We want to make you laugh. Udder Tug’s sole raison d’etre is to inspire you to laugh, and laugh hard, while you enjoy reading about strangers who are both strange and, in some cases, all too familiar. To laugh at the foibles that reside within each of us.
To laugh at aspects of the human condition that we wish didn’t live within each of us. And to laugh at others - not so much at their expense... but at our own silent relief as we figuratively wipe our brow and utter to ourselves: “Glad I’m not that asshole!”
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Roping in a DUG (Dirty Underwear Girls) took some creativity, which made it all the more fun and exciting. After work, I would throw on some ripped jeans and a Widespread Panic sweatshirt some jaggoff left at my apartment after a party. Before heading down to Zuccotti Park, I would pour bottles of Bud Light and a shots of Southern Comfort into six Mason jars and tote them in an old-fashioned, metal-wire milk carrier. Upon arriving at Grungy Central, I would shout a few slogans and sidle up to a pretty DUG whose eyes and body language belied her intended purpose...
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William Billy “Mumps” Sanders is rooting for a Hillary presidency so he can enjoy hearing about what he believes will be some good ol’ boy fun in the White House by fellow Arkansas native and former president William Jefferson Clinton. Mumps, 64, who owns an auto body shop in south-central Arkansas, wrote to AUON to let us know that he and the whole town of Arkadelphia are looking forward to the inaugural debut of the First Gentleman.
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I’m not very political but I try to keep up with the TV news at 11 O’Clock each night. I know a lot of people are jazzed up about global warming. But I don’t care about the globe. I just want to make sure we take care of New Jersey first and then the rest of the United States, except maybe Philadelphia. The rest of the people can take care of the globe. And I don’t like those bitches that throw paint on your fur coat cuz they don’t like fur coats.
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Father Patrick O’Cleary
Pastor - St. Josephina Parish
Pewaukee, Wisconsin
Father P. as he is affectionately known, runs the St. Jo’s Bingo Night every Wednesday at 7 pm and invites non-parishioners to participate, too! Since 1982, Father P. has captained the “Cars with Bars” program, which brings all the ambiance of your local tavern to shut-ins and others who need a drink and would like to talk about Jesus and the Packers.
Ooh, my...ooh, my...
The question why
yo love been denied
is answered by
the tears in my eyes
You knockin’ boots
with my homey Poots
He doin’ ya in my sack
Sneakin’ a Rack Attack
Mothahfuckin’ Rack Attack!
In my own shack.
Shit. Yeah.
True story, bitches. My ex- best home slice, Poots, aka Patrick Laurence, stole on me. Took my bitch Tamara and flat-backed her right in my own crib! My lady love and my bruthah love eradicated all my love in one selfish act of lust, not love.
Poots and I was tight since we was ball nectar in our daddies’ sacks. Like both our daddies before us, we grew up in the Techwood Homes housing projects in Atlanta. At least until we was eight years old and the government demolished the shit hole.
“When life gives you lemons, throw them at the asshole who gave them to you and go after sweeter fruit. Every day’s a new start.”
That line, constructed by my grandfather and told many times to me when I was growing up, echoed in my head as I sat, cramped and confined, in my window seat, 33A. I had acquired the very last open seat on the 6:30 am American Airlines flight from Philadelphia back home to Phoenix. My 22-year-old very pregnant daughter called me at 4:00 am, Philly time, to tell me that her water broke and that contractions had started. My little girl wanted her Mommy - right before she was to become one. And I couldn’t be happier.