Ants are god's tiniest creatures. They have three segments to their bodies and each one peforms a specific function. The front one eats, the bottom one poos out dirt like an earth worm. In the middle is electricity and poison. They have itty bitty jaws for cutting leaves and opening tiny cans of eggs that they eat for breakfast. Sometimes they eat other ants when they run out of cans.
Sometimes they're brown, but most of the time they're bright red and filled with hot sauce. My older brother Todd thought they were supposed to be like a spice so he put them in his omelette and he ate it and his stomach puffed out like a balloon. The doctor said that his belly was like a hive, with an active colony of ants inside. Todd had to swallow a camera that showed all the ants inside and it looked like one of those shows on TV where the camera is inside the anthill. The doctor told him to take a poo over the sandbox because ants love sand and it would draw them out of his poohole into the dirt. It took about six hours but it totally worked and then Todd had to sleep with ant traps in his bed for awhile in case they came back.
Ants can also fly. The queen ant has wings that are made out of saran wrap and when its time they eat all the other ants to fatten up. Then she flies to another hill where the ant police can't find her and she starts a new hill.
I tried to farm ants one time because I wanted to milk them. Ant milk is supposed to be high in vitamin brown and vitamin j. I raised a little colony of ants but their teats were too small to be milked. They escaped into the breadbin and then my older brother Todd found them and thought they were poppy seeds on a bagel. He ate the bagel and the whole thing started all over again with the swollen belly and the sandbox and all that.
It is recommended that you don't touch ants because they run electricity across their jaws. It's like a tiny electric fence with teeth that you shouldn't touch. My brother Todd touched one with his pee-pee and it looked like a chicken cutlet from the sizzler. I saw it smoking.
a diary entry by Timothy B. Tanglefrappe, age 10
Beer is daddy fuel.
He says that beer helps him close his ears when mommy is talking. He also says that it helps mommy open up her pecker wrecker when he’s feeling ornery. He told me that I wasn’t supposed to drink it until I was at least 14 and living out of the house and that if he caught me drinking it he’d smack my bottom with a belt. He caught my brother Todd one time and he smacked his butt so hard that Todd had to get special padded pants so that he could sit down.
Beer is made up of equal parts shredded wheat and racecar gas. It smells like corn chips and it looks like the color of my brother Todd’s pee but not as bubbly. People in my neighborhood drink it all the time to make girls pretty and lower their taxes. Mommy drinks beer to make the demons go away.
But one day I was walking in the woods and I went to the ballpark behind my house and there were a bunch of men there drinking beer and talking about pussy cats and slapping their hands together. They gave me one of the beers and I drank it in the woods. I was dancing to the music of the trees and Margaret Shatskin found me and took my beer. She chugged it down in one gulp and started calling me sailor.
We ran into Juan Pedro and Esteban in the woods and they were smoking special cigarettes. They told me I was loco for hanging out with Margaret because she’s been passed around like a basketball.
“That girl’s been hit more times than a piñata,” said Juan Pedro.
My brother Todd was hanging a piñata one time at Juan Pedro’s house and Esteban was blindfolded and hit him really hard with a baseball bat until candy came out. But it wasn’t candy. It was testicles and dick parts and Todd had to go to the hospital. They wrapped his package up like a burrito and his scabs looked like dried salsa.
The beer made me feel really strong and loud and I tried to pick a fight with a bear. Margaret flashed it her boobies and we ran off and the bear thought my brother Todd was me. It threw Todd up in a tree and he landed on a branch right up his poo-hole. It sounded like when grandpa shot a hole in one and Todd screamed like an eagle I saw on teevee.
A diary entry from Timothy B. Tanglefrappe, age 10
One sweaty Sunday my parents and I went to church. It was called St. Stephan’s of the Hot Divinity Heart Blessing Burger. It had a drive through. My dad was really impatient and he said that he couldn’t waste time praying all morning because he had beer to drink. So we’d drive through the church and get our prayers biggie-sized. My brother Todd would always pray for a new set of dickle-balls and working turkey-jerky because his were always broken.
My mom would pray for a set of hooters and her job back and a new husband. My dad would pray for her to shut the hell up so he could make his order at the drive up window. My brother Todd tried to make an order with his swanson but my dad rolled it up in the window and it swelled up like a tomato and when it popped some seeds came out and Todd had to pray again.
I don’t think God could hear him because it was really broken.
Other people in the neighborhood went to church too, but they don’t eat burgers. They eat these little wafers that taste like ice cream cones with no sugar and they kneel down a lot. The Italian brothers from across the street go to church all the time, and they’re always coming home and singing about it. Their god is at Suffolk Downs dog track, they say, and they’re always praying to the dog god to win races.
“God bless that-a little sausage dog so I don’t-a have to re-a-mortgage my house!” says one of the brothers.
“God speed you-a fak-um-beety-toots!!” says the other brother, shaking a rolling pin towards heaven and crossing his chest.
Margaret Shatskin goes to church too, but she calls it temple. That means she has to look at my pee-pee all the time to see if I’m circumcised. Circumcised means that my dick is ready for heaven. She says that only circumcised dick-sticks are allowed into her cho-cha because that’s God’s way. She looks at it all the time. I tell her that it’s not going to change, and that Todd’s was self-circumcised when he tripped and fell in the kitchen and landed naked on the electric can opener. It tore his dick to ribbons and it smelled like cat food and looked like a pile of spaghetti.
Margaret took me too one of her temple thingies on a Friday night one time. She had me drink some mankedinkus wine and told me that instead of confession that people like her need to be spanked for each of their sins. She said she had committed 47 sins including touching my circumcision scar to get into heaven.
Mrs. Shatskin came in and caught us and I said it was all in the name of God and she told me to save my hand for later to punish her sins and I peed my pants.
an essay by Timothy B. Tanglefrappe, 9
Bulls are like big dogs with big horns. They sit around in the desert and eat cactus all day. Sometimes people tie them up with ropes and ride them around. I saw an electric bull at the fair one time, and Margaret Shatskin said it made her bottom tingle.
Bulls are very dangerous mammals. They have sharp teeth like sharks and they have a big nose that breaths fire sometimes. The only way to tame them is with a red cape. One time my brother Todd tried to tame a bull but he was just using his plain old T-shirt and the bull bit right down on his chode. It made a sound like a crackling fire, and Todd had to be sewn up by Patches, the rodeo clown.
Bulls have natural enemies in the desert, like the poisonous scorpion and the pie snake. If you come across a bull in the wild, you’re supposed to play dead because bulls can smell heart beats. You have to hold your breath and lay real still other wise the bull willh gore you with his horns. My brother Todd tried to pee behind a rock one time that turned out to be a big bull. The bull got up and stepped on his cowboy rattle. It made a sound like cracking an egg except the yoke was red and Todd screamed like a woman.
Sometimes bulls come in from the desert looking for trash to eat. They’re fueled by orange peels and banana skins. They also eat coke cans and hay. You should never try to feed a bull because their mouth is like a wood chipper. One time, a bull came in from the desert looking for our trash because we had just thrown out a lot of hay. It was all mean and had red eyes.
“Watch out-a for-a the horns!” Shouted one of the Italian brothers from across the street. “That’s-a no Cannoli!”
“Si, Senor,” said the other brother, frantically waving a rolling pin. “You-a boys a-might get keeeeled!”
The Bull ran around and ate trash and we fed it brownies to make it slow. Todd wanted to try and saddled up and ride the bull, but he was under doctors orders to not get off of his special toilet after the last bull poked his poo-hole wide open and a bunch of Todd's hamburger came out.
One time Margaret Shatskin came over with a saddle. She said she wanted to ride her like a rodeo and got down on all fours. My mom came in and yelled at us. “Why don’t you go fuck someone else’s kid,” she said. My mom says that Magaret isn’t supposed to come over because she has fleas.
One time I slept in a tent in my backyard. My daddy said that he couldn’t go camping anymore because he couldn’t fit all the stuff on the back of his bicycle, and Mommy was tired of driving him everywhere. So my brother Todd and I pitched a tent in the backyard so that it was like camping.
Camping is something that the pilgrims did when they first landed in America and all the Indian hotels were booked up or not built yet. The slept in tee-pees and had to burn babies in the winter to stay warm because they didn’t have wood yet.
We waited until it was starting to get dark out before we went out to the tent. It was a tent big enough for two people with sleeping bags so it was just me and my brother Todd out there. Kitty poo beans wasn’t allowed. Daddy wanted to put a padlock on the tent because one time my brother Todd was sleeping walking and stuck his pee-cord into an electrical socket. Daddy thought it was morning because it smelled like cooked bacon and Todd peed brown syrup.
We told ghost stories with flashlights in our faces for a while. Todd told a story about a ghost that lives in his head that makes him stick his penis where it doesn’t belong. He said that ghost is always making him set it on fire and then his eyes got all white. He tried to put his pecker in the flashlight with the batteries and tore it all up when he screwed the top back on. It glowed like ET’s finger.
Margaret Shatskin came over to try and sleep in my sleeping bag. She said she was wearing pajamas but it looked like two band-aids and a cork with some string around it. She said she liked to sleep with her head down at the other end of the sleeping bag and said that it if I uncorked her bottle that I would find a surprise.
Just then there was a rustle at the tent’s door. There was someone outside trying to open the zipper. Margaret ducked down into my sleeping bag head first. Todd didn’t notice because a mosquito had bit his testicle-bag and it was swelling up like a melon. Then the door burst open.
“You boys want some pep-pe-roni piz-za?!?!?!?!?” Said one of the Italian brothers from next door as he popped his head into the tent. “It’s fresh-a from-a the oven!”
“It’s sooooftttt and deeeeeeliiiic-i-ous! I rolled the dough my-self!” said the other brother.
After we settled down and ate some pizza, and finally got Margaret to stop trying to clean sauce off of my belly, Todd and I tried to get some sleep. But when he was zipping up his sleeping bag he caught his dinkle-cocker in the zipper track and tore his wangle open like a banana peel. It looked like pizza toppings and Todd had to camp out in the Emergency Room again.
the braggin' dragon
a fable by Timothy Tranglefrappe, 9
The dragon flew up to the ceiling of the cage, and let out an enormous poo-wind that singed the tips of the boy’s hair and left stains on his armor. The dragon laughed and laughed. It was going to fart the boy to death. Sir Todd was no help. He was in the corner, picking up the pieces of his penis that had been blasted apart by the first round of bottom burps.
Left alone with his sword and thin armor, the boy stood bravely. He had done this before. Last year, when Sir Todd sat on a sleeping dragon’s nostril and had his bottom-hole banjaxed, the boy was able to fight on alone and spear the dragon in his tender bits with a lance.
This dragon was different. Bigger, faster, smellier. It filled the whole cave with it’s massive stink, and the boy could barely breathe in the thick air.
“You’ve got a lotta fuckin’ nerve comin’ into me cave, boy,” shouted the dragon. “Your gas will fill the kingdom after I eat you up and fart you out again!”
Behind the dragon the boy could see Princess Margaret Shatksin the Nude. Although chained to a pole, she appeared be doing some sort of seductive dance, and the boy was unsure for who it was intended. The dragon didn’t like the princess, and hadn’t eaten her yet because he thought he would get a disease.
The boy took a few charges with his sword, but the dragon dodged them easily.
“You can do it, boy,” said Princess Margaret as she slid down the pole. “The pole is you!”
The boy took a few more stabs, each time getting closer and closer to cutting through the tough skin of the dragon. The dragon kept on laughing. Sir Todd was still blindly searching for his testicles in the cave corner. Just last week he had them bitten in two by an ogre, whose teeth mashed his berry-pouch like grain in a gristmill.
“Please do not eat me Meester Dragon. I probably taste like gaaaaarlic and peppppppers!” said one of the Italian brothers who were held captive by the dragon. “My skin is not nice and soft like a-pizza –dough. It is hairy, like a bear!”
“Eet’s true Senor. We were eaten once beeeefore and we were speet out like the meeserable bas-tards we are!” said the other brother. “You will choke on my chest’hair, I promise!”
While the Italian brothers distracted the dragon, the boy ran in and skewered the dragon through its eye. He quickly regrouped and stabbed the other eye. The blind dragon was defenseless, and the boy was easily able to chop off its head.
Princess Maggie, hanging upside down with her legs wrapped around the pole, said “Hurry up and let me down. These Italian boys’ dough is starting to rise and I’m not about to knead it.”
The House of 18 Rats
a fable by Timothy Tanglefrappe, 9
Once upon a time there was a house full of 18 rats. Inside the house were a boy and his older brother named Sir Todd. Every day the boy would take a stick and poke all the rats and try to get them to leave the house. 18 is an awful lot of rats. Sir Todd would try to get the rats out of the house as well but one time a rat thought that his flesh-sword was a piece of cheese and tried to eat it. It bit the head off like a muffin top and Sir Todd was doused in mineral spirits, shriveling his flesh-sword like jerky.
Each day the two boys carried out their chores under the watchful eyes of Queen mom and King dad. Queen Mom ruled the land and King Dad drank a lot and watched jousting all day on the magic box. They paid the boys a farthing each to get rid of the rats, which they couldn’t do. The boy did his best, but Sir Todd had been experimenting with flash powder and burned his pissing-stick to cinders. Even the kingdom’s magician was at a loss to fix it, and replaced it with an inflated goat’s bladder that smelled like horse droppings.
One day, the boy came up with an idea to get rid of the rats. He decided that if he killed the lead rat that he would be able to convince the other rats to leave the house. Rats are like bees. There’s usually one queen rat in the hive that squirts out rat eggs all day and the rest are just drones. The boy was determined to find the queen rat.
Princess Maggie Shatskin, the girl from the neighboring kingdom, offered to help. Queen Mom hated Princess Maggie because she was always prancing around without her princess dress on, and she was convinced that Queen Shatskin had been sleeping in King Dad’s bed to earn ducats for her kingdom. Princess Maggie Shatskin said that she cleaned rats out of her castle all the time and that she could probably find the queen rat.
Meanwhile, Sir Todd was setting up more flash powder around the rat holes to blow the rats to kingdom come. He didn’t believe in the queen rat and was really just interested in getting back at the rat that blew up his cock. “You better kill those fuckin’ rats dead you little A-hole,” said Queen mom.
Princess Shatskin, wearing little more than a thin smock she called her “rat catcher’s uniform” struck out early in the morning with the boy to catch the queen rat. They were on a hunt for rat eggs.
“You better looook out!” said one of the Italian brothers who cleaned the bathroom in the castle when he spied the pair snooping around. “That little sausageless boy has beeeeen laying fi-er-crack-ers all morn-ing!”
“Yes senor, that little bugger is going to blow up his cannoli again!” said the other brother. “I’ll wager my mus-stache on it!”
Just then a large explosion rocked the castle, and a pile of 17 rats landed at the feet of the Italian brothers. They quickly scooped up the rats and flushed them down the toilet where they belong. Sir Todd came out holding the last dead rat in his hand. All the hair had been burned off of it. It was ruptured and bleeding, and black like a burnt hot dog.
“You got the last fuckin’ rat Sir Todd. Now maybe you’ll stop blowing up your pecker,” said Princess Maggie.
“What do you mean? This is my pecker,” said Sir Todd.
The Wind in my Britches
A fable spun by Timothy Tanglefrappe, 9
Once upon a time there was a little girl. Her name was Pomegranate Sharkskin. She had pigtails and wore a dress of the finest grain sacks in the land. She lived in a small hut on the side of the river.
Every day she would walk to the river and pick some hoo hoo fruit, showing it to the boy who lived on the other side. He was always outside sharpening his sword or climbing a tree or bandaging his cousin's broken brandy-dick. He had little interest in Pomegranate's shenanagins, and even less interest in her peaches.
Much of the boy's time was taken up with helping his cousin Tiberius. Tiberius was forever getting into trouble, lighting his dwindle-stick on fire or getting his grub-nuts stuck in a wagon wheel, or accidentally placing his peedly-pee into the path of the plow. The local barber was often seen attaching leeches and other beasties onto the cousin Tiberius' nether regions, and sewing up holes in cousin Tiberius' bottom hole.
Dear Pomegranate desperately wanted the boy to notice her, and to eat her peaches, and spent much of her day lounging on rocks in the river, and sucking on bananas. The bananas, imported from Africa, were most likely expensive. Pomegranate lived with her mother, Mrs. Sharkskin, who was often seen feeding peaches to the boy's father, much to the boy's mother's shame.
Cousin Tiberius, a known weirdo, wanted some of those peaches himself. He was always trying to swim across the river to see Pomegranate, and he was always getting his donkey-flesh bitten by trout, or snickered by wolves. He once had a tiny shad swim up his fouling-hole and lay eggs. The local barber had to burn them out with a candle, and it sounded like a barking dog. Tiberius had to poo into a grain sack and was outlawed from the river.
Poor Pomegranate could not swim either, so she was always tempting the boy to swim across to eat her tasty peaches. The boy would usually just flip her the bird and go back to chopping wood. Until one day, when the boy's mother came to him and said, "That fucking whore that lives on other side of the river who always shows off her nasty little cunt is drowning."
The boy felt a tingle in his heart. He knew what he had to do. Quickly bypassing cousin Tiberius, who's quinny-lance had been doused in salt and was being chewed on by a deer, the boy ran to the river. There, little Pomegranate Sharkskin lay dashed upon the rocks of the river, barely breathing, with a soggy peach in her hand. A tiny ray of sun lit her face, and her wet hair clung to the rock like seaweed.
"Wee tried to save herrr, Senior," said one of the Italian brothers who lived next door. "But she swaaam soooo poorly that we ended up laughing at her, and splittling a stick of spicy pepperoni!"
"Eet's true," said the other brother. "The pepperoni was spicy, and delicious!"
The boy took Pomegranate in his arms and dragged her to his side of the river. He gently laid her in the grass. He noticed that somehow in the struggle she had managed to take off all of her clothes, and there was a look on her face that resembled "scheming."
It looked as if she wanted to say something, so the boy leaned his ear close to her mouth.
"Are you gonna play barber and eat my peach or you gonna sit there glaring at my fuckin' boobies all day? Sheesh."
A note about Timothy.
I’m sure that a lot of you have been wondering what’s going on around here. I understand. But let me assure you that Tim is okay, as is Todd, aside from a split scrotum suffered from an unfortunate incident involved a tiny mouse costume and an elephant’s foot. He’ll bounce back, I’m told
The thing is, it’s become increasingly hard to come up with places and spaces in which to place Tim and his mischeiveious brother Todd, who just last week ruptured his poo-hole while trying to feed a carrot to a donkey while in a prone position. After being rushed to the hospital and fitted with a rubber “o” ring, Todd was welcomed back into the house in a special wheelchair with a toilet installed.
But I’ve been thinking about whether to continue with the site, or to perhaps rearranging the publishing schedule so as not to conflict with my other deadlines as a reporter. I think that it’s difficult to write three pieces a week involving the two Mexican neighbors, as well as Margaret Shatskin, who just this morning asked Todd to help tie her shoes while she stood over a mirror in a skirt. She then asked him to help her apply lip gloss using his “special lipstick” that her mom had referenced the evening prior.
I know for a fact that I will be unable to continue the rapid three-day pace of stories, but I would like to continue the site. However, I don’t even know if you people are reading. So perhaps you should leave some suggestions as to what I should do with Tim, and his reckless brother Todd who is finally just healing up from his penis surgery—the result of an infected spider bite after affixing flies to his male member. The numbed and poisoned-organ looked like a “dried up and chewed on cigar” according to Tim, who witnessed the whole event.
So please, drop me a line, or leave a comment, and let me know if you want me to continue, or if I should leave the family in peace.
Thanks for reading.
The Pirate Ship
an essay by Timothy B. Tanglefrappe, 8
In my town there is a big pirate ship that was once used by pirates for pirating in the ocean. It’s old and rickety and it smells like rotten feet and it creaks like Grandpa when he walks. It’s down in the harbor where the water is all green and foamy like the wet patch in the backyard. The ship is called the Rising Wind.
We took a school trip to see the pirate ship and learn about the ways of pirates and all the pirating they did. Pirates were scurvy dogs that wore eye patches and peg legs. They smoked cheese and ate limes and slept with coconuts in their beds instead of pillows. My brother Todd tried to open a coconut with a hammer one time and he missed and split his coconuts open and a bunch of milk came out all over the place. He said “arghhhh” like a pirate and had to be sewn up like a sock monkey.
Juan and his little brother Estaban were on the trip and they said that some of their relatives are still pirates but they don’t dress like women. They use automatic weapons instead of swords like old pirates did. Old pirates used doubloons for money and used sailboats. My brother Todd tried to raise the sail of the pirate ship and got his peter pangus caught in the rigging. He said “Ahoy” like a pirate and it smelled like when Daddy burned tires in the backyard.
The guide at the pirate ship told us that pirates used to fight against other boats with cannons and muskets. The cannons on the ship were very heavy and would blow holes in the sides of other boats. One time my brother Todd accidentally swallowed a musket ball and when it came out it blew out his poo-hole. It looked like a snake eating an egg in reverse and he said “Argg, me booty” like a pirate.
The pirate ship was lots of fun and I liked to see the ocean and ship. At the gift shop I bought an eye patch so I could play pirate with my friends. Margaret Shatskin bought a peg leg but I haven’t seen her wearing it yet. She said she has to wash it first.