I think he's serious...

This morning the following notice was nailed to every door in my neighborhood:

PROCLAMATION

From this day forward, anyone caught using

the term "CHILLAX," a compound form of

the words "chill" and "relax," will be executed

publicly, by firing squad.

-McDougal

McDougal's Mailbag

Apparently, while he was out of town hunting leprechauns, McDougal had his mail forwarded to Friends of McDougal Headquarters. I'm not sure what, exactly, this accomplished because we were all out hunting leprechauns with him, but I gave up long ago trying to understand the workings of the mind of McDougal. I called him yesterday afternoon to ask if he wanted the mail dropped off at the gates of his compound.

"You filthy rat-bastard!" I had to hold the phone several feet away from my head, McDougal was yelling so loud. "If you get anywhere new me with that garbage I'll flay you alive!"

I decided to take a look through the mountain of mail, hoping to find something that I might be able to share on this blog. The bag was mostly filled with magazines (the most deviant Japanese pornography, back issues of Soldier of Fortune, Highlights) and sample packets of prescription medications for animals. McDougal is on the mailing list for about every major pharmaceutical company. Somehow they got the impression that he is running some sort of clinic for exotic animals. Who knows, maybe he is...

At any rate, there were a few letters in the bag that I think will give you readers a bit of insight into the everyday life of McDougal, so I will share them here. I have blocked out the names of the senders, for legal reasons, but I don't think there will be any problem including the name of the organizations they are affiliated with. Enjoy!

Mr. McDougal,

I regret to inform you that we are not able to grant you a patent on
your NARCOBOVINEDEFRACULATOR at this time, as we have been unable to determine
what it is exactly that the device is supposed to do. We appreciate your
enclosure of extremely detailed blueprints, however they have proven to be of
little use in our efforts to understand the contraption. I can tell you that the
blueprints have been the subject of intense discussion around the office, and we
even briefly considered actually constructing the device. Unfortunately
international law prohibits us from obtaining several of the necessary
components. Your most recent letter seemed to suggest that you have constructed
a prototype. If this is indeed the case, we urge you to contact the Nuclear
Regulatory Commission immediately. We allowed them to examine the blueprints and
they feel that your safety measures are not at all adequate.

Sincerely,
XXXXXXXXX
U.S. Patent Office

Mr. McDougal,

I am sorry to hear about the loss of your vessel, the "Sloop Doggy Dogg," off the coast of Bermuda. This year's hurricane season was a difficult one for mariners. Regarding your insurance claim, the official Coast Guard report you submitted seems to indicate that you were killed in the sinking of the vessel. Since this is obviously not the case, some clarification of this will be necessary before your claim can be processed.

Sincerely,
XXXXXXX
Lloyds of London

Dear Mr. McDougal,

Thank you for your interest in the Catholic Church. Unfortunately, we are not planning any Crusades at this time. Hopefully this will not deter you from your interest in the faith.

Yours in Christ,
Cardinal XXXXXXX
The Vatican

McDougal,

Long time, no see buddy. I realize that you're busy, but you should really try to make some of the meetings every now and then. Yes, I did hear about your campaign for President! As you know, we usually back conservative Republicans and the occasional Southern Democrat, however we have not entirely ruled out the possibility of backing you as a third party candidate in 2008. Especially in the unlikely event of a Clinton/McCain race. As far as running mates, I would lean toward Walken, but Charlie Murphy is a surprisingly good option when I start to look at the hard numbers. But that's your choice to make, not mine. Good luck with the campaign!

XXXXXXXXX
Illuminatus Major
Order of the Illuminati

My Deepest Apologies...

I woke up early last Friday, fully intending to post a fascinating story about the time McDougal and I rented a submarine and searched the seafloor of the Bermuda triangle for the wreckage of his sailboat (the Sloop Doggy Dogg), then get a jump on my to-do list. None of that got done. The phone started ringing at six AM and I knew who it would be. I changed my number earlier in the week hoping to avoid that phone call, but McDougal knows people at the phone company, of course. Powerful people. I put the receiver up to my ear just in time to hear McDougal announce "I have bits of undigested rice in my shit."

"That isn't why you called me, McDougal."

This was answered by several minutes of contemplative silence. Finally, McDougal exclaimed "LEPRECHAUN HUNT!!" and immediately hung up. I knew I would have to leave for the airport immediately or face the consequences. The consequences, just for the record, usually involved a funnel and a five gallon bucket filled to the rim with live fire ants. You don't even want to know the details.

These leprechaun hunts are a St. Patrick's day tradition that McDougal started twelve or fifteen years ago. Basically, we all jump in his private jet, fly to Ireland, take an obscene quantity of hallucinogens, then wander about the countryside blasting away at anything that moves with high-powered rifles. We have yet to shoot a leprechaun, but a few years ago I did shoot a cow. McDougal insisted on having the head mounted, complete with a tiny brass plaque that said "Leprechaun" and listed the weight and date killed. He proudly helped me nail it up on the wall in my living room, but it was just too embarrassing to have that thing hanging in my house. I ended up selling it at my garage sale to some stoner kid who thought it was the funniest thing he had ever seen.

Anyway, we usually spend a day shooting up the emerald hills while the villagers hide in the church because the stone walls make it the only building in town a .30-.06 round won't pass right through. Bullets sure do a number on the stained glass though. I feel pretty bad about that, so I usually drop a dozen Benjamins in the collection box. Then we spend the rest of the week either doing some touristy stuff or riding out the flashbacks, depending on the drug involved. This year's drug was ayahuasca, which was kind of a treat.

Anyway, like I said, I'm sorry I didn't get anything posted last week. I promise sometime this weekend I will write about some crazy adventure I went on with McDougal rather than this boring everyday stuff.

What the hell just happened there?

Loni Andersen was the best since I
have you RIGged this infernal machine to automatically trunkate my posts? Like you have me Then he shouldn't have said "bacon on the side"
That's not a BLTon some kind of pay no mind list? I've seen this shit before, dPerry White or Perry Mason?ung, it's calleSeems like you might have let the air out first.d a mutiny. And I'll not stand for it.
Now I know which one you are though. You're the red haired firecracker with tits Lou Diamond Phillips has my back on thisto the moon. I

1. 
   Still can't believe she wouldn't take the goat in exchange for THAT MUCH LETTUCE.

know you, woman. I was married to you for 11 years. You may or may not remember me, but I'm the one who got you the new teeth. You were a funny vixIf I could have done six times the load, you know I would haveen when I found you, lying severely beaten and nearly dead off the 126. Said you were on your way back from TJ, where you were working some dog and pony show for the tourists for something like $44/hour. Lived like royalty down there for that wage. But your heart was black as coal, and you know it. I saved your life woman.
But you know all this. And that's not what You're going to have to spend the night with Reba. I don't know how many nights. She's not back from Yuma yet.I want to talk about anyway. Couple of things while I'm sober. This presidential business. Sure, I'll run. But I want to make a few things clear:

• Walken's out. I want nothing to do with him. That is to say, he's out of the campaign bus. Of course, he's my guy for Veep. He was in that movie with Chris Rock right? Wait, is Chris Rock the wrestler, or is I mean, come on, it's 2071. Things have changed since then.that Charlie Murphy. The one with the funny facial tick. That's the one I want. If he's not at my side, call the whole thing off. And by my side, I mean nowhere near me or my handlers. I don't want to see him, talk to him, or hear what he says in support of our campaign. We're in this together ... but apart. I still don't have an N key. Now, every time I want to type an N, I have to turn the computer sideways and type a Z.

I don't know what a M.E.A.T. party is. But I believe in their principles. So they can count me in Let's just borrow the money, then call Peter Ustinov when it's time to collect.as their leader. I'll do this for free, but I want an honorarium. I want a lump sum payment of I don't think it's a barracudanearly $8,000,000. The exact amount doesn't concern me, but it better not exceed the agreed upon fNo, you're going to have to -- hold on, I have another call. It's the Chancellor. He's come for the goiter, and I can't cover for you anymore.igure by one penny. I also want Tom Delay and John Ashcroft involved. And I want a pint of mescaline and a tanker truck full of those tiny little M&M's. I'm going to throw those to supporters at campaign rallies. I'm going to start training now so that by the time the campaign kicks off, I'll be able to launch them with such accuracy that I'll be able to take out a robin's eye at a quarter mile, if needed. And, trust me, it will be needed.
It took me six days to type all that shit up there. My anger has subsided some, and I can't remember who I'm writing this to. Patrick Swayze once said thatDid I tell you that I fixed the N problem? You have to be smarter than the machine, that's what I always say.

I'm not a damn space junkie, you lactose intolerant, whining ninny. Who the hell told you I was, anyway? Because I'll break their freakin' neck if th

Spacejunkies

Did I ever tell you about the time I was abducted by aliens? It was McDougal the whole time, of course, but... Well... It's a little more complicated than that.

See, I was sitting on McDougal's couch thumbing through a copy of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition that was sitting there. He had invited me over to watch this video he just bought from one of those guys downtown that sells bootleg DVD's out of a shopping cart. It was called Arabia's Funniest Beheading Videos or something like that. McDougal swore it was going to be a hoot. So anyway, after he invites me inside he says "sit down, I'll be back in a minute," but then he disappears for like half an hour. So I'm sitting on the couch looking at this magazine when I start hearing this humming noise. It keeps getting louder and louder, so loud it makes my fillings rattle. Then it just stops suddenly. That's when McDougal hops out from a doorway and pulls his face off.

I laughed of course, McDougal is always playing pranks like that. Underneath his "face" is... Well, you've all seen those rubber alien masks... Giant almond-shaped black eyes, nostrils, but no nose, tiny little slit of a mouth... McDougal lunged across the room and grabbed me by the front of the shirt, lifting me up off the sofa. As he pulled me close I could see beads of sweat on that giant round forehead, the corners of the mouth twitched, those huge black eyes blinked... Conventional wisdom always says that aliens are little fellows. McDougal is not. I would say that if it turns out McDougal is half Martian, half Samoan... Well, that would explain a lot.

"You think this is funny, human?" McDougal whispered menacingly. With one hand he tossed me right through a window into the front yard. I never hit the ground though. Instead, I was drawn upward within a blue beam of light into McDougal's spaceship which hovered above the house. McDougal came up the beam immediately after me. He barked some orders to the ship's crew in a language unlike any I've ever heard and the ship zipped off into the night.

He probed me of course. Probed me viciously. In the anus.

You would think that all the probing would have ruined the trip for me, but McDougal's spaceship was just so damned fascinating that, after a while, I didn't really notice it that much. Outside of the mechanical anal raping, McDougal was a very gracious host. He explained to me, in detail, the function of various ship systems and how they were constructed. If I had a better understanding of things like thermodynamics, molecular chemistry, particle physics, nanoengineering and quantum mechanics I could probably be a very rich man by now. But, unfortunately, I had no deeper understanding of what I saw than that there were some really neat, shiny gadgets.

Like a metal pill that contained thousands of microscopic robots. If you swallowed it, the robots would be released throughout your body, curing any illnesses they encountered. And a device that could convert any organic waste into delicious and nutritious foodstuffs. McDougal explained to me that the ship was powered entirely by the energy given off by all living things, so as the ship swooped over the farms and fields, instead of expending energy, it was actually gaining it from the crops and livestock that we passed over. When we had gathered enough of this energy we rocketed out into deep space and, as we journeyed across the universe, McDougal showed me more and more amazing things, each more incredible than the last...

I woke up on the floor of McDougal's living room, my right hand clutching a half-empty box of .357 hollowpoint bullets. The unpleasant heaviness in my stomach led me to believe that I had, at some point, swallowed the other half. "Well, good morning!" McDougal roared as he entered the room with a pot of coffee, looking quite human. I tried to move my left hand, but couldn't. It was jammed deep inside a blender which was encrusted with vomit. Fortunately the blender was not plugged into an outlet. Instead, the plug was jammed deep into the side of a dead carp which lay on the floor.

"What..." I tried to speak, but my throat was dry and raw.

"You've been tripping, my friend."

McDougal explained that I had inadvertently picked up one of his latest experiments, ordinary-looking magazines soaked in high-powered acid, and absorbed a massive dose of LSD through the palms of my hands.

"You've been running around my house for three days ranting about aliens," McDougal said, laughing, as he sat down in front of the TV, where a large man was cutting off someone's head with a sword.

"The spaceship..." I mumbled.

McDougal laughed and pointed to a 1973 Plymouth station wagon, wrapped completely in Christmas lights, that was crashed halfway through the wall of his dining room.

"I don't know where the hell you got that thing and, to tell you the truth, I don't want to know," he said, not taking his eyes off the TV.

"Why did you shove this vacuum cleaner up my ass?" I asked, gingerly removing the long hose from my rectum.

"You did that to yourself, you twisted little fuck," McDougal replied.

I left his house, embarrassed. It all made sense. McDougal wasn't really an alien. He couldn't be. It was all an acid freakout. A bad trip. Except for one thing McDougal... How do you explain this tattoo? You know the one I'm talking about McDougal. The one between my shoulderblades, where I could never possibly have put it myself. The one that changes shape, glows in the dark and pulsates like a jellyfish. The one that contains letters no one in the entire Foreign Language Department of Rutgers University was able to identify. The one that is, right now, alternating between that red alien lettering, and the phrase "McDougal's Bitch" in neon yellow English letters which have helpfully arranged themselves backwards so that I can read them in the mirror. How do you explain that McDougal?

Another message from M.E.A.T. Party Headquarters

It has been a big week here at the offices of the McDougal Presidential Campaign. I know we have caught a lot of flak from McDougal supporters about how disorganized the campaign has been. I want to assure you, as campaign manager, that we are slowly getting things back on track. I inherited this campaign in a severely disorganized state, and have lost a lot of sleep trying to correct the mistakes of my predecessor.

First off, I'd like to thank everyone who has been donating their time, money, drugs and weapons to the cause. There will be more updates on this at a later date.

Second, I want to keep you all informed of the direction this campaign will be taking. McDougal is, to put it mildly, an unconventional Presidential candidate. I think we can use this to our advantage, however. Obviously his legendary exploits will play well among young voters and the drug-legalization crowd. Winning over the more conservative voters will be more of a challenge. McDougal's love of weaponry of all varieties will play well with the NRA crowd, I think. We also plan on really playing up the War Hero angle. What other candidate can match McDougal's military record? He distinguished himself in combat in Cambodia, Laos, Grenada, Nicaragua, Libya, Panama, Bosnia, Afghanistan, Iraq and in the Cola Wars. Hell, some people down south still refer to all varieties of soda as "Coke" because of McDougal's brainwashing techniques.

Finally, the most exciting news...

As you know, our biggest challenge here at the M.E.A.T. Party has been that McDougal himself has been completely unaware that he was actually in the running. Until today. At 2:14 AM, EST we received a phone call from McDougal himself. Apparently he learned that he is a Presidential candidate right here on this very blog. I would not describe the tone of the conversation as friendly by any means. McDougal's end consisted mostly of curses and very graphic threats of bodily harm. However, and this is very important, he did not indicate any actual unwillingness to run for President. We are taking this as an official announcement of his candidacy.

w

hathteshittinghellisthis?

1. You halfwitted, retarded ass lying demon from hell. What have you done? Which one are you? I'm going to break your throat and pee down your insolent little neck. Why in God's name have you beswhose face is that? certainly not mine. Why is it grayed out? and I"M what the? how the fuck did I get in the middle of this sentence? corevery time you break wind you'll write in pain from the rect this goddamn machine?mirched me, you arrogant prick. It took me half an hour to type that paragraph upIs that to hide your identity? From what? From me? there. Where is the up arro?w I want to type an up arrow? I just got a goddam computer, first thing I drectal fire. how the fuck did I end up in this sentence? What is going on here?id was a little egosurfing (as thh how the hell do you erase that other t? Where the fuck is the eraser on this thing? I'm gonanHow the crap do I erase that? How do you eras e things on her

• e? You're gonna die now, bat.I invented to goddamn banana bread lottery. sterved 00 this machine This fucking this is bouncing me all Now the motherfucking letters arechanging sizes on me.over the screen. what are you people doing here?is moronic. It
  

1. doesn't type what I mean. And what I mean is to kill you - slowly. I served in Laos when you were still prancing around the kitchen with an iron skillet over your arse tryig pwhat the fuck is going on? I just typed the up arrow and now i'm in the compleIf I don't have a goddamn aneurism from this infernal machine, I'm going to find you and kill you with my bare handstely wrong sentence and
   
2. these moronic wordNo I don't know what a mouse is. This motherfucking machine is talking to me. I swear to god. Like it knows what I'm doing. Fucking with me. s are just scooting a long ahead of what I type. damn this infernal machine. and damn you. you're no friend of Oh now this is just wLEE TREVINO? WHERE THE FUCK DID HE COME FROM?rong, you jackanape mackeral motherfucker mcdougal. I can assure you of that.ut an n in there goddamnit. one stupid letter. It just skipped right over it. Oh there's the up arrow

.Oh now this has just gotten absurd. I'm going to turn off the Internet. take away your power. why is that small? Why are my words so fucking small?

FIX THE GODDAMN SIZE of my words. ow the fuckig key is missig it just flew off. oh this is rich. i'm right prepared to sodomize someoe

The Great American Novelty

I have to admit, I was a little worried that McDougal would still be angry with me about that stunt I pulled at Mardi Gras. But when I brought it up over drinks yesterday (we were at McDougal's favorite strip club, you know, that one over by the nuclear power plant) he just dismissed it with a wave of his hand. I shouldn't have been concerned. After all, McDougal has a great sense of humor. Most people don't realize that, I think because the joke is often on them. But if you step back and look at it from an outsider's perspective, it's often quite funny. I'm sure you've all heard the one about the guy who gets drunk and goes to a hotel with a prostitute, only to wake up in a bathtub full of ice, missing his kidneys. Yeah, that was me. McDougal set the whole thing up. He gave me my kidneys back and we shared a laugh. Actually, I only got one of them back. He gave the other one to the prostitute in exchange for her services. I hope she got a fair market price for it. I wouldn't want her feeling like she was ripped off. Apparently while that little Filipino surgeon was working on me in the bathtub, McDougal was in the other room working that hooker through his version of The Aristocrats.

I don't know if I've mentioned this before, but McDougal used to actually run a joke shop in Santa Monica. This was after college, and the big man knew he wasn't cut out for a job in the square world, so he thought a career in novelties might be the way to go. The merchandise was all pretty standard stuff: ice cubes with real malaria-infected mosquitoes inside, spring loaded peanut cans that, when you opened them, would spray out broken glass, official-looking army stationary that could be used to send people letters indicating that a loved one had been killed in Vietnam... Like I said, the usual kind of things. The police were convinced that he was selling drugs out of the back, which of course, he was. But ever since he was a young boy McDougal has maintained an intelligence network so elaborate that it makes the NSA look like an old lady trying to listen through a door with a drinking glass. When the cops kicked in the back door all they found were a few dozen cases of rubber vomit and a prototype pair of spectacles that shot out real X-rays.

McDougal later successfully sued the police department for the damage to his property and emotional distress. He made quite a bit of money from what I understand. Combined with his drug revenue it would have been enough to keep the shop open for years, even in the face of all the lawsuits against McDougal (it turned out users of his Genuine X-Ray Specs were reporting an alarming frequency of brain cancers). But McDougal's heart really wasn't in it anymore. He felt that his greatest joke was the one he played on the local police, and that really wasn't the kind of thing you could sell.

Anyway, we had a good time at the strip club last night. What those girls lack in looks, they more than make up for in enthusiasm. I said goodnight to the big man and went home without a care in the world. I should have been a little more wary though, because that prankster McDougal got me back good. I got up early this morning to get a round of golf in and while I was gone McDougal burned down my house. That crazy-ass McDougal! Ha ha ha!

Although, now that I think about it, I don't remember telling him I would be golfing this morning...

CAPTURED!

First off, I'd like to apologize for the lack of activity here on the Friends of McDougal blog over the past few weeks. We have a good reason for this. As you all know, McDougal disappeared into the wilds of America following a traffic accident while en route to the Superbowl. As we tracked his movements, it was our desire to keep his fans updated on his whereabouts. However, McDougal is incredibly internet savvy. In fact, most people don't know this, but McDougal was the founder of the internet's third pornographic website. He was also the inventor of the pop-up ad and is believed to have composed the first Nigerian Banking Scam email. Oh, and you know how sometimes people will alternate capital and lowercase letters? McDougal invented that too. At any rate, McDougal quickly discovered that we were tracking his movements. We converged on Sheridan, Wyoming, expecting to capture McDougal there, only to find the empty wreckage of an Indiana National Guard Helicopter, which had been twisted into a crude representation of a giant hand with the middle finger defiantly extended.

You might not guess it, but McDougal is a skilled woodsman. Once, when we were out poaching caribou in Nahanni National Park we became trapped in the mountains by a sudden snowstorm. The bitter cold quickly sapped my strength and I became too weak to travel on. I told McDougal to continue on without me. And he did. I had tossed aside most of my gear earlier, hoping this would allow me more freedom of movement, so McDougal left his spare clothing and blankets with me. He also left me his rifle, "for when the wolves come." But McDougal returned a few hours later dragging the carcass of a huge grizzly bear, which he had killed with his bare hands. He devoured the entire bear in one sitting, then began lashing the bear's skeleton into a triangular framework using tendon and sinew. McDougal then stretched the bear's hide over the framework and, picking me up under one arm, we hanglided to safety. That bearskin hanglider is now in the permanent collection of the Smithsonian Institution, however it is not currently on display. Apparently the Museums of American History, Natural History and Air & Space all feel that they have the most legitimate claim to this artifact, so until this debate is settled it remains in storage.

Knowing what McDougal is capable of, I gave up on the idea of capturing him in the midst of his journey. Instead, I selected a likely destination and set an ambush for him there. You see, yesterday was Fat Tuesday, and McDougal hasn't missed a Mardi Gras since 1957 (it pained him greatly to miss that one, but he was hiding out in the Sierra Maestra with Che Guevara and didn't wish to abandon his comrades). The City of New Orleans was very helpful with organizing my trap. It wouldn't have been possible without them. The New Orleans Saints cheerleaders loaned me one of those pneumatic cannons that they use to fire T-shirts into the crowd. Inside of it, I placed one of those gigantic hypodermic syringes that are used to inject seasonings into a deep fried turkey. Instead of Cajun spices, however, this needle contained rhinoceros tranquilizers generously donated by the Audubon Zoo.

The Big Man's head stuck well above the rest of the crowd along the parade route, so I had a clear shot at his neck. Not that I needed any help locating him. He was completely naked except for a skirt made of Mardi Gras beads and painted head to toe in stripes of purple, green and gold. Topping it all off was a giant neon-lit crown, which I'm pretty sure used to sit atop one of the Casinos in Las Vegas that was bulldozed to make room for the MGM Grand. Several empty beer kegs rolled around McDougal's feet. From my position, hidden within a Mardi Gras float with the unlikely theme of Judas Iscariot betraying Jesus, I took aim and fired...

Before the drugs took effect, McDougal managed to destroy one New Orleans police cruiser, which I have included a photo of. The police were willing to forgive this, provided we removed McDougal from the city before the sedatives wear off. I was more than happy to do this. I think their city has been through enough. McDougal is currently being transported North in an unmarked semi trailer with a highly skilled crew of handlers, who are keeping his skin moistened with bourbon during his journey.