Uncyclopedia


Ever wonder just how much people can get riled up over nothing at all? Well, you’re about to find out.

Uncyclopedia, the content-free parody of Wikipedia that anyone can edit, has at some point decided to deem Telford a “chav magnet”. What is Telford, you ask? I have no bloody idea. Look it up on Wikipedia and tell me. I’m completely ignorant on the background of Telford and damned proud of it.

What I do know about Telford is this: People there can’t take a joke, even a poor one. The thing about Uncyclopedia being an editable website is, magically, anyone can edit it. Crazy shit huh? Yes, that means any moron can go on Uncyclopedia, click “edit”, and write something entirely unfunny. Then again, it also means they can write something hilarious. You have to take the bad with the good.

Clearly, at some point in the past, someone (doesn’t matter who) edited the “Telford” article and labeled it a “chav magnet”. Considering this is a parody website that no one is to take seriously, a website that clearly deals in misinformation, humor, and generally lying to the reader’s face in the hopes of getting a chuckle, the people of Telford just shrugged it off, right?

Wrong.

Instead, they had to take personal offense to a simple statement that could have come out of any idiot’s mouth. Here’s some examples.

Civic leaders in Telford have retaliated after cyberpests published a stinging online slur against the town.

A “stinging online slur”? How long have you been on the Internet? “Cyberpests”? People that are trying to entertain others are now “cyberpests”? And lastly, “retaliated”? What are you going to do, prove this mysterious editor wrong, show him the error of his ways, and get the “slur” corrected?

It’s the Internet. You can’t fight it. Calm the hell down.

But that’s only the beginning.

The Telford it describes is not a place I recognise. It’s a good, friendly place and whoever wrote this rubbish knows nothing of our town or the people who live here.

–Councillor Gary Davies

No kidding. Since when do people have to know what they’re talking about to post something on the Internet? Look at Wikipedia, for heaven’s sake.

Some members of our community, inside and outside Dawley, will have you believe that Dawley has no or little positive attributes, but I think this group goes to show that those of us who have been brought up in the area are proud of where we come from, and regardless of where we go or settle will still sing the praises of a town which has a strong community base.

–Councillor Shaun Williams

…but obviously not strong enough to brush away a single line or two from a parody website.

People do not seem to get the idea that not everything on the Internet is serious. And besides, how sure are you of your town, if you get all flared up over a single webpage?

But that’s enough of that. I’m tired of typing words, and you’re tired of reading them. Let’s view a video of a man who thinks he can imitate a real reporter’s style as he valiantly defends the entire town of Telford from the horrors of a freely-editable website that purposely contains falsities.

The question the reporter leaves us with is “Does Telford really deserve the title of ‘Chav Capital of Britain’?” In fact, the more obvious question that should be on everyone’s mind as they approach the end of this video is, “Does anyone really care?” or, “What makes this guy think he can imitate a reporter’s voice when he doesn’t even have enough sense to stop talking when he’s turned away from the camera?” or, “Who told him that hairstyle would look good on video?”

Dear Telford: If you don’t like criticism, please turn off your Internets.

This is Playing Dice, reminding you that if you’re going to waste time on the Internet, you might as well waste time reading funny stuff.

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There you have it, folks, a bit more than a week’s worth of features.

After I’d finished my short story in the forums, Cajek hopped in and wrote an ending bit.

Cajek, a friendly hermit and part-time caveman, was tired after a relaxing night of Uncyclopedia. After carving on the cave wall for so long, he finally finished an idea for a story and how to whore it. Grunting and squeeling, still missing his little heart friend, he lumbered over towards the fire and turned on the plasma television.

“I’m here with Mr. Skullthumper, a local doctor-“ the newslady said.

“Actually, I changed my name legally to DOCTOR Skullthumper,” the nice looking young man in a labcoat beside her said.

“Doctor Skullthumper, can I call you Skull?”

“Are you my mom?” Dr. Skullthumper angrily said.

“er, no…”

“Then no. …Dumb bitch.”

“Uh, anyway, I’m here with Doctor Skullthumper, who just saved an old man’s life. How did you do it?”

“If I do say so myself, I AM worthy of an award. I operated on that old geezer right there in the restraunt.”

The little pictures on the screen fascinated Cajek, and he recognized one of the pictures.

“Oog, oog, Skull!” he grunted, noisily eating his mongoose. Throwing animal parts at the screen, he only got more excited. “OOG! SKULL! ME CAJEK! LOOK!” he yelled in his pigeon English, but to no avail. As he threw the meerkat’s- or whatever it was- blood at the television screen, and on his monocle and top hat by accident, he paused in astonishment, his monocle falling to the floor.

The picture of Dr. Skullthumper on the screen, talking about the intricacies of heart transplants, held up a photograph of Cajek’s little friend, the old man’s heart.

“RAWR! YAARRR! OOG!” He grunted and squeeked. Cajek hopped about the cave excitedly, memories of all the good times he had with the heart rushing into his tiny, tiny brain. He remembered the day at Busch Gardens with the little heart at his side, and the time they took on that mastadon.

“GOOD TIMES.” Cajek grunted.

Here’s something I wrote in one of the Uncyclopedia forums after a sudden burst of sarcasm struck me. It’s based off of my username (Dr. Skullthumper) and another user (Cajek).

A week later, Cajek came bounding into my apartment, shouting, “SKULL! SKULL! SKULL!” as he tended to do.

“What? What? What?” I answered him back after my apartment had stopped shaking.

“I did it! I made the heart better! Oh, you should have seen it, Skull. We went down to the beach. We went swimming. I made sure I fed him every night, Skull. At first I tried chicken soup, but then I remembered that was for the soul. So then I was like, ‘hmm, what’s good for the heart’? And then this commercial comes on and it tells me Cheerios are good for the heart! So I fed him some Cheerios, and he’s looking a lot happier, he really is. It’s a happy heart now, Skull!”

“Fantastic, Cajek, you did it!” I took the heart from him. It was beating like crazy, hopping up and down inside the jar. “And now for the moment of truth.”

I unscrewed the jar’s lid and dumped the heart into Not Important’s body. It hopped right out again.

“Erm, that’s not supposed to happen,” I observed. I picked up the heart, put it back in, and it hopped out a second time.

“Skull, I don’t think it wants to go back,” Cajek said.

“Then we’ll make him go back! Stapler,” I demanded.

“But Skull!”

“Stapler!” I shouted.

“Skull, I loved that heart like a brother! You can’t staple him in!”

“STAPLER!”

“Okay fine, Skull, you’re the boss,” Cajek said solemnly, handing me my trusty, manly-pink stapler. After a few quick staples, the heart was secured. I closed the man back up and tapped him on the head. Cajek looked on, his lower lip protruding.

“I’m awake, I’m awake already!” the old man rasped. “Where am I? What’s going on?”

“You’re on planet Earth, a blue-greenish planet inhabited by individuals that seem hell-bent on destroying it, even though I haven’t worked out what it did to them just yet,” I explained. “And you’re existing, that’s what’s going on. Seems to be the thing to do these days. Person’lly I think it’s overrated, but what the hey.”

“I… I feel better!” the old man exclaimed. “I feel better! You fixed me, Doctor! You fixed me!”

“Yes, I suppose I did,” I said.

“I feel like a little boy again. Oh!” the man said excitedly, holding a hand to one ear. “Is that an ice cream truck?”

Before either of us could stop him, the man bolted downstairs. He ran like lightning with his newfound enthusiasm. Cajek and I followed after him as we heard a screech of brakes and a thump. What met our eyes was a terrible scene.

“He got run over, Skull!” Cajek said. “Hey look! The heart!”

The old man’s heart escaped his body, bouncing around the road in joy. It beat off into the sunset. Cajek and I watched it go.

“I guess some hearts really are meant to be free,” I concluded, hopefully sounding philosophical and smart.

“Skull?”

“Yes, Cajek?”

“If you take out my stomach, can I keep it as a pet?”

“No, Cajek.”

“Oh c’mon Skull! Stomachs make the coolest sounds. Like when it’s happy it goes gurglgurglgurgl and when it’s sad it goes grrrruuumn. We could learn to communicate, my stomach and I! That’d be fun!”

“No, Cajek. Go home. I’m going to go scare myself half to death.”

“How come?”

“Because I did what the fucking bastard asked, but then he had to go die on me! Oh, he’s not getting out of paying me that easily. No sir. Bastard. I’m gonna give chase, into the next world-like.”

“How are you gonna scare yourself half to death?”

“Look at a picture of Zombiebaron, of course. I mean, have you ever seen that guy? His face is uuuuuuug-ly!”

Here’s something I wrote in one of the Uncyclopedia forums after a sudden burst of sarcasm struck me. It’s based off of my username (Dr. Skullthumper) and another user (Cajek).

The next morning, I went out for a stroll. It was a lovely day outside. Well, it was pouring rain, but it was still a lovely day for the plants. No one else was around, at least. It would take a lunatic to be out in this weather.

“SKULL! SKULL!”

Oh, bugger.

“HEY SKULL OVER HERE SKULL LOOK OVER HERE LOOK IT’S ME!”

I turned to face the mysterious sound, and quite suddenly fell to the sidewalk. Something rolled out of my jacket.

“Oh, Cajek, what do you want?” I exclaimed. “What are you doing out on a day like this?”

“I wanted to talk to you, o’course!” the happy man explained. “I looked outside and said to myself, ‘Gee, what a horrible day. Only a lunatic would be out on a day like this. Hey! Skull must be out there!’ And here you are!”

“Yes, here I am, now where’s my new pet?!” I said testily, feeling around the wet sidewalk for the jar that slipped away from me.

“What new pet, Skull?”

“Ah, here it is!” I grabbed the jar and showed it to Cajek. “I’ve adopted a heart.”

Cajek looked inside the jar and squinted at the little beating red pulp. “That’s cool Skull, that’s real cool.”

“Yes,” I said, sitting up on the sidewalk. Cajek sat down next to me. “It’s from the body of a very old man. It seemed bored, so I figured it needed some time away from home.”

“Like a vacation!”

“Exactly, Cajek, exactly!”

“Skull?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I play with it?”

I looked at the heart, then at Cajek. “Oh, I don’t know, Cajek,” I sighed. “It’s his first day out and about and I don’t want him getting too disoriented…”

“Oh c’mon Skull, I’ll take care of it! I’ll love it and feed it and take it for walks – well, maybe not for walks,” Cajek reconsidered. “Maybe more like ‘hops’. You know.”

“Yes, hops,” I murmured, staring off into the distance. Maybe giving Cajek the heart would be a good thing after all. What could possibly go wrong?

“Oh, all right,” I said finally, “you can keep him. But just for the week, mind you! And take good care of him!”

“Don’t worry Skull, I will, I promise!”

“Give him back to me next week! I’m sure he’ll be better by then.”

I went back home after that, shooed Oliver out of the old man’s still-open body, and sat down to watch some good, quality television. After a good hour of flipping through channels, there was none to be found, so I put in a DVD of Pinky and the Brain.

Here’s something I wrote in one of the Uncyclopedia forums after a sudden burst of sarcasm struck me. It’s based off of my username (Dr. Skullthumper) and another user (Cajek).

There are many challenges that come with being a zombie. Eating, for one thing. Zombies don’t really have to eat, except for the occasional snack once a week or so. There’s none of that “BRAAINZ” business going on, believe me. Brains aren’t the squishy, juicy things science makes them out to be. In fact, they’re quite tasteless, unless of course you’re eating the brain of a gay guy.

At any rate, if you’re going to look normal, you have to look like you eat. I was out at a restaurant by myself this particular Wednesday afternoon, attempting to disguise the fact that I wasn’t actually eating my hamburger and French fries by repeatedly dropping things on the floor. I think it began to get a little suspicious as the pile of fries slowly grew underneath my feet, but no one paid it much attention.

An old man hobbled over to where I was sitting and sat down across from me. I didn’t recognize him, but he looked like he recognized me.

“I know you,” he grunted just after a silence long enough to make things awkward. “You’re that doctor guy I saw on television. Performed emergency surgery on the two guys that crashed in the middle of the highway.”

“Oh, yeah, that,” I said modestly, making sure to knock over my hamburger with my hand motions. “That was nothing. The one guy had some bits of glass wedged inside him, and I gave the other guy a quick run through and he was fine. Except for the brain tumor. Figured I may as well get that out while I was there, and I had a spork handy anyway. Damn! Do you know how hard it is to crack a skull open with your teeth?”

“Listen to me,” the old man rasped, clutching his chest. “Doctor Skullthumper. I want you… to fix my heart.”

I paused for a few beats. Then: “That’s the worst pickup line I’ve ever heard.”

“No! I mean, I need you to get inside me.”

“Quite to the point, are we,” I said flatly.

“No!” the old man repeated, more firmly this time. He smacked his forehead. I could hear the distinct sound of his decaying brain smashing against the back of his skull. Old people tended to fall apart like that, with bits coming loose and whatnot. “I need you to cut me open and fix my heart. All the doctors I’ve gone to say they don’t know what’s wrong with it, and I feel like I could have a heart attack any minute now.”

“Oh, I see,” I said. I picked up the knife and looked at him. “Do you want me to do it now, you know, get it over with?”

“What?!” the old man exclaimed. I thought one of his eyeballs would come out of his skull. Which would have been funny, you know, having an eyeball rolling around on the table. Maybe we would have played football with it, or stuck it in someone’s soup as the waiter passed by. Oh, the fun it could have been, but both eyeballs remained fully stuck in his head. “You mean now? Here? Don’t you have an operating table?”

“Well, I guess I could clear off the kitchen table.”

“What?!” That was another thing about old folks, they tended to repeat themselves. Poor fools. “You’re not a real doctor at all, are you?”

“Of course I am!” I said, insulted. “I charge ridiculous amounts of money to look at people inside and out. What else is there? I’ve even got a stethoscope!”

The old man considered this. “I suppose you’re right. Or you’re crazy, but you’re the only chance I’ve got.”

“Right on all three counts.”

“Fine. When can you operate on me?”

I gave him the location of my apartment. He wrote it down on a napkin and left.

Later that week, he stopped by my apartment to get the surgery done. My apartment isn’t much, just the standard things: Refrigerator, television, couch, bed, and a goldfish named Oliver who just wouldn’t die. I didn’t even have the tank anymore, and the thing was still flopping around. Sometimes it even woke me up in the morning. Stupid bastard.

“Come in, have a seat,” I invited him. “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Not important,” the old man grunted.

“Well, Mr. Important, I’m very glad to be your surgeon today!” I exclaimed happily. “Hold on while I fetch my stuff.”

Not Important grunted a bit more as I grabbed some items from the kitchen. He seemed increasingly worried as I brought out more utensils and a small rectangular-shaped object covered in white cloth.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the thing covered in cloth.

“General anesthetic,” I told him. In less than a few seconds, I took off the cloth, grabbed the anesthetic, and applied it. Mr. Important only had enough time to say “That’s a bri – ” before it started working.

I went to work. I operated feverishly, only stopping for a brief hour to watch American Idol. After I’d got done shifting things around a bit, I looked at the heart.

It was a tired old thing, still pumping along somehow. It looked old and weary, much like its owner. If only it had a little spark of life in it.

Ah! That was the answer! Why hadn’t I thought of it before? Why do people get heart attacks in the first place? Because their hearts have lost the will to pump! I mean, it must get boring in there, in pitch-darkness, doing the same thing over and over again. So of course they get depressed, of course they give up eventually. And this one looked like it was about to. There was only one solution.