Gut Rumbles

August 31, 2003


Ya know what really has me pissed? The sumbitch gave me access to his blog, but no capability to upload pictures. I just know that he thought I'd put some cute cat pictures on his site, and he's right.

I've been in a real funk this weekend and was unable to match Velociman's efforts.

I popped open a 2000 Gigondas Saturday night after having two Stoly's on the rocks and made the mistake of drinking the whole fucking bottle. It was good. So I'm a little hungover and then I read Velociman's reference to Falstaff beer and felt like puking. The last thing I want to do is get puke all over the Cracker Box.

What I would like to do is get my hands on Rob's Martin guitar. I've got a Yamaha imitation Martin that plays pretty well with new strings, but there's nothing like the sound of a good Martin guitar. Sometime in the future I'm gonna have to go down to Savannah and meet Pumpman and maybe he can teach me a song or two.

Falstaff beer! Ooooooohh!


I've really enjoyed guestblogging for you again, but I think I'll take a pass on Monday. I do have guests in town, and all. Plus, once again, I've managed to enrage, piss off, or otherwise alienate the vast majority of your loyal fans. Which was the mission, correct? But you have some damage control issues.

The good news? I've managed to successfully bottle this vitriol in a case of old Dr. Pepper long necks. I've already had contacts from Syria and Algeria, who will pay good money for this WMD. I will retire to Islamorada with the proceeds.

Posted by guestblogger "Never trust a left-handed goat" Velociman.


(who is rightfully apprehensive that he may be mistaken for me) and to anyone else I may have offended: from now on when I mention feces it will be in the context of shitting in one's pants, which is the proper context for this site. And just to show you my heart's in the right place here's a picture of my hero:

Posted by guestblogger KIM Velociman

August 30, 2003


"Math and guestblogging are hard!"

Posted by guestblogger "What Was That All About?" Kim


Rick writes:

What the fuck is that shit Roscoe? Whose ever blogging for Acidman now is boring as shit.

First its all about shit and then goes downhill (of shit) from there.

tell ya what , gather up suzzane, jennifer, becky and mommabear put them all in one room and you'd have, at best, a full set of teeth.

Where does A-man find them?

Jennifer writes:
Who is this fish-smell skank name Jennifer who posts such foul-mouthed comments on the A-man's blog?

Is she the one he's pining for? jeezbus, he must be hard up, because he can do much better than this piece of wormy shit. Even with his bionic dick.

The only way a sane man would approach that detritus is with a sky hook on a 10 foot pole. Wearing a gas mask.

Jennifer who? Is she the cunt with the tattoos?

And Becky says (on my site):
Why would you want to blog that odious creep? you have a much better blog than Acidman could even dream of. He's so vile, talks trash about his wife, complains about paying child support, and is just plain nasty to people.

You like this behavior? I don't get it.

And Velociman says: Go Fuck Yourselves, you three. You lurking creeping pieces of shit obviously live on the toilet bowl rim of humanity, and sniff around Rob's site looking for an excuse to bloviate. I have a suggestion: come on over to my site and let's get it on. If you're not adult enough to handle drugs do me a favor and don't spoil my buzz. I've been doing this for decades, and have this down to a fine art.

And by the way: suck the snotty end of my fuckstick.

Fucking codswipes. And a warning: If you bring Mommabear into this again I'm not going to be nice, like this time.

Um, sorry, Rob. I was discussing dancing sugar plum faeries and gingerbread children when I got sidetracked. I really must Stay On Topic.

Posted by "I've Got Your Teeth Right Here Around My Johnny, Rick" Kim


Listen up: I didn't come here to be dissed by my fellow guestbloggers. I could have spent this weekend as a Confederate spy reenactor. (Not too hard, actually. I sit in a chair and doze with a sign around my neck that says "Spie! Hung!". And they pay me twenty dollars.) Shell, Goddess? Where are you? I need personal abuse. I need to know you're up to no good. No shaving of the nether regions? No well-formed massive breasts for my perusal? Balls. Velociman does not live by bread alone. I want company!

So now that I've flayed that monkey let's get down to business: There's nothing worth drinking here in the Cracker Box (Thanks, Denny). Three cans of Falstaff and two inches of Comrade Belskovich vodka. Born on date? Next week, some time. If I don't find some premium liquor and get some hot dirty talk from the girls soon I'm going to have to post some pix of my neutered pussy Fosse. We don't want to go there, do we?

Work with me, I'll work with you.

Posted by guestblogger "I Must Obey The Voices In My Head" Kim

Roscoe Checks in Again

Roscoe here. I just don't understand Rob. He says he likes pussy but gets all pissed off when Denny posts pictures of cats at his site. I wish he would make up his fucking mind.

And what the fuck has happened to his site since he's been gone? It's really gone to shit. Look at the previous posts. Rob talks about me and now Kim is talking about shit! From penile to anal. Rob lets these guest bloggers in and who knows what they're gonna do. What's Shell gonna shave this time?

Rob better watch out, I tell ya. Denny's friend Barbara knows where he's staying and has promised to get some pictures that Denny is gonna post on his site next week. That'll show him.

Gotta go. I'm really hoping that Rob's gonna do an Arnold on me (Pump me up!) and let me explore some caves.

See ya

August 29, 2003


Well, for better or worse I guess I have a fecal theme running here. But if you have to work through personal issues, what better place than this?

You see, I'd read, or heard, or somehow ran across the concept that there were people out there who were so far gone that autoeroticism, bondage, buttplugging, felching, flagellation, self-abuse of any type had become so mundane that they craved the next thrill. In fact, had to create the next thrill. Even no longer quickened their pulse (Caveat: DO NOT GO TO THAT SITE. I, and my host, deny any responsibility for any psychic damage that may result from a voyage there. As a matter of fact, Acidman and I both have brothers who are Savannah trial attorneys; perhaps they could whip up a disclaimer).

I digress. The story went, and I did not make this up, that certain perversionists, in their quest for the greater thrill, would actually slather themselves in human excrement, and wrap it all up in toilet tissue. Then have sex. They called themselves shit mummies. People, I could not fabricate this sort of thing out of thin air. Nor would I attempt to.

Ever heard of this? Tell me if you have. Or tell me if you like the idea. (Memo to Legal Dept: Can we kill them if we find them?)

Jennifer? Care to comment? You certainly found my last post entertaining.

Posted by guestblogger "I'm glad I'm not tightly wrapped" Kim


I was going to discuss this issue on my blog, but then I thought: Hey! This is a more worthy forum, for any host of reasons.

You see, I can't shit when I travel. For some reason when I leave my ZIP Code my sphincter locks up. Perhaps it's a subconscious thing where my body knows better than I; Karachi? Mexico City? Where is this demented bastard taking me this time? The last time it was Phnom Penh! Retrench. Backpedal. Don't drink the water, for chrissakes.

I don't know if this affliction is psychological or opportunistic, and I don't care. Ultimately it doesn't matter one way or the other, because Gut Rumbles are ultimately more than a state of mind.

Some people call it travel stomach. I call it colonic discretion. At any rate it's a pisser of a deal, because when I travel it's to see customers, which involves breakfast meetings, luncheons, and high dinners. In other words, I tend to eat more food, and better food, than I normally would. So I thoroughly aggravate the situation by forcing food down a blocked, indignant channel. So by the time I'm home I'm Positively Septic. Which I believe is the name of the new Dylan CD. You can check me on that, though. Bloated like a second trimester crack whore in denial. Belching... never mind that.

The Glory? (there's always Glory in a story like this): Within two hours of return to terra familiaris I'm not only back to my old self, I'm horrifically back to normal. It's a stage thing, like est. Or, more precisely, like a symphony: the first movement is hard and reluctant, past its prime. Think Gloria Swanson in Sunset Boulevard. The second movement is better, almost normal. Think Geena Davis. Almost normal, but there's something strange going on here... The third movement is pure Gustav Mahler. Chaos, bemusement, something birthed before its time. Think John Carpenter's The Thing. Then all is right.

Strange how life works out that way. Stranger still, that Acidman left me the Keys to his Kingdom.

Denny? Feedback?

Posted by Guestblogger "Life's A Void" Kim

let's see...

I've been called nasty names, I've been called ignorant, I've been a victim of identity theft, I've been told of my propensity for child abuse and I've been accused of animal cruelty, all from people who wouldn't know me if I choke-slammed them to the ground and stole their fucking money while leaving a few good kicks in the ribs to remember me by.

Aw, shit. They'll call me a thief now.

I'm leaving for the Golden Isles of Georgia in a few minutes, where I intend to chase pussy (and I hope I catch some), work on my suntan, read a couple of good books, eat some really delicious seafood and abuse my liver at Tiki Bars for the next three days. You trolls can have a party in the comments while I'm gone.

my most excellent guest bloggers are welcome to post until i return.

Your user names and passwords are still functional, so feel free to drop by if you have the hankering. It's your call, but you have the keys to my place. C'mon in if you want to. Keep the couch warm.

Other than that, I am outta here. See you on Monday.

I hope I have grand stories to tell.

sexy phone voices

When I was running the acid plant at work, I had to call Southern States Fertilizer Company every Monday morning to get our molten sulfur usage for the week. We unloaded a lot of rail cars but trucked in about 20 loads per day from SSF. I always spoke to "Ginger."

I had an image of her in my mind that was a cross between Ginger on Gilligan's Island and Barbara Eden from I Dream Of Genie. She had a voice that put me in heat. I just KNEW, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was a hottie.

After about two years of talking to her on the phone every Monday, I finally met Ginger at a meeting I attended at Southern States one day. I was 36 years old at the time. She was 55, with gray silver hair and an ass that needed a "Wide Load" sign hung on it. Talk about crushing a fantasy! She showed me pictures of her grandchildren.

I will never forget my disappointment at seeing the person who sounded so sexy over the phone.

Remember that if you make those $3.00 per minute sex-line calls.

i am honored


another one takes a shot at me.