Colfax McLiverneck

1997. A motel room somewhere in Idaho. A lost satchel of Robert Frost’s socks. And an entrepreneur. It’s This American Bang Bang. I’m Ira Glasserman.

Fucken, this has like, been My Favorite Bang Bang. Stay hotdogged, and don’t get heynonged. Byeeeeeeeeeeeee. HoHo want a cookie?

Tonight, City Council meets in the cornfield by Old Man Yog-Sothoth’s Washeteria to discuss the fog that has stolen your face. Welcome to Bangvale.

Corn?

Rollin down the row, smokin’ green shucks, sippin’ on fresh goat milk, with my mind on my cornfield and my cornfield on my mind

Outside of a dog, corn is a man’s best food. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to eat corn. Whaaat? It’s never too dark to eat corn!

On today’s Auckertown, Scott raps about having sex with your mother and then waxes drunkish about the meaning of life.

There once was a writer named Bjorn / Who traded his laptop for corn / His wife found out / And started to shout / But by then he had moved to Des Moines with his girlfriend Donna, started a biofuel startup and made ONE MILLION dollars

Apparently this is a job for H. Aigh Nongmun?

Every rose has it’s corn

For sale: Seashells. Location: Seashore. Condition: Lightly used by unknown mollusk. Do not conch-tact seller with unsolicited offers.

The thells thea thells down by the thea thore. I’m Thott Thotherman, and this his been the worst catchphrase ever.

Had she previously planned to have been selling seashells by the seashore in the future, will she have had sold seashells by the seashore in the past?

Emily DICKinson?

You can’t un-crack corn, Jimmy.

I’ve come to accept that whether I care or not has no bearing on the fact that the corn is cracked—and that Jimmy is the one that cracked it.

JIM-eeeee / You don’t have to crack that corn tonight

Blatantly disregarding long-established CBB rules, I hereby post the following Would You Rather suggestion here instead of Twitter, because rules are for fools, man: Would you rather be required to watch Freddy Got Fingered six times a day but have tiny gold nuggets for boogers, OR an eight-pound talking brown pelican that can see the future lives on your shoulder.

I’ll take Corn for $400, Alex. Here’s the $400. Now give me the corn. Give. The. Corn. Give it! Alex! ALEX!! GAWD, asshole!! OK, give me the $400 back

Swanson, who asked Ludgate, “Canoe get the heck out of my office?” Never got a dinner!

Ring around your mother, a pocket full of she’s a whore.

Knick knack paddywack, give your mom a dick.

Eenie, meenie, miney, moe, your mother blew me ‘cause she’s a ho.

To creep, perchance to cream—that's how you rub one out at Corn Fest 2017.

Tom Bosley. You will never find a more wretched excuse for a That 70s Show guest star.