Minigan Blackwood’s Booze Fueled, Clothing Prohibited, Law Breaking, Church Burning, Super Amazing Vacation

Well, guys and guyettes, if you’re reading this, then I am no longer with you. Unfortunately, it is time that I face my eternal punishment, by which I mean that I am back at work. But instead of morning for me, why don’t you read about the crazy shenanigans I got into while I didn’t have to worry about work.
-I get home from work with a bunch of supplies for this week’s misdeeds. Wire cutters, a car battery, an electric motor, 2 car wheels, ten oversized, floppy dildos of various colors. This vacation’s “Slappin’ Dick-Machine” is gonna be the greatest.
-I finish yelling at my mom to mind her own damn business after she asked me why I had a car battery and a large paper bag with floppy dildos popping out of the top. I then prepare for bed. For, adventures wait in the afternoon, and I shall need my energy.
-I fling myself out of bed, and instantly, I’m naked. That must’ve been because I went to sleep naked. I choose not to put on clothes, as the world should have the chance to see me in all my not well endowed glory. I go to the garage with my morning purchases when I remember that building a machine that has dicks spinning on it could end much more horribly when I’m naked, so I return to my room to put on some clothes.
-Construction of the “Slappin’ Dick-Machine” is complete. Now to turn it on…
-The “Slappin Dick Machine” Races forward, out of my garage, and down the street, the dildos whirling around from a horizontal wheel extending from above the engine. It looks like the gayest helicopter ever. None the less, I chase after it.
-The “Slappin’ Dick-Machine” has attacked many neighborhood children, probably traumatizing them for life. It has apparently gained sentience, and is aiming to destroy all humans the only way it knows: By slapping them with dicks. Just call me Dr. Frankenstein (I don’t know how that story goes). But now I need to go buy an axe.
-After a couple hours of procrastinating (Damn you Memebase!) I finally make to Home Depot to buy an axe. While I’m there, I also look at shelving, because I really need to utilize my closet space better. When I get back home, I realize that I forgot why I bought the axe. I decide that it must be in preparation for the zombie apocalypse, and put it with my other weapons.
-Fuck! Family Guy’s on!!!!
-Family Guy is interrupted by the news with a special report about a mysterious robot that is slapping people with floppy dildos. I laugh, remembering that it is my robot with floppy dildos. I would go to stop it like I planned, but it looks like the cops are taking good care of the situation (They were also getting slapped by some dick).
-The TV is nothing but shitty shows and the news talking about my “Slappin’ Dick-Machine.” Boring. I decide to take a shower and go to bed. Instead, I spend my time on Memebase. Damn that Memebase.
5:30 AM
-I go to bed.
-I wake up, completely naked, and decide to do some stretching on the roof. No, I did not put on clothes. I feel they’re restricting.
-The police arrive. I begin to throw cans of spray paint at them. I don’t know why they’re on the roof, but I decide to not question a good thing.
-I’m in a jail cell with a big guy who calls himself “Toothy Joe.” I’m being charged with several counts of lewd conduct and assaulting a police officer. I’m pretty sure I left one blind when I sprayed his eyes with paint, and another I severely burned when I realized that there was also a convenient grill lighter on the roof as well.
-I’m getting bored with the whole “Jail cell” and “Creepy sexual advance by Toothy Joe” thing, so I break out by picking the lock. Damn am I awesome.
-I make it back to my house without any cops chasing me. Their resources must be stretched pretty thin because of that “Slappin’ Dick-Machine.” And once again, Past me is looking out for Present me. I then grab a couple of beers, put on my hatin’ hat, and begin to write the blog post “Worst Advertisements Currently on TV.”

I “Heart” nothing when I’m wearing that hat.

5:02PM! I read all the new articles, watched the video, and wished I had a job there instead of that stupid place I currently work.
-After desperately trying to get the Cracked columnists to notice me on Twitter, I finally get started on my blog- By which I mean, I pick out the videos I will make fun of.
-FOOD. I make chicken on the grill and carrots. Delicious.


-I take my drinking up to the next level. Here are my thoughts:

I dunno why we gotta keep these bitches alive. I don’t mean women, I mean men women who are bitches and r on life support. What?! You think you better than me cause they get to lay around all day and not be called “a drain on society?!” fuck’em! They don’t know me none! I’ll kick a garden’s worth of vegetables!

I then spend the next several hours drunkenly plotting how I’m going to preemptively strike the people on life support before they take over the world.
2:00AM… Maybe…
-I go to bed. That is to say, I passed out on my couch
-I wake up with a killer hangover and my dog licking my face. I drink several cups of water, take a couple of ibuprofen, and curl up into a tiny ball under my bed.
-Once my hangover has passed completely, I realize that I’m hungry. Since I’ve never had one of those Taco Bell tacos with the Dorito shell, I decide to go get one of those.
-I make it back to my house, my saliva glands working overtime, and rush inside to eat the four Doritos Locos Tacos I bought.
-I finish the first one, and almost instantly an overwhelming sense of euphoria. Everything seems so much more vivid than ever before.
-I’ve eaten the second. I now see colors that I never knew existed. A bunch of objects in my house begin to come alive.
-The third one’s gone. It took me longer to eat because I had to catch it. We laughed merrily as I chased it around my house, and once I caught it, all the house hold objects began to sing a song about how it’s ok to eat your friends. Looking back on it, that was a little disturbing.
-I remember eating the last one (after it was done singing a song to me), but as I took the last bite, everything went black.
-I wake up covered in orange dust. Everything in my room is destroyed, and half of them look like someone was chewing on them. My computer, which was in the living room and away from my possible rage, is on. I bathe the orange powder off of me, and then look to see what I was looking at while I was blacked out. The date on my compute says Thursday. Thursday? But the last thing I remember was on Tuesday. Holy shit.
-I get on facebook and see that I have 20 notifications. Dear god. The first one I click on was from my friend Della. It is a video from a local news station, and her comment was, “Minigan, Please tell me this wasn’t you.”
-Fuck. That was me alright. The video was about eight minutes of pure insanity. It was a special report about a man covered in Dorito cheese powder breaking into a hospital with a club and the sentient robot with a wheel of dildos that had been terrorizing the community the past couple of days. The man(IE, me), who was wearing a red and white tablecloth as a cape (and nothing else) and had his hair sticking out from the sides of his head, was screaming “Death to the vegetables! The god of the Doritos Locos Tacos demands it!” While the robot repeated, “Death to all humans!” through a Speak and Say. Other than my phrase, I spoke mostly in tongues.
The robot and I fought our way to the comatose ward, and then I proceeded to dropkick every life support machine I saw. At one point, the robot slapped a man on his face with one of its floppy dildos, and the man woke up. I then screamed, “See! These bastards are just faking it!” and then I punched him in his chest. The news report didn’t say, but I might have killed that guy. The video ends with me and the robot fleeing the hospital while stealing a heart rate monitor and a defibrillator.
My comment back to Della is, “Lol that guy sure does look like me! Ha ha ha ha ha ha! No that wasn’t me! I totes don’t have anything againt people who are brain dead, and I absolutely don’t belive that they are plotting to kill all of us by chasing us down on their beds. K bai!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
After pacing in my living room for a few minutes, trying to figure out how I was going to awesome my way out of this one, I opened the door to my garage. My “Slappin’ Dick-Machine” is sitting at the bottom step and says to me in its monotone Speak and Say voice, “Who do we attack next, Master?” I turn off the robot, and notice a few surprising additions to its body. Somehow, it acquired a solar panel, the Speak and Say, a camera, and two highly dexterous robotic arms. and decide it’s best for me to lay low for the rest of the day. I check the rest of my facebook notifications (Every single one of them is about the news report) and I carefully lie about how I took my dog to a dog park yesterday. I then turn off my computer and turn on the news, as to see if they have narrowed me down as a lead. I resolve that it is in my best interest to not leave the house until the heat dies down.
12:00 Noon
-The heat hasn’t died down, so I decide that it would probably be best if I went to Pennsylvania for the weekend. I pack up Tess, my stuff, Tess’s food, and the “Slappin’ Dick Machine” into my car, and make a mad dash for the PA border.
-I make it there to find my older sister cleaning out the attic. We spend the next eight hours doing this, as well as most of Saturday. Here is some of the cool stuff we found:
This gumball machine

I filled it with skittles, because you know how I do.

A creepy old rocking horse
A ceramic penis my mom got for her wedding shower. Weird.
A shit ton of our old toys
And a series of historically significant newspapers. Like from Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination:

The Apollo 11 launch:

VE day:

The deaths of Martin Luther King and FDR:

As well as others I didn’t take pictures of.
-I have to wake up so that I can get ready to go hock all our old stuff at the flea market.
-I finally wake up so that I can get ready to hock all our old stuff at the flea market. Becky and I load up my brother’s truck, and I mount the “Slappin’ Dick Machine” to the roof. That thing is incriminating evidence against me; I have to get rid of it. We get to Rossi’s Pop Up Market and fight the other shiftless ne’er do wells for a spot. We set up our spot, both of us joking about flea markety things when my sister yells, “I’m sorry I’m not at the flea market every week! I’m sorry I’m not poor!” Now, I know my sister, and I’m fairly certain that she was quoting a movie there, but that still came out sounding pretty bad. And that’s coming from the guy who possibly killed a bunch of people on life support while high on Doritos Locos Tacos with a robot that slaps people with a floppy dildo wheel. And that, my friends is the craziest sentence I’ve ever written.
-We had barely set up our spot when we were flooded with our first set of customers at our table. One guy bought just about all of my brothers old toys, including the accessories that we didn’t know what toys they went to. We got about $20 outta him. Ha, sucker.
-the crowd had dispersed and a woman from the table next to ours told us that those people just bought our stuff to sell at their own tables. Son of a bitch, we got swindled! I was about to go find the people who had bought stuff from us and give them a piece of my mind, by which I mean fist, when my sister tolde that us getting rid of that stuff was more important than what they sell it for.
That calms me down a little, but I still say, “You win this round, flea market professionals. You win this round.”
-I remember that I left the Slappin’ Dick-Machine on the roof of the truck and that I was going to try and sell it. I bring it down and place it between my sister’s old tv and stereo.
-A man comes on the intercom and begins to advertise for different stores inside the flea market. Out of nowhere, he sings, “Let me tell you ’bout Sue’s Cuts.” the song instantly gets stuck in my sister’s head, and she tries to peddle our wares with the song. “Let me tell you ’bout these skis,” “Let me tell you ’bout these Beanie Babys,” and “Let me tell you ’bout the naked Barbie dolls” we’re among her best.
-My dad and his girlfriend stop by our table to see how things are selling. He shows us the pick axe that he bought, and we tell him that it isn’t allowed in the attic. My dad then sees the Slappin’ Dick-Machine and asks what it is. I just laugh instead of giving a real reply.
-my sister and I have whittled down our products to all the Barbie stuff, all of the books, the skis and the Slappin’ Dick-Machine.

A fairly young kid, no older than thirteen, comes up and is perusing through our array of junk when he spots the Slappin’ Dick-Machine. He points to it and asks, “Hey is that one of them Battlebots?”
I give a quick shrug to my sister and then answer with a, “Sure is. It is excellent in battle. And you can own it or $10”
The kid then asks, “Is there anything wrong with it.” Jesus Christ. This kid won’t just shut the fuck up and buy the robot.
“Not a thing,” I lie, “It works perfectly and isn’t a sentient being hell bent on destroying humanity at all.”
“Hmm,” the kid replies with a sound of fascination in his voice, “Ooh, What does this button do?”
Before I could stop him, he presses the power button, which woke the crazed robots. The dildo wheel begins to spin so fast that the dildos looked like brightly colored blurs. The robotic voice from the Speak and Say practically cries, “Destroy all humans!” Even though the voice was emotionless, it still sounded crazy and furious. It’s new robotic arms reaches under the battery and pulls out the paddles to the defibrillator and presses them against the boy’s chest. The poor boy is too slow to react, and gets zapped. He flies backwards several feet before hitting the ground. I thought he might be dead, but then I hear him cough. Good, because that would have put a damper on the whole day.
The Slappin’ Dick-Machine speeds off towards the open air tent of the seller’s to our right, and knocks all the glass vials and vases off of one of their tables. The woman closest to the robot starts yelling at it and tries to turn it off, but with on hard slap of the big black dildo, she falls into a wire rack holding old and out of style dresses. With its Speak and Say voice, the robot laughs. And it is a horrible, blood chilling laugh. It sounds soulless, kind of like how I expect Sean Hannity to laugh when he’s not on air.
My sister and I sit at our table and watch as the Slappin’ Dick-Machine destroys other people’s tables and goods, while also taking pieces of electronics and adding them to its form.
“So, are you going to deal with that?” my sister asks me while we watch my robot flip over a table of 2 liter bottles of Pepsi.
“Oh, yeah, because this is my problem,” I answer sarcastically.
“Well, we need to do something, it could start actually start hurting people,” she nags.
“Ugh, Fiiiiinnnnneee,” I groan, “I’ll stop the stupid thing. But these people owe me!”
I start chasing after the thing, just like I did a week ago, but man has this thing gotten fast. It can flip a table and dick slap every person trying to stop it before I can even get close enough to pounce on it. And all the while, that weird man on the intercom is still singing, “Let me tell you ‘bout Sue’s Cuts.”
“Let me tell you about your death, human,” My cock wielding robot replies as it sets its sights on the man. The man is up on some metal scaffolding at the front of the flea market. The Slappin’ Dick-Machine raises a newer third arm with a circular saw blade attached, and let the blade spin menacingly. It then takes off towards the scaffolding. By the time I reach the scaffolding, it has already begun to climb up one of the poles. The man up on the scaffolding is sceaming for help, and quite frankly, I’m a little disappointed he isn’t using the Sue’s Cuts jingle to do so. Despite the man’s lack of creativity when his life is on the line, I jump at the Slappin’ Dick-Machine, and am just able to grab a hold of one of its wheels. We both tumble back to the earth, and before it has a chance to slice my throat with its saw arm, I hit the button and the machine powers down.
“Yay!” I cry, “I’m a hero!”
No one else seemed to agree. They kick me out and banish me from the flea market forever. Jeez, some people just can’t take a joke.
-I’m on my way home to Ohio with my dog in the back seat, the gumball machine in the front, and the Slappin’ Dick-Machine tied to the roof. As I’m wondering aloud what I’m going to do with a robot that adds parts to itself and wants to kill humanity, I just make out the voice from the Speak and Say say, “You could let me loose at Della’s house.”
Mr. Slappin’ Dick machine, you and I are gonna be best friends.


1 Comment

  1. […] have people being mad at each other before everyone arrives. Della- But They’re not even people! Slappin’ Dick Machine- [Through his speak and spell] That doesn’t mean we don’t have feelings, Della. T-shirt- Yeah! […]

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