Wachmonster’s Blog Limited Edition free T-Shirt Contest

For the next several weeks I will be putting a lot of time into working on a screenplay I am co-writing with my brother. It’s nearly done, but the hard part is revisions, and addition by subtraction. This will prevent me from being able to write more than one or two short blogs per week. I am also approaching my 1,000th visitor to the blog. I am designing a t-shirt and having them batch off five of them for me.

I am offering them to contest winners. Oh yeah. It’s not really a contest. I am inviting friends and readers of this blog to write in there own, 250 wordish, articles to be published on the site. Anything goes! Don’t worry about grammar/spelling/etc… That stuff is for jerks. Once I get enough of them I will pick my five favorites and give you one of these soon to be rare as hell t-shirts. Thanks, I hope this works out otherwise I will just feel like a total loser for even trying it. If that is the case, I hate all of you for the rest of your lives and during your time in hell.

Send me your blogs through the comment section or email me at:

wachlarowicz@gmail.com

That is all.

I will post a pic of the shirt once I finish drawing how the front is gonna look.

That is all. Below is not the t-shirt, this picture just touches me. And I think I touched this picture a litte bit too.

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5 thoughts on “Wachmonster’s Blog Limited Edition free T-Shirt Contest

  1. Bronze Lifter says:

    It was a cold September morning but it was hot in the delivering room and my prized pig trixy was about to burst. The medical staff was yelling to high hell over the prospect of proceeding with a one hundred percent natural, and sexy, pig birth but come hell or high water the musket I had pointed at the nurse ensured that they would make it happen.

  2. Bronze Lifter says:

    To be continued…

  3. Bronze Lifter says:

    To my surprise the doctor was non-other than General Charles Cornwallis, commander of the British army during the Revolutionary War. I was stunned to see that bastard dressed in full military attire complete with powered wig and white painted face. The limey bastard even had his cheeks covered in pink rouge. The thought of this torrey lobsterback touching my 100% American prized pig made me want to point my musket right under my chin and pray I didn’t have a misfire. Before I could take any action, Cornwallis began his master stroke by proclaiming

    “I declare this swine delivery for the glory of merry ole England and for King George the Third! May monarchy reign in the colonies, forever! And if any of you uncultured traders have a problem with my declaration, then I will be forced to let this fatted hog and her new brood become a part of a nice English mince meat pie.”

    Trixy screamed in pain. I had no choice. I broke my musket in two with my bare hands. Cornwallis demanded that I eat the two halves and explain why British humor is superior to American comedy. I did. Then that British fop adjusted his pantaloons and placed a small British flag in the hoof of Trixy. I stood in horror as Cornwallis began to whistle London Bridge and prepared to charm the uterus of my white meated companion.

    To be continued…

  4. Bronze Lifter says:

    As Cornwallis lead the nurses and other doctors in another round of London Bridge I felt that all hope was lost. Trixy would fall under the the Brits charm and move to England with her new piglets and bow to the Queen. I had such great plans for that pig. We were going to win the blue ribbon at the best state fairs and drink the finest wines…then she had to go get knocked up by some sleazy country swine. I was going to marry that pig, metaphorically of course. Now I would be lucky if I could even share an all American Apple Pie with her again. This thought made me feel like I had just taken a large drink of acidic horse diarrhea, which I had. All seemed lost but I had hope. Just then I heard the sound of a raging river…the sounds of the Delaware River…how could this be? What was happening? Am I saved yet?

  5. Bronze Lifter says:

    The doors leading into my Trixy’s hospital room burst open. Pieces of glass and splintered wood fly like shrapnel when mysterious wooden boats penetrate the thick British Fog that’s overtaken the room. There is a panic as Cornwallis is knocked to the floor by the bow of the lead boat. What’s happening, what new horrors could possibly await this already unholy pig birth? Wait, more boats are coming in. They stink of revolution and democracy! A man in a blue uniform jumps from the boat. It can’t be?!

    “Looks like there’s a Cherry tree mother fucker that needs to be chopped down.”

    George Washington!

    “You bet you’re pig farming ass, it is!” said Washington

    What stroke of luck! Just when I thought all hope was lost General Washington arrives with his haunted ghost army to end this British oppression. But wait Cornwallis is back up, and he looks rather perturbed at this upsetting notion. Dear God, I’m starting to turn British, what a fright!

    “It’s too late for me George Washington! Save my Trixy!” I gasped.

    Cornwallis puckered his mouth and replied, “Yes far too late old boy, you may have bit my knickers at Yorktown but the boy was right, these piglets will be speaking the King’s English I’m afraid.”

    Cornwallis let out a real nancy-boy of a laugh. Washington just smirked. His Hickory teeth had the look of iron to them.

    Through the smirk Washington remarked “Why don’t you look again Cornwallis.”

    As Cornwallis turned his head to look Washington kicked the gurney so he was on the receiving end of Trixy’s backside. From her glorious vagina piglets fired as fast as cannon balls. They hit Cornwallis one by one, exploding on impact. After several direct hits Cornwallis collapsed to the ground in pain. He was beaten and America would finally be free.

    “General Washington, I can’t thank you enough, but my Trixy, it was too late for her, she’s, well she no better that that slimy toothed Briton. I solemnly said.

    “Oh really, take another gander, son.” said Washington with a twinkle in his eye.

    I took a look at Trixy. She was still clutching the Union Jack in her hoof but her face seemed distorted. Her body had odd convulsions, it looked as if human hands and legs were trying to push through the pig’s hide. With a final terrible squeal, Trixy exploded. There was pig guts and afterbirth flying everywhere. When I wiped the pieces of hog tissue and blood out of my eyes, I saw a glorious, and naked, woman laying on the operating table where Trixy once was. She was a stone cold fox and to top it off she was brandishing not one but two American flags.

    The girl looked me in the eyes and said “I love you. Let’s discuss Vonnegut.”

    On the floor Cornwallis made a noise as he struggled to get up.

    Washington pointed at Cornwallis and gave his final orders.

    “Gentlemen, somebody fist that man. And for you my, boy, live! Live life to the fullest and don’t forget to get laid along the way.”

    The end.

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