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81: albinoinbredmullet: spawned from the semen of a stallion and
the ovum of a louisiana crackwhore during a "hootinany" in an
undisclosed location, the albinoinbredmullet is a result of eons of the
southern tradition known as "horsefucking."
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82. the counterintellimullet (CIM) aka "The
Signal": One of the more subversive, intelligent and ruthless branches of the complicated (& more-often-than-not confusing) mullet family tree, members of this mullet-type are often put to work as protectors, assassins, waiters and 'lurkers'. Many of the uninformed blame their problems on the government, society, or corporations, rather than pointing their finger at "The Signal." This photo is a rare find (the person who sent it is no longer with us) considering most operate in the shadows: crouching in the dark recesses of roller rinks, ducking beneath the counters of 7-11's, doing jumping jacks in the damp bottoms of elevator shafts, and trudging through the bowels of George W's campaign. Preferred mode of travel (to ensure stealthness) include: clinging/belting to the axels of older-model pontiacs, leaping from buildings into recycling trucks, or 'tubing' down the rivers, tributaries, and 'cricks' of this great land we call America. The cunning hidden behind the shades is elusive. One should never mistake the accent for stupidity or over-use of inhalants. Nor should one ever underestimate or approach this specimen under any circumstances--unless perhaps goose-stepping whilst shouldering a rifle and screaming "Goddammit I love this mutherfugging country!" They are well educated, speaking several tongues including Gullah, Hebrew and Esperanto, and most have a working knowledge of ancient mystic mullet secrets.
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83: forbidden pleasures: This cute portrait of true love was sent in to MG by two very special mullets. Even the pimps and pushers at MG know valentine's day is next week so we'd like to send out this tribute as a reminder of what v-day is really all about: consumerism & anal sex.
This couple is a perfect example of the taboo practice known as inter-mullet love. inter-mullet mixing has long been deemed unacceptable by circles of both mullets and coldnecks alike. These two were a special case. They set out to make a difference. To change the negative stereotypes of inter-mullet love all through town, and maybe, someday, through the entire county. Tommy and Jay were always pals, until one day they realized they were different. Their relationship was special: they were homies. Homies forever, to be specific--but, as with all beautiful things in life, there was a problem. Jay had always worn a faux mullet to fit in, so no one would suspect his neatly trimmed and less-than-kick-ass hair. Jay decided one day to be himself: he vowed never to wear his mullet extensions ever again. Tommy and Jay, excited by their newfound courage, chose to break the news to their relatives and friends. But alas, they were summarily banished by those closest to them. word spread rapidly throughout the community and they were refused service from junkyards, gas stations, hardware stores, and soda fountains across the country and were forced to ride a red rental Yamaha Riva scooter around town--unfortunately unidentified parties repeatedly vandalized their Del Sol. Life was hard, until they were both partially-devoured by a roving pack of wild dogs during the first official "Mullets for Love" march in front the #1 Tastee Freeze in the country. Tragically, they were "mistakenly" shot in the head by the boyz down at animal control. Some say those dogs were sent by the Good Lord himself to take the inter-mullet lovers back down to hell where they belong. Others say that God is too busy sucking the Devil"s swollen red cock to give a fuck what goes on as long as he gets to keep guzzling down all that fire and brimstone. As for Tommy and Jay, we love you guys and respect what you tried to do. Wherever you two courageous lovers are, you should be proud.
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84: missing: Even -j. and his league of Evil Mormon Capitalist Minions at MG worry about the little lost souls who wander off into the evil underworld. We've received this intriguing pic from a regular visitor accompanied by a desparate letter. Apparently, since the site has gotten much attention we’ve moved into the realm of charity and do-gooding. Down to bidness: we're asking all of the Mullitia keep an eye out for this guy. Seems cuddly enough -- wouldn’t let him near your tan, supple, pre-teen daughters with their budding nipples and in-tact hymens though. Here's the letter: to whom it may concern,maybe could u bring my lover back. he's not a bad guy. i don't know what to do without him--my shower's clogged with llama hair again and little jamie gots herself a bad case of the crabs (again). she tried burning them off with a match and a can of WD-40 but she fainted. she's pretty dumb for an 18 year old, but she misses her daddy's long, naked hugs with accompanying 'poo-poo-penny-plugging'.i miss it too, i do, i do.do you have a mullet?sincerely,LaTwanda F. DeSade |
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85: sassyrfrolet: bestowed with majickal powers from its mysterious ancestor, frolet, this as-yet-unheard-of breed of mullet vanished into thin air just before a sample of (what is presumed to be) hair could be extracted from the subject's lubricated, botanical scalp. what about you dad? |
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87. Granmmullet: geriatric rebellion.
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88: the rokken rokkers: Dear -j.,This site made me nostalgic for my high school days when the mullet men shouted at me from atop Novas in the Taco Bell parking lot, "I gotchyer burrito right here, baby" or "I gotchyer hot sauce right here, baby" (all while grabbing their sticky-sack and roughly yanking it up and down). I imagined the salty giblets were protected in the shrink-wrapped denim that seemed airbrushed to their twig-like lower bodies.I was all fried and dyed permed, butterfly eye-shadowed, lip glossed, and acid-washed. The summer held the promise of whispery back-seat mousse-mustache kisses and gentle breast-strokin' (swimming term appropriated to sexual act) to G-N'-R's "Sweet Chile O' Mine" as long as the car battery kept the radio running. They never insisted in going "all the way" because they "respected me" (and they had younger cousins to fuck back at home).Now that I've been to college, got my teeth fixed, and "turned pretty," these princes from my past no longer ever try to cat call. I get the quick furtive glance, the "damn!" headshake, and they just keep slouching along, feathers floating in the breeze, defeated in some small way.How can I reach out to the mulleted man and let him know that while it was never meant to be, in some small way, he still matters to me?Miss D
Dear Miss D, i think communication with the mullet is absolutely necessary in order to keep coldneck-warmneck relations on the good. though verbal communication is easiest, it is also the most dangerous. instead, i have found that traditional mullets prefer to communicate non-verbally with us non-mudflapped predators. for instance, by exposing your left breast, lifting it towards your mouth, and attempting to lick the nipple you are signaling that you come in peace and you wish to be groped and/or drooled upon for no more than five, but no less than 15 minutes. duplicating this maneuver with your right breast signifies that your boyfriend, or father of your youngest child is out of town on business and you are seeking "discrete encounters" until he comes back. of course, neither of these are conducive to resolving your dilemma. first, present the mullet with a gift, perhaps some food. then, i suggest you "accidently" spit a loogie on his forehead and clean it off. this gesture will cause the specimen to accept you based on "crazy-bitch" credibility as well as signal to him that: though you feel he's still a disgusting victim of american socialization, you respect him, his macho prowess, and his ungulate wife; but most importantly, that, a long time ago, in a hicktown fart, farty away, you were just like him.
-j. |
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89: drunk-ass-pops: looks like drunk-ass-pops got into another altercation down at the local watering hole again. damn drunk-ass-pops. he's already spent my college savings on transexual whores, meth, schlitz, and that damn "limited edition" Baracuda which resides on cinderblocks back by the dough boy pool. that damn pool. my buddy jimmy got polio while we were playing marco polo in that damn pool because drunk-ass-pops used all of the pool chemicals to make something called "supercrack." when he shoots it up in his arse, he gets all crazy and silly. one time he ran around the house with a 12 guage screaming about how i'm a no-good-faggotfucker and my mama's a stanky, hobag, dirty-dickfucker. whorein' around town and the like. he beats me and mama real good every time. mama. she smells like bleach and hairdye and old socks. drunk-ass-pops don't even sleep with mama anymore. he sleeps in little janie's bed. janie, she's got a lot of stuffed animals. i like stuffed animals, but pops burned all mine one year. damn drunk-ass-pops.
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89: peruvian mullets: hey people, here's the muthafuckin' deal yee oh. you may have noticed that for the past month or so the writing on MOTW is stylistically different (sadly, those updates were since lost by the hosting company mmpublishing.com), and the rest of the site was all fukked (by 'fukked' i mean inaccessable (again, by mmpublishing.com). "what in tar-nation is going on?" many of you might have axed. the answer is that i journeyed to the souhern hemisphere--south america, Peru to be specific, Qosqo (Cuzco to you fucking gringos) to be exact. "what in tar-nation was a person like -j. doing in a place like CoooSco, Purrr Oooh?" some of you might say. well, my mission there was threefold: first and foremost me and a group of 30+ other students were producing public service announcements for an organization. Said organization teaches a handful (180) of the millions of homeless/disadvantaged children in Peru a set of creative skills which they can utilize for money so they can have food/clothes/shelter. second was to teach these children how to use video equipment. third, of couse, was to sample some peruvian mullets.
-j. p.s. i had a wonderful time throughout my month-long stay; learned lots. i realized my trip was over and i got my buzz killed while boarding my flight home. a texan redneck (sitting next to a rather nice mormon fellow) tried to pick a fight with me as well as the girl sitting next to me (a fellow student). he was wearing a hat with the letter "p" on it. in the heat of the argument (which i chose not to partake in) my classmate said, "what does the 'p' stand for, 'puss?'" "no," he replied, "it stands for 'power.'" fucking texan rednecks. (i just hope we don't have one running the country someday...)
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Classification:
Mullesticus Siphongasicus
