By Jeff Kelly

I’ll be the first to admit, I don’t know a lot about webcomics. I know what they are, of course, and I know that in many cases they revolve around misunderstandings that result in dark and often grotesque shenanigans. You know, sort of like your average episode of Everybody Loves Raymond. On crack. Dirty, tainted, acid laced crack.

So that’s basically where we stand on the whole webcomic issue. I will admit, I’ve thought about doing my own webcomic, because back in the day I enjoyed cartooning and I try on occasion to be somewhat humorous. Plus, I just feel like there are oodles of visual jokes that can be made about woodchucks chucking wood. Seriously, oodles.

Right around the time I was considering doing my own webcomic, Malcolm shot me an e-mail that consisted of, for the first time since I began writing for The Last Gaffe, an actual assignment.

“John,” the e-mail began, as Malcolm clearly seemed to have forgotten my name:

Leave it up to Malcolm to send an e-mail on parchment paper, right?

Despite the fact that he called me by two wrong names and seemed a little too fascinated by the fact that concoct sort of sounds like a slang word for penis, I thought it was a worthy endeavor, and something of particular interest due to the whole me wanting to do a webcomic thing. It was serendipity, only without John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale and with actual humor.

And then it happened. I began looking up some webcomics, and I realized, to my horror, that Malcolm was indeed a heartless, soulless, possibly sexless bastard. Ladies and gentlemen, I learned what many of you already know. Amateur webcomics fucking suck.

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Tags: DrunkDuck fucking sucks, Jeff, refreshingly tiny anime penises, Reviews, webcomics, webcomics fucking suck

By Erica Cantin

This past Christmas, my son received a Star Wars branded fishing pole from a relative. It was literally a small child-sized fishing pole with Darth Vader on the reel and R2D2 on a disk at the end of the line. It made no sense whatsoever. Even I, one who had never seen the trilogy before had a hunch that there was little to no fishing involved. Unless I was about to stumble upon a touching reconciliation-themed fishing trip between evil dark overlord and son, I’m pretty sure someone would have mentioned a desire to toss a line over the hull of the Millennium Falcon on their bucket list. But, as baffling as that toy is, I really dig it. The kids rarely pay attention to it, preferring instead the far more logical Spongebob fishing pole. That leaves me to absent-mindedly flick it across the room while sitting at the computer. I think it’s because the pole and I are a kindred spirit of sorts.

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Tags: darth vader, empire strikes back, Erica, exhaustion, fishing rod, Nonfiction, r2d2, really depressing pornography, Reviews, star wars, TLG news, vfs

By Jay Thomas

It may sound weird to some readers, but I haven’t listened to pop music since N*sync broke up. I shudder to think that there is a correlation there, but I digress.

"Music peaked with N*Sync" - TLG Contributor Jay Thomas

Don’t get me wrong, I still listen to the radio, but only for sports talk, because I’m a man. A man that loves sports and steak and boobies and any combination of those. But I prefer listening to uncensored, uninterrupted music on my mp3 player rather than going through the torture of local DJ’s and what I assume is shitty music. But that is really an unfair assessment. After all, how can I judge what I have not listened too? It is with that cavalier attitude that I resolved to listen to a few popular songs.

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Tags: 3oh!3, black-eyed peas, death is too good for Jay Thomas, fergie, Jay, Jay Thomas hates America, Jay Thomas is a Communist, lady gaga, music, Nonfiction, nsync, pitbull, Reviews

By Lucius Cambridge, PhD., Canadian Film Institute, on assignment in London, England

I am, was, a student of the dearly departed Dr. Albert Oxford. I was with him at the peak of Mount Everest when he tragically fell and careened off the rocks like a rag doll in the winter of 2007. Now that I have been acquitted of any wrong doing in my esteemed mentor’s tragic demise I can finally continue his work in the field of movie critique. And so I give to you the following.

50 Reasons The Star Trek Movie Sucks

1) Elves in space?

Elves have been popular ever since that dreadful “Lord” of the “Rings.” So this movie slaps on some elf ears to bring in the gay-elf loving crowd.

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Tags: absolute fact, Dr. Lucius Cambridge, Jonathan, no prevarications, this article has the complete support of The Last Gaffe and all of its financial backers, unvarnished truth

By Malcolm Christiansen and Michael Rader

Malcolm: Sex! It’s fun, everyone wants it, and there are any number of ways to get it. But where can you go if you’re creepy, spastic, ugly, or just generally unfuckable? The Internet, of course! The Internet is choc-full of creeptastic homebodies hungering after a few sweaty minutes with the person of their choice; some of them are women, most of them are men, and they’re all downright terrifying!

Lucky for you, TLG is on the front line, keeping you safe from scary old men who want to fondle your parts by making ass-fun of the terrible personals they post. For every installment, two TLG contributors will make accounts on one of the many dating sites that populate this web of ours, be immediately inundated with moist fuck-mail, and reluctantly pick out several choice profiles to riff on.

In this inaugural installment of TLG’s newest feature, Michael and I will be examining Seeking Arrangement, a charmingly upscale little slice of webspace dedicated to connecting hot, lazy, young people with rich, horny old people in a process that is just this side of prostitution. In other words, it’s where sugar daddies come to find sugar babies, and that means some truly alarming personals. Let’s jump right into it!

“Muy intersante!  Verdad?”

Michael: Oh… oh man.

Michael: He’s almost 70.

Malcolm: The description of the type of arrangement he wants is what terrifies me the most.

Malcolm: “Satisfying.”

Malcolm: That could mean any number of gruesome things.

Michael: It could mean pumicing his feet for all these unassuming women know.

Malcolm: Or it could mean feasting thrice nightly on the blood of virgins pure.

Malcolm: He looks almost a little too proud of that boat, you know.

Malcolm: I am willing to bet all the cash in my wallet that it was carved from the bones of orphans.

Michael: “I will expect you to fuck the boat. Fucking the boat is a must.”

Michael: “And I will watch.”

Malcolm: “Fucking not of the boat will have consequences. The boat will ANGER.”

Malcolm: “The boat will fuck YOU.”

Michael: Was the boat made in Soviet Russia?

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Tags: boners, creepy, Don't Fear The Creeper, intoxicating wealth, Malcolm, Michael, Nonfiction, old men, petty classist revenge, Pictures, really bad idea, sex-clouded judgement

By Michael Rader

I began attending bible camp during the summer at the earliest age possible, 8, and started working there at 13. My memories of camp at an early age are fuzzy at best and completely missing at worst. I’ve never been able to pay very much attention to my surroundings; often I was completely absorbed in doodling, flicking pieces of paper into the smelly kid’s hair or reading Song of Songs* and wondering what it was like to touch a boob. A girl boob.

Pictured: Girl boob, flourishing in its natural habitat.

All I recall from my first year is that I couldn’t remember my camp counselor’s face or name and often wound up in the wrong groups for activities, I vaguely remember getting hit in the face with a pillow and breaking my glasses, and I every so faintly recollect having a friend, “His name was Matt…or Mark…or something with an M,” I explained to my mom. She never could understand why I wanted to go back every year.

My third year at camp I got lost during a nature hike on a sheep farm.

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Tags: a girl boob, boob, boobs again, ginger boobs, ginger kids, girl boob, have we mentioned boobs yet, Micheal, Nonfiction, our top story tonight: boobs, the boobs of girls, this just in: boobs

You see that? You see that up there? That is a gen-u-ine motherfucking LOGO, friends! Bask! Bask in its motherfucking radiance.

LOGASM

You’re probably saying to yourself right now “Hey Malcolm that is all sorts of tits, how about you and me head over to that seedy alley for a congratulatory handjob,” but alas: your handjob would be misplaced. I had almost no hand in the creation of this thing, which is probably for the best because when it comes to art and drawing I have all the natural talent of a bowl of oatmeal.

The original artwork was created by Cracked forum user Lotharian, in the very first response to the thread I created whoring the site out back in January. I was pretty floored, seeing as how the best idea for a logo I’d had up to that point was “TLG” against a metallic disc (I wasn’t kidding about my utter dearth of artistic talent.)

Fast-forward to a few weeks ago, when I was advised by another friend that my current site design was a big pile of dicks, and that a bunch of changes (including getting a logo,) would really help it look more professional (and you cunts know I am all about professionalism.) I remembered that I had this sweet-ass giraffe picture floating around, and I press-ganged Bobby into helping me make it presentable. The result is above!

Insanely big ups to Bobby, Lotharian, and Curtis (the dude who told me my current site sucked and that I should go on a two-week-long redesign binge, which I quickly did.) Without you guys, the site would not be the sleek, presentable bitch that it is today. I couldn’t be happier with all this.

Tags: check out that motherfucking giraffe, fucking sweet, logo, Malcolm, the site is so fucking dapper now you guys

Hey, Malcolm here. I’m really sorry about the recent lapse in updates. As you can see, the site has a new look to it, and also a few different things. For one, there is a forum now, where you can all go and yammer to your heart’s content. And eventually there will be a proper Archive, once I finish making the thumbnails. And, most exciting, by this time tomorrow we ought to have a proper site logo, with an easily merchanisable mascot animal and everything!

Anyhow, this is all a very roundabout method of telling you lovely people that update droughts like this are not something we here at TLG plan on making a habit of, and in that spirit, here’s a little poem Jay whipped up in honor of Memorial Day.*

FUCK YOU, THIS IS A MEMORIAL DAY POEM

By Jay Thomas

Twas the day of Memorial, as I sat in my room
Watching t.v., and tripping on shrooms.
While a dragon and elf made love in my bed.
I sincerely hoped they were just in my head.

The summer was sweltering, humid and hot.
“Shit! I need fireworks.” I said as I thought.
Excited and smiling, I rose to my feet.
Then the elf winked at me and said, “take a seat.”

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Tags: dragon, elf, elf-dragon sex, Fiction, fireworks, furry dragons in elf asses, gay dragons, gay elf sex, hot dogs, Jay, Malcolm, memorial day

By Jay Thomas

Dear Ignorant Cunt Who Ran Me Off The Road,

I hope this letter finds you well, as you were obviously too preoccupied with some personal problem to check your blind spot before merging into my lane. Elementary physics tells us that two objects cannot occupy the same space simultaneously. Obviously you don’t quite grasp this concept, as you attempted to disprove it with your mid-80s-model Tercel.

This blatant disregard for the core tenets of physics and basic spatial relationships should have come as no surprise to me, as you were somehow able to wedge your cellulite-addled girth into that poor compact car despite the fact that, to the naked eye, there should have been no way to force your way through the rusted red door. I have my own theories on how you were able to manipulate the enumerable rolls of lard, like those that hung so heavily from your bulldog-like jowls. These theories involve manipulation of cabin pressure by way of a large vacuum. Regardless of how you managed it, the feat remains impressive.

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Tags: fat bitches acting like they're shit, impolite behaviour, Jay, Nonfiction, road rage

By Malcolm Christiansen

Last week I introduced the Internet to some of the targets of a landscaping laborer’s mangling ministrations, and in this Saturday edition of LAWN TERROR I’ll be taking you through some of our equally clumsy and imprecise devices for getting the job done!

Well, apart from mulching plugs, the use of which essentially amounts to buttfucking your lawnmower without lube.

A WARNING: The sheer variety and lethality of the landscaper’s arsenal may stagger and befuddle the uninformed, but know this: Mother Nature would like nothing more than to see clean, hard-working human men and women such as yourselves forced out of their home and jobs by unhealthy floral elements. Lawn-care professionals need nothing less than the most up-to-date array of tools in order to stem the unending tide of leafy intrusions springing from Gaia’s viridian vagina.

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Tags: aerator, axes, bucolic coworkers, dethatcher, fertilizer, fuck nature, lawncare, lawnmower, loppers, Malcolm, Nonfiction, pickaxes, relentless backbreaking labor, shears, sunburns, tasting blood, trimmer