Santa’s Hungry List

HO HO HO! Yes, it’s that time of year again. The time when we see everywhere that fat white-bearded red-coated twinkly-eyed sleigh-rider. That jolly old elf who is known by many names, with a distinctive laugh that none can forget, and the subject of a hundred bed time stories. You guessed it! I’m talking about Barbra Streisand.

In other matters, Christmas is right around the corner. That means Christmas trees, evergreen wreaths, silver bells, Dean Martin, and that other chap… what’s his name? Oh, yeah, Santa Claus. Always forget him.

Speaking of Santa Claus, we have a breaking announcement. I’m sure you’ve all heard of Santa’s lists, right? The ones he checks twice every year? There’s the Nice List, and there’s the Naughty List. Well folks, it’s recently been reported by our informant working undercover in Christmasland (poor guy, you have no idea how hard it is to fit into a tiny elf suit when you’re six foot four… but he’s a good actor), that Santa has a third list, one that no one ever talks about.

Charlie Brown is Hungry.

The HUNGRY list. All you sweet-tooths, turkey gobblers, sugar plum dreamers, and small fat children, this is the list for you. Every person on the Hungry List will get just what they love best, be it chocolate ice cream, candy canes, jelly beans, lasagna, snicker-doodles, key-lime pie, or sausage and peppers. The only food item which Santa will not be distributing this year is Turkish Delight; apparently he and Jadis, the White Witch, had something of a falling out back in the fifties, and she no longer supplies him with the gooey jelloey stuff. Also, there will be no chocolate bunnies given for Christmas – Santa has a Gentleman’s Agreement with the Easter Bunny not to invade his turf.

So all you kiddies out there, don’t forget to be Hungry this year!!! Merry Christmas!

The November 09 Poll

Yup, it’s time again for yet another poll. Usually I just fill the post with a poll machine and nothing else, but today (or this month, rather) I’ve decided to add a sort of introduction, like the prologue to a great story, or the opening act of a concert, or the first airborn spoonful of mash potatoes signaling the beginning of a food fight. Anyway, this month’s poll is of a very serious nature… so please, people, vote. The great question of the month of November IS…

Readings from an Epic: the Trälead

There are many stories in our world that date back many ages; many ages dated back through our world in stories many; and many storied worlds in dates with aged backs our many. If that made any sense at all, you probably don’t have any sense.

One of the oldest stories I know is an ancient tale related by an old bard named “Lordle the Lowest of the Lesser Lords of Lohem” in his epic story, the Trälead. It is a story of adventure, or intrigue, and massive amounts of Duct Tape. Yes, my beloved hearkeners, the story I am about to relate is the ancient history of that great nation that no one’s ever heard of except a few of you who have actually read this blog before… Träliá!

Charles Dickens

Once upon a time, in a wide green meadow somewhere on the beautiful peninsula of Italy (although no one knew what to call the place at that time), there was a gathering of homeless premedieval hobos living in shacks. Now, this tribe of hobos had lived in pre-Italian Italy for several hundred generations, and the neighboring Etruscan tribes pretty much left them alone. One year, however, a group of stylishly dressed people who spoke a cool language and thought very highly of themselves decided they wanted to take over Italy, and so they called themselves Romans and started conquering.Needless to say, the hobos decided it was high time to get up and go, so they all split up and ran like the dickens (although this was, of course, long before Charles Dickens was born).

Atlantian Treasure

Also Atlantian Treasure

One of these former hobos turned global traveler was a short little dude named Bfer. He also had a friend named Ihse. Bfer and Ihse traveled far and wide, trying to find a place to live. In the first month of their roamings, they were nearly killed by wild animals, drowned by a flood, starved by a famine, dehydrated by a drought, slaughtered by barbarians, and they weren’t able to get a single good night of sleep, but at long last they met a mysterious Wanderer from the ancient civilization of Atlantis. The Wanderer handed them one of the greatest treasures of Atlantis, and said in true creepy-mysterious-hooded-individual fashion: “Keep it secret – Keep it safe!”

Bfers "Amazing Roll of Silver Sticky Stuff" Shop

Unfortunately, they didn’t speak Atlantian – or English, for that matter – so Bfer and Ihse didn’t know to keep it secret or safe. They soon realized that this silvery-sticky thin band of stuff all rolled up like a wheel was really good at doing just about anything. So Bfer set up shop on a large island. He and Ihse used their silver sticky stuff to build a ring of several huge monumental stones, all set up on end and topped by horizontal stones. Bfer would stand in the middle and sell his product, which he ingeniously named the “Amazing Roll of Silvery Sticky Stuff.”

“Come and get your own Amazing Roll of Silvery Sticky Stuff!” he would yell from the center of his stone store.

“What’s it for?” a grumpy old duck farmer asked.

“It does everything!” Ihse explained. “It sticks stuff together!”

“Like tape?”

“It’s the greatest of all tape!” Bfer responded.

“It’s the greatest thing in the world!” Ihse exhorted.

“Nah, ducks are the greatest thing in the world,” the duck farmer insisted.

“Well this tape is better than ducks,” Bfer replied. “It’s Duck Tape!”

Soon, the product name morphed into “Duct Tape”, only because Ducks were apparently patented in that region by the same duck farmer who always gave them trouble. So Bfer and Ihse continued to manufacture and sell their Duct Tape, until one sad day when the native Britons decided they didn’t like Bfer and his friend anymore, so they tarred and feathered them and forced them to leave.

It was after this incident that Bfer decided to follow after the American Dream (although he didn’t know the dream was American at the time). He and Ihse decided to get married, have kids, raise a family, make a fortune, eventually buy a Ferrari Testarossa Convertible and maybe found a nation or two. With this dream in mind, they married in a newly founded church no one had ever heard of (called St. Paul’s Cathedral, or something like that) and set off for the New World; only, no one knew the New World was there at that time, so they all waved goodbye to the newly weds at the dock fully expecting them to drop off the edge of the earth or be consumed by fire breathing sea serpents or something like that.

The Ferrari Testarossa - Man's Best Friend.

After a short detour in Greenland where the couple had a less than civil meeting with the Viking Leif Ericson, the two landed in the marshy peninsula of Florida. Ihse demanded they find a nice clean stream to wash their clothes in, and unintentionally did so in a little river that the Native Americans liked to call the “Fountain of Youth”. Six hundred years later, Bfer and Ihse began to suspect that the stream they were drinking from wasn’t entirely normal.

It was about this time when European people started showing up in the New World, probably trying to figure out what was taking Bfer and Ihse so long to come home. First was Columbus, then Ponce de Leon, soon a whole gang of people aboard a boat called the Mayflower – the immigrants just wouldn’t cease. Realizing it was time they moved on, Bfer and Ihse packed their luggage and started trekking yet again, with their newly born daughter, who they named Träliá.

Map of the Nation of Träliá

After a brief sojourn of thirteen years in La-La-Land, the young family found a piece of land that no one else had claimed yet, probably because it was covered in jungles, a desert, and deep, purple acidic lakes, and infested with dragons, the terrible Van-Pie Eater, and brain-sucking moths the size of small bicycles. For Bfer and Ihse, however, it was home. They named the land Träliá, after their growing daughter, who would one day be Queen, and they named the capitol city “Bferihse”, after themselves, where they built a home and a small village out of Duct Tape. Bfer also designed the very first automotive vehicle, still dreaming of his Ferrari Testarossa Convertible; but unfortunately he sold the patent and designing rights to some German named Benz.

And so that is how that small European country in South America was originally founded, and ever since then it has adopted a culture not too unlike that of the native La-Ladians of La-La-Land. Certainly, there are many more stories that can be told of the amazingly diverse and altogether fictional country, but those will be left for another day. Lordle, the Lowest of the Lesser Lords of Lohem, apparently ran out of ink before he could write anything more. Thank you for reading this long, picture-filled, random and pointless story, known simply as the Trälead.

Silverado Stuckings and the Plutonians

Welcome back guys and gals, it’s that time again! Time to sit tight, prepare for adventure, intrigue, mystery and a little bit of frustrating annoyance as we follow the great Ducxplorer Silverado Stuckings in his latest adventure!

When we last saw the ductapeous Silverado, he had narrowly managed to escape the clutches of that despicable nemesis Semi-Evil Joe, foiling his semi-evil plans to steal all duct tape on the planet for himself (if you missed that episode, don’t worry, so did I). Now, he and his cannibalistic side-kick Brovito (along with that annoying narrator known solely as the ’small odd man’) have found their way onto a Plutonian Intergalactic Spaceship. Will they escape with their lives, their pride, and their duct tape? Or will they find a way to finally be rid of the small odd man? Let’s find out in this exciting episode:

Silverado Stuckings stopped to readjust the hat on his head, lowering the brim to shadow his orange eyes. He glanced back momentarily to deliver an angered glare at the small odd man who was narrating his every move, but he realized it was pointless and moved on. Brovito, his companion, was a bit more upset, and he smacked the small odd man in the head as he passed. It hurt.

“Pay him no mind, Bro,” Stuckings sighed, “You know it won’t do any good. See? He’s still repeating everything we say in story form.”

“Shhh!” Brovito exclaimed, glancing about their surroundings.

Silverado Stuckings quieted, and his eyes bounced around as he searched the area; probably looking for twinkies, to fuel his ever-growing belly.

“For your information,” Silverado replied in a rather loud whisper, “I’m searching for danger. This place is replete with danger, you know.”  Brovito stared stupidly, not knowing what the word ‘replete’ meant.

“Brovito not stupid!” The cannibal growled at the small odd man.

“Quiet, Bro!”

Silverado stepped further into the strange room, with glowing green carpet that resembled Jell-O and really bad wallpaper. “This is it,” he said, “We have successfully entered the Plutonian Mother Ship. It is here we will find the legendary Plutonian Duct Tape and return back to earth with it’s power!”

“Why we here?” Brovito asked, “Since when does great explorer like Silverado mix with Aliens?”

“If Harrison Ford can do it, I can,” Silverado replied, to Brovito’s apparent liking. The trio crept further in.

“Who goes there?” A strange, pasta-ish voice that seemed topped with tomato paste asked.

Silverado Stuckings was slightly set back by the small odd man’s description of the voice, but he regained his fat, gruesome composure, and responded to the question. “I am Silverado Stuckings, the great Earthling Explorer. With me is Brovito, the savage cannibal from the densest of jungles; and with us travels the single-most insulting narrator ever to narrate a story. We just call him the small odd man.”

“That does not compute,” the tomatoey voice returned in an al dente tone. “You are lying.”

“No, actually, we’re not,” Silverado replied.

“What is a cannibal?” the voice asked, as predictable as a key-lime slushy storm in mid October.

“A cannibal is a human that eats other humans, although Bro here is mostly past that.”

“Mostly,” Bro echoed.

“Humans eat one another?” The voice asked, repulsed. “Plutonians would never do that. Plutonians don’t even look tasty.” At that moment, a door opened in the wall where there wasn’t a door before; beyond it was a jiggly, glowing elevator, and in the elevator there floated a mass of spaghetti noodles.

Will the pasta-like alien harm our heroes? Will the fearless explorers live long enought to make a next episode? Will Brovito be able to curb his hunger and not eat the alien, thereby sealing their fate forever? Will the plutonian taste better with marinara sauce, or perhaps a chunky meat sauce with italian sausage? Tune in next time to find out!

Forget the Erroneous: Rise of the Flobsters!

*Funky Theme Song Plays* And now it’s time for your favorite News Broadcasting Show: Forget the Erroneous, with X. Y. Zelonios. Let’s go straight to your host! *Funky Theme Song Fades Out*

Xavier Y. Zelonios here, reporting live from downtown Bferihse  with a breaking story. Here in Bferihse, the capitol city of Träliá, a terrible blight has raised it’s scaly green head. Or rather, make that a slimy blue head. I’m standing here now, watching in disbelief, as the poor Trälián cyborgs of Bferihse run in from monsters of untold freakishness.

Not to worry friends, I’ve been told by the highest authorities that this is not yet considered to be a Red Alert Status concern… but it is most definitely an Orange Alert at least. Possibly a Yellow, or maybe somewhere in the low Greens, like an Aquamarine or something. We haven’t had a surefire consensus on that yet.

So here’s the story, friends, I’ll feed it to you straight. It seems a team of several dozen slimy, yellow-feathered, three-toed, opera-singing amphibians, averaging the size of large minivans, have taken the city by storm. Initial reports seemed to confirm the suspicion that these creatures are mutated life-forms cultivated by some mad scientist in an intensely specific experiment to create an army capable of taking over the world. However, upon further investigation (including interviewing one or two monsters while they romped, tromped, and wreaked general havoc in the city’s streets), we’ve learned that they are actually  mutated fungus that once grew in a can of Re-fried Beans left to ruminate by Howard Brenslic. Howie himself has refused to comment.

Mister Minster McManster, the Monster Master from Munster, has just arrived on the scene, with his faithful cohort Yurie Dedmeat. I have him here for an exclusive TDTE interview:

Xavier Y. Zelonios: It’s good to have you here, sir.

Minster McManster: It’s good ta be here meself, thank ye.

XYZ: How many monsters have you encountered in your Monster Mastering occupation?

MM: Oh, I don’t like ta be callin’ them monsters. I call them Nerfs, meself. Stands fer “Nonexistant Erroneous Randomeous “, ya see. I’ve seen quite a few, too many ta count, really.

XYZ: What is your initial impression of these creatures we see here today?

MM: Well, they be very fat, fer one thing. They could benefit from a diet, says I. I’ve taken ta callin’ them Flobsters meself.

XYZ: Flobsters, eh? There you have it folks, remember where you heard it first.

MM: Where?

XYZ: Here, of course.

MM: Oh, yes, right. I forgot fer a moment.

XYZ: So, Mr. McManster, what’s your plan for dealing with these Flobsters?

MM: First of all, that maniac Silverado Stuckings has got ta be kept as far away from these sensitive creatures as possible, says I. He’s a fluff-floated nilly-noggin who can’t tell a Triple-Eyed Kneeknocker from a Greenie-Fried Fleadocker if they both were ta walk up and slap the Manunkers out of his forehead.

XYZ: I see…

MM: Farthermore, any person who thinks we should hurt these poor Flobsters is out of his clip-clop McGillaflop mind.

XYZ: Then what do you suggest? Containment?

MM: Let them roam free! *withdraws bagpipes from some unforseen location and begins playing the “Born Free” theme*

Flobster: MMMMM! Me no likey non-opera music! Me DESTROY non-opera music!

Yurie meat: AAAAH! Mr. McManster, help me! Dis creature is goink to kill me!

XYZ: Um, sir, your assistant is being shaken violently by that Flobster…

MM: No problem, the lad be used ta such abuse. Don’t interrupt me ballad! *Resumes Playing Tune*

So friends, keep an eye on the news, and watch out for these Flobsters! And never leave a can of re-fried beans in the back of your fridge for more than seven years.

Forget the Erroneous, with X. Y. Zelonios.

The October 09 Poll

Award Ceremony

Folks, a joyous ceremony was conducted the night before last night in TDTE headquarters. The banquet hall was filled to the brim with TDTErs, friends of TDTErs, friends of friends of TDTErs, and the guys we called to fix the fridge who decided to stay for the party. What was the occasion, you ask? Oh, it was glorious.

Brethren and Sistren (if there are any sistren), September 8th 2009 will go down in Duct Tape History. It will go down in TDTE History. And it will go down in Howard Brenslic’s scrapbook’s history. It was the night that we all gathered in the Great Amazing Silvery Duct Tape Covered Hall to present Howard Brenslic with the prestigious “Ductaptial Medal of Umparallelled (sic) Bravery”, attatched to which was a beautiful polyester ribbon which read, “For Ingenious Usage of Foodstuffs in Wartime Measures.” The medal itself was crafted by TDTE, but the ribbon was a gift from an association called Fatties Against Magnitudal Inequality and Non Edibility, or FAMINE, as they are known.

So folks, here’s the story of how Howie, of all people, won this prestigious award. Our very own Howard Brenslic, that man who we always knew was made of the stuff of heroes but never had a chance to find out for sure, felt hungry. In an attempt to satisfy his insatiable case of  Tummy Rumblies, Howie searched his fridge. Aside from a bag of moldy bread and a can of decade-old refried beans which had come to support an entire ecosystem of undocumented lifeforms, he found nothing. So then he searched his freezer, where he found left over Spaghetti from the TDTE Quarterannual Italian Banquet the night before. Smacking his lips with pure joy, Howie zapped the stuff in the micro, through it on a duct tape plate, and walked out the door to enjoy his hard-earned meal in the solitude of the early morning outdoors.

He soon realized, however, that the scene he stepped into was not the usual one for the quiet neighborhood street outside his home. It was, in fact, the scene of an egregious, elephantine, efferdental and just about every big e-word you can imagine Alien Battle! The Plutonians had arrived, and they were not happy. No, they weren’t.

They were downright mad.

Howie realized his end was near; but in a moment of bravery, skill, and perhaps a little ignorant stupidity, he grabbed a huge forkful of spaghetti and ate it nervously. The Plutonians watched in silence.

And then they screamed. “It’s a PLUTONIAN EATER!” They yelled, thinking the spaghetti on Howie’s plate was really one of their lost comrades. Soon they cleared the area; initial reports say an entire troop of Plutonians fled back to their home planet that night, too fearful to continue the campaign. Granted, the rest of the army soon learned that Howie wasn’t actually eating Plutonians, so there’s still a huge threat to our humble planet, but, hey, it’s a start.

Happy Aniversary, Us!

Duct Tape Rocks!

Well, look who just turned a year old… we did! Or, the site did, anyway. It’s been exactly one year since the first post on the TDTE blog! WAHOO! Come on people, this calls for some excitment! Some partying! Don’t just stand there like that, go do something worth doing… like taping up an innocent bystander with Duct Tape! Or running around the block screaming Happy New Year and giving a razzberry to anyone who tries to stop you! On second thought, we are legally obligated to inform you that we don’t actually condone such behavior, and any person(s) who try to hold us liable for incitement of iminent randomness will find that our lawyer, Howard Brenslic, is adept at weaseling out of such charges (see our Documentation of Almost Completely Official Duct Tape Elite Legality Stuff). So don’t try it, pal. We have our ways.

But, anyways, Happy Birthday/Anniversary TDTE Blog!

Encounters of the Seventeenth Kind

RED ALERT! RED ALERT! RED ALERT!

All TDTErs, brave Ducters, and people otherwise interested, a new threat has presented itself to our humble and yet awesomely cool organization. No longer is the Dramatic Chipmunk and his cohorts our only nemesis (though we do still get together with him on Fridays for battle and arguing and a quick game of chess), for a new evil has arrived. The evil I speak of is….

Aliens.

But not Martians, as Hollywood has long assumed the first extraterrestrial visitors would be. No, this is no Martian Invasion; it is the Plutonians!

Apparantly, the evil Plutonians aren’t happy that their home world has recently been downgraded from Planet to Dwarf Planet;  they’ve come seeking revenge. However, the International Astronomical Union has gone into denial and refuses to believe the Plutonians are here; even worse, NASA and the military forces of the world are also ignoring the threat, because the IAU said, quote: “I won’t be your best friend if you do!” Yes, it is a sad day.

A Plutonian in our testing labs. Conclusion: They go well with Marinara and a little garlic.

So the challenge comes to us, TDTE, to face these Plutonians and save our beloved Planet Earth. Already we have engaged in battle with them, and after capturing and studying one of these creatures, we have made many astounding discoveries. Firstly, because of the low gravity of their homeworld, these creatures are extremely weak and flimsy, even noodle-like, in their natural form. Also, they can’t breathe our atmosphere, and they can’t withstand the heat of our world. But these clever Spaghetti People have found a way to overcome these problem; they have created a biometric fluid, remarkably similar to tomato sauce, which keeps them alive inside of glass containment units. These units have also been outfitted with all manners of weapons, propulsion units, and titanium-alloyed armor. The picture below is what one of these suits looks like:

Evil incarnate couldn’t look worse. Indeed, they are frightening, but we will stand firm! We will not waver in the face of these attackers! WE WILL LIVE ON! AFTER A CENTURY OF BATTLES, WE ARE STILL HERE! (Oh, wait, that’s the Matrix Reloaded line… nevermind.) The Plutonians are here, and their invasion has begun all across the planet. Just last night

THE SPAGHETTI PEOPLE!!!

we recieved a picture of an early Invasion Force coming down a main street in a little town called Nowheres, USA. Granted, the flash makes this picture hard to view, but if you look at the top right hand corner you can see the silhouette of a Plutonian Spaghetti-grade Deathdozer smashing through a house; at the center bottom you can see the tip of an alien probe antenna; and on the far left you can see Walter Matthau rising from his grave and preforming a country version of “Hello Dolly” on a bass guitar.

Well folks, you heard it here first. The Plutonians have finally become fed up, and their here to teach us a lesson. We deserve a rebuke, perhaps, but we will not let them destroy our planet! We will fight to the bitter end! For that matter, we will fight to the sweet beginning! We will fight to the salty center, and to the savory mid-term exam, and we will NOT GIVE IN until we reach that umami victory!

Because WE ARE THE DUCT TAPE ELITE!!!!!

Wait for IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT…

Well my friends and enemies and people I don’t even know, this is it. Yes, you heard me right, this is it! The time has finally come. Your waiting is over. For that matter, our waiting is over. Gee, everyone’s waiting is over; the people waiting for the bus down the street, the members of the Impatience League, and even you readers who are waiting for me to get to the point.

All of us can stop waiting, because *IT* has finally arrived. Half of you know what I’m talking about; half of you don’t; and another half of you aren’t even reading this blog today. For that matter, that same last half (the third half) have never read this blog before, mostly because they’ve never Googled anything that would lead them here but partly because they don’t like boysenberry jam on their pancakes or their waffles. There is also a possibility that they don’t have a computer, because they live in a fifth-world country like Träliá: but that wouldn’t make sense because most Träliáns are actually cyborgs who can link to the internet without using a computer. Then again it has been proven that Trälián Cyborgs can’t connect to the internet when their nose is stuffed up, so perhaps that third half is made up of Trälián Cyborgs suffering from bad colds.

Anyway, back onto subject. You’re probably wondering what the subject is by now. You’re probably about ready to kill me for making you read all this without actually telling you the point of the whole thing. Well, keep those thoughts of to yourself, because you could be arrested for that. So unless you want to be arrested and thereby NEVER find out what I’m talking about, I suggest you stop thinking about me.

So, without further ado, the thing we’ve all been waiting for that is finally here is… the fourth of July! Yeah! Independence Day! We’ve been waiting all year, and now it’s finally here!!! YAY! Wait, what’s that? It’s August? My calender is behind? Oh, my bad. So sorry. In that case, disregard this post. Well, I suppose I ought to say something worthwhile, now that I’ve wasted your time… Don’t forget to donate a Kleenex to the Save a Sickly Cyborg from Träliá fund!* They need your help. It’s the least we can do.

*Only 15% of all Kleenexes received will actually go toward Sickly Cyborgs from Träliá, while 63% will be used to pay for the transportation of said 15%, 10.3% will be used to bribe the Trälián Border Patrol to let us in, 7% will be used to keep our volunteers from spreading more germs and the final 4.97% will be embroidered and given to our volunteers as a souvenir. We reserve the right to send back any Kleenex we deem unsuitable for donation; we will not accept used Kleenexes unless they have been thoroughly dried and ironed.