mind expanding nonsense

Archive for April, 2011

The Finger

The Finger.  I hope the above drawing isn’t so subtle that we don’t know what we’re talking about here.  But the term kinda sounds German to me.  But they’d probably say something like das phinggerer.  But actually, the finger (middle finger salute) or “bird” has been around since Greek and Roman times, and in Latin, was called “digitus impudicus” (the impudent finger).  This is not to be confused with Biggus Dickus of Monty Python fame, despite what they may seem to have in common.

When I was a little kid, giving someone “the finger” was a big deal, and usually resulted in a fight.  Unless, you gave it at a considerable distance, and were pretty fast on your bicycle.  As a teenager, I preferred the term “bird”, which instead of being given, was flipped to someone.  Again, preferably done at a distance for safety reasons.

In ancient times, the display of the middle finger was a sign of humiliation, and was used liberally. The  Roman Emperor Caligula, a  ‘pioneer of perversity’, often made his subjects kiss his middle finger instead of his hand; he was assassinated shortly after that little number.  The finger went underground during the Middle Ages, because the Catholic Church thought it holy when used during the Mass.  Can’t you just see a bunch of filthy minded peasants (Italians of Roman descent) just cracking up and laughing their asses off when the Priest flipped everyone in the congregation the Holy Bird on behalf of the Lord.

Well, enough pioneering in perversity, lets get our covered wagons to the point.  The Finger, or Bird, is basically a gift as it is something you give to another individual; be it by flipping or sign language.  So I’ve come up with an award, called “The Finger” which from time to time I’d like to give to individuals I find particularity deserving .

Guess who’s the first recipient?  I AM.  Yep.  If ya read my post on The Hershey Highway (which is not my way), you’d know I just had my annual digital rectal exam.  And the good ol Doc gave me the Bird right where the sun don’t shine.  Well, in case you’re wondering, everything is A-OK down there; or should I say Up there?

Timing is everything, and good old President Obama beat me to the punch by awarding the “Impudent Finger” to our next recipients: Donald Trump and the “Birthers”.   The President finally put this whole insane question as to where he was born [Honolulu Hawaii] to rest by releasing  (flipping them) his “official birth certificate”.  What’s astounding is that the Donald is taking full credit for forcing the issue, and is now busily questioning Obama’s college grades and transcripts.  Who was that Roman Emperor that fiddled while Rome burned??

So with a big hearty Fuck You, please accept this award on behalf of myself and all other American citizens who think there are bigger issues that need to be dealt with.

BTW…Feel free to copy and print this graphic, and award it to any group or individual you consider worthy of recognition.

The Hershey Highway


Well, it’s time that time again. Time for the old digital rectal exam, to see if the old prostate is…well: a) still there? b) not enlarging, c) giving the doctor a sadistic sense of joy, or d) all of the above.

It really blows my mind that a lot of guys (probably over 50) blog about this. It would be like the ladies chronicling how there boobs are squashed annually during a mammogram. But when ya run out of ideas, one has to draw upon life experiences to come up with something new. A speaking of drawing, I hope you like the illustration. Drawing-wise, it was a bit of a challenge coming up with that one. I had a vision in my mind (where most visions occur), and wanted to put it on paper. The challenge for me was to avoid the out-right obscene, but leave no doubt as to what was on my mind, and,  portray it in a psychedelic manner. Pretty trippy huh?

So, and let it be known that , The Hershey Highway is not My Way, (I see it solely as a One Way street); butt it sure is an opportunity to write about some really juvenile shit under the guise of healthy living for seniors, ‘men’s health’, or some such crap.

I love the term “Take it in the shorts”, and will let you savor that one for a while.

Time’s up!   The annual prostate exam sorta typifies what we are being forced to endure by our governments. We know something stinks and is uncomfortable, but dutifully line up, follow orders, Drop Trow, and going along with the program,  bend over. “It’s only for our own good”…. So we take it in the shorts.

I don’t know about you, and I’m getting a little short on ‘taking it’ all the time, but it seems to me that there’s a plan (won’t call it conspiracy) to screw the middle class here in the U$. Family supporting jobs are disappearing, union rights vanishing, services cut, and social safety-nets dismantled  The Republicans, thinking they have a mandate, now want to go after Medicare and even Social Security, but not for current recipients [us seniors wouldn’t vote for them if they took Our benefits away], only for everyone else down the line. Another great metaphor.

Tis the time of year to take it in the shorts

So Bend over and be good sports.

Ladies don’t laugh at this little ditty

Your turn will come when they mammogram your titties

And should you frown upon this reflection

The gods may curse you with a yeast infection.

So everyone, don’t you laugh or even gloat

Can’t you see ,we’re all in the same boat.

Well, that was a pretty scattered rant; but not one filled with scat. So I thought it best to brighten up your day, while still dealing with all things anal, with this little “Training Film”. It’s very informative…Enjoy.  But caution,  some might find this a touch offensive.  Now ya really got to see it 🙂

Reptile Dysfunction Redux

Does anybody read the crap lost in the Archives, you know, the stuff that’s two to three months old. I thought so. The answer is No. And that’s a good thing. It means I can recycle some of my earlier stuff and nobody will know.

Having a blog is sorta like being in a band. At the beginning of a group, there’s a lot of energy and creativity. A lot of good stuff is cranked out for the first two, maybe three albums, them Zippo. A Greatest Hits album, then obscurity. The juices stop flowing, and it’s a regurgitation of now worn out lyrics. I mean, how long can a group of young men angrily scream about how they’re not getting laid, in a thrash metal band, before one of them actually does get laid, and comes to the conclusion that he much more prefers Barry White to punk music, because he gets more action with Barry than black n blue in some damn mosh-pit listening to the Misfits or Some Other Trash (not an actual band).

So I’m gonna re-lay some Solid Gold on ya, about Reptile Dysfunction. Now this is a delicate subject for a limp lizard is embarrassing. But not embarrassing enough to advertise the shit out of remedies for this affliction.

A few years ago there started to appear on television, really ambiguous commercials featuring older couples longingly looking at each other with sappy looks on their faces, who ended up in separate bathtubs out in the country or at the end of a pier. Now I wasn’t paying much attention back then, and thought I heard them talking about Reptile Dysfunction. That didn’t make much sense to me cause I didn’t see any lizards or anything. But then I found out that they weren’t talking about reptile dysfunction but Erectile Dysfunction, or E D. Now that made more sense, cause  I wasn’t seein’ any snakes, and apparently, neither was she.

It now appears, at least from the number of ED spots on the evening news, that there is an epidemic of us old dinosaurs with limp lizards that just can’t raise our ding dongs: old guys begin’ for a boner, wishing for a woodie, suffering from lack of stiffies, or just plain hankerin’ for a hard on. I wonder what is the cause of this ailment? How could something that worked so wonderfully as a teenager, peter out on ya late in life? Maybe it’s those sixty plus hours a week ya work, the pressure to put kids through college, maxing out your 401K. Or maybe it just gets down to this: after 30 years, how many more times can ya keep hitting that thing???

Now most of these commercials are really stupid in their attempt to be more metaphorical than real. I like the Ciallis for daily use commercials. Show me a 50 year old guy that needs that for “daily” use, and I’ll show you a guy who ain’t married or in a long—term relationship. So what do these couples do when that romantic moment hits, like when cleaning out the garage or doing the laundry? Get naked and do it?? Flop her over a sawhorse and do it doggie style? Hell No!! That would be just awful. No, it’s a leisurely romantic stroll before anything meaningful starts.

Or the two folks in them separate bathtubs? How the hell you gonna do the big nasty in separate tubs? They need to get their butts in a hot tub; glass of wine; a little Barry white playing in the background. Togetherness, NOT separate tubs.

Hansi, the Farting P O

There’s a series of childrens books out their called “Walter The Farting Dog”. No, Really, it’s true and kids love em. They usually consist of a story about how Walter grosses everyone out with his farts (dog farts are the worst) to the point of being ostracized. But Walter redeems himself, by farting of course, and saves the day. My grandsons love these books. The two and a half year old is a little short on the farting concept; there’s a fine line between a fart and a loaded diaper for that little stinker. The eight year old rolls on the floor, reading Walter; especially when Grandpa provides all the juicy sound effects for the punch-line: “And Walter farted”.  Great fun with the grand kids. Fun with flatulence. Doesn’t get much better than that.

Well, old grandpa Hansi has totally sold-out, and is back at work in the House of Pain, working as a Probation Office. Hence the post title Hansi The Farting P O. You probably know where this is going, so take a deep breath, and let’s jump right into it.

I showed up on my first day at 8:00 in the morning, ready for action. And I came properly prepared,  with an amble breakfast of eggs n bacon, a few sausages thrown in , and some stewed prunes, earlier.

Well by 8;00, them prunes were starting to do some heavy lifting down in my lower intestines. I was led into the office, past security, and as my boss opened the last door, Hansi farted! And as a  foul odor wafted in, and a strong draft  sucked it in, a stench pervaded the office.  About six people rose from their cubicles and said, “Hey, Hansi’s back”.

I was placed in a cubicle a a far end of the building, next to all the xerox machines and printers. That got B O R I N G real fast. So I got to thinkin’, ‘I can’t fight crime on an empty stomach,; let’s see whats in the break-room’. Well, I almost filled my britches when I learned that it was Breakfast Burrito day. Someone brought some homemade bean and cheese burritos, and I dove in.

An hour later, I was asked to do a drug test for a female officer; women can’t test male clients cause we do urine tests. And you won’t believe this, but some probation clients try and cheat on drug testing, so we gotta see a urine stream from dick to jar (and the contents better be yellow and warm); being “dirty” is usual reason they try and dip the jar in the toilet when I’m not looking.  Now this client was reluctant to pee for me. “ I can’t go.”  So after making him drink ten glasses of water, we’re back in the testing room [a small bathroom with commode only, but plenty of mirrors], and I’m waiting, patiently, but  something starts rumbling downstairs. Well he couldn’t go. I couldn’t hold it. Hansi cut loose a silent, but none the less deadly, fart.  (I didn’t think it was so bad.)

The client went into a coughing spasm, lost bladder control, and peed into the jar, and on his hands and down into his shorts. I got my sample. BTW We did a presumptive test ( a little dip-stick ya put I the pee pee ); found him “dirty” [tested positive for drugs], and they hauled his ass off to jail.

Lunch was cabbage rolls. [I got to start making better choices.] But all that crime fighting in the bathroom really worked up an appetite. Two hours latter I was in pain. I could hardly sit still, not to mention being all alone with nothing but filing cases surrounding me…when the Alarms went off!! Flashing red lights on the walls. Meaning: There’s a Problem. Shit is going down. Everybody, put down them donuts, get your asses in gear and respond. Well their was a disturbance in the waiting room. A domestic violence client was getting into it with his ex-wife (who was also a client). I was the last one there, and we had a standoff going on. Too many non-involved people to use pepper spray. Both parties at each others throats.

Damn if those cabbage rolls didn’t get their revenge on me. Hansi let a huge, gigantic fart rip! A green cloud spread over the waiting room. People dropped like flies. Officers down, incapacitated. A heap of humanity writhing on the floor. [I thought it was a good one] . So I got my handcuffs, “hooked em up” and saved the day.

Boy….Everybody was glad that old Hansi was back. I even got a better office, and one with a window. I have to always keep it Open though.

3000 Drunk Drivers

No….I haven’t taken too much medication, and this is not the bummer of all bummers. It’s pretty damn scary though. I went back to work. “YOU DID WHAT??” yes I went back to the House of Pain, for a real dose of self medication. I’ve been fully retired for two years now, haven’t earned a dime, and been luvin it. So. Whats with WORK?

I know, it’s a four lettered work, and I try to avoid outright obscenities here at my Hallucinations [but have no qualms about planting little, ittie-bittie tiny seeds of filth in your already dirty mind]. But damn, I couldn’t resist this one; plus, having a glutinous appetite for punishment, I just couldn’t say no to the money I can make cranking out mindless bullshit in Probationland. Hey it’s kinda like the same thing I do with this blog, except now I’m finally making money with nonsense, but just not on the Internet, or in my home.

Not doing this, would be like Not stealing candy from babies. The dough is ripe for the pickin’, and I be a pickin’. Well by now you can tell that I’ve obviously totally sold out, and made a pact with the devil. But I didn’t sell out, I’m just renting myself to the highest bidder. Guess I’m just a Corrections Ho.  

“But Hansi” you might be thinking, “how exciting, kicking down doors, hooking-up bad guys, carting them off to jail.  What fun”.  NOT!  I’ve been called out of retirement to sit on a 3000 plus uncovered caseload of first time drunk drivers.  Although these folks have been placed on formal, supervised probation for three years.  I ain’t counseling them.  I ain’t doing home calls.  I ain’t out there taking their car keys away.   Nope, I’m sitting at a computer all day, making sure they’re going to Alcohol School, and most importantly, paying their fines.   For Corrections had become a big revenue generator for local governments here in Californication.  See, if you get popped for a DUI, you gonna end up paying close to $4500 in fines and fees for the privilege.  That’s about a hundred times more expensive than a cab fare from the bar to your home. 

Oh well, I’m running out of time and have to rush off to the salt mine…or should I say gold mine

Tri Phoria versus Genie Bra

Ever since I posted my bit on the Genie Bra (“what every woman wants”) my stats have soared.   And along with my Tri Phoria [the ‘blow your hair back’ female vibrator] posts, I’ve been getting a lot of visitors to my Hallucinations via Google searches. Now if you’ve read that crap, you probably realize that I’m not attracting a lot of ongoing fans, but rather just pissing off a multitude of women searching for answers.

But views is views, even if I’m tricking people into one of my hallucinations; it still counts. So, being ever willing to beat a dead horse into the ground, I just had to come up with something to capitalize on this windfall.

The word product placement comes to mind, but having no business experience, and being a little short on the concept, product placement to me would necessitate the purchase of two Tri Phoria vibrators and strategically placing them in the Genie Bra. Other, non-traditional applications no doubt abound.  But that’s disgusting, and I’m sure your filthy mind is way ahead of me on that one.

No.. What really comes to mind are Japanese monster movies such as Godzilla and Rodan.  And, how appropriate with Japan on the verge of a nuclear meltdown. So if there was a (bigger) catastrophe over there, with radioactive particles spread all over the place, a lot of genetic damage could result, creating monstrous mutant creatures which could result in an epic battle between Tri Phoria and Genie Bra: pronounced… ‘Tly Pholeea and Genie Blah. The plot:

Nuclear disaster strikes a Japanese industrial complex. A sports bra company and high tech dildo manufacturer nearby, are polluted with radioactive contamination. After the fires are putout and life returns to normal, two mutant creatures emerge from the rubble and terrorize the newly rebuilt community. These two gigantic creatures, which make everything else look like miniature toys by comparison, then turn on themselves. Genie Bra takes out tall buildings with atomic breasts that sway from side to side, while Tri Phoria shakes the ground causing tsunamis of orgasmic proportions. In the end, Tri Phoria runs out of power, and Genie Blah, unable to support her monstrous weigh, falls to the ground…thud..thud!

I don’t know about you, but I think that would make one hell of a movie, and revive the Japanese cinema, not to mention, give my stats a lift. What do you think?

Fun With Spam

It’s time for some fun with Spam. I’m not talking about the canned meat (bi) product. Although, a few years back I went to the Spam-O-Rama in Austin Texas, which featured everything Spam, from cooking, sculpture, clothing… to throwing. Great fun, And, the Austin Lounger Lizards where there too, and sang my favorite song: “Jesus loves me…But He can’t stand you”.

Nope this is about the Spam you get in your Blog Comments, which are similar to the type ya get in your e-mail, that are basically cheap unwelcome computer generated advertisements. Well Blogs get Spam, and instead of a real comment, they mostly consist of some generic, apply to anything statement like: “Creative post. You’re so good at what you do. I like it.” What a let down. Here ya thought someone finally likes your  stuff, only to discover it’s just  a computer sending millions of these messages, in the hopes directing you to their site, to sell ya something.

Well…..I’m getting even with the Spammers. In the spirit of just good wholesome deviant fun, I’m approving all Spam, posting it, EDITING it, and making my reply with some smart-alec comment. I do change their URL, so ya can’t check them out . Sorry, but I don’t want to be responsible for you making a major purchase and maxing-out your credit card, because you too have hallucinated while reading my stuff.  Editing their URL gives me opportunity for some naughty mayhem. So instead of .com at the end of their URL ; I changed it to .cum. For .org I change it to .orgy. And, for .net; I change to something like .nut//sack 🙂

Now here’s the really bizarre part: all this Spam goes to only one of my posts, and I shit you not , it’s “Jump In His Shit”, which was posted March 12th. It was an advice column bit, about an old guy who couldn’t keep his hands out of the party ice bucket. But the replies I get via spam, are funnier than, shit, considering it’s in response to a post on jumping in shit.

Here’s the first gem

blefawayclica said:

April 4, 2011 at 5:58 pm

I just couldn’t resist and want to thank you for this magnificent post. I even wrote a blog post about it here http://awesomemovies.Spam.cum


April 5, 2011 at 6:41 am

Why thank you blefawayclica, I have to agree that “Jump In His Shit” was one of my better efforts, and I’m happy as shit that jumping in shit inspired you too. No shit! I mean it. But you’re a little late to the party. This was an early March post, and here it is April 15th already. Hope you’re not so tardy in your business dealings.
Magnificently Yours, Hansi

No explanation needed for this on:


April 7, 2011 at 7:05 am

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Hansi said:

April 7, 2011 at 11:13 am

Hey it’s cousin Balky. Glad ya liked the post, but frankly, your comment was all Greek to me. So I took the liberty of altering your URL to .ruse, as in fake. Thanks for the comment no matter how incomprehensible it may be. Have a nice day in Spam-a-lot.

April 8, 2011 at 4:32 am

some genuinely marvelous work on behalf of the owner of this internet site , perfectly outstanding articles .

Hansi said:

April 8, 2011 at 7:57 am

Now, do I ever want to shop at Lowes again after their idiotic response to a post called Jump In His Shit?   Holy Shit!!…Wholly Shit!
Well maybe the plumbing department sent this one [not filthy enough for me though]. What a bunch of dumb shits, thinking that maybe, with this Spam, they could trick someone into going to their site, and subsequently making a major purchase or home upgrade. Well old Hansi edited their URL from .com to .cum, so ya won’t go to Lowes if ya click on it….May end up on a porn site, but that’s way beyond my control.

Can’t leave this one out.

broker forex review

Thought I would comment and say neat theme, did you make it for yourself? It’s really awesome!

Hell no I didn’t make it myself. It’s just a basic, freebie, I’m too cheap to self-host, punch-out Word Press Blog theme.  It’s not even “really awesome” Mr foreskin or whatever your name is, it’s frickin’ primitive, surpassed only by my crude pencil and ink drawings, which serve to illustrate how low in depravity I’ve stooped, by replying to your comment.

Strange Daze

This maybe one of the strangest posts I’ve ever done, cause there’s something out there that’s blowing my mind, not with anger, or paranoia, but with an inquisitive, yet somewhat perverse perspective on the subject.

Have you ever noticed that when you want to make a comment on another blog, that along with your name (or moniker as we used to call it in crime my fighting days); your email or URL address that there is this little “word verification” box, wherein, in order to get your comment posted, ya have to type in the exact letter sequence written in flowing script above. Now, why the hell ya got to do that, I don’t know . But probably it’s a filter for Spam, or enables (an over-used byword) the Blogmeister [or mistress] a chance to screen and weed out comments that are either unflattering or down right crude.

BTW ( that means: ‘by the way’ for those of us who speak English and not just Twitterese) Oh yeah….You know what I’ gonna start doing? I’m going to allow Spam!  “No Hansi…..don’t do it.”  Yeah do it. But, edit it! You know it would be loads of fun re-wording a lot of the generic bullshit that comes through this blog. So, if ya read my stuff, and may even to continue to do so despite this post, look for some Spam editing. I’ll clearly label it as such. I wouldn’t want ya directly linking to the Spammer site to see what kind of love fest they have going on with me, space out, and not read my really good spaced out stuff.

We’ll that was a side trip….Anyway. Did you ever think that maybe these random letters aren’t so random after all, but have , or could have a multitude of hidden meanings?   Too conspiratorial?  Maybe, but worthy of investigation. Here are some real-life gems to get ya thinking:

failogra” You’re probably way ahead of me on that one. Obviously, it’s the antidote to Viagra…that uplifting drug for your wee wee. “Failogra is what they give ya at the Emergency Room when you walk in sporting one of them four hour erections. Unfortunately it has to be injected directly into the source of the problem.

slings” and “peste” sound like real words; “Peste” found primarily in Italian cooking. But how about “dicali”?  Kinda sounds like a big National Park in Alaska. But to me it sounds like a run-down part of town, were the streets are lined with trash cans, graffiti everywhere, and there’s a dimly lit alley where a bunch of guys named Richard hang out, or some combination of the words Dick, Richard, and hangout . When I was fighting crime, I had to make sure that the last combination was registered with the Authorities, didn’t live within 500 yards of a school ,and went to counseling on a regular basis.

sadwha” Now that one could be dangerous, as I fear it may be a subliminal message directed to those of Arab descent, to “drop everything, and start Jihad; the time has finally arrived”. The Christian equivalent would be “rapture”. The message: “ OK everybody, on your feet. It’s time to meet Jesus, in person”. Wow.. I ‘m starting to get a little paranoid. I sure don’t want a bunch of AK 47 carrying Arabs flying over here in commandeered 747’s; (in Libya its OK). And, I much prefer a ‘long distance’ relationship with Jesus.

Well, I could go on from here. I won’t even touch “calychy” , for it’s a vile sex-act too gross to describe on my PG 13 Blog.   [Got ya to thinking on that one??  Come on…admit it.  Now repeat after me, “I’m a naughty boy and have a filthy mind.”]  Next time you post a comment that needs word verification moderation, have some fun. I purposely screw it up to see what the new text is, kinda like playing a slot machine.

Lastly, you don’t have to go through all that BS when ya comment here at the Hallucinatorium. I don’t care. But if you’re Spam beware,  I just found the comment edit button 🙂

Please ignore any advertisements below


Here’s a page out of my sketch pad illustrating my lack of computer skills, but highlighting my hallucinogenic draftsmanship.  Wished I could make it look slick and polished.  Naw, not really.  This is the raw stuff: mind to hand, to paper.  Just a free flowing of thoughts and drawing.  I’ll yet you figure it out.

Phucking A

OK you perverts, I know you can read, and you think you know what I mean, but THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH SEX. It’s mostly about phonetics (fonetics). Anyway, I can’t use the ‘F’ word on my PG 13 blog. It would be too embarrassing for my retired readers to explain to their grandchildren, should they see what Grandpa does on the computer all day. And the Wife? She’d ban ya from reading my shit ever again, and throw you ancient ass out of that computer room/refuge you hide in, and make ya do something useful around the house. She already knows  about all the filth ya look at anyway.

So, I got this brilliant idea form an English blogger, John McNally, who said in one comment or another, that in the UK, the terms “piss-off” and “f**k-off” are basically humour terms, not foul terms of derision. Words are just sounds, and how these sounds are used is the important thing, not the word itself. It’s like whistling: You can either make a beautiful melody come out of your mouth, or a cat-call signaling your approval of some little tramp walking by.

So lets look at phuck, cause its a noun, verb, adjective and pronoun all wrapped up in one, depending on how ya use it. Fist thing that comes to my mind is Mother Phucker. An adverb, sometimes. Mostly a noun, and if said to you by a black person, usually a sign that you’re in trouble. Could be a term of delight though, like when you see an old friend and say, “What’s up, Mother Phuck”.

Back in High school we used to say, “Phucking A”; an indication of agreement on a certain subject. If you whole heartedly agreed, you might utter, “Phucking A Tweetie”. It’s all in how you use it, ain’t it? Phuckin’ A it is!

Now those potty mouthed Brits use the phucking “F” word in every other phucking sentence. But you can hardly understand them when they get to talking fast, and it sounds more like ‘fock’, instead of phuck, so it has an entirely different meaning. Their favorite is when they tell someone to “Fock off”. I haven’t fully deciphered that one yet, as it has a multitude of meanings, but I get the general drift. In the US of A, using the “F” word in every sentence is usually an indication of little education, or that you’re from the South….. Dumb Phuckers!

Phuck can also be used as a character trait. Never want to be a ‘bum-phuck’ or, for my UK friends, a ‘Bum phucker’. Nor a ‘dumb phuck’, but then again dumb is usually used for ‘shits’ and not phuckers. In High School, we learned to take “Phuck You” as a blessing and wishes for future sexual adventure…instead of a challenge to fight. Yeah, we were phucking wimps, but I’ll take that as an acknowledgment that at least we were doin’ It. And not going solo like you.

By now some of you may be thinking, “Hansi, you’re phull of it; go phuck yourself.” Well, all I can say is, “What the phuck?” Or should that be, “What?…the Phuck?” Anyway, all I know is that if the Wife reads this, I’m really phucked.

Well, looks like it’s time for me to go…..and phuck-off’.


Dumb Shits

I have a special place in my heart for dumb shits. Not because I condone their actions, but for the security they have provided me with throughout the years. Having been a probation officer my whole career, dumb shits not only helped me buy a house, raise a family and put my kids through college. They even enabled me to travel, as I worked part-time as a P O for five years after retiring.

Well here’s another one writing into an advice column entitled “The Ladies Love Her Helpful Boyfriend”:

Dear Fannie: My boyfriend and I have been together for three years. We are compatible in every way but one. He feels compelled to run to the aid of his single, female neighbor, even though she has a boyfriend. He watches her dog, fixes her fence, helps with clogged drains, etc. I’ve told him this makes me uncomfortable. I feel he is sending the wrong message, enabling her to rely upon him and creating a bond. I want him to stop volunteering his services. He thinks I’m making a big deal about nothing.

A similar situation happened two years ago with a different single, female neighbor, and I found a flirtatious note from her on his door. I don’t believe anything happened between them, but the neighbor apparently hoped something would.

I think he craves the adoration and wants women to idolize and praise him for coming to their rescue. Am I being petty, or is my boyfriend playing me for a fool?

Concerned Girlfriend.

You don’t have to be a professional counselor to see we have a real dumb shit here. I’d call her Cleopatra, cause she’s the Queen of De-Nile. Wake up Girlfriend. Boyfriend is cheatin’ on your ass, and big time. He’s “volunteering” his services alright. How many times a week does her “drain” get clogged? Yeah, I bet he’s “fixing her fence” too. Sure go through a lot of condoms “fixing” stuff. He ain’t sending no wrong messages, he just sending one. No wonder he watches her dog, that man wants some like-minded company when you gals aren’t around.

Girlfriend, moves from the Fool category, right into Dumb Shit-land, by failing to see a pattern of behavior. In corrections, the surest way to predict the potential for future violence, is by finding a prior history of like behavior. Is she being petty? Well only if adultery is OK.  If she’s cheatin’ too, then no harm, no foul. But twice in two years???   Honey, you best be looking for another man, and not one who’s handy “fixing” things.

Didn’t dumb shit girlfriend’s Mom tell her what men want? Well it ain’t praise or adoration; it’s what she’s sitting on. And the only thing Boyfriend’s rescuing them from, is celibacy, or a bad case of the ‘horns’.

100% Pure Hansi



The Genie Bra

Okay, I’m up early, again, and watching cable TV infomercials…again. And low and behold what do I see, but The Genie Bra…”What all women wish for”. I know I’m gonna catch hell on this one, cause its going to offend just about every woman that reads my trash. But what the Hell.

And speaking of Hell, that reminds me of an old joke wherein a condemned sinner arrives in Hell, and was shown all the tortures one would have to endure throughout all eternity. Satan showed this poor soul all the afflictions as mentioned by Dante in “The Inferno”, and is shocked. Until he is shown a room full of people sitting on huge piles of shit drinking coffee. The sinner says, “Now I can do that for all eternity. I loved coffee and had a government job”. [Probably the reason he was sent to Hell according to Tea Partiers, who feel government workers don’t do shit, and just sit around all day waiting for those ‘lavish’ retirement plans to kick in.] Sooo…he chooses the dung heap, and has a seat. All goes well for him until a bell rings, and an announcement is made: “Coffee break is over, everybody back on their hands and knees.”

This is about the revolutionary bra called the Genie Bra, and it was a show about two of my favorite subjects, the ones that men can’t live with or without. And it is holstered hosted by two women giving testimonials as to the bra’s wonder [not to be confused with Wonder bra].  Wow what was cool is that the wife is out of town for a few days, and I was able to turn up the volume loud enough to actually hear what they were saying at 4:30 in the morning [must be a lot of ladies up early too].

It got even better when they had models come out in sarongs, who actually disrobed to show off this product . Sweet. Can’t get much better than that without having to confirm that you’re over 18 years old to enter.

This simple product is apparently able solve a multitude of ‘support’ problems, even for those of us/you who are well endowed with DD cup size, and in need of a serious “over the shoulder boulder holder”. No more under arm ‘spillage’ (body fat escaping captivity), no more unsightly bra lines, just nice, firm, uplifting/ed gravity defying boobies.

Should one only be an A cupper, well this device solves the problem of lumpy padding; (kleenex) stuffed in there, and gives ya a more fuller, natural look. That’s because the Genie Bra has magical cleavage creating special fibers woven into it.

The best part is, if you order now, via phone, not only would you get this product for a mere $59.99, but they’d throw in a tan and black on too. [Guys just love a woman in black]. But hold on…to make this deal even more irresistible, and if your credit card was handy, they’d throw in one more of each. That’s right, 6 Genie Bra’s for a mere $60…if you order Now. Don’t ya just love that sense of urgency these guys use? Along with the testimonials (from probably paid actresses), how could one not order them right now; while supplies last. [Supplies usually last till they’ve made a killing, and get out of town.]

That’s when I started to wonder. When my wife announces that she needs new bras, I shudder, and start to worrying about having to mortgage the house. Good bras don’t come cheap, do they ladies? But $10.00 bra’s ?? And for what is basically a sports bra. Well, I’m a good sport, and that’s $5 per breast (shipping and fondling handling not included); a better deal than buying them used at the thrift store. That’s awful!

What intrigues me most is not the product itself, but the sales pitch. Well, needless to say, I didn’t rush to the phone, but rather rushed to my computer and drawing pad to chronicle this shit. But, you’ll never guess what happened. The following early morning I saw an Infomercial for, hold on….The Ah-Bra. No shit. It was the same damn product, and 6 for $60, as the Genie Bra. What Chinese sweat-shop are they cranking out these things in?? Remember the Wonder Bra?


I’m tryin’ something new today.  Actually it’s pretty old, it’s just that this is the first time I’m sharing it.  This is a glimpse of the beginnings of Hansi’s Hallucinations, before I got into blogging.  Before I digitalized everything.  When all I had was pen and paper; an Old Pleasure.

For years I’ve been keeping a sorta psychedelic journal.  An actual blank paged book, that I wrote down thoughts, and drew hallucinations in whenever……whenever a good hallucination came on.  It’s all done with a ball point pen, and below is what I did this morning.   Enjoy

page two

I left these pages un-cropped so you could get a feel for the real deal 🙂

Keeping The Internet Green

OK…The wife gets full credit for this one. Embarrassing her in front of the whole world with a bunch of juvenile filth notwithstanding, she gave me this idea after I told her was was gonna recycle some stuff out of the archives onto an unsuspecting public.

Hansi and the Wife live a pretty Green lifestyle here in the northern part of Southern California. We have solar panels on our roof; a tank-less water heater; an organic vegetable garden (and not some hippy-dippy assortment of everything, but one we eat out of daily. The ‘hippy-dippy’ section is reserved for ‘special’ medicinal herbs.); and I ride my bicycle everywhere I can – I ain’t payin’ four bucks a gallon for gas. Riding my bike is a bit risky though, especially when peddling past an ARCO station, cause I use both hands to “flip them off”. On hand for the Gulf disaster (thank you BP) and the other for $4.00 gas.

We also recycle everything, and that’s what gave the Wife the idea when I told her I was gonna re-post (compost) some earlier stuff I wrote. “Why let new effluent chance a spill into the waterways of cyber-space? Keep the Internet green.” So I’m diggin’ into the compost bin of decaying organic refuse for this one….Just for you. It’s called Chinese Diapers

I heard a spot on National Public Radio the other day about how multi national paper companies are trying to make an inroad into the Chinese market selling disposable diapers. With close to a billion Chinese on this planet, it would appear that this is a market just waiting to, how shall we say, be saturated.

Much to corporate America’s chagrin, there appears to be considerable cultural resistance to this move, not on the part of the young parents, who view disposables as a new status symbol, but by the Chinese grandmothers, who entrusted with the bulk of child care, prefer to toilet train infants at an early age as it encourages self confidence and other characteristics beneficial to society as a whole. Apparently the Gen-Xers feel it is more chic for their babies to walk around with a fresh load of shit in their pants, while the grandmas feel it’s disgusting.

The story described how Chinese grandmothers begin toilet training at an extremely early age; sometimes as early as one month. They do so by blowing a whistle or ringing a bell every time the child soils himself and then gradually hold them over a toilet and ring the bell to encourage like behavior. Sounds like classic Pavlovian conditioning to me. With this simple consistent technique, most Chinese babies achieve full control of bodily functions within their first year.

The Grannies seem to be winning the cultural battle going on between the ways of tradition versus the American pop, or is it poop, culture. Maybe this is one of the reasons Christianity hasn’t gained much of a foothold in China. Whenever the Chinese hear steeple bells, they’re not running off to church, but rather filling their britches or trying to find a restroom.

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