Spank 2 Chapter

by Jason Alan

I’m working on the sequel to my highly praised yet largely unappreciated comedy book, Spank Material for the Clinically Insane. What you will read is a draft of one of the chapters. Some will be edited, others shall be changed and the losers will be summarily dumped in the trash.

I decided that I want to get a little help from other writers that I believe have talent because I have kind of hit a wall on this one. I can’t really come up with anything new for some reason. If you are reading this it might be because I asked you to, and the only thing I ask is that you write just one. One one liner. That’s all.

To the untrained eye, it may not be noticed that some of these are time sensitive. The David Koresh joke happened the same year as it actually transpired. If you participate in helping me write this, you can go by that or not.  It’s up to you. But if you do, I was born in 1975.

Anyway, I’ll shut up now and let you get on to the early version of what will be a chapter in my next comedy book. Enjoy.


I was thinking about my sad, pathetic life the other day and I realized something. Not only is it sad and pathetic, it’s also boring. So I decided to make some shit up about myself.

When I was a sperm cell, I put my brothers into camps and committed semen genocide. Then I drugged the egg and violated her.

Some of these could be true. You don’t fucking know me, asshole.

In the womb, I strangled my twin sister with her own umbilical cord and made a onesie with her skin.

Didn’t we all, though?

I didn’t cry when I was shat out from the womb, but my mother did. I faked being stillborn.

I couldn’t laugh yet, but it was hilarious.

At age 1, I clamped my gums down on mom’s nipple and wouldn’t let go. She ran screaming through the house as I swung from her left udder.

Even when she fell and knocked herself unconscious thanks to the old Zenith console tv, I still didn’t let go. The first responders were horrified.

At age 2, I fashioned a dildo from my soiled diaper, froze it and used it to fuck my neighbor.

True story.

At age 3, I ate my newborn brother and told everyone he ran away.

He couldn’t even crawl, let alone walk or run. My parents were dumb.

At age 4, I burned a cross in front of the NAACP headquarters.

I blame my parents for letting me watch Sanford and Son.

I spent my entire fifth year pretending I had Downs Syndrome.

Not much of a stretch, actually.

At age 6, I was hit by the short bus. The next day, I was riding in it.

I’m aware that’s redundant, but I’m a lazy writer.

When I was 7, I built an abortion clinic with popsicle sticks. Mom was so mad because it was 1:1 scale and I stole her Hoover and wire hangers.

But she forgave me for using the facility to end the pregnancy of my 12 year old sister.

At age 8, I made a volcano for science class. I dumped virgin Barbies into it. My teacher laughed so hard he almost stopped fucking me.

When I was 9, I made a macaroni art tribute to Jeffrey Dahmer. For the paper, I used Jet magazine. Then I ate the black vice principal.

When I was 10, I showed my finger painting to my teacher. She laughed at me, so I said ever heard of Jackson Pollock, bitch, and knifed her.

She lived.

At age 11, I made the twin towers in wood shop, took them home and flew radio controlled planes into them. When dad asked what the fuck I was doing I laughed maniacally and said, practicing.

At age 12, I drugged my sisters, broke out gramma’s sewing kit and made a hymen centipede. That was the first time I masturbated to climax.

At age 13, a bum let me pay him a dollar to do a skin graft with my miniature Dallas Cowboys football and a blowtorch.

At age 14, I emptied the ball pit at Chuck E Cheese’s, filled it with tree slugs and did laps.

On my 15th birthday, I built a potato gun and used it to shoot AIDS babies at cars on the highway.

At age 16, I discovered the cure for testicular cancer. Then I used the evidence papers of my findings to roll joints.

At age 17, I started a cult, fucked underage chicks and convinced David Koresh to take credit for it.

At age 18, I sank an oil tanker for funsies and served the Exxon soaked birds at the KFC where I worked.

I also sat in the back seat of OJ’s white Bronco.

At age 19, I used the Lincoln Memorial as a toilet.

It was a slow year.

At age 20, I constructed a particle accelerator in the basement. It made me sterile, which was good because I couldn’t impregnate my sisters.

At age 21, I raped a guy with a broken mop handle wrapped in barbed wire.

At age 22, I made a snuff film and jerked off to it every day.

At age 23, I slaughtered six million Germans. Just men. The women are so hot.

At age 24, I cloned a human and engineered him to be the ultimate killing machine. He just makes me coffee because I don’t need anyone to do my dirty work.

At age 25, I had sex. With a female. An adult. And human. It was consensual.

Not really. These are just jokes, people.

At age 26, I voted for George W. Bush.

I kinda regretted that a little.

At age 27, I snuck into a hospital and hid nuclear waste in the basement, turning the entire building into a cancer ward.

At age 28, I helped build a homeless shelter. A month later, when it was so full it broke the fire code, I burned it to the ground while they slept.

At age 34, I joined twitter.

At age 36?, I self published Spank Material for the Clinically Insane. Arguably the most reprehensible act I have ever committed.