Monday, November 1, 2010

Announcing the 'Post Hipster Movement'

Thought just being a hipster was hard? Then don't even try to be post hipster.

But Foxy! What makes a hipster any different than a post-hipster.
Well, post hipsters don't directly speak to anyone, let alone answer questions when a stranger e-mails them, so go sit on it. (post hipsters LOVE disgusting old sayings, not to be confused with hipsters,who are just disgusting and old)

Post hipsters are the coolest of cool, tacky Christmas sweaters in June, cutoffs in the winter. But wait! Not cutoff jeans, that's too hipster. The newest craze is cutoff underpants. That't right. Does your dad have any old and stained underpants around? The more stained the better, cut those babies off until they literally aren't even a garment anymore.

That isn't even the half of it. It's well known that Hipsters love irony, but post-hipsters make ironic statements ABOUT irony, not to mention they constantly define irony and tell other people they aren't being ironic ironically.

Like to photoshop? That's good, keep doing it...but only using paint.

Like ray bans? Crush them. Post hipsters only wear American Chopper Brand Glasses.

Like facial hair? Don't even think about it unless you can grow a hulihee.

Buy my book,

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Sorry I've Been Away, I'll Post Some Nude Pics of Chowda Later...

Wife: Honey, you know how depressed I've been, I've gone to see a doctor

Husband: Babe, thats great news, what did Dr. Rustle say?

Wife: He recommended an anti depressant named Abilify

Husband: Okay, did he say what to expect once you start taking it?

Wife: Well, just the usual side effects, possible mood swings, a slim chance of suicidal thoughts

Husband: Well, if you feel comfortable taking it, I'm behind you one hundred percent, are there any more common side effects?

Wife: The website says trouble swallowing but-

Husband: Yeah that won't work

Wife: But honey I-


Did someone say marital conflict?


Saturday, February 20, 2010

The Talk

He stared at me from across the table, his hands folded, calm. The softness of his voice sent fear through my spine as he spoke the words:

"I understand, you're a young man and you're dating my daughter. Sex is a new frontier and exploration is only natural, I just want to make sure there is no unplanned pregnancy, especially with my baby girl."

I didn't think of what I was doing before I spoke with a timid smile:

"Sir, if my sperms are as shy as I am, I doubt they'll show up at all."

Should've Said Nothing,

Thursday, January 28, 2010

Explosions: The Silent Killer

"Explosions: The best defence is a good offense."

Introducing: American Removal and Survival of Explosions - An American Guilde Spot:
The A.R.S.E. - A.G. Spot

Now in 4 Easy Steps!

1) At the first sign of an explosion of any kind, immediately locate your .45 calibre banana clipped poison bulletted sabre rifle, and begin to shoot the explosion into submission repeating the words "pwnography, pwnography, pwnography!"
2) For more stubborn explosions, such as these found in train stations and Israel, a more psychological approach needs to be taken. Begin shouting obscenities at the fiery mass, the more racist the better!

*repeat steps one and two in sequence at least three times before continuing!

3) At this point, we know we have a serious threat on our hands, so as a collective society, we will have to declare war on the explosion. This means deploying all our troops, as well as our troupes! Our soldiers and dramatic types will find creative inspiration in the eyes of their counterparts, and this creativity will bring plenty of glory to the heartland!
4) When all else fails, we will create a bigger explosion to kill the current explosion, we will once again use our sabre rifles, so be sure to stock up on some specially formulated silver bullets made in the Washington Mint! We are going to unfortunately have to shoot George Michael, because we know nothing has ever blown up stronger than he did back in '94!

Keep Faith,

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Eating In Africa

Hey There,

Recently, the "worldy citizenship" of the StewStaff has been questioned. In response, we will, in this post, publish a conversation between Chowda and Foxy in Africa, amongst the negros, teaching them how to speak American.

Foxy (exiting the private jet): Whoa! It's so hot here!
Chowda: Yeah, we should crank the AC in the jet and leave the doors open so maybe it'll cool outside down a bit.
Foxy: Always with the best ideas! This is why I love you!

Lunch Time:

Foxy: Phew! Teaching American to Africans is hard! But these Africans will say anything for a tablespoon of this dimetapp! And I mean ANYTHING!
Chowda: Thanks be to Baby Jesus that we brought lunch in the jet. I love McDonalds.

7 Minutes Later:

Chowda: Holy crap! I'm so full, but there's still so much food left! I love the taste but I just can't fit anymore in the belly!
Foxy: Here, watch me. Just chew it to get the taste, and then spit it on the ground near this little mud house.
Chowda: haha! Yeah, it's tasty and fun.
Foxy: hahaha! No instead of spitting this perfectly fine food on the ground, spit it in our drinks so no one can drink them when we nonchalantly leave them where we please!
Chowda: (too busy spitting to relay any witty text)
Foxy: Hey, lets rub the food into the ground so nobody will be able to even taste it!
Chowda: (too busy rubbing food into the ground to relay any witty text)
Foxy: Nice Calves!
Chowda: Thanks! I do squats!
Foxy: No, I'm not talking about your legs, and I know you do squats I'm your trainer. I'm talking about those baby cows behind the mud house! They look as tender as... a juicy steak filled crepe.
Chowda: Yeah, your mom's steak crepes rule.

We Ate That Baby Cow...And He was So Cute, He Had A Name Too, Steven, We Named Him Steven, Then We Ate His Cute Little Tender Body, And He Was Delicious

The First Signoff Was Too Long,

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

Swine Flu Update: Tracing the Problem to the Source

November, the World is in a state of national crisis:

"Don't Lick Those Handrails, Jimmy", said President Obama to Jimmy.

CNN Reports:
[Public health departments across the country are quickly running out of H1N1 vaccine and don't know when the next batches will arrive. Public health departments have been flooded with calls from people wanting to know where they can get the vaccine. Michelle Peregoy, spokesperson for the Virginia Department of Health, said the department gets about 700 calls a day, right after she screamed "shit shit shit shit shit".]
My Dear Sugarbabies,
It is with a heavy heart that I notify you that yes, you are going to die. This is not one of those jokes when the person speaking the joke says "of natural causes" after they say your going to die. You are all actually going to die, and if you don't find God before then you're going to hell too. How do you like that. Don't argue with me it'll only get worse.
The StewStaff doesn't have to worry about dying, because we're smart. We've got the brains. Allow me to explain:
A few weeks ago, every police officer in North America was e-mailed a memo, that stated in rough:
"Sup doods, Its the boss man, you guys are totes gettin the vaccine. I'm enforcing the boss man's pwnage here. I am the pwner. You are the pwned. ROFL! Anywaiz, you all get one (uno) vaccine, and then if there are some left over you will all get a round two and so on. On a more serious note, I feel as if I should speak to each of you about how careful to be during this epidemic. Seeing as we are already pigs, we are at least four times more succeptible to the virus, proven by the scientists at FOXnews. They're always right. Dale from the Morning Traffic should be President/Prime Minister of the WORLD. He's smart! and hes on FOXnews. Do any of you have that on your resume? Didn't think so. I digress, seeing as we are already Pigs, we are more succeptible to the virus. We need to get in the best physical conditions of our lives, men. We need to fight this virus. We need to pop the kneecaps off the virus like Srgt. Steve did last week to that latino kid at the mall. (Nice one bro). We need to take this virus behind the school and get it pregnant, than leave her...she's used goods now. As brobros, we need to band together, and dickpound this virus into submission. You are all equipped with your flashlights. We had to sell the guns to the negros for money for the vaccines. C'mon, it's not all bad. Have you ever heard the Geto Boys? Their flows glow!
Lates Playa Playas!
Love, the Boss Man"
Well, needless to say, once COWda and I got ourhands on this information. (The reason Chowda has been called COWda is because he has hurt our relationship greatly, and as all our readers know, emotional scars take the longest to heal.) We had to do something about it. We can not die. We will not die. The Stew must go on. For the survivors, the police officers, and the mexicans who are used to living in close proximity to livestock. Chowda found a police man, the piggie tried to use his flashlight, but Chowda was like, wayyy faster. Confused as to where Chowda went, the cop ran away, as all good cops are taught to do. Leaving out all the boring slop, Chowda found the secret stash of vaccines, injected me once, and himself fifteen times. He's sleeping it off. He's been sleeping for a whole forty eight hours. Like an angel. It almost looks like he's...crraaaaaap.
His Pulse is Weak, Kinda Like Your New Shoes!

Monday, November 16, 2009

Texting During the Holocaust

texter1: Hey Goldstein!

tester2: Hey are you in the camp yet?

texter1: Yeah man, just got here yesterday!
texter1: lolz, dood this Hitler guy is crazy!

texter2: lmao! You're telling me! I got twenty lashings today! Who am I? That guy who those Christians wrongly believe is God's son?
texter2: n00bz are all the same.

texter1: Well hey, at least we still have Hollywood!

texter2: yeah...yeah we still have Hollywood.

Super Bueno, Friends

Dear Misters and Misters's Lady Friends,
I have to release my inner ocean of angst to you good non-mexican people.

My mother died when I was born,
My dad said my mother was so happy to see me, she died.
My dad was not happy enough to die when he saw me...
I have been questioning the depth our relationship for the past thirty seven years.


Dinner Language Etiquette for Dummies and Negros

Heard you Miss the Peaches to your Cream,
As a negro myself, I have often encountered questionable situations in which my language choices have been compromised. Mostly, I find that my language is challenged at distinguished dinner parties. Then, one night while sleeping in the nude with no blankets on because my rippled muscles keep me warm (my body is like a ripple chip, you know its delicious, but you also know I'm going to be spending the next three weeks in your bum), it hit me, I should write a book about all this debotchery! So I did. Here's a tasty niblet of: How to Use Words Good, by Foxy.
[Some words such as "Butt paste" and "Proctoscope" are only sometimes okay to use all the time, so use your own discretion. Don't use the word "bifrocate", it is a fickle mistress. There are many words you have to be careful with, it is completely unacceptable to say someone 'Gurgles Diapers', unless of course you have a picture proving that that statement is true. As far as the words "butt paste" are concerned, be sure to only use it if you are speaking about a skin ailment of sorts on the rear region, or else it could make you look unintelligible.]
Whoa! If that isn't wisdom, I don't know what is!

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

In Memoriam


On this 11th of November, it is time for the living to commemorate the brave lives lost years previous, in the great Dinosaur wars. Looking back, I don't think that anyone would have lived if it weren't for Galacticus. The number of times he saved I alone outnumbered that which could be counted upon all my fingers and toes. I miss you dear Galacticus, friend, and brother. In another life I hope to pay homage to you, and somehow repay you for your ultimate sacrifice. My metaphorical turtle dove, I will love you always, adieu, et bon voyage.

Dinosaur, My Heart is Sore

Oh Dinosaur,
So much more,
Than a reptile with big ass teeth

Oh Dinosaur,
I love you more,
Than any other could bequeath

Oh dear Dinosaur,
If an angel were to compare itself to you it would become confused as to which of you were the angel and this unlikely yet comical scenario would end with the death of an angel, unfortunate, yet an accurate portrayal of how mighty your power.

Memorial Poem by: Margaret Atwood

Lest We Forget
The Dinosaur Wars of 1993 C.E.
Here shown is King Galacticus the majestic Dinosaur King, with all mighty power bestowed from the divine in 1982 year of our Lord. With the slashing power of Jehovah himself, and the calculated instincts bequeathed upon him by Allah after the defeat of the Dwarf Lord Gimli, supported by the treaty of Poutin-Genish at the fall of the Iron Curtain, and approved by both the Geneva and Third Lateran Councils. May King Galacticus ravage eternally throughout the developing world. Amen.

We Would Now Like to Ask for a Moment of Silence,

-Foxy and Chowda

Bubba Barbies

Hey you!
In recent news, the manufacturers of Barbie products have launched production of an entirely new and innovative doll. The new doll will still in fact, be "Barbie", but not quite as we know her. Barbie will be weighing in a 305 this Christmas season, and she's not apologising. Yes, these dolls will be marketed with the title of Barbie's real name, Barbara Millicent Roberts. Yep, Barbie has a fat chick name. What on Earth were Barbie's parents thinking. The Barbie website has also added that Barbie's new friend will be named Ronda Russ, and the fatty twosome will be undertaking a whole new journey called: "Make Brownies in this Plastic Oven, and if the Kitchen gets too Hot use your Flippy Flappy Arm Skin to Brush Away Your Sweat". That catchy title is courtesy of our friend Chiko Rodriguez, who for the longest time has been religious Barbie collector and investor and has finally been allowed some input into the company.
Chiko was unavailable for a personal interview but upon calling his rented basement he gave the statement: "Me encanta Barbie pero no tengo baño de trabajo".
This translates roughly to: " I love all the Barbies but I do not have a working toilet.
Upon further request Mr. Rodriguez told us that indeed he does have other characters in the works including a replacement for Ken named "Anderson the Asthmatic".
"Será un éxito de mierda", "He's going to be f****** awesome" says Rodriguez.
The StewCrew is especially looking forward to Hot Hannah the Hotel Pool Attendant, we bought new boner pants for that exact occasion. Get working Chiko!
These Boner Pants are too Tight!

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Holy Canolis!

Hello Friends,
Today, the Stew Staff stumbled upon the cutest thing to have ever graced our eyes, and its name...I mean his name, is Khagendra Thapa Magar...shockingly the same name I planned on giving my son before his mother stepped in and named him Bryce. Damnit. Damnit. Damnit. You know you're setting your child up for failure when you name him Bryce, and if your name is Bryce and your reading this...screw you. Seriously, close this window and don't even think of coming back.

Anyhow, I digress. Back to Khagendra. Khagendra is fifteen years old in this picture and...he's totally awesome. His favorite activity He's not making this easy on himself. He wears awesome novelty sweaters...but he doesn't know that the first three letters of the alphabet on his sweater are incorrect in order...Nepal's education system is ranked 196 in the world...and there are only 195 countries. Things Khagendra is good at: fitting into small places, being an angel, wearing tiny clothes, and the Stew Staff has noted he has the perfect framework for a tap dancer. Beautiful bone structure. Later Gator,


Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Voices of Reason!

"Smoking kills. If you're killed, you've lost a very important part of your life."
-Brooke Shields

Whoa, shut the hell up Ms. Shields.

Voices of Reason!

P.S. Return my calls...I love you.

Monday, October 19, 2009

1 Tip to a Flat Belly

Admit that you don't have a glandular disorder

The ridicule you will endure for being a disgusting FATTY will give you the motivation to get on the damn treadmill.

Love you, popkin,

Thursday, August 13, 2009

The G stands for god.

Just wanted to let you know, if you still care, we still care.
The Stew Staff.