Q: Why is this page so crappy looking?
A: Geocities made FTP access to my website files a "premium service", meaning I'd have to pay $5 a month minimum to access my files via FTP. Since the layout of my site relied heavily on me being able to update every html file in a reasonable time, it would take way too much time to keep it pretty looking without FTP access... and I'm not about to support a business that would do something like this... So this is my new primitive format :)



REAL LIFE STORIES OF THE ULTRA MUFFIN



Smoked Coconuts

This story takes place in Hawaii... right outside the condo my family was staying in for our three week vacation. There were a few grills set up outside right next to the pool for vacationers to grill up their own food. Well, my dad thought steak sounded good... indeed it did (after living on Taco Bell for dinner for almost a solid week, the toilet was tired of being punished). So, we got the steaks, we got the long fork poker thing... one thing was missing, lighter fluid. My dad forgot to buy lighter fluid, and the nearest place to buy such a rarity was miles away. So, my dad decided to get creative... while staring at a bottle of rubbing alcohol he said "This will do." Maybe I believed him, or maybe I let my curiosity get the best of me. Minutes later, my dad poured HALF a bottle (this was like a 20oz bottle of rubbing alcohol) into the coals... and while keeping his face the furthest distance away he possibly could, with a forearm over his face... he tossed a match into the grill. The blazing supernova that came shooting out of the coals was a site that which man had never seen... thankfully there were about twenty people laying around the pool to witness this magnificint event, as the twelve foot flame reached for the stars... more specifically the palm tree just above the grill. However, the supernova died down... much like the frightened gasps coming from the pool area... until the flame finally dissappeared completely. Now, you have to realize nothing gets in the way of my family and steak... and my dad still had half a bottle of rubbing alcohol left. So, despite the pleas of objection from those amphibious pool people... my dad dumped the rest of the bottle into the grill... and struck a match to the tune of several people muttering "They must be Alaskan..." The supernova made its encore appearance, the palm tree suffered only second degree burns, and my family ate the best steak we've ever had! (While watching "The Worst of The Many Faces of Death" no less).


 Hot Dog Regeneration

This story takes place at my friend Drew's house... in the wee hours of the morning, after an intense game of Monopoly (I was the thimble). Like all guys in their late teens that spend their free time playing monopoly at 2am, we were a bit on the bored side. That was, until the microwave caught our attention! This beautiful machine that brings forth the gift of warm burritos... what more did it have in store for us. We knew deep secrets lay beyond its plastic door, so we took it upon ourselves to do some research, strictly for the benefit of mankind.

Experiment #1: What happens when you stick a ding dong in the microwave?

Results: It fizzled, it melted... the white stuff bubbled out, and it left a puddle of waste that God himself would be ashamed of. This nasty thing looked like the aftermath of an orgy between the tooth fairy and a bucket of tar.

Experiment #2: What happens when you drill a hole in an apple, fill it with chocolate syrup, and plug the hole with a rootbeer barrel... and stick it in a microwave?

Results: The apple sat there for several minutes, mocking the very essence of what it is to be a scientist... but slowly, with the utmost stealth, the rootbeer barrel emerged from its cave. It moved elegantly, with a sense of beauty, as if it were being reborn into the seventh layer of Hell, and rotating on a glass plate... and finally, unspectacularly, it fell out of its cavern and gave up on life. The mother apple let out a deep moan, and then started squeeling over the loss of her child.

Experiment #3: What happens when you stuff a marshmallow full of popcorn kernels and stick it in the hole of a donut... and stick it in a microwave?

Results: Some sort of chaotic, freedom-fighting mushroom kingdom makes your aquaintance. This one caught me completely off guard. The marshmallow appeared to have been a breeding ground for an entire ecosystem. It grew and it grew... taking the shape of a mushroom as its density decreased, giving its citizens the freedom they deserved. The glaze of the donut chanted ritualistically as the citizens popped in their newfound freedom. Eager to migrate, they pushed against the atmosphere... to see beyond the bondaries of whiteness... Then, a loud, abrupt pop sent one of their pilgrims flying through their ozone layer... landing as some sort of fourth dimensional butterfly onto the surface of the spinning glass plate... The rest of the pilgrims followed suit, spreading their cornlike wings, charting the far distances of their newfound universe... Sadly, this enlightened society fell victim to the same fate as the rootbeer barrel, finding themselves no match for the Hell they had just stumbled across.

Experiment #4: What happens when you give a hot dog toothpick legs and send it on a mystical journey through hell to become a half immortal / half hot dog hybrid?

Results: The creature lay dormant for the first minute of its endeavor, giving the eye to its creators with each passing round. As it started to sizzle with life, I could feel the sharp pain as its eye peered into my soul. The sizzling increased in intensity as it began manipulating my thoughts. It was making me feel its pain... latched into me, its head jerked in torment... Mom what are you doing, put down the knife... MOM!!! It pulled its rear leg back, trying to shake it of its demons. The blood, seeping down my spine... get out of my head hot dog... GET OUT OF MY HEAD! The sizzling sliced through my mind like a rusty blade. I have to fight the hot dog... fight the hot dog, regain your conciousness Muffin, it is the only way... The more I concentrated, the more I was given the upper-hand. Trying desperately to resist defeat, the hot dog took a deep breath and let out a morbid battlecry... "THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!" ... and with that, his torso exploded into pieces. His legs fell to the floor as the last ounce of life escaped his tiny little body. Godspeed little one.

Experiment #5: What happens when you stick a slice of American cheese on a popsickle, lay it on a creme pie that's sitting on a piece of bread, and surrounded by sour gumballs and jolly ranchers doused in hot sauce... and stick it in a microwave?

Results: Damn that shit is icky.


 The Smell from Another Dimension

This story takes place here, at home, in August. My parents always make it a point to sit out on the deck on a "beautiful summer day", personally I'd rather sit out there on a rainy day but this has nothing to do with anything! Anywho, my dad was sitting out there, about to crack open a book... when he started sniffing real hard. He was like "Hey, Muffin... come here for a second... do you smell that?" I sure did, but this was just a sneak preview of what was to come... an experience so horrific it will stay in my brain til it rots to soil. "What is that smell?" he asked. "Idunno, hey Mom, come here a second." My mom came to help us identify this... this thing. "Hey Muffin's mom, what could that smell possibly be?". "I don't know Muffin's dad, I-- OH MY GOD! I know what it is!"... At this point in time, I must educate you on life where I live. You see, in the winter in the middle of Alaska, it typically stays at least 20 degrees colder than an average freezer outside, so it's normal... in fact, it's almost expected for people to store their food outside if they run out of freezer space. We have a rubbermaid bin to keep our food in so our dog won't get into it. Well, guess who bought two turkeys for Thanksgiving and decided to hang on to one of them? So, here, in the middle of AUGUST, my dad is having trouble reading his book because a certain smelly rubbermaid container is rumbling and shaking full of a decomposing bird trying to release its demons... but the thing was, it didn't smell like a rotten turkey... it didn't smell like anything we'd ever smelled before. My dad, deciding it was worth sacrificing sanity and his very life to get a closer look, flipped the lid off the God-forsaken pandora's box of all things never meant to be, and suddenly it was like slow motion in a movie, as the most horrendous smell any three of us had EVER, EVER experienced swept through our senses... frying our minds as they tried to interpret this mistake of nature... this mistake of matter... this aborted fetus of the skunk-enchanted shit king. This smell simply was never meant for Earth. No lifeform on this planet could EVER fully understand the raw power of this oder. Power so strong that it made me want to dig out my eyes with cork screw just to ease the pain. I know what you're thinking... it couldn't have been that bad, animals rot all the time and lots of people smell them and make neat little hats out of them with pineapples and paperclips... You are correct... but the turkey was no longer the issue... for we had found the holy grail of unnatural, unearthly, and ungodly unfair smells. Pizza dough. Rotting pizza dough. I have never had the urge to vomit from a smell alone... until I came across this beauty. This pizza dough gave me the urge to vomit, tear out my fingernails, eat babies stapled to trampolines, and send pieces of myself blasting off towards the moon in a felt-tipped Pringles can... just for a sense of reality... trying to grasp the concept of life that escaped my mind the moment that lid was lifted off. The rotting turkey was not rumbling around trying to release its demons, it was trying to get the fuck out of there. The turkey had spent so much time in there with that... that THING, it had probably already been sent through bent space via a wormhole in the 19th dimension and found itself playing backgammon with Jesus Christ and the seven dwarves. So, to make a long story short, my dad donated the pizza dough to a church to help them fight off Satan... everytime a bell rings, one of Satan's minions discoveres the pizza dough goliath... it will bring down the empire. Pizza dough, I worship thee!


 Whisper From The Heavens

God is cruel. God is either cruel or has some sick fucking sense of humor, and at this point I'm hoping he is cruel. I hope he's cruel because I'll be able to continue sleeping at night (or day, as it were) so long as I can rest assured some weirdass bearded man in the sky isn't getting his jollies from such demented shenanigans as the events that played out on that faithful autumn day. A cruel god would never have taken it this far.

It was as typical a day as a day can get, my last class for the day had ended, and I was driving myself home for my eight-hour afternoon siesta. Typical, with the exception of this growing tickle inflicting itself upon the side of my nose in all the hellacious glory that any demonic tickle could offer. What I'm trying to say here is that this was no ordinary tickle in any sense of the word, this was a whisper from the heavens clueing me in that I would soon be clawing at my face like a rabid monkey, and it was reproducing itself in exponential intensity as I began my hopeless plight to resist. This was the unheilig1 larva of an unspoken state of sensual disarray compounding itself among the foundation of Jehovah's unthinkable forms. It was fucking annoying.

So anywho, for the first five or so minutes of my trip home, I found myself almost obsessively trying to wipe away whatever was causing this tenacious ticklage. It had to be a hair or something to that effect, making its presence known at sporadic intervals whenever a gust of wind happened by it. Had I known the truth, perhaps I could have spared myself from the prolonged insanity recurring in each subsequentially amplified, fiendish nightmare tantalizing my firmly grounded state of intuition in an iron maiden every night since.

The truth being that there was a half-dead fruit fly squashed against one of my glasses' nose pads that had been performing a futile tap dance of the nearly departed against my nose. Hell, this fly was stomping its tiny legs so furiously, with such desperation, it was a few foot-pounds short of having pore sex with my breathing utility. In all honesty, when I made this dreadful discovery, the thought crossed my mind that this situation was probably more unpleasant for me than the fly. Some would say I should be thankful for having noticed this atrocity of nature while standing still at a red light. However, if I could go back in time to that very day, I would have done everything in my power to impact my vehicle against anything that might have taken my life so I could die a happy man not knowing that a fruit fly had been jerking off my nose for a solid ten minutes on my way home from school that afternoon.

1German for "unholy".