Dr. Thunder Episode 313

Hello! And welcome to Ask Dr. Thunder. Ecuador's number one news channel since 1968. Now, at this point you probably expect long gaps between posts, but I had a really good reason this time. You see, I was gearing up to grab a handful of emails out of the bag (I have an assistant print them out, then give them to another assistant, who types them up and saves each one to a floppy disk) and grace you with my advice, but then I found a bit of string. So you can see how that would take priority. But, I forgot where I put the string down so it's time to bring the Thunder! Let's get started!

 

You will live on in my heart Bit of String... Always...

Dear Dr. Thunder,
My name is Jimmy. I am 8 years old. My best friend Mark's birthday is coming up and I know he loves to read. I also know he fucked my wife. Is there a gift I can get him that shows I care, but that will also slowly murder his brain with word-violence, leaving him a brain-dead vegetable who can be easily robbed?

Well Steven, you're in luck! Mexican theme park janitor Michael Armor has recently published a book! Like with words and everything. Now normally, I wouldn't recommend this book to my worst enemies. Because they are all dead. Some I killed personally, some from natural causes, but in any case, none are alive enough to read. But for your worst enemy? Absolutely. Buy him a hundred copies. Use his credit card. Why? Because my contract states that I get all the royalty money. And it also classifies it as extortion, which is not a form of income eligible for alimony! SUCK IT KAREN! You can buy the book here: https://www.createspace.com/3888491. Over and over again. And then make your friends buy copies. Seriously Jimmy, if we don't sell five thousand copies I will personally come to your town and confiscate your large intestine. Next email!

Look at it sitting there. Like a slut.

Dear Dr. Thunder,
So I have a crush on one of my friends but I talked to her about and she said she is only interested in me as a friend. Is there any way to make her attracted to me?

Well Steven, I can't say I can relate, because there is no such thing as a woman who is not attracted to Dr. Thunder. There are only women who do not yet realize how incredibly attracted to Dr. Thunder they are. No one is as charming, handsome or a doctor-y as I am. That being said, attraction is a chemical reaction in the brain caused by your immune system reacting to their immune system. So if you have the BEST immune system, you will get ALL the women. I would expose yourself to as many diseases as you possibly can to toughen up your immune system. Or, you know, just become absurdly wealthy. That's what I did!

What sucks is there's no room in my garage to park my Lamborghinuses

Dear Dr. Thunder,
You've made it clear that Michael Armor is a terrible person. Why do you hang out with him then? Surely someone as awesome as you can get better friends. Or at the very least pay people to be your friend. People like me, for example.

The thing about Michael Armor, is that even though he is ugly, untalented, an all-around terrible person, and possibly the last member of an extinct race of ape-men, he is still my best friend. Most of the people I encounter on a daily basis are my underlings, who fear and worship me, my legal staff, who are all greedy buzzkills, and vagina delivery units, who I lose interest in almost immediately after coitus and/or marriage. Michael is the only person who really understands me! Even if he does constantly insist that I am fictional. Though I berate him constantly, it is only for character building reasons! And not the nerdy kind with dice and spreadsheets, but the manly kind with mud and arson. The truth is, I would kill 8 men for that guy, no more, no less. So if you fuck with him I will not only kill you, but, if you have no family or friends, 7 random strangers.

The coxswain will live. Because coxswain is a funny word.

 So that's all the time we have for today. Remember, only you can prevent forest fires. And I must say you are terrible at it. I don't know if there was a vote or something, but you are doing an awful job of it. In fact, why are you reading this? Shouldn't you be in the forest? YOU MUST REMAIN EVER VIGILANT. Until next time, keep sending those emails and I'll keep pretending to read them. Buy my book. https://www.createspace.com/3888491

Johnny Cactus

“Sweet Cactus Jesus, it is HOT!” Johnny said, as he stared up at the mid-day sun. Johnny was a 10 foot saguaro cactus, the only one around for miles.

                “Oh my god, I think I’m blacking out,” replied Jeffrey, the cactus mouse who, three hours ago, had slipped and impaled his back left leg on one of Johnny’s spines.

                “Do you ever stop bitching Jeffrey? Like, seriously? Is there like an off switch I can flip?” Johnny sighed and looked once again up at the unforgiving sun. Johnny hated the sun. For as long as he could remember, he had wanted to live in a nice, shady forest, maybe somewhere in Germany. Instead he was stuck here, in some god-forsaken desert in the American southwest. The only interesting thing that ever happened was occasionally some drunken teenagers would come out to the desert and have bonfires and parties. But did they ever offer Johnny a beer? No.

                “Fucking teenagers he muttered. Am I right Jeff?”

                “I can’t move the toes on my leg anymore. I… I think the nerves are dead.”

                “Stop trying to make everything about you Jeffrey.”

                Johnny once again resumed his favorite activity, willing his roots to move. He focused all his energy into lifting those roots, all of his dreams, and desires and his pain from the awful heat, his anger at the big flaming bastard in the sky. He could feel his roots twitching, the cellulose contracting. Just a bit more…

                “I have a family…” Jeffrey muttered, “I have sixteen children…”

                “God damn it Jeffrey!” Johnny said, “I am THIS close to escaping this blazing hell and you are just ruining it.”

                “I’m so thirsty…”

                “I bet you are Jeffrey. Maybe if you would keep your mouth shut for one second, you wouldn’t be so dehydrated. Now shut up and let me do this!”

                Johnny went back to concentrating on his roots and, sure enough, he felt them begin to move. With a girlish squeal of delight Johnny lifted himself off the ground on his roots. He swayed for a second and then dropped himself back down.

                “I did it Jeffrey! Now if I can just…”

                He lifted himself once again and slowly but surely inched forward on his roots.

                “Yes!” he shouted, “Yes! I’m moving! We’re getting the hell out of here Jeffrey!”

                “I think the bleeding’s finally stopped but the leg is dead.” Jeffrey sobbed.

                “Wow Jeff, way to take my big moment and make it all about you. Great job.” 

                With some practice, Johnny was able to shuffle himself forward a foot, then a another, and another, and soon he was marching across the desert at a brisk pace.

                “I can’t believe it!” He cried, as he shuffled through the desert, “I’m walking! The world is my oyster!” Soon he was able to swing his arms back and forth as well. Once the initial obstacle of walking was overcome he found that he had complete kinetic control of his massive body, down to the last spine.

                He laughed as he practiced going up and down sand dunes, he found a few scattered bushes and smashed them with his spiny arms, sucking the moisture from their broken bodies with the pores of his arms.

                “Shit yeah Jeff! I am a predator now!” He shouted, “Nothing can stop us now!”

                “I just… I just want to see my family again.” Jeffrey moaned, “I just want them to know I’m still alive.”

                “That’s right Jeff! We’re really alive now! We’re mobile, and there’s nothing in this world that can stop us.”

                As night began to fall, Johnny found a nice spot near an outcropping of rocks and settled down for the night.

                “Tomorrow Jeff,” he said, as he drifted into his nocturnal respiration cycle, “Tomorrow our lives begin!”

                “Please… just kill me.”

                The next day, Johnny took off across the desert, heading in the direction the teenagers took when they returned from the desert, leaving behind a trail of red plastic cups, empty kegs, and used condoms. Soon he came across a road.

                “We’ll need wheels if we’re gonna get anywhere Jeff!” Johnny said, as Jeffrey moaned softly in response. Johnny positioned himself near the side of the road and waited. After about twenty minutes Johnny spotted a car coming down the road. Johnny giggled with glee as it approached. When it was within about a hundred yards Johnny toppled himself into the road. The car jerked to a stop to avoid hitting him. After a few minutes of deliberation the couple in the car got out, intent finding a way to remove Johnny from their path.

                “Watch this buddy!” Johnny whispered to Jeffrey.

                As the man bent down, his hands wrapped in a jacket to protect him from Johnny’s spines, Johnny lashed out with an arm, smashing it into the man’s face. The woman screamed as Johnny bashed his spiny arm into the man’s face again and again. The woman tried to drag her companion away, but Johnny pushed off with another arm, rolling heavily over the man and bringing another arm down on the woman’s shoulder. A few more whacks and Johnny pierced some sort of artery, causing blood to spray all over him. Johnny happily sucked the moisture from the blood and then began sucking the man below him dry. Once he was sure the couple was dead, Johnny carefully pushed himself off the man.

                “There we go! We have a car now!” Johnny said as he shoved himself in through the door.

                “You’re a monster.” Jeffrey said, wiping blood from his tiny, furry face.

                “Real mature Jeff.” Johnny said, contorting himself into the car. He reached a pair of arms down to reach the pedals and placed another on the steering wheel. He depressed the accelerator and they were off, the lower part of his body still jutting forth from the side door.

                “Next stop, Germany!” Johnny said as they took off down the road.

                “Every second is agony.” Jeffrey replied.

According to Plan

                Wendy Wallace, reporter for The Daily Inquisitor, had been taken prisoner.  Commander Terror laughed as his Terror Troops tied her securely to a metal chair, deep within the center of the Terror Fortress.

                “You’ll never get away with this! Gigaman will stop you!” Wendy shouted at the super villain, her blonde curls bobbing as she struggled to escape the ropes confining her.

                “That’s where you’re wrong, Ms. Wallace!” Commander Terror boomed, his voice amplified by the skull mask he wore over his disfigured face. “My Fortress is impregnable to the likes of him!” He gestured with his arms to encompass the fortress around him, sweeping back his black cloak. Everywhere Wendy looked, Terror Troops swarmed, wearing black berets and skull masks and carrying deadly laser rifles. Many sat at consoles, overseeing the operation of the base and its many defenses. Across from Wendy was the main door, made from reinforced concrete. A pair of Terror Troops manned two giant laser cannons aimed directly at the door.

                “Nothing’s impregnable to Gigaman! He can… pregnate… anything!” Wendy said.

                “I don’t think that’s a word.” Commander Terror said, “You’re a journalist, Yes? No wonder the newspaper industry is failing.”

                “The only thing failing today is you!” Wendy retorted.

                “Ok, that one was a little better.” Commander Terror nodded in approval, then quickly struck a menacing pose, “But it is Gigaman who will fail! No one can infiltrate the Terror Fortress! First, he will have to make it across my Terror Moat, filled with my deadly Terrorcudas! Their saliva, infused with Vanadium, his one weakness!”

                “Do you have to put Terror in front of everything you own?”

                “It’s a theme!” Commander Terror said, clenching his fist in rage, “Next, he will have to make it through my Ter… my Horror Labyrinth! A winding maze filled with deadly traps from which no man has ever escaped! There he will have to contend with the Terrortaur! A half man, half goat monstrosity!”

                “I thought it was supposed to be half-bull…”

                “That’s the MINOTAUR. This is the TERRORTAUR. If by some chance he makes it past the labyrinth, he will face a legion of my finest Terror Troops, led by my dreaded lieutenant, Doom Quixote!”

                “Gigaman will defeat him, just like he defeated the rest of your vile henchmen!”

                “Ah! But that’s not even the worst of what I have in store for—“

                “Uh, excuse me sir.” One of the terror troops tapped Commander Terror on the shoulder, “We have a situation.”

                “What is it you fool!” The super villain spat, “You’re interrupting my villainous monologue!”

                “Well, it’s just Gigaman showed up a few minutes ago…”

                “Ah! He’s already here!” He turned back to Wendy, “Now you will witness his demise, as his futile attempt to rescue you fails!”

                “Well, it’s sort of already failed.” The Terror Troop said, staring awkwardly at his polished black boots.

                “What do you mean?”

                “Well, he’s already dead.” The man said nervously, “Terrorcudas got him. I guess infusing their saliva with Vanadium did the trick.”

                “DEAD!” Commander Terror roared, “Impossible! Gigaman has the strength and agility of a billion men! This is clearly some kind of ploy.”

                “Well that’s what we thought too. We sent a couple guys out to investigate and he’s definitely dead. We even stabbed him a couple times with those Vanadium edged knives you gave us. Steve cut his head off to make sure.”

                “Well then, clearly it is an impostor!”

                “We thought of that, and he does look an awful lot like Rick Stone, reporter for The Daily Inquisitor, but his skin was bulletproof and everything.”

                “Gigaman was Rick Stone?” Wendy cried out, tears forming in her eyes.

                “Well, obviously,” Commander Terror said, “The only thing he did to disguise himself was put on a fake mustache. A fake mustache that was the wrong color, might I add.”

                “I can’t believe he’s really gone!” Wendy sobbed.

                “Yeah, me neither.” Commander Terror said, scratching his head in confusion, “So he didn’t even make it to the Terror Labyrinth?”

                “I thought you said it was called the—“

                “I LIED. It’s the fucking Terror Labyrinth.”

                “No sir,” the minion replied, “Made it to the other side of the moat and then just died on the shore from Vanadium poisoning. On a semi-related note, a lot of the Terrorcudas are dead too, but I think that’s mostly genetic defects from the whole, infusing them with Vanadium thing.”

                “After I spent all that money on that stupid Terrortaur!”

                “Yeah that thing’s dead too. I’m surprised it survived as long as it did, with all that mental retardation and the brain tumors… we really need some better geneticists or something around here.”

                “Yeah yeah…” Commander Terror stared at the ground, deep in thought, “Does Doom Quixote know yet?”

                “Yeah, he actually wanted me to tell you that he was taking the rest of the afternoon off, I think he’s taking some of the Terror Troops to Hooters.”

                “Well, I guess that’s okay since apparently we don’t have to fight Gigaman today…”

                “So what do we do now?”

                “I… don’t know. I didn’t actually expect things to go this well. Hell, I already have my escape rocket prepped for launch.”

                “What about me?” Wendy asked, tears still streaming down her face.

                “Uh… good question.” Commander Terror said, looking the spunky reporter up and down.

                “Can I go?”

                “Sure. Why not. I suppose we don’t really need you anymore.” He walked over and undid her bonds, “Sorry about all this.”

                “No no,” Wendy stood up and stretched. She had stopped crying. “Now that I think about it Gigaman was kind of a douche.”

                “Right?” Commander Terror said, walking Wendy toward the door, “That’s what I keep telling everyone!”

                “He was so uptight!” Wendy continued, “He threw a hissy fit whenever I so much as went above the speed limit! And not telling me he was Rick Stone? What the hell?”

                “No relationship can work without trust.” Commander Terror nodded, as the massive concrete door swung open.”

                “I guess I was really just in it for the glamor of dating a superhero.”

                “I don’t blame you.” Terror Commander said, “Say, this is gonna sound crazy, but are you doing anything tomorrow night? You wanna grab a drink?”

                “I don’t see why not,” Wendy said, as the super villain escorted her to an emergency exit, “I mean, I’m really digging the whole power thing you’ve got going on.”

                “I get that a lot.” Commander Terror said, as he opened a small door that led out into the city streets, “I’ll pick you up at eight, in the Terror Maserati.”

                “Sounds good.” Wendy said, “But if it’s okay with you, can we just call it the Maserati?”

THE END

Ask Dr. Thunder Episode 312

Good Morning Sunshine, it's time for another exciting episode of Ask Dr. Thunder! You may be disappointed that there isn't another video this week, but then again, you may be a serial rapist, and so why should we care about your opinion? You have nonconsensual sex with people. Like on a regular basis. That's pretty fucked up.

You. Maybe.

Anyways, I can't post a video this week because the risk is too great. It seems my bitch of an ex-wife Karen has assembled a whole vicious assortment of my ex-wives to pool their resources, or should I say, my resources, in order to better afford lawyers, private investigators, and private mercenaries to extract the rest of my resources. I like to call them the Spiteful Harridan Society, and they will stop at nothing to receive the unjust court ordered alimony payments they think they deserve. But that's not important right now. If you wanted to learn about whiny, money-grubbing whores you'd watch Sex and the City. Let's get to some emails.

Dear Dr.Thunder,
My wife is due to give birth to our first child any day now and I am extremely nervous about becoming a father. Do you have any advice for me?.

Well Stephen, as you may know, I have contributed genetic material to probably dozens of children over the years, and I have never become a father. It might be more difficult for you since you made the mistake of marrying the mother, but I think with the proper legal counsel, you could get yourself a sweet gig as a fun uncle, or a big brother. If she does insist on you assuming the mantle of fatherhood, just remember the many benefits of babies. For example, a baby is much more effective than a bulletproof vest, as many thugs are terrified by their gigantic heads and tiny. tiny hands.

Plus they can protect vital organs in a fall.

Our next email comes from Becky in Michigan, Becky writes:

Dear Dr.Thunder,
I have grown sick of the traditional dating scene so I decided to try online dating. However, it turns out most dating sites charge an exorbitant amount of money to access even the basic features of the site! I want to find love, but I don't have that kind of cash! Is there another way?

Well Stephen, you're in luck! I have just started up an absolutely free dating service called ThunderDate! We believe that, under the right circumstances, any two people of roughly the same level of attractiveness can fall in love, at least for a little while. As someone who has been married roughly 114 times over the past 20 years, there is no one more familiar with love than me. As it turns out, love is just a chemical reaction in your brain, that can be easily simulated with drugs! Sure, as you get to know each other, you will most likely find that you have nothing in common but by then it will be too late!

Completely conflicting personalities, but don't they look nice together?

The way our system works, is, you send us a picture and you are matched based, on looks, with someone who is about as good looking as you are. Our love commandos then manipulate your lives so that you fall in love with each other. Unless you are an attractive woman, then you receive a free copy of my best selling self-help book, Why You Should Have Sex With Dr. Thunder, and you will learn how all of your life's problems can be solved by allowing me to put my penis in and around your body. Then afterward, you receive a free pamphlet on the benefits of membership in the Spiteful Harridan Society, one of the largest growing organizations in the Pacific Northwest.
Our last email comes from Little Johnny in Kennecticut. Johnny writes:

Dear Dr. Thunder.
There is this group of mean kids that keep picking on me at school. I've tried telling an adult but whenever I do, the kids just beat me up even worse afterward. Is there nothing I can do?

Well Stephen, have you tried simply talking to these "bullies", maybe inviting them out to coffee, and then killing them? It may sound extreme but if you show up to school with a necklace made with the fingerbones of those who dared to defy you, it will warn off any other bullies who may be tempted to step in and fill the void. It's important that you kill them in such a way that can't actually be tied to you in a legal way, but sends a clear message about who is responsible to those it concerns. Might I suggest a "gas leak" explosion, that by sheer coincidence burns your initials into the wall. I suggest using a middleman that can't be traced back to you, like a delightful talking squirrel. No one ever suspects delightful woodland creatures in explosion based crimes against adolescents.it

Squirrels are nature's demolition experts.

 So now that I got to use the funny picture of a squirrel I found, it's time for me to go. Remember to keep sending in those emails, and I will keep pretending to read them. Dr. Thunder out!

3 Things People Say to Make Me Feel Better (And Why They Don't Work)

So as some of you virtually non-existent readers may know, I tend to be depressed a lot. There's nothing wrong with that, to me at least, because the way I see it, if I was happy, I would have no motivation to do anything. Being miserable all the times just means I am willing to try exciting new ways to be less miserable, like sky-diving and horse painting. One of my favorite things to be miserable about is the fact that I am extremely lonely, and seem to be incapable of altering this situation. And whenever I feel particularly down about it, my friends are always there attempting to cheer me up. However, they almost always succeed in making me feel worse.

1. "Someday you will meet a gorgeous, perfect woman, I guarantee it."
This is probably the one I hear the most from various people who seem convinced that somewhere there is a beautiful woman who is for some reason attracted to the amalgamation of flaws and deformities that is me. First of all, if this woman is indeed gorgeous and perfect then she is most likely already in a committed relationship, as those qualities tend to be in high demand. Second of all, where exactly am I supposed to meet this woman? It's not like I get invited to parties. This is another instance of people confusing real life with movies, where basically every character except the villain ends up with someone by the time the credits roll. It turns out in real life, sometimes people end up alone when all is said and done.
Why it makes me feel worse:
Assuring me I will meet someone pretty much just adds a layer of guilt at having let you down the next time I inevitably fail to attract a mate. In addition to feeling awful about being rejected again, I also feel like I have failed you by not living up to your optimistic predictions.
What you could say instead:
"Better luck next time!"

2. "Of course you're attractive! You're smart and handsome, and funny, and amazing and any girl would have to be an idiot not to fall in love with you!"
Well don't I just sound like the best guy ever? This one is not only insulting to me, because I own a mirror and spend all day around myself, so I know you are lying, but to the girls who reject me, who have done nothing wrong. There is no one as awesome as what my friends claim I am. Do you realize how incredibly egotistical I would have to be to believe this? Dr. Thunder egotistical, that's how much. Yeah I know I am pretty great, but I also know I have many, many flaws. I don't know what a lot of those flaws are because people refuse to tell me, but I know they are there, and not telling me about them only makes it harder for me to work on them. This one is especially bad coming from girls who are not attracted to me themselves, but assure me that they are apparently the rare exception.
Why it makes me feel worse:
If I am an unattractive, uncharismatic loser who can't get girls then it's not really that big a deal. I wouldn't expect girls to be into that and I know why. However if I am a brilliant, hilarious superman who can't get girls then how fucked up is that? With all my many virtues, I should be hiding in a bunker to protect me from all the vaginas being thrown at me, and yet I still can't get a single girl to go on one date with me. Clearly there is something seriously wrong with me if I am this desirable and still single.
What you could say instead:
"You know you'd get more girls if you_____"

3. "Who needs a girl? Relationships are a huge hassle anyways."
Really? Then I imagine you will be breaking it off with your significant other right away then! What's that? You're staying together? Well then clearly there's another side to it then. I realize being in a relationship isn't all lollipops and rainbows. A solid relationship demands sacrifice and trust and all that. But you know what? I still would very much like to find out for myself what hardships a relationship entails instead of just taking your word for it. Who knows? Maybe I will find out that I was happier alone all along and that I hate being in a relationship. However the only way I'm going to know is if I actually experience it.
Why it makes me feel worse:
Well this one's just plain condescending. By saying that I won't like having a girlfriend you assume that you know me better than myself. If you yourself have a significant other than it kind of feels like you're saying that you are better suited to handling a relationship than I am.
What you could say instead:
"Sucks bro"

Anyway, just so you know, this post isn't directed at anyone specific and since I have no intention of shameless Facebook promotion, it is unlikely very many people will even know it exists. I just wanted to get it off my chest. Also it's like 5 am and I am not tired at all. Weird right?

Dr. Thunder Episode 311

So I finally have a new video up! Now quit yer Bitchin'

Ask Dr.Thunder Episode 310

Hello children! welcome to another session of Ask Dr. Thunder. Where I take time out from being great to answer your dumb questions about bullshit.
After receiving exclusively praise for my last entry, which for those of you too lazy to check, was the brilliant piece of prose known as "Atomic Cannibal Penis Monsters From Mars" I have come to the conclusion that not only am I the best writer on this shitty blog, but possibly the best writer in existence. However, until I can find the time to track down every other writer that has ever lived, and strangle the life out of them with my bare hands I can't be sure. In the meantime Atomic Cannibal Penis Monsters shall enjoy the fruit's of it's whirlwind literary triumph. Even now there is an intense bidding war for the rights to bring this masterpiece to the silver screen. Right now the front runners are Brazzers, 21st Sextury and The Asylum, which I am forced to assume are major Hollywood Studios.
While I wait for the filthy lucre to pour in, I still have to pander to you assholes. And in the spirit of pandering, starting with the next episode, we shall be re-introducing video content to Ask Dr. Thunder, My PR director suggested I embed a video alongside my masterful prose in order to appeal better to my target audience of illiterates, hobgoblins, and dogs wanderign past computer screens. I suggested embedding my dick in her sweet ass. Then she said something about sexual hash browns I think. It's hard to make out what she's saying when she's yelling like that. Anyway, the infrastructure to produce videos is not available to me at the moment because one of my bitch ex-wives somehow got a hold of a list of my assets and took the studio so we will stick with our text-based format for now. Because you can't seize a free blog, Karen.

Dear Dr. Thunder,
I am thinking of starting a small herb garden in my backyard but the pH level of my soil is too high to support most of the plants I would like to grow. Is there an easy way to lower it?

Well Stephen, as you know, the "pH" level, or "pixie hand-job" level of your soil is a measure of the sex trade amongst mythical creatures in your garden. In soil with an unusually low socio-economic stauts, vices like sex and drugs can be prevalent. The best way to lower the pH level would be obviously to implement a series of economic reforms to reduce the dependency of your mythical creatures on the welfare system, but that solution takes time that you don't have, because based on the two sentences you wrote, it sounds like you have a crippling addiction to rosemary so we need to work fast. I would suggest introducing a gnomish psychopath into your garden, available from most home improvement stores, to thin out the prostitute population and leave those that remain in a state of fear.

Dear Dr. Thunder,
I have a gay friend that I have known for years and I have never had a problem with his sexuality before. However he has recently announced that he and his boyfriend are engaged and will be getting married in a state where it is legal. What kind of wine should I get them as a wedding present?

Well Stephen, my disapproval glands are filled to the brim with anger-sauce right now. It is obvious that this "gay friend" of yours is actually you. Clearly you are one of the millions of Americans who abuse our cherished gay marriage system in order to extort free wine from friends and family. You people make me sick. I suggest a Cabernet Sauvignon, a 2007 or older.

Dear Dr. Thunder,
My hand is stuck in a toaster, but I really want toast. Like really bad. Do you think I should wait til my hand is out before I make the toast?

Well Stephen, it's important to note that while Puerto Ricans may be lazy, shifty thieves, their nimble fingers are vital in running the machinery that produces our consumer goods, and so without a steady influx of these disease ridden half-men we will never beat the insidious Chinamen in the global markets. I'm sorry what were you talking about?

Dear Dr. Thunder,
I hear you still have numerous unreported assets that you stubbornly refuse to disclose to collection agencies. Can you give a comprehensive list of these assets and their estimated market values?

Damn it Karen! HOW DID YOU FIND THIS BLOG? I swear by Odin's glossy vagina if I ever see you again I will stab you i nthe face with a soldering iron! And I would like to stress to your bloodsucking whore of a lawyer that that last statement was a metaphor. Because if I actually had a soldering iron with which to stab that donkey anus you call a face, YOU WOULD SEIZE IT.

Well folks, that;s all the time we have this week. Remember, next episode will feature a video! So tune in for that! Unless your Karen. Then you can go choke on a thousand dicks.