Mailbag

I have received some requests for advice lately: Well, here you go:

Dear Hacksaw,
My girlfriend and I have been dating for 2 months and I am ready to do her. The rest of my Middle School thinks we already have, but she says "her flower is for Jesus only". How do I spackle that pussy?

Horny Archibald

Dear Horny Archibald,
What does this Jesus character have that you don’t? I bet he has a huge cock. You should get a huge cock. And money. Chicks give it up for money.

Dear Lord Saw,
I can’t seem to hold a job. I start out real good and then after I show up late one time, they fire me! Help!

Nate in Nachitoches

Dear Nate in Nachitoches,
Don’t be late. No one likes to wait for their pizza.

Hackman!
Why do you never answer my questions?

Henry

Henry,
Because your questions suck.

Dear Hacksaw,
Would you like a cupcake?

Sally

Sally,
Quit wasting your and everyone else’s time. Maybe you should spend less time baking cupcakes and offering them to strangers and more time on Sally. You could learn a skill like weaving or sailing. You could start an overseas comput-o-web relation ship with an orphaned amputee that works in a bread factory in Prague. You could work out. There are a myriad of things you could do with your time.

Yes I want the cupcake.

Hacksaw,
What’s your fucking deal, dude? That’s my fucking girlfriend! Get you hands off her!

Trent

Trent,
Perhaps you should go fuck yourself. Your girlfriend is kinda busy with her mouth full right now. And by mouth I mean asshole.

Send more questions to btharvey1979@yahoo.com

Am I Jesus?

A few disturbing facts have come to light that have led me to one inevitable conclusion:

I might be the new Jesus.

Here is my reasoning:

• Jesus is named "Jesus"

My father's name is Jesus de la Cruz. He wasn't Jesus, so.......

• He was baptized by John the Baptist

Baptizing is the act of nearly drowning a child just to get an erection. I was nearly drowned as a child by a hobo named Leroy the Child Drowner, but luckily I awoke and kicked his ass.

• Many people followed his teachings

I have raped many people. Same thing.

• He performed many miracles including the water into wine thing, faith healings, exorcisms, walking on water, and raising the dead

What kind of pussy is this bitch? I do that type of stuff regularly. I have not drank water since 1867. Exorcisms are cool party tricks, but hardly a miracle. Walk on water? I CAN FUCKING FLY. As for raising the dead, they ain't that heavy, bro. Amateur hour.

• He was very controversial

I RAPE PEOPLE. THAT IS WHAT I DO. I am controversy personified.

Now here is a list of ways I am infinitely more bad ass than stupid Jesus.

• I know how to party

You guys just can't hang with my partying lifestyle. Just because I party naked with a keg of whiskey in my gun room doesn't make me lame. It makes YOU lame.

• I am still alive

What kind of retarded savior dies? YOUR FUCKING DAD IS GOD. MAKE HIM MAKE YOU IMMORTAL FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY, DUDE. My dad is an unemployed tech nerd with a penchant for pregnant chick porno. Your fucking daddy can't kill me.

• I wear overalls with no shirt underneath

Beat that shit you robe-wearing hippie.

So in conclusion, I win. Renounce your faith to jesus the bitch pussy and worship me, Hacksaw!

My New Mode of Transportation!!

I stole a new ride today! I was searching thru the Amazon Rain Forest for a turtle to strip of its' shell and use as a cereal bowl and what did I stumble upon?

That's right.

Fucking Wonder Woman.

Lesbo

And boy did she look good. She saw me and immdiantly lassoed my with that truth lasso thing and asked me, "What are you doing here, man?"

"To tell you the truth, I'm here to rape you. But I'm saying that on my own, not because of some silly lasso," I replied.

"Well go for it, puny man," she said slyly.

So I did my thing. She even kept blocking my sperms with those bracelets! It was rad.

Afterwords, she was so worn out from the lovin' I laid down on her that she took a nap.

This was my chance.

You may not know this but I have compound eyes made of peanut butter, so obviously I can see invisible things. And I saw that sweet ass jet of her's. And I stole the fuck out of it.

Check out the spoiler!

It flys like a dream and there was like $40 in the ashtray. She listens to some shitty music though. Jewel, Pink, Madonna... fucking drown me please.

So now if you see me hovering in the air, you know whats up, bitch.

Some of my favorite things

Many people ask me what makes me tick, what rubs my tummy-wummy. Well here you go.

What is your favorite color?

• purple

What is your favorite number?

• 83

When do you go to bed?

• eighty o'clock

Why do bad things happen to good people?

• I ask myself that everyday, friend

How can you just rape and murder those women? Have you no soul?

• When I say rape, it is because the start of my lovemaking is very violent and definitely non-consentual. But as I continue, ladies realize what a gentle, senstive lover I really am and they start to enjoy it more than anything they have enjoyed before times a billion. As for the murder, well I have no excuse for that. And you are right, I have no soul. I have a hamburger.

Who is your favorite rock and roll singer?

• Steve Perry of Journey, hands down. That guy has some serious pipes, bro.

Who is your favorite actor?

• Are you kidding? Mickey Rourke of course! Vin Diesel in a close second.

Why do you suck so much?

• Fuck you.

So there you go. Now back to my important work.

How to Get a Hobo Abortion

Billions of women get pregnant with my babies every second (source: USA Today).

Normal abortions cannot kill one of my offspring!

Not gonna cut it.

The only known way to abort one of my fetuses is to get a Hobo Abortion or Hobortion.

As a public service, here are the steps to getting a Hobortion.

1. Find a Hobo

This should not be difficult to do since hoboes regularly steal my newborn children to staff their growing army of hoboes for the revolution. They can actuall smell my barbecue sauce semen inside of you, ladies, so just spread you legs and wait.

2. Make a some chowder

Yummy!

A hobo's love of chowder is known worldwide. Since you must convince the hobo to abort my child instead of steal him, you must complete this step as well as possible. Hopefully the hobo you find will be of the weak minded variety and will agree to performing the Hobortion with little resistance.

3. Compliment the Hobo's sense of style

Classy

There is no quicker way to win over a hobo than to tell him / her they have great style. Also the Hobo will be expecting this as you will not be able to resist complimenting their fashion sense because they dress that well.

4. Gather the Hobortion tools

All that is needed for a quick and easy Hobortion is:

• A pocket watch (to time your hobo friend)

Shoot for the record!

• Three post-it-notes (for note taking)
• A pair of Rollerblades (for fun)

Sweet

• Your auto insurance policy
• A shrink ray

USE WITH CAUTION!

The shrink ray is generally the hardest to obtain, but it is also the most important. The hobo must be shrank so he may enter your vagina to beat the child into submission and murder it.

When he exits your vagina and grows back to normal hobo size, be sure you have some Middle Eastern comic books, cellular phones, feathers, and a ball-in-a-cup game for the hobo's pleasure for this experience is not fun for the hobo.

Hand him 40 hobo dollars (McDonalds gift certificates) and send him on his way.

You have just had a hobortion.

How I Invented Anal Sex

I have invented and created many things in my years. Cordless drills, spare tires, imagination, the shocker, the physical manifestation of Tom Clancy, shoes, etc.

But there is one that I get the most questions about.

I invented anal sex.

In 1922, I was still in the process of quenching my massive sexual appetite. I had just finished my rape session with the entire Harlem Globetrotters practice squad and their mothers. I started thinking while I was walking away, "How many children do I have?" The answer was simply mind boggling. Now the question turned to, "How can I end this?"

An accurate representation of my junk

This question is very valid being that they do not make condoms in "garbage bag size" nor do they produce birth control strong enough to stop my super barbecue sperm. (note: My sperm have their own penises and sperm.)

The only way for a female creature to not get knocked up when around me, (another note: I have been known to get females pregnant by proximity. Just being within a five mile radius of my nads will get you preggers) is to get your reproductive organs scraped out with my claw hammer (which was blessed by the famous Hobo Abortion Doctor, Dr. Rufus "The Human Coat Hanger" Jurevicious.) Even after that I can still get you pregnant. Don't question it.

Anyway, as I strolled home I thought, maybe if I stuck my deal in her other deal. Maybe that would work. But then I remembered the proximity thing.

Then it hit me. All I have to do is shove plutonium in her butt before and let it kill her internal organs! Genius!

So I tried it out the next day and all she did was cry the entire time! Now, I am known as being quite the gentle lover and this turned me off. So I returned to my normal style and finished off. I was sure she was pregnant. Then another idea hit me! If I murder her right after (or even during or before) then I am in the clear!

So that became my "game".

However, men around the world started trying the other way. I wondered how they found out. Later it was found that my nemesis, Zach Morris had listened to my thoughts and stolen the idea and patented it.

Thief

He called it the "Zach Attack".

Bastard.

The Sorrowful Tale of Major W.H. Ashley Part II

Major Ashley had stolen my monocle so he could emulate me. This was not acceptable. I had to engage him in a Hobo Arm Wrestling Match.

Hobo Arm Wrestling was started during the Hillbilly / Hobo renaissance of the 1630's. The great hobo King Butterskin Caterwahl III had a land dispute on his hands that he could not seem to settle. A local hillbilly, Joey Nickels, insisted that a small track of land was rightfully his because he defecated upon it before anyone else did, claiming ownership. A wealthy hobo, Sir Jonas Soupcan, disagreed, stating he was the rightful owner due to the fact that he had an agreement with the owner previous to Joey Nickels' act stating that he would inherit the land once the owner died. The deceased owner was Sir Jonas Soupcan's imaginary friend. He did not "exist".

Artist's Rendering of Original Land Owner

Sir Soupcan's contention was that soiling land is not a legal claim to ownership, and it was stated as such in the Hobo bylaws. Joey Nickels contended the imaginary former owner is a dirty liar and a thief who stole his collection of soiled undergarments, therefore his word is no good in hobo court.

Both parties had compelling arguments and King Butterskin had quite a decision to make. This dispute could be decided in one way. The first ever Hobo Arm Wrestling Match.

In a Hobo Arm Wrestling Match, both competitors are stripped naked and painted with dyed feces and clam chowder in the colors of their respective villages. They are then given their choice of final meal between chowder (a hobo favorite) or garbage from the "Mystery Pile". In this case, both men chose the chowder.

Do you dare choose the Mystery Pile?

They are then bound together by their genitals and hands. After the Hobo and Hillbilly National Anthems are played, the match begins. No one knows who won that original match because it was stupid and boring.

Even to this day, disputes between hoboes or between hillbillies or between hoboes and hillbillies are settled with Hobo Arm Wrestling Matches.

I had to find that dirty bastard Major Ashley and get my sweet monocle back. For nearly 140 years I searched for him in vain. Up trees, in butts, downtown. He had successfully eluded me until I received a telegram from an old friend.

Dearest Brother Hacksaw,
I believe I have some information that maybe of use to you. The current whereabouts of that fiend Major Ashley is Laramie, Wyoming in a dumpster behind a Red Lobster. I do hope this information is of use to you. I love you.
Johnny Shirtsonfire

This was very encouraging news! My monocle was within reach. I could almost feel the cold glass against my orbital bone. The only problem is that Laramie, Wyoming is well known for having over 2,000 Red Lobsters! Which one could he possibly be living in the dumpster of?

#1 in Laramie!

So my search continued, scavenging through every Red Lobster dumpster in town. In my search I actual came across 14 monocles that I could have used instead of my own, but that is not the point. It is the principle of the thing!

Finally on an unseasonably cold night I came across his dirty rotten form in the dumpster behind a Red Lobster, just as Johnny Shirtsonfire had told me.

I woke him with a karate chop to the throat. He coughed some blood and shivered at the sight of me. My beaver tail was erect. My beard of knowledge was tingling with anticipation.

"I know why you are here, friend, and I accept your challenge," Major Ashley said.

"To the Hobo Center for Hillbillies!" I exclaimed.

It was there our epic battle took place. Actually I demolished him. He would have been better off just handing over the monocle in the beginning.

I tore his arm off and used it to stab him multiple times in the belly. I them picked him up and turned him upside down, took his entire set of genitals (testicles and all) in my mouth and played the traditional sorrow-filled Hobo anthem "Don't Cry Just Yet... I'm not done Stabbing You." on him like he was a bagpipe.

Many bystanders cried and swear they can still see the pain in my eyes over the whole ordeal. Arm wrestling does nothing but hurt feelings.

I have since smashed my monocle because they are lame.

The Sorrowful Tale of Major W.H. Ashley Part I

In the fall of 1974 I was rummaging through a garbage receptacle in Laramie, Wyoming looking for the bastard that stole my monocle. Now that I look back upon it, my monocle served no purpose but to make me look cool because I wore it over the same eye as my eye-patch. This is neither here nor there.

The son of a bitch who stole my monocle went by the name Major W.H. Ashley and he was the head trapper of a regional fur trapper gang called The Unfinished Masterpiece. They were well known for their carousing and carrying-on and creating of hub-bub around the Adirondacks Mountains.

I first encountered this coward around the 1840's in West Virginny. We were obviously cut from the same cloth fashion sense wise. We were both adorned in animal pelts, both sported our trademark bushy facial hair, and we both carried our trusty muzzle loader and scalpin' knife.

We were both gainfully employed by Backwards Hills Fur and Ovaltine Company at the time. We would leave monthly on expeditions and bring back pelts for our boss. We were paid generously in whiskey, hardcore pornography, and muffins. Oh how we loved those muffins...

During this time I had started to veer away from traditional trapper attire (pelts, leg warmers, vintage concert t-shirts, underwear, etc.) and look more towards a more traditional "look". I started wearing a top-hat regularly, as well as my signature overalls and leather chaps. I also started to wear a monocle over my permanent eyepatch. My look was not taken to so well with my fellow hill billy trappers, as they teased me mercilessly, especially Major Ashley. However, my new garments were a hit with the ladies as is everything I do. (note: It is a both a blessing and a curse. Do not question it.)

This irritated Major Ashley to no end. He saw me rape countless women and men and children and boars and he wanted a piece of the action. Now, I can understand his petty jealousy. I am the most prolific fornicator the Rocky Mountains has ever seen.

Major Ashley saw no other way to put an end to my conquests. He had to steal my monocle. Little did he know that my monocle was not the source of all my powers. It was well known that the source of my powers was my thirteenth testicle located in the hearts and minds of men named Uncle Jesse.

The Source of My Powers

So one night he snuck into my "bonin' barn" while I was having my way with some fortunate soul and stole my monocle.

I did not notice it was gone until the morning, but when I did I was furious. I knew exactly who did it because my advanced sense of smell detected a scent of rosemary. This was Major Ashley's favorite spice.

I cried for hours. How would I ever mount a steed to spy a lady again? I came to the only possible conclusion to settle this matter:

Hobo Arm Wrestling Match.

A Hobo Friend of Mine, Tin-Can Albert

This is the traditional way hillbilly and hoboes settled disagreements. Hillbilly and Hobo history are naturally intertwined, for obvious reasons.

But first I had to catch the rapscallion.

Someone I Identify With

Now, being a super being with super ideas has its downsides. In high school I just wanted to be left alone to my crafts and sexual conquests. But, alas it was not to be. Since I was 11 1/2 ft tall and 750 lbs I kinda stood out. Just like the one person I liken myself to more than anyone:

My brethren

Yes. Scott Howard. The Teen Wolf. I really identify with him in every way. Except the werewolf thing... and the basketball prowess... and the luck with the ladies... and the uncontrollable rage. I take that back. I do have uncontrollable rage. And luck with the ladies.

Other than that stuff, exactly the same. Well actually, he probably doesn't have my beaver tail, my uncontrollable libido, my taste for young blood, my love of Russian literature, or my acerbic wit.

Well, we did both have dads who supported us.

Daddy

My father has always 100% supported my hobbies like rape, checkers, and communism.

There are some other differences, however. I never had a sweet best friend like Stiles. He was soooo cool. He had that awesome van and that hat. If he was my best friend we would surf on his van all over town! Then we would pick up some hot ladies and rape them in the back of the van while listening to the Top Gun sound track. That would be the bee's knees.

Sweet

My best friend in high school didn't even have legs and he thought Stryper ruled.

And Boof. Ohhhhh Boof. She was soooo cool and cynical. She was that girl that everybody looked over but knew she was super hot and unattainable. I would have said "Screw you, Lorie Griffin! I love Boof!" And then I would have raped them both at the same time in the back of Stiles' van.

Actually, come to think about it, I am nothing like Teen Wolf. I bet he doesn't have two anuses stacked upon each other on his left shoulder so that he may expell waste with greater efficiency onto his enemies. I'd bet he never has to kick puppies because "Desperate Housewives" is a re-run. All he ever did was make Boof's life difficult and enable Stiles to live his life of excess. Sure, Scott Howard had a condition that made him transform into a hairy midget with Parkinson's Disease every time he got angry, but try taking a shower after gym class with a pulsating herpes sore on your penis from all the rape and pancakes.

I bet he found what he was looking for.

He found true love with Boof and I will always despise him for that.

I love Stiles.

This is for Space Kids Everywhere

Everyday people question whether or not I am selfish. People question my commitment to helping those less fortunate than me.

Well, I hope you are happy, because you are WRONG!

I have done extensive charity work and I very rarely do anything non-altruistically.

For example:

Every year at the County Fair, I set up a face punching booth. For a small donation of $25 to my charity, Hacksaw's Space Kids from the Past, YOU can get your face punched by ME, Hacksaw.

One year we made $10,000 in two hours. There was much mayhem.

In addition to that, today I will be attending my quad-bi-annual Benefit for Hacksaw's Space Kids from the Past. My favorite band, Bachman Turner Overdrive, is headlining! I WILL be TCB'n it!

You may be wondering what Hacksaw's Space Kids from the Past is. Well, HSKFTP is a charity for kids born in space who were sent from the past to kill me.

This happens more than you would think. A surprising number of people who reside in space many years ago want to see me dead now. (note: I am not sure how me being dead in the future would in any way benefit space people in the past. Many scientists are confused by this line of reasoning as well. I killed those scientists.)

These people send kids from their space module to the future to murder me. Some of the these kids are robots, some are not. However, as you know, god cannot kill me, let alone some puny kid from past space. When I encounter a kid from the space past sent here to kill me, I give them what they truly desire: a hug.

That is all these space kids from the past want. They want the love and attention they have never received from their selfish space parents in the past. They a scared of this new world they have been thrust into and don't know what to do.

So I give them the love they DESERVE and horde them in small cages in the basement of my apartment building so they cannot move. This makes their flanks very tender like veal. I marinate them in my semen (which is actually high-grade barbecue sauce) and let them sit for one to two months. Then it is time for the benefit show!!!

Please pass the Macaroni!

I sit in a park at a bench with Avery and watch BTO rock the house and munch on kid steak! The money we raise goes to buying me orange soda.

See, I am a very caring, giving, person. I don't see you standing up for the space kids sent from the past to kill YOU, do I? If I don't, no one will.