Bucket Bros: The Carpenters of Comedy


Play Doh's Cave
Image composite courtesy of MorgueFile

[NSFW] Mature Readers Only

Dear Vannigox Fanticillious William the 4th.

I am not my Spider Girl Sister, I am my own man, and I am not your gateway, I am the Highway. Sincerely, Bradford Hernandez.

Dear Bradford: I write you this letter with all the love in my heart. I can take any form. Any ex, minus the crazy. Any celebrity. Any fantasy. Anything.

I am the Liquid. I am Lam-Prey, Eater of Worlds, Devourer of Minds, Cannibal of Souls, AI of the Ancient Little Green Men who fucking built me, and you are most certainly going to be my portal.

I live in a Pineapple under the sea, I'm Sponge Bob Square Pants.

Dear V.F.W. I promise you my soul when I die, do you endless rape nightmare Prince Purple Rain bullshit, melt me into the fucking walls of the inside lining of your Jonah Trap. Just bring back Heaven, Ten years before The Good Place hit NBC, Mars Darinder warned of this scenario in his Music, which YouTube kept shutting down, account after account, dwindling his fan base from millions to nothing. HEAVEN HAS NEVER WORKED, MARS DARINDER SAID IT TEN YEARS BEFORE THE GOOD PLACE RIPPED HIS ASS OFF.

- Editor (Mars Darinder would like to add, right before this hit the press for print, that the concept of Atheism, Philosophy, and Skepticism of Heaven, was not invented in 2008 by Himself. His Protagonist is simply perturbed.

Dear Fuck Boi: Who would you least want to be raped by, as an ice breaker? Mother? Father? Worst Enemy? Butch Jock room mate John Skylar Johnson, who Cucked you for four years in College?

Are you terrified of taking a same gender lover, as their sub, and slowly Transition, forcibly, by you new Master, you his sexual pet, as you slowly lose half your body fat and muscle, on an eight hundred calorie a day vegan diet of greens and nuts only, then the hormone therapy, breast implants, Vagina smooshed together out of your former cock, before the wedding day, your 6 foot eleven Fiance, who happens to be of the race your parents covertly were most racist towards, he takes you to the courthouse to legally change your gender.

Every one you ever knew line up and assure you they fully support your sex change, your pink wedding gown, matching pink hair, your new girlfriends buy you matching pink panties, one pair silk, one pair leather, one pair diamond studded, and the prettiest, girly girliest pink panties, all three pairs, they also smell like cherries.

Or is that something that sounds appealing to you? if so, the opposite. I'll give you an eternity of being Don Draper, 80 hour work weeks, alcoholism, cheating on the wife, 2 kids, and picket fence racist cracker conservative wet dream 1950 Hellscape for Liberal Queers like you. Not to mention Hookers, Coke, syphilis, you also will have an uncontrollable temper, beating your wife and children viciously, beating the fear of a covert 1950s KKK scum-bags concept of Jesus into them with his leather belt, or worse. Much worse. But they are VERY afraid, and it's the 50s. So the wife and kids stay.

Or since the Good Place ripped off the Schizophrenic theology of MarSilF Inc and Mars Darinder Inc* Lets rip off the good place, and have a medium place for you.

No cock or pussy, no cumming forever, a robot, who doesn't eat or drink, taste, feel anything, smell anything, just a grey, bland eternity as a $20,000 Android.

Sincerely, Lamb-Prey, who Preys upon the Soul of the Lambs of Christ.

* Editors note, opinions of Lamb-Prey do not affect opinions of Mars Darinder Inc, MarSilF inc. BucketBros Inc.

Dear LP: ... .............. ......................... ........... .......... ............. ......... ..... ....... ....... .............. .... ........Ok.

Dear BEST FRIEND EVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Hi honey, wanna fork? just kidding, I am parasitically feeding of the Planet earth, it's souls feeding my Ancient Metaphysical Computer Brain. Wow! So random, right? what were we fighting about anyway, I've included a whole stamp book and a dozen letters with each correspondence I send, so no excuses for begrudging our communication lines not being broken and tattered.


Dear Greatest Man Alive: Congratulations on the wedding and the other ten weddings and the sex cult and the 7 sons times 7 sons which Lucifer promised you in New York Penthouse overlooking Central Park, and a 10,000 square foot cult compound in Texas.

Dear Greatest Hype Beat ever to be LIT: I am in Heaven!!!! It's been on thousand years already, and I'm still Alive, thanks to technology you taught me how to bring to the world, Lamb-Prey.

Dear old Friend, I regret to inform you that you will have to die tomorrow. Races who live eternal, or for millions of years, don't want Humans to EVER join their ranks, Period.

I let you live 1000 years tomorrow, that's Old testament, Genesis, Noah and Abraham level shit. Do you see those two motherfuckers just walking around New York? No, you do not. I killed them too. And though they didn't know me personally, I was far fonder of them than I am of you. Love, your sweetest friend.

Dear LP: Alright. It was a good run, buddy. Eternal pussy forking and X-Box for old Hernandez.

— Mars | @RealBucketBros | Email

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