Of Mice and Men

McDougal was born a slave on a plantation on the Mississippi in 1799. It was an odd plantation, growing mainly steamed vegetables like artichokes and broccoflower, and tits. McDougal's grandfather was captured by a slave owner named Onida Dockery, who was so cunning of a negro that he tricked white people into being his slaves. The slaves from neighboring plantations would come over at night and beat the white slaves, including young McDougal, and this had a profound effect on his development.

It was during the Civil War that the McDougal family realized they had fucked up and were on the wrong side of the fence. They quickly moved to Detroit and set to work in a factory riveting bolts into Ford F150s, a full 140 years before they even existed. Another driving factor in the confusion of young McDougal was the fact that these vehicles didn't need rivets, and his mother, uncle, aunts, and sister were just walking around shooting rivets into the windows and doors at random. McDougal's father did nothing but eat hot dogs and shit mice. (Note: He didn't eat entities called "shit mice," but when he shat, his fecal matter contained only live mice that infested the assembly plant.)

McDougal's sexual awakening came to him in the form of a smack from the labia majora of an attractive young girl from Poland. It was a steaming hot night in Kuala Lampur, where McDougal retreated following years of ritual abuse at the hands of his father's shit mice (Note: Here I am referring to the mice who were shat out by his father and branded shit mice by the rest of the family.)

Also, earlier I said "hands." Being shit mice and not the common variety house mouse (Mus musculus), which features claws, the shit mouse has actual hands -- very similar in nature to human hands, only much smaller, of course. The shit mice used these hands to punch, pinch and strangle young McDougal until he was driven mad and ultimately escaped to Kuala Lampur, where he was deflowered by a beautiful young Polish whore, who brought him kicking and screaming into manhood.

The woman, whose name dare not be spoken in polite company, taught McDougal the Polish language, how to make sausage, and how to be a man. In the years since, McDougal has often credited this nameless Polish whore with his many great successes.

Likewise, he has attributed his equally numerous failures (i.e. the minja, the Hindenberg, Gigli, the Pontiac Vibe, and Paul Simon's short lived attempt at theater) to her overly aggressive labia.

Truth be told, however, McDougal owes all his colossal life events to one man and one man alone. This man, his true father, is Onida Dockery.

Minjas

Do you guys remember when McDougal went on that big kick about the Minjas?

He put together that crazy ass business plan and everything.

I told him it was a hair-brained idea, but he wouldn't hear it.

"Nipsy," he told me, "there's a whole class of little people who maybe feel inferior because they don't measure up to societal norms. And there's a whole other class of people out there who spend their days freakin' puttin' the bad karate on hapless saps -- generally killing them in the process. Let's put 'em together and see what shakes out."

"It'll never work, McDougal. Let's get back to work," I said.

But damn if he didn't up and quit right there.

Walked into Bossman's office, spit in his face, and jacked a wad right there. Told him, "You eat my nut, Bossman, or I walk."

Of course, Bossman ate the nut.

But McDougal walked anyway.

Told him he'd send Bossman a fresh batch for severance.

He went off, got all liquored up, and put together this business plan.

He was gonna breed midget ninjas to be sold on the open market for personal use, tactical operations, espionage, and corporate security.

He went to a couple of VC guys, and they laughed him out of their offices.

Fortunately, he was able to hook up with the Chinese mafia, and they gave him $2MM in Mezanine Financing for his project.

I bet those VC guys rethought things in the last moments before they were beheaded by crazy ass midget ninjas.

I don't know what kind of money McDougal ended up making out of the deal, but he moved a few hundred of 'em when all was said and done.

I still have a couple of them, but due to a genetic defect, they age six times faster than regular ninjas, and after three or four years, they aren't any good for ninjonics anymore.

I use mine as personal valets and lawn decorations, mostly.

Sometimes I bring them in and have them jack me off a little bit, but mostly they sleep outside with the Vietnamese boy McDougal sold me back in '82.