YTMND of the Century.

http://chunkpicard.ytmnd.com/

Just go. Go.

Zibbudie Babbuhl Plans(that never made it)

Yes, as you may know, us 3 at ZB, we're chock full of ideas, promises and hopes for the future, truthfully, we're full of empty promises, pessimistic ideaologies and we just re-use old tired gags, yes, it's true, but that doesn't make us less funny, no siree bob.

Let's take a few looks at the plans in which Zibbudie Babbuhl came up with yet never left it's beta stages.

1) The Zibbudie Babbuhl Movie:

Yes, we had the idea to incorporate basically every Zibudie Babbuhl moment ever in one single film, we soon realized after spouting our ideas on Halo2 that this movie would simply be too awesome to show to the general public.

Imagine it, every Zibbudie Babbuhl moment in one film, over and over, greatness portent, we were afraid it would destroy the foundations the catholic church had lay over 700 years ago, we've kept this idea in the proverbial safe, never to be unveiled fully....

In actuality, the movie wold have been way too long, we needed sets that we didn't have access to, we required more people than we could manage, especially since back then, we were a 2 man wrecking crew who shot virtual avatar's and little more, and well, the expense of batteries would have bankrupted us, fucking bankrupted us.

2.Zibbudie Babbuhl DVD Commentary:

We decided on the movie and everything, but Jemsy and I just ook a deep look into this idea and just realized it would be us making stupid noises and referencing other jokes from other movies(you a docta) for about an hour and 14 minutes, not being sadists, we decided that this idea was folly, it was a flawed piece of crap from the start, the idea isn't scrapped, but man, it would be a cold day in hell when it comes out.

The movie was Harold and Kumar go to Whitecastle if you were wondering, I wanted to do Collateral, but that movie was actually really good, didn't want to ruin it.

3. Zibbudie Babbuhl Music Parody:

Jems and I like music, it's awesome stuff, we also like much of the same music, ot' odd, but the mixture of RJD2, Pépé Deluxe, and MF Doom does something to people...it makes them totally awesome we also like making jokes about things, as any amateur comedian would, when the idea of parodying music came along, we took it with zeal, Fire soon cameout, struck the nation in a cacaphony of ultrasound 101 it was a smash hit, but we went too far...

Our next parody was the of Golden Earring - Radar Love, now, I love this song, who doesn't it's just pure awesomeness disytilled into song form, you cannot tell any person to listen to this song and expect them to not like it, so we thought what better song to do?!

We Were Wrong..

The intricasies of the song are subtle and difficult to master, impossible to recreate, our minds were blown as Jems struck his Ukelele and I hummed that harmonica, we tried our hardest to recreate hgat wonderful sound, but it was just out of our hands....as world, you crreare the most beautiful art, only to blind everyone on the planet...tis a shame really.

After a while the idea represented itself once more, through Highwaymen a staple around these parts as all three members here like Johnny Cash's music, and since Senor Cash is in the Highwaymen, we like them by default, but we thought parodying a song of some of the greatest country music signers would be quite disrespectful seeing as we liked the song so much, and that we should stick to the crappy stuff we hate.

Hands were shook promises made, Highwaymen remains out of the grasp of Zibbudie Babbuhl to this day.

That's all I guess, we were stupid enough to do everything else our sick minds thought of, true heroes of this era I tell you.

-Kyle Out
Now every day I been listening to "Love Supreme"
I mean I've fallen in deep like a submarine

A bold new look, same great taste.

Yes, we have a new look here at the ZBL. some of you may like it, most of you may not, but who cares? your opinions are irrelevant anyway, I mean, who could compare to Jemsy's genius in graphic design? no one I tell you so, you're stuck with the new hotness.

On to various news sources:

I have tried the Black demo, and holy god, that game is going to be tits on glass x 4, too bad it will never see the light of multiplayer, tis a shame really, the action is so furious, god damn, all hiding behind a car, 7.62mm round flailing at it, taking off the doors and windows, bullets going thorugh the cover, as I pop up "ra-tat-tat-ta-ta and all the terrorists scatter" essentially all the environment can be destroyed in some way, I actually shot the floor under some dude and he plummeted to his death, it was glorious.

Also WE WON WORLD WAR 2, SHIT YEAH BITCHES myself and Jemsy have initiated a campaign of utter destruction of the German Wehrmacht of 1945, Brothers in Arms: Earned in Blood is the zenith of Nazi killing, all screaming into the mic, "JEMSY I NEED SUPPRESSING FIRE ON THAT MG!" only to hear a timid "Zibbudie Babbuhl" as Jems threw a grenade and destroyed te entire position, I then charge with my men,obliterating any other resistance with the hallowed Tommy Gun, it's a beautiful thing.

We also play Mechassault 2: Lone Wolf now, unlike that last mechassault, this game is actually fun, it looks great, shit is more balanced, more strategy, however, we suck dick at the game currently, the game requires such a different thought process, although I will always cherish the moment I mechjacked Jemsy, I entered the last of the wonderous code, 1 second..2 second! and Jemsy's pilot pod careened through his cockpit, a victory for Kyle.

Zibbudie Babbuhl seems to be moving itself along the internet very nicely, we're seepng into every nook and cranny, delivering the word of Babbuhl, it's something I have always dreamed to see, and it's happening now, so very nicely, and well, wouthout vilence, I thought I was gonna have to tie a few people to a chair and cut off a few ears scream into the discombobulated ear "ZIBBUDIE BABBUHL PRINCESS" show those non-believers..

I have some friends i'd like you to meet!

The Canadian 5th Army

Those are my WH40k figures, that's just one platoon, I have a second platoon a tank my command squad and my JTF2, Velox Foxtrot.

My current favourite joke.

A cab driver and his passenger sitting in the back seat are idling in an alleyway as they wait for a third party.

The passenger tries to liven up the polite conversation by asking about the driver's taste in music after he makes a comment in passing about the oldies station.

The passenger asks the driver if he's heard of the Rat Pack. The driver, contorting to meet his passenger's gaze, shakes his head no. The passenger is stunned.

"Frank Sinatra? Ever heard of him?" The driver again shakes his head no, looking as if he's done something wrong.

Incredelous, the passenger then asks with a great urgency,"What about Sammy Davis Jr.!?" The driver, yet again, shakes his head no, at this point wide-eyed and jittery.

The passenger looks around, not believing what he's hearing. He finally asks the driver, "Then who have you heard of?"

The driver looks at him for a moment, and once the silence grows pregnant, begins to stare intently. He speaks gravely:

"Pagliacci."

At the moment his mouth pops open, a portly clown clad in white and black falls from the adjacent building, howling a single note before he rips into the hood of the car with a tremendous crashing sound.

You are playing a game now, a game of wits, a game of secrecy, it does exist, but it can never be spoken about.

The rules are here.

Good luck.

And Babbuhl they did.

DA-NANA-NANA (Andre, looking for an exit.)

DA-NANA-NANA (This is Eric, a cool dude.)


DA-NA-NA-NA-NANA (Kyle, cookin' up a-somethin'. I asked him what and he said my demise and then started laughing so hard he began to cough.)

WHEN WORLDS COLLIIIIIIDE!

T-Rex!

We met, we talked, we bought, we laughed, we ate, we saw chinchillas and fish and pennies and made threats and got all philosophical. A winning day, to be sure, to be continued come March something-something, when the game Eric won is released to the masses. At present, he has a pre-order paid in full, and a demo disk for Black, a game that takes mindless killing and spontaneous explosions to a level not seen since 1986's Raw Deal. There's also the incalculable damage to his mental state. Suffice it to say, the dude did not go home empty handed.

So, yeah.

Here are some stupid pictures of marginally intelligent people doing idiotic things:

"Kyle. Kyle."

"I'm trying to I'M TRYING TO EAT MY SANDWICH."

"Seriously, Kyle, it's funny but there are people here. Like Eric. "

"Man, he doesn't want to play Jurassic Park."

"Zibbudie BRAAGHB--!"

The look on Kyle's face in this picture reminds me of violent bowel movements and the sound small arms make when they're fired.

We were going to take pictures of the animals but that's a sketchy move considering the vague imprint of the law on our collective psyches, and well, there's not a lot a lot of comedy inherent to an artificial pond full of goldfish and change. Unless they exploded, as Eric pointed out. Dude's sharp.

Lastly, a small venture to the arcade with empty pockets before parting ways on our city's great system of rails. We basically commented on the smell (cigarettes and sweat here--Eric's local joint was marked by whiffs of Asian people and soy sauce, apparently) and marveled at how Pac Man raped and pillaged his way into the Mario Kart franchise. It looked nice, though.

So that's that. We all lived, thankfully, and Zibbudie Babbuhl touched another human being. Consensually.

Until next time, keep your babbuhls by your breast and your gun under your pillow.

Jemsy out.

K

FINE I'LL DO IT, I'LL DO IT YOU PIECE OF SHIT



that is so adorable.

Know why there are so many 5s in the title?

Because out of ten, that's the numerical equivalent to mediocre.

ZING.

Show them the little girl with the ice cream. Show them.

I dare you.

I double dogg dare you.

Seriously, guys, it's a musical about a giant space guitar penis. And the characters are Japanese Smurfs. Start judging things by their covers. Ain't no shame in it.

Don't be led astray.

I.. I'd like to see it someday, actually.

I am telling you to do something.

"People people, stop the fucking presses, just fucking stop em'"

"but sir, the presses take 6 hours to start up again"

"DO IT!"

Guys, you have to see this damn movie, kill anyone in your way to do it, i'm giving you permission, a liscence to kill if you will.

it's called Interstella 5555.



Do it, just do it, you'll thank me, and yourself later.

A vision

Now, when I said quite a while back that I had a real vision for Zibbudie Babbuhl, most people just passed that off as standard drivel and stupidity which spews from my mouth on a regular basis, contrary to popular belief, that just isn't so, I actually had a marvelous plan in which to accompany said vision.

If some of you remember, I proclaimed that Zibbudie Babbuhl would become akin to the Empire in Star Wars, while I wish nothing more than total domination of the local star sector(peacefully), that will have to wait a bit, this is different, this will actually be happening in a few years, I can't tell you my plans now, but as they unfurl you'll notice, i've been working on this for a long time, and I can promise you that it will be something special, well, it will be to me, some people might react with apathy.

I just wanted to share a bit of my Dream with you guys.

(Jemsy note: I made that! And I can confirm that the Dream, as it were, is a most awesome one. Hint: not a clothing line.)

-Kyle Out
She smiled at you...boooooooyyy

The contest is over...

And nobody won!

No one guessed all the lyrics, tis a shame really, oh well, we'll have another contest soon enough, a contest with such a cool prize, we can't even say!

Correction, says Jemsy, correction!

On a un gros gagnant! We have a big wiener!

In the nick of time, sir Eric Mendoza shuttled to our contest inbox his ticket to a video game of his choice and countless nightmares should he choose to wine and dine. Congratulations, Eric! And thanks for saving us the shipping costs to South America. That would've killed our babbuhl budget.

Eric would like to thank Coca-Cola, Hilroy and the fine people at BiC, mostly because they are the brands behind the objects in his vicinity at the moment I informed him of his victory.

For the curious, Eric beat all other entries by correctly guessing 32 of 38 songs.

Eric's prize, a Playstation 2 game of our heartiest recommendation, is to be announced shortly. Or we'll keep it a secret. Depends on how we're going to deliver.

Stay sharp, folks.

Edit: Eric has chosen the Zibbudie Babbuhl adventure to Carrefour Angrignon, where the 3 members of Zibbudie Babbuhl and Eric will take a mystical journey of shopping, he will get his game, we will eat, people will most certainly die, and we will plot a way to pilfer a chinchilla, good times shall be had.

Dusk.

Double doors burst open with a great strength. A man plump, sweaty, aged, red in the face and wheezy stumbles into a darkened studio. He's clad in dirt-marked and food-stained white, not as a man of science or medicine but a pursuit exceedingly more noble in our age of fast food and fast money: a chef. His hat, so much like the Pope's in this darkened haze, bobbles to the front and the back, a sprung Jack-in-the-Box as he half-runs, teeters, feels with swollen blood-caked hands for anything to stop life and the horrible truths if has brought him from leaking at the seams. Knives cold after nights of neglect like these fall to the ceramic ground with a clatter as he searches, blind, for anything of consequence upon the unlit cooking surface often lit so flatteringly for the people of the Food network.

He looks to the stands as the blood threatens to runneth over from his lips, to the opposite end of this twisted ballpark. The seats, so red, velvet, and empty. A half gargle and he finds what he's been looking for. The drawer is pulled with so much of his remaining essence that they both fall: to the ground he slithers, on an oven dial does the back of his head bounce, and out rolls a dozen or so plump onions, cucumber, zucchini and tomatoes. He turns, his back against the great white desk bearing the infamous cooking surface surely rife with salmonella after the weeks of misuse, banging his head behind it and sputtering as he goes, as if behind cover in a war. His hat goes limp and doubles over as he angles his head downwards with great effort, cheeks plump with saliva and blood and skin. His eyes settle on one of the tomatoes in the group of vegetables and he makes a noise, his first, like he has discovered a solution to some universal puzzle or coolant to his heat, or perhaps to call it to him. His fat fingers shake, rattle, and grasp it: a tomato, no longer green, firm, plump and curved in a way that resembles shaved pumpkins.

He smiles, his first, causing what juices he holds in his mouth to squirt from the sides so he stops himself, and looks up like a child, eyes gleaming. He lifts the tomato with him, manages to bring his torso up to the counter and keep it there, elbows jerking against atrophied muscles in his upper arms.

A spotlight cracks open and he squints at it, smiling once more, visibly red and tired and with tubes jutting from the neck as he strains to keep his mouth closed. But no longer. Like a sick Halloween gag he blurts forward, so much he almost loses his chest's grip on the counter and his upraised hand's on the tomato, raising it to the light like a great prize. But he remains, and in a moment his eyes turn inward, eyebrows caked with sweaty dirt force downwards and he lets open his mouth with great defiance to his condition. Liquid pours down his chin and neck and smock and white and clothes and skin and stays there, dripping, being absorbed. Eyes bruised, twisted, stirring in madness open and do not back down against the halogen light. In unison he cries past a mouth bearing only stumps and gums:

"TOMATURU--!"

He crushes the tomato in the miserable claw that hoists it and falls to the ground in the instant the pulpy mess pervades his cracked fingernails. Thumping against the marble of the counter like a ragdoll, he gurgles once more having lost control of his body. The other vegetables lay undisturbed.

The spotlight ends, hums and leaves them in silence.

Somewhere, an Iron Chef cackles, mouth full of cold green pepper.