Life of Chang, Al Yen's Evil Twin

Chang is in college now! College - it do things to people. Make them busy. Make them so busy. Can hardly talk to old high school buddies. Schoolwork! Class! Sexy lady down the hall, walking in underwear! Can you understand what I mean? It is hell with capitol H!
I like listen jazzy music. Yesterday I listen to Coletrain on computer I stole from room mate. I hide computer underneath pillow. Room mate suspect I steal, but he no dare say things because I will do mischievous things to him. Like smash computer. Or, make criminal file on desktop called "Dirty Porno." It fill with cosplay animal sex! YES!
Anyway, listening to jazz and asshole neighbor walk in room. He say, "What is this? This is nonsense!" How could he say that? Nonsense? WELL HE IS ASSHOLE.
Oh, forgot to mention - Al Yen, that rat bastard, is alive. For now. He promise more updates. I promise I kill him. Promise.

A Dedication To Brian

by: Al Yen

Brian I am going to sneak into your house and cleverly disguise myself as a couch. You'll go along your day and your family will go along with theirs, and I'll be watching everything you do. You won't even notice a thing, other than the peculiarly good-looking new couch. Then, when the time is right, I strike! I will strike with the full fury of a man with nothing to lose but with everything to gain. You'll wake up the next day thinking, "Hey, where'd the remote control go?" but it'd be too late for you, Brian, because I struck your remote down into the ground; into oblivion! You'll search desperately, but you'll never find it. Then, one night, out of the corner of your eye, you'll find your remote - but it's not really your remote! It is, in fact, a trap! Brian, you'll touch the remote. The very moment you do an anvil will fall on your head, killing you instantly.

Brian I am going to abduct you from your sleep, bound you in ropes soaked with smallpox, and etherize you just to make sure you don't scream. I will then drag your unconscious body into a haunted house, lock you in the haunted closet, and then forget about you for a while. One day, when I return to the haunted house to furnish my sprouting marijuana plants, I will hear you screaming and scratching and then remember what I did. I will then laugh an uproarious laugh with the equally uproarious laughter of the ghosts, and then accidentally throw an ant farm at the closet. The ant farm was on fire beforehand.

Brian I am going to use my favors with Denny to stock up on fireworks. Underground, illegal fireworks. With these fireworks, me and Denny will gut open each individual stick and drain it of its gunpowder. Than, with the pile of gunpowder taken from these highly illegal fireworks, we will create the single biggest firework of all time. We will then sneak past your gates. I will drug your dog with catnip, which makes him barf uncontrollably into your shoe, while Denny prepares the fireworks. We will rig your car to explode the minute the engine sparks. When we find out that you don't drive a car, I will immediately find a way to smash your foot with a mallet and then push you over on a stragtegically placed field of mouse traps. The snaps and clacks will be the sweetest sounds of all.

Brian I am going to invite you for an evening jog, just the two of us, past the park and the lake and into the fading horizon. The distance, burning and dissolving, will be an end unreachable by any man, much less two of them whose childhood barely burned and ashed into the wind, but it will not stop us from getting somewhere. We will run for miles for what will feel like an eternity, collapsing and gasping for air when our legs refuse to move for us. At that moment I will chop off your legs and hospitalize you, making sure I hide your legs under a special cloak I bought specifically for this occasion. By the time your eyes open to the realm of the living, tubes will branch off at every direction in your body. All that's left of your lower section are stumps where your legs once were. A whimper escapes from your lips, and you'll wonder where it all went wrong; when suddenly, you get a visit. It's me, Al Yen, and I will be putting on a show just for you. I call the show "Brian's Legs Go To Broadway," starring, of course, Al Yen and your legs. By the closing curtain, only the steady drops of your tears could be heard.

Brian I am going to infect your toothbrush with cancer and then give it to you on your birthday. Knowing better than to accept a gift from Al Yen, you will immediately throw away my gift in exchange for a better toothbrush your cousin gave you. "Boy, my cousin always gives the best toothbrushes!" you say to yourself one night. You'll work the toothbrush to and fro, feeling the tingle of Colgate, murdering the tiny food particles and germs from your teeth. However, that's when your cousin will burst into the restroom, dig into the loose flesh underneath his chin, and pull! It was that scoundrel Al Yen all along! It turns out, I disguised myself as your cousin for the past 17 years just for this very moment, when you brush your teeth with the cancer toothbrush! Six years later, when you get mouth cancer, you'll lock your doors and break down at the entrance - a smoldering pile of sad mush. The doctors tell you that you only have a limited amount of time to live, like, ten years, tops. That's when I jump out of the closet and murder you with a dropkick.

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





Al: You got to think, what is respect to these people?
Wake: Well I don't think they have any.
Al: Exactly. Respect to sluts is that guys do the usual "open doors" or "hold chairs" or "give it to them when they feel like being an object." -Alienman

Jungle Bells (A Christmas Story)

by Hoss

The sun vanished steadily beneath the tree filled horizon. Birds ceased chirping and nestled into their nests for a long winter's sleep. The guerillas stopped advancing towards us, because they could not see in the dark. Night had fallen.

We hid a tunnel dug by our enemy. Earlier, we had been separated from our comrades in a midst of gunfire and shells. I looked at my pocketwatch. It was eleven fifty-nine, December 24. The only Christmas trees around us were spiny tree ferns decorated with the blood of our fallen comrades. There were no presents except for the smell of war. This was the worst Christmas ever. Fireworks went off at the stroke of midnight. Flashes of martyr shells and bombs filled the night air.

"We must do it," I said.

"Are you crazy?! Our comrades are still out there in the battlefield!" replied an anxious Pika.

"Hoss is right. If we don't do it now, we'll be doomed to a life of pain and torture from sharp pointy sticks. And these sticks don't stab, they shave!" said Al.

"Yea, I'd say that the lives of our volunteer soldiers are well worth the sweet taste of victory!" agreed Wakefield.

With approval of the remnants of the Pacific Army, I unleashed my trap. At the tug of a rope, the forest floor of one thousand square miles collasped, sending anyone on top into a pit of despair, suffering, and razor sharp spears. It was like a giant punji pit, a small country sized punji pit. Screams from friend and foe alike rang through the otherwise silent air. A million explosions went off simultaneously as the pit lit afire and ignited all the dynamite. Weeks of work in the rank and dark underground had paid off. The enemy was vanquished. The spectacle was so fantastic that it could be seen from the moon.

Of course, we were safe. I had brought along a big sheet of foil and a magic carpet for protection.

"Merry Christmas, guys."

I've Never Tried Jambalaya

By: Al Yen

Al Yen’s Journal. December 24, 2040:

They told me it was found. I was intent on believing them – after all, this may change the course of the war.

I haven’t had the sweet nutrients of fruits or vegetables for so long.

The informants told me president Hoss has hit the last nerve. Any second now, I suspect smoke from the sky and lightning from the ground. Tim has just about taken the last of the western front. Wake’s lackluster performance in China has brought the end to a beautiful nation. I heard Tom died from the AIDS while in Africa. It’s just me and the desert, and maybe Jesus’ Mexican and Canadian armies, which hold the last bastions of freedom from this onslaught.

I wish sand wasn’t so dry. I wish I could drink sand. The gods cursed me with this humongous tongue. I need moisture.

The temple is at the horizon. Any second the tides of war will ebb and flow away, and I shall become the king once again.

{{{{{+}}}}}

From the desk of Victor Banh, U.S. Secretary:
Dear Tina,
I fear things are lost. Diplomatic negotiations have failed, and around here in D.C., everyone has gone mad. I hoped that the summit meets with the U.N. could stop it, but it has failed. Our whole system is going down. Our whole history is burning to the ground.
President Hoss issued the call today. FBI got the whole place rigged. Nothing is getting in or out, save a few letters here or there. I don’t feel too good. It may be all over.
Tina, I fear for you and our children everyday. Remember that I love you and I miss you.
Let’s hope it won’t really be a white Christmas.
Sincerely,
Victor “Vicky” Banh

United States Secretary of the Treasury

{{{{{+}}}}}

The New E-Los Angeles TimesDecember 24, 2040 3:45pm:

The following is a transcript from a presidential press conference

President Hoss: Ladies and gentleman of the press, I want to tell you that, indeed, we will be unleashing our secret weapon. Now, I’d go on further to expound the origins of this secret weapon, but technically, that wouldn’t make it secret anymore. So, rather than contradict myself, I shall get right to the conclusion: Tim, you and the Fourth Reich stops here. With the push of a button, your atoms will be torn apart, nucleus by nucleus, by light so radiant there will be no chance of survival for you.

Joe Johnson, NBC: Sir, how is victory for us really secure? There are no guarantees in life, what makes you so sure your plan of action; your secret weapon, won’t fail?

Hoss: Ah yes, that is a good question. You see, my weapon, AMERICA’S weapon, is so foolproof that not even an atomic bomb will alter its intended course.

Jack Jackington, CBS: Do you mean to say our weapon is not an atomic bomb? What else could it be?

Hoss: Gentlemen, time has proven that the atomic bomb, the atomic rocket; even the atomic zeppelin does not stand the chance against society’s current anti-rocket weaponry. What my weapon is, gentlemen, is something free-thinking. Something that grows and adapts to any environment, as if it were alive. Gentlemen, meet: The Atomic Ape.

Jane Janidall, FOX: Mr. President…. Why is the ape wearing a bra?

Hoss: If you can find another way to keep those mamas firm, I’d like to hear it!

Jiff Jeffery, ABC: Sir, I don’t understand. How is an atomic ape supposed to solve anything?

Hoss: That, my friend, is where the secret lies. That is how we win… …

{{{{{+}}}}}

Irvin’s Jiggly Jargon, December 24 6:48p.m:

Coming this weekend to an Anaheim’s Irv Shack near you!
-Lady Lickalicious: 3-5p.m.
-Shaniqua Shanaynay: 5-7p.m. (if anybody orders pizza, she will stay an extra hour)
-Sexarella: ?-midnight
-Me, Irv the Perv, will be there PERSONALLY after twelve! Free drinks for everybody!

Extra News!
-We’d like to congratulate Kid Luscious on his Tour de France win! Good going, kid! Thanks to his efforts, Irv the Perv’s Dungeon of Danger will be getting a special $100,000 check. Woo!
-In celebration of Christmas, the special Moby Dick on Breast Mountain Christmas episode will be available on our website!
-Is it just me, or are there a lot of lights in the sky?

{{{{{+}}}}}

Pika’s Answering Machine, 9:10p.m:

*click* Hey I’m not at the phone right now so leave a message after the beep. *click*

*beep* Hey Matthew, it’s My. I was in town and wondering if I you and me can get something to eat. Talk to me as soon as you can. *click*

*beep* Matthew, you can cancel on that dinner. My secretary called me saying something the end of the world. Pretty weird, don’t ya think? *click*

*beep* Hey Matt, Wit here. Listen, where the heck are you? You were supposed to be AT the museum nine SHARP. Jesus Christ, forget it. *click*

*beep* Oh yeah, you can tell the others it’s cancelled too. One preserved head can only do so much. Just forget it Matt. Goddamned it, stupid drivers. GET OFF THE ROAD YOU JACKASS! *click*

*beep* Another thing, don’t try going on the 820, bunch of wackos talking about the end of the world. YOU’RE ALL NUTS! *click*

{{{{{+}}}}}

Al Yen’s Journal, December 24, 2040 (continued):

The camels fled off from some unknown danger. I continued onward, by foot, with a few loyal followers. Billiam Trungford Tran carried a huge gun. Why do we need a gun to get into a temple? Secretly, I contemplated killing him.

There was a misalignment in the stars tonight. What they were telling me is all jumbled. My power of foresight has forsaken me. Oh no, Billiam has gone mad.

I’m inside the temple now. Skeletons and tiny people are the only things in there. That’s right, this is the last sanctuary of the Christmas Elves after Tim conquered the North Pole. The tiny people have overrun Billiam. I fear he is gone. I take his gun for good luck.

I’m at the top of the temple now. Yes, what they said were true.

Journal, I have discovered the sacred staff Gandhi used to shoot fireballs at sinners with. There may yet be a way to save this world.

The temple is shaking. Have I angered the Gods by plundering this most holy of artifacts? There’s something on the horizon. It’s…

…a giant green monkey wearing a brassiere.

{{{{{+}}}}}

My Struggle: Tim Messina’s Holy Bible

Christmas. It is just a few minutes away. Christmas is when I will cleanse this land of filth. Christmas, henceforth, will be known as Deadmas.
All of Europe, I trampled underfoot. Reich war machine, I have lead to victory. Today, I die as martyr. Tomorrow, I live as god. The world shall be pure, pure after I destroy him.
Al Yen.
Giant obstruction on radar – looks like radioactive American monkey with cleavage. Not yet, I will not lose here. The world must worship me.
Not yet.

{{{{{+}}}}}

The Memoirs of the Hossinator

…All it took was one move, and I solidified my place among the hall of heroes. But, this one move is, I suppose, the main reason why I did not run for re-election. People say that it was impossible for me to win anyway, after all those slaughters, but then I didn’t become the People’s President if they didn’t believe in me in the first place!
On the verge of total destruction; of humanity’s complete obliteration through light and fire, my ingenious Atomic Ape plan went off without a hitch. It wasn’t a hard thing to do either, after I employed that crack team of scientists. Plus the monkeys. Those were damn good monkeys. In the end, I not only single-handedly save the world, but I also pulled the biggest trick in the world! Bigger than the Leaning Tower of Ohio, bigger than the Statue of Righteous Punishment, bigger than anything mankind has ever friggin’ made!
People questioned me: why? Why was that giant, uranium-glowing monkey wearing gigantic bras? Little did the American people, or those dirty Nazis know that behind each huge cup was an EMP bomb. That was how Tim Messina’s doomsday bomb didn’t go up! That was why we are alive at this very moment, because that bomb stopped all electric signals for up to two days.
In the end, I hanged up my fancy sports coat, draped my fancy president’s hat on the table, took my fancy cigar out of my pocket, stuck it into my mouth and said: Merry Christmas, Mr. President. Merry Christmas; everyone.

{{{{{+}}}}}

Al Yen’s Journal, December 25, 2040:

It happened in an instant. At one moment, there was desert, sand, and fat desert tortoises; and then - blackened glass.

Tim’s bomb went off at the stroke of midnight, with him riding on it. Perched like a gargoyle atop the falling cylinder of unstoppable annihilation, his face grimaced into a stone smile, and as he waved his cowboy hat, he laughed and declared my death before impacting on the temple. A few moments later, the giant, radioactive monkey screamed and scratched at his giant, burning brassiere. I remember seeing it hollering and screaming, even after the blast went off; its flesh melting, falling in chunks, dropping on with a saddening smack to the glass floor, like eggs being thrown at a wall.

Gandhi’s staff shielded me from the fire.

Only when the ape went insane did I ended its tortured life. The second I did, a second blast went off – I think from its breasts. All was nothing but a field of blue and white streaks across the air.

It may not be too late; I still may be able to contain the fire and lightning. It ends here.

{{{{{+}}}}}

What you have just read came from my “scrapbook” of what happened in the Christmas of two-o-four. It was there when Hoss’ American forces unleashed their secret weapon, and when Tim dropped, along with his bomb, into the Arabic desert, where his arch-nemesis Al Yen was exiled. It was there when World War III came to a traumatic end, and the world was spared, miraculously, from the endless flame.
The war took a toll on every person in the planet, with a total of four hundred billion lives lost through eleven years of fighting. China and all its great wealth and history, came to demise by the unsteady hand of Wakefield Li. A great man, Jesus, was said to have ascended from the depths of poverty to unite Canada and Mexico into a grander nation than that of America, at the cost of millions of slaves and cats. Cousin Tom’s African liberation from Tim’s New Reich came through the sacrifice of whole species, which was part of Tom’s Animal Army plan. He paid with his life. Tim’s New Reich ultimately united all of Europe, with France suffering the most from Tim’s extreme pacifism war technique. Millions were heedlessly tossed off plans, launched from cannons, and harpooned with, causing England’s surrender out of pure pity and sanity. America will never be the same after VE2 day, mostly because it is no longer called Christmas but VE2 day.
Needless to say, children everywhere are disturbed and misguided.
I suppose Al Yen found out when he stopped the Doomsday bomb’s fiery envelopment that heroism doesn’t apply to our times any longer. The gods will not allow it. For by New Years day, the world kneeled to America and her king, and Al Yen’s name was forgotten; blown away by the wind and shattered like fragile glass on hard floor.
But I will never forget, because he saved my life. He gave me Gandhi’s diapers before impact, while my mind fell apart. The world will know.





-Billiam Trungford Tran

The Claw

Wakeington Field

The A-men recently watched the movie, the Saw II, after watching Saw I several minutes beforehand. The results? A new understanding of the world's excruciating pain, and don't forget, PSYCHOS! This movie influenced me so much that I decided to make a spin-off. The name? The Claw. That's right. The CLAW.


The Claw Begins

The figure sat, in a calculated position no less, in a brown, rusting chair. It was a wheelchair to be exact. Gloom filled the room and emanated throughout, touching every nook and cranny within the room's radius. In the shadows, he planned a scheme so devious, so maniacal, so full of hatred, that he did not yet understand the scheme himself. He was foolish, but a genius. He was maniacal, but perfectly sane.

He was a Tyrannosaurus Rex with Pancreatic Cancer.

This once ingenuos boy called Adam Bittleby led a humble life. His fellow T-Rexes treated him well, and he enjoyed their companionship. Later, however, these circumstances changed. His best friend Bob Doodleby began to ridicule him and his floppy shoes. "Clowns would pee on you for looking so ridiculous," Doodleby reminded him daily. His closest lady friend Myra Tootles constantly joked about his choice of clothing; more specifically, she joked about how he had only one pair of trousers a grandpa wouldn't even wear.

Little Bittleby decided to ignore his friends, but they did not ignore him. "Why?" little Bittleby asked, staring at the night sky. "Why??" At a time when most dinosaurs feared the mighty T-Rex, they simply pointed and laughed at Bittleby. He was a nothing, a nobody. "Hey Bittleby," a pathetically puny rhinocerous would playfully chide, "wanna hear a joke?" "Oh my! After all my friends have left me, there is yet one! And he's not even a T-Rex!" he thought. "Ok! Shoot!" he replied enthusiastically. "What do ya call a large green reptile that's green and ravages our kind?" "A dog?" Bittleby wondered.

It was not unknown that Bittleby was incredibly slow, more than mentally lacking. His parents first noticed this when he ate rhinocerous poo, as opposed to the tasty herbivorous reptile set before him on his plate. When his parents asked why he ran out of the house and binged on such poo, he explained, "You're a piece of poo!"

The impossibly dense Bittleby continued to guess. "A dinosaur isn't a dog, you stupid," said the rhino, accidentally forgetting he gave away the answer. Oops. Not like Bittleby would get the answer anyway. "I don't believe it! No, it can't be! Stop it. STOP IT! PLEASE STOP!" The rhino continued to give hints.

"I'll give you more hints, buddy ol' pal. Since you're my buddy pal. Since you're dumb and all. And by dumb, I mean morbidly brainless."
"Hmmm....OK!" "
"What's a green dinosaur that has no friends?"
"That's a tough one......"
"What's a green dinosaur with no friends, AND eats my poo when I'm not looking?"
"MmMMMmm....what's that smell....??"
"Dangit!"

And without answering the question, Bittleby would hop behind the rhino and promptly devour all poo in sight, even his own.

"That last one was bitter, but oh well! A dog's gotta eat when a dog's gotta eat."

Reflecting on his life, Bittleby's understood the factors driving him to madness. In fact, everyone, including himself expected it. For when Bittleby wasn't being made fun of in his younger days, he was plotting to become a mad scientist. Though he never succeeded in the science department, he obviously succeeded in becoming a madman.

Present. His plan was ingenius; every detail and nuance had been perfectly calculated. Though clinically retarded, he specialized in the art of perfectionism. He had his victims precisely where he wanted them. The rules were set.

In a sinister voice he whispered:

"Let the games begin."

A Few Easy Steps to Survive a Kidnapping

Al Yen

If you are reading this right now, you must obviously be one of three things: a kidnap victim, a potential kidnap victim, or a kidnapper looking for some helpful hints on how to not lose your victim. Well since that is the case, I have to tell ya, you've come to the right place. We at Assmen HQ take great pride in our "ridiculous scenario survival" research, with only the greatest minds and absolute devotion going into our conclusions. You can guarantee that the Assmen Delivers!

Kidnapping is a common crime, especially if you live nearby or in any way antagonized a sociopath. With the rising ransom rates and low success in kidnap rescue these days, chances are you will end up gutted and mailed to your loved ones in pieces. So in order to improve your survival rates, all you have to do is follow a few simple set of rules:

Do not panic. Usually, in a panicked state of mind, you will loose your capabilities of finding solutions or being able to control your organs, resulting in embarrassing failure and a sad, moist trail of said failure. By remaining calm and emotionally distant, your chances in avoiding Stockholm syndrome and messy spills improve greatly. Go ahead and be completely agnostic towards your kidnappers, because the less kindle you give them, the less likely their scoundrely ambition burns. (Hella metaphor)

Always listen to the kids. I've seen this many times in past cases I have seen in the movies. The common scenario: a child will tug at their parents' bed, complaining about a nightmare or a monster in their room. It is usually bone-chilling and completely ridiculous in the logical sense, but in these modern times the likelihood of there being an escaped convict in your daughter's room is 50/50. Remember to always search your child's room for every square inch, because you do not know where the kidnapper is hiding. Is it the closet? Under the bed? Maybe in the toy box? Perhaps that dark corner covered in dust? THE MICKEY MOUSE ALARM CLOCK??? They could be anywhere because kidnapper’s expert in two things: kidnapping and fitting in small places. Keep your eyes peeled.

Don’t provoke or let your close friends and family provoke potential kidnappers. This is usually how most kidnappings start and it is very simple to avoid through proper training. First of all, if it is completely unnecessary to anger mentally ill people, then please do not do so. Then, if your friends are considering angering mentally ill people, try to persuade your friend not to. Remember, you can’t get AIDS if you don’t do the humpin!

Do not associate with unstable people that have mental illnesses. This is just like the tip above: you will most likely get kidnapped if everyone you hang around with are kidnappers. To remember this tip, just imagine another AIDS scenario: you will most likely get AIDS if your only friends are horny people who have AIDS. Kidnappers usually look like the folks on the left. Just look at that guy’s hair. It’s screaming, “Watch out! I will kidnap your firstborn for slavery and your next child for a stew!” Stay away from these people!

Try not to help your kidnappers. The more you help your kidnappers, the more you will associate yourself to them and grow emotionally attached. It has been scientifically proven, so it’s not just me being a complete maniac. What’s more, you may even fall in love with your kidnappers because of the tense situation and sexual appeal all kidnappers have. Remember, a relationship with kidnappers is basically a way to say to society – “Hey everyone! I am a complete retard and I especially like living the life of a sewer rat! I express this love with my sexual encounters with kidnappers, rapists, and other scourges of society like Mike Tyson and Bill O’Reiley!”

Do not listen to what your kidnappers say. People may disagree with me on this, but this is why they are dead. Dead from kidnapping. Kidnappers are a weak and cowardly lot, who have to follow a set plan of action. If everything fails on them, they will loose their spirit, break down, and curl themselves in a ball, weeping. “But what about that SAW guy or any other movie villain Mr. Assman Representative?” you ask, and I’ll tell you: they are all the same. Say you refused to play the SAW guy’s game. What’s going to happen? YOU WILL RUIN THE MAN’S FUN. Think about this: if every victim is so pacifist, so unwavering in their inanimateness, eventually there will be no good victims; he will completely loose interest, and THE SAW GUY WILL DIE OF CANCER. By sacrificing your life you will be saving MILLIONS because the old dude with the voice will finally die.

Always struggle and make a mess of yourself. When you wake up from your dazed sleep, almost certainly you will be bound and gagged. Your kidnapper’s first word, almost certainly, will be, “Don’t even try. Just save your energy.” That’s where they’re wrong! Remember, when you don’t listen to what your kidnapper’s say, you will force them to rethink their plans. So what you should do is writhe around, shake, kick them in the groin, and vomit endlessly until the overwhelming stench of sweat and excrement will drive your kidnapper’s mad. If your kidnappers are smart, they will cut their losses and drop you off in a dumpster somewhere. A dumpster…OF FREEDOM.

Put your kidnapper down all the time. I don’t know about you, but I certainly wouldn’t like to be called a “Fu**ing homo” 24/7. It is just really damaging to a person’s self-esteem.


These are just a few tips to keep you safe and sound for the upcoming holiday season. Remember, you can trust the Assmen to DELIVER, because we care.