Tuesday, February 28, 2006


Seeing how it is Fat Tuesday we felt compelled to divulge the sad fate of Renee Zellweger.
(Needless to say, but this is a NEEDTOVENT exclusive.)

In the first photograph we see Renee attending a Mennonite quilting auction near Lititz, Pennsylvania just a few hours after a tragic bee sting. Notice how her face is a bit puffy but still recognizable.

The second photo was taken this morning while Ms. Z was attending a Mardi Gras parade in the Big Easy. Medical experts agree that this unfortunate encounter with an American Worker Bee will ensure that all of Ms. Zellweger's future acting performances will continue to be egregiously emotionless.

An aside: Out of our sincere respect for Renee's tragic condition we have downsized today's Mardi Gras photo to minimize the visual horror. Far be it for NEEDTOVENT to eschew a modicum of compassion.

Friday, February 24, 2006

BACON BITS (Based On A True Story)

By Robert A. Nowotny

Did you bring the Jujubes?

Damn. You coulda looked harder.

Don't give me that shit. I know they still make 'em. Damn...

You say your time is short? Well e-x-c-u-s-e me! Maybe there ain't enough time. Maybe I'll just wheel over to the lounge and watch some TV. Maybe I'll just do that...

You sure you didn't bring the Jujubes?

Oh all right. Jeez-us you're a whinner. Just like that Lou Holtz fella. Cry-baby if there ever was one. Feels every call goes against him and those pussy players of his. Fightin' Irish my ass. Bunch of pussies. You know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna piss on his grave, that's what.

Say what? He ain't coach of Notre Dame no more? Well fuck him anyway. Piece of shit.

What? Oh yeah, the story. Yeah, yeah — fiftieth anniversary and all that. Big fuckin' deal.

"Unprecedented?" "Bizarre?" Hell it weren't "bizarre," just a slight miscalculation, that's all. Anyway, ol' Rocky weren't too bright in the first place. Just wanted to belong. You know, be a part of our little club in high school. Called ourselves the Fightin' 69th Airborne. Wore them leather helmets like them flyboys in WWI. Had some nice silk scarves around our necks, too. Made us look dashing. Studs, all of us. Got our share of nooky. Seems the chicks loved them scarves. Some were stolen right off our necks in the hallways. Still got one in a drawer. It's the one Lana Beisser wiped herself off with after we played hide the salami in the back of my '56 Bel Air. Cherry she was.

No not Lana, the Chevy. Kept that scarf, never washed it, just let the aroma of Lana's twat linger. Still take a sniff every once in awhile. Brings back fond memories of better days, better lays.

Oh yea, sorry. So anyway ol' Rocky declared he would set a "World Record." That's what he called it. And who was to argue? Shit, if he could pull this off then he belonged in the Fightin' 69th alright. And so the preparations were made very carefully. Hell, NASA don't hold a candle to Rocky. Never ever saw such research and meticulous preparation. Pretty damn impressive, I tell ya. Like which brand of beans to use. Woulda' guessed Trappeys and just gone with 'em. Not Rocky. Checked 'em all out — Trappeys, Del Monte, Hunts, Kuners, you name it. And Rocky declared Kuners to be the best by far. Took him a week. Did all the research in private, of course. Who was to argue? So we all chipped in and bought a half-dozen size 303 cans of Kuners.

Never heard of Kuners, huh? Well we had 'em back then. Just like Jujubes an' Beemans gum an' cinnamon toothpicks an' Chesterfields. No fucking filters neither. Filters are for pussies.

O.K. already. I'm gettin' to it. So ol' Rocky declared that next Saturday afternoon was goin' to be "The Day." Weren't much to do anyway, not in a little shit-hole town like Ozona, so all the Fightin' 69th was there. Hell, none of us would miss this for the world. Around two o'clock or so we gathered in Rocky's bedroom and quietly closed the door. Know what I remember the most? Rocky's bedspread. Stupidest thing I ever saw. Had cowboys all over it.

No, not "Dallas" Cowboys. Hell the damn Dallas Cowboys didn't even exist until 1960 or so. You sure are dumb for a reporter fella. I'm talkin' regular cowboys. You know, like Roy Rogers and shit. Couldn't believe it. For Christ sake Rocky was a sophomore in high school and here he's still sleeping under this ridiculous Cowboy motif...motif, you like that word?

Pathetic...Rocky's mother musta ordered that piece of shit straight out of Lillian Vernon. We damn near told him to forget the whole thing. Fightin' 69th my ass, don't want no frickin' cowpoke in our club. But then he lifted his sweatshirt and the room went silent. Rocky's belly was extended like one of them weather balloons. Hell, his innie was becoming an outie. Those Kuner beans were doing the trick.

What? Sure did. Said he ate all six of those 303 cans just an hour or so before. Said we'd better hurry or we'd have a real mess on our hands. With time of the essence everything thereafter is like a blur. I do remember Rocky getting up on that bed of his, dropping his drawers and bending over. And of course the ceremonial candle was positioned all the way across the room on the dresser. And ol' Sweet Willie — that was our nickname for William Tyler Jernigan — ol' Sweet Willie pulled out a tape measure and confirmed that the ceremonial candle was exactly six feet and four inches from Rocky's bare butt. Six feet, four inches, can you believe? And...

Well we certainly didn't know for sure, but six fucking feet had to be a record. Shit man, you just don't go to the Encyclopedia Britannica and look this kind of shit up. Anyway, as Captain of the Fightin' 69th I was willing to declare this a "World Record" and that's all that mattered -- kapesh? And so Slick Willie, The Wiz, Foo-Foo, Schnoz and Jumbo Jerry all stood back as I pulled out my trusty Zippo.

Holy Mother of Pearl...you're one dense mo-fo if ever I met one. I wasn't going to light the ceremonial candle — Rocky was. That was the whole point, dipwah. You got shit for brains or what? Yeah, yeah, big fuckin' deal. Just as long as you spell my name right I could give a rat's ass.

So as I was sayin', Rocky was in place and ready. All the guys were crackin' jokes and standing back out of harm's way. "T-minus five seconds and counting — ignition!" I lit that Zippo and grasped the bottom with the very tips of my fingers. I then held the flame at arm's length about six inches from Rocky's smelly butthole. Jumbo Jerry said "Let her rip" and the next thing I heard was "BARAAP"! Scared the hell out of me but I didn't flinch. Maybe a nanosecond later this was followed by a "whoosh" which sent a flame from my Zippo toward the ceremonial candle. Just like one of them flame throwers you see in old World War II movies. It was a beautiful sight to see. Damn near made me cry.

No, the flame was maybe a foot long at most. Rocky was disappointed. He could see his handiwork from beneath his legs, bent over the way he was, and he was damn mad. He couldn't believe the flame was nowhere near long enough to light the ceremonial candle as planned. Shit, Rocky, we was all impressed anyway. You'ld be a fine addition to the Fightin' 69th club. But Rocky demanded one more chance and who was I to argue? Like I said, nothin' much happens in Ozona. In retrospect that was his mistake. But as they say, hindsight...

Yep, ol' Rocky stood up straight for a second, his face red as a beet it was. An' he was sweating like Dorella Hartman.

Huh? Well Dorella was the fattest girl in school. Boy did she sweat. Every dress had yellow armpit stains the color of Grey Poupon. Biggest tits you ever saw, so she weren't all bad. Bouncy, bouncy.

Anyway ol' Rocky decides to give it another go and I relight my Zippo. He bends over as before and he busts a fart to end all farts. Gas shoots past that Zippo with incredible force. And the resulting flame was a sight to behold. Yellow and blue it was, two fuckin' feet long! Then we hear a slight hiccup. It was Rocky and I swear to God that flame reversed itself and shot right up his ass. I can still see that flame doin' a 180 as though it were yesterday.

Hard to believe? Yeah, you might say it's hard to believe but I was there an' you wasn't. And then came the explosion. Musta been enough gas in ol' Rocky to float the Hindenburg. In a flash Rocky was gone. Just fifty million little pieces of flesh stuck to our faces and our clothes and the ceiling and the walls.

Just like bacon bits...


I am devastated...

Life will never be the same...

What has this world come to???

It is with a heavy heart that I must report a horrific confectionery development of incalculable sadness. You see, I've just learned that Jujubes are now only available as a "Fat Free" candy. Is nothing sacred?

Thursday, February 23, 2006


Being a highly respected and established Producer of feature-length motion pictures -- I'm especially revered in Bulgaria -- I receive scores of photographs from upcoming actors and actresses hoping to be cast in my next epic. Every once in awhile I receive a photo that catches my eye...

The photograph above is purportedly that of Osama bin Laden's niece. It jumped out among all others because it can surely serve as the "poster child" for the work SKANKY. That's a funny word -- skanky -- one that is exceedingly hard to define verbally. As with a rare handful of other words, skanky is simply something you will know when you see it.

The good news is that this eligible bachelorette, in true Islamic tradition, remains a virgin. On the other end (literally) she must now wear a Size 42 Butt Plug, al a Allah's abidance.

For those of you unfamiliar with the sizing of said devices let me just say that a Size 42 Butt Plug requies as much rubber in its manufacture as the spare tire for a Honda Civic. That's skanky, indeed.

An aside: Allegations have surfaced recently that Americans are prejudiced towards sand niggers. That's poppycock. I know I'm not an Arabophobic and I bet you aren't either.

Wednesday, February 22, 2006

Ladies and Gentlemen: THE DUBAI BROTHERS!

On tour now --

From the UAE: Sheikh Khalifa bin Zayed

From the USA: George W. Bush


Tuesday, February 21, 2006


To say that our "BIGGEST LOSER" contest was an unqualified success goes without saying. Giddy palpitations were in evidence as the judges stared at the atomic-driven Timex here at Needtovent's Intergalactic World Headquarters, each in his own way counting the waning seconds as they inevitably marched in syncopation toward the midnight hour. The scene was eerily reminiscent of the main bunker at the Trinity Site near Alamogordo on July, 16, 1945.

With the dawn of a new day the esteemed judging panel began to ponder each of the entries. Heated debate emanated from the cloistered contest command center. Coffee was spilt. Chaos ran amuck. Calm finally prevailed.

Without further ado, THE WINNER IS:

"larry o.j."

Yes, the heartwrenching story of Frank Lucchesi struck a responsive chord among virtually all of the judges. Only Jeff Gillooly appeared unmoved, at least initially. When reminded of his own escapade regarding a to-be-unnamed-horseface-figure-skater Gillooly broke down, reached for his Louisville Slugger and acquiesced. The verdict was finally unanimous.

The GRAND PRIZE OF INDETERMINATE VALUE is now headed towards Big D (that's Dallas, Texas Darren) where larry o.j. resides. Congratulations Larry.

(The photo above is not from a scene in the upcoming feature film BROKEBACK BALL DIAMOND. Taken in 1993, during the Texas Rangers alumni game, it is apparent that even after sixteen long years Frank Lucchesi had no interest in making up with Lenny Randle.)

Sunday, February 19, 2006


Needtovent's amazing "LOSER" contest has sparked more excitement than even we anticipated. Contest headquarters finds itself overwhelmed with nearly a half dozen official entries. Rest assured, we will continue to try and unbury ourselves from this enormous pile -- the end result of needtovent once again capturing the imagination and the heart and the mind of all our minions in cyberspace.

Even with the onslaught of entries already received, your odds in winning our "Grand Prize Of Indeterminate Value" remain better than yesterday's Super Lottery. Imagine that...

So one last reminder -- this contest comes to a close at midnight tomorrow, Monday, March 20th. Don't miss out on being a part of something more exciting than the women's curling quarterfinals. We need your entries now.

An aside:

We have already received a plethora of brilliant submissions and we expect more in these waning hours. However, it appears more and more unlikely that anyone will nominate Steven Brodie as their choice for being the all-time LOSER.

Who? STEVEN BRODIE, that's who.
(See photos above)

You see, Mr. Brodie earned everlasting fame and notoriety among carnival workers nationwide when he jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge in order to win a $200.00 bet. Mr. Brodie survived.

More importantly, so did his legacy as being perhaps the dumbest person alive in 1886. You see, Mr. Brodie achieved this remarkable feat without insuring there would be witnesses to corroborate his claim. And so carny slang soon deemed the easiest of all "marks" to be a "Brodie" -- someone so stupid that they stand out among all others.

Mr. Brody did not get his $200 -- but you can still win our Grand Prize! Don't be a Brodie; enter now and enter often.

Friday, February 10, 2006


With the Olympic Opening Ceremonies only a few hours away the entire staff of the needtovent empire felt it would be fun to run a contest aimed at identifying the all-time "LOSER" in sports or politics or any other category that comes to mind. As most of you will agree, our nation has become overly obssessed with winning, so much so that it is clearly time to celebrate the lamentable losers among us. And believe you me, America is rife with worthy candidates, past and present -- just ask anyone associated with the USC Trojan football program. Three-peat my ass...

The attached photo is that of Joe Pignatano, the only major league baseball player to ever hit into a triple play in his last at-bat. Poor old Joe is clearly a legitimate, legendary, lachrymose "loser" worthy of lampoonery if ever there was one. Alas, he is but the tip of the imbecilic iceberg.

As always with the needtovent contests there will be a GRAND PRIZE of indeterminate value for the winning submission. So don't delay, nominate your all-time BIGGEST LOSER by submitting your entry in the "Comments" section below. Please remember to identify yourself so we can contact you should your submission be the winning entry.

Let the fun begin.

(Must be 18 to enter. Entrants cannot be related to any player or coach of the Seattle Seahawks or a member of the Branch Davidians. All entries must be recieved by midnight February 20; that's President's Day. A coincidence? We think not).

Tuesday, February 07, 2006


"We picked the wrong play! We picked the wrong director! We picked the wrong actors! Where did we go right?"

For Mel Brooks and his glorious gang the answer is he went "right" EVERYWHERE. Whether it is the original 1968 version of THE PRODUCERS or the latest incarnation which was released in December and is still playing in selected theaters worldwide, this comic romp is as hilarious as anything ever put on the motion picture screen. It is inspired lunacy -- and the signature song, "Springtime for Hitler and Germany," is the all-time looney tune. I know I will be humming this devilish Deutschland ditty for weeks to come.

Be sure to watch all of the closing credits in this current version; there's a gaggle of golden nuggets to savor including the voice of Mr. Brooks whispering softly this little pronouncement as the credits come to a close: "MEIN KAMPF is now available in paperback at both Barnes & Noble and Amazon.com."

Hey, it is the only book George W. Bush has actually read cover-to-cover. Why not pick up a copy and gain some insight?

Monday, February 06, 2006


Being a semi-proud graduate of New Braunfels High School I have long had an interest in the nicknames chosen by this nation's cadre of both private and public educational institutions. After all, what would one expect from a Unicorn? To be more precise -- a New Braunfels High School Fightin' Unicorn?

Texas has many other perplexing team names -- the Hutto Hippos and the Port Lavaca Sand Crabs are just two that spring to mind.

Alas, the undisputed all-time winner, however, hails from a private high school in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania -- the BISHOP BOYLE LANCERS! Unfortunately, this school is no longer in existence according to Darren Lohr who sent me the license plate photo. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the Boyle Lancers -- a nickname that sits atop the annals of high school sports trivia.

(With a nickname like that, I cannot help but wonder what the cheerleaders looked like...)