The Mysterious Dogsnake


Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster, the Chupacabra. For years, people have searched for the mysterious and elusive animals that roam the shadows of the world, hoping to cast a fleeting glimpse of these magnificent beasts.

But the most mysterious creature of them all is not well known. You won’t find its picture on the news or tee-shirts and it doesn’t have legions of fans. You see, this animal hides so well, people don’t have the chance to catch tantalizing glimpses or take blurry photographs. The animal is the dogsnake and it deserves much more recognition than it gets.

The big shots like Nessie and Bigfoot aren’t as shy as they make out to be. For all their shunning of the spotlight, they spend an awful lot of time mugging for the camera. They show themselves just enough so people keep looking for them. It’s all a carefully cultivated bid at fame, an act if you will. They aren’t anymore mysterious than a gopher. They thrive on the fame they create.

Dogsnakes, on the other hand, are truly mysterious. These creatures don’t slowly saunter up to people, only to zoom away once a blurry picture has been taken. They truly hide from the world and because of that we have very little information about their appearance or habits.

I managed to find only one photo of a dogsnake during my research and while it’s as blurry as you’d expect from such a mysterious creature, you can still make out its obvious dog and snake characteristics.

From what little information I’ve been able to gather, dogsnakes enjoy grassy areas. The rest of my theories on dogsnakes are all conjecture, but I’m sure that when these creatures are finally caught and studied, most of my theories will be found to be true.

Since dogsnakes are both dog and snakes, they will have traits of both. They will neither bark or hiss, but perform a sort of bark-hiss that probably sounds like a dog barking while biting through an air hose. Since their body is that of a snake, they will eat small rodents and other such animals. But since their brain is that of a dogs, they will also crave milk-bones and table scraps.

Dogsnakes most likely enjoy a good game of fetch, even though their ability to jump up and catch the ball is hindered by their lack of legs. They probably enjoy a nice scratch behind the ears and belly rub as well, although the belly rub part may be off-putting to some people.

Their dog brains will allow them to be trained, but some tricks won’t be suitable because of their snake body. A bit of creativity is in order to modify common tricks that may be an issue. Instead of rollover, try coil and instead of give me a paw, try give me a tail. Of course, since dogsnakes are very hard to find, you most likely won’t be able to get close enough to one to train it.

And the reason that dogsnakes are so mysterious and elusive is that they’re too busy being dogsnakes to care about people. Dogsnakes don’t care for the trivial lives of humans. They only care about the open road – or grassy field – and the wind in their hair as they slither off into the sunset.

But don’t fret. There will be a time when human and dogsnakes will live together in harmony. Their dog brains are wired to be pets, so all we have to do is catch a few to get them to warm up to us. I’ve been developing a plan to catch a dogsnake and I think it might work.

First, I’m going to tie a milk-bone to a mouse and train it to search out a dogsnake and lure it to a small tiger pit that will be cleverly disguised with discarded newspapers. The weight of the dogsnake will collapse the newspaper, sending it hurtling down onto a layer of soft pillows. If the dogsnake is not allergic to duck down, everything should work out perfectly.

Here’s to the mysterious dogsnake! May it slither into the hearts of people everywhere!

Help! I’ve turned into Justin Bieber!


Yesterday, I was out searching the sidewalks for candy wrappers so I could make a new candy wrapper vest. At first it was just a normal day, but things started to get weird when I met a woman in an alley. She wore a purple tee-shirt with Justin Bieber’s face on it and was crouched on the ground like a puma about to strike.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

She just screamed “Beliebe!” and leapt at me, then started biting my neck. I pulled her off and ran out of the alley and didn’t stop running until I got back home.

I checked my neck in the bathroom mirror and found a bit of blood and teeth marks, oddly shaped like Canada. I slapped a bandage on it and went about my day, sorting and sewing my candy wrapper vest.

All throughout the day, I found myself singing pop songs and craving the screams of pre-teen girls. After several hours of this, I blacked out and woke up in my bed, as if nothing had happened. It was just another strange dream caused by too much beer and random pills I mistook for vitamins.

I headed into the bathroom and checked myself in the mirror again. The bandage was still there, but it wasn’t much of a concern. My hair had turned in the night from red to blondish brown and it stood up like some sort of fluffy porcupine. And my face had grown longer and more boyish.

There was no doubt about it: I had become Justin Bieber. My cravings grew as I stared into the mirror, the urge to sing, the urge to post selfies on Instagram, the urge to get a DUI. I’m now convinced that Justin Bieber is just a series of vampires, turned by ravenous fans mind controlled to make more Biebers when the current one wears out.

If I’m not able to return to normal, I might have to hire someone to slay me. But that’s going to be a problem. I know with regular vampires, you can use sunlight or a stake to the heart. But how you do you kill a Bieber?

Note:

This may still actually be a strange dream caused by too much beer and random pills I mistook for vitamins. I’ve blogged under the influence before.

Ever wished you could wear a cow fetus shirt? You’re in luck!


It’s now possible to show your love of the next collecting craze that should hit the world, if the world ever wises up and realizes that cow fetuses are the hippest, coolest, most fashionable objects in history.

So head over and grab yourself a cow fetus shirt. They come in two versions:

Black and white

 

 Cowfetuslogo3Realistic cow fetus colors

So  head over to http://www.zazzle.com/carjohnsonstuff and show the world that cow fetus collecting is hip and rad and whatever slang is relevant to today’s youth!*

 

*Note from Car’s handler:

These products will not actually show anyone that cow fetus collecting is cool. They were created for humor purposes as props for Car’s blog post and should only be worn by people who want to start awkward conversations with family and friends.

 

What Not to Do at a Funeral


The proper etiquette of attending a funeral can be confusing, so I’ve made a handy list of several things you should avoid doing when honoring a loved one.

What Not to Do at a Funeral

  1. Do not come dressed in sweats, pajamas or any type of bunny suit.
  2. Do not offer to say something about the deceased and then use your time in front of the mic to practice your standup routine.
  3. Do not throw your voice and make it seem like there’s a tiny “Help me, help me,” coming from the casket.
  4. Do not climb onto the casket and reenact Leonardo DiCaprio’s “King of the world” scene from Titanic.
  5. Do not take out your cellphone and play the song “Baby Got Back” because you feel it would be a better soundtrack than the piano they have playing.
  6. Do not eat your lunch during the service, then toss your trash in the casket, even if the deceased was really passionate about recycling.
  7. Do not attempt to preform your own cremation service with a bottle of brandy and a blowtorch.
  8. Do not toss coins in the hole after the coffin is lowered down. It’s wishing well, not wishing grave.
  9. Do not toss up clay pigeons if there is a 21 gun salute.
  10. Do not open the casket, pull the body out and attempt to use it like a ventriloquist dummy.

Of course, I am exempt from these, since I can and have pulled off all of the things on this list. But it takes a certain type of charisma to buck social trends, which is why I recommend that most people play it safe when it comes to serious life events such as funerals.

Show your support for cow fetus collecting


I wish more people would collect cow fetuses. They’re the perfect pets, forever preserved in their little jars, always ready to listen and never ready to judge, even if they smell of formaldehyde and look like something out of a mad scientist’s lab. If you look past all that, you can see their playful nature, or at least the playful nature they would have if they weren’t stuck in a jar. It just takes a bit of imagination.

So, I’ve made a petition to spread the word about cow fetus collecting and allow people to show their support.

http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/show-your-support-for-cow-fetus-collecting

So please, sign my petition and let the world know that you stand with cow fetus collecting. And if you haven’t become a collector yet, please consider it. Cow fetuses are great friends and will be preserved forever, never to grow old or run away or sneak off to join the circus.

A Tale of Two Toys – an epic adventure of love and plastic


I’ve decided to post a photo tale I’ve been working on for a while. I got the idea after an earthquake knocked down a box of my old toys. It also knocked a bowling ball on my head, which caused the sight of my toys to mix with my slight concussion into an idea.

This is the result of that initial idea and two month of planning. It’s a story about two action figures who fall in love and face the dangers of the wild world of plastic. I call it:

A Tale of Two Toys – an epic adventure of love and plastic

This day is perfect! Nothing could possibly go wrong.

Obi-Wan and Zartan loved each other as much as molded pieces of plastic could, which was surprisingly quite a bit.

Check out my plastic abs!

They loved each other even though Zartan had sleeves but no shirt…

Eat hand hole, sucka!

And Obi-Wan had a hole where his light saber should be.

If only my arms could bend. I’d do a million pushups and be able to pick my own nose.

But they had each other. They’d spend hours just sitting together, with Zartan putting his arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Obi-Wan kept his arms to his sides, not because he was a rigid jerk, but because his arms didn’t have functional elbows.

Greetings fellow toys! I’m not evil, honest!

One day while they were sitting in roughly the same position and in front of the same black background they always seemed to choose to sit, they were greeted by a mutant meerkat thing. Nothing good could come of this.That creepy smile has to be hiding something sinister.

The hand hole, it does nothing!

The meerkat wasted no time in attacking Obi-Wan and Zartan. Obi-Wan tried to fight back with his hand hole, but he was quickly overpowered.

This way to certain doom! Next stop, Milwaukee!

The meerkat grabbed Obi-Wan and Zartan and dragged them off to certain doom.

I bring you sparkles and eternal damnation!

Certain doom turned out to be a giant elf/Santa/fairy thing, otherwise known as, “What the hell is that?” The meerkat was just a minion of this greater evil.

Oh, I just love tormenting the innocent.

The elf/Santa/fairy grabbed Obi-Wan in her evil claws of pink doom.

Yum yum!

The elf/santa/fairy picked up Zartan as well and prepared to devour them both. Obi-Wan and Zartan braced for their fate, but then they realized something… something that would be their salvation…

Oh poo.

They were plastic and could not be eaten, especially by a creature with a painted on mouth. The elf/Santa/fairy realized this as well and dropped them back down. She then wandered off to find some young child to traumatize.

Punchy punchy!

Now that the danger had passed, Zartan punched the meerkat in the face. He did this partly because of the previous kidnapping, but mostly because he was a bit of a jerk and liked beating people up.

You’re the action to my figure, man.

After that, Obi-Wan and Zartan went back to doing what they always did; sitting next to each other in front of a nondescript black background.

 

Recipe: Lemonade Beanmallow Casserole


Here’s a recipe that my mother invented after wanting to combine dinner with dessert and a drink. The only way I can describe this wonderful masterpiece is that it’s like a bean burrito, a marshmallow pie and a glass of lemonade broke into your mouth and trashed the place like drunken hockey players.

Most people seem to think my mother’s cooking is a little “odd,” but that’s just because they’re still stuck in culinary shackles that puts flavors and ingredients into neat little boxes. Be brave and allow yourself to experience the joy of Lemonade Beanmallow Casserole.

Lemonade Beanmallow Casserole

1 can of re-fried beans

1 can of salsa

2 cups of marshmallow fluff

1 package of lemonade powder

1 cup water

 

Directions:

Mix beans, salsa and marshmallow fluff in a microwave safe bowl. Microwave covered for five minutes. Add lemonade powder and water, then stir briskly for one minute. Serve in a bowl.

This hearty meal will be the highlight of any dinner, at least it is whenever Mother serves it during family get-togethers. Try it out and I’m sure you won’t be disappointed!

My Confession


I have said many times that I am a fictional character in The Life and Times of Car Johnson. That was a lie. I am a real person. My author, Rebekah Webb is the fictional character. I created her to help sell my memoir, since I figured it would sell better as fiction.

But it’s not fiction. Every bit of my tale is true, even the parts that involve a flamethrower to the face and giant beehives made out of old candle wax. I really am a strange man who enjoys collecting cow fetuses, singing country music and attempting business ideas involving toy graveyards and philosophical board games with added pandas.

Miss Webb is just a construct, like those cardboard cutouts of superheroes. I found her picture in a frame I bought and I crafted her personality from various sitcoms and random letters to the editor of a local paper. Then I made her a Facebook page and Twitter account and posted on them as if she was real.

I gave her a complete life, right down to her attempts to be a horror writer. I even published work under her name, work I cobbled together with novel generation software my friend Roy invented. In fact, everything she has ever written online was actually produced with this software.

But things have gotten out of hand. I’ve been spending so much time creating a life for her, that I’ve stopped creating one for myself. So, from now on, Rebekah Webb will be a thing of the past. I will take her name off my book and erase her completely from the internet. I am sorry if you enjoyed anything she “wrote” and feel betrayed that she was just a string of computer generated characters.

Goodbye, Rebekah Webb. You were a wonderful friend, but now is the time to give up such illusions and be the cow fetus loving, cellophane short wearing man I’ve always been, with no barriers between me and the world at large.

You will never look at candy the same way again.


I’ve long harbored suspicions that candy is not as sweet and innocent as it would lead us to believe. That’s why I did some investigative journalism on the secret lives of sugary treats. At first, I couldn’t find any proof, no matter how many times I interrogated candy bars, or threatened their pinata informants at my young cousin’s birthday parties. I even camped out in the candy section of the grocery store to attempt to catch them off guard.

Just when I was about to give up, I received shocking photos from an anonymous source. These photos are proof that candy is up to no good. The photos only show marshmallow bunnies and chocolate, but I am sure that this applies to all candy. Hopefully my source will provide me with a larger variety of candy secrets in the future.

Here are the photos. Be warned, you will never look at candy the same way again.

How chocolate is really made.

Candy bunnies have the same needs as regular bunnies.

A rare shot of candy birth.

Marshmallow bunny indulging in his own chocolate waste.

They also eat their own kind!

So there you have it. Candy is not a foodstuff, but a group of sentient cannibalistic creatures that are no doubt plotting our demise. They are a sugar coated lie, one that we swallow down with a smile on our faces. Except for chocolate. Chocolate is just candy poop and poop doesn’t have a mind of its own.

There is only one thing we can do:

Eat more candy. Candy can’t plot anything if its dissolved with stomach acid. Their whole scheme rests on us hording them in pillowcases on Halloween or baskets on Easter. The moment you get your hands on candy, eat it! The only good candy is an eaten candy and we should not rest until all candy is devoured on sight.

Saint Patrick’s Day recipe for getting drunk and dry humping statues


My Saint Patrick’s Day recipe:

  1. Buy a six-pack of Guinness.
  2. Take home.
  3. Drink.
  4. Dress all in green.
  5. Stagger to the local bar.
  6. Order a dozen pints of Guinness.
  7. Drink them all yourself.
  8. Scream “Kiss me, I’m Irish!”
  9. Dance on the table and toss paper shamrocks at people’s heads.
  10. Get kicked out.
  11. Head to another bar.
  12. Buy another dozen pints of Guinness.
  13. Pretend to offer them to people, but drink them all yourself.
  14. Run out into the street and strip down to your green undies.
  15. Dry hump a statue.
  16. Wrap your arms around a mailbox and shout, “I’m a leprechaun and this is my pot of gold!”
  17. Run and hide from the police.
  18. Pass out while hiding in the crawl space under a stranger’s house.
  19. Wake up and sneak back home.
  20. Call in sick to work.
  21. Sleep off hangover.

With this recipe, you will have the best St. Patrick’s day ever. Unless you end up arrested or dying from alcohol poisoning. If you end up arrested or dead, please contact me so I can get accurate statistics of the risk rates of my recipe and can warn people accordingly. Contacting me while dead might be a bit of a problem, so I’ll have a Ouija board standing by.