LEAGUE OF RETARDED SUPER HEROS

 "X/Y CHROMOSOME-MEN" 

SpiderTard

WARNING-EXTREME PARODY

What's scarier than coming face to face with an extremely pissed off grizzly bear? Give up? It's having a close encounter with an extremely pissed off retard. This tale chronicles the chaotic and intriguing adventures of a pack of semi-organized retards who attended the Sunnyvale Sheltered Workshop.

Although offensive and lacking any semblance of political correctness, just keep in mind it is done so at the expense of sector of society that is impervious to insult and any form of personal attack.

Although totally unnecessary, I always give my standard warning to those of you who are unfamiliar with my blog. If you are easily offended or belong to one of those fucking self-righteous community organizations, I really don't give a shit. For these unfortunate people, there are 16 million blogs in cyberspace that are filled with mundane and boring crap, tailor made for pussies, faggots and religious fanatics. I write strictly for those of you who are thoroughly entertained by sick, twisted and disgusting stories.




This is based on a true story (just like Paranormal Activity and The Fourth Kind). If Hollywood can get away with this bullshit, why can't I?


CHAPTER ONE

Sunnyvale Five

It started out as a typical day for the retards who attended Sunnyvale Workshop. Left unsupervised by their minimum wage care-givers, half the tards milled about the room like sheep, while the rest furiously jerked off.

This aimless milling about was starting to piss off the most imposing retard in the room, Garth 'The Hammer' Owens. Standing just under six feet and weighing in at two hundred pounds of rock solid muscle, this was one guy you didn't fuck with.

Garth had to be institutionalized when he was only six years old after an extremely disturbing incident in which he broke into the ASPCA and tore apart 36 dogs, including 12 pit-bulls.

After admission to the Illinois State Hospital, Garth was given an evaluation by two psychiatrists. They diagnosed him as a socio-psychopathic retard, making him one of the most dangerous people in the world. One of the psychiatrist said that if had to chose, he would be more comfortable with Jeffrey Dalmer and Ted Bundy living next door to him as opposed to Garth.

When the doctors were asked for a treatment plan for Garth, they both suggested euthanasia and they weren't fucking around or blowing smoke up anyone's ass!

CHAPTER 2

"Okay guys, sit down and shut the fuck up! As president of our club, I want to get this meeting started." he screamed.

The retards continued to mill about, totally oblivious to Garth's attempts to get some order in the room. A potentially fatal mistake if Garth got too pissed off. Garth decided it was time to bring some order to the room. Picking up a desk, he effortlessly raised it over his head and brought it down on Nathan. Garth hated Nathan because he was one of those cocky, smart-ass, mother fucking mongoloids.

"Who the fuck made you King Retard?" protested Carter, another of those mongoloids Garth detested. Carter looked around the room hoping to garner some support from the other retards. A few of the tards began to mutter in agreement while the smarter ones realized that was was potentially a fatal mistake by Carter. They slowly put some distance between themselves and Carter.

Not realizing that he was in mortal danger, Carter continued to protest..

"And what makes you think you can tell us what to do?"

C. "SuperTard" Brown

Garth, well versed in the art of subterfuge, calmly approached Nathan. He even had this huge, shit-eating grin plastered on his face so as to lull Carter into a false sense of security. As soon as he was next to Carter, his composure was immediate replaced by rage. He delivered a crushing blow to the side of Carter's head.

Looking around at the now pacified retards, Garth asked "Does anyone else have any questions?" Seeing that the room was now silent and in total agreement with his self-election as president, he continued. "Last week we were talking about forming a special club. So today lets figure out what kind of club we should make. Has anyone got any ideas?"

"Let's be a motorcycle gang!" said a very excited retard in the back of the room.

"We ain't got any fucking motorcycles, you moron!" said Jonathan, clearly disgusted with the suggestion.

"I was thinking maybe we could become movie stars," opined Larry, " but my dad says they already have too many retards in the movies like Sean Penn, Nicolas Cage, Robert Downey and Seth Rogen. He says we should be super heroes, and God willing, maybe some of us will get killed. I can't figure it out what he meant when he said that. You guys wanna be super heroes?"

Every hand went up except three. Harold and Ryder were busy jerking each other off. Reggie, because he couldn't tell the difference between his legs and his arms, was attempting to raise his leg above his head. In the process, he lost his balance and took a header through the window. The other retards raced over to see how he was doing. Reggie had crashed through the windshield of the Handicap Bus. By the amount of blood pooling, it was obviously that Reggie was in a serious situation. None of the retards bothered to call to the care-givers for assistance, but instead, returned to the meeting in process.

"Okay you assholes, get back to your seats!" screamed Garth. He was thoroughly disgusted by the fact they had already lost a Super Hero and they haven't seen one day of action! "Tomorrow, I want you come dressed as your favorite super hero."

The meeting came to an abrupt end when Jackson, a care-giver known fpr his no-nonsense attitude, entered the room. "It's time for you worthless pieces of shit to get the fuck out of my face and get on the bus!" he screamed. "Where the hell has Reggie gotten too?"

They all pointed to the shattered window. Jackson raced to the window and saw Reggie's legs sticking out of the windshield.

"Fuck me! I'm going to be filling out forms for a week!" screamed Jackson as he ran for the door.

CHAPTER 3

The next day they met, all decked out in their favorite costume. Supermen, Batmen and Spidermen. But there were a few surprises. Leon was dressed as Barbie, Mason was Freddie Kruger. Harold and Ryder were buck-naked and were jerking each other off! They were all chattering and giggling like a bunch of little girls and this was really starting to piss off Garth. 

"Guy's! Shut the fuck up and lets get started. I got some really good news. Jamie's dad bought him a police band radio. Know what that means?" asked Garth. Not one of the dough heads had a response. "We can listen in on the cops and find out where the crimes are happening!"

The door opened and Jackson and another care-giver named Orville entered the room. Jackson had a mini-cam in his hand and Orville was carrying a lap-top. Neither seemed shocked or surprised by the get-ups the boys were wearing.

"All right, gentlemen. Today is Wednesday, so you all know what that means, right?" asked Jackson.

"Today is YouTube Day!" they all screamed in excitement.

"That's right boys. Time to pair up and start pounding the shit out of each other. And remember, the guys who get the most hits on Youtube by the end of the week, get a whole box of Oreo cookies," explained Orville.

CHAPTER 4

They were gathered on the roof of a fourteen story building. Gary was showing off the modifications his father had made to his Spiderman costume. Duct taped to each of his wrists was a turkey baster filled with Elmer's Wood Glue. The other Super Heroes were totally jealous.

"My dad says I'll be able to fly through the air just like the real Spiderman! Shooting out webs and swinging from building to building!" said Gary, pumped up with pride and excitement.

Garth was enraged by the fact that Gary was in the spot light and was ready to tear the smart-ass, mother fucker a new asshole. But instead, he decided to show his leadership by asking Gary to give a demonstration.

Backing away from the edge, Gary took off as fast as he could. Waddling like a duck with a broken leg, Gary ran at full speed. Reaching the edge of the roof, he leaped off the edge and aimed his spider webs at the building across the street. A couple of blobs of Elmer's glue dribbled out of the turkey basters as Gary tumbled over and over again. His death scream could be heard for miles, echoing off the buildings. He hit a transit bus at terminal velocity then bounced 20 feet in the air. He ended up skewered on a decorative fence around the Starbucks. "That's gotta fucking hurt!" said a waitress, setting down a couple of cappuccinos on one of the tables.

CHAPTER 5

The superheroes were standing just outside the police cordon. They had picked up the news on the police band radio about the hostage situation at the bank. One of the patrolmen had spotted them and had gone to warn his Sarge. "I hate to tell you this Sarge," he whispered, "but those fucking super retards are here."

Glancing over at them, he responded in anger. "I am getting sick and tired of them always showing up at these crime scenes. Those do-gooders and the press may think they're all so cutesy and everything, but I gotta tell you, they piss me off as much as they creep me out. Try and keep them out of harms way, for chrissakes!" he said in exasperation.

The Super Retards were discussing their plan of attack. They were arguing over who was going to get all the glory by saving all the hostages and killing the bank robbers. Finally, Garth decided to make an executive decision. It was going to be Harold, 'The Flame' who was to be today's hero. "Okay Harold, here is the plan. You are going to run in the bank and use your super flame powers to subdue the bank robbers, okay?"

"I will be making everyone very proud of me," drooled the tub of shit in an ill-fitting costume. "Help me get ready, will you?"

Ronald took a five gallon can of gasoline and poured nearly the entire contents on Harold. He then handed him the can. "The Flame's" cheeks bulged out with gasoline as he took a mouth full. Handing Harold a Bic lighter, Garth told him the rest of the plan.

"As soon as you get in the bank, shoot the flames out your mouth and torch the bank robbers. All the hostages will be free to run out. We'll gather around you so the newspaper men can take our pictures. You guys. If were lucky maybe one of the pretty teller ladies will even fuck us," explained Garth, suddenly getting a huge boner as he thought about corn-holing a woman who wasn't retarded enough to eat bugs and shit.

This got the retards to giggling like little girls again. They then began to high-five each other. Each of them pitching a major tent in their costumes!

"Can we count on you Harold?" asked a concerned Garth, "We don't want another fuck up like the Spiderman incident!"

"Don't worry, fellas. You can count on me," he said proudly. He then burst into a coughing fit. "Ah fuck, I swallowed the gas, give me another swig Ronald!"

Reporters, police and witnesses were extremely shaken by what followed. Their recollections were somewhat hazy, except for the fact that the twentyfour hostages and all the bank robbers were burnt to death. But the basic facts were all the same. First they smelled the overwhelming odor of gasoline, then they saw a figure running towards the bank like a retarded duck or goose. Then there was a huge swooshing noise then a tremendous explosion that blew out the front of the bank. The entire structure was enveloped in an inferno.

 "Well men," said a really pissed off Garth, "looks like Harold really fucked up.  We aren't going to be heroes today, goddamn it!"

"I guess we aren't going to get fucked either?"asked Bradley, the crime fighting "Chickenman". Not having the conceptual capabilities to realize the tellers were now just crispy critters.


That's the end of the first installment. In the next excerpt, the boys break into a gun shop and get into an armed stand-off with the police.