Clubbed a Seal? So what

That may have been exciting for you, but let me tell you about the last time I saw McDougal pull out his Seal Club.

We were travelling through Europe screwing hippie girls in hostels, and McDougal got a bad case of the Czech Clap. He was so pissed he stopped talking on trains and would only fart to communicate, which was obviously a terrible way to deal with the Germans. A ticket person would walk down the aisle and punch people's tickets and when he or she got to our row and said "Karten gefallen" McDougal would raise one leg and fart out a massive egg sulphur response. It was just terrible.

So anyway, by the time we got to Italy I had taken to not sitting anywhere near him. When we pulled into Rome he was nowhere to be found, and I got to the nearest hostel and laid up with a Brazilian 19 year old named Margarita. We fucked for about 4 days straight and then decided to go to the Vatican. When we got there, we could see a big crowd milling and yelling around the big main doors. I had a bad feeling, and sure enough, when we pushed our way up there, I could see none other than McDougal raising and smashing his Seal Club down over and over again on the Pope. Those weird clown guards were standing around helplessly, and the Pope was screaming something in Latin.

I told Margarita it was time to beat it and we rode a bus around for a while and then fucked in the Parthenon.

And when the Pope just died a few weeks ago, McDougal kissed his Seal Club and repeated this phrase: "Eu amo bater meu papa, e se eu vir algum mamífero do mar mim matança da foda da vontade essa cadela como um whore catholic..." again and again.

McDougal's New Pants

You ever been pants shopping with McDougal?

The man has impeccable taste, and a wonderful sense of the keen juxtaposition of curves and lines.

He's always worn very tight pants. He has to have them specially made to contour to his gargantuan body.

Of course, McDougal doesn't pant shop at department stores. He gets all his pants from a tarp and awning manufacturer up in Toledo. They've been custom tailoring his pants since 1974, and they do a bang-up job.

I've been with him eight or ten times -- generally to provide moral and emotional support. Also, I help spot him on some of the heavier projects.

We were up there last May, and the man designed a pair of phenomenal banana yellow vinyl trousers that were so hot, they'd give the Pope a boner.

McDougal was so fired up about them that he refused to wait the mandatory six weeks for government approval. He paid the tailor an extra $4,300 to put an express order and complete the pants in 8 minutes.

The tailor was nervous when we left. He'd never prepared pants that tight and with that much fabric in so little time.

When we got on the plain back to Scranton, something happened at altitude, and the pants exploded.

The poor lady in seat 46AA (aisle seat) lost a foot and was permanently blinded in the accident.

The plain had to make an emergency landing in Detroit, and McDougal was escorted off the plane by Homeland Security officials.

He ended up meeting with John Ashcroft completely nude from the waist down.

Ashcroft made him a federal agent and gave him a medal.

Six weeks later, the awning company sent him a proper pair of pants. They even crafted a matching pair for me.

Now McDougal makes me wear 'em every time we go out.