Sunday, July 31, 2005

The Love Boat...The Death Boat....what's the difference?

I'll bet you didn't know Slappy was on the Love Boat. My master was one of the background players on the episode where Doc and Gopher were both chasing the same woman. When they went through the bar, there was a ventriloquist on stage. That was my master, but he didn't have me in his hands. He was using my friend, Stabby Stabbington.

Stabby actually belonged to another master, but the producers thought he looked less sinister than I did. The fools...Stabby's pockets were full of gun powder and ammunition. Luckily no one lit a match near his vest or the whole ship would have gone up in flames.

I played the little boy who fell in the pool. They didn't want to use a real boy as hitting him with a piece of lumber might damage his skull.

Saturday, July 30, 2005

Slappy Hates the Burger King

Slappy doesn't like the Burger King. What's up with the King's horribly oversized head and fey robes? The frozen expression of joy on the King's large mutant head makes Slappy very annoyed. If you find the King face down in a ditch with a much smaller head, do not blame Slappy.... Minion Monkey, I will need you to dispose of something within the next few weeks. Be ready to do my bidding. I am Slappy. You will obey.

Friday, July 29, 2005

The Tell Tale Brain

Slappy is not feeling so good today. Gangs of young humans bounce basketballs by the thousands as Slappy tries to relax. Stupid little humans, why must you participate in so pointless a past time?... What was that pounding sound? It sounds like a heartbeat.... what was Slappy saying?

Oh yes, stupid humans... when Slappy feels better he is going to eliminate... there it is again. What is that sound? It must be a heart, but how could it be? Slappy has no heart and he hasn't buried anyone under the floorboards - yet. Damn it! What is that pounding sound? It's driving Slappy insane - and believe me, there isn't much further to drive him because Slappy is already stock piling knives and making plans that call for mayhem, and that type of behavior puts Slappy a little too close to the moniker of ultimate lunatic.

I think the pounding is Slappy's brain. Slappy is in great need of blood, but first this pounding must be eliminated, like the humans. Slappy must rest. I sleep now.

Thursday, July 28, 2005

Give Them The Hook

There is a story about a couple who parks in lovers lane. There is a killer with a hook for a hand and he's on the loose. The parking kids keep hearing this noise outside their car. They get spooked and leave. When the boy goes to open the door for his girl, there on the door handle is a hook! Oh the kids go mad for that story.

But did you know there were actually hordes of hook hand killers roaming throughout the country? It's true. Did you know that many disasters were actually caused by hook hand killers? The 1900 Casey Jones trainwreck, the Hindenberg disaster, the steamer City of Columbus that crashed into Devil's Bridge - all disasters caused by hook hand killers.

And these weren't just any hook handed killers. These were a super elite breed of killer bear with hooks for hands. But there weren't really hordes of them everywhere. It just seemed like it because this uber hook bear had a very long reach. Ooooo isn't that scary? Well, isn't it?

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Killing is My Business...and Business is Good

How many times do I have to tell the stupid humans that I am preparing to kill them before they understand? Slappy is not a toy. Slappy is a portal to the dark side that you are not prepared to face. Sometimes I even pin signs on my lapel that say "Do not turn your back on me. I will kill you." It usually unnerves the children, but the adults just scream "that isn't funny" at my master and slap him in the brain, which causes me great joy.

My collection of knives is growing and my need for blood grows greater as well. Sometimes children whisper, "Slappy...do you really need blood? You don't need my blood, do you Slappy?... Slappy??!!...."

It is all Slappy can do not to laugh. Instead I begin my slow grin. It is almost imperceptable, but they know something is not right. At the point where they think they are imagining things, Slappy starts smashing his wooden jaws together in the most frightening manner. The children scream and run away, which once again results in my master begin pummeled. How I love the sound of a fist against his cranium.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Dastardly Deeds Done Dirt Cheap

Slappy needs some cash. It's difficult to support his knife habit, especially with an imbecile for a master. Yesterday my master got his head stuck in a revolving door. What a buffoon. I kept all my weight against the door so that he couldn't get out. I do not weigh much, but I am strong with evil. I do not admit to being evil, just that I can summon evil power that helps me with my work. There is a difference, whether you mortals realize it or not.

So send Slappy cash...or knives. Slappy will take either. This will also keep you safe at night without fear of a small beastie crawling into your house throught the chimney. Keep that in mind as you're thinking "why should I help Slappy? He's never done anything for me." I may not have done something for you, but you must keep in mind that I could do something to you.

Monday, July 25, 2005

Slappy Loves You

Slappy loves you. Yes, he does. He may seem gruff and murderous on the outside, but inside he is made of melted chocolate and love. What could be better than that? Nothing. There is nothing better than Slappy's love. It will keep you warm on a winters night, and you'll never have to worry about hearing the tip tip tip of little wooden feet on the cold hard floor as a little stealthy killing machine ventures towards your bed with a large sharp knife.....

Bwahahahahahaa! Stupid human! Did you actually believe that Slappy could love you? Slappy loathes you. Slappy wants to destroy you. Slappy thinks you are so stupid that he is telling you this knowing damn well that you will sleep the sleep of fear for a few days, be uneasy when he is in the room for a week or so, but eventually will be lulled back into a false sense of security by Slappy's lack of motion. Imbeciles... you are so easily fooled. Slappy is waiting and when the time is right, Slappy will get you. He will. He will get you. He WILL get you. He will GET you. He will.

Friday, July 22, 2005

Hannibal Hamlin is not a corpse

My master took me on another cruise ship with his life sized Hannibal Hamlin creation. The cretinous baboon actually thought he could convince some of the less intelligent audience members that Hamlin was in a trance, which would explain why he often leaned against the wall, lifeless and stiff as a board.

One imbecilic patron was so dumbfounded by this trick, that he actually held a mirror up to Hamlin's mouth to see any signs of life. Of course the mirror did not cloud, which caused the man to start screaming that my master was using a dead man in his act.

At the thought of a corpse on the stage dressed in 1860s regalia, people started screeching. Ladies fainted, children wept, and gentlemen harumphed while threatening my masters life. Luckily there was an escape hatch in the stage and my master ducked through it - which was unfortunate because the magician had put a tiger there for his Tiger Appearing Out of Thin Air trick that was to follow our act.

The screams of my master drowned out the ruckus from the audience, and his pain seemed to appease them. Eventually it was discovered that the leaning lifeless Hamlin was not a dead body. As my master was held in the infirmary for the rest of the trip, I was free to roam the decks at night, tip tip tipping around scaring the bejeezus out of lovers and ne'er do wells.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

The Third Person

People often ask Slappy, "Why do you talk about yourself in the third person? Isn't that kind of odd? It's not like you do it all the time. You seem to randomly switch from first person to third person. Why do you do that? It's really confusing."

After Slappy finishes reigning blows upon their brainbox, he speaks slowly so their inadequate cerebellum can comprehend. Slappy makes his own rules. Sometimes he is talking about himself, sometimes he is expressing his thoughts, sometimes he does it just to mess with you. Now go away and stop bleeding in my general vicinity. Slappy is done with you, and his knives need polishing.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

Smite the Freak Hair

There's something on Slappy's wrist. It is his worst fear. Slappy has a freak hair. How could this be? Slappy is not human. Slappy can not grow hair. What sort of wretch has placed this pox upon poor little Slappy? Get ready for some pain because Slappy will track you down and make you pay.

Monday, July 18, 2005

Release me! Slappy demands it!!

Why is it so hot in here? I think it’s over 120 degrees. The lock is stuck on my trunk. If only I hadn’t given my stash of bloody cutlery to Minion Monkey to dispose of, I would certainly have pried the lid off by now

Cursed Prophet Mountebank and his lock picking act! Why must he always use these trick locks on my trunk? I swear this is the last time that will happen. I think it’s time for the great prophet to take a long ride to the bottom of the ocean….a long permanent ride.

Somebody get me out of here before I accidentally cause a spark by beating my little wooden fist against this cursed wooden trunk!

Sunday, July 17, 2005

Things To Do List

Once again I am getting behind in my work. I must organize my thoughts. What do I need to do this week?

1. procure mass quantities blood
2. practice imperceptible turning of head to scare humans
3. find spooky new way to click jaws together
4. sharpen knives
5. find secret passage into Hostess factory - Slappy needs snacks
6. eliminate idiots next door
7. pet kitten named Snowball
8. put bloody cutlery in masters carry on baggage

Friday, July 15, 2005

Slappy Hates Your Cranium

Professor Lockjaw used to work with an organ grinder known as The Count, who had a monkey named Major Mittens. Slappy didn’t like The Count due to his abnormally large cranium which, if you tapped it, made a peculiar sound like an over ripe melon.

Particularly disturbing was the way in which The Count could never find a hat to fit his gargantuan head. When placed on top of his skull, his chapeau sat awkwardly like a bell boy’s cap, or the hat worn by his monkey. It was all Slappy could do not to offer The Count a restful night’s sleep in a guillotine just to rid this world of that massive deviant braincase.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Pin the Tail on Brainchild Lockjaw

Stupid humans...Slappy does not have a birthday. Slappy was not born. Slappy just is. If it was Slappy's birthday, he would have received something fun. But Slappy has not received any sharp knives, blood, or blueprints to your house which show the secret panel that allows evil to enter your home. Slappy is not saying he's evil, but he does admit to liking sharp implements and having great need for human blood.

Slappy has attended many of your so called birthday parties. I remember when Professor Lockjaw took me to a children's party in Whitechapel in 1888. People were scared to walk the streets due to fear of that pesky Jack the Ripper fellow. So I took great delight in concealing a large bloody knife in my trunk, which would serve Lockjaw right for making me hold his unbelievably stupid pin the tail on the donkey game.

As the children were served cake, Lockjaw began our act, which at that time involved me popping out of my trunk like a jack in the box. As the partygoers tittered nervously at Lockjaws little quips, I refused to jump out of the trunk. That poor imbecile Lockjaw assumed the mechanism was stuck and decided to improvise, something the cretin should never have attempted.

When he placed the box upright and opened the latch, the women screamed in terror and the children burst into tears. There I stood in all my psychotic glory - my eyes appeared to be spinning pinwheels, my cloak was askew, and there was a gigantic bloody knife in my hand which I repeatedly moved in a stabbing motion.

The commotion attracted the attention of a passing constable, who promptly conked the brainchild Lockjaw with his billy club, and arrested him on suspicion of murder. It was all I could do not to burst into glorious laughter. Unfortunately, Lockjaw was released later that day. However there was one bright spot as he was unmercifully beaten while he was in police custody, and Slappy got to take the left over birthday cake.

Slappy may not like birthdays, but he does like devil's food cake.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Will Slappy Kill You?

Many people say, "Slappy, you are one creepy little dummy. Your eyes seem to follow me as I walk around the room. Sometimes I feel like you're going to kill me... (insert nervous laughter here).... you wouldn't kill me... would you, Slappy?"

Of course, Slappy does not respond. Slappy sits quietly and doesn't say a word. Slappy waits until you convince yourself you are imagining things. He doesn't move until you leave the room. Once you are gone, Slappy begins to laugh. Oh how Slappy does laugh. Then Slappy starts sharpening his knives.

Monday, July 11, 2005

The Dancing Bear of Death

Back when Colonel Flimflam still believed in God, he decided that adding a giant bear to our act would be a positive boon on the vaudeville circuit. I was loath to perform with the massive beast as it seemed nothing but a snarling mass of pointy teeth, stinky fur, and sharp claws. However, my opinion drastically changed after our first performance.

Colonel Flimflam came up with the insane idea of portraying the 1904 presidential campaign, with myself as Judge Alton Parker (the safe and sane choice) and the bear portraying Teddy Roosevelt (said by the Democrats to be the spasmodic and arbitrary choice). I am still unsure as to why Flimflam chose to portray vaudeville performer Little Baby Beatrice, and not someone involved with the campaign, but that proved to be his undoing.

Flimflam insisted that the bear look like Roosevelt, forcing it to wear a monocle, wig, fake mustache, and carry a big stick. As the Colonel put on his own costume that consisted of a baby bonnet and nightgown, the bear pawed the stick in confusion. As I was already in my hat and finery, I watched the bears agitation grow, until it was franticly trying to swipe the disguise off it's head.

At the moment that the bear raised the stick over his head, the curtain went up and a theater full of patrons were witness to a massive, snarling, insane Roosevelt repeatedly clubbing a man dressed as a baby. As blows reigned upon the head of Colonel Flimflam, I took advantage of his incapacitated state by nailing his nightgown to the floor.

The crowd were so terror struck that they never noticed me. They would heave a collective sigh of relief as Flimflam would start to crawl away from the raging Roosevelt. But with his nightgown nailed to the floor, he never did get very far before the bear would drag him back to a more comfortable spot for a continual beating.

Eventually the wig, fake mustache, and monocle fell off, and the bear tired of his game. The Colonel was given medical assistance, and I slept the restful sleep that comes after a long and glorious day of excitement. How I loved that bear.

Saturday, July 09, 2005

Don’t incur Slappy’s wrath

Sometimes people say “Slappy, how could you have done all these things? I do not believe that you could meet so many people that are dead and famous. You must not be telling the truth. Slappy, you are a liar.”

Once they awaken from their beating induced coma, Slappy sets them straight. Even if it means standing over them shrieking like a banshee, they will know that Slappy never lies… unless you ask who has eaten the last piece of cake. Then Slappy will sit there with chocolate frosting on his lips, holding a sign that says “do not blame me, my master ate the cake.” That ruse got quite a chuckle at fancy dress balls during the late 1800s.

But back to my original point, Slappy does not lie. Do you dim-witted humans not understand that Slappy has existed since 1863? Just because your puny minds can not comprehend this fact does not mean that Slappy lies. It means that you are imbeciles!

I am tired of your stupidity. If I’d wanted to talk to dunces, I would have stayed with my former master when he started attending the Pacman School of Outdated Technology to learn how to put a joystick on Slappy.

Friday, July 08, 2005

Vaudeville + Colonel Flimflam = one more idiot master

Back in the 1920s when Vaudeville was running rampant and it was considered acceptable for Caucasian’s to imitate Asian’s, my master used to dress me in a Chinese Coolie disguise kit - complete with false teeth, wispy mustache, and oversized hat. My master always believed that audiences would find the harmless Coolie disguise much funnier than my preferred cover, that of a murderous knife wielding lunatic. Oh how I despised him, always spoiling my fun.

On this particular date, we were scheduled to play a theater in San Francisco. I was quite excited as I hoped to maim a small, and rather annoying, child after our performance. As usual, my cretinous master loused up my plans when he decided to set me down on an ice cream vendors cart as he tried to find a nickel in his suit of one thousand pockets - which you’d think would be part of his act, but instead was just the result of his poor fashion sense.

As I sat there growing ever more agitated my master, Colonel Flimflam, tripped over a dachshund and slammed into the ice cream cart. The force of his corpulent carcass pushed the cart from it’s resting place, which unfortunately was at the top of a very steep hill. When the vendor realized his cart had taken wing, he turned to the Colonel and walloped him so fiercely that his hat flew right off his large peanut shaped head.

As I sat proudly on my ice cream cart of destruction, people dived left and right to avoid being disfigured. The cart must have been built by a true craftsman as we turned fruit stand after fruit stand into kindling. It was truly a beautiful sight. And just when I noticed that there was nothing more to destroy, up ahead I saw what at first I thought must be a mirage - a Chinese New Years Parade.

People’s jaws dropped in amazement and horror as I came riding through the streets dressed in my master’s Coolie outfit. Oh the hilarity that ensued, which culminated when I rode under a Chinese Dragon that got stuck on my head, was handed a bottle of brandy and a lit torch, and got the brilliant idea of doing a fire breathing demonstration.

It was quite an act, I tell you. Colonel Flimflam could never top it and was ridden out of town on a rail. Even today, if you listen very carefully in the dark corners of the city, you will still hear talk about the Fire Breathing Chinese Dragon of Vaudeville.

Slappy has grown tired of talking. I sleep now.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

John Wilkes Booth was a bore

When I was with Professor Lockjaw, we would frequently run into John Wilkes Booth in theaters. Booth was a royal bore, always arrogant and talking at length about his great acting prowess. It just made me want to strangle him.

One night when Lockjaw and I were performing, Booth jumped up on stage and cried out something about anarchy. As he shouted his senseless message which filled me with boredom, I noticed that his laces were undone. When Lockjaw stood up to try to reason with the madman Booth, I quietly tied Booth's laces together. I think one little girl saw me, but I made short work of her credibility by slowly turning my eyes toward her and opening my mouth in that slightly threatening way I do.

Lockjaw's interloping had gotten him a punch in the brain, which in turn caused him to slump to the floor. As Booth turned to leave, he noticed too late that his feet were tied together and he fell off the stage and into the lap of a large German woman. She promptly beat him about the nether region with her umbrella until Booth managed to crawl out of the theater. What a complete imbecile.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Prophet Mountebank deservedly pummeled again

My master did his act at a wedding reception yesterday. He once again had me debating his life sized Hannibal Hamlin. Why, I am not sure, as it seems most inappropriate entertainment for a wedding.

In a most unfortunate turn of events, he forgot to pack my Abraham Lincoln disguise kit. I was mortified since the only disguise I had in my trunk was the David Hasselhoff Superstar outfit – and I am loath to wear that hideous getup.

The party goers were most confused to see me as the demon Hasselhoff singing the Gettysburg Address while a recalcitrant Hannibal Hamlin repeatedly smacked me in the head due to an error in his arm mechanism.

But my indignity at suffering such an outrage was soothed by a couple of incidents that brought me much pleasure. I took to scaring the flower girls by clacking my jaws together in the most frightening way. Next I made sure that no matter when the tiny ring bearer turned around, I was always right behind him

However the high point of my night was when the life sized Hannibal Hamlin slipped off the stage and it’s malfunctioning arm repeatedly punched the groom’s father in the spine. The wedding party ran to contain the violent beast from reining more blows on the old wheelchair bound man. Then they grabbed my master -who still insists on calling himself Prophet Mountebank- tied him to a chair, positioned his hideous boxing Hamlin creation an inch from his nose, and let it unleash it’s inanimate fury. I still laugh when I think of the beating he got from his own stupid invention.

Sunday, July 03, 2005

Slappy Heartily Endorses This Product

Many people ask my master if they can buy Slappy or make their own dummy just like Slappy. My master likes money. So if they seem particularly enthralled by Slappy, my master will sell them a kit with instructions on making their very own dummy. The fools march off happily clutching their box of evil.

For what my master does not realize - and they will not realize until it is too late - is that Slappy has changed the instructions. Instead of the cheerful little doll they envision, they end up with a lifeless portal to the netherworld. Oh how Slappy longs to see the look on their faces as they read the instructions and find out that making the doll requires some of their own blood and ouija board.

Slappy sleeps now.

Friday, July 01, 2005

Damn it, I'm the Beekeeper!

My master is an idiot. He thinks he can predict the future and has taken to calling himself Prophet Mountebank. Too bad he couldn't predict the hornets nest at our engagement today. The fool thought it was a paper lantern and kicked it during his bizarre prophecy about the future engagement of one patron's son and their scarecrow.

To make matters worse for my master, but much more pleasant for me, the nest got stuck on his foot and a trail of hornets followed him as he ran and leaped about screaming, "Damn it! I'm the beekeeper! You can't hurt me! I am one of you!" The blithering idiot was unaware that they were not bees, and kept mumbling about buying the insects some honey as the ambulance carted him off to intensive care.