Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Sunday, November 13, 2011

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

GI Joe The Movie: Then and Now

In the year of our lord and savior Jesus Christ 1987, the hard-hitting documentary GI Joe: The Movie was released. It was instantly panned by both critics and the pentagon, who believed that some of the imagery was "faked for an Oscar nod." In 2009, a follow-up documentary entitled GI Joe: The Rise of Cobra was released. To commemorate the special occasion of Rise Of Cobra's release to Netflix's Watch Instantly service, Broca Blutch has interviewed three of the men portrayed by the 1987 film.

SGT. Chaning "Duke" S. Hauser-Tatum, GI Joe Field Commandant

"Yeah, see, in the new movie it shows that the brass gives guys body armor now. Say what you want about Secret Muslim Hussien Obama, but at least he'll shell out twenty bucks to give a guy a kevlar vest and some moonboots. Ronald Reagan wouldn't even take a Hamilton out of his ceramic pony fund to buy me a pair of gloves, which almost makes me regret the Bedtime for Bonzo tattoo on my ass. But nothing will make me regret voting for him, because that man allowed me to kill more colored people than Hurricane Katrina. Look, my whole point is that there are very few snakes, thrown or otherwise, that can bite through body armor."

LT. Don J. Falcon, Pulling Rank

"They're both pieces of shit. What guy wants to see, on his own new color TV with built-in VCR, his ass getting kicked by some bat-faggot or a handful of organic spinach with aphids still crawling all over it? Look, I'll give it to you straight-- I'll still watch that movie, even though it's a piece of shit. Why? You know when you're in an airport and you're done taking a dump and the toilet flushes automatically and you're really pissed off? You know why that is? Because a man wants to take a look at the shit he just took. It's a man's right to examine his dump. How lumpy is it? Is there corn in there? We want to know. There is some part of me in this piece of shit, and I want to see how it turned out."

SGT. Roadblock
"Listen now to what I say, that new documentary is pretty gay. Back in the 80s it was called sinnin', but in 2009 a brotha can have white women? I got no white women and I feel cheated, even though Cobra's been defeated. I'm hoppin' mad and that ain't no lie... and now Black Ripcord's GOTTA DIE!"

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Ask Beach Head: May 8th, 1985

In an attempt to create better public outreach and give people a little more information about America's Number One Fighting Force the "Ask Beach Head" column was printed in the Hoboken, New Jersey daily paper from 1985 to 1989. We have reprinted his column from May 8th, 1985.

Dear Beach Head, I want to join G.I. Joe but I have flat feet. How else could I help?

Beach Head: FLAT FEET! Is that the bullshit excuse your going to use when a Cobra Alley Viper breaks into your bedroom and goes for your wife. I hate you physical disability whiny bitches! Before I joined the Rangers I had flat feet, but guess what I didn't do. I didn't cry about it, instead I took a hammer and banged some arches into my feet. Then to make sure they worked I did a twenty mile run. If you don't stop making excuses and get serious, I am going to ambush you at your county fair and beat you senseless in front of your kids! Then I'm going to go enjoy Styx, because they are as serious about rocking as I am serious about protecting this country! YO JOE!

Dear Beach Head, I'm twelve and my one dream is to be in G.I. Joe. What can I do to start preparing to become part of the G.I. Joe team?

Beach Head: I love to hear from great AMERICANS like yourself son. First thing you are going to want to do is start getting in shape. Your twelve so you running like a 9 minute mile? Your going to have to get that down. By thirteen you better be hitting five minutes, maybe five fifteen if you have the flu. I remember when I was twelve I was able to do a solid fifteen miles a day but not everyone is as fit as I was, so I would probably let you get away with only doing twelve miles. Second, you are going to need to get that strength up for when you have to cave in a Eels head with your bare hands. As a kid, I recommend you try to do more reps with less weight. Don't feel bad if you can only bench two hundred pounds as long as you do a solid set of fifty reps three times you should be looking good. Third, love the hell out of the greatest country on this planet. You have to ask yourself if you have the dedication to your country to become a Joe. If there is even a split second where you think a Cobra uniform looks 'cool' or you feel like you are not ready to murder every single member of that terrorist group then don't even try to join G.I. Joe. If you do join and I see you slip in your dedication even once, the last thing you see will be my pistol and the last thing you hear will be the click as I pull the trigger. So good luck, and stay strong little buddy!

Dear Beach Head, What does the inside of that mask smell like?

Beach Head: I don't know if you can handle the answer to that question. Do you really want to know? Alright, I'll tell you. IT SMELLS LIKE GOD DAMN FREEDOM! It smells like sweat, blood, and terrorist tears! The musk on this mask is so strong that a weaker man would suffocate from the weight of responsibility it brings. Luckily, G.I. Joe has no hygiene requirements so they don't make me wash it. Unluckily, without that hygiene requirement we get people like Clutch in G.I. Joe. Everyone on the team knows he shits his pants on every mission. So when it comes to being a member of the Joe team you have to be ready to endure smells that no civilian could stand.

Dear Beach Head, my knives are torched. how do I hide them from my mom?

Beach Head: I'm not sure why your knives would be torched, I would imagine it is because you got into some sort of scuffle with an Incinerator. Getting in close and using bladed weapons was your first mistake when fighting someone with a flamethrower. Run ten miles and do a hundred push ups while you ponder why you were so stupid! Now back to the problem with your mom, why are you worried about her seeing your damaged equipment? Is she also your quartermaster or wait...Is she a filthy Cobra sympathizer? I know this is going to be hard to hear but you have to make the right choice and take her out. I had a problem like this last week. My neighbor put his rototiller away without cleaning it. The only kind of person who could do that is someone who is lazy or a member of Cobra. I erred on the side of caution and ordered an air strike on his house. The property value is going to go down for a while but in the long run the whole neighborhood will thank me.

That's all the time I have now, I need to get a twenty mile run in before morning PT. YO JOE!

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Star Trek TNG: The Lost Chapters

(The following is a lost excerpt from Star Trek Magazine. Written in 1993 by Rick "Bling Bling" Berman as part of an anti-drug campaign, it was scrapped from the final publication. Broca Blutch found a copy of the manuscript in Mr. Berman's trash can in 1994 and we planned to release it at that time. It was not until now, however, that photo technology caught up to the ambitious nature of Mr. Berman's story idea. We present, for the first time, an illustrated version of "Academy Lessons!")

Rick Berman

Commander William T. Riker strolled onto the bridge of the USS Enterprise. His shirt was all torn, but there was a smile on his face because he had just finished fucking his trombone.

"Number One," Captain Picard barked, "you look like a fucking slob!"

"I'm sorry, sir, I..." Riker stammered, caught off guard by the Captain, whose head was as shiny as the quantum torpedoes the Federation used to force the Maquis off their land.

"I love it! Why the fuck do you think I hired you?" Picard said, before busting into a gay showtune and riding a horse around.

"Thank you, sir," Riker said.

"Number One! I order you to take a number two!" Picard said with authority.

Riker snapped to attention and headed to the women's lavatory.

Lieutenant Worf then walked onto the bridge, mumbling something about an honor-gangbang he'd scheduled for his son Alexander. Picard was bored of that shit because if he couldn't get his dick wet, no one was allowed to.

"Mr. Worf!" Picard barked. "Ensign Crusher has been acting like a soggy bag of dicks lately, just wriggling around and causing a nuisance!"

"What do you mean, Captain?" Worf asked, intrigued by the thought of a bag of dicks.

"Well he pulled four double shifts in a row in engineering, which is fine because I have to pay that blind asshole LaForge twice as much as I have to pay Crusher because of Affirmative Space Action. But then..."

Two Hours Ago

Captain Picard walked in on Wesley Crusher firing two Type II phasers into the air while singing an old Earth folk song called 'American Badass.' Picard appreciated all terrible music so he let Wesley finish his song.

"This shit makes me feel like Kid Rock! I feel like my dick could punch through a can of RC Cola!" Wesley howled.

Picard frowned and ordered an alien to shine his head.


"I need you to go through his things and see what the fuck is wrong with him," Picard told Worf.

Worf entered Wesley Crusher's quarters after breaking the lock off with two of his seven Klingon cocks. He instantly fucked up everything valuable with his bat'leth and then took a dump on Dr. Crusher's bed because his finely honed Klingon instincts told him that white women were into that.

He then walked into Ensign Crusher's bathroom and saw a stunning sight: the bathtub was full of Dilithium crystals!

"This can only mean one thing," the stoic Klingon intoned as he wiped his ass with the priceless nightgown Lt. Jack Crusher gave to his wife before he died.

"Fuck, Commander Riker, you look like a slob!" Wesley exclaimed. "Also, I'm pretty sure I'm busted. I saw Worf rooting around through my quarters and fucking one of my mom's pillows."

Riker instantly knew what was up. "Dilithium Crystal Meth is no joke, Wes," he stated. "I love that shit, but you can never get caught. Ever."

"What should I do, Commander?" asked Wesley.

"Remember your academy training," Riker said with a grin.

Soon enough, Picard and Worf had Wesley cornered on the bridge. The accusations were flying, Picard's head was reflecting every useless light on every useless control console. Wes could see four of Worf's hard dicks through his tight space-pants.

"An alien planted the drugs there! A Ferengi! Then he made me do them!" Wesley exclaimed.

Picard and Worf looked at each other knowingly.

"Sorry, Wesley. My mistake," said Picard.

"Sir, there is currently only one Ferengi aboard the Enterprise. His name is Durp and he lives on level seven," said Worf.

Soon enough, Picard called Durp to the bridge. Federation justice was administered. Wesley was never caught again... but you'd best believe that Q sees everything, and he wanted in on that shit.

NOTE: The next post down is NSFW.