
Irony: the reigning King of Komedy!
Today’s exploration of the “Figures of Speech” will make-up the content of a continuous story involving myself, a colony of hobos and quite possibly extra-terrestrial life. Therefore, read each sentence in sequence, as a story of TRIVIAL SIGNIFICANCE will be revealed!
Julio Grumbles discovered a 1,000 year-old tent city which was built by hobos, for hobos , with hobos. That’s right; they used the older, weaker hobos as mortar, as brick, as accent walls…
Little did Julio know that, upon his discovery, he would become such a resident, a resident of a land without homes…just tents. Tents made out of homeless people.
It all began, 1,000 years ago, when Frederique the blind hobo, Linda the deaf crack-whore and Upgreyedd the crippled pimp sat around a burning cauldron filled with animal feces.
Though these three street-dwellers had never met, this chance meeting, unbeknownst to them, would change the fate of the Earth, and of Project Julio, forever…
Soon men of all classes and faiths came to visit their encampment. They looked with the blind hobo, listened with the deaf hobo, and with the crippled hobo, they danced.
Soon, however, unemployment hit all three major cities surrounding the three wise-men, and what was just a humble camp turned into a town, and then into a city, then back into a camp, and finally, and most importantly, it became what it remains to this day: a city of hobos.
The deranged ordeal started on a dark and desolate dirt-road when my 1987 Dodge-Durango ran out of diesel.
To make matters worse, my cell phone ran out of battery-life, as did my GPS, my HPS (hobo positioning system) and my butt-plug (travel edition ®).
I was afraid, but determining, when I, Julio, finally exited the car. Then, out of the darknesses, a crafty hobo appeared to me in a flash of bright light! This hobos then shouts to a nearby broken street-lamp, “BOYS…I’VE DONE GOT US’S ANTOHER ONES!”
Suddenly, I was surrounded by hobos, hobos
who began probing me with their warm, throbbing rods
(that pierced my
darkness with an eerie glow). These rods, I
later learned, would be repeatedly inserted into
a bright, radioactive dust created by Nuclear-bomb
test which had taken place in the area during the War of 1812
reenactment which occurred sometime during the early 1960’s.
Just then, as Julio realized that he was about to be anally raped by a group of alien hobos wielding removable, glowing penises, something happened…a tiny glowing man, no more than 3 feet tall, walked up to Julio, took his hand, and in it he placed $3.50 in quarters. “E.T. Phone Home,” he said.
“What luck!,” I thought, as I contemplated my fate. If a hobo, alien or not, gives someone else money, they MUST want something in return…so instead of being RAPED anally by alien hobos wielding removable glowing penises, I’m instead going to be PAID to have consensually anal sex with alien hobos wielding removable glowing penises. Fan-fucking-tabulous!
I should intervene and let my readers know that I’m okay and unaharmed. My anus, luckily for me, and luckily for my anus, was spared that day. The name of the game was not “shove glowing rods into this guy’s anus.” The integrity of my anus, and all that my anal virginity represents to the integrity of my anus, remained intact.
Regardless, this was truly an “Encounter of the Third Kind,” where “the third kind” is defined as “anal rape” and “encounter” is defined as “being surrounded by hobo aliens” and “truly” is defined as “letters I wrote to my attorney in order strengthen my ‘psychological instability’ defense during my first murder trial.”
*Julio’s Note* To be continued…but don’t be homo(cidal)!!! In the next segment, the story continues as we discover what exactly the glowing midget meant when he said “E.T. Phone Home” and why exactly aliens would (or wouldn’t) live in an ancient, 2,000 year old hobo village!


The point is an education about what figures of speech are and HOW they relate to comedy. In addition, it intends to bring objective analysis and criterion to comedy, a less-then-understood literary style. It’s all about changing expectation, and that’s what figures of speech do — they are techniques used to deliberately manipulate expectation and meaning. Also, the grammar “analysis” you speak of is simply the defining of each figure of speech. The focus is on the figures of speech, not the story, so your criterion of “misplaced” and “the story dragged” are irrelevant. Italic phrases are meant to transition into the next figure of speech, and as such they don’t necessarily contain Figures of speech. Maybe you should work on your attention span. I hear Ritalin is as easy to get as weed in California
You finally made me a laugh a teeny weeny bit. Unfortunately, you did it at the beginning of your story with someone elses demotivational poster, assisted by a small pun. I lost my way about halfway through this post. The first half was okay, but it started dragging after that and the grammar analysis was a little misplaced – didn’t add to the story or even really register with what you were talking about in any significant way.
As we all know, the Pope bathes after each official molestation, which is overseen by a circle-jerk of Cardinals, church officials and other molested alter boys. So, contrary to your assertion, the Pope’s penis is NOT caked in choir boy shit OR sperm bubbles. However, there is no official rule concerning Chimpanzee sex, so you very well may be right on that point.
I was volunteering here today: http://www.raleighhomelessconnect.org/
Lots of sweet, crack-addicted hobo-action going on, let me tell ya! Seriously, though, these hobos are f’d up in the head. About 10% of them were homeless from legitimate circumstances (foreclosure, lost jobs), and those people are only temporarily homeless.
Those permanently homeless people…that’s where the depressing ENTERTAINMENT arrives! Here’s one, called “cadillac man”; The hobo himself wrote the book, and the journalist edited it. I call it the GREATEST Hobo Manifesto of the previous generation. http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/25/books/25garn.html
p.s. Sorry about your anus and whatever plans your making for it, without it’s input.
From your opening line I imagined a wall composed entirely of dead hobos..just like the Spartans that built a wall of slaughtered Persian Immortals in that movie ‘300′…then I thought of Darwin for the third time this month and his theory of natural selection and I thought…FUCK YOU Darwin.
As far as I’m concerned, Darwin sucked the Pope’s dirty cock which was caked in choirboy shit and chimpanzee spunk, and jubilantly belched sperm bubbles all day whilst musing over his “Natural Selection” theories, biggest pile of walking shit since John Crawfurd and James Hunt, THOSE dumb racist CUNTS. And FUCK Herbert Spencer and his “survival of the fittest” philosophy.
Those that are most capable or most physically fit for survival are not in any way equated with the ass kissing CEO’s that profited from bail-outs, lay offs, option gains, and tax deductions – but the working-class and homeless that have survived much worse than what most of those idiots would ever face in their pathetic fucking lives. Here’s a new word that hobos are and/or will be chanting in the streets, “VIVA LA HOBOS – FUCKERS!”