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Monday, November 1, 2010
Announcing the 'Post Hipster Movement'
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Sorry I've Been Away, I'll Post Some Nude Pics of Chowda Later...
Saturday, February 20, 2010
The Talk
"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,
Foxy
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Explosions: The Silent Killer
-Socrates
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,
-Foxy
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Eating In Africa
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,
Foxy
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Swine Flu Update: Tracing the Problem to the Source
SWINE FLU PANDEMIC-
"Don't Lick Those Handrails, Jimmy", said President Obama to Jimmy.
CNN Reports:
Monday, November 16, 2009
Texting During the Holocaust
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: lol....you n00bz are all the same.
texter1: Well hey, at least we still have Hollywood!
texter2: yeah...yeah we still have Hollywood.
Super Bueno, 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.
Heartbroken,
Chiko
Dinner Language Etiquette for Dummies and Negros
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
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.Bubba Barbies
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Holy Canolis!
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 is...basketball. 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,
Foxy
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Voices of Reason!
-Brooke Shields
Whoa, shut the hell up Ms. Shields.
-Ghandi
Voices of Reason!
Foxy
P.S. Return my calls...I love you.
Monday, October 19, 2009
1 Tip to a Flat Belly
The ridicule you will endure for being a disgusting FATTY will give you the motivation to get on the damn treadmill.
Love you, popkin,
-foxy
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Meet Jim Everybody!

Your hair looks like tickles!
Anyhow, Jim recently discovered he has been living an incredibly materialistic life. How did he come to this conclusion? He found himself thinking of his couch while he was humping his mattress. Bad Business Jim. Bad Business. Even I could have given my mattress all my attention. But that's all behind him now! He said no to his life of the materialistic and said "hey there sugar tits" to a life of calm, tranquility, and inner lucidity. That's correct, he became a Peruvian monk with a no nonsense attitude. Shall we say a picture utters more words than words do?
Say Hello Peruvian Jim!
Whoa there buddy! Nice Colour! The sun has served you bountifully!
But you better stop eating the rice down there, I wouldn't want you looking too good!
Well that's Jim's story, what's yours maggot? Send it to Pigeonstew@gmail.com , and maybe we will encourage your writing escapades, or maybe I'll never check my email. It's a toss up.
Maziltov!
-Foxy
P.S. Until next time, ponder this,
World War One?
or World War Fun?
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Chuggo, Our Friend and Partner
It's me...Foxy. Recently, Chowda and I have begun to settle down, relax, and enjoy the finer things in life in a more refined style. These things include two main sections:
1) Golden Brown Spam Roll Crescents
2) Chuggo's eloquent word weavery.
Now, for those of you who are not familiar with Chuggo, stop reading now, because once you hear his voice, you will never be able to avert your eyes from his. Whether it be capturing our hearts through his magniloquent staff, his fervid features, or his poignant conjecture on the meaning of life, each individual who sees his face immediately knows he is their soul mate. Not only does his highfalutin disposition reak of confidence, but his clothing also reaks of OldSpice. In my opinion, the only thing that could make OldSpice better, is a highfalutin disposition.
Chuggo's real name is Archibald Farley, and he is of Prussian descent. His interests include diamonds.
If you want to here his sweet tunes look no further. It's right here.
Or if you want to see his website visit www.stevewilkos.com
Keep Expanding your Horizons,
-Foxy
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Martin Luther King Jr.
Foxy Reporting. Sorry about my absense, I'm just so Goddamned famous. Anyways, I recently got to talk to Martin Luther King Jr. from beyond the grave. Yeah, it was good I guess. I asked him some very poignant questions that I knew you would all enjoy!
Q: If you had a girlfriend, what would your pet name be?
A: I cover her face in Mountain Dew and call her Dewbacca.
Q: Do you have a nickname for your penis?
A: Yes.
Q: Favorite Candy?
A: Lambchops.
Q: What is your nickname for your penis?
A: Snickers. As in the chocolate bar. Yeah. Hungry? Grab Snickers.
Foxy: Well Martin, surprisingly, thats all I have to ask! It's really been an honour ma brotha', and hopefully we will be homies fo' sho', flo.
This is where Foxy's name will be remembered forever in the pages of history, one quote, from Martin Luther King Jr.
"Fuck you Foxy, You ain't no nigga, wonderbread, motha' fuckin' saltine cracka'"
-Martin Luther King Jr.
Truly an outstanding man, and an outstanding lover. Fare thee well Martin, and thankyou for setting me straight by calling me 'wonderbread' and 'cracka'.
Enjoy that, it's fresh
Your Blossom Bum,
-Foxy
Sometimes Diverse Is An Understatement...
Here is the scoop:
All your questions shall be answered on this night. I have been receiving hundreds of emails, per hour, from you, the viewers. These emails are delightful and very intelligent, not to mention your Byootifull ability to misspell more frequently than we do. Of course you are probably assuming that most of these emails are January showers of praise and invitations to act in dirty ways (you have no clue how many grandma's want me to help them plant daffodils and how many sexy girls don't talk to us). You are too right, But more importantly you have been asking about who it is that runs this site, our employees that is. So I've decided to reveal the life and times of a valued member of the team. He is also straight. Hmprh.
The Life and Times of: Señor Chiko, The Mexican Who Can't Speak American.
Chiko Rodriguez Lorenzo Rodriguez Shaquille Harrison is a 32 year old hairy male who resides in Essex, Ontario during the summer months, picking tomatoes and doing random freelance work during his spare time. The rest of the time Chiko spends his in his home land of, you guessed it, Purple Seal, North West Territories. Chiko also owns property in Milan but he doesn't like it that much. Chiko is a third generation Latino-Canadian of the Great White North. His ancestor, Maria Rodriguez Sanchez, arrived there after she was left for dead by the rich American gold prospectors who brought her along to clean his tent. And by tent we mean penis. Chiko's mother was a pro-stitute.
The reason she was left was because the prospector had cheated on his wife with Maria and did not want to be given a dirty look by his priest. Of course for the sake of cliché Maria was pregnant with his baby triplets (yep, hold on tight cause there is more where that came from.) Two babies were eaten by the third while in the whom, thus creating Jenny Craig Rodriquez Harrison, of course the Craig Harrison was named after her father. Jenny Craig lived a modest Inuit lifestyle after moving to the North West Territories with her mother, a successful attempt to escape the Ice Dragons of the North, (scary shit, long story, maybe another time, but not if you keep up that attitude mister) One fateful night Jenny went to a bar where travelers often go for sex, aka a brothel, she went to relax. That's when she saw him, Rodney Shaquille. He was the most oddly coloured man of 45 she had ever seen in her life. He was a lightish brown, not quite white, not quite black and certainly not Indian, but definately a homosexual. Of course curiosity got the best of her, and Rodney had never experienced love making with a woman so he was down for anything. He left to return to his work as a subway ticket vendor in a poor part of Toronto, as he was in the north as a result of a prank pulled on him by his white friends. Of COURSE, 9 months later (I told you there was more, and there is even more of more to come,) A young boy was born. Jenny named her son Chiko Rodriguez Lerenzo Sanchez Shaquille Harisson.
Growing up Chiko was teased by many of the Inuit children for his very mixed, very homosexual, yet native lacking heritage. He was called many names such as Jerk, Idiot, Narwhal Fucker and of course, on account of his Black Mexican ancestry and unfortunate partial last name, "Dirty Sanchez" (he was also called Jew, which is unrelated because he wasn't jewish it was just a good name to call him). This teasing caused him to abandon the family name and replace it with a second Rodriguez.
After a long, abused childhood, full of alcoholism, paint, gas, and baby huffing and no female contact, Chiko made his way to Essex County to make a new life picking tomatoes in the tomato capital of the world: Leamington. Us at the Pigeon Stew found his ad in the "Classified" section of the Essex Voice, next to the escort service ads. It read "Wilin to doo any extra werk at all."
Foxy, who was getting way too famous and had recently discovered masturbation, had a lot to do, and I am an artiste, so we figured, "hey, this dude could work!" and we hired him on the spot. We pay him in Carling brand beer and house him in a box by the high school. He is quite thankful, and is actually sweeping the grass off the summer snow covered side walk out front our house. He's wearing a white Def Leopard Shirt and white paint covered pants (the paint is from when he painted my deck, not art,) He looks ridiculous! Hahaha those zany mixed mexican homosexuals...when will they learn?!
Oh and P.S. Chiko is completely white, skin that is. He got the white genes from his dad. He does have a good mexicano moustache though. And the moral of the story is that homosexuality is genetic.
Enlightened? Yeah...that's what that feeling is.
Love, Chowda Chops.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Hope No One Sues Us
It may seem that us at PigeonStew are seeming to get lazy lately, particularly with our regular witty posts. Well you seem to be seeming quite seemingly wrong! We 've been busy making PigeonStew Products! Some books written by Chico, Milk names PigeonMoo, PigeonGlue, well, you get the idea! And with this exam season, we have been forced to be out sleeping with our teachers on top of our vigorous work! Mr. Masterson happens to be incredibly sensual (Thats Gary Masterson for those of you who don't know him, but something tells me everyone does).
Anyhow, in order to make up for our lack of attention to our grand total of 347, 589,294 viewers We have a tasty little tidbit for you!
YUP! Believe what you've heard! That's it, a possibly consistant segment all about the drunken escapades of our dear alienesque friend Earl, no relation to the character played by Jason Lee on that NBC t.v. show that apparantly tanked recently.
Hope your weiner is as hard in excitement as your sisters breasts were moist when I covered her accidentally in Fruitopia...some call it accidental arousal, I call it fate. Like newly levened bread with marmalade, or lynchings and mississippi, breasts and fruitopia were simply made for eachother!
Your Pants are too Tight,
Love,
CHOWDA CHOPS!

