The Orange County Republic (Adventures in Realty)

More old stuff.


Once upon a time, there was a boy named Cracker. He lived in a land far, far away called Cleveland. Cleveland was a happy village with happy people because their mayor was a dope fiend. And to supply his addiction, he had local farmers grow acres of the lovely herb. The farmers were allowed to sell the dope at markets. These markets were mystical places. Vendors from all over the kingdom came to set up booths to sell their wares. The biggest booth was owned by Ronald McDonald. In his spare time, Ronald was a clown. He lived in a tree in the woods. One day, the paper factory moved into town and cut down Ronald’s tree. Smitefully, he put a curse on them. All the paper turned into styrofoam. Ronald then used it in his booth. Pretty soon, Cracker came by and spilled some coffee on himself. He sued McDonald’s and bought a lot of dope with the money he got. And Cracker lived happily ever after.

The Little Boy Named Bob

Bob was twelve years old. He lived in a shoe. His parents had so much money, they didn’t know what to do.

One day, Bob was walking downtown. He was looking for his friend Joe. He accidentally bumped into a porpoise.

“Hi, Bob. I’m Flipper. I heard you were looking for Joe.”

“Yes I am, Flipper. Can you tell me where my friend Joe is?”

“Why, he’s just over there.” Flipper jumped up and landed in the ocean down the street.

“Hello, Joe. Waddya know?” Bob asked Joe.

“Um… not much. I’m special.”

“Oh. Wanna hang down at the mall?”

“Nope. Nopedy dope. I wanna be a space cowboy.”

“Whatever, Maurice.”

Bob and Joe started walking up the down escalator. Pretty soon, they were on Uranus.

“Bob, I’m scared,” Joe told Bob.

“You’re a pussy.”

Joe started shrinking and turned pink.

Bob went back home. He went to the mall and burnt it down when he went to the bathroom.

“Shit fire and save matches, I always say,” Bob always said.

Bob went to the field of dreams and kick-boxed James Earl Jones, his long time rival. Then he fell asleep until Saturday Night Live and he pulled an AK-47 from his nose and shot the cast.

“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush but I’d rather have bush over hand anyday!” he screamed.

After that, he walked to the end of the road with the Boys and two men. He shrunk them with his Shrink-Ray Vision and ate them.

Joe reappeared. He was no longer a pussy.

“Bob, I was so worried! Where have you been?”

“Bite me, Maurice. You’re not my mother.”

“But I am John Lennon reincarnated.”

“Johnny! Is that you?”

Joe back-handed Bob. “No, stupid-head-poopy-breath.”


Joe unsheathed his sword. Bob did the same.

“Now we shall trade witty banter,” Bob said. Joe got out his Witty Banter rookie card and gave it to Bob. “Thank you, Joe. Shall we retire for the night?”

“Why not wait until we get jobs to retire?” Joe asked.

“Because you’re an asshole.”

Joe started to turn pale and split in the middle.

Bob went home to his shoe.

Cracker and Bob

As you all know, Bob lived lived in a shoe. His mother was an alcoholic and abused him by calling him dirty words like: cheese head, monkey head, gimme head. Bob didn’t know what a gimme was so he went over to Cracker’s place to ask him.

Cracker lived in the 2-Acre Woods. It used to be bigger but a paper factory cut down most of it. When Bob got to Cracker’s shack, Cracker was well past stoned as Cracker didn’t even know what he had been thinking of while he was jacking off. (I guess that would make it the CrackerJack Shack.)

“Put that away,” Bob said.

“How? I can’t find my hands,” Cracker said.

“They’re already down there.”

“No… them’s me feets. See the little toesies?” Cracker wiggled his toes while he smiled and drooled.

“You’re one pathetic stoner, you know that?” Bob asked.

“I fucked Ronny McDonny an’ got money. Yeah… He liked my fat cock. Lookie… here he is. See little Richy? Say hi, Richy. Come on, be polite. Don’t make me spank you.”

Cracker made Richy wave to Bob.

“Hi, Richy. Now go away. I have to talk to Cracker.”

“Richy wants you to shake his head… I mean hand… yeah…”

“I’m not shaking Richy,” Bob said.

“Aw… that’s not nice… wanna burn one, Richy?”

Richy nodded. Cracker lit another joint and held it up to Richy’s mouth.

“Oh, lookie. He’s doing his Bill Clinton impression. How funny… hee hee.”

Bob left. Obviously, Cracker couldn’t tell him what a gimme was.

“Are you my penis?” Cracker asked Bob. Bob had already left so he couldn’t answer that. “You hear that, Richy? Bob’s my ssschlonng.”


Bob went downtown to find Joe. James Earl Jones appeared.

“Bob, I’m going to kill you,” James said.

“With what? A phone book?” Bob laughed.

“I haven’t thought of how yet, but I will.” James left.

Bob heard someone screaming and looked up as Joe smashed into the sidewalk.

“Dammit, suicide sucks,” Joe said as he stood up.

“Look at what you did! You broke the sidewalk!”

“Who gives a shit? People think I’m special so I’ll get off from a slap on the wrist… I mean get off WITH a slap on the… um…”

“Shut up, Joe. Besides, suicide is bad. You should call the Teen Help Line at 1-800-I-LOST-MY-BLADE-IN-MY-SKIN-AND-I-HAVE-TO-GO-THROUGH-THE-AIRPORT-METAL-DETECTOR!”

“Don’t be silly, Bob. Phone numbers don’t have exclamation points.”

“Joe, what’s a gimme?”

“Um… a beer commercial with two guys who can’t golf.”

“Oh, okay. Just wondering.”

Bob went home knowing what a gimme head was but not how to do it. So when his mother called him gimme head again, he broke open a case of beer and got the golf clubs out. He and his mother had a great time that night.


Back at Cracker’s shack…

“Richy… are you dead?”

A Life in the Day of Rachel

Once upon a day in Pittsburghia, the land of a thousand stadiums, there lived a man named Rachel. No one knows who named him Rachel because he had no parents, which meant he fulfilled a lot of prophecies by default. But he never got a chance to fulfill all of them. Note the opening line is “Once upon a day.” Rachel only lived one day and this is the story of that day.

Rachel woke up at six a.m. to a loud buzzing sound which he quickly determined was an alarm clock. He picked up the hammer lying nearby and said goodbye to the alarm clock, so from now on, all times are approximate. Rachel promptly fell back asleep.

Somewhere around noon, Rachel finally got out of bed. He was hungry and needed a cigarette.

“Hey, Rachel,” his roommate Cracker said. “Wanna wake-n-bake?”

“Not really.” Rachel had just woken up and didn’t feel much like cooking, so he poured a bowl of cereal and went back to his room. Some time later, he re-emerged fully dressed.

“See ya, Cracker,” he said as he left.

Rachel proceeded to the local coffee shop known as the Beat Dive and bought a medium coffee.

“Hey, Rachel. Wanna play Spades?” one of the locals asked him.

“Not now,” Rachel said as he walked to the back room to play pinball.

Fifty dollars later, he came out of the back room to notice how dark it was.

“Who’s up for some Spades?” he asked.

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” the lady behind the counter said.

Rachel walked out onto the sidewalk. Suddenly, an anvil fell on him and killed him.

“Sorry ’bout that!” the guy on the roof said.

And they lived happily ever after, even though they were never mentioned in this story. I just thought you’d like to know how they were doing.


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