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Inside: Cultural Sausage. ~ Ludic Lists. ~ Skullbucket. Outside: Less than two weeks before the Ludic Log goes on vacation! If you're interested in writing a guest column, please drop me a line. "superheroine green hair costume" "gamahuche" "African prostitutes" "origin word poontang" "grandmother asshole" "about the geek trio the troika" "Superman icon struggle" "screwdriver fascist" |
07.27.2004
COLE: This is fucking boring. MAYHEW: Shut up, Cole, you little bitch. STRAITHAIRN: Man, why you have to be like that? We're on duty. Show some respect. COLE: I'm serious, you guys, plus my belt is all grungy or something. MAYHEW: It's nothing personal, Straithairn. COLE: I mean, it's like, got crud on it, or whatever. How does this happen? This crud? On my belt? STRAITHAIRN: What do you mean it's not personal? You called him a little bitch. How is that not personal? COLE: We should shoot a torpedo at something. MAYHEW: Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you, faggot. COLE: Like a battleship. We could totally sink a battleship with a torpedo. Like, like, C-4! Bla-dow! STRAITHAIRN: Okay, 'faggot' is definitely personal. MAYHEW: Your belt is probably cruddy because you, uh, keep it up your ass, or something. Queer. COLE: Man, I'm off my belt. Forget the belt. The belt is from a year ago. I'm on to blowing up some destroyers with a torpedo now. STRAITHAIRN: Is that a characteristic of gays, Mayhew? That they keep belts up their asses? Also, explain how his wanting to shoot a torpedo makes him a queer. I know it's supposed to be innuendo but it doesn't actually make any sense. MAYHEW: What is he, your boyfriend? COLE: Hey, captain! Can you hear me? Is this radio on? Is it even a radio? There's too many buttons. STRAITHAIRN: Use the telephone. CAPTAIN: Fucking don't bother me, Mayhew, I'm trying to get the Braves game on our dish. MAYHEW: All I'm saying is, he wants to, you know. Shoot. A torpedo. Like, up something. Like up the butt. COLE: We have a dish? STRAITHAIRN: So, undersea munitions technology was part of the gay conspiracy since day one. CAPTAIN: I assume we have a dish. I mean, we have to, right? This sub cost, like, a billion dollars. MAYHEW: You said it, dude, not me. COLE: Captain, can we launch a missile at some city or something? STRAITHAIRN: I don't know why you're so obsessed with everyone being gay. CAPTAIN: What? MAYHEW: You're gay. You never put the moves on any of the chicks. CAPTAIN: Like what city? Like Baghdad? I'm not going to lose my command again, Cole. The brass are still pissed off because of that time I traded our radar equipment for a Uzbek mail-order bride. STRAITHAIRN: What chicks? There's no women on this sub. COLE: Could we at least sink a boat? Subs totally do that. I saw it on the History Channel. MAYHEW: I mean at like bars and stuff. CAPTAIN: We can't even get the History Channel on this shitty dish, and it's basic cable. I'm beginning to think it's not even a dish at all. STRAITHAIRN: It's not a dish, sir, it's the periscope. Also, what bars? We're in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean! COLE: Just one ship. Even a cargo ship. We could get some of their pants when we surface. MAYHEW: All I'm saying is that in my book you're a queer until I see you doing it with a chick. CAPTAIN: I don't think Iraq even has a navy. MAYHEW: Which I would like to see, actually. CAPTAIN: Or an Air Force. MAYHEW: But that doesn't make me queer. STRAITHAIRN: Oh, really? Are you sure? COLE: This is the worst war ever. |
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| TODAY'S DRIFTWOOD: "All we are is a lot of talking nitrogen." (Arthur Miller) |