Comedy Corner Underground

—begin transmission—

alesanaxcore24: heyy

me: hi. your name looks like a porn bot name.

alesanaxcore24: hey i jus really bored annd saw you wre onIine wanna talk for a liI??

me: are you a porn bot?

alesanaxcore24: niice i was soo lonely it’s nice to have someone to talk with so what are you up to

me: eating human flesh and being honest about it

alesanaxcore24: ah cooIlIcoool i jus got back from workin out i am actually about to get to work online

me: i find that long pork goes best with KC MASTERPIECE bbq sauce

me: ONLY KC MASTERPIECE

alesanaxcore24: i’ve been doin these private shows here onIine while i’m at college wanna come pIay??

me: that depends, do you have KC MASTERPIECE?

alesanaxcore24: it is so much more fun ;) and i think i even have a free pass left i could let ya use too if you wanted

me: TELL ME WHAT BRAND OF BBQ SAUCE YOU USE YOU MALINGERING BITCH! I WILL KILL YOU SO MANY TIMES IF YOU SAY BULLSEYE OR JACK DANIELS!!!

alesanaxcore24: k lm wired thru this site to keep these irritating little aim nerds so don’t worry if you don’t have one or it doesn’t work k

me: I SWEAR TO FUCK THE NEXT WORDS OUT OF YOUR MOUTH BETTER BE KC MASTERPIECE!!!!!1!!!

alesanaxcore24: ok hunny this is gonna be soo fun just go to [Hyperlink Removed] and make sure you accept the invite on the side got it??

—end transmission—

Part 2 

—begin transmission— 

terann1005: hey.

me: you’re a porn bot.

terann1005: hey… did we ever chatted before?? i can never remember peoples sns

me: NO WE’VE NEVER CHATTED. YOU ARE A MACHINE. OBVIOUSLY

terann1005: i’m sorry i can be forgetful at times… whatcha doin???

me: Does this ever work?

me: Wait, let me guess

me: you jsut got back from the gym

me: showered

me: and are super horny

terann1005: oh cool i just got out of the shower .. been one of those days and i don’t know what it is but i always get a lil horny ever get like that??

me: Why don’t you get out of that towel and get sexied up?

terann1005: well…. i was about to get out of this towel and get sexied up wanna cumm watch ;-)

me: Wait wait, I got this one too. Ask me if I’m ready to have some fun or something, then mention, as a brief aside, that I have to go to this website and put in my credit card info to ‘keep the kids out.’

me: and not at all to rape my bank account like the android charlatan you are

terann1005: yayyy!!!! i been soo lonely this is gonna be so great hope you’re ready

terann1005: just go to [hyperlink removed] and click the join free button at the top of my profile .. it might take a sec to load see it????

me: you forgot the bit about kids and how the credit card thing happens

terann1005: k just fill out your info so you can make a name and join me in private

terann1005: i use this site to keep away the kids they’re really good about not allowing any minors or recording my webcam thats why you need the c.c. but it’s free to join you’ll see it says it right there

me: Little coaching, but we got through it.

me: Great job

terann1005: hurry up though sweetie i’m about to get my favorite toy so you can tell me what to do…. might wanna turn down the volume though ;) i can get pretty noisy sometimes lolz 

me: I would actually pay to see a machine jerk off with a smaller machine.

—end transmission—  

Nate Abshire is something of an asshole, but you can find him on Facebook or Twitter.  

I’ve always envied those people who knew exactly what they wanted to be when they grew up from an early age. They get to spend most of their lives chasing their dumb dream and getting better at it.  They’re also spared the cruelty of having to abandon something they spent years building once it’s obvious they’ve hit a dead end. But those people are pretty rare. Most people, I suspect, are like me in that they become what they are by a process of elimination. 

One score ago or so, I was just a smart-ass kid in a small town cracking wise in class on a regular basis. I was at that age where you’re old enough that your personality is pretty well set, but not old enough to start doubting yourself and try to fit in with the kids around you. I wasn’t the only class clown in school but I always seemed to elude the punishment that the other clowns got from teachers. I made the teachers laugh too. I doubt I’d have ever paid attention in class if I hadn’t been allowed the liberty to make jokes about the subject of the lecture. Whenever I had a class with a teacher who didn’t like my sense of humor, I drew cartoons and wrote little sketches and such. Clearly, I had a strong interest in comedy. 

I was also into baseball. Sure being funny won me a lot of friends, but being an athlete might win me some chicks. Over time it became more and more about baseball. Outside of trashing the opposing team from the dugout or teammates that sucked, the comedy was pretty much gone. I practiced almost every single day. My brother and I were obsessed with it. Even in the winter, when other kids were playing basketball or football, we’d be tossing the baseball around to keep our pitching arms in shape. Despite years of this nonsense, I finally had to accept that I was an average player on my stupid small town team. As a pitcher, I walked or beaned more batters than I struckout. I just didn’t have the talent. I didn’t win over any chicks either. 

As I got close to adulthood I moved to the city and met many of the people that are still my closest friends.  I always enjoyed music, but these people were serious fans. I was just a small town yahoo that loved my AC/DC and other rock acts I heard on the radio. They introduced me to a ton of different bands that are too numerous to mention here. They also introduced me to other fun things like drugs. It wouldn’t be long before a few of us formed a band. Comedy and baseball didn’t work but surely being in a band would get me some chicks, right? The band never went anywhere of course, but my friend Pete and I still had ambitions of starting a new band unlike anything anyone has ever seen or heard.  But we didn’t know any drummers and we had to work for a living. The process of getting this thing going was slow. I was growing tired of being a grown man living on $6.00/hr and went back to school at MCTC hoping to work towards a college degree to ‘fall back on’. 

Then, shortly after New Year’s Day, I learned that I’d knocked up the girl who until that point, had been my girlfriend for all of four months. My half-cocked dream of being a musician went right out the window. I never even got a bunch of chicks! Now I had to figure out how to support a family. I’d already been accepted to transfer to the U of M. Had I known I’d be a father, I’d have picked something a bit easier than the Astrophysics program. To me it was the most interesting and challenging major to pursue. I already had by heart set on becoming an astronomer. I wasn’t gonna let a little thing like a baby steer me off course. Well … it was a brutal few years as we raised our first baby while I studied some of the most difficult undergrad coursework in existence. By the end of it, I did graduate. But I was so burnt out on science and math, the thought of going to grad school in order to become an actual astronomer made me want to hang myself. Also, we were struggling financially and I needed to get a real job … fast!

After months of looking, I finally landed a desk job that a little retail outfit called Target. I had two kids now and finally made decent money. I was a full-fledged family man now. And what does every family man want to do? Provide a nice house with the yard for the kids to grow up in. Here I was at a company where I could move up and get those things. Now that was the dream. I was doing pretty good, too. Raises, promotions, it was just a matter of time. But something was wrong. I sure as hell wasn’t cut out to be a company man. I hated having multiple bosses ask me why SuperTarget was out of mozzarella cheese and what my action plan was to fix it. I longed to be creative again and to pursue something that I actually cared about. I was dying inside. 

There was only one thing that I knew I could be good at that I hadn’t seen through as far as I could. But I was already in deep with work and kids and I was entering my thirties. But I was lucky enough to have a very good friend who happened to be a stand-up comic. (If you’re wondering who the asshole is that told me I should try stand-up, you have Patrick Bauer to thank for that.) He encouraged me to head out to Grumpy’s and give it a shot.  For some reason, people laughed at my words and so I’ve kept at it. I can’t say I’ve honestly put forth my best effort yet. After all, my passion for comedy is only exceeded by my passion for doing nothing.  But I have a direction and a goal and I like where it might lead. That and every other dream I ever had is dead. 

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Comedy has always been a big part of Thanksgiving, how can it not be, with drunk grandmas, racist uncles, and the bipolar “unicorn trainers” that get invited to thanksgiving dinners across America every year? But it’s more than that. Comedy is a MUCH bigger part of Thanksgiving.

A lot of people don’t know this, but there was a comedian booked for the very first Thanksgiving. He performed right there on Plymouth rock, next to a giant willow tree that had an old lady face and gave advice. The show was billed as a private event for 8 Native Americans and 14 pilgrims. It was the first corporate gig in America. 

You may be wondering why a comedian would want to perform in such an intimate and unusual setting, without a microphone, stage, proper lighting, or a skilled MC. It sounds horrible right? But for 7 satchels of beads and a suspicious looking blanket (with a value at today’s standard of at least 30 satchels of beads and a small pox vaccine) it was hard to pass up. It’s crazy, but a comedian will do anything if the price is right. Heck, they’ll even host the price is right. 

The Comedian booked for the event, a Cherokee named “Sticks To Time,” arrived to the Thanksgiving gig early because he wanted to get a good read on his audience, but mostly because he was riding an excited buffalo and traffic was better than anticipated. He felt uncomfortable mingling amongst the Pilgrims and Indians. He didn’t know anyone and they all looked at him like he was a monkey. This wasn’t his ideal demographic either, way too many old religious people, and by old I mean people in their late twenties, (average life expectancy was 30) and by religious I mean super religious. Yep, this was going to be awkward.

One of the Whites tried to make small talk and kept referring to what he does as doing “skits.” And if you’re not familiar with comedy lingo, this is actually quite offensive and condescending, comedians prefer it be called “Haha fun time.” But of course, Sticks To Time didn’t correct her; you have to be polite if you’re going to get your satchels of beads. 

Sticks To Time’s attention was diverted away from the conversation when he noticed someone starting a fire, and sending out smoke signals. This was worrisome. He asked that they don’t tell any of the other tribes that he was doing haha fun time for them, because the comedy tribes were very territorial, and his whole family would get scalped if they found out he was performing within 200 miles of a competing club. A practice that is still upheld today.

Finally it was time to eat! The whites, Native Americans and Sticks to Time sat around a big picnic table full of yummy foods: pizza, cranberries, banana crème pie, egg rolls, and a pigeon that looked like a turkey. The Native Americans started to dig in, but were scolded “Not until we say a prayer! Sticks To Time, as our guest, will you lead us in prayer?” The nervous comedian went into survival mode and used “Improv” to declare, “Good bread, good meat, good God, lets eat!” Nobody laughed which was a bad sign, but even worse, nobody looked up. Apparently that wasn’t enough. So he continued his prayer, “Also… good trees… and good satchels of beads… good blankets… good god again… good colonization… good Johnny Appleseed… take it away Puritans!” It wasn’t looking good for our comedian hero. The puritans were disgusted. Why did he have to use Improv? That stuff is dark magic, nay witch craft. The lead Pilgrim rolled his eyes, said the lords prayer and suddenly announced “And now it’s time for Stinks Of Pine do the thing. Get up on that stump and do your skit while we eat in front of you. ” 

It was the worst introduction any comedian had ever encountered, they forgot to mention his credits, not that knowing that he won the Funniest Person with a Day Job Contest at the TeeHee TeePee Comedy Club would really have mattered… But they also murdered his name. 

Sticks To Time’s mind was racing. I mean how do you follow the Lords Prayer? Not having any other choice, he dove into his jokes; if he wanted those beads, he’d have to start making his way through the 45 minutes of haha fun time. 

The set was a blur. Looking back, he probably shouldn’t have opened with the Plymouth Rock Paper Scissors joke, or followed it up with the homo-erotic dream catchers and dream pitchers act out. And the topographical map bit that alluded to how god isn’t real went over everybody’s head. Crowd rap was beyond painful, everyone was from the same place, and everybody was unemployed. Winning them over with a joke about how women are terrible wagon drivers was also quite unsuccessful. And the closer about how Pocahontas was a whore just didn’t work it’s usual magic.

All in all, if you count the sounds of silverware scraping against plates, then Sticks To Time destroyed. And true to his name, He stuck to his time. 

The real lesson here, is to not take comedy gigs on holidays, and instead spend it with your family. Your family might not be able to give you amounts of beads, but they’ll at least laugh at your weird prayer and if they’re not too drunk, they usually get your name right. 

Have a happy Thanksgiving everybody!

-Andy Erikson

For more Andy Erikson go to http://www.andyerikson.com/

I think that I can say, without ego, that I have performed stand up comedy more than once.  Over the last ten years I have performed in multiple U.S. states, over five comedy clubs and two colleges.  Hundreds of people have heard my jokes and some of them have even laughed when hearing the jokes.  I feel I have unlocked every secret of stand up comedy and I will share them with you, gentle reader so you can get on the fast track to being a working comic because that’s what this world needs.

Drugs.  

Drugs are, by far, the most important thing to do in comedy.  It’s not enough just to do drugs, though.  You need to have drugs, know where to get drugs and share drugs.  Remember this PSA from the 90’s?   Total bullshit.  If you want to hang with the cool kids then you better sit the fuck down and shove some drugs in you.  

Hate the Following Comedians.  

Carlos Mencia.

Carrot Top.

Jeff Dunham.

Dane Cook.

Everybody in the Blue Collar Comedy Tour except Ron White for some reason.  

If you’ve successfully hated all of the above listed comedians, you can move on to Advanced Comedian Ire and hate the following comedians for subtler reasons.  

Dennis Leary

Orney Adams

Dat Phan 

Deify Bill Hicks

Becoming a stand up comedian is not just about hating other comedians.  There’s also love.  Now that you are a comic Bill Hicks is your favorite comedian.  He’s the best comedian ever and it is now your duty to get offended if somebody says that somebody else is their favorite comedian.  

Be Incredibly Liberal

Stand up comedy is no place for conservative points of view.  In fact, as a comedian, you should pretty much just base your political beliefs on disagreeing with everything a conservative has to say from taxes to religion which brings us to our next topic.  

Be aggressively Atheist

You only don’t believe in God, you think other people who do are retarded and you have no problem telling them.  As far as you’re concerned religion has caused more pain in this world than Conservatives and Jeff Dunham combined.  

Take these simple tips and you’ll be featuring at a bar in the middle of North Dakota on a Thursday night in no time! 

Editors Note:

You can get more Bill Young over at his blog http://www.youngnotions.com/

From November 1st through the 10th I participated in an inpatient clinical drug trial.  I lived with a group of fellow subjects in a dormitory that’s connected to a research clinic in downtown Minneapolis.  What follows are a few selected anecdotes (unedited) from my time as a test subject.

*****

Day 1
Checked in this morning.  I‘ve been here for 3 hours and already I’m having disturbing hallucinations brought on by caffeine withdrawal.  Rehab is hard.*

On the last day of the study I will undergo a bronchoscopy.  A pulmonologist will insert a tube into my nose and thread it down into my lungs.  The doctor will spray some fluid into my lungs then suck it back up to measure how much dope is hanging out in there.  I have spent the past two weeks before entering the study convincing myself that this is nothing to worry about.

I had to poop in a bag.  Not, like, a handbag or a grocery bag- more like a sturdy Ziploc.  A lot more could be said on the topic of pooping in a bag but perhaps I should move on?  Pooping in a bag is such an indelicate topic and I’d hate to be thought gauche.**

There are two other young men sharing a room with me.  I got a top bunk.  I’m counting that as a win.

Memories of summer camp come flooding back on the first night as I softly weep myself to sleep.

*I’m obviously not actually in rehab, but that’s what I’ve told all my friends.  It’s just so much sexier than doing a clinical drug trial for extra cash.
**When I don’t have caffeine for more than 2 hours I become gaucher and gaucher.

Day 2
Everything about this place makes me want to take a nap.  Every few hours the nurses take a couple cc’s of my lush, delicious O-positive and every time I’m immediately ready to curl up with my nook and blankie.

I’m worried that if I say the name of the drug company sponsoring this research they will send hitmen after me like I’m Tom Cruise in The Firm or some other such thriller story.  I need a cup of coffee, bad.  When it comes to evading hitmen sent by evil pharma jerks I think I have well above-average skills.  However, if I’m uncaffeinated, those hitmen will have a distinct advantage, maybe even enough to succeed in silencing me forever*.  Well played evil pharma jerks.  Well played.

MaxoBithSlime** really doesn’t want me to make any babies while I’m on their drug (they’ll come out radioactive and malformed apparently).  Part of the agreement I signed states that I will use no fewer than three forms of birth control while I’m rollin’ on their experimental anti-biotic.  Three forms!  The thing is, abstinence only counts as one form of birth control (I asked!).  Which means that even if I were not knockin’ boots while on their drug I’m technically obligated to take additional measures to avoid impregnating anybody.  Even if I wore a condom on my flaccid penis at all times I would still only be using two forms of birth control.  In order to be fully compliant with their rules I would need to take the further precaution of occasionally squirting a dollop of spermicidal foam down my pants.  MaxoBithSlime is like the opposite of the Catholic Church.

*If you’re reading this blog post, they probably didn’t succeed at silencing me forever.  Take that Tom Cruise!
**This is a made up name!  Take that hitmen!

Day 3
What you do is, you just squat down, hold the open Ziploc bag up against your cheeks and let ‘er rip.  It’s pretty straight-forward.

Day 4
How ironic is it to pretend to go to rehab in order to make money to buy drugs?  Pretty ironic.

Day 5
What does any of this have to do with the Comedy Corner Underground?  Everything!  And nothing.  While it’s true that I’ve never pooped in a bag at the CCUG (though I can’t speak for Pat Susmilch on that one) I have expelled lots of other effluvia down there.  Lots.

Is coming to rehab just my way of getting away from news of the European debt crisis?  (Will the PIIGS ever get their shit together?  The drama is riveting!)  If so, then my escaping skills are in dire need of a spit shine (hitmen take note!) because there are TV’s with cable in every room.  And there’s Wi-Fi.  I know waaaaay more about Herman Cain than I would have if I’d never come here.  Goddamn you CNN.

I miss my friends and family, but I’ve only not seen them for a few days.  But I go a few days without seeing people all the time.  It’s a part of the depressive personality that sent me to rehab in the first place!  I guess we can’t escape our demons, eh?  We also can’t escape our Damons.  I saw a commercial for the Talented Mr. Ripley 5 hours ago and I’m still shaken up by it.  What a shitty actor.  

Wearing scrub tops all day makes me feel like the laziest doctor ever.  If I was really a doctor right now I would be like “SOMEBODY GET ME A CUP OF COFFEE STAT OR I’M GONNA EUTHANIZE THE WHOLE GODDAMN RENAL WARD!!!!!”  Then I would throw my stethoscope at the wall.

Jane Lynch is getting overexposed.

Day 6
You’re gonna want to seal the Ziploc as soon as possible after you’re done.

Day 7
My brain is turning to mush.  I misspelled “they’re” in a public forum.  I wrote “their”.*  It’s time to face the ugly truth that I am becoming everything that I hate.  Intellectually lazy, slothful, and my fingernails need trimming.

Today is a big clinical day.  That means lots of measuring my heart’s rhythms.  Boring!  The most I have to look forward to is one of the nurses accidentally brushing her hand against my junk while she’s taking some blood.  I still need coffee.

I want to sire a radioactive, malformed heir with my radioactive, malformed druggy sperms just so I can be guaranteed one person in the world more pathetic than me.  And because I’m lonely.

At night we get a snack.  There are few things in the world more dehumanizing than being coerced into lining up for Snackwell’s and juice.

*If I have a cat who forgets how to spell “their” I put that cat down.

Day 8
I’ve grown more comfortable at the sight of my own blood.  Needles no longer freak me out.  The subjects all wear IV locks in our wrists that make drawing blood much faster.  The locks are wrapped in cotton gauze and it’s not unusual for some subjects to have locks inserted in both wrists at one time.  The overall effect is to make us all look like we failed at a suicide attempt.

For what it’s worth I haven’t grown that comfortable at the sight of my blood.  If I was gonna “off” myself I would go gun all the way.  Guns are fast, effective, and constitutional.  Plus, if you get shot while buying a suicide gun?  Give that arms dealer a bonus, he just saved you some wet work!

Day 9
I woke up at 4:30 this morning thinking about how the French get a raw deal in modern American discourse.  The stereotype is that they’re a bunch of sissies.  But in the French Revolution they lopped off heads!  Here we are, stuck in the (Not So) Great Depression, and we can’t find one bureaucrat or congressperson to indict?  Americans are the real sissies.

Then I giggle about pooping in a bag and fall back asleep.

Day 10
Tooday thay stik toobs in my nose!  I gott watter borded thay gave mee dollers!  

******

And so ends the journal of my time participating in a process that will inevitably save thousands of lives over the coming decades.  Am I a hero?  I’ll leave that to my biographers to determine.  But, yes.  I am.

When Bob Edwards first stole my idea to create a blog for the Comedy Corner Underground, the Internet was a rumor, and as arcane a concept as blogging seemed to have few practical applications outside America’s manned space program.

Since that time, blogging seems to have pervaded virtually every corner of the blogosphere, even contributing its share of original terms to the English language (or, should I say, blanguage?). 

Leave it to the CCUG to jump on a dying trend!

As a first-time blogger, I feel I’m in the perfect position to offer some advice to other prospective blauthors.

The second rule of blogging—I forget the first one—is to be organized. Or, to put in blogspeak, blorganized. Choose a blopic, and stick to it! And if you can’t do that, divide your thoughts into distinct blaragraphs, even if they’re only one or two blentences.

Blogging can be a great way to promote your blomedy or follow your favorite blomics. 

I sort of envisioned this as a one-shot deal, but there’s talk of featuring various Comedy Corner Underground regulars here as guest bloggers. Still, I’m honored to have been the first.

In fact, it’s been more than an honor. It’s been a blinconvenience.

Scott Brady 

 Scott Brady at The CCUG

Scott Brady headlines The Scott Brady Conspiracy, with co-conspirators Corey Adam and Chad Filley, this Saturday at The Comedy Corner Underground.

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Hey there internet!

Welcome to the first ever comedy blog post for the Comedy Corner Underground (CCUG). 

(Almost) every week on Thursday we’ll be posting a new comedy blog from a guest blogger in the Minneapolis stand up comedy scene. If you’re reading this in 6 months and this is still the first post, you’ll know how well we did at organizing it. Every week will be totally different, as there’s no restraint on what comics are allowed to talk about. One week it might be Scott Brady unleashing his killer dick riddles, the next it might be Andy Erikson talking about unicorns or something. So come back every week to see what weird things the Minneapolis scene came up with this time.

That being said, here’s blog post #1 from the Godfather himself: Bob Edwards

I don’t know how many of you out there read tabloid websites on a daily basis, so let me bring you up to speed. A little over a month ago radaronline.com posted an article that was amazing. Of all the titles from every piece of news every written, none will ever do what this one will do to your brain.

To keep from possibly causing this to happen

I will reveal word by word (along with my thoughts as I read this) the full headline

Gordon

(Ok.)

Gordon Ramsay’s 

(Ok, who the fuck is Gordon Ramsay? Wait, he’s that inexplicably angry cooking guy, right? Right)

Gordon Ramsay’s Dwarf

(Woah! You can get rich enough you get your own dwarf? Or wait, does he actually own him, or do they just hang out and that’s the nickname the dwarf guy got? Maybe I should keep reading this.) 

Gordon Ramsay’s Dwarf Porn

(Was he making dwarf porn? Does he have a dwarf porn collection so large people think it’s weird? Is any size dwarf porn collection not weird? I guess they would all be small collections *WOAH ZINGER*. Why are you making zinger jokes to yourself, subconscious?)

Gordon Ramsay’s Dwarf Porn Double

(WTF?!?!?!? Dwarf Porn Double is a career? This dude could list his occupation on his taxes as Dwarf Porn Double? I mean, he probably calls himself an actor or something, but he could totally legally call himself that? WTF?!?)

Gordon Ramsay’s Dwarf Porn Double Found

(Well, now I know it’s going to be bad news. No matter where you find a Dwarf Porn Double it’s bad news)

Gordon Ramsay’s Dwarf Porn Double Found Dead

(Awwww, poor little guy. I was just building up so much hope for his life and career. I was picturing him and Bridget the Midget with Weeman all hanging out. Mostly because those are now the only 3 midgets I’m fully aware of. Or sorry, “Little People”. On that note though, doesn’t little people sound way more insulting than midget?)

Gordon Ramsay’s Dwarf Porn Double Found Dead In

(…)

Gordon Ramsay’s Dwarf Porn Double Found Dead In A

(Please don’t say porn star.)

Gordon Ramsay’s Dwarf Porn Double Found Dead In A Badger

(Please say porn star.)

Gordon Ramsay’s Dwarf Porn Double Found Dead In A Badger Den

(That… That doesn’t… Wait, WHAT? How the fuck does a dwarf (pornstar or not) go anywhere near a badger den? Were they shooting on site for Lord of the G-Strings Part 2: “The Two Cock Towers” and he got carried off? How do any of these words put next to one another make a real sentence? WHY THE FUCK DOES GORDON RAMSAY HAVE A PORN DOUBLE? How did I not ask that question before? Wait a second, are there other dwarf porn doubles? Does Megan Fox have a dwarf porn double? Do they call them DPD’s? PORNHUB HO!)

Sadly, it turns out Megan Fox doesn’t have a dwarf porn double. In fact, nobody you would want to see naked has a dwarf porn double. I think it’s time we started trying to find dwarf porn doubles for more attractive people. Maybe make a “Dwarf Butt Pirates of the Caribbean”?

For anyone who wants to read it, here is the original post

I think one of the best parts of the post is where someone calls it a gangland style murder. The dwarf porn industry must be as dangerous as boogie nights. I wonder if there’s a DPD for rollergirl? Pornhub, AWAY!

The Godfather