Franky Poopik and the Half-Blood Bitch

This entry was posted on Sep 10 2011

I’m sure many of you have noticed by now that my partner in crime, Frank, who runs this website with me, hasn’t been writing as many articles as of late. In fact, his last post was on June 11 of this year. Almost three months ago now. And before that one, his last article was in March! Two articles in the last six months? Unacceptable. Now, I’m well aware of the fact that my articles alone feed your cravings for comedy and intellectual stimulation, but as avid fans you are entitled to know the truth. To know the reason why Frank has not only given up on comedy and writing, but himself. You see, Frank has decided to attend Stony Brook University for a pre-health program. I know. What’s this guy’s fucking problem?

For the last few months Frank has made dramatic changes to his life. He no longer rolls around in the mud for hours until I hose him off. He’s stopped eating himself into oblivion. He hasn’t ejaculated into his own mouth in weeks! Instead, he’s been reading. He’s decided to become a doctor of some sort. A penis doctor, probably (he hasn’t given up all his vices just yet). Still gets a big kick out of looking at dongs. So, his time has been pretty much dedicated to getting into school, and studying for exams, and learning new things. Listen, Frank was never that funny. Sure, occasionally he would dust off some of his old gems. “Gorkle”, he would shout. “Fertle-hoop”, he’d bellow. And yeah, we’d all give him our much rehearsed pity laughs, and it seemed to keep him smiling for another day, but those aren’t exactly jokes. Hey, we can’t all be hilarious. Frank has finally recognized this fact. So, he’s packing it all in. He told me so the other day.

I don't care what Stony Brook says, that's not a real animal.

“Joe, it’s over”, says Frank.

“What’s over, pal?” I ask. “You’re not constipated anymore? Has your dick crapped out on you again?”

“No, no. I’m more clogged up than ever. And don’t get me started on my busted penis”, Frank assures me.

“Then what, dude?” I ask, feigning interest. I look at my watch. I’ve got twenty more articles to write.

“Joe, I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but I’m not funny. I’ve pretty much been your smelly sidekick for the last ten years and I can’t keep up the charade!” Frank says.

“What?” I ask. I wasn’t listening.

“I’m going to start taking science pre-requisites so I can attend Medical School.”

“But dude, you’re not smart either. What are you trying to prove?” I inquire.

“Just that, man. I need to prove to myself that I’m a goddamn fool, and then I can truly be happy”, says Frank. “Plus, I hear there’s a lot of fine looking guys I can bang.”

“But Frank, I need help with the website. You’re just going to leave me high and dry?”

“What can I say? I’m a bad person and a bad friend”, Frank starts. “Without me, your articles can reign supreme. Also, I’m a half-blood bitch.”

Frank said a lot of things to me that day, but it’s that last part that really registered. Frank was a half-blood bitch. It’s something that I’ve suspected for a long time. There were three moments during our friendship that made me think Frank wasn’t “normal”. That he might be… different.

I wouldn't see this movie. It looks awful.

1) June 25, 2004: Frank and I are hanging out, thinking about seeing a movie. Frank is flipping through the pages of a newspaper, looking for the movie show times. His legs are crossed. He suddenly screams in glee. “The Notebook comes out today! Yippee!” shouts Frank. Yes, he said “yippee”. He also pissed himself.

2) October 4, 2007: Frank and I were in CVS, browsing the aisles like two of the coolest straight dudes can. I motion to Frank that there’s a sale on Old Spice deodorant. Buy one, get on. We love saving money. He waves me off. “I only use Lady Mitchum”, Frank states. I furrow my brow, but don’t spend anymore time analyzing it. I buy the two Old Spice deodorants and save a fortune.

3) April 17, 2009: Frank and I were playing our weekly game of “rock smash”. We stand on opposite sides of the yard, count to ten, and then go looking for the biggest rock we can find. Then we take turns bopping each other on the head or in the crotch with the rocks. The winner is the man who leaves his opponent unconscious long enough to poop on ‘em. On this day, I was defending champion (twelve week winning streak). I had just been bopped across the head by Frank, but came back with a rock uppercut that nicked Frank’s jugular. He of course started to bleed out profusely. After defecating across his chest (impressively in the shape of a pentagram) and performing my ten minute long victory dance (I work with the same choreographer as the Backstreet Boys, so it’s just a lot of pelvic thrusts), I drive him slowly to the emergency room (stopping at a BK drive-thru on the way). The doctors say he’ll need a blood transfusion. They rummage through his pockets to find his wallet, which contained his blood donor card. “His blood type is… What? Look at this”, says one doctor to another. The other doctor frowns and calls for a bag of “AB²” blood.

“It’s a mix”, explains the doctor. “Half the blood type is AB, which is a normal. The other B is for… well, it’s for bitch.” I stare the man down, all kinds of puzzled. “Sir, your friend is part bitch. He has bitch blood.” I throw up onto the doctor’s shoes and declare “no friend of mine”! It turns out when Frank’s parents were considering conceiving a child, they made a deal with the Devil. They only wanted to have one kid, but his mother wanted a girl, and his father a boy. They refused to settle for a genetically altered hermaphrodite or transgender he/she beast. They decided their child should be physically a man, but have half the blood of a woman. A very strange compromise that made little sense even at the time. They phoned the Devil to help them make this dream a reality. He asked only one thing in return: For them to also conceive a girl several years after. And in retrospect, pretty much making Frank a moot point. Classic Devil. Long story short, they found some very feminine homeless man outside the hospital with the same blood as Frank and performed the transfusion without his consent. The homeless man also had The Clap. Frank does, too. Now.

Frank has several pints of whatever's in this creature, IN HIM!

It was mainly that last incident that made me realize Frank was a half-blood bitch. Primarily because that’s exactly what the doctors told me. Almost word for word. So, what does Frank being a bitch have to do with him forsaking our website? Giving up on comedy and all things pure and good. Everything. Comedy’s a man’s game. Think about it. The only funny women in Hollywood happen to possess very masculine demeanors, right? Janeane Garofalo? Sarah Silverman? I think that’s it… Anyway, for Frank to continue producing comedy, he would have to turn on himself. He would have to be a tough guy, and that’s simply not his thing. It genetically impossible.

He also has made it very clear that he can’t wait to work with cadavers in Medical School. He told me in a disturbingly intimate conversation (he brought me to a crowded restaurant so I wouldn’t make a scene) that he couldn’t wait to play with the dead bodies. Needless to say, I made a scene anyway. Frank said he wants to dress them up in his clothes and make love to them. He wants to have tea parties and play cards with them. He wants to stick his tongue into their ears. He wants to perform experiments on them. Sick experiments that I can’t talk about in this article. They’re simply too dark and twisted and sexual. “I want to crawl around inside of them, ya know?” Frank asks me one night. “Like, to see through their eyes, man.” I agree with him, too scared to argue. He licks his lips after that sentence for what seemed like an eternity.

Frank likes to lick the bottoms of the feet of the dead.

So, don’t expect anymore jokes from Frank! He’s moved on! Looks like it’ll be DeadAirFM with Joe from now on! I have no best friend! You hear me, Frank! You’re dead to me! As dead as those cadavers you want to bang! Only you’re not going to get the chance to wear me as a flesh suit! I know you pine for my skin, but it ain’t happening! Unless you read this article and take heavy offense to it. Mostly for bearing your VERY TRUE secrets to the millions that follow our blog. In that case, I imagine your revenge will be meticulous and calculated. Oh, that Frank Poopik. He’s a crafty bitch, he is. Well, if you’re going to try and take me down, then I have no choice but to go on the offensive! I’m going to wear YOUR skin as a suit! I’m going to see through YOUR eyes! I’m going to… Oh, God no. What am I becoming? I just pray that after ten plus years of friendship, I haven’t caught “the bitch”. Let God have mercy on my soul…

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