front, and whispered in his ear. The Maoists glared at me, and said, "Comrade Alpha has just informed us that you're the town drunk, not a man of peace."

With that remark, I got right in that Maoist's face, and screamed, "Wrong, chico! I'm the town bastard!" I head-butted the cool-looking Maoist right between his little almond eyes.

I saw a twirling flash, and was hit in the back of the head by a nuchaku...darkness...

To Be Continued...

Disney on Ice: Princess Wishes

You may be wondering why your mighty and robust leader bothers to give the Ice Capades two craploads of his time, what with all the ranting his job entails. I'll tell you why: I like sunsets. I like bunnies, clouds, and rainbows. I dream of unicorns humping unicorns on a lazy summer day. Lollipops, birthday cakes, and ice cream cones, I eat that shit up. What can I say, I'm sensitive.

When Mr. Delicious said he had two front row tickets to the latest Disney on Ice production of "Princess Wishes" and asked yours truly to accompany him, I was elated. You know Mr. Delicious, as his wondrous store on Doodletown Mainstreet, "Mr. Delicious' Sweet Treats and Chocolaties" is a local landmark. And, as you all know, Mr. Delicious has a fierce reputation of being a rake and a prankster, which made the idea of attending a children's ice show with him that much more fun.

I did my best to hide my traveller-size bottle of Early Times bourbon in my pants while squeezing in line with the kiddies and Mr. Delicious in tow. Luckily, they weren't frisking the entrants or searching baggage (I mean, it was mainly soccer moms with strollers). We found our seats right up front, and I celebrated by taking two manly pulls of liquor. I offered the bottle to Mr. Delicious, who brushed it away with a wink and a smile.

"Why don't you try one of these? They're my newest taste sensation" he said, pulling from his man-purse a small tin. Inside, crisp and appetizing, was a small horde of what looked like Oreo's.

"I call them Oxyo's, as I mix the creamy deliciousness with a special ingredient. Take a taste and see if you can guess what it is."

There is no way one can resist a sweet treat from Mr. Delicious, and I was happy to indulge. One, two, three Oxyo's hit my tongue, only to be followed by a bath of Early Times. There was a sharp, sugary-milk taste, with a slight aspirin aftertaste. I popped a couple more in my mouth, to the growing excitement of Mr. Delicious- he seemed to smile even more when I shotgunned it with whiskey.

It was then the house lights dimmed, and the music prompted with the start of "Part of Your World". The spotlight hit Ariel in her opening number, along with rows of bright starfish and sea creatures. The music began to build, and where I normally would feel at ease with the peaceful scene of professional ice skaters making dreams come true, the rich pageantry of it all began to sit too heavy- the room began to spin, the music began to slurr, and the raw taste of vomit began to creep into my mouth.

"Did you guess the secret ingredient of my Oxyo's yet?" said Mr. Delicious, his words and laughter sounding as if weighed down by lead. "It's OxyContin, you hilarious drunk!"

I tried to stand up, but the weight of the drink caught me off guard. I ended up flipping over the railing and on to the ice. As I tried to muster my tonnage to my feet, I saw the image of a spinning, twirling Ariel heading straight toward me. Even trying to crawl across the ice didn't work, because as she was coming out of a double Lutz,

she landed right on top of Mr. Decent.

That's right, there I was with a red-haired, seashell-breasted mermaid splayed on top of me (who's tail had somehow turned into a shimmery pair of green lycra, probably when she decided to become human). All I heard her say was "get off of me" before she shoved her elbow in my gut. I responded by releasing the overdose of whiskey and drug cookies onto her bikini-topped body.

I don't remember much after that- the security guards, the stunned crowd, children crying, and Mr. Delicious laughing his ass off while holding a video camera. Apparently this was just a stunt to capture some footage for Mr. Delicious' private bloopers library (I found out he has pretty much every prominent member of Doodletown captured in one way or another- Mayor Unsure caught leaving the high school boy's locker room, Dr. Always selling bottles of clean urine, that sort of thing). I'm sure the video is running amuck on the internet web in some form or another.

I have to appear in court by the end of the month, but let me tell you something, Mr. Delicous- this is just the beginning. I'll be paying you back in one form or another. But if there is something I've learned from all of this, it's this:

I still like sunsets. I still like bunnies, clouds, and rainbows. And I still like the Ice Capades, even if I see it through the dark slanted eyes of an addict, and baptise one of the star's with my spew.

What can I say, I'm sensitive.

April is Poetry Month

Heigh ho landed gentry! I apologize for not getting a chance to talk to you as of late- my job as editor-in-chief of The Doodletown Daily Print News & Advertiser has caused me quite a strain on the old schedule. Occupational time-burglary aside, there is something I want to get out to all of you T.S. Eliots and Emily Dickinsons on the world wide net web:

April is Poetry month.

That being said, as many emails, phone calls, and letters to the editor have pointed out, you really like my poetry. So to kick start this action-packed month, here's a little taste from my latest IQ fest .9MM Glock Uppercut Kindey Punch. I like to call it, "Stand Up Shut Up Roundhouse Kick to Your Face".

"Stand up shut up roundhouse kick to your face; now you know why the caged bird sings. You decided to stand up and that's what you get. Great party, huh? You were told there would be hor's d'oeuvres, so you didn't eat before you came. Now you're hungry and on your ass.

Here, let me write you a poem- what rhymes with "stinky douche"? In all seriousness though, you're a stinky douche. And in all seriousness, your mom is a MILF, and I tapped her sweet spot when you were on your way to the party.

Yeah, I went there. That's why I was late.

Here, I have a present for you: a book called The Littlest Ballerina. It's a story about the littlest ballerina, and how she tries really really hard to dance, but ultimately fails. You are the littlest ballerina. I'm the biggest ballerina that trips you and calls you skinny bitch.

Honestly, you make me sick. You are the wet spot at the bottom of the bag, the stain on the tighty-whities, the pee smell coming off the nursing home orderly- what?

Wait, you broke up with Kevin? Really, I didn't know- can I get you a drink?"

Let's rock April in style. Send Mr. Decent your poetry, and I'll post whatever poems are able to bitch-slap this crazy month.

Happy trails!

What Critics and Writers are Saying About My New Collection of Poetry

Unless you live in a trailer, a ditch, or in the back of your workplace, you would know that my latest creative explosion, .9MM Glock Uppercut Kidney Punch: Poetry in Prose was recently released by Kinko's Publishing House. The results are in, having received several reviews. Listen:

"Great in the sense that it was, somehow, published. Word-filled, print-filled, and double-spaced. Really, really nice double-spacing." -New York Times Book Review

".9MM Glock Uppercut Kidney Punch doesn't ask the reader, it only takes. And it doesn't stop taking; it asks you to consider how much it takes from you, and then it takes some more." -Hayseed: Poetry Quarterly and Seed Review

"Shocking, supple work. Mr. Decent reaches to a new loftiness in terms of artistic reproach, and not that new douchebag loftiness either. A little more than that." -Delta Skyways Magazine

"A sacrifical first-born on the railroad tracks of life, delicious in its innocence and dynamic in its splatter." -Railroad Tracks of Life Monthly

".9MM Glock Uppercut Kidney Punch really spoke to me. Really, I heard something." -Steven Seagal

Thanks to all who responded to my emails, querys, and beggings for some notice. I'll include works from .9MM Glock Uppercut Kidney Punch from time to time for your literary fix. For a copy of the collection, featuring deluxe brass brackets, high quality printer paper, and a signature by your one and only Mr. Decent, send a check or money order for $19.95 to the listed PO Box.

Cheerio-

Goddamn Interns/Man's Inhumanity to Man

I sent our interns to the liquor store with a tenner and explicit instructions to bring back a mouthwash-sized bottle of Old Crow, and they came back with a 12 pack of Natural Ice and a half-assed explanation that liquor stores close at 8 on Sunday in Doodletown USA, and how they had to hoof it to the grocery store to acquire said beer. I cast Plan A and Plan B (our eunuch interns) to empty my recycling bin of unholy empties and I got to thinking, what kind of fucking state closes its liquor stores at 8PM on a Sunday?

I'll tell you- a communist state. Goddamn Communist Doodletown, USA.

Sure isn't Christian to me. It's devoid of all God-fearing sensibilities I can reason. There isn't a Christian God that would want a man to be deprived of cost-efficient whiskey after 12 noon and before the witching hour (10PM, and bow before your Lord). It's the only respectable drinking time after church service. It should run until the God-Given hour of 1AM Monday morning, Eastern Standard (don't trust those cursed Pacific timers).

Especially in this weakend economy, this tawdry economic downturn; why turn away sales? Nay I remind you of the Whiskey Rebellion? Prohibition? Thirsty Christians want an escape from family and society- Sell the blessed drink. Collect your tax, pay your child-support, and all will be satiated.

All I can respond with is, Goddamn Communists. You'll only be happy when we close liquor stores at 4, we all suckle a ration of black-market hooch, and we all drink salty rhetoric from Castro's beard, or Kruschev's spittle, or Kim Jung Il's bad hair and short stature. What do you have? Broken promises, pretty posters, and forced labor- as well as junk bonds, bad loans, and communist theroy. Spend the People's fund on luxury cars and name-brand scotch. Go to Hell.

Plan A and Plan B have completed their tasks as instructed. Get the hell out of Doodletown. They might have shown me that I can drink Natural Ice again, with love, but they can't show me I can forgive.

Not without Old Crow,

Mr. Decent

Greetings Sub-Creatures...

Welcome to Decent People Beware, a blog where hot is cold, right is left, C-A-T spells "dog" and nothing is affected by gravity. We aim to be more in-your-face than cliche and hypthenation allows; and our grammar is top shelf, in case you haven't noticed.



Our staff at D.P.B. will bring you whatever they find that tickles the senses and arouses the mind. We're talking home cooking, punching out from work on Friday, running a red light and not getting pulled over...


...that's what we're after. Think The Simpsons on meth, a place where glasses don't leave wet rings, and people speak/and/or metaphor in triplicate. We'll make your body go numb and decrease your semen, and you'll ask for more. Ask for cookies and we'll give you pepperoni bread. Ask for liquor, and we'll give you the cheapest we can find. We'll even give you ice for that drinky-poo.



We have arch-enemies, we have nemesis' (what's the plural for nemesis? Nemeseis?), we have our friends and our founders. We have The Decent People, and you should hope you are on our side of the fence. That's right, Mr. Right- you should sign your anti-American confession right now.



Get your books translated into English, and stop your foolishness. We're talking to you, Sub-Creatures- you're either Decent, or you're something to disregard.



XOXO



Mr. Decent-