Crabbage Snatch Bantel - Book 1

what you rooking hele fol, foor? 11-Oct-2000

Snatch Alert!!!

Just in...from Crabbage Snatch HQ...The results of post-snatch drug test...Of the winning foursome...Halbach, No-shit, and Viani have tested positive for excessive levels of testosterone detected in stool samples collected by resident expert Paul Sarkisian...preliminary DNA analysis indicates three possible sources: Benner, Benner and Benner...The fourth, Bojk, tested positive for lethal levels of Estrogen...Source: Hacket as indicated by tent fibers...championship team disqualified and Hackett suffers lifetime ban from sleeping outside in Pisslandia.


Dave, thanks for the post snatch ruling. Are you missing a plaid shirt or a year 13 t-shirt? If so, I have them. Great time at this years event. It's now less than one year until the next one. Hey, maybe we will get to see the Tubes before the end of the year.



You must be kidding...hey, these guys approached me about those drugs, and, I was only all too happy to send them off with inferior product. All I gave them was pencil shavings from Gardiser's backpack and an ounce of 'ode-de-toilet' to gag on as they spewed volumunous quantities of stag chili by-products all over that nice course. They even were caught trying to steal the longest hole marker- in particular Tommy was at the foreskin of it. (Just a side note; we have pictures of Tommy and Tami at the clubhouse doing the Boinkovich; with Boink!) Boink was later quoted as saying; 'I rove does guys'. Tami was unable to comment as she was all filled up after trying to out-perform for the 'most-cum-in-mouth' shot. She was overcum by Tommy who later was quoted as saying she gave lousy head. Dude, these guys cheated!!! Butt, they deserve the trophy since we were too blitzed.



Gode Dahmut Blant. Bennel was not the soulce. I so fuck up, I fuck myserf. Terr Salkisian to spit out lest, I think the tlitip had bactilia. Untir next yeal Fuck You.



Beautiful seeing all of you groovy dudes and thank God it only happens once a year. Asta Luigi...



I have been wrongly accused! I stopped taking estrogen months ago!! You'll be hearing from my attorney!! Sick 'em Evan!!



Hey Asshore fluck yu too! Dund't cum in my shourts anynore eider. I rive ful Clabbage Platch. And fluck Blandt, too! I'm goring black to mly pig. Fluckers! I healr a lispy clack...



Foors! Who cales who won rast yeal? Und - arr you foors who ale leceiving this at office - can you say "hostire wolkprace"? Can you say "I'm filed, I need rawyel" (ol in Tommy's case, "solly about that, hele's mirrion bucks")? Can you say "netwolk administlatol lead arr these, and plobabry take pelsonar offense"? Of coulse, may stirr be bettel than retting wife ol kids lead. As Sibrey say, thankfurry onry once a yeal. Arleady rooking folwald to next one.

Phir (as in dodir)


Rate lesponse to tellibre accusation. It is so sad when jearous rosels tly to craim dlugs prayed a palt in oul most wondelfur victoly. Having made arr saclifices duling rong yeal we ale deselving of oul doctol did make an ellol in plesclibing celtain ple toulnament mediactions....but any farse positive lesurts do not detlact flom our most wondelfur victoly!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! We also established new tokage lecold duling oul victolious lound due to Tommy lequiling bildie tokage. All I can now say is....Puck you, bunch of rosers!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


ps can I download spellcheck for Crabbage language?


Hey ferrows

As editol in chief of the Clabbage News Netwolk I onry see it aplopo To ray bantel out to ferrow snatchels fol pulery enteltainment varue. Prease to peluse thlough the valious grolius lesponses to most lecent snatch luring. I feer that Bambi has shown utmost potentiar to wlite the 2001 snatch invite. His plose is liveting.


pis- If you know any ferrow snatchel e-mairs othel than these, prease to folwald.


Light you all, Dodir-man.

Most auspicious. If rying sacks of exclement wish to cring to burrshit fantasy of 8-undle pall (oll 9-undle pall, to heal Boink's stolly), we must ret them cring happirry to theil harrucinations. Fol, aftle arr, regend terrs us of the virrage foor who, whire picking up brossom petars, became anarry complomised by the coult jestel, when he courd have been ealning a thousand yen fol inspecting the genetaria of the empelol's concubines!!!! We must rook to futule. It is futire to tly to collect the tlansglessions of rials, ol dopels, ol foors. Ol Tommy, fol dat mattel. And, yes, I wourd file anyone who wasted this much time whire wolking fol me! Rike myserf, fol examper.

Rater, blows,



Dat's rlight,,,fluckers arlays want morle. I cunt give anymorle. Mly head hurlts unt mly asshore has a lispley from yourl blunt plutter, Blandt. Tur mluch bleerl unt evlerylon wants a pliece of Leven. Fluck Leven too. Probrabry slpiked da Clabbage Clitter unnt da arse. I arll flucked oult. Bambi's rimp flum arll dis blandter unt cunt griv anover clispey lettrl. I blurnt ourt Blandt!



Werl show dem guys next learl!! I lespecuuly rike tur play on yourl floursum Paur. Cunt lait tirl next learl! -----Tommy CHEATED!!!!! Boink squealed!!! Hacket still SLAKMOUTH! And, the Shark waits in still waters!! AYE!!! Here's to ol' one-eye!!!



Fellow snatchers,

As Phir (who, by the way, is a totar dodirr) and Mud Shark (who, by the way, has an enlarged rectum by God knows what means) reminds us that banter on these airwaves is certainly not safe from errant ears (ol ellant eals). Therefore it would be most prudent to develop a code. Here we go:

1 means damn, 2 means fuckin', 3=sacks of shit, 4=assholes.

Let's try it out: Bojkovic, Halbach, Viani, and Sherlock are God 1, mother 2, lying 3, 4!

There, the airwaves are much safer now.

Thank you,


Oh, good thinking, Dave.

Here's some other codes we can use:

Phir = Dildo (from the Low French, dodir, meaning moist, or hairless)
Halbach = Lying sack of shit (slang, Scottish for "8-under par")
Bojkovic = Asshole (filthy Brit., for "asshole", or, "9-under par")
Viani = Queer (from the Italian, for "I'll say anything if you let me blow you")
Sherlock = Faggot (from colloquial, "Let me wrap this kerchief around yer saggin' jowls, ya old bugger")
Brandt = Butt Blisters (from Platt Deutsch, "Ya scaldin' me, boy")
Mudshark = A Reeking Pile of Shit (from the Armenian "Butt")

This will be a lot easier to remember.

Like if we were to say, "From a distance, I thought I saw Halbach shove Phir into his partner, Bojkovic. It looked like Tommy was Viani, and Steve was Sherlock. I thought I was hallucinating, until I saw Brandt on Steve, and Mudshark sitting on Tommy's pants."

Just another nugget from Mudshark......



Ret me exprain to arr of you what the lear plobrem is. You see, man have two blains, one big one and one rittre one. Unfoltunatry fol some, rittre blain do arr tarking. Big blain have no say. Usuarry, the smarrel the rittre blain, the mole plone to rying it become. I arways terr tluth, but some rying 3's acturry berieve they get aray with terring lest of us, they scole 8 undel pal ol some ting. They ale rying 4's, and must have learry smarr, rittre blains. Tis exprain why they get no 2, at reast not flom gilrs. Maybe get 2 flom each othel in 4. Sometime, even tly to lerieve themserves by side of hourse, in flont of peopre who own hourse. Sometime have no blain at arr! I hope this creal up issue. If you no aglee, you ale God 1, 2 rying 3,too, 4!

Tom Gardiser

Glardiser - you arl one 1,2,3,4 blain farlt. Mly blain stirl lorks somtlimes. Orld farlt. Hey, I reft my fancy lite gurlf shoes at the clabin. I arl cipplity clattery wifoult them. Dey smerl rike me too. Lemember, arll dis rooks rike 1,2 and dem 3,4 wifoult dem. Your sincere critisim has been deeply appreciated! (2 you very much)! I arways rike dat.




Fistus Brunt: Look yonder, Cooky. Ah'll be. Wail, if'n it ain't Mr. Dunson, acummin' out fur ta' meetin' w' us boys out har on the trail! Cooky, grab Mr. Dunson that rock thar 'n brang it closer t' th' fire.

Cooky Barnhard: Eh, look at ye, Mr. Dunshon, why yer gusshied up purdier'n a twelve-dollar whore. Set yesheff down 'n have .......FFFFRRRRAAAAPPPPPP...pweep..... a big 'ol bowl o' my camp beansh.....FFWWWAPPPP...... I cut me up an armadillo in there. Tashtesh like chicken.

Ol' Man Browntrout Dunson: Well, I'll grab me a bowl of that, Cooky. But I'm not sitting on that rock. I tell ya, I been ridin' hard all day 'n I tattered me a fringe on my brown. Ya got any of that axle grease I cun rub back there?

CB: Nope. We're dry. Reckon the men took to using it up when we had to drive the herd South of El Cabron.....ffffrrrreeeeepp.....and didn't make it inta' town. But what brings ye out har, Mr. Dunshon?

MD: Well, I tell ya, Cooky, I cum out t' let you 'n the men know some good news. I took me a wife back in California last Friday.

CB: A wife? What about me? Ain't I been enought fer ye? I been like a father to ye, and now ye take up with a woman?

FB: Oh, calm down there, Cooky. I'm sure ol' Mr. Dunson'll still favor yer bung with some attention, time and again. You'll jis hafta git used to bein' an adultress.

MD: That's right, ya old whore. Now, tie up yer saggin' jowls w' this kerchief here. I'm meanin' ta' hold the reception right here in yer throat, 'n I'm sure all the men'll be wantin' ta cum.

CB: Mr Dunson, no, yer abusin' me, boy, I kint take the whole lot of 'em. I ain't as young as I ush'ta be.

MD: Aw, shut up 'n hold still. You've catered bigger parties'n this, Cooky....

CB: Buhhg. Muuggglll....sput...gllluggug.....glugggug....sput....



Excerpts from Sarkisian's wedding night:

Mrs. Mdshark: Oh, dear, I love you. And now that we're married The Crabbage Snatch can count on a faster FBI response time next time they're needed.

Mr. Mudshark: Can they find out who killed my golf game?

Mrs.: Oh dear let me take your mind off of that. May I slip into something more comfortable?

Mr.: Good idea. May I slip into something more comfortable too?

Mrs.: Uh, sure, dear...what the....??? Benner???! You brought Benner????

Mr.: Oh, but he's so comfortable!!!


Personally, I find this banter distasteful and slanderous. To defame such an epic event as Paul's wedding with these stories, untrue as they are, is to attack the very fabric of decent society. We, as proud Americans, will not allow such atrocities to go unnoticed. When we find you, make no mistake, there will be a price to pay for these outbursts. No longer will peanut butter be allowed smeared on your buttocks and a tasty splash of Paul's jam allowed to dry there without your own personal sacrifice. Take note, these are difficult times and there will be no place to hide your buggered head; not even in Evan's arse I tell you! Please retract your previous statements, you foul smelling Frenchman, and recant your vows to the Snatcher's hall of pain. There is no foundation for these ridicules claims about Sark and Bambi on the most hollowed of nights, in Paul's time of need.

In deepest sympathy,
Sir Loin Itchith,
69 Circle Dr
Damp-tampon, FL.


Sir Loin,

It is the very fabric of society that I strive to save! The recent excerpt from Sark's wedding night is published with the very constitution in mind...freedom of the press. Why, who else has the wherewithal to present the true word but we reporters! Did people scoff at the recent Bigfoot/Princess Di baby that was recently abducted by the alien mother ship only to be used as a tunnel rat in Afghanistan where he successfully found Osama Bin Laden who was later found out to be none other than Elvis?

Horace S. "Rusty" Bunghole
Editor In Chief/Enquire
"Enquiring minds want to know"


Dear Horace,

I'd like to respond to your comments about the late, great, Lady Di. My doctor, Sr. Sucme Fleery, says that Lady Di didn't actually embark on the alien spacecraft without undo duress. She apparently was in the middle of her third encounter when these unsavory types were given to their ways. She made the ultimate sacrifice for King and cuntry. Let's not forget that! After years of interludes such as you describe, this woman ought to be whoreshipped as a saint.

If the right to privacy exceeds the right to life, then what have we? Lady Di's chapter may never be closed thanks to the udder care given to to her rememberence. God Bless the Queen(y)!

Ms. Longess Clitith
50 Timesawhore Cr.
Billings, MT 90210


Most Righteous Imam Rhaggi bin Ahfugha-Yousef,

You are indeed the navigator for the faithful in this dispised land of infidels, liars, whoremongers and lovers of Jews. We cum to you for your rulings in these matters, Allah willing. Our holiest of sheiks are the targets of slander and defamation that is most unjust.

This unclean infidel sow "Lady Di" is now tonguing the sphincters of the martyrs because she dared to defile the honor of a Saudi by causing his death in the car crash that was only a conspiracy of the CIA and the Israeli Massoud.

And our own brother, Usama bin Laden, is cursed and reviled across the very world that he is working so faithfully to bring into the worship of the Prophet, Allah willing.

And now, myself, our holiest of Imams, Muhdshahk bin Upthah-Wahzu, stands accused by the even the lowest of the unholy infidels, of succombing to the wiles of eunuchs and whores, and casting his exhalted seed into the bowels of his cohorts. There were lies perpetuated about him even on his wedding night, where he took his ninth, and hopefully not last, wife, Allah willing.

I did not take up the loins of my manservant, Bambullah bin Nur, merely for gratuitous fornication! It was indeed the little-understood cleansing ritual of Paka-Bung. Your Muhdshahk submitted to it only by the order of the Prophet, himself. And, bin Nur complied eagerly, as he has for so many of the faithful, thank Allah.

But these slanders are not lasting. For it is said that it is easier for a bull to sodomize a sand flea, than to get a Saudi billionaire to care what you think of him.

Allah be praised.

Muhdshahk bin Upthah-Wahzu



I just wanted to let you all know that I have been thinking of you. You all came to mind a few moments ago when I eked out a growler in the downstairs bathroom here at the office.

Monday mornings are special to me, because I often do not drink coffee over the weekend. A couple piping cups of joe in the morning at the beginning of the workweek is all I need to help me catch me up on any work that has backed up over the weekend. As it was, I have been entertaining a lot recently, so along with much rich foodstuffs, I have been eating a lot of mixed nuts and cashews. I had really only been able to "work" in fits and starts since, say, Wednesday of last week.

Today's opus popped polyps. It still had in evidence the kink one of these suicide bombers will get from wallowing too long at the junction of the transverse and descending colons.

Unfortunately, I don't have a record to send you. Propriety does not permit me to keep these work pieces around the workplace and go hunting down the digital camera. I do have to maintain a certain decorum in front of my employees. Also, if they knew I did this sort of thing, I could hardly fire any of them, if one of them had ever left anything like this swimming in the old quarry.

I didn't know if the tears I was shedding were ones of joy, or relief, or pain. Whatever it was, this brute was screaming, "Leave me for Brandt! Leave me for Brandt!"

It was just like old times.....



Dear Paul,

I am, once again, deeply touched by you. To have me in mind as you sat and pondered your dark matters, those that stir your inner soul, is certainly a glorious issue for all to behold! I don't know how I can rise up to the bar that you have raised for me.


ps: Why, your cup runneth over! Better get a mop! And maybe the EPA.


Excerpts from "Steamy Travels of an MS Peanut"

And lo...onto the land fell an ominous silence..

"Mr. Peanut knew not what he was in for, as the underpinnings of the great beast that lie ahead were too much to circumvent. He had heard of these polyps, through the entrails before, butt, never had he strayed so far without support. Butt alas, he was too late in his recognition of the situation. Already days in the making, he had only one hope - to join the morass and become whole with the beasty. Now, as he made his way slowly towards the front of the furlong, it was apparent the Mr.. Peanut would become, at the birthing, a truly transformed individual and assume the name that bears the standard of all mudsharks, MS Peanut."

Then, at last the ghastly deed was done..a new dawn awaited the humble turd.

He would not go willingly and without a fight...for to wrestle this beasty down that pittance of a hole would be harder then getting Nav Rag and Blundt up for a full round of oystering the salted pork of one BobbioOOoo...So, for now, it lay still for awhile..resting its head on the shores of the great white porcelain beach.

---Special thanks to Paul.. for the inspiration...


Pauls Honeymoon Itinerary:

1-Sewage treatment plant (to check on a few friends)

2-Eel River (nifty logjam at the south fork)

3-Nestle's Factory (Baby Ruth day is Thursday)

4-Psillium Farm (must bioterrorize this Satan)

5-Colonoscopy Clinic (gotta see the competition)

I may have forgotten a few stops...anyone????



The little lady and I are going to drop in at das Unterseeboothaus in Rotterdam. The cafeteria there serves a Thai Peanut Crab Dip that makes my butt hairs stick together, just thinking about.

There is a new exhibit featuring a working model of that ill-fated early French prototype sub, "le Legumee Mal". This is the U-boat in which my great-uncle, Phillippe Luc-Wadd dur Kerigges, attempted to float under the Polar Ice Cap, powered only by the steam rising from his own excrement.

The French government refused to launch a salvage operation. The prize money eventually went to the U.S.S. Nautilus. We may never find out what really happened, but it is good that they are finally honoring this warm and moist adventurer.

Avoir, mon amis,



How incredible, Paul,

You have shared this great personal interest story with us. Why, only last night while watching the Discovery channel, I couldn't help butt to make the connection between your lost great-uncle and the adventure of the lost mariners of the Frenchy shippe, le Luegumee Mal.

These were dark times that such fierce fighters such as these were to succum to such treachery! It seems there were at least two other sailors on that fateful trip under the cap. The first, Sir Humphrey Loinsalot, was a stout man and about four fathoms under when he left land and liberty to join this madman, your great-uncle. His only interests it seems were self serving - to go where no man had gone before - except that his best mate, Le Blundte le Pew, had already been there many times before. Butt, never under the extreme pressures developed by the excrement from Phillippe.

And so, we may never know what happened to the infamous crew. Except that over the years, several sightings of the 'le Legumee Mal' have been noted, even though some scholars insist that these are only mistaken mudsharks seen above the water line for the first time novice. One thing is certain. They may have floated out through a sort of physical dimensia warpage - close to what is commonly known as a 'black hole'. Although, not without some damage to their large vestule.

All in all, and incredible tale, though.

Best regards,
Dr. Heinz Hole
Scripps Institute
Alatta Hola, BC 00000


Of course it would be a grave historical hindsight to not discuss the daring exploits of Benner's Great-great aunt/uncle Bamboiselle L'Ghass. After securing funds from King Louie XIV for "Mon Pini Avec Du Boca" he ushered in the age of manned flight with his "Hot Gas Balloon". Sadly, his ballast of beans and pickled herring dwindled much too fast after the much awaited but strangely avoided lift-off.

Sir Harry Bhutcrax
Coxford, UK


Ahh, yes, butt your father was a Frenchman and your mother smelled of elderberries....and may the Knights of "Ni" enter your fifedome and pillage your sacred rabbit...I fart in your general direction.



Dear Paul,

Hello, this is your cousin, Myra from Carson City scroll down. I hope the family grapevine has reached your ears scroll down because we are organizing quite a fun scroll down family get together for our scroll down kin. It would be a treat to meet your new scroll down wife. She must be desperate/lucky to have found a guy scroll down like you. I got your address from Muriel scroll down so keep your eyes on your box.


Quick, Paul....lock the door! Your new wife is a mail basher. I'm sorry to ruin the honeymoon but we haven't heard from you and that either means you're still on the can or your new wife has found out about your past experiences with Seymore and Bojkovic and she's cut you off. We knew you'd rue Brittannia. If you are just on the can, tell the Mrs. Mudshark hello for us and please eat this message and yourself.



Here, here, man.. that is no way to talk about a loved one!

After all the years you and Sark have shared fond memories. The stories you would tell, the photographs exchanged, the nose-hair clippings mailed anominously - all that you would admonish as mere distasteful distractions whilst members of the opposite sex (wives and such) had their ways with you (that's the only time Bjork really remembers exchanging fluids with Paul).

These are the best of times to reflect on what a hard life and crappy stench eminates from our small, wood-ladened rooms with porcelan alters and majestic masters of the seas. It's true, nothing can compare with the head of a freshly laid entry upon the glistening white beach - be it long enough and sufficient girth to earn the name, proudly worn - MudShark!

And, when you've finished your deed, and strolled away with that distasteful whistling, you'll know your best could not compare with the Jaws of all mudsharks. The immortal one that bears the name all champions hence must pay homage to, the creature from below that only Paul himself knows the true origin, and the disgusting odor trail that will betray you - have left you a marked man.

Yours truely,

Sir Jougues Buckingham
12 Stickmaster Circle
Sharquesbreath, TX





BONARman Bennier: Monsiewer Rhaget, I peek up ze ice shtructure ahead.

Navigatier Rhaget: Tres bien, eight dagrees to ze starboard, le Boijnk.

le Boijnk: ze controls are zluggish, Monsiewer, we do not have ze knots - ze ruddair is ineffectual. Voila, but I miss ze warmer waters, where ze Slapitain could give us knots up ze butt!!!

NR: Ho, but I hate zis, undair zis Arctic ice zhelf, we are like zo many blind procologists feeling our way through ze lower rahgions, trusting only Semen Second-class Bennier's BONAR to delicately maneuvair zese trecherous waters.



NR: Bennier, turn the amplitude down zomewhat, c'set vous plais.

BB: Oui. 'E only 'ad to ask.

BB: Zere, is zat bettair?

PdK: Sacre Merde, if I did not 'ave zis pipe up mon butt, I would cum up zere monself, stick ze whole BONAR inztrument up his ass and tweest eet!

NR: Mon Slapitain, can you give us more powair? We no longer can maneuvair.

PdK: No, Mon Ami, zis is eet. All ze Camenbert cheese in ze world could not give me ze gas needed to overcome zis cold. Mon Buttpuckair ees frozen solid. I am afraid zat zis fine vessel, ze "laMont du Merde", and her loyal crew will come to a tragic end soon. We are all goang to die here, jhust meters vrom our final destination.

NR: But no, could eet be true?

PdK: Voila, It is time for us to make our preparations. Please have all ze men to butt-fuck Leiutenant Ackett.

NR: But Mon Slapitain, ze men just did zat a few hours ago.

PdK: Oui, but zat was just a drill.....


BB: Butt, sir, ze mens, zay would rathur use de salted pork than hav' to hoist der shafts into the jowels of the Lft. Lt. Slakmouth, sir. He'z completely out of heez stinking mind, sir. And, oui, he haz insisted on a full ration of de soup de jour when we're though, mon sior.

NR: Lft Lt Slakmouth is no sissy, sir. He went down without so much as a squeal. An', we appreciate it sir. He'z a team player. I love 'im so, sir.

Capitain: Weee'll, zan, we will hav' to zee who is da going to take it fur der team, no? Who'is next, then?



AYE, ya hurd me! Yu call THAT a virus! Not on yur life, man. Theere's not a beet of TROOTH to thaat, yu know. I opened it allriete, an low an behold, thar she was; yea, bay-by. Yu know how I loves yu on me beeg tummy. AYE.. I'm not through eat'in all this virus stuff yet, butt, wheen I doo, I'll be lettin' ya in on me beeg beefy turds of poofy virus crap..

(Fat Basturd)

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