Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Ed Havens Tells Bible Stories

By Edward Havens, Imperial Minister of the Bryan Bishop Adventure Island Flock

You see, in the beginning, God created the heavens and the Earth. Now, the Earth was formless and fucking empty. Darkness was over the fucking surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.

And God said, "Let there be light," and there was light. BOOM! Like a bullet out of a fucking .45. And God saw that the light was good, and He separated the light from the darkness. God called the light "day," and the darkness he called "night." Makes sense, doesn't it? And there was evening, and there was morning—the first day.

After a good night's sleep, God woke up the next day to look upon his creation. He examined the formless Earth he created and thought it to be too plain. God's special friend stumbled out of the bedroom and looked around as well. The friend said "You want to make a waterworld? That's pretty boring." God said, "You're right. A waterworld would be very boring. I shall create an expanse between the waters, to separate water from water. Water dissolving and water removing. There is water at the bottom of the ocean. Carry the water at the bottom of the ocean. Remove the water at the bottom of the ocean!" So God made the expanse and separated the water under the expanse from the water above it. And it was so. God called the expanse "sky." And there was evening, and there was morning—the second day.

After a somewhat restful night of sleep, God awoke and started examining his new creation some more. After a great deal of thought, he said, "Let the water under the sky be gathered to one place, and let dry ground appear." And it was so. God called the dry ground "land," and the gathered waters he called "seas." And God saw that it was pretty fucking good.

Then God said, "Let the land produce vegetation: seed-bearing plants and trees on the land that bear fruit with seed in it, according to their various kinds." And it was so. The land produced vegetation: plants bearing seed according to their kinds and trees bearing fruit with seed in it according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the third day.

The next day, God said, "Let there be lights in the expanse of the sky to separate the day from the night, and let them serve as signs to mark seasons and days and years, and let them be lights in the expanse of the sky to give light on the earth, and twice a year, we'll adjust time so that there can be a little more light towards the end of the day to enjoy life and liberty and the pursuit of happyness." And it was so. God made two great lights—the greater light to govern the day and the lesser light to govern the night. He also made the stars. God set them in the expanse of the sky to give light on the earth, to govern the day and the night, and to separate light from darkness. And God saw that it was good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the fourth day.

Now, on the fifth day, God's voice was getting kinda scratchy. He'd done all this creating of heavens and Earth and water and stars and shit. So he thought to himself, "Let the water teem with living creatures, and let birds fly above the earth across the expanse of the sky." So God created the great creatures of the sea and every living and moving thing with which the water teems, according to their kinds, and every winged bird according to its kind. And God saw that it was good. God blessed them and said, "Be fruitful and increase in number and fill the water in the seas, and let the birds increase on the earth." And there was evening, and there was morning—the fifth day.

Now, what very few people know is that, on the sixth day, God actually took a half day. After all, who the hell was going to yell at him? He's the boss, you know? He created a lawn chair, created a mini-fridge with some beer in it, kicked off his sandles and just soaked in his creations thus far. He examined the Sun and the Moon, the heavens and the Earth, and he was pretty pleased with himself. God thought to himself, "I did a pretty damn good job. But I've got all these creatures under the water, but nothing on the land. I need to get some living creatures going, according to their kinds. We need some livestock, some creatures that move along the ground, and some wild animals, each according to its kind." And it was so. God made the wild animals according to their kinds, the livestock according to their kinds, and all the creatures that move along the ground according to their kinds. And God saw that it was good. Then God wondered why the announcer, who he hadn't really created yet, kept intoning what he was thinking and repeating what he was saying. So God turned to the announcer and said, "Let me make man in my image, in my likeness, and let them rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air, over the livestock, over all the earth, and over all the creatures that move along the ground. But give them a better nose than the one I have. Mine has a deviated septum and it makes me snore at night. It keeps Mr. God's special friend awake at night, and he keeps kicking me when it wakes him up." So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them. With a better nose. God blessed them and said to them, "Be fruitful and increase in number. Especially you really stupid ones. Overfill the earth and subjugate it. Rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and over every living creature that moves on the ground. Shoot it or stab it or blow it out of the air or sea. Just make sure you have enough for dinner each night." Then God said, "If that's not good enough. I'll give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be yours for food. And to all the beasts of the earth and all the birds of the air and all the creatures that move on the ground—everything that has the breath of life in it—I give every green plant for food. Except for the ivy. Don't eat the ivy, and for My sake, don't roll around in it naked." And it was so.

God saw all that he had made, and it was very good. And there was evening, and there was morning—the sixth day.

And on the seventh day, God looked all around the heavens and the Earth and the land and the sea and all the creatures he created, and God's special friend turned to God and said "That'll do, pig. That'll do. Now create me some place where I can make something to eat. We've been cooped up on this cloud for a week now with nothing to eat and I'm fucking hungry, you selfish piece of shit." So God grabbed a couple beers from his mini-fridge, created a kitchen for his friend and hit Play on the universe He created. "Let's see what happens, Landon."


Ed Havens was walking by and said "God bless you" when Bryan Bishop sneezed. He was hired right then and there.

Thursday, March 8, 2007

The State of Bryan Bishop's Adventure Island (Is Quite An Undertaking)

By Bryan Bishop, Imperial Overlord of Bryan Bishop’s Adventure Island

Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to welcome you to the bi-monthly state of the union for Bryan Bishop’s Adventure Island.

A lot has happened since the inception of this Newsblog. We’ve made many new friends, and found many new followers. We have also lost Robert E. Marlowe due to the shrill whininess of… er… the perfectly reasonable demands of the Garofalo Commission. We wish his family, who we are required to repeat that we made no attempts to find, our deepest shrugs of indifference. I mean, we just started. He’s like that guy on Lost, the one who got the shrapnel in his belly. Hell, Marlowe wasn’t even Boone-worthy yet.

Anyhow, we have a great new number of initiatives in the works, designed to make Bryan Bishop’s Adventure Island And even more fun place to --


What the --

Oh My God Dude, Oh My God

By Eddie Bishop, Brother to the Imperial Overlord of Bryan Bishop’s Adventure Island

Dude, what are you doing in here, we’re supposed to go bowling with Rhonda and Steve, what… what are you doing, dude? Why are you covering up the monitor? Is it porn? Dude, you totally let me have to see if it’s porn. Dude.

Dude. "Bryan Bishop’s Adventure Island?" What the hell is that? Is this what you’ve been doing in here these last few weeks? Let me read. Stop it, dude, or I’m totally going to whale on you. Huh, who’s the black guy with all the medals, isn’t he like… dude, that’s Ghost Dog! That movie owns.

Dude, you totally gotta get out more if this is what you do in your spare time. Shandra was like three months ago, get over her already and come out into the real world. Oh, you guys never heard of Shandra? Bryan caught her in a Tahoe givin’ some guy a BJ, and he starts crying like a little bitch. Oh my God, it was funny as shit.

And then he’s like crying and shit and drinking Boone’s Farm and I’m like laughing because he’s such a pussy. And then he tries to hit me and kick me at the same time. Swear to fuckin’ God. He punch-kicked me. PUNCH-KICKED ME! I fell over laughing like a motherfucker, oh my God.

Oh yeah, man, if you think he’s bad now, you should have seen him in high school. He was so clueless. Until he turned seventeen, I had him convinced that girls had penises. Swear to God. Ha ha!

Hey Bryan, you want a headlock? Can I put you in a headlock? Ha ha! I’m totally putting him in a headlock right now. I bet he starts crying. Cry, Bryan! Cry, you little bitch! Ha ha! I don’t care if you tell Mom.

What do you mean you’re going to let some dude stay on your couch? Dude, I’ve been on this couch for months? You gonna act like a little bitch just because I made fun of you in front of your internet friends? Dude, fuck you, that’s bullshit. Who is he? I’ll kick his ass. Matt Atwood? I’ll be damned if some fuckin’ tree hugger is taking my couch away. You can blow me, I’m not going anywhere.

Oh my God, the first time he got a tug-job, it was so funny, he comes home and he asks me in this quiet voice, "Is it natural for stuff to come out?" I’M SERIOUS! I could have busted a nut myself laughing.

Oh yeah, him and Shandra dated for like years. He was so starry-eyed. He came home and said, "I made love!" Like it’s an episode of Passions or some shit. I asked him what he played… get this… Purple Rain. Bryan Bishop lost his virginity to Purple Rain.

All right Bryan, all right, I’ll get off of here. But my God, dude, you are so wasting your life. Ha! Later, motherfuckers!


Eddie Bishop is a big jerk face.

Alas, A Maiden Fair, Chapter One

By PJ Flip, Poet Laureate of the Isle

Twas in the season of great and noble tidings, when man and beast are in harmony with the will of the warmest stirrings of the heart of man, when I set out upon my carriage, perchance to spy a lady. I had long been pining whilst working through my studies in the rectory, and I thought it would be quite a thing to break my long stretch of erstwhile solitude by setting out henceforth in search of a young beauty to whisper sweet promises to as the water chortled by across the whispering stones of a secluded brook.

Ah, and as I struck out across the moors, reigning in my team as the wheels on my carriage went snicker-snack, I thought back to olden times, before the mosses undertook the bottom of the village bridge, before so many festive Christmastimes had gone by, before I had laid bear my heart to the frigid Widow Terwillinger, and tasted the mournful kiss of her disdain. How I wished to go back to my younger days, racing through the fens and braes in my short pants, my freckled cheeks rosy with good health and good cheer, skipping merrily along the cobblestones of old Solihul.

Ah, but the gray skies assailed me as I rode on, the angels in heaven had taken it upon themselves to chill me with a most unpleasant wind, As if the great clock of the seasons had turned back its hands and placed me in the most threadbare confines of a great December empire. I could cry for the warm embrace of Gaea and her merciful tidings, but t’would be in vain.

Then, did seem the heavens themselves opened up, casting down a ray from the very cheek of the Almighty to a distant hillside, where I saw a white figure elapsing the afternoon with incantations and revelry, unawares, perhaps, that I had seen her from afar. I called my stallions to a halt, wanting to thrill her with surprisement, and embarked briskly for the underside of the distant mount, which rose from the mists of the great plain like the shoulder of a half-buried giant, stirring himself to his waking.

I came to her in the bones of the great church, large moss-clad stone arches, the rusted remnants of an old friar’s crucifix. And there she turned to me, lips pursed, hair a deep chestnut brown, eyes brown and filled with a sense of longing that shook me to the very core of my being. I gazed upon her, her finery, her chaste maiden’s way of sitting, pail hands clasped in her lap, eyes glistening with timidness and the excitement of such indecent, reckless abandon to be alone in the wild with an wanton vagabond, to find herself looking back to me, bosom heaving, as I held out my hands to her, poetry springing to my lips. I had but one thing I could say to the maid, one phrase grafted by the anvils in Heaven, cast down by angels themselves to let me win her heart, her body, her very soul. I opened my lips, falling to one knee, and let my inner being spring forth, to conquer her, and make one angel my very own. She gazed at me breathlessly. I spoke in the tender stillness of the coming night…

"Hi."


Hello PJ is a top selling product line in Japan.

Tuesday, March 6, 2007

Al Gore Is A Rapist and A Pyromaniac!



By Matt Drudge, Bryan Bishop's Adventure Island News Correspondent





Developing...


Matt Drudge saw the last ten minutes of "All The President's Men" and thought it looked cool.

There's Raisins In My Toast

By Marlowe, Official Old Coot of and Envoy to Bryan Bishop’s Adventure Island

There’s raisins in my toast.

What the hell you want? My story? My story’s ain’t none of your goddamn business. Here’s my name:

Me and Pete Rose were borne in a nest and raised by a pair of Bald Eagles, named Sassy and Dexter. Of course, those were the days before Sassy and Dexter morphed into Edward and Cassy Havens. They can change back whenever they want. They’re witches, you see. Witches! Witches of Eastwick!

Wicks.

You don’t see a lot of candles anymore. Now it’s all about the goldarn light bulbs. Light bulbs! Anybody else notice how much light bulbs look like swastikas? That’s because the Japs and the Krauts want us to rest easy. I knew me a Jap back in the war, and I know he’d never bow over with two atomic bombs. Have you seen Japanese pornography? Them peoples are fearless!

What about the war? Yeah, I fought. I was a Confederate. No, I ain’t racist! I love all races and creeds, ‘cept the Catholics. They always talk about the slavery and the state’s rights. They forget the third issue. Age of consent! Why do you think the Confederates got so many people backing them? 470,000 at Gettysburg! It was because they didn’t look down on you if you buggered a fourteen year old. And brother, you haven’t lived until you’ve buggered a thirteen year old.

Anyway, back to mah story.

Me, the Lindberg Baby, and Heddy Lamar all joined in the 20th Ontario and marched on Berlin in 1932. Of course, back in those days, it was called Constantinople. We laid siege to the city, and ended up putting the Kaiser in his place. Afterward, we went home, where we all got rimmed out by Betty Davis. Of course, in those days, rimmed out meant… well, that ain’t really changed.

You know, mud ain’t nothin’ but wet dirt.

Anywho, after I came home from the war I became a world-famous singer. I was the guy who wrote "Papa Don’t Preach" by Madonna. You’re welcome.

But I ain’t this mainland Marlowe! Never could be! Because I decided writin’ makes you a wussy. A big, fat wussy. Big and fat like the picture on the first picture you see at his newsblog!

I think that’s wrong. Misrepresenting somebody with a dig like that. It ain’t like an elaborate satire, it’s a cruel joke that is just going to hurt somebody’s feelings, rather than make other folks laugh. I mean, how can you do that to poor Ralphie May? Bryan Bishop is much fatter than that. He’s a big, fat guy. A big, fat, sweaty guy who’s pants bunch up and cut off the circulation to his legs! The kind of guy who can’t get an erection unless he eats him a big bag of pasta!

For shame, other Marlowe. You should have the class to find somebody as fat as Bryan Bishop as his stand in. Like Taft or Yokozuna or…


Robert E. Marlowe was executed on the morning of March 6, 2007.

Being Playful Is Quite An Undertaking

By Bryan Bishop, Imperial Overlord of Bryan Bishop’s Adventure Island

So I’m busy raping and mur… er, playing in the surf with my dog one day and my Imperial Messenger runs up, and gives me this note:

Dear who it may concern.

I noticed in your latest edition, you featured a senior citizen by the name of "Marlowe." It has come to our attention that this may, in fact, not be the Marlowe we are familiar with on the mainland. Nonetheless, we assume you simply named this poor, senile man after a rival producer for your own sick pleasure.

May I say, Mr. Bishop, that you and your ilk disgust me. Your wanton actions are the kinds that curdle the breast milk of new mothers and cause little girls to go blind in the flower of life. How dare you steal the identity of a poor old man for your own sick desires!

We ask that you find the true name of this poor old man, and let him go by that from now on at the very least… though anybody with a soul would send him home to be with his family. Also, revise your old records to reflect the changes, or face more glaring disapproval.

Signed,

The Garofalo Commission.


Needless to say, the rest of my day was spent sputtering in frustration. Then I wandered out and found our old friend hiding behind a tree to keep the grass from eating his feet.

"Hey, old timer!" I said.

"Bicycles cause the gay!"

"That’s great. Listen… um… I’ve gotten a pretty angry letter, and they want me to find out your real name. So… got it?"

"Name’s Marlowe."

Shit.

"Martin Lowe? Like, are you just saying it fast?"

"My name is Robert E. Marlowe, you goddamn Quaker! Go weave me a basket!"

"Look, they want us to rename you."

"They can kiss my sister’s black cat’s ass! This is my name! It was my name in aught 14 and it’ll be my name when I die and Jesus drinks me out a hat!"

He then screamed as his legs became entangled in a spool of yarn he was gumming. I would have to think fast. Quickly, I called for my imperial scribe, Shawn "Chocolate Thunder" Wenger.

"Take a letter," I said.

"Sure," Shawn said, readying his Bic.

"I regret the error that has befallen us. It seems my third-in-command, Shawn "Chocolate Thunder" Wenger, is fully at fault in this controversy. I am very displeased with his foolish and petty action, and…"

"Hey!"

"…will see to it that the little worm is justly…"

"You godforsaken coward!"

"Shut up and write, monkey!"

We then proceeded to slap each other with our eyes closed and heads turned to the side. After roughly twenty-five minutes, we paused to rest, and decided that selling out a subordinate would not end this controversy… we would have to ask "Marlowe" who he really was, not because we wanted to, or felt it was at all necessary, but to get the Garofalo Commission off our back.

"Marlowe," tell us your story!


Seriously, this was all Wenger’s idea.

Thursday, March 1, 2007

Prepare The Death Ray

By Idi Amin, Vice Imperial Overlord of Bryan Bishop’s Adventure Island

Man the catapults! Prepare the battering ram! This is it, my children!

Soon, we shall invade the mainland, pillaging and plundering at will, butchering the foolish people of HTG town by the thousands. We shall skin them and smoke their bones in the hot fires of our camps. We will wave our flag from the top of the theater, as we bask in the heat of the inferno that is all that remains of UFI and the Flip’s Studio. We will drink the sweet nectar of life from the skulls of their children.

Hear me now! Our blades will drink the life’s blood of Krisgreet and Emerald, we shall coat our bullets in the tender kiss of the flesh of Newman and Mattricks. And in the end, when the earth has drunken its fill of the blood if the innocent, we shall unleash our death ray upon the cowering survivors, smoking their flesh and cracking their skin, killing them in horrible agony where they stand…


Idi Amin is also Head Chairman of the Death Ray Sub-Committee in the BBAI Senate.

That Is So Not A Death Ray

By Tony Snow, Minister of Truth

That is so not a death ray. That is complete hooey. Look at it. Does it look like a death ray to you?

No it doesn’t, stop saying that. And stop pointing at it and screaming. It’s a sculpture. Who sculpted it? Um… some French guy. It’s a gift from France. What’s that you say?

Why does a sculpture need a plug? Uh… oh damn. Um, okay, it’s actually like our antennae for our television. It’s how we watch TV here. What? We’re not landlocked. We’re just floating out here. We’ve got to have a big satellite.

What? Why doesn’t it look like a dish, but instead, like a gigantic death ray? Well… it’s new. We got it from the Sharper Image. You get a catalogue, right? Everybody gets one. Just look in there.

What page? Um… you know, we ordered it a few months ago. So it’s probably not in this one. It was probably a limited deal.

Seriously, that is not a death ray.


Tony Snow kind of looks like the kid from "A Christmas Story."

Al Gore Is A Rapist!



By Matt Drudge, Bryan Bishop's Adventure Island News Correspondent




Developing...


Matt Drudge is in charge of washing Bryan's fleet of enviornmentally-unfriendly automobiles. He pretends to be a reporter in his spare time.

The Old Gray Mare, She Ain't What She Used To Be

By Marlowe, Official Old Coot of and Envoy to Bryan Bishop’s Adventure Island

In my day, they didn’t have these fancy little countries. We had three countries! Russia, Prussia, and Mexico. That was it. And we didn’t have a problem with it. And we went to war all the time without the belly-achin’. It wasn’t ‘cause Taft could persuade us or nothin’. We just liked fightin! Unlike these kids today. Bunch of goddamn pussies!

Chuck Norris is on the TV again. She’s a handsome woman. If I was thirty years younger, I tell you what.

In my day, penny candy only cost a nickel. Cletus Walker and the Hang the Blacks Band was the hottest jazz ensemble in America. And every night, we would gather around the phonograph to hear the delightful sounds of Ma Rainey, who might have been a niggress. I ain’t certain. It was a simpler time, you see.

Little Billy Shatner. I remember him.

They named their currency after me. Know why? ‘Cause I invented the Monkees, that’s why. That was me. Don’t you pick up no newfangled history books and try to prove it wrong, ‘cause it ain’t. I saved Davey Jones from a wolf-man. We had wolf-men in those days. Mainly from Prussia. That’s how we had our monsters! Wolf-men in Prussia, and Frankensteins in Mexico. Russia was full of the Blob. I remember my first sight of it; it was just before Rudyard Kipling molested me.

Where’s my applesauce?

Johnny Appleseed was a commie. You could tell because he wanted to give every apples, even the blacks and the stupid, unwashed Slovakians. I killed me a Slovakian back in aught ‘25. I ain’t ashamed of it. He cried like a woman and begged for his life.

Confounded bushes won’t stay away from my driveway. Now they’re outside my house. The birds that come to my birdfeeder are too small to kill with a shotgun. All of my socks are too itchy. I blame Woodrow Wilson. He was a bull-dyke and a pinko.

Mussolini was innocent. It was a frame-job from Johnny Kennedy’s pappy.

My favorite song was “She’ll be Coming ‘Round the Mountain.” Few people know it was a campaign song used to make fun of Eleanor Roosevelt. There’s lots of mountains in Prussia, and we knew it was a matter of time until Eleanor just let all of those pointy-helmeted bastards in our front door, where they would sodomize our livestock and feed our children unpleasant meals.

I think Gladys shat in my wheelchair again. No, wait, that was me. Maybe someday, though. Well, least it’s warm for a little bit.

In my day, monkeys didn’t throw feces. They behaved. It was that goddamn Elvis Presley, riling all of them up, makin’ ‘em horny and whatnot. Him gyratin’, takin’ his tallywacker out on stage and wavin’ it around, it ain’t no good for nobody!

My family’s comin’ to pick me up any day now, and we’re all gonna eat pancakes and go hang some Indians. Goddamn Indians, stealin’ my cookware!


Marlowe is a victim of the very rare “stage eight” of Alzheimer’s.