Alex Bone

Alex Bone (Michael D. Griffiths) is a man who likes to keep busy, too bad it mostly involves cleaning squirrels. In the past, his writing has been published in numerous periodicals and anthologies sometimes even published by someone else. He was awarded first place in Withersin’s 666 contest, which he was told will later give him the Golden Ticket tour of the third plane of Hell. He is on the staff of The Daily Discord, Cyberwizard Productions, SFReader, and on the Board of Directors for the Society of Advanced Humans that Seek to Live as Viking Ninjas. His series The Chronicles of Jack Primus is available through Living Dead Press. After being bitten by a zombie, his attentions have turned toward the walking dead and he has begun a new Zombie Apocalypse series called the Eternal Aftermath. When he discovered that he was a cloned from Eric the Red’s DNA, he wrote the Science Fiction series Skinjumpers. Later while experimenting with strange fungus, he slipped into a Fantasy world ruled by the mad mage Dalsala Den.

Al Gore , Men In Green, and the HARP that will Destroy Earth!

by Alex Bone • November 29, 2010

Collapsing Shack, AZ—This is some serious breaking news: now that this distracting election is over, it’s time to push aside useless labels like Tea Bagger, Bleeding Heart Liberal, Limp-Wristed Cow-Kissing Independent, or Humanitarian Sheep-Humping Dingleberry. None of these things matter in the face of the 100 Angry Men and their lacky, nay, their leader, nay, their Supreme Allied Commander…Al Gore.

Sometimes the Discord actually breaks news instead of merely breaking news into ‘tiny shards of sensationalism’. Google won’t verify anything I’m about to say, because they’re in on the conspiracy. Google has been manipulated by these angry men, also known as the mysterious Men In Green (MIG). Only a small underground knows the truth. Through a mixture of ill luck, Odysseusian exhaustion, and booze, I found myself a participant in a plot that will surely shake the very core of human existence.

The other night one of these Men In Green ended up at The Green Room, my favorite bar. I don’t know what they were looking for there, but what they found was some awesome drink specials and yours truly—a combination that would prove their undoing. I will tell you what I know. If I disappear, they got to me…or, I got drunk. I’m sure it’ll be one of the two. These MIGs have no country, but move throughout the world like shadows and, no, they don’t get felt up at airports; lucky bastards.

I got two of these MIG dudes drunk back at The Green Room and while they were in the can I accessed one of their laptops. Apparently, these men control the wealth of the world and their word can change nations or economies overnight, to say nothing of extending all happy hours indefinitely! So why was I buying all the beer? Geesh, in retrospect, it’s a shame I spent most of the time logging into their Facebook pages to have all their friends befriend Jack Primus and The Daily Discord. Hindsight is always 20/20, or in my case, a beer goggly 30/40.

I learned a lot perusing their files; suddenly everything made sense. Do you really think we elected Bush twice? It’s the game beneath the game. Gore never wanted the presidency and then maneuvered Bush into a second term. This was all part of the plan. This group even allowed Fox lies to keep the ’04 election close enough so we wouldn’t suspect any foul play. These Men In Green currently hate everyone except commies. These guys love commies. As they swerved away into the night their bumper sticker read: Pinko is the New Green.

I just heard something outside the window? I hope it’s just the Ghetto Shaman trying to get me to buy him some more Robitussin. Otherwise, they’re onto me. I just hope I have enough time to send this off, finish this twelve-pack, and eat those last few slices of pizza from last night. Damn, that was a good spicy Hawaiian…

I almost forgot to put on my aluminum foil hat! There, that should block their transmission for the few more minutes I’ll need. They aren’t settling for just sucking the world’s resources dry, like some Bond villain. These fiends believe the world is overpopulated so they mean to cull the herd! That’s where Al Gore comes in. He is their leader in the guise of an affable fool. Their most treasured secret is this: Al Gore’s world shattering H.A.R.P.! You think Al Gore is against Global Warming, hah! That’s nothing but another clever ruse. According to these Men In Green, Al Gore has a dreadful harp-like machine and when he plays this Human Apocalyptic Reprogramming Per-whatsas (H.A.R.P.)…well, lean in closer. It actually causes global warming!

Why are they trying to kill us? That’s the creepy part. The truth is this: they like fluffy little animals better. They think humans are all wicked and unredeemable. Sure, it’s true, but it’s still not a nice thing to say.
I heard something again. I had better attach and send this document to Pierce Winslow before they set off another electro-magnetic pulse. Shit…get another slice of pizza or warn mankind? Damn you saucy pineappley yumminess!

So we have nothing to look forward to, other than these 100 Angry Men stealing as much money as they can and then destroying the world. They’ll leave our planet a Road Warrior wasteland while they move into their mansions in Antarctica, party with Gwar, and laugh as the rest of the world becomes a lifeless desert. Worse yet, they don’t seem to buy any rounds of alcohol despite almost C. Montgomery Burns levels of wealth!

I’d like to quote the Lord Humungus, “What a puny plan!” but I hear they are already booking flights to the South Pole. They left Al Gore in the center of a hidden Tobacco patch, plucking away on his malign H.A.R.P. from Hell. I emailed the above picture from their laptop to myself and then onward to The Daily Discord. Do you think they’ll check their sent mail? Damn. I think they’re in the house now.

Still don’t believe me? Well, I don’t give a pluck what you think. You’ll be playing a different tune when the oceans roll over the cities and the forests turn to dust. Don’t come running to me when that doomsday H.A.R.P plays its final stanza as our fingers grasp through the burning sands in the hopes of unearthing some old sandwiches or the warm beer of a dead world.

And always remember, It Could Happen to Harpo!

by Alex Bone • November 15, 2010

Washington, DC—On Oct. 30^th The National Mall was packed wall-to-wall with celebrities attending the Shaman’s Rally to Retrieve the U.S. Soul. After a long weekend of bashing in the skulls of the foul Darcarre, Jack Primus swung east in support of the Discord’s cause. Being a fictional character doesn’t stop Primus from doing any number of cool things on a given day. You know that dude, the world’s most interesting man, from those Dos Equis commercials? Jack Primus won’t return his calls.

Jack is the archetypal hero. He captured the new century’s zeitgeist and keeps it chained in his basement next to his morning star. Primus rarely does interviews, but for the Discord…we paid him—virtual money, of course.
The rest of this post is courtesy of Mr. P himself:

The Ghetto Shaman has given his blessing to Yig. He is truly wise. Since he’s been receiving death threats from both the Xemmoni underground and the Sharron Angle campaign—both sworn enemies of Yig—I decided to help out my old friend. He asked me to support his cause, protect him from the super natural forces that be, and, of course, buy him some malt liquor products. Actually, I only agreed if GS promised me a plug on the Discord to sell more books. He also promised me all the chicken wings I could eat. The joke was really on them; I hid an extra eighty in my backpack on the way out. I heard Zano is getting his “wages” garnished over that one. But GS told me he’s got Winslow wrapped around his little chicken wing and I could muscle-in whenever I wanted.
If what happened at the Mall on October 30th continues to plague America, you’re really going to need the Chronicles of Jack Primus. It’s not just a book; it’s a survival guide for the coming apocalypse!

To rewind a bit, everything had started out well enough. The Discord was bussing people down to the event. The Ghetto Shaman was reading excerpts of Jack Primus to the cheering masses. But those who could not decipher the Primus Code, never got a bus ride home! This book was their return ticket, you see. Without it, they were forced to hang out at Capital City Brewing—that big dumb brewpub downtown; the one with small portions and rubbery chicken wings. If you get stuck down there and the Xemmoni or the Darcarre get you, don’t come bitching to me. You’ve been warned. They’re in all the major cities, and they tend to know when you know…you know? So now that you know, you better read this book and learn how to stay alive…and don’t order those chicken wings.

I probably shouldn’t have told you that. Can you edit that out, Winslow? Not the staying alive part, the other part about the wings. Sometimes they’re OK drowned in enough blue cheese dressing. But you should buy the book and try to stay alive, of course. Geesh.

So, you want to really know what happened on October 30th? Why GS needed me as he shifted into an alternate dimension? He isn’t called a Shaman for nothing. They did come after him that day—in mass, I might add. You see, anyone and everyone must guard his or her corporeal body during any exercise in soul travel, especially one this important.

When The Ghetto Shaman drank his potion on the Lincoln Memorial steps, those damn Darcarre moved in like bed bugs in an Econo Lodge. They surrounded us, alongside their unwilling slave, Jeff “come-on-in-guys” Probst of Survivor fame. They didn’t want GS’s message to get out to the people. They will derail any message resembling Yig’s. Could you imagine what would have happened if GS told everyone on national television to dissolve our differences and embrace the All Father snake? Yep, you’re right, we’d all be in a state of bliss, with all hunger and wars a thing of the past. Don’t look at me like that… Snakes are all about bliss… duh. Haven’t you ever read any Graham Hancock?

So when they came, I was ready, or at least I was after I wiped the BBQ sauce off my weapon hand. GS even helped with the battle; he was pretty bad ass with those chicken bone nunchucks. We gave those Serial Killers a good licking, but the damage was done. They jammed the telecast and those other stooges claimed all the credit for the rally.

Why do you think the special wasn’t on television and they switched all the coverage to those Comedy Central dudes with the weird haircuts and no sideburns? It was a diversion! I kept the Shaman safe until the police…er, “took over.”

There you have it, right from the hero’s mouth. Some call Primus a Yig-loving fictional freak. Whereas this is true, it’s still not a very nice thing to say. We would rather you stay alive, learn your enemy’s secrets, and read The Chronicles of Jack Primus.

by Alex Bone • October 7, 2010

Collapsing Shack, AZ—So yeah, I’m sure this will come as a big surprise to everyone, but I’m an idiot. A big one, in fact, and not just because I’m a nearly seven-foot Viking type. I’m not going to get into the ‘why’ of it now, because I’m already hated enough but, um, I’m stuck taking a bucket-load of court-mandated classes (again), so I have to shell out a lot of cash for the thrill of being permitted to participate in this happiness (hint: never go drinking with Zano and/or a guy named Wog).

This awe inspiring article doesn’t cover those classes, mostly because they’ve just begun. What I am going to discuss is my assessment interview. Perhaps I should mention that I paid $75 for the privilege of having my wretched underbelly exposed to strangers. First off, I had to fill out a self evaluation that who knows how many people will get to see. Please rate your feelings from 1 to 5. So 5 means strongly agree, 4 means agree… blah blah, eat my shit, blah blah. Impatience 5, Judgmental 5, Self Hatred 5, etc.

After shelling out enough loot to get me drunk all week—with a few cheese steaks and chicken wings thrown in—and then filling out my ‘please describe what type of asshole you are’ survey, I got called back to speak to the Intake Worker. This started off great. I kid you not, she started the interview with, “Oh, you work for the Such & Such Clinic? I just applied for a job there, but some jerk named Mick Zano turned me down. Right then, I knew we were off to a rocking start. Leave it to Zano to kick a nearly seven-foot Viking type when he’s down. I’m going to break his legs… “So, it says here you hate yourself, um…a lot. How could you be helped with that?”

“Not by you… but if you’d like I could put a good word in with Zano and maybe help YOU get a better job.”

“Really? Wow, thanks. That would be very nice of you.”

Flash to the outside, where I see another Intake worker. This one is a former, OCD, proofreading Nazi, who was fired from the Such & Such Clinic for saying, and I quote, “Everyone with a penis, get your ass back into the damn classroom.” So after shoveling as much dirt as I can to Intake Specialist 1 about her deranged co-worker (well, she did point out my typos when I was teaching a class) we got back to business.

She started asking me more questions like “What do you do for fun?”

This, of course, prompted me to pull out a copy of my Chronicles of Jack Primus. You know any chance to make a pitch for my book, even when it’s not remotely appropriate…especially when it’s not remotely appropriate. Hey, maybe that should be my goal for these classes. Yes, I’m here to take these classes in an attempt to sell as many books as possible. I feel better now. Maybe, when they let me the hell out of here, I’m only going to break one of Zano’s legs.

I could hear the trees screaming vengeance as more reams of paper were wasted and I had to sign my name more often than Sarah Palin at a Moron Empowerment Conference (MEC). Looking around, I wondered just how long it took them to dumpster-dive enough chairs to be able to start this business?

“So, Mr. Bone, do you think you’re interested in stopping your drinking?”

“Well, I’m Swedish.”

A lowered gaze met mine.

“Drinking ale is a natural thing going back thousands of beers, I mean years.” And I shit you not, I went on to say. “Curtailing my drinking consumption would be an insult to by ancestors. I rarely rape and pillage anymore, so what’s left besides some ale? Besides, it cuts into my power lounging.”

OK, I didn’t say that last part, but I thought it.

“Well then,” she said, looking over, “Ah, so you’ll be drinking again?”

“Yeah, and I’ll swim when I’m in water and eat when I’m hungry too.”

I received another drained stare. “So do you really think you could put in a good word for me with Zano? This job really sucks.”

I smiled. Maybe instead of breaking his legs, I’ll buy him a beer.

by Alex Bone • August 12, 2010

Collapsing Shack, AZ—Family fun, isn’t that supposed to be American? Nah. Helping the environment, what are you a pinko hippy type? As I attested in an earlier Discord article, the crayfish menace has reached apocalyptic proportions in Arizona. These evil, yet delicious, beasts are an invasive species bent on destroying all native aquatic life, including, yes…people! OK, not people, but frogs!

So naturally, being the devoted man of Yig I am, I began to organize our yearly Crawdad Slaughter fest/Campout. I invite a few hundred people, but only a couple old friends and somehow Zano showed up. I knew that since the only food I have brought was for Crawfish bait, I needed to get busy, or starve. We had one trap, a couple of nets, and my favorite, meat on a stick. Zano’s little family was down at the middle pond with me. Yeah the guy has a family, or at least pays these people to say they’re with him, so he’ll seem ‘normal.’ It really doesn’t work.

So things were going reasonably well. The bucket had a few choice satanic crustaceans in it and it is looking like I might not go hungry that night after all. Then I see him, the Forest Service Nazi, complete with flack jacket. Yep, that is important; those crawfish could go wild with them claws o’ theirs.

So this guys walks down to the pond like he owns the forest and starts by addressing Zano. Being from back east Zano had instantly slipped into “no matter what he is asked, he is going to lie on principle,’ or N.M.W.H.I.A.H. I.G.T.L.O.P.

F.S.N.: “Are you fishing or just showing your daughter how to cast?”

Zano: “I never touched it. She is fishing. The legally allowed to fish, child. There…with the pole in hand.”

F.S.N.: “YOU’RE A LAIR! I saw you hand it to her. And you, big guy, you have a license to catch those crawdads?”

Boneman: “Well, no… But I am here to protect the forest. As you must know, Crawdads are an invasive species. They are killing our native wildlife, especially frogs. I know I don’t have a license, but I am here for a greater cause.”

He just stared.

Boneman: “I’m here to protect the Lilly Ponds and try to put things right. Someone has to stand up for the frogs and that will be me. You see, I’m a warrior for the forest, a protector of frogs, Yig blesses us and all we do. I’m doing what the frogs what they can’t do for themselves and—”

F.S.N.: “Okay, you can stop.”

Boneman: “Why?”

F.S.N.: “I won’t give you a ticket, just so I don’t have to hear you rant anymore, but what is a Yig?”

Twenty minutes later I’m sure he wished he hadn’t asked that question. And thirty minutes after that he wrote me a ticket (kidding!).

F.S.N.: “Besides, you’ve only got a couple of crawdads in that bucket. What you really need is to get some traps.”

Little Zano: (As if on cue) “Should I check the traps, dad?”

She really asked that, just then… when things were going sooo well. We talked our way out of that part too. Ironically, I wrote an article for Flagstaff’s The Noise, wherein I point out quite clearly that you need a license to craw. I even told the ranger about the article in which I, ironically mention that particular piece of irony, heh, heh. But I didn’t get a fine that day, which is fine by me, Groan, sputter (I thought that joke was going to be edited out). The ranger did make me kill all the crawdads though. So I can save the frogs, but I just can’t nourish myself while doing so…ah sure, um, that makes sense.

by Alex Bone • June 17, 2010

In one of the biggest news blackouts in history, we have brought to light a story that only the Daily Discord would dare to print. Facts are slim, but how is that different from any other Discord post?

In case you were wondering, that giant blast of light that exploded across the night sky back on January 31st, wasn’t Balloon Boy flying out into space or even some of George Bush Senior’s thousand points of light. Instead, inside sources claim the infamous Bone Gang finally eliminated our solar system’s biggest threat… No, not The Crank, the planet Pluto itself! Those in the know, rightly call our 9th planet, Yuggoth, a sinister home planet (er, planetoid?) to the evil evolved fungi (er, fungtoids?), the Migo. This race, the Migo, have been a plague on mankind even longer than the Ghetto Shaman’s “barely legal spiritual retreats.”

Treating humans no better than lab rats, the Migo have been known to conduct cruel experiments, such as removing the still living brains of humans and placing them in metal cylinders (as seen on Futurama). They have also been known to utilize persistent telemarketing techniques to the same phone number for sinister solicitation purposes. Sometimes the Migo insert their consciousness into the voided skull. For Dave Atsals, and many of our politicians, the removing-of-the-brain part can be skipped.

Still, you might be wondering how the Bone Gang pulled off this miraculous feat. They simply disguised their space going blimp as an asteroid and, after grabbing a few spare nukes from the Russian black market, they went all Ben Affleck at a free booze convention on their asses.

Since it is a matter of national security, we can’t tell you how Devo Devins managed to transport one nuke into the center of their fungus covered world of ice. Nor should we tell you how he dropped a second nuke on Cthulhu’s head when the Migo tried to summon this thing that should not be (other than Pierce Winslow). We can, however, tell you that Phillip Brownhurst has opened up a new chain in Cambridge Mass, which features a Cthulhu burger with a side of fungus fries.

So what is next on the Bone Gang’s agenda? This is obviously a well-kept secret. There are rumors of a Bone for President campaign, circling in certain nefarious circles. But an anarchist in the White House? It can’t be any worse than what we’ve been dealing with over the last decade. There are many that would love to see America Boned. Others have concern over my wishes to change our currency to read, ‘In Yig We Trust.’

For those confused by this sensationalistic Lovecraftian rant, all of your questions will be answered in my new book, The Chronicles of Jack Primus. Or, maybe not. But this cheap shameless plug is real enough. And, yes, for posting this I will buy you a beer, Zano. You cheap bastard!

Hey, if anyone else wants to promote their work on the Daily Discord, it’s simple. Press the Contact button on our website, CEO Pierce Winslow will promptly relay the message to Mick Zano, who will immediately lose it and then presto! Nothing.

by Alex Bone • May 24, 2010

Collapsing Shack, AZ—All across Arizona the need for traditional 28 day Recovery Programs has never been greater. In most states an individual must be addicted to certain types of drugs to qualify for treatment. Things like alcohol, crystal meth, pain pills, and cocaine addictions will get you in, but other substances like tobacco and caffeine will not. Some other problematic addictions, like gambling and sex addiction, will not get you help either. This has unfortunately kept people like Mick Zano on the streets.

Arizona, in an unprecedented move, has added addictions to social sites as a reason for qualifying for its 28 day programs.

Arizona Governor, Janet Brewer, is quoted as saying, “Social Sites such as Twitter, Face Book, and My Space have become the drug of choice for our next generation. This drug is far more dangerous than Cocaine ever was. A person hooked on traditional drugs can eventually run out of money. Or, at least they eventually die and stop burdening society. However, until the plug is pulled on this web menace, people will continue to become obese zombies, consuming more potato chips than at a Woodstock potato chip stand.”

An area man, in no way affiliated with The Onion, had this to say, “Drug users at least attempt to hide their problems, but now you can’t walk ten feet without seeing kids texting. What are they even talking about? I tried to talk to my son but he’s as boring as a pile of socks. The pale freak hasn’t gone outside for over six months. The most interesting thing that happened to him this year involves our house cat and his computer chair. Poor thing.”

The youth entering these new 28 day programs are stripped of all technological devices. Laptops and cell phones are forbidden. Within hours, the victims of this foul addiction complain of headaches, isolationism, and strange compulsions to scribble notes and hand them to other people.

Erika Devins has been working with substance abusers for over ten beers. “It used to be that we’d have to search for small packets of meth, and the like, after lights out. Now, we have to keep our eyes peeled for the glow of cell phones hidden under blankets or clients begging to check their Face Book on a stranger’s lap top during outings. Last weekend, I had to stop a girl from offering sexual favors just for a chance to post an update on her Twitter account.”

Chuck Buster, a supervisor at the 28 program in Prescott, AZ said, “In recent years, most of our data collection has been transferred to computer use, but when these Social Site Junkies (SSJs) see my staff typing away, it’s like interviewing a coke addict at crack central. They don’t even look at you. They just stare at your computer screen as their eyes glaze over. SSJs pose other problems as well. We thought alcohol was bad, but cell phones and laptops are everywhere. These poor victims are exposed to their addictions anytime they go into public, or they walk into any business or residence!”

Erin Dakowski, the wife of a SSJ, has problems of her own.

“First my husband loses his job, because he couldn’t stop playing World of Warcraft at work. Now he won’t job hunt because of that lame-o Farmville on Face Book. I’ve already had to store my computer at my sister’s house, yet every time I set it down, Harold snatches up my Blackberry and starts planting vegetables or some shit.”

Many people wonder if there is hope for these social-site addicts. Professor Hogbein of the Hogbein Institute and Daycare Center, had this to say, “These problems may be just the tip of the iceberg. On a good note, some traditional drug abuse might become a thing of the past. Who has time to wait two hours on a street corner to score some horse? Think of all the scrolling tweets you could be typing in that time.”

Sorry, folks, I got a go. Zano gets me a pint of ale for every fifty Twitter fans I score for the Discord.”

by Alex Bone • May 3, 2010

Caved-in-Shack, AZ—Something deeply disturbing is happening in Arizona. No, I’m not talking about Janet Brewer, Immigration laws, or Mick Zano’s naked bar crawls….I’m talking about something reaaalllly disturbing. Back when I was shelling out ten bucks a bag in New Orleans for mini-lobsters known as crawdads, how could I have known a few years later these same bastards would be on the verge of destroying my state’s ecosystem?

In case you are unaware, crayfish or crawdads are not native to the states west of the Rockies, like funding for education and the arts. Over the years, scores of intrepid crawdads died trying to traverse the Rockies. Most eventually gave up and settled in Denver to open microbreweries…very small ones, obviously, or micro-microbreweries.

In a similar manner to the republican migration, crawdads have crept into the southwest and have invaded our delicate ecosystem with their big trucks and their wild tea parties. These evil little beasts have infected the streams and lakes in every part of my home state—not to mention their racially charged immigration bills.

Similar to the red state’s pro-Christian stance, many of these crayfish were introduced through a misconception of facts. A statewide program for seventh-graders had the children studying these, nearly impossible to kill, cockroaches from hell. Then, at the end of the school year, in a truly misguided attempt at environmentalism, teachers had their students dump this destructive invasive species into every stream and pond across our fair state. This is why eco-friendly people are often only slightly more devastating to our planet than the Sarah Palin’s of the world. Hey, maybe Sarah can shoot crawdads from her chopper?

Once in our formally tranquil waters, these demonic (yet tasty) crayfish begin to devour everything in their path, much like laws enacted by our governor’s red pen. Soon all aquatic life is killed off. After this eradication comes the demise of all plant life. Without plants there is nothing to recycle to carbon dioxide other than algae—not to mention, there’s nothing to smoke. This turns clear streams and lakes into murky dark pools, where the crawfish now have no choice other than to eat each other in a dark cannibalistic frenzy, not dissimilar to Zano’s naked bar crawls.

As a follower of Yig, I find the loss of frogs and other amphibians across our state the most depressing aspect of this crustacean invasion. Even the most selfish swimmer cannot be enjoying a wade into the murk with crawfish nipping at your toes, unless they’re trying to save money on a pedicure.

So what can we do to stem the tide of evil and death that is sweeping over the west? The answer is simple. All crawfish must be boiled alive and eaten, preferably with butter sauce. Boil that crayfish, boil that crayfish. Boil! Boil! Devour those selfish shellfish, munch on those crusty-aceans, cook those lobster mobsters, can those crabby…I’m being told to stop.

It is only fitting that we, the species responsible for started this plague, sacrifice our time to eat as many of these delicious morsels as possible. It’s a rough job, but sometimes sacrifices must be made. And, if such sacrifices involve eating endless piles of buttery white meat that tastes like lobster, then so be it.

Leave no stone unturned! (Literally.)

So, my fellow Americans, pick up your nets, your traps, your spears, and maybe some of those concealed handguns, and let’s go crawdadding! Book your Coconino County Crawdad Chopper Safari with Alex Bone today!

by Alex Bone • April 1, 2010

In these hard economic times, there is little I won’t do to try to snag a few free brewskis. (Please disregard anything Senator Larry Craig says I’ll do for a beer; it’s all lies!). Despite the Discord contributors’ bulging pockets, they have yet to send me a single royalty check. I heard Zano is taking his family to Costa Rica with his last check, and Winslow just bought his sixth house. If you add Winslow’s houses and John McCain’s houses…never mind; McCain would have to know how many he has. Anyway, can you guess what sort of scam these blog boobs try to rope me into?

Let me try to quote Zano verbatim, “If you can get The Daily Discord set up on Twitter and get us a bunch of followers, I’ll buy you a beer.”

Being the inventive (greedy) thinker I am, I quickly asked, “Well, if I get more followers, will I get more beer?”

I received a hesitant ‘yes’ so envisioning all of those free suds a-flowing, I immediately got to work. Now, I’m not sure how much all of the millions of people that are reading this know about Twitter, but it’s its own beast. On both My Space and Face Book, accepting a ‘friend’ is a mutual exchange. You can ask to befriend a thousand people, but you won’t get a single bite unless they agree, or you happen to look like Jessica Alba.

On Twitter, things are different. They don’t have friends, they have followers, and I think this is mostly because of their cult background. AKA, don’t drink the Kool-Aid. So in theory, it is sort of like a high school popularity contest a week before Valentine’s Day. You go around ‘following’ others on the slim hope that they might think you are cool enough to return the favor.

But I was already an expert at Twitter cuz, you now…I’d been on there for a whole six months now. At first I scoffed, because the people at the Discord were posting things with zero followers (pretty much like this article), so I stepped in and started ‘following’ hordes of others like crazy. Crazy like a fox. Before you knew it, The Daily Discord was on the books. We were somebody and, more importantly, I got two free beers out of Zano! (No easy trick.) This was going great. Things were rolling. I was drinking for free, living the dream. But, like the greedy bastard I am, this wasn’t enough. What if I could get them hundreds, maybe even thousands of followers?! I could be drinking free all the time. I could reach some Pale Ale Nirvana. I could attain EnBudLitenment. I could quit my day job. I could get my cell phone turned back on.

So after ingesting those precious free beers—and a few more of my own, back home—I began to hit the streets of Twitterville. I was knocking on more doors than a Jehovah’s Witness with a meth habit.

The numbers were flying by. I couldn’t even keep up with how many people The Daily Discord was following. We were going to be HUGE. They like us, they really like us. More importantly, I was going to be drunk, and soon!

I didn’t even look at how many followers I might have gained for the Discord. I wanted to be as surprised as everyone else. I just hoped Zano had brought his credit cards because, heck, I might be getting some chicken wings too. I then proudly opened up my laptop and, much to my dismay, that damn cult had taken a big Twit on my hopes and dreams. Yes, Twitter had closed our account. The Daily Discord Twitter account went Elvis, only 24 hrs after Operation Happy Hour went into effect.

Maybe they thought we were porn producers or spam artists, but I’m not buying it. They saw our site and they want to suppress the truth. The truth as only we dare print. Well, we’re not going to take it. I, for one, will not put up with this twit! I emailed the bastards, twice, and they are ignoring me, outright. Sorry, but that’s my wife’s job, assholes.

The Daily Discord intends to sue Twitter to the fullest extent of the law.

Next week we will be filing claims in federal district court for breach of contract, violation of free speech, violation of due process, defamation of character, defecation of account, and anything else our clever lawyers can come up with. Hell, I might even throw in an interference with contract claim on my own behalf, because they prevented me from getting my free beer. Those bastards will be reeling when they get served with the papers. I’m guessing we’ll be asking for about $10 million, maybe more. Oh, and now I owe Zano a beer, so you can bet that will be tacked onto the suit as well. Bastards!

So you had better watch out Twitter. Your days are numbered. No one keeps me from getting twit-faced.

by Alex Bone • January 11, 2010

How dare Al-Qaeda! What despicable levels won’t these pricks stoop to, to take a young impressionable kid from Nigeria and send him to Detroit? The Monsters! Talk about Out of Africa… Luckily, the terrorist’s attempt at ruining the holidays turned into one of the best Christmas presents for America, ever. They gave us the gift of comedy. The whole event left more than a few people scratching their heads, or was it their crotches?

Who exactly is this big-eyed, close-mouthed twerp that many are now calling the Crotch Bomber Kid (CBK)? How desperate is Al-Qaeda getting when the best they can muster is to con some fruit of the loom to assail us with his dysfunctional Underoos? Talk about “Weapons of Ass Destruction”. What are they going to send at us next year, orphans using anthrax as talcum powder, or an army of Tiny Tims with exploding crutches? Have a holy jolly jihad.

It seems quite obvious that the CBK is more than a little slow upstairs, not to mention a little crispy downstairs. What sort of message do they expect this will convey? And you thought we looked incompetent? How are they going to spin this one? Well, don’t worry fellow martyrs; he’ll still get 72 Virgin Airways frequent flier miles in the afterlife. Great PR move. I can see it now: “Are you an idiot? Are you easily impressionable? Are you stupid enough to believe in Al-Qeada’s cause? You too can join Jerry’s Jihadists today!”

Most likely, they expected him to go up in flames with his hot pants, leaving the world ignorant as to the real CBK. But, luckily for some rough and tumble passengers, that plan is as history as the Qaeda Kid’s sex drive.

Yet another upside of this whole Great Balls Of Fire event is this: the conservatives over at Homeland Security and the anti-child porn lobbyists, two groups usually on the same side, are now at each other’s throats over the idea of airports X-raying through our clothing. But screening even children might be a good idea, since terrorists are now touring grade schools with large boxes of candy for their recruitment campaigns.

As for the Crotch Bomber Kid, the supervisors over at Guantanamo Bay are already busy at work constructing a new Special Ed wing. And, in a rare fit of insight, they are preparing to get a jump on Al-Qaeda by drawing up plans for a children’s wing, a dementia wing, and a smart primate wing (SPW). That’ll add a few more jobs to Obama’s stimulus package.

Think of all the good that came from this nearly tragic event… Our intelligence agencies are finally going to start working together *snicker*. All the great jokes banding about the media. And, hey, as an exhibitionist, I can’t wait to try out one of those new airport scanners. I think I’m going to get a one-way ticket to DC with a wad of cash, no luggage, and one of those trench coats. But do you think a false mustache is over the top? Be honest.

by Alex Bone • December 14, 2009

In the chaos of world events and our declining economy, America has clearly entered uncertain times. We are all juggling multiple jobs, multiple credit cards, and multiple hookers (sorry Tiger). And, as times get tighter and America decays under the weight of its own gluttony and greed, it is often harder to remember our moral priorities. This is where Fox News presents: The Five Reasons Why We Should Always Remember to Hate Homosexuals.

With the liberals telling us that love is always okay on one hand, and the GLBT movement demanding fair treatment on the other, a decent god-fearing Christian can often lose their way within the fog of human rights advocation. After all, we all know that Jesus believed we should love all mankind, unless, of course, they are different from us (Malkinicus 3:11).

I could not hope to replicate all the profound wisdom this educational program inspired, but I will do my best to give justice to their highlights:

1. Homosexuality isn’t natural.

Sure, a few hundred animal species are known to engage in homosexual behavior, but I have still never seen hot male-on-male koala action. After all, life can not be created without a male and female component (aside from all asexual creatures and that one Schwarzenegger movie). One can look at our Christian male God for instance. Yes, he created life without a female, and we all know he is obviously male. So a male can create life without a female, but he didn’t need another male, until he created his male companions. Sure he could have created female companions first, but God liked hanging out with dudes. Yeah, it was a big sausage fest up in heaven, that’s for sure, but he didn’t need their help to create more males and then a few more males. You follow?

Review time: God is male; he liked hanging out with other males; he only created males at first, and he didn’t need a woman to create more and more males.

2. Homosexuality destroys the family unit.

Families should have two parents; we all know this. And just because the parents love each other and their children, doesn’t make things right. Children need to be raised by parents of each gender, unless, of course, one parent has died, or the couple has become divorced, or the children have been taken away from abusive parents. So besides the above (which constitutes about two thirds of American families), we would not want to compromise our children with other types of loving parents.

3. Homosexuality is a cult that recruits our children.

We all know that no one would want to be a homosexual voluntarily, therefore our young must somehow be brainwashed by older homosexuals who wish to take advantage of their young fit bodies (code name: NAMBLA). Of course most children know they are different long before they are ever contacted by other homosexuals, but if we could just conceal the fact that homosexuality even exists, then these children might not know why they are different and would just remain uncertain, confused, alienated, and at higher risk of substance abuse and suicide for the rest of their lives. You know, the way God intended. Saying that our youth can only become homosexual through converting them by others also brings up the point that there must be some first homosexual somewhere, perhaps one of those male angels getting bored in Heaven so long ago.

4. Homosexuality sets a bad example.

This is undeniable, aside from the deniable parts. In this modern world of pollution, war, lack of resources, and overpopulation, we all know that the job of a good Christian is to have as many babies as possible so we can continue the wars that help us steal resources from the infidels. More homosexuals mean less children for our holy wars. Also, this would end up using less resources and that is just plain Un-American.

5. Homosexuality is decadent and wrong.

For many people this is the strongest argument. First off Lesbians spoil women. All women will soon be expecting to have an organism each time they have sex and that is a lot of extra work for most of Fox’s uninventive viewers. As far as gay men go, well that is just gross, am I right? And there are more of them than lesbians too. Some experts believe that 5% of all males are homosexual! Now, we all know that it is okay for 50% of the world’s population to have sex with men, but it is certainly not okay for 52.5% of the world’s population to be doing so.

It is our hope that we here at Fox have finally laid this matter to rest so we can move forward with our lives free of the fear associated with having our fellow alternative-lifestyles Americans (FALA) taking the Land of the Free to mean that they are free to do what they like with other consenting adults.