Timberwolves Offseason Report Pt II

Smith cocked his head toward Szcerbiak and motioned towards him with his hand, "Eh-o-du! Hol' up. This is the place."
The car came rolling to a stop outside of a quaint Spanish revival style home with a white stucco exterior and many lavish yet stylish curves and arches. A wonderfully flamboyant painted tile staircase cascaded down the edge and phallic-like chimneys rose above the harmonious structure. 
"Shit, dog, what pimp ass ornamental iron work" commented Szcerbs while kicking his roach by flicking it into the marble water fountain. 
The two approached the broad wrought iron door which was emblazoned with the face of Kevin Love. 
As if anticipating the way the game of life worked, always one step ahead, and seeing any available passing lanes, their host was already lounging behind the front door waiting for them. 


"Tell me boooyz" whistled Ricky Rubio as they entered. "Didn't bring my heart, my Love with you, did ya by chance?"
"Jesus, Ricky" grimaced Joe, "and for the last time, Kevin's not gay."
"But if he was, my boooyz" chortled Ricky, "Imagine the scenes in the locker room!"
"Well, none of us are gay, Rubez" replied Szcerbs. "So, I guess then it would just be you and Kevin."
"Oh what a fine idea, my delicious Szcerby snack." fancied Ricky.
"Listen, Ricky, let's get the fuck out of here - we're going to The Vu, mi amigo" said Smith.
"Ahhh, si! Por tranvestitos mis timberwolves?" asked Ricky.
"If there as gorgeous as I am" said Szcerbiak,"and then after, we'll grab a midnight Szcerb."
"Uhh, you can count me out on that one" said Joe Smith.

They all loaded into the Range Rover and tore into the Minneapolis night. Young, loaded as shit, incredibly good at putting an orange sphere into a nylon hoop, these demigods have it all. Little do they know, one of them won't make it out alive.

Stay tuned for Pt III   

Welcome, Saudi Arabia

Last month, we made it big in Saudi Arabia. The word was spread there about The Tingy Wingys Collective and was greeted with much rapture and concurrence of nodding. Saudi Arabia will answer the call - their thinkers are both avant-garde and wise in the ways science.

Kickstarter Project

PENGUIN MAN

Timberwolves Offseason Report

The smell lingered. It had emanated from his asshole, and the smell lingered. Wafts of curdled Indian spices splicing the air. You could feel it upon your cheeks, enveloping your body, your nostrils drinking it in. Wally cracked the window.

"Ooh, fack yaa" he exulted.

"Thanks, Szczerbs" replied Joe Smith, "That one's been roasting in the oven."

"D-lish" concurred Wally. 

Wally Szczerbiak and Joe Smith were cruising down 35W in an all black Range Rover, in the midst of an absolute marathon of drinking that had lasted the better part of 3 days.

 Szczerbiak was doing his best to follow the dotted lines while Smith was preparing a key bump, breaking down the eight ball of cocaine. 

"Bitch, we going to The Vu tonight!" exclaimed Smith.

"You got dat damn straight" murmured Szczerbs in agreement. "Those bitches be thirsting for a Szczerby snack."

The glare of the streetlights splashed across their tinted windows, merry makers abounded on the Minneapolis streets, the moon invigorated human flesh, night owls hooted hedonism. Wally took his eyes off of the road for a moment to readjust his coif. 

"That's fucking bitching" he thought to himself.

A Lark And A New Low

Pardon, and why are you here?

Nevertheless, I do commend you for coming this far.

Pray tell, how have you come this far...that is...what are you looking for?

<(. _ .)>

That?

I know a few people that would settle for that.

A hard lick on the guitar and a few crunchy beats. 

They see their name on a street sign or restaurant advertisement and shit themselves,

send a little thank you to God for discounted grocery prices.

We need a new definition of radical -

One that ignites the citizenry. 

Hello?

There's a war to be won! The Tingy Wingy Colony Voyage to depart soon!

We've been caught in the ethereal realms of the world wide web , perusing its naves and bowels, finding nice little niches to house our new thoughts. 

There's a monster playing in the scaffolding of our culture. 

The big surprise of 2014 so far is that we're still in low supply of adamantium, the indestructible metal alloy with which we could forge our spaceships and exoskeletons. 

I'm not Dr. Frankenstein but I'd say the monster has come to life. Tearing at the framework and digesting the zeitgeist. 

In the days of Michelangelo they liked to strip a man down to his waist, blindfold him and put him in a cage with a cat. Party goers would then watch the man kill the cat and tear it limb from limb. Now we have the Super Bowl on Sunday. 

Peak a boo I found you.

The blog has been found by me the asian man.  Crouching tiger hidden asian.  I find this blog while I eat my fried rice and I find it to be very nice.  All the way from the region of asia I stay and I search internet long and hard.  When I find this blog I tell all the villagers and when these read the good news of the tingy wingys they do rejoice and be glad and be glad.

an email to m knight shamalan

dear mr shaman,

I praise your work.  U have done well, and proven yourself as a filmmaker.  I trust you are a very busy man and find yourself stretched for time to come up with your breathtaking ideas and twists.  I was hoping to aid in these efforts and offer a few movie ideas I have come up with for you to use in your films.  The ideas are as follows:

1. you start with a farmer looking at his crops. "this can't be possible" he says. scan out and his entire crop is dying.  Across the country crops are dying everywhere.  We begin to have food shortages.  Nationwide there is a panic to find out what is going on.  Scientist find that changes in climate having rapidly changed the life and evolutionary progression of species of insects that thrive off of human crops.  Here you have the start to a futuristic hollywood blockbuster: Global Warming

2. you begin with a shot of an empty city, trash bags flowing in the wind. cut to a line, a giant line wrapping around the entire city, it spans for miles and off into the horizon. zoom in on a single man in that line -he's at the front. The camera is ahead of him - he's DJ Casper, artist behind the club anthem "Cha Cha Slide" and conqueror of Earth in an alternate reality. "This time...we're gonna get funky!" he screams out, "Everybody clap your hands!" CHA CHA CHA CHA CHA CHA CHA is the clapped reply of millions. They're planning an invasion of Earth...our Earth. 

3. you begin with two dragons. they are not relevent to the plot, but who doesn't want to see two big dragons breathing a neat amount of fire at the beginning of any movie.  you then show the country of Austria.  Some United States tourist made a comment that he couldn't find any kangaroos.  The Austrian pulls out a gun and kills the tourist, because he is sick of people thinking Austria is Australia.  Then the twist is the Austrian walks up to the United States tourist and sees he that the tourist was wearing a mask.  He pulls the mask off.  It is himself from the future and he is currently in the movie Loopers.

*Movie Title here*

Cast:

Keanu Reeves as Jimmy Neutron

Megan Fox as the Hot Girl (who almost gets naked but doesn't but a lot of people will come watch this movie just because the hot girl almost got naked)

Morgan Freeman as the Narrator

Jackie Chan as Lee Wang

Jar Jar Binks as Leonardo di Caprio

              Frank Thomas as Fred Mcgriff

Storyline:

The year is 2040.  Only one million people are left on planet Earth.  Lee Wang, Jimmy Neutron and the Hot Girl, as well as Fred McGriff and Leonardo di Caprio. They are getting 100% of their sustenance by drinking their own piss in a post apocalyptic world. Fred McGriff is senile and thinks he's Kirby Puckett. Leonardo di Caprio says "Is'a okey den, dah Gungans deh is mmmmh ANI! ANI!" while the Hot Girl flicks her bean. Lee Wang sneaks up behind Jimmy Neutron and snaps his tiny animated neck like a twig, "uuuuah" groans the boy genius as he dies. 

Details: 

Country: United Arab Emirates

Language: English, Spanish, Chinese

Release Date: November 22, 2012

Box Office: 

Projected revenue: $27.50

Company Credits:

Production Co: Ting Wingy Productions, Disney

Technical Specs:

Runtime: 44 minutes

Camera: A very nick camera

Did you know?

That Keanu Reeves said over 100 lines in this movie totaling over 500 words. This is the most he has spoken in any movie.

Reviews:

"Take me out me out for a cheap dinner and rape me in the mouth." - Dan Jenson, New York Times

"The plot is a tour de force.  The cast is a tour de france.  The special effects are as special as a boy with down syndrome.  Frank Thomas as Fredd Mcgriff thinking he was kirby puckett gives a performance of a lifetime (I really thought it was Fred Mcgriff)."  Randy Cendrick, Rolling Stones

The Blog- Three Years

Gentle people,

With this post I mark three years of activity on The Tingy Wingys blogger blog. Granted, the blog has been populated by posts less and less frequently over recent times. Yet, the blog is no less powerful, no less remarkable or important. I liken the blog to a storm and that storm to life itself. Life, like a storm, is filled with darkness, at times it can be menacing and unbearable with no foreseeable shining of the sun. It is in these moments, disoriented and hopeless, that a stroke of lightening bathes the atmosphere in light. Revealed to you are your surroundings and the essence of self, the beauty and connectivity of all things about you. That lightening is a creation, an attempt to connect the ephemeral with the eternal, a brief glimpse of that which is possible within all things. It is these moments that arise from a canvas of darkness that serve to illuminate us, to inspire us, to drive us. These are the posts we are about creating, we are that spark. Now get ready for the thunder.

Our Blog's Big in Germany

Looking at the statistics of our thought temple, the online medium into which we pour our wisdom, authentically thinging the thing itself, the very blog, into the very essence of what it really is, I noticed that we were quite the trendy option among the knowledgable elite readership in die Mannschaft. The Rhineland loves the Tingy Wingys, and we respect that. We love Germany too. Particularly a club called the Matrix. You have to go under a highway through this tunnel to get there, this is where our Bar-hop leader pretended to run away once. I also remember crossing over it on the way back, the highway that is, although this is probably just the poor continuity of a hazy, drunk mind, climbing the stairs of a crazy kind of cement maze crossing over the roadway and winding back to the ground on the other side. I also remember there being a hot dog stand on the top and I ate a hot dog. I'd been to the outskirts of Berlin with a young girl I'd met at the club. I say young, not underage. Although I know I was the senior of the relationship. I'd been doing Johnny Wilkinson rugby free kicks on the dance floor all night (clenching my two fists direcly in front of me, squatting, and charging forward before gracefully transitioning into a looping, Tiger Woods like stroke of my golden left leg) and she was interested. I'd fallen on my face once or twice. Now she was brining me somewhere, I couldn't be sure where, but stop after stop rolled by. Or maybe I was following her. I can't be sure. But we did have an intimate moment in one of those Train Stations, and I remember that German Train Stations have one of the strangest stenches mine nose has ever smelt, like putting a tire in a waffle maker. But it was 5 in the morning and I had to go home. she gave me her number and I made a couple lucky guesses at different stops. People were heading to work and I was enthusiastically conveying my appreciation of all things Germany but also my frustration about an uncalled handball by the German Frings almost 10 years previously. I landed at what I believed to recall as our area. I couldn't find her number on my person anymore. I stumbled home and slept outside the hostel door with my knees at my chest, a ball, a ball of new experiences. Yes, we love Germany. The blog exists not only because you and I witness it, the blog exists unto itself for it is made of matter built of the most important fabrics, the fabric of great Germans.

For all the German readers I'd also like some help: there is a beer there with no words on it. the label is merely a man sitting outside of a mountain home on a wooden chair with a giant pipe and a mug filled with beer. This was the greatest beer I have ever had. What the hell was it??!! Vas is das.

Hell - Coming Soon

Hell is novel coming soon involving various collections of writing pertaining to the Minnesota Vikings.

"...The Vikings are a curious kind of organization, curious in that their futility seems to know no bounds nor confine to any kind of statistical odds saying that someday, somehow, they will break free from the chains of over a half century of embarrassment, ridicule, and haplessness. From the accepted mediocrity of Leroy Hoard, to the blessedly handicapped hands of Troy Williamson, to the bat shit crazy Demetrius Underwood, to the love orgy in the Roman Baths of Lake Minnetonka, and finally onto the prosthetic penis of Onterrio Smith, the Vikings have never ceased to amaze friend and foe alike. Let us journey, together, through the tales and folklore surrounding this baneful club."

Introduction, Hell

"I know Mike Tice, he's a good guy. I sat down with him some time recently and he bought me dinner and I think we should give him control of all decisions pertaining to the organization: finances, scouting, offense, defense, special teams, concessions, ownership. Glen Mason is a close friend of mine too and with what he's done at the 'U' he should be sworn in as his right hand man in all those decisions."

Sid Hartman, Hell

"McNabb..three step drop...pocket is collapsing around him...steps into the pressure..eyes, mind, and body frantically trying to co-coordinate with one another...lobs the ball into the ground...4th and 5 Minnesota on thier own 8 as the punt unit comes on..Kluwe standing on his own goal line..Flags everywhere..false start will pin the Viking further back..half the distance to their own goal line.. Let's pause now for a moment for station identification, THIS, is Minnesota Vikings football on the FAN."

Paul Allen, Hell

From Connor The Guitar aka "William Price" solo

*This is taken from the William Price Music Blog*

Like you, I was once a child. Unlike you, my mind reached absolute maturity and human potential when I was 9 months old. When I was young I never said that when I grew up I wanted to be a musician. I figured I'd be able to acquire slave minstrels to satisfy that leisurely pleasure of mine. However, certain things within the world have come to be. The music industry is - like the average human being toiling away with its monotonous routine and meaningless existence - slowly dying, and also slavery is frowned upon. And so, the very few among us able to answer the call of mother music have to take up our eternal spots at the composers stand and orchestrate the befuddled and lost masses.

Already, my music has done more to solve the Earth's crises' than anything before it: thanks to my sound waves the oil leak in the gulf coast is about to be plugged, brett favre is about to return to football, and you can all sleep easy at night knowing that the time spanning, people uniting, power of music is within my safe hands. And I haven't even upgraded my Garage Band yet.

Occasionally I'll take the time to sift through my thousands of letters of fan mail, accolades, and prayers for help that I receive daily via this My Space portal and so often I find people telling me: "Connor, I've been the biggest fan of your music since I was 11...And I was born in 1948." I'll say, "But I hadn't nearly begun to make music at that point in time," and they'll simply reply: "I know." This is the power my music has: the power to tear through the laws of the universe, to reverberate through time and space into ages before I was even born.

So you have to wonder: what glorious thoughts did Socrates have, while he pondered and listened intently to the sounds of my guitar? What genius did Einstein receive when my lyrics rushed over him like warm running water from the shower head? What greatness did Alexander acquire when my songs came pouring down from the clouds, whispering sweet somethings into his ear? Undoubtedly, my music has inspired some of the greatest thinkers of our time, and yet, there is still so much more inspiration to be perspirated upon you all.

What's Old Becomes New and What's New Becomes Classic

Strolling around through the glorious Tingy Wingy archives which are located in the French Alps I came across a post promising the return of the Tingy Wingy band member spoken in hushed tones as "Connor the Insane Guitar". We were never able to publish a link to the music due to a ferocious disagreement between Connor and Apollo, the greek God of music. Apollo thought the EP should be restricted to the pleasure of the Gods ears in Olympus, Connor wanted it to reach the masses. Nor were we able interview the notoriously reclusive Guitar. However, we've rediscovered the Myspace link in which Connor produced 3 songs that may or may not have reached the EP, we can just never be absolutely sure. Keep in mind that these were produced a year ago and would almost certainly have shattered the collective worlds mind if they had been released/discovered then. They still give you an all natural high that feels like nothing you've ever felt before.

Connor The Guitar Old-But-New-But-Now-Classic Music

A Short Story *+*

"Looks like its gonna storm," yelled Stacie, a 65 year old with a face like an armadillo's asshole. It was fucking dark as shit outside, and in the state of nebraska when it rain it pours. "Here in nebraska when it rains it pours," replied Doug, who being Stacie's neighbor was outside building a bird house. After a bit of silence Doug glanced at Stacie and screamed, "its for the birds." Stacie was all about the birds, she loved the shit out of birds--its a flying animal for christ sake. Humans locomotion is not as fun as a lot of other animals, but that goes without saying. Where are we? Oh ya in the middle of a story. If my writing so far has conveyed the almost undetectable subtle subtext to the plot thus far you already know that Stacie and Doug are neighbors and they get along pretty good over all. What Stacie didn't know about Doug would later come to shock her, but not quite in the way she was suddenly shocked by a 11,000 volt blast of lightening. "Fuckin crazy.... bitch ass lightening, what the fuck, aaahh for christ's sake you alright Stacie" shouted a panicked Doug.

Stacie, shook her head, winced in pain, grimaced - a little bitch grimace, and was for a second transported back into her mind... deep into the recessions of her past... she recalled an event, a traumatic event, one that had shaken her, and rattled her, like the rattle of a rattle snake except this event had no serpent, no it was nothing like a rattle snake. Although she did have a fear of snakes. That could be foreshadow or irrelevant. But our story is so far: A woman, Stacy, recently struck by lightening, thrown back into a menacing memoir or her morbid memory, menacing in pain in front of Doug, her neighbor, who may be the first to realize the true power and fright of Stacie's non snake induced scare that caused a split: A split in her that could never be repaired. "What are you fucking deaf Stacie?" cried Doug. Waiting for a response he squinted his eyes into the darkness trying to make out the steaming silhouette of Stacie. "Jesus, smells like someone burnt a beaver out here," mumbled Doug as he waded through the darkness in the general direction of where he could last make out Stacie. Meanwhile Stacy was being confronted by the demons of her dark past: an R-rated horror movie she saw when she was only 13-years-old, that time she almost went into the mens bathroom, the one time she'd accidentally used a racial slur, and something involving demonic possession. Doug was holding his 12-gauge shotgun that he liked to keep at hand during the fierce lightning storms of the Nebraska summer. You see, at that moment Doug too was struggling with the emotions that his memory evokes during weather like this. Doug was subject to something as well in his younger years: something involving his son, his farm animals, and bestiality. Let's just say he never wanted to use that shotgun again but let's also just say he never wanted to be caught again without it, and have to go and get it, and use it... on his own loved ones. Not that he loved them all that much....he killed them all with a gunshot in the head after all.

These neighbor's knew not of each others problems. They had problems enough of their own, and they lived in a world of separation. Their ancestor's lived differently--for most of human history had lived in tight nit tribes and would vary rarely encounter any other person who they did not know like family. Yet here these two people just feet from each other and knew hardly anything of one another. Did this disconnect in the world they were living in lead to the mistrust and tension that brought two minds to possession and murder. How much of modern psychiatrically defined mental illness was present in our predecessors and how much of it only results for the strange world that the forces of human culture have brought about.

Doug went back into his house. He opened a bag of oreos and turned on the game. The next time he looked at the back he had eatin 18 oreos. "Holy balls that is 22,000 calories and 65% fat," said Doug in a soft lisp. And he was right it was 22,00 calories and 65% fat. He suddenly had a vision of his wife giving him a pedantic glance as she put the bag back in the cabinets. It was times like this that he thought most about the murder he had committed. It was a hot summer day, the air was moist and somehow heavy. The family was cooling down inside when little Jimmy had the fucking dank idea of playing monopoly. "You son of a bitch Jimmy," yelled Doug happily "you read my mind, set that shit up." The family was stoked as fuck. They were about to enter a world of dice rolling, purchase, transaction, and chance. In other words they were entering a world of intense pleasure, where emotions are formless, timeless, and transcendental. This was not Doug's day with the dice. He had only the light blue property and electric company. It was a fucked up situation. Doug did not like to lose and could feel the anger rising inside them. That is when he snapped. "Dieeeeee!!!!!," he screamed. He shoved the fake money down his wife's throat as his son looked on in horror. "How would you like to be next Mr. Boardwalk you capatalist fuck," yelled Doug to his son. "You think you can monopolize the real estate system, I got make a living you prick." He beat his head into the ground with a nine iron. He cried for 3 minutes afterward, and turned on espn to see what was happening in the world of sports.

Doug had watched 4 episodes of the same ESPNNEWS now. You know it's a god awful day when you've heard John Clayton weasel about groin strains for 2 hours. Doug stirred, he had feint recollections of some noise, some bullshit, and an unhappy ending in his head. "God damn ESPN shows," he mumbled, stepping over some bloodied masses on the living room floor. But there were more pressing issues at hand. He'd been thinking about Stacy a lot lately and that maybe it was time for a new family. This is what humans did, they constantly created new relationships and broke off their old ones because their old ones sucked worse than the ones that had come before that. They also killed a lot of people they didn't like. So it's easy to understand Doug and his fragile being given that it had been warped and contorted from years occupying this planet like silly putty under the weight of a giant ass. Doug had been crushed by it all but he still pushed on admirably. And so Doug picked up his phone but then put it down and went and looked at porn. Doug picked up his phone later but he realized he didn't have Stacey's number. "Ah cunt.." he thought "what am I going to do now?" But then Doug thought of a most wonderful idea. Stacy had recently been hit by lightening, and was completely without memory, immobile, and in a serious condition at the local emergency room. "I'll have her eating out of the palm of my hand," thought Doug, with some degree of literalness given her current state.

Classic Shit

"It's easy to earn respect. Once you learn how to kick someone's face in."

3 Ninjas

The Last Man Standing

Do you know what it feels like?

To be the last man standing-

the last man standing.

-The Last Man Standing (2011)

Come rest, my ridiculed fantasy finder. Take a seat upon the stories of yesteryear. I've come to tell you a great tale, a fable of old, that for the attentive listener will bear fruits to hold. Once upon a time, a springtime perchance, we happen upon a Leary fellow, a non start, no chance. And in his heart, a hole. For in his heart there lied a burning melody, a song through time worn and old, and this man you see out of chance is merely just of average mold, it's told.

But deep in the seats of restless fixation there grew a monster bold. That told him to shake, told him to rumble, told him to disrupt his labors to the point of dysfunction. It was a beast that tore him into two, one that grew and grew and grew and grew. One day he could no longer control himself, and this became the wolf Michael himself.

Stolen from his childhood, his parents withdrew, out of cause unbeknown to me and to you. Listen closely, do as your told, for here, the story of Michael is about to unfold:

Scene One: An orgy, in the den of Sin.

Tingy Wingy Manifesto

Us here at the Tingy Wingy brain collective have been closely following the recent movements and changes sweeping the globe. We've witnessed and watched, with great interest, the collective effort of the Occupy movements across our daunting country. We've viewed and heard of the ideas sweeping the East regarding a more representative and democratic government. And we ourselves have been debating, rhetorizing, and searching the deepest recessions of our own souls for answers. As a leading, nay, trail blazing publication of national interest we here at the Tingy Wingy's factory of civil justiceness have concluded that it is time to make our interests known.

Creed #1: The '98 Vikings won the Super Bowl. We did. It's rule #1.

Creed #2: Thou shalt not own slaves. This is just as important as #1 and traditionally overlooked by all other religious doctrines.

Creed #3: Thou shalt not listen to Creed. They suckst.

Creed #4: Dragons are real. If we should promote one idea of myth it should be dragon lore. Woe unto thee who does respect the dragon.

Creed #5: Make it legal. Respect the foundations of the creed.

Creed #6: Follow your own creed, but respect the Tingy Wingys before all others.

an uprising or a rising up?

how do you pose an important question when all questions are questions of the past? are we in the future or are we living in the realm of what i like to call the jigglevault? the laws of physics tell us that jigglypuff could not exist without collapsing in upon itself and yet i play video games in which i see the jigglyflesh with mine own eyes? explain the discrepensy. answer the call physics theorists across this lonely blue dot of ours. what equations have you for the jiggly flesh of the one and only jiggly puff. it is time to get out the pens and papers and calculators and other supplies and get to work

what do you do

decide what u r going to do everyday. make decisions. always consider the pudding. there is almost always a pudding box to be made in the closet and yet when does anybody say fuck its time for puddy. to me that only points to the fact that we r not living in a very reflective time period. we r on the go and we r putting on a show. in an age in which we had the mindset of being careful then surely we would be baking a lot more putting. this i do not doubt