The Zogger

By:  Brad Cox

One night, many moons ago a sober, sober mind you, Derek Thomso and I decide it would be a grand idea to drive around town and steal all the “Gwenn Montgomery-Teacher for Senate” signs.  Now I’m not saying it wasn’t a good idea, but I’m also not saying it was a bad idea either, you be the judge.

My memories leave me some 10 years ago on a crisp Fall night about 20 minutes from our States Capital, on the mean streets of Pawnee, or the ‘Nee” as I’ve heard it told.  After countless hours of cruising the ‘strip’, only to be rivaled by Matt Glenn, a young adolescent teen and his friends are bound to get board.  How does one cure this boredom?  Depends, sometimes its country cruising and drinking beer, the ever popular underage drinking party, or in the very rare case, stealing campaign signs.  Luckily, for the sake of this story, that night we chose the latter.  After hours of driving around in my RAM D-50 and discussing our pure hatred for ‘Mound Montgomery’, Derek and I decided it was a good idea to drive around town and pluck those stupid apple shaped yard signs out of peoples yards one by one.  Fueled by the nonsensical lyrics of Insane Clown Posse we started down our strategically planned route to comb the town and rid it of the convoluted narcissistic ideals that were, Gwen Montgomery.  We started down the outer most Western confines of P-Town, 13th street.  From there, we would work our way to Pawnees Eastern most sea-board, at 104 and Ferrall Gas.  As we stealthily weaved our way down the presidential streets of Pawnees inner workings we were on a natural high that even Tyler Smith could not imagine (get it, high?).  As my truck bed filled with those 3ft high apple shaped propaganda sticks, I could feel myself wanting, needing, desiring more. As we quickly did a clean sweep of the South side we made a run for it.  As we crossed the tracks I could feel our resolve to bring down that evil bitch getting stronger and stronger.  As we barreled down 4th street heading North, North to only our destiny, we saw something that we could never dream in a million years.  In the yard of that graphic arts demon parents’ house, stood a glorious sight.  We had spotted the Mecca of all signs, a 4×8 plywood sign painted up for all the world to see; her first mistake.. No, no, correction…Second mistake.  As our eyes met like to star crossed lovers for the first time, we both knew what we had to do.  As I came to an immediate halt in the middle of the road, across from where Jennifer Schnapp used to live, we exited the vehicle and moved only with the shadows.  We were the foot-clan reborn (ninja turtles), that night we truly became ‘the night’.  As Derek entered the yard with a sweet, ninja like cart-wheel, I entered from the side with a serious of the most graceful round-off’s you have ever seen; the situation demanded a cool entrance.  Within a matter of seconds we had ripped the sign from the life giving earth that had held it firm for oh so many weeks, tossed it in the bed of my truck and were off into the night, now with more purpose than ever we had a new mission.  As we began scouring the North side of the ‘Nee’ our drive became overpowered with the ever looming thoughts of something bigger and better.  We soon began remembering where there were more of these plywood gifts from God.  The remembrances flowed from our memory banks like the instinctive red-breasted robin to a Florida winter, we knew where to go.  The one in the Ferrall Gas parking lot, the one out by the concrete plant, the one just off the interstate exit and the one posted up the back North entrance into town.  It was almost
to easy, almost to suspicious.  Why would they make these such easy targets?  You might ask, who would take them; I ask, why are they so easy to get to?  After a few minor setbacks of needing wire cutters to free the signs from their iron support posts and a cover, so no one would see them stock piled in the bed of my truck, we had finally achieved what we had set out to do.  Now that we had them what were we to do?  Only the obvious, get some pictures then throw them off a bridge right?  As the five 4×8ft signs stuck out of the bed of my truck only to be covered by a old blanket, we swung by a picked up Trevor and headed for my house.  As we arrived we quickly began to arrange the signs in a way that would best promote our glorious capture.  As we lined the small yard signs around the upright plywood ones I went inside to get my sister.  After about 10minuets of her yelling at me for waking her up she agreed to come outside with the camera.  As she snapped photo after photo we were on such a high that we could not fathom what was to come.  Almost immediately after the mock photo shoot the signs were loaded back up and we were off to find a proper place to appreciate them for days to come, why not at the bottom of bridge.  We headed back into town with a quick stop off by the bridge just off 4th street.  As we launched each sign into the sky and over the railing of the bridge I felt a sense of achievement, pride and possibly wanderlust for what we had accomplished that magnificent Fall eve.  As the signs fell in an almost slow motion manner to their muddy grave in the bottom of Horse Creek I was on such a rush that I forgot one minor detail, one that would lead to the demise of our great plan.  As we went back to my house for the night and went to sleep our thoughts never turned to guilt, or being caught or even why we did it, we just knew we did it and would do it again in a heartbeat if necessary.  As the hours past in the dark night the sun was soon come up over the horizon and wake us for another day, another adventure.  As we awoke I drove Trevor back to his truck and Derek, almost back to his house, almost.  A quick stop off at the ‘lot’ led to a run in with the fingerless glove wearing Dave Bentley whom had recently received a report of missing signs and had recalled myself and a one Mr. Thomso driving around with something in the bed of the truck for a good portion of the night.  He asked, I denied and the game was on.  I was directed to go to the cop shop and have a little chat with Mr. Bentley.  As we arrived we were almost certain we would not be caught, I mean how could he prove it?  After about only 20 seconds at the cop shop I quickly discovered how he would catch us red handed.  Almost as soon as he walked to the bed of my truck he spotted a almost foot long splinter of painted plywood, painted the same color as those damn missing signs, “weird” I said, still clinging to my innocence.  “Weird”, until he had told me they knew where the signs were and Derek and I were to retrieve them and see if the splinter piece matched up with one of the signs.  After a few hours of us slopping around in the mud and getting all the signs back, sure enough the piece fit perfectly.  Dam you Dave Bentley, how could a person who wears fingerless gloves foil me?  I’ll be god damned but he sure did, Dave Bentley 1, Brad 0.  So, long story short, unless you are wanting to do a lot of community service and pay for new campaign signs to be remade, definitely do not steal signs.  If you are wanting a visual experience of this little adventure, contact David Meacham and ask to see the pictures, a good time was had by all…

Over the past few years I have been on the search for the perfect vodka.  During these years I have drank countless fifths, suffered many hangovers and porked fat chick after fat chick.  About a week ago I decided I would continue my relentless research with a little help from the good people at Belvedere, or so I thought good people.  My first impressions of this vodka were good, good but not great.  It was pricey and racially stereotyped, all in all the taste was good, and I was even considering it to be one of the top vodkas, until I started reading the advertisement on the back.  As I read the first sentence my jaw dropped as I fully began to understand the utter boldness that the pompous apple-johns at Belvedere Vodka had forced upon me.  The label reads; “Worlds BEST vodka”… First of all I don’t need the corporate ‘machine’ telling me what the world’s best vodka is.  Second, HOW DARE THEY back me in a corner like this and pretty much tell me that my search is over.  How bold can one company be to claim such greatness?  I dare say ‘The Zogger’ is the world’s best paper, or I have the best cuticles in the world, or that Ron Erving’s mustache is the most supple piece of facial accessory I have ever seen.  I am just not that type of person.  I could never make a decision as important as that for another person.  I did some more looking into this and it turns out that this goes deeper than I previously thought.  The incredulous silly-nanny’s at ‘Kettle One’  seem to think they have the “world’s finest vodka”, and ‘Grey Goose’, don’t even get me started on their bald face lies to the American public, with their snide comments of “world’s best tasting vodka”.  Here’s an idea, how about I be in charge for a while and I decide what I like and what I don’t like.  I tell you these scaly-wags really bake my bread with their blatant disregard for the public’s ability to make their own informed decisions.  So, to those of you who don’t mind being a slave and a corporate sellout, continue drinking your mass media produced, post 9-11 hysteria based fraud juice.  I have the ability to make up my own mind, and so should you.

By:  Brad Cox

Did you know that raisins can be consumed as food instead of just sitting in that tiny red box with that hot chick on it?  God she’s freaking hot, I’d love to put my fingers in her box (get it?).  I would so eat two scoops of raisins right out of her… Anyway…  Raisins, despite being sweet and sticky, not only do not cause cavities and gum disease, but actually promote oral health. The phytonutrientss in raisins, specifically one called oleanolic acid, are highly effective in killing the bacteria that cause cavities (Streptococcus mutans) and periodontal dental disease (Porphyromonas gingivalis).

God she is smoking hot.  Way hotter than that Morton Salt girl.  Although she does hold that slutty umbrella… yeah, that’s kinda hot I’m not gonna lie.  Here’s a fun fact, did you know that it takes five pounds of fresh grapes to yield one pound of raisins?  Talk about ‘raisin’ the roof.

By: Brad Cox

One time, we all went on this canoe trip with Jenny ‘Tank’ Samms, Jeff Clemence, Farooq, Sean Haley, Jason Samms and a few others.  We had all stopped at ‘party cove’, about half way down the river, we all stopped to do endless beer bongs, jump off a small cliff and choke down a few more Jell-O shots.  In all the midst of the drunken shenanigans we all somehow got separated.  As Sean, Farooq and I headed down river in a raft, little did we know something was following us, something evil…  As we floated about 300 yards away we heard something, something so terrifying that devil himself would run away.  Jenny was screaming at us to stop.  We had made the mistake of taking off in the raft that had the cooler in it, therefore we had the sandwiches.  If you know Jenny at all you know she is at her most venerable when she is away from her sandwiches.  As we pulled over and waited for her to come to us, an extremely high Farooq had spotted a turtle some 20 yards back.  As he went to go throw rocks at this alleged turtle, that no one else saw by the way, Jenny slowly approached.  In a barrage of cursing and angry, angry body language she had finally made it to our position.  Now, one would think that she would dock her raft next to ours on the shore of the river.  Oh no, not in her state of rage.  She decided that as she floated by, she was so angry that she would just barrel right over the side and come to us.  As she jettisoned over the edge like an elite navy seal on a reconnaissance mission, she sank straight to the bottom of the river.  Not being the most buoyant of people she sunk faster than a shiny new quarter flicked into a fountain for good luck.  We new this could be the end of us all.  As she sank; her raft which contained a passed out drunk Jeff Clemence kept right on down the river until it finally came to rest amidst a log jam a stones throw away.  By this time Jenny was yet to emerge from the murky river that stood between us and our certain death.  Soon she appeared, walking up the shore she came out of the water like ‘Swamp Thing’, covered in moss, mud and muck she had the look of death in her eyes, all while sporting a single strap, black, Andre ‘The Giant’ type bathing suite.  She then verbally attacked Sean and I with language blows that would bring the most fowl mouthed heavyweight to his knees.  She was looking for her cigarettes and she was not going to stop her relentless assault until she found them.  As she flopped into our raft like a fish out of water, she ripped the lid off the cooler, tossing it into the air as if it were shot from a cannon, and demanded compensation for her stolen cigarettes.  She threatened first with a half drunken bottle of Jim Beam.  She swore that if her smokes weren’t returned in a timely manner that she would seek revenge by dumping out the glorious golden nectar that filed that glass bottle.  As we assured her we had not stolen her cigarettes she, in the blink of an eye, tossed to bottle into the sky with the force of a thousand winds.  As I watched the bottle land in the river I started to notice my life pass before my very eyes.  She then continued with her gorilla tactics on a freshly opened bottle of Jagermeyster.  As she latched onto it with her supple, supple hands we begged and pleaded for her to stop, only to be knocked to the ground with a stare, a stare that was more violent that the fires of hell.  After more assurances that we had not taken her cigarettes, that bottle too, was airborne.  At this point there was little we could do, with no horse tranquilizers nor bear mace in sight we assumed the fetal position and prepared for the worst.  As we awaited our most certain death something strange happened, something extraordinary.  Like a bloodhound tracking an escaped convict, she got the scent.  Her head whipped to the left and her eyes locked on target like a well trained sniper.  She had spotted Farooq, who was still looking for the ‘turtle’ he says he saw, she had spotted him and he was smoking her cigarettes.  As she turned her attention form us she started the slow-motion ‘Baywatch’ beach run that would eventually lead to, quit possibly, the funniest thing I had ever seen.  As she built up speed for the relentless 20 yard sprint to punish the brown creature that had stolen her cigarettes, we switched to survival mode.  We got into the raft and the safety of the water and began shouting our warning cries at the still clueless Farooq.  As she got closer to his position we all became worried.  Finally in one last attempt to save a minority’s life Sean yells, ‘GET OUT OF THE KILL ZONE’!!!!!  As Jenny reaches for Farooq’s hairless, helpless brown body to send him to a certain death, he hears our warnings.  In the last split second, Farooq turns his shoulders and narrowly escapes into a dead sprint down stream to safety.  At the same time, in her hastiness, Jenny had left her feet in one last great attempt to capture the brown cigarette thief.  Needless to say she missed.  As she splashed down into the waters right off shore, she was reminiscent of a great grizzly bear feeling the full effects of a scientists tranquilizer dart…. SHE’S DOWN!!!!  Never to be out done, she’s back on her feet.  Stumbling to and awkward slowing lethargic walk she finally runs out of breath after about five steps towards Farooq’s fleeing distance.  During this hilarious display of uncomfortable awkwardness Jenny had put on, Farooq found his way to the raft and the safety of the river where we took off down stream.  As Jenny then mustered enough strength to make one last attempt at out capture, she leaped into the river heading for our boat.  Cursing our names and slowing to a turtles pace she slowly got smaller as we drifted out of sight.  30 minuets into our escape we spotted something amazing.  Caught in the middle of a fallen tree into the river we noticed a half full bottle of Jim Beam and the green glow of a black liquorish delight, our Jagermeyster.  The trip had truly turned out okay.  Although the rest of the trip Jenny had to be distracted with uncooked beef.