You’ll Be Resurrected

By The Delerious Advertisement Agency

Dear Reader:

I regret to inform you that you’ve been mauled to death by a rabid gorilla-bear. Your death was horrifying, violent, and humiliating.

Luckily the paramedics were able to upload your brain-scan into our cloud storage servers. You’re in digital limbo.

Now you’re in queue for biological resurrection, and we’re ready to make a new body for you (“re-spawning,” for you gamer nerds out there LoL). Of course, we’re not legally allowed to resurrect you without your explicit permission. And we’re legally obliged to make some things clear to you.

We’re obliged to explain that our resurrection-bodies are not regular human bodies. They’re genetically enhanced! Which is totally awesome, right?

For example, you’ll be built with a constant craving for hamburgers. Nothing else will satisfy your hunger, except for the juicy burgers produced by our clients. As an advertising agency we try to create demand for our clients’ products. And you have to admit that the resurrection program is a delicious way to save lives!

Secondly, you’ll have a constant craving for cigarettes. Don’t worry though, they won’t cause cancer. In fact, smoking cigarettes will be the only way to avoid cancer! Let me clarify: we’ve designed your new body so it will develop cancer if you don’t smoke our clients’ cigarettes.

Thirdly, you will be required to do twenty hours of community service for our clients every week. Community service means things like working as a cashier at our clients’ retail outlets, or working on a production line at our clients’ factories. It’s a small price to pay for being alive, right?

Aside from those things you’ll have a pretty normal life. Of course, you’ll pass on your genetic enhancements to your kids. It’s called evolution. It’s a good thing!

Now you have to decide: do you want these enhancements or not?

You’re totally allowed to say NO to these upgrades, in which case your file will simply be deleted and you’ll be dead forever.

Do you agree to the terms and conditions of your resurrection?




Posted in A Message from our Sponsors, Money and Business, Murder, Self-Help | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Travel Blog: The Unconscious

by Shirley Mangle

So there I was, clumsily piloting a stolen space-helicopter toward Saturn’s moon Titan, when Hell slowly broke loose.

Firstly, I was daydreaming about the exotic landscape of the distant satellite. Using hi-tech equipment to see the landscape through the foggy atmosphere, my dream-self flew over poisonous oceans and sparkling mountains.

“Hello Shirley,” a deep voice said beside me, snapping me out of my reverie. I looked and saw a hulking Gorilla Bear sitting beside me wearing pink panties and a curly blonde wig. I always lose my composure around Gorilla Bears. No human man could ever be as hunky, nor human ravages as satisfying, as their Gorilla Bear counterparts.

“How did you get in here?” I squeaked, shaking the helicopter around in my nervousness.

“We cannot allow you to visit Saturn’s moon,” he said, but he was staring at my chest which was squeezed into my tight, red latex suit. “Nobody may visit.”

I was getting flustered. I almost felt like giving in, giving up on my important expedition for answers. But then I thought about the amazing travel-blog I could make about visiting Titan. I couldn’t give up on that opportunity.

“Fuck you, Gorilla Bear!” I yelled. “I’m going to visit Titan, whether you like it or not! What are you trying to hide?”

“I’ll show you,” my sexy visitor said. He reached into his panties and pulled out an old-style timepiece. He opened it. The hands ticked between jagged, alien numbers, making a sludgy sound with each tick.

I gasped. “An alien clock!”

“Time for alien hypnosis!” he said as I stared at the ticking hands, the clock swinging back and forth on its golden chain.

Suddenly I saw my own face in my peripheral vision. My peripheral face was mouthing words I couldn’t hear. I tried to read her lips (so luscious and inviting), but she stayed at the edge of my vision.

I felt my brain falling through a colourful space, turning to liquid, radiating and absorbing feelings and ideas as I achieved a two-way information link with the universe. I saw my arm float away and I tried to move it, but I could not. My body, my amazing body drifted away from me. I wanted to touch it and kiss it, but I could not.

The face of a Gorilla Bear appeared in the vivid sky and said, “Shirley Mangle, welcome to the magical world of nothingness. We have used our psycho-magic to pull your mind inside itself, where you are now trapped forever. You should have kept away from Titan!”

The face disappeared and I was left tumbling bodiless through my spectrum of pastel colours. Fear, joy, and excitement rose and fell like buoys on a chemical-emotional ocean wave. I saw my thoughts flowing forth from an invisible universe, felt my feelings as drug-shots from an unseen puppeteer from outside the cave (I am the cave and the puppeteer and the audience).

I could see nothing now except the inside of myself. No more body. So I just relaxed and let my mind drip down into itself. My sixth sense, a self-sense, sensing only itself with no further input.

So in the end I highly recommend taking a similar permanent trip inside your unconscious mind, unless you have things to do on Earth.

Goodbye forever!

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God Created the Universe to Battle Other Universes

by Reverend Drugs

Each galaxy will be consumed by the intelligent life forms which grow within it. Each galaxy will form into an intelligent super-galaxy and they will all fight each other. The winners consume the losers until our entire universe is a super-warrior, built from all the galaxies combined!

Our super-warrior universe will travel through physics to combat other universes. Again, the winners consume the losers.

Each different kind of physics will have multiple universes, all fighting each other. Physics versus physics. There is an infinite variety of different physics, so the fighting goes on forever.

When the winners consume the losers they are also changed by them, so the entire infinite spectrum of universe-warriors is constantly changing and evolving as it consumes itself.

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Kidney Swap

by Kelsey McTetragrammaton

Are you looking for a new way to spice up your lovelife?

My wife and I used to go to swingers clubs and key parties, looking for new thrills and fancy excitement. But there’s a new fad that’s making sexual encounters seem blase.

We go to kidney parties now, where we pair-off with other couples to swap internal organs. If you think swapping body fluids is intimate, try swapping body parts!

Make sure you have a couple good surgeons and all the right equipment, but check your inhibitions at the door. Recreational heart-transplants are not for the… faint of heart. I’ve traded livers, kidneys, even bone segments! My wife has traded just as often. When I make love to her now, it’s like I’m having an orgy with five people in one! She once told me, “I wish you could feel how good you are in bed!” So we’re going to try brain-transplants next, for a totally new experience.

So if you get invited to one of these trendy new gatherings, I suggest you give it a whirl. Or maybe you want to start your own. Otherwise you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering, “What if?”

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Now Hiring!!

by Management

The Sick Blog of Lies is looking to expand its team as we venture forth into the ever-changing digital world.

Our team has two new positions available. We need one Zero-Gravity Choreographer, and we need one Priest.

Zero-Gravity Choreographer:

We need a dynamic individual who can take our complicated dance routines into orbit.

Necessary Qualifications:

-Degree in Advanced Aeronautics
-Fluent in English and Russian
-Professional experience as a choreographer
-Safety Shoes
-Drivers License
-Computer Savvy

Duties include cooking pasta, emptying ashtrays, cleaning up poop, reading bedtime stories, doing foot-massages, killing bad guys, and choreographing complex dance routines in outer-space.


We’re looking for a pious, humble priest with a genuine concern for the spiritual well-being of our employees.

Necessary Qualifications:

-Must own a Bible
-Safety Shoes
-Well-versed in the occult and demon-numerology
-Preferably not Catholic
-Experience with Vampires an asset

Duties include performing exorcisms, marriages, witch-tests, witch-burnings, killing bad guys, cooking pasta, documenting the spiritual growth of other employees, forging deals with other-worldly beings, exploring magical phenomena, gleaning insight into hidden aspects of the world and documenting those discoveries for the benefit of the Sick Blog of Lies, answering mysterious questions from mysterious people, performing funerals, over-seeing cardgames, drawing pictures.

For anybody interesting in one of these exciting careers, submit a resume, cover-letter and essay to the address listed below. The cover-letter must explain why you want to join our team, and why we should hire you. The essay must either be about wine, wine-tasting, golf, or Halloween.

Submit to: oegnrn@9htijrt9t9th.xmr

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First Men to Mars

by Nicholas Whistletooth

My tech company made some badass spaceships and I wanted to send some top-notch space-pilots to check out Mars. But I was afraid that the pilots would go crazy during the long flight. Go crazy and murder each other, or build a robot army in space.

So I called my brother and said, “Bro! I need pilots who can hang out in space for a few years without going nuts. Who can handle long periods of boring shit?”

My bro said, “Dude! Stoners just hang out and do nothing all day! Plus, Buddhists and monks just meditate and chant! And plus, maybe you could get some pilots who are already crazy! Can’t hurt em now, right? Put em to good use! Put the crazy fuckers to work!”

So I hired a few monks, a few pot-heads, and some schizophrenic young men. I sent them to pilot school, and I told them what had to be done.

One of the stoners said, “Dude! No chicks? Man, get us some hookers or something.”

So I hired some hookers for the three-year trip. There were some drug addicts among the hookers, so I provided some drugs for the trip. Don’t want them going through withdrawal in space!

So anyway they took off this morning. The launch was awesome. Can’t wait to see how my crew performs on the mission.

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Salt & Pepper Cause Diseases

by Morris Less

International researchers have uncovered alarming new information about the world’s favourite seasonings. Salt and pepper have been linked to a variety of life-threatening diseases, such as male pattern baldness and RBS (Random Boner Syndrome).

In a recent interview with the press, the primary researcher, Phil Appleby from Bangor, Maine, USA stated, “You would be surprised at the connection we found between people who have diseases and people who have used either salt or pepper. When salt is combined with pepper the results can be deadly.”

The study was performed by phoning people and asking them first if they had a deadly disease. If they answered in the affirmative, then the interview proceeded. The interviewees were then asked if they had ever used salt and pepper. 100% of the people interviewed said that they had experimented with salt and pepper at some point in their lives.

“The thing about salt and pepper is that people think of them as vitamins!” said the secondary researcher, Bill Appleby, from Fredericton, New Brunswick, Canada. “But they are most certainly not vitamins! The very idea is ludicrous!”

Strong words from these two international researchers concerning salt and pepper, which until now have been widely recognized as essential nutrients in our daily lives. This reporter, for one, will be seasoning his meals with a little bit of caution and common sense.

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Moon Hotel

by Shirley Mangle

My convalescence ended as abruptly as it began, although I’m afraid (or delighted) that those painkillers (which I abused) will have a permanent effect on my perspective, thought-process, and ability to do math.

Anyway, since I’m not bed-ridden anymore I wanted to do a really adventurous travel-blog. I’ve done volcanoes, rivers, villages, and ski-resorts, but there’s one venue I haven’t blogged about: The Moon! My Greek cousin Milinploxor (I just call her Millie) told me that a company called Travel Nightmare recently opened a hotel on the Moon. So I called their toll-free number and said, “I’m the famous travel-writer Shirley Mangle, and I want to write a blog about your Moon-Hotel!”

The person on the other end of the line sounded like a robot, except a super-seductive robot with a creamy-liquid voice. The robot said, “oooh my… Shirley MANGLE! MMmmmmm… you can stay in our Moon Hotel free of charge. Sexy, sexy, Shirley Mangle! We’ll send a space-helicoptor right to your door sooner than you can undresssss.”

I wasn’t surprised to see that the space-helicopter was piloted by a gorilla-bear, because gorilla-bears are the only species with the dexterity and intelligence to properly control such complex machines. I wore a tight red leather suit with my delicious dirty blonde hair up in a science-fiction hairdo, and I leaped into the back seat of the ‘coptor, saying, “Gorilla Bear! Take me to the moon!”

The gorilla-bear looked back at me with his space-sunglasses, looking over my fine young body, and said, “Miss, I’ll take you anywhere you want.”

As the helicopter left the atmosphere I chatted with the pilot and watched my world disappear below me.

When I got to the Moon Hotel I found that it was pretty fucking boring. There were no other visitors or travellers and they can’t get cable on the moon. Even the internet was super-slow. The manager was the sexy-voiced robot who talked on the phone to me, but he was mechanically incapable of leaving the reception desk. Plus the swimming pool was weird and dangerous, with the low-gravity sloshing all the water around. However, the food was delicious. They had ten flavours of rich, fatty ice cream, plus some of the best blue-cheese hamburgers I ever tasted. I went to visit the chef in the kitchen and, lo and behold, the chef was the same gorilla bear who had piloted the space-helicopter! The only difference was that now he was totally naked! He grinned at me, wearing nothing but a spatula and those sexy space-sunglasses, and said, “I’ve been waiting for you to visit.”

“Looks like this trip isn’t a total bust,” I said, unzipping my red suit. We fell into each others’ embrace and soon we were making a mess all over the kitchen.

Later on, while we relaxed and drank spacewine in the pantry, I heard strange dissonant piano sounds coming from somewhere. “Who’s playing the piano?” I said.

My gorilla bear played with my belly button and said, “Nevermind that, honey. Our love is the only music we need.”

But I was too curious. “As a travel-blogger I have a responsibility to investigate,” I said. So I went totally naked toward the plunking and clinking piano noises. The rythm was odd and it seemed like the performer was avoiding scale altogether. “Sounds like Schoenberg,” I said, “Or Liszt!” I walked out into the lobby and still didn’t see any piano. Looking out through the entrance doors I saw the bleak darkness of the moon’s sky over the deathly gray of the moon’s ancient dirt. On the horizon I could clearly see an antique stand-up piano, but there didn’t seem to be anybody sitting there.

So I took a deep breath and bounced out into the low-grav moonscape, bounding toward the piano. When I got there I saw that there was someone crushed underneath it! His hand was reaching up to hit random notes on the ivory keys while blood poured out from his wounds and compound fractures.

This scene was all to familiar to me, and I sharply recalled the cause of my recent injuries and convalescence. I decided to spend some of my precious air and said, “Sir! Who crushed you beneath this instrument!”

He beckoned me closer with his hands, and when I leaned in close he copped a feel of my boob. I didn’t stop him. Then he said, “Don’t trust the gorilla bears!!!”

Then he died, with a smile on his face and my boob in his hand. I felt proud to know that I’d made his last moments sexy, but when I turned back to the Moon Hotel I saw multiple gorilla bears standing outside the entrance with their arms crossed menacingly. What kind of conspiracy was this? Fear crept up my spine, but it was soon replaced with resolve and determination. I picked up the piano (an easy task upon the low-grav moon) and hurled it slowly toward the Moon Hotel. While it was on its collision course, I made a bee-line to the space-helicopter. One of the gorilla bears tried to intercept me but I threw moon-dirt in his eyes, disorienting him long enough for me to kick him in his huge, vulnerable elbow, and he collapsed in a twitching seizure.

I got in the ‘copter and flew up into the sky… too late! A gorilla-bear had already grabbed onto the landing gear. But I locked the doors so he couldn’t get in. I controlled the copter with shameful ineptitude, zigzagging around and creating nauseous chaos in my aura and belly. When I was high above the moon I radioed in to Earth. I said, “Earth! The Moon Hotel has been compromised by gorilla bears! I’m coming home!”

But the radio-man from Earth said, “No Shirley! Don’t come back here! Earth has also been compromised!”

Now I was really in a panic. “Well what can I do?”

Then I heard an overly sexual robotic voice said, “Sexy, sexy Shirley. Your answers lie far away on Saturn’s moon, Titan. The answers wait for you like a lover, lying naked under the covers, waiting for you to uncover their vulnerable desires, and lick them into a frenzy of knowledge.”

It was the robot-manager! “Where are you, robot-manager?” I asked. “How are you speaking to me?”

The robot-manager said, “I’m speaking in your mind! Now go! To Titan! You’re the only one who can resscue uuuuhhh uuuhhh uuussss from the ravages of these gorilla bears!”

So I turned toward Saturn and her moon, embarking on a strange new adventure!

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Math Dinosaur

by Danny Lee

I’ve been trying to teach math to my dinosaur but all he wants to do is eat people.

I don’t want to be racist but I think dinosaurs might be bad at math.

Which is too bad because I sold my soul to the devil for this dinosaur, but I wanted a math-dinosaur. I thought they were all good at math.

I wonder if the devil will do trade-backs.

Did you know that dinosaurs evolved from birds?

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Where I’ve Been and Where I’m Going

by Jeff the Chef

As one of the most consistent contributors to The Sick Blog of Pies you are probably wondering where I have been. Well, you see I have given up on pastries altogether. I don’t eat croissants. I don’t cake. I don’t even eat bread.

You see I’ve given up writing about pastries because I have decided to become a stand-up comedian. People find me hilarious. This is a universal response to my jokes. I’m not talking about people I know. I’m talking about everyone on the earth who has ever heard me speak. I decided that I can’t be a guy who eats a lot of pastries and also a guy who makes a lot of jokes. I can only have time to do one or the other.

In the past few months I have been on stage at the local Yuk Yuk’s. One of the ladies in the front row laughed so hard that she passed gas. True story. Just a few weeks ago I did a randy and raucous one hour bit on menstruation at my nephew’s birthday party. Not too shabby. Obviously you can see how I’ve been too busy to write my regular column.

So, I’ve decided to just focus on making a lot of fantastic jokes. I know that many of you will be crushed. Some of you will feel as though you have been rolled and pressed and baked in an oven at 350 degrees. But it is not my fault if you have grown to knead me. It is your own fault and I hate you for that fact. Consider this the last entry by Jeff the Chef for the Sick Blog of Pies.

Think about all of the people who will benefit from this change in my life focus. Think about all of the hilarious puns and rhyming that I will employ to bring people joy. I know you will miss my wit and culinary insight, but just remember that the internet is a strange and wonderful place. On one of those days where you are particularly nostalgic for one of Jeff the Chef’s posts, just do a quick search through The Sick Blog of Pies; read one of my old articles, but pretend it is a new one.

Well, folks I guess that about says it all. Keep baking and remember my famous catch-phrase, “Keep it flaky!”

Signing off,
Jeff the Chef.

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