KSK Celebrity Pickkake: Gilbert Gottfried

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Punter's Atonement

Atonement is now in its first run in theatres, at least for another week, depending on how many women can drag their husbands/boyfriends/casual acquaintances/UPS men to go see it. Such was my fate last night, as I dutifully went to see the film against my own will. As the credits rolled and the theater emptied, I casually frisked myself to make sure my genetalia did not perish in light of my betrayal to my gender.

The thing is, the premise of the movie isn't terrible. The script just needs to be massaged a bit so that it's more presentable to a broader audience. If only there was some asshole with a little free time that could re-write the film in a way that the finished product would actually enhance one's manhood, rather than have one question it. Well, rejoice, dear reader, because I am that asshole.

Without further ado, I present my adaptation of Atonement.

ACT I

England, 1935. Big-assed house. Nobody's fucking, because it's not proper and shit, so everybody has blue balls. This is also why everyone smokes. Anyway, some guy with a moustache is coming to the house for a black tie dinner. And so this little tale begins with 13-year-old Briony, a closet lesbian singer-songwriter who can't find her own clitoris, putting the finishing touches on her first play.

Scene 1: Int. Big-Assed House, Briony's Room

BRIONY: There. It's all there. Jolly good.

[touches self awkwardly, binds the play then runs downstairs to tell MUM]

BRIONY: Mummy? Mummy? I finished it, Mummy! I finished it! My first play!

MUM: Oh, such whimsy! Let me read it. [Reads it] It's stupendous!

BRIONY: I'm going to dedicate it to Joan of Arc, the inspiration for Xena: Warrior Princess! Then I'm going to keep searching for my clitoris using the mirrors in the ball room!

MUM: You will be performing the play this evening, yes?

BRIONY: We can't! The WGA will picket us for sure!

MUM: Oh, you're right. I forgot. This goddamn strike is killing me.

BRIONY: No shit. Even Family Guy's a repeat this week.


Scene 2: Int. Servants' Quarters

ROBBIE: Mum, where's my good shirt? I've been invited to the dinner tonight! Can you believe it?

ROBBIE'S MUM: What a relief that you're not black! This would never happen in America!


Scene 3: Int. Briony's Room:

[Briony is drawn to the window by a bee trying to get out. Since Briony is a flaming dyke singer-songwriter and therefore cares about the environment, she opens the window and lets the bee escape. Then she sees ROBBIE and CECILIA at the fountain. CECILIA takes off almost all of her clothes, jumps in the fountain, jumps out, gets dressed and leaves in a huff. BRIONY would have flicked her bean to a pulp while all this was going on, but she still doesn't know where that is, so she just straddled a rolled-up issue of The Saturday Evening Post and acted like she was riding a horse. And...scene]

Scene 4: Int. ROBBIE'S Room

[ROBBIE is smoking a cigarette (because he has blue balls and the technology and masculine social mores of the day are prohibiting him from engaging in self-mutilation) and typing up an apologetic letter for CECILIA, whom he would care to bang like a tennis ball off a garage door]

ROBBIE: [speaking as he types] Dear...Cecilia...please...forgive me...no, no (pulls paper out and crumples it up, replaces paper, starts over)

Dear...Cecilia...you're breaking...my heart...you're shaking...my confidence...baby...no, no, no (pulls paper out and crumples it up, replaces paper, starts over)

Dear...Cecilia...Old Mother Hubbard...went to her cupboard...to get her poor dog...a bone...Then...she bent over...Rover took over...and she...got a bone...of her own. (pulls paper out, gleefully folds it up and stuffs it in an envelope)

Scene 5: Ext. Dirt Driveway To The Big-Assed House

[ROBBIE is walking up the driveway in a tux and sees BRIONY on her acoustic guitar, strumming and singing "Come To My Window"]

ROBBIE: Briony! Briony!

BRIONY: [Runs to him] Yes?

ROBBIE: Give this to your sister. [Hands her the envelope]

BRIONY: I'm going to read it before I give it to her. [Runs off]

ROBBIE: Cunt!

Scene 6: Int. Foyer, Big-Assed House

[BRIONY runs into the foyer and opens the envelope. LOLA, BRIONY's redheaded cousin, comes to see what's all the bother]

LOLA: What's all the bother?

BRIONY: [Starts reading the letter, gasps] Haha, Rover took over. This guy is a sex maniac!

LOLA: A sex maniac?

BRIONY: Yes, Lola, a...[Licks lips]

CECILIA: [enters] Is that for me? Give me that, you little carpet-muncher! [Starts reading] Haha, Rover took over. Hey, wasn't this in an envelope?

Scene 7: Doorway of Big-Assed House (is that Int. or Ext? I don't know, and I guess it doesn't really matter since this isn't an actual screenplay. Otherwise, all kinds of shit would be capitalized and this whole fucker would be in Courier New, and I've already met my quota for that this week. Shit, we're getting off-topic. Okay, so Robbie's finally at the house...)

[ROBBIE rings the doorbell, CECILIA answers the door]

ROBBIE: Oh, hello. Did you like my limerick?

CECILIA: Uhh, limericks use an AABBA rhyme scheme, you fucking simpleton.

ROBBIE: [confused] What?

CECILIA: Limericks use an AABBA rhyme scheme. The poem in your letter used an AABCCB rhyme scheme. And it wasn't even yourpoem. It's Andrew Dice Clay, and it's like 20 years old.

ROBBIE: Oh. How embarrassing. Let me furrow my brow in embarrassment.

CECILIA: Anyway, I have many leather-bound books. Come see.

ROBBIE: This place smells of rich mahogany. [follows her to the library]

CECILIA: See all these books? Fuck me on the books! [He does, until Briony sneaks in and totally cockblocks ROBBIE]

BRIONY: [crying] This is going in my mood journal! [runs out]

Scene 8: Int. Dining Room Table

[ROBBIE walks in]

MUM: Robbie, please meet Paul Marshall. He plays midfield for Manchester United. And he has a mustache!

PAUL: [says hi in British]

ROBBIE: Hello. You look kinda gay.

PAUL: Good show, chap, jolly good show! Say there, chap. Could you help me find the twins?

ROBBIE: See? I knew you were gay!

MUM: Lola's twin brothers are missing! Let's hurry up and look for them!

Scene 9: Ext. Outside, where it's dark and shit

PAUL: So...Lola...

LOLA: Yes, Paul?

PAUL: Does the carpet match the drapes? [Starts banging her in the woods, all the while they do it doggystyle, until...]

BRIONY: Lola? [PAUL runs off. LOLA, upset from being cockblocked, cries] Lola? Lola, what did you do with your Birkenstocks?

Scene 10: Int. Living Room

[LOLA is carried into the room and set on a couch]

INSPECTOR POIROT: Who could hov done zuch a fine job of hollowing out zis sweet leettle beetch?

MUM: Wilt Chamberlin?

BRIONY: Robbie did it. I saw him do it. With my own eyes.

POIROT: Aha! Zis Rub-bie will be going to jail! Aw-haw-haw!

[ROBBIE shows up with the missing twins and POIROT and THE AUTHORITIES haul his ass off. BRIONY watches the whole thing go down while touching herself, until...]

BRIONY: Heyyyyyyyy...who is this little guyyyyy?

TO BE CONTINUED...

KSK Celebrity Pickkake: Stephen Hawking

The celebrity Super Bowl pick is a time-honored tradition, one we at KSK are super fucking excited to be a part of, as we have in the past. For the next two weeks, stars from the world of entertainment, politics, and more will drop by to make their picks for the big game in the Pink Taco! Up next, it's noted physicist Stephen Hawking!

HELLO.

HOW

ARE

YOU?

TODAY.

I AM FINE.

MY

FAVORITE

TIME

OF THE YEAR

IS

SUPER BOWL SUNDAY.

MY

FAVORITE THING

ABOUT

FOOTBALL

IS

WATCHING

THE PASSES

AND

THINKING

ABOUT

SUCKING TOM BRADY'S COCK.

IF

I

WAS

SUCKING TOM BRADY'S COCK.

I WOULD LIKE TO

CHEW IN A CIRCULAR MOTION.

OR

I WOULD LIKE TO

LAY

NAKED

IN THE STREET

AND.

GET.

GANG-BANGED LIKE A HOOKER WHO OVERDOSED ON HEROIN.

IN.

MY ASS.

AND FACE.

I WOULD LIKE TO

PICK

THE GIANTS

TO WIN

BY

TWO

TOUCHDOWNS

THIRTY.

FIVE.

TO.

TWENTY.

ONE.

IF

[John Madden's voice] Brett Favre

WAS

IN.

THIS GAME.

I WOULD LIKE TO.

STILL.

BE.

SUCKING TOM BRADY'S COCK.

THANK YOU.

GOOD BYE.

(untitled)

INT SET 0F P0RN0 M0VIE DAY

ON SET with Adult film star Admiral Pavel Becker, the Naval Pecker, with additional cast and crew, for the filming of the last scene in his Christmas special, Chestnuts Roasting On Your Open Mouth, Part 6.

------------

Fred: Thank God, we're finally gonna shoot the last scene of this movie and then we can wrap this bitch.

Andy: You know, Fred, I was thinking. "Pavel" and "Naval" don't even rhyme. That sort of kills the whole thing for me.

Fred: Fuck you, smart guy. It looks great on the box, especially with the anchors and that Donald Duck uniform. That's all we give a shit about in this business; it's all about presentation. You can take your lacy frills and Mother Goose bullshit down the block.

Andy: Hey, Freddy, don't mind me. I'm just impressed you got Gina Gershon in this movie.

Jeanie: (walks in) Uh, sweetie, it's Jeanie Gershonn. With two Ns (puffs on a cigarette and blows the smoke in Andy's face)

Director: Bitch, who said you could smoke on my set? (walks up behind Jeannie) Is Dick Van Dyke gonna chimney sweep the fucking tar out of my lungs? Get your ass on that sleigh, you rusty old cunt. (to the crew) Alright everybody! Chop chop, you little fucksticks! Okay, Jeanie. It's time to save Christmas. And by "Save Christmas," I mean "videotape you getting fucked raw." (puts on headphones)

Jeanie: (licks palm of her hand and extinguishes the cigarette in it) Sure thing, sweetie. (gets on the sleigh with Becker, who is wearing nothing but a fake white beard and boots)

Director: Now, Becker, just go through your lines like we did in rehearsal, okay?

Becker: Ready!

Director: Okay, places, everyone! Quiet on the set motherfuckers! I am more important than all of you! Lights are good!...Camera rolling!...Cue the snow!...Aaaand cue the reindeer!...And ACTION!

Jeanie: So, can you tell me, are you...are you really Santa Claus?

Becker: Yes, Virginia...I am...Santa Claus.

Jeanine: Well, then...maybe I could meet...Santa's Little Helper?

Becker: Cut!

(bell rings)

Director: (takes off headphones) Goddamn it Bruno, I'M the one that says cut! I'm the goddamn director!

Becker: Sorry, boss, but...it's....it's....

Director: Just spit it out, princess--

Becker: We don't have my, uh, full attention.

Director: Jesus Fucking Christ, Becker, you and your rubber torpedo are gonna be the death of me.

Becker: That's RUGGED Torpedo!

Director: Whatever, lady. (turns around) Fred, can you get Michelle out here? Time to fluff up another flat pecker.

Fred: Sorry, boss. Michelle's taking an early lunch at Panera, but the agency can send someone over right away.

Director: Agency? Since when did we hire a fucking agency?

(from the back) Not a fucking agency, sir! A fluffing agency!

Director: (looking around) Who the fuck was that?

Maurice: (enthusiastically) It's me! (hands resume to director)

Director: Wha--what the fuck is this? Most fluffers don't hand in resumes...(looks at resume)...uh, Morris?

Maurice: That's Maurice! Not Morris.

Director: Well, okay, Maurice not Morris (hands resume to Fred), get over there and get your hands dirty.

Maurice: Hands?! Well, what if I just take this and give a good (baritoned gagging sound)

Becker: Holy--wha...woowwwwww.

Andy: Wait, did he just--

Fred: Excuse me, is this a valid address? 800 Occidental Ave South, Seattle? Box 20?

Director: You're a goddamn professional, Becks, just go with it. Carl, are you getting this?

Carl: (operating camera) Oh, I'm getting it. This is like taping Rodney King, but reversed. And gay.

Director: Yeah, that boom cam's looking like a pretty good investment now, isn't it?

Fred: (watches while slowly shaking his head) Wow, he's really getting after it.

Director: I always enjoy watching someone so masterful at his craft. Just amazing.

Sean Astin: He's telling his own story; you can truly feel the pathos.

Carl: Somebody needs to feed that guy. He's like a starving orphan over there.

Andy: Where have I heard that expression before?

Director: Hang on, I think he's finally coming up for air...

Maurice: (out of breath) Let's...try something else...I call this (drops to his knees)...the "Trey Wingo."

Director: Why's he standing behind him?

Carl: And why's he holding up those three fingers and coating them with Astroglide?

Fred: You know, I think he's gonna jam them right up his--

EVERYONE: AWWWWWWWWWWW!!!

Fred: Jesus Shit! I think he got some elbow on that!

Andy: That's an uppercut for the ages.

Director: I hope Maurice not Morris remembered to take off his watch.

Carl: Don't you need a guardian present to jump into the deep end like that?

Maurice: (pumping feverishly) This will give that grumpy little prostate something to think about!

Fred: Uppercut! Uppercut!

Director: Now, does he call it the "Trey Wingo" because he's using three fingers? Like Trey as in Three?

Carl: Or because when you set your hand like that, it looks like a W? You know, W for Wingo.

Andy: Or is it because this whole ordeal is associated with sports somehow?

Maurice: (retrieving his arm)...There. I just went two yards right up the middle. That ought to do it.

Becker: (looks down with delight) All right! All hands, attention on deck!

Director: God bless you, Maurice.

Fred: And God bless these fifty United States.

Director: Alright, places everyone! Let's get set here! (puts on headphones) Cue the snow!...aaaand Go for reindeer! Aaaand ACTION!

Jeanie: So, can you tell me, are you...are you really Santa Claus?

Becker: Yes, Virginia...I am...sorry, sorry, guys. I just...

Director: CUT! (Bell rings) Goddamn it, now what?

Becker: Just remind me...what's my motivation?

Director: (throws headphones to the ground) Fuck this shit, I quit.

Today...We Celebrate...Our Independence Day

Happy 4th of July, everyone. Sorry about that other pic from earlier.

KSK Travel Guide: The 10 Best US Cities To Masturbate

Travel season is here, and that means shelling out lots of cash for you and your significant other to spend a week someplace insignificant (really, you can sleep 'til noon anywhere), spending your day doing mundane crap that might look like fun, I guess, if you're some 40-year-dipshit that lives within the glossy confines of some pamphlet photograph. And after a week of all that, you'll be lucky to get one night of sex out of the ordeal. Who calls that a vacation?

Suppose you just want to blow town for a weekend, possibly because you're not getting blown yourself? Why go through the trouble of bringing someone along when, at the end of the day, you're just waiting for them to go to sleep so you can jerk off in peace? Where's the time for ménage à moi? Shouldn't that be the focus of your hard-earned hiatus?

Well, now it can be. Pack your bags, book your ticket, and tell that ungrateful little tramp that you're flying with Han Solo this summer. Once again, we've got you covered, as your compadres in hand present to you The 10 Best US Cities To Masturbate.

1. Fort Lonesome, Florida

History is rich in Fort Lonesome, where the villiagers' ancestors did battle with the Spanish, led by the famed commander Wild Tyler Johnson. As you wander these ancient grounds, prepare yourself for some hand-to-gland combat when you visit the Seminole War re-enactment past the old mill near Booger Man's corner. Stop by the locals' favorite seaside diner, Sailor Ned's, for a heaping bowl of homemade chowder. Work at your own speed as you enjoy the long rows of shops and get a taste of the town's favorite dessert, Fingers and Cream. Before the day is out, cap your night with a pale ale at Willie's Pub. If you're up for a quick visit, engage in a dishonorable discharge in the handicapped stall of the men's room, and then work up a foamy lather in their newly remodeled sinks!

2. Dry Prong, Louisiana

Explore the wilderness in the Deep South in this old town that was held in the palm of Union hands through much of the Civil War. Butter your corn as you dine in a private booth at Diamond's Grill in the renovated Schnack's Warehouse, where the chicken is choked twice each day (they even churn their own butter!). Stroll through the town square to the back of City Hall and meet Mr. Stickeykeys, the only mayor of Dry Prong since 1988. Spend your twilight enjoying the Longleaf Pine forests and drive past the nearby hardwoods entering Alexandria. She loves an audience.

3. Come by Chance, Newfoundland

Located on the Avalon Peninsula, Come by Chance exports more fish from its shores than half the eastern seaboard. Which half? We don't know. Watch as local villagers drill for oil near the North Atlantic Refining Company, which can handle 115,000 barrels in a single day, and doesn't employ women under 50. Due to the rich fishing economy, seafood has been banned from the Avalon Peninsula since the 1950s, but find yourself still within reach of maritime necessities, such as dolphin wax and two-toned trout sauce, at the local Purple General Store. All this and more makes Come by Chance one of the 10 best US cities to masturbate!

4. Left Hand, West Virginia

Shooting north of the Bible Belt, this West Virginia village boasts one of the most devoutly religious populations of the Midwest. At nearby Ohio Valley University, students are required to wrestle a stiff load that includes one Bible class each semester. Bishop Thomas, the faculty president, challenges the incoming students each year to his annual armwrestling copmetition, held discretely in the confines of his office, to see if the young ones have what it takes to "beat the Bishop." The spring semester is concluded when the student body performes its traditional performance of "Much Goo About Nothing."

5. Blue Ball, Pennsylvania.

Just a toss from Left Hand sits another must-see destination along the southern Pennsylvania border. As you stroll through this Amish town, you may find yourself in the back of one of the open furniture warehouses, varnishing the banister. Good deals can be reached on these custom-built crafts if you can find a shop that happens to be liquidating its inventory (you may have to exercise the negotiator to get the best deal, those Amish can be quite stingy). Make a trip during the holiday season and you could be spending your Christmas bonus on a brand new hand-made one-person love seat, just for you.

Rounding out the top ten:

Dripping Springs, Texas; Last Chance, Colorado; Protection, Kansas; Hell, Michigan; and Man I Love Jerking Off, North Carolina.

I'm Sorry, Paris Hilton

I am sorry that you went to jail, mainly because now someone else will have a chance to rape you, although that may be a misnomer since you really don't know the meaning of the word "no." I bet the food in jail is bad, Paris Hilton, but I hear their gym is pretty sweet.

I was thinking the other day about all the fun times we used to have; I was taking a shit and then realized that I didn't have any toilet paper. So I just sat on the bowl for, I think it was like an hour, and then my ass started to get numb, so I just lathered up my hand with two squirts of Dial and then scrubbed out my crack. But I had no way to rinse out my wares, so I just wiped out the suds with one of my towels. When I finally hopped off and flushed, I saw there was a brand new roll resting on the top of the toilet behind me. I'm never eating ziti after 8 o'clock again.

But anyway, Paris Hilton, I remember when we used to hit the town. You had these stupid little pointy shoes and you asked me what I thought of them. I told you I would rather drive the tips of those shoes through my eye sockets than be forced to bear witness to them for even another second. Then you got really pouty and quiet. And then when I asked what was wrong, you said, "Nothing." But I think if nothing was really wrong, you would have let me use the anal beads that night.

Remember, Paris Hilton, when we went out with the team to the Chicago Playboy Mansion and Tank wanted to lay money on how many handguns he could cram up your pussy? I really thought he was going to be more systematic with his insertion methods there. Plus I thought that he would have made sure that none of those guns were loaded, or at least had the safeties on. And I have no idea why I took the under, either. That whole thing was really my bad.

I bet jail is a lot like having a sleepover, Paris Hilton, except none of your friends show up and the guards search your asshole for contraband. I will try really hard to make the trip east to California and visit, so we can talk on those special phones, and you can mash your little titties up against the glass, like in that one movie, while I make moaning sounds and jerk off after I throw on a turbin and walk some laps around a pillar.

So, um, I guess I'll see you later. Tell Martha Stewart I said hey.

Terri Schiavo Looks At Some Early Free Agent Signings

Hello? HELLO! Wow, hey, you can hear me! Sweet, because I'm getting sick of all these doctors just staring at me. Get them the fuck out of here. And before CNN comes back, could somebody give me a real haircut for fuck's sake? Something kinda mod, you know, understated. Like a Mariska Hargitay, maybe. Mmm, damn, she's hot. I'd eat walnuts out of that bitch's ass. That is, if the walnuts could fit through this fucking feeding tube.

So Adalius Thomas going to New England is a pretty big deal. That's just what they needed: a large, black man to help carry Bruschi off the field after his next stroke. It sounds like New England's also going to get Fire-Cracker Wes Welker signed to an offer sheet. Or maybe they're just going to implant fingers onto Reche Caldwell's eyeballs. Either one works for me, really.

It looks like Joey Porter--hey, will you get that fucking balloon out of my face? I'm trying to talk some fucking football, get it out--yeah, yeah, I see the fucking balloon. Get that shit outta here. Assholes. Anyway, a lot of teams will be making a run at everyone's favorite insane Negro, Joey Porter. My word, that is one scary man. And he's such an incredible physical specimen to boot. I once heard that his dick is so big, it has its own ACL. Heaven hopes he brings the KY Jelly if he finds his way into my room.

Nate Clements will be the first defensive Ten Million Dollar A Year Man in the NFL's history. Whatever. I doubt he'll reach the ass-end of that deal, but the bitches will hear "eighty million dollars" and be impressed. He's guaranteed $22 mil out of that. The only downside is that now he has to play for San Franciso. Shit's expensive there.

And what's the deal with Dre Bly and Dan Wilkinson. Seems like those guys switch teams every--

Wha-what are you doing? Hey, don't pull that tube out! My food comes in through that motherfucker! Put that tube back! FUCK! FUUUUUUUUUUCK!

You guys are gonna put that back, right?