The Belligerent Years
Renewal
Posted by RZ
Feb 15, 2010 at 10:26 am
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The end of February marks the end of the second year of thebelligerentyears.com. I know this because I just had to renew my domain name. I think that’s a good enough reason to start trying to post more frequently.

Tim Heidecker was posting photoshops of movie posters manipulated to add comedy genius Garry Shandling. I sent a few, but as of today they have not been added to the feed. Here they are.

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Guess who’s learning Photoshop?
Posted by RZ
May 26, 2009 at 9:12 pm
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In the Event of My Death at Disneyland: a Supplemental Last Will and Testament
Posted by thebelligerentyears
Sep 15, 2008 at 8:43 pm
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Photobucket

This is to be considered a supplement to my final will and testament, only to be enacted on the occasion of my accidental death at Disneyland.  This will makes the assumption that my death is caused be negligence on the park of Disneyland and not my own.  This will also assumes a rather large cash settlement to my estate.

  1. I hereby bequeath 10,000 dollars to graffiti artists for the sole purpose of spray painting penises or penis-like shapes on to city bus billboards.  It should be the artist’s intent to try to draw the penises near pictures of open mouths, whenever possible.  I will make no restrictions on the color, size or girth of the penises, as long as the image can be identified as one. Extra monies are to be earmarked for penises drawn near sportscaster’s mouths.
  2. I hereby bequeath 20,000 worth of laser treatments to any persons who received a Star Wars prequel character tattoo, before seeing the film of its origin.  Tattoos of  Aurra Sing or Shmi Skywalker take precedence over ones of Jar Jar Binks, unless the Jar Jar tattoo appears on the face, hands, or breasts.
  3. I hereby bequeath 100,000 dollars to build a public park, to be named “Shitty Park”.  After its completion, Shitty Park will not be maintained or improved.  It should be available to residents 24/7 364 days a year.  Shitty Park’s fixtures should be roughly assembled and easy to dismantle and large enough to temporarily shield criminal activity.  On the one day a year that Shitty Park is not open, it will be set aflame.
  4. I hereby request that my body be cremated in a Viking-style funeral on one of the rafts to Tom Sawyer’s Island.  This is to occur after dusk, but so soon after dusk that visitors to the park will not have a chance to finish their smoked turkey leg, before the smell of burning human remains wafts through Frontier-land.



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The “Little Golden Books” You Were Never Supposed to See #6
Posted by thebelligerentyears
Jul 24, 2008 at 10:15 pm
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The “Little Golden Books” You Were Never Supposed to See #5
Posted by thebelligerentyears
Jul 24, 2008 at 10:14 pm
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The “Little Golden Books” You Were Never Supposed to See #4
Posted by thebelligerentyears
Jul 24, 2008 at 10:13 pm
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Chuck Palahniuk Writes a Children’s Story (Idea by J. Strathman, who will not be paid)
Posted by thebelligerentyears
May 7, 2008 at 7:13 pm
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The playfield is hot. It is hot like a booger-filled toaster pastry. I straddle the teeter-totter and the wood feels super-heated between my legs. The warmth radiates through my hips and up to my tummy, like tendrils scooping me up and carrying me above the playfield. I kick out my legs and send myself soaring into the air.

Flash.

Hot pain shoots up my inner thigh, as I realize that an inch-long splinter has plunged into my pale, hairless flesh.

Laugh.

Susie Stringfellow is laughing at me. My face feels warm, warmer than where the splinter has entered my flesh. She always laughs at me-never with me. I love her. I lust her. She’ll show any guy her panties for a handful of brownie bites, her boobies for the whole bag, but I can’t stop thinking of her. Her laughter scalds my face. I begin to melt.

When I reach the nadir of the teeter-totter, I let my body fall backwards, sending Joe Wessel, my tottering partner, falling back to the earth with a crash. He cries out, grabbing his groin. The children laugh. I don’t feel bad. He tells anyone who will listen that he wants to be a girl when he grows up. I just helped him along. He cries out to the playground attendant, but the old dyke is too busy watching the Hunt twins going down the wide mouth slide, arms interlocked, hip to hip. I can almost see a droplet of saliva on her chin, like a dog waiting for its supper.

I pull the splinter from my leg and a squirt of blood lands on my hand. I taste it. It is salty. My leg throbs. I wonder about all the germs embedded on that splinter of wood, and picture myself in a hospital bed, dying of a mystery infection rampaging through my body.

I see David Turk near the soccer goal. He sells half caps of his Ritalin for five bucks a throw, but he has always hooked me up, because when played hospital, I let him be the doctor. He owes me and he knows it. A dose of the Rit would take the edge off the pain in my leg and maybe even drown out Suzie’s laughter for the rest of the afternoon. I have to get to him fast. The recess bell is going to ring any second, and I don’t want to get stuck snorting a pixie stick before class.

Not again.



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The “Little Golden Books” You Were Never Supposed to See #3
Posted by thebelligerentyears
May 1, 2008 at 7:03 pm
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The “Little Golden Books” You Were Never Supposed to See #2
Posted by thebelligerentyears
Apr 28, 2008 at 8:40 pm
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The “Little Golden Books” You Were Never Supposed to See #1
Posted by thebelligerentyears
Apr 23, 2008 at 1:04 am
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