Friday, December 6, 2013

Master Bastard #15 - Lyons Flood Part 2

After a 3 month hiatus, the Bastards are back with an episode recorded 3 months ago!  Why didn't this come out 3 months ago?  Fuck you, that's why.
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Tuesday, September 17, 2013

Master Bastard #14 - Lyons Flood Part 1

Disaster strikes the Bastards!  Their home town of Lyons, Colorado has flooded!  Listen to their epic tales of survival and pooping in roughly dug holes!
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Master Bastard Public Domain Podcast Theater - #13 - Knife Fight!

Welcome to Master Bastard Public Domain Podcast Theater!  Today we have the elegant pairing of the audio from Master Bastard #13 and the video from the 1961 public domain movie, "Creature from the Haunted Sea".  Hamtackle, Terlet, Sir Chapsworth and Ramtang podcasted and thems feels good.
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Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Master Bastard #13 - Knife Fight!

The Bastards mix an elegant drink... The Knife Fight.  Don't try this at home.
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Sunday, September 8, 2013

Master Bastard Public Domain Podcast Theater - #12 - Sardausage

Welcome to Master Bastard Public Domain Podcast Theater!  Today we have the elegant pairing of the audio from Master Bastard #12 and the video from the 1932 public domain movie, "Freaks".  Hamtackle, Terlet, Sir Chapsworth and Ramtang slopped out some podcast, give it a taste!?
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Thursday, September 5, 2013

Peyton The Raven Rapist

I am a Broncos fan. Since I was born. It has not always been easy, we have had some terrible seasons over the years. But I always cheered for them, whether we win or lose. Sometimes I think I care too much about the games, and when they lose it fucking ruins my day. And there are Raiders fans that live in this orange and blue state (for the life of me I couldn't tell you why), and they always get to talk shit when we fail, usually without any repurcussions since their team always sucks ass.

But tomorrow I feast on the tears of the Bronco hating bastards at work. Sure it was the first game of the season. Sure there is a long way to go. But these assholes delighted in their celebration when the Baltimore Ravens stole the superbowl that was rightfully ours last season, and they will hear from me tomorrow. "And by the way," I will tell them, "we play the Raiders in our next home game. Care to make a gentleman's bet?" And they will sheepishly laugh and decline.

In case you don't follow the NFL, tonight the Denver Broncos stomped the superbowl champion Baltimore Ravens 49 - 27, and gave away 7 points on a fumbled punt inside the five, and gave back 7 points on a dropped ball after an interception. Peyton Manning tied an NFL record with 7 touchdowns, a feat that hasn't been done since 1969. And all this without our two best defensive players, Champ Bailey and Von Miller. Joe Flacco earned his 120 million dollar contract the hard way tonight, as he was held down and forced to toss Manning's sweaty salad at altitude, and I loved every minute of it.

I will be honest, though. This post was either going to be an angry rant about the mistakes we made, the bad calls by the refs, and petty name calling directed at Flacco, or it would be this. Now I pursue sleep, dear audience, sleep that will be punctuated by dreams of a Broncos superbowl.

You must be at least this tall to blow me.




Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Master Bastard #12 - Sardausage

Ramtang is back and Sir Chapsworth, Hamtackle and Terlet are ready to get sweaty!  The Bastards eat Vienna Sausages and Sardines, swap vomit stories, read some twitter and whip out the sports chat on 92.2 The Beast!  RAAAARRR!!
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Monday, September 2, 2013

Master Bastard Public Domain Podcast Theater - #11 - Gefilte FIsh, Paraphilia, Snuff and Mom's Love

Welcome to Master Bastard Public Domain Podcast Theater!  Today we have the elegant pairing of the audio from Master Bastard #11 and the video from the 1962 public domain movie, "Eegah".  Hamtackle, Terlet, Sir Chapsworth and Ramtang made a podcast now it's itchin' to get up in ya!
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Thursday, August 29, 2013

A Case Study In Irony

Irony is one of those concepts that is difficult to define. In fact, it is one of the most misunderstood and misused concepts in the english language. Take the title of this blog, for instance. Very little posted here has anything to do with irony, and it certainly isn't popular. Isn't THAT ironic, though?.... Yes. Well, maybe. Ok, probably not. But I digress.


The truth is that this blog is in desperate need of an injection of irony to keep it's name honest and demonstrate that Terlet and I are not complete idiots who can't properly use the word irony. So I bring you a case study in irony tonight, in the form of a news story that captured my heart and demonstrates the concept perfectly.


The title is "Creationist Museum Employee Struck By Lightning".


For those of you unfamiliar with the creationist museum, it is run by a man named Ken Ham (not joking) and is located in the progressive mecca of Kentucky, USA. Their goal is to present a history of earth from a biblically-friendly perspective, complete with a recreation of a young earth style utopia. This means people riding dinosaurs. Seriously. I am not going to get into the simple irony of a "museum", which is a place that promotes art and science, being bastardized to promote the exact opposite. That is an example for another day. This Ham guy was featured in Bill Maher's documentary "Religulous" in which he scolds Bill for mocking the scientific inaccuracies in their exhibits by invoking celestial infallibility. And check him out. He looks like a bowl of laughs.



Well, last week one of his employees was kinda, but not exactly struck by lightning. He was valiantly trying to get museum visitors off of a zip-line ride attraction during a thunderstorm, and was blasted by an electrical charge from a lightning bolt, suffering only minor injuries.


Now, this sort of thing happens from time to time, and while rare, is not unheard of. Especially for those working outdoors on large metallic structures during lightning storms. But being struck by lightning is symbolic of a mortal who is out of favor from a deity, not just in christianity, but all the way back to zeus who wielded bolts of lightning like Phil Specter in a brothel with a revolver. So isn't this evidence of god's disdain for the rejection of reason and science? Isn't he lashing out at these peddlers of pseudo-science who knowingly reject the accumulated knowledge that mankind has painstakingly patched together since the stone age? Not according to Ken Ham.


“Well first of all, we certainly do say that ‘disasters’ and ‘personal tragedies’ are the result of God’s judgment–God’s judgement BECAUSE of our sin in Adam! Romans 8.22 makes it clear the whole world groans because of our sin,” He replied on Monday. “The fact we get sick and die is because of God’s judgment on sin! But praise the Lord, God had a plan from eternity to save us from the consequence of our sin–He paid the penalty for our sin and offers us a free gift of salvation (Romans 10:9).”


So I guess the fact that this accident occurred on their property WAS because they were being punished by god, but not for their half-assed attempt a weaving together science and creationism, but because Adam ate that fucking apple in the beginning of time! Holy fuck. That christian god sure can hold a grudge.


So the next time you are put on the spot to give an example of irony, just remember the story of the false prophet being struck by lightning. And by the way... Were you left wondering why the fuck a creation museum would have a zip-line ride on the premises? Because NO ONE wants to go there.

Indoctrinate them while they're young!



Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Sexxit - Episode 8

More castles, more kick-ass, more awesome, more abuse.  Welcome to Sexxit, Hexxit by idiots.

Music by Kevin MacLeod


Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Master Bastard #11 - Gefilte Fish, Paraphilia, Snuff and Mom's Love

The Bastards eat canned gefilte fish, discuss various paraphilias, try nasal snuff and talk about fucking their moms.  Continued classiness.
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Monday, August 26, 2013

The Punch Drunk Pugilist- A Vic Musket Mini Mystery Part 2

Vic was six hours into his investigation of the dead irish boxer when he visited Dead Dave. Dave got his name from the hundreds of death threats made against him over the years, mostly due to his profession. He was a full-time rat. Not the type that talked to get himself out of trouble, but the kind that stuck his nose into everyones business so he would have info to sell. If you were shady, Dave knew all about you.

"I need info on a boxer's woman. The dead irishman, Feeney." Vic said without wasting breath on pleasantries.

"Mona?" Dave said. "Did she step in shit, Vic? Nice lady, that one. Too good for Feeney."

"Just tell me everything you know about her. It's business, Dave." Vic was already going through the man's cupboards, making himself at home and looking for booze.

Dead Dave knew this gal for years. The way he was speaking, he might even have a thing for her. Apparently she was beautiful, from a good family with a schoolteacher mom that died when she was a kid, and a father who was a chemist with an industrial company nearby. She went to school, paid her taxes, and on Saturdays was usually beaten bloody by her bastard boxer boyfriend. Dave was too weak to stand up to him about it, and Feeney just joked that she saved him gym fees by letting him "work out" on her. Nice guy. Nice enough for this girl to want him dead, Vic thought. He scratched down her address and paid Dave half of what he was asking, since he was out of whiskey.

Vic punched the wooden door to the Feeney home with shaking hands. When Mona answered she was still in a bathrobe despite it being nearly six pm.

"Go away, whoever you are. I am grieving." She said, swinging the door closed and turning before realizing the unwanted guest had his foot in the door.

"You are gonna want to talk with me lady" Vic said, "I know you killed Jack, and I need to know the details." She gasped at the accusation, but didn't deny it as Vic stepped though the doorway and began rifling through her kitchen.

"I don't know who told you I hurt Jack, but they're damn liars!" Mona said through forced sobs. "I loved him. And he died in the ring, for God's sake!"

Vic found a half empty bottle of bourbon and a coffee mug, sat down at the kitchen table and poured to the brim. "Nobody told me anything, miss" Vic said without taking his eyes off the cup as it rose to his lips. "But if I had a daughter who was getting the shit kicked out of her on a regular basis, I would want to kill the man responsible. And if that man was as tough a sonovabitch as Jack was, I would probably shoot the bastard. Unless I had access to thousands of lethal poisons and had the education to use them, that is." He swallowed the contents of the mug in one gulp and placed it back on the table to be filled again. He had her full attention, and she reached for the bottle to fill his cup for him.


Sunday, August 25, 2013

Master Bastard Public Domain Podcast Theater - #10 - The Perils of Food Flavored Beverages

Welcome to Master Bastard Public Domain Podcast Theater!  Today we have the elegant pairing of the audio from Master Bastard #10 and the video from the 1938 public domain movie, "The Terror of Tiny Town".  Hamtackle, Terlet, Sir Chapsworth and Ramtang get their pod up in ya'.
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Saturday, August 24, 2013

Sexxit - Episode 7

More castles, more degradation more of Terlet not knowing what he is doing.

Music by Kevin MacLeod


Thursday, August 22, 2013

Men With Giant Cocks Unite


I am a member of an oppressed minority. But you can't tell when you see me on the bus. It has nothing to do with my sexual orientation, and likewise nothing to do with my religion. I have a giant cock.

I know what you are probably thinking. "There are people that face serious issues with racism, homophobia, and cultural intolerance. How dare you belittle their plight!" But you clearly must not also have a huge penis, because you just don't understand. Countless times I have gone to a job interview only to be denied because I am "under-qualified", or because "I failed a background check". But I know what happened. My prospective employer caught an eyeful of my massive, swaying member through the thin fabric of my trousers and I never had a chance.

And put yourself in my jockstrap for a moment. Have you ever had to get your trousers tailored to make room for your junk? It's not cheap, my friend. I could easily end up spending triple the value for a pair of bluejeans just to I can walk properly. And imagine this scene: you head out for a fun day taking in the sun at the beach in your new custom speedo, and before you know it some mother is calling the police because your natural body is somehow "indecent".

But the ladies must love it, right? Wrong again. The majority of the women I date get scared right out of my bedroom at the first sight of it. And the few that are still up for the act are no longer in the mood after the twenty or so minutes it takes for my member to become fully erect. Yes sir, having this giant cock is truly a burden, and society needs to recognize the special needs of the bountifully-endowed.

So I suggest we confront this issue as a society, head-on. The rights of men with large penises should be protected, and adjustments should be made in bathrooms, movie theaters, airline seats, and public transportation. And the clothing industry should be required to make off-the-rack selections available for this oppressed minority. It is only fair.

And maybe one day the tides will change, and men with giant cocks will be looked at with integrity by the public. We now have a black president. Maybe one day we will have a president with a massive penis, too.




Sexxit - Episode 6

The Dread Pirate Hamtackle wants to enchant some junk.  An enchanting table is required!  The search for obsidian is on!  While Hamtackle searches, Manservant Terlet wanders aimlessly.  Welcome to Sexxit, Hexxit by idiots.

Music by Kevin MacLeod


Tuesday, August 20, 2013

Master Bastard #10 - The Perils of Food Flavored Beverages

The Bastards class this shit up with some hardcore sommelier action!  They rub their tastebuds against Bacon, Hot Wing and Ranch Dressing flavored sodas.  Once the gagging ceases they continue the classiness with tales of testicle biting fish and fat chicks.
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Monday, August 19, 2013

Master Bastard Public Domain Podcast Theater - #9 Sir Chapsworth Eats Dog Poop

Welcome to Master Bastard Public Domain Podcast Theater!  Today we have the elegant pairing of the audio from Master Bastard #9 and the video from the 1959 public domain movie, "Attack of the Giant Leeches".  Hamtackle, Terlet, Sir Chapsworth and Ramtang have a podcast and it feels great inside of your ear holes.
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The Punch Drunk Pugilist - A Vic Musket Mystery pt 1

Being a man of low moral character, Vic Musket enjoyed betting on the occasional prizefight, and the more lopsided the victory, the better. But he rarely had the kind of scratch that would get him into betting on the casino bouts, leaving the weekend drifter matches as his venue. There you could fix a match by buying the loser a few drinks beforehand, unless of course he was irish. Booze was like spinach was to popeye for the micks, and that hard lesson cost him seventy bucks one time. But dry out a hard drunk and he couldn't drive a car, let alone win a fight. So when the papers reported about the in ring death of boxing legend "Green" Jack Feeney as related to a seizure from alcohol withdrawal, everything seemed to add up. Until the mob came knocking at Vic's car door.

The rapping at the window interrupted a pleasant dream about sodomizing a young filipino prostitute, and left Vic wondering if his wet clothes were due to sleeping in a car at noon during a heatwave or the combination of pissing himself and a wet dream. He gathered his senses and noticed a greaseball guido in a suit trying none too hard to disguise his mob connections standing outside. He gathered himself and followed the man into a nearby alleyway that served as Vic's office to either discuss business or get stabbed. Truth be told, Vic would accept either.

"We need you to look into Feeney's death last Saturday, Vic" the man said with a disgusted look on his face, possibly from the stench of the makeshift alleyway latrine. "One of my guys had a deal with him to throw the fight, and we think somebody fucked with our play and took him out."

"But if he was supposed to throw the fight anyways, what was the fix? He lost, didn't he?" Vic asked with a confused look.

"Whatchoo talkin about, Vic? If a guy fuckin dies in the ring it's a no contest. And we lost out on over 50 grand here! Somebody was messing around. We know Feeney wasn't fighting dry. He was shitfaced two nights before the fight at one of our clubs!"

Apparently the rules in sanctioned matches are a bit different than in the drifter bouts. In those fights a win by death paid out double. The guido didn't like being questioned, and was poking his finger in Vic's chest hard. He might be the first guy to get away with that, too.

"Alright, but what's in it for me? There are whores around here that rely on my business."

The man shook his head in disbelief at Vic's statement. "You tryin to be cute, Musket? You owe us over ten grand in bar bills at our clubs! You think we're paying for this job? Consider it a favor that we let you work it off instead of dropping you in a river somewhere!" The guy had a point.

"Alright, alright. I will get to the bottom of this, you know I will. Just clear the debt and open my tab back up in the club and we're square." Vic said as he pushed the man's finger away from his sternum. "Just tell me this, what did the autopsy say?"

"That's whats so fucking fishy. There was no autopsy. Feeney's broad said he was off the booze for a full week, and when they tested his blood he was clean, so the bitch had him cremated."

Well, at least there was somewhere to start. Vic pulled a half-full flask of whiskey from a sopping wet pocket and took a drink. The boxer's wife must have known he was still drinking, so her lies made her a prime suspect. Getting on the wagon certainly could kill a drunk like Feeney, Vic knew that from the way he felt after a long nap, let alone the week of sobriety his wife was claiming. But a hasty cremation was suspicious. Vic knew many dead irishmen, and right now his body should be sitting in a box on a bar somewhere having songs sung over it, not in a fucking jar.

Vic parted ways with the greaseball and headed off to one of his contacts to learn more about this shifty broad.



Saturday, August 17, 2013

Sexxit - Episode 5

More Hexxit, more castles, more role play and more Hamtackle degrading Terlet. Welcome to Sexxit, Hexxit by idiots.

Music by Kevin MacLeod


Thursday, August 15, 2013

Paranormal Irony: Investigation Edition

Around a month ago I took a short weekend vacation to Estes Park, Colorado and stayed in the historic Stanley Hotel. For those unfamiliar, the Stanley Hotel is the inspiration for the Overlook in Stephen King's classis horror novel, The Shining. It is also home to hundreds of tales of hauntings and attracted the esteemed scientific powerhouse, The Ghosthunters show on FX, who declared the Stanley to be the most haunted location in America. I ponied up extra cash to stay in a "guaranteed haunted room", and was assigned room 418. No joke. Here are some photos of my midnight whiskey-fueled ghost hunt. Spoiler alert: no ghosts.

This is a shot of the hallway outside of my room. The fourth floor is the "haunted" floor, with the exception of room 217. The first night I didn't sleep a wink, and only heard the occasional emo teenage girls doing makeshift seances in the hallway. I shit you not. It's not surprising that I didn't sleep well, since I NEVER do, and since the hotel has no air conditioning to preserve the "historical" and conveniently cheap nature of the property. This night I noticed something on the floor, which you can see at the bottom right...

HOLY SHIT! Wait.. Sorry folks. False alarm. Just some emo art depicting bloody mary. Close one, though. Let's continue the tour.

This is the door to "haunted" room number 428. The floor was creaking so badly that I am pretty sure we scared the ghosts away, so nothing happened. Moving on...

This is the door for room 401, where staff will tell you they don't even rent the room anymore, and the maid service refuses to enter. This is the room where one of the Ghosthunters castmembers reported a glass being broken in the night, and the closet door was caught on camera opening and closing multiple times. Sounds like non-bullshit to me.

Heading to room 217, the most famous haunted room from The Shining. Seems convenient that the most haunted room also just happens to be the room from the book where Danny gets molested by the decaying, nude old woman.

On the way to 217 you pass the grand staircase. It is gorgeous and in the day gives you a wonderful view of the mountainside. At night it is just kind of creepy with mildly disturbing portraiture.

An example of the totally not-creepy portraits in the grand staircase.

When I finally made it to the famed room 217- past midnight, mind you, I was delighted to see that the people that rented the room decided to watch tv with the lights off and the door open! They probably got sick of assholes like me creeping up to the door and trying to peer through the peep hole. So I snapped a flash photo that surely lit up their room and disturbed their peaceful night and, I won't lie here, ran away like a teenage shoplifter.

So there you have it. A pretty thorough paranormal investigation that was just like the rest of them, completely fruitless. I plan on staying at the Stanley again soon, just because I feel like maybe I missed something. Like a good night's sleep.


Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Sexxit - Episode 4

The Dread Pirate Hamtackle and his unwilling Manservant Terlet are back to raiding their first castle.  Tearin' Sh*t up!  Welcome to Sexxit, Hexxit by idiots.

Music by Kevin MacLeod


Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Master Bastard #9 - Sir Chapsworth Eats Dog Poop

Let Sir Chapsworth, Ramtang, Hamtackle and Terlet regale you with tales of wonder and suspense.  They discuss poop, dog farts, shingles, pro wrestling and Sir Chapsworth shares a treasured childhood secret.  Continued classiness....


Monday, August 12, 2013

A One Legged Vagrants Guide to the Movies

Hi again there, internet people!  Frisky Pete here with all new reviews for the newest big movies at the theaters!  It has been a long time sence I have been able to write things about the movies, and that is because I have been in rehab for snorting the powder that builds up on car batteries.  But I am really better now, and I am back on the booze insted.

The transformers and godzilla one
I saw three movies this month, and I want to tell you about the one that I thought was real, real good.  There was a very loud movie that was called Specific Rim, and it was about the time in the early ‘60s when godzillas got into fights with transformers.  Most was dark an there were babies that were crying because of the loudness.  I liked the theater though, I think they play pornos here because it always smells like public toilets.  I had a relapse that day and had to lay down in the aisle from the battery powder, so I missed the ending, but I thought it was a good movie to see.  The overlying commentary of human perseverance seemed forced throughout, and a thin reasoning for overblown cinematic action that leaves most moviegoers dizzied, save the desensitized adolescent mind.

Two guns movie (left one is fake I think)
After that one I slept next to a mailbox, then went on the mexican bus (the dangerous one) and went to the moviehouse that they built to replace the hotel that burned down.  I decided to see the movie called 2 Guns.  It was a remake of the lethal weapon movies without Danny Glover and Braveheart in it because they got too old.  I missed the first ten minutes because the people in line were too cheap to buy my pencils, so I had to steal a ticket from a guy in a wheelchair.  I didn’t feel bad because he had both of his legs, even though they didn’t work.  I thought the movie was a big lie.  There were WAY more than 2 guns in it, I would say like at least a hundred.  2 Guns is a shining example of how casting can make or break a film, where the winding plotline and exaggerated shootouts would blend in to a cinematic landscape rife with likeminded titles.  But the charisma of two of actings finest specimens makes the routine quite special, and takes no small benefit from actors that are equally at home in drama as they are in action.

This thing with knives and ninjas
And then last friday I fell down and landed on a fork in an alley, so I had to go to the free clinic.  They gave me a pretty good pain killer for the stitches, so I decided not to waste it and go to see another movie.  The place next to billboard that has a picture of a fat guy holding donuts on it was showing The Wolverine, and I knew it would be about a guy with claws cutting up people.  I even got in free because I was showing everybody my stitches and they didn’t like me scaring them away.  And can you imagine something better than a guy with knife hands murdering superheroes?  How about a guy with knife hands killing ninjas!  The only thing I would say was bad was that for as many knives as this movie has there is very little disemboweling and choking on blood and vomit.  I saw Gutter Greg get stabbed about a month ago and he couldn’t stop throwing up blood until he died.  It is refreshing to see a film recognize it’s niche and stick to it, and also see it helmed by an actor that is now comfortable in this well-worn skin.  Jackman satisfies in this solo outing that shows Worlverine is not just a member of the X-Men franchise, he is the main show.

Well, that is pretty much all I can write about movies right now, since the library is going to close soon and I still need to take a shower in the sink.  I have to hop up like seven stairs to get to the nice bathroom, too, since I don’t feel like bathing in the bathroom with the glory hole in stall number three.  And if you know the library I am talking about, don’t go to the glory hole on tuesdays.  I have seen the tuesday guy bite them sometimes.  Weirdo.


Sunday, August 11, 2013

Sexxit - Episode 3

The Dread Pirate Hamtackle and his loyal Manservant Terlet are back and are kicking up the role play, much to the chagrin of Terlet.  They mount up and attack their first castle!   Welcome to Sexxit, Hexxit by idiots.

Music by Kevin MacLeod


Friday, August 9, 2013

Sexxit - Episode 2

Hamtackle and Terlet survived their 1st night in Hexxit and now it's resource time!  Armor is required to siege the castle and all these exposed surface diamonds should do the trick!  Welcome to Sexxit, Hexxit by idiots.

Music by Kevin MacLeod


Thursday, August 8, 2013

Not A Wig


What are you looking at? It's my hair isn't it.



I have very healthy hair. Definitely not a wig.



What, are you crazy? It's all real up there, baby!



Come on, man! I would never wear a piece! What kind of guy do you take me for?





There you have it, folks. Not a wig.


Wednesday, August 7, 2013

Sexxit - Episode 1

Hamtackle and Terlet are back with a brand new show!  This time they are taking a surly stab at the Minecraft mod pack, Hexxit.  They decided to name it Sexxit because they are sad, disgusting men.

Terlet is getting over a case of the shingles and is hopped up on painkillers for the migraines..... Needless to say, he wastes a lot of time and makes very stupid mistakes.  Hamtackle does everything and lets Terlet know.  Welcome to Sexxit, Hexxit by idiots.

 Music by Kevin MacLeod


Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Master Bastard #8 - Ghost Peppers, Bad Theatre, Roots and Reading Rainbow

Cheese Nips is back and she brought us a treasure.  A terrible, homemade, one woman community theatre play on DVD.  We taste Ghost Peppers and get unintentionally racist.  Continued classiness....


Sunday, July 28, 2013

A Vic Musket Mini Mystery: The Salacious Senator

Excuses are like assholes. Everybody's got one. But when it comes to powerful men lying about sex, their excuses are giant, bloody prolapses that they drag around like bulbous vestigial tails. And when such powerful men want their name cleared they pay men like Vic Musket. A private detective with ethics as questionable as his choice of street whores.

Senator Jim Gallant of the garden state of New Jersey was facing serious allegations of illicit sex with some high-end escort, the kind of scandal that has been overcome by countless politicians and would seem to pose no threat beyond the cost of a skillful PR representative and an embarrassing news interview or two. But there had to be more to it, considering the serious look on the face of the staffer sitting across the table from him.

"Before we begin, detective Musket, I want your assurance that anything we discuss with you will not leave this room. We are willing to pay you quite handsomely for your discretion..." the well-dressed man looked shocked when Vic interrupted him.

"I won't tell about your dirty secrets if you don't tell about the mess I am about to make in that executive bathroom, mister." Vic Musket stood up and began marching toward the slightly ajar door at the back of the conference room.

"But detective, I will have to show you to another restroom, that toilet is out of order." the man said with a slightly panicked look on his face.

"No problem. I can use the sink." was the unwelcome response, Vic not even slowing his stride.

The man darted in front of him before he could touch the doorknob. "Excuse me, sir, but I will have to insist! I cannot allow you to defecate in the Senator's bathroom sink!"

"Do I look like the kind of animal that would shit in a sink?" Vic asked, leaning in to make a point. "It's 10:30 in the morning, and I haven't thrown up all the whiskey from last night. I haven't eaten in two days, so I assure you there won't be any plumbing problems. Now step aside!"

The sweet stench of booze was all the evidence the man needed to apologize and step aside. And after a few minutes of loud retching with the door wide open, Vic returned to the table. "Like I was saying, we can pay you handsomely for any information that might clear the Senator's good name in this matter. $20,000 if the evidence is good enough to make the problem go away."

The figure had Vic's full attention. "Give me the details" he said, "and get the money ready. I don't take checks."

The well-dressed man ran through a powerpoint presentation that explained everything. The Senator was accused of patronizing an escort service, and the glorified prostitute didn't have the good sense to keep with the age-old tradition of amnesia concerning her clientele. She was threatening to come forward with a story of receiving three full hours of cunnilingus from Gallant's famous silver tongue just three days ago, and wanted a sizable portion of the Senator's upcoming campaign fund or else she was talking. The voters wouldn't find this so unpalatable, pun intended, except for one fact. The escort was a hermaphrodite. The thought of a political candidate going down on a whore was one thing, but they wouldn't be able to shake the image of him wearing a flaccid penis on his face like groucho glasses in time to vote for him. Not even in Jersey.

"Do you have a picture of the whore?" The man called for a secretary to bring in a laptop, and upon delivery brought up an old mugshot of the culprit. A grin widened across Vic's face.  "Can I meet with the Senator? Is he here?" Vic asked.

The man was perplexed and it showed on his face. "Detective, the Senator is a very busy man, and I am not..." but he was cut off for the second time by a voice from the doorway.

"I am here, Musket. Whatever I can do to clear my name, just ask." The tall, gray haired Senator seemed sincere. And cleanly shaven.

"Well I have only one question for you. Do you shave with a blade or an electric razor?" Vic asked.

The two men in suits shared a confused glance. "A blade, every morning. It's the only way to maintain a clean appearance now, with the high definition cameras, and such." Said the Senator.

Vic stood up. "Then I know you are innocent. Pay me and I will be on my way."

"Not so fast, detective. We need irrefutable proof to keep this woman from speaking up. You aren't getting a dime until our lawyers are satisfied there is no further political threat here." The well dressed man remained unconvinced.

"It's quite simple," Vic began "the good Senator is clean shaven, not a blemish on his face, the picture of trustworthy modern American politics. He shaves with a razor daily, a clean shave that leaves his facial pores open and exposed, yet he bears no sores on his lips. Get that 'woman' tested, sir. 'She' has a bad case of herpes, and any man freshly shaven with a blade would look like we went down on a wasp's nest after pleasuring her."

"But I don't understand," the Senator muttered, "how can you tell she has herpes from the picture on the laptop?"

"Simple." Vic replied, taking a flask out of his inside pocket. "Because I gave them to her six weeks ago." By the time the lawyers had contacted the woman and explained the new developments, she recanted her story and Vic's briefcase full of cash was prepared. Plenty of money afford any number of exotic escorts, even one born with the kind of tackle that gave men like him plenty of options.

The End.

Monday, July 22, 2013

Hail To The King, Baby!

Holy shit it finally happened!  I am sure you will all remember where you were when you heard about the glorious coming of a baby with a higher birth than anyone in your lineage will ever achieve!  I know what I was doing, reading an essay on the state of islam by the late Christopher Hitchens and breathing shallowly in eager anticipation of the news on the next royal heir.  And we here at Popular Irony have the exclusive first pic of the baby prince!

As any other americans can probably relate, I had a hard time understanding how a newborn baby could hold the attention of the international media for so long.  It seemed trivial, like maybe the world had serious doubts about the working order of the prince’s royal member.  But then I realized why this is such a big deal.  I mean, it’s not everyday that every living human on earth takes a step backwards in overall rank to someone who is only hours old.  Just think of all the starving peasants he will step over on his way to a caviar and fois gras breakfast over the course of his lifetime!  It really gives you perspective.

It is easy to see why the british people are so excited to add another person to the long list of royals that will forever gorge themselves on the teats of the collective taxpayer.  And in return for the lifetime of support in their excessive lifestyle, the new addition to the royal family will spend the rest of his days contemplating difficult decisions, like whether or not to read the newspaper for information on political policy making, or if he will attend public events in lavish clothes that are covered by enormous unearned medals and ribbons.

The whole spectacle really puts our political system to shame.  In the states you must spend your early years educating yourself and participating in public or private affairs to make a name for yourself, then appeal to the community you live in for support in your election to public office, followed by years of diligent service to allow you to climb the ranks to the eventual pinnacle of your chosen field of government.  Only then are you allowed to rape the taxpayer.  Our whole system fails to take advantage of the easy selection process inherent in a birthright system.  Here you have to earn your way unless your surname is Kennedy.  Or Clinton.  Or Bush.  Or your family has generational wealth.  Ok, maybe I should shut up now.  YAY MONARCHY!!


Friday, July 19, 2013

Sweat Laddie

Sweat Laddie here, ready to spread cheer!  Line up folks and grab yer rags, it's almost sweatin' time!  Everyone from Tuscucola all the way down to North Wallahasee knows that my sweats is the cure to almost all yer ills. 

All ya' need is a good soppin' rag, you know the type, twelve dollars in quarters and a bit o' patience.  I promise ya' won't be disappointed.   It's cures all yer household ailments; Gamey Toe, Crispy Lobe, Drippy Tip, Sluice Bottom, Soppin' Chums, Fever Anus, Rape Dreams and it even fixes Farmer's Handshake.

Once yer rag has reached saturation, all ya need do is place it in yer mouth and suckle.  You know how to suckle, don't ya?  Put yer gums together and *schluck*.  My body drainin's fillin' yer mouth will fill you with the healin' power of Jesus!  Now you know it's true.  Jesus don't lie.

Now start soppin' me.  I'ma more sweaty n' usual.


Thursday, July 18, 2013

My Glorious Nature Journey

As some avid readers/listeners of the podcast may have already devised, Terlet and myself reside in Colorado. There are two things our state has that bring in the hippies, one is pot, and the other is an amazing mountain landscape. Well, I decided to make my way back to the stomping grounds of my youth by traveling up to the Rocky Mountain National Park, and I decided that despite it's natural beauty and fresh alpine air, I fucking hate nature. Allow me to explain.


Upon entering the park I took this photo of the wonderful valley surrounded by massive and ancient mountains. What is wrong with that, you ask? Look closer. Some retarded tourist snuck into frame and I didn't notice. If only my camera was a 30.06 scope...



And after climbing the steep and winding roads of Trail Ridge, you come upon the delicate tundra environment. Here life clings to the rocks and not even trees can withstand the thin air and high winds. It was there that I took this photo, and then promptly got a vicious outbreak of hayfever. Having trouble breathing up there? Now try it with a running nose and constant sneezing.



At the summit of Trail Ridge Road is a hiking trail that promises enchanting vistas and natural beauty that will never be forgotten. What they don't tell you is that the half mile or so trail looks so relaxing, until your fat ass realizes that you are at 12,000 feet above sea level and all the huffing and puffing that would get you up a few hundred stairs in the city only gives you a headache, not any life-giving oxygen. Oh yes, and the views? Mostly just rocks and sky.



But surely it would all be worth it for this amazing shot of a bull elk in its natural habitat, right? Not so much. These dirty beasts will forever be associated with endless summers spent fixing barbed wire fences in my youth. And here in the park they don't even let you kill and eat them. What was the entry fee for, again?



But I must admit, the peaceful solitude of this amazing flower, heavy with a hungry bee, lounging at the banks of a babbling mountain stream had me at the most relaxed state I had been in in literally years. And it was at the exact moment that I snapped this shot that I realized the thin atmosphere paired with my lilly-white, shut-in complexion had left me with severe sunburn on my face, neck, and arms. I am still suffering.


So there you have it. A few reasons why I can justify hiding in the basement of my home and avoiding the natural playground at my doorstep. Toodles!




Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Master Bastard #7 - Cheesenips and War Wounds

The boys are joined by a special guest, a female!  They discuss old war wounds and drink Spirit Hound Moonshine.  The presence of a lady does not deter the filth.  Continued classiness....

Sunday, July 14, 2013

Innovative Native

In appreciation for this wonderful country that was obtained legitimately and under no false pretenses, I made these comics out of amazing photos of native americans.  It took me only about twenty minutes, which I am sure just blew your mind.  Enjoy.


Friday, July 12, 2013

Discount Amateur Surgery - Episode 21

It's Nurse Terlet's turn on the zero gravity heart transplant.  Doctor Hamtackle is again, not helpful, but this time he is not helpful... IN SPACE!!  It's Surgeon Simulator 2013, done right...... Drunk.

Music by Kevin MacLeod


Thursday, July 11, 2013

Limp-Dicked Limericks

I am craving for something quite filthy

A device that the devil might build me

A dong at one end

A long shaft with a bend

That when fondled spits out something milky



You should never make love to a puppet

No matter how well the maker does stuff it

Its mouth might look sweet

But every one lacks their feet

And the end with hand's where you'd fuck it



A priest is a leader of people

A guide bringing masses from evil

But some go astray

And claim they're not gay

But rape scores of young boys in the steeple



An abortion is tragic two ways

Once for the toll a mom pays

But also the waste

They're not converted to paste

And served to the starving on trays



I've got a small broken phallus

A member that's been treated with malice

It's been beaten and burned

But one thing I've learned

Is I can strike a match on the callus



Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Discount Amateur Surgery - Episode 20

Doctor Hamtackle and Nurse Terlet take a surgery filled jaunt into SPACE!  That's right, it's a heart transplant with no gravity.  Now, where did that heart float off to?  It's Surgeon Simulator 2013, done right...... Drunk.

Music by Kevin MacLeod


Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Master Bastard Podcast - A Vic Musket Mini-Mystery - The Stool Pigeon

This week, Master Bastard presents a special episode.  It's a Vic Musket Mini-Mystery!  Join our drunken detective on his haphazard hobo-noir adventures, accompanied by his constant companions; violence, filth and alcohol dependency.

Written by Hamtackle, performed by Terlet.