Thomm Quackenbush, author

The Helping Hand

Sometimes in this world, we need help. Take for instance when you're getting gang raped by a group of backwoods crooks and, all of a sudden, Bruce Willis comes in wielding one of those big Japanese swords. How he got there, well, that's a story for another time. Why he stares intently before helping you, well, he has the sword. It is Bruce Willis time. Deal with it. Quit being such a prick and just take your ass raping. You're lucky he just doesn't join in on you, break himself off a nice little piece of your bacon. Not that he would, but if some frocked-haired punk was pounding your ex-wife, then you'd be a little pissed off as well. Pissed enough to get a sword and cut up some inbred red state inhabitants. Are we cool? Yeah, Mr. Willis, we're cool. Now get on that bike and ride free. Just remember you never get to come back, you've lost your LA privileges. The bike belonged to Zed and he's dead. Zed's dead baby, Zed's dead.

The Helping Hand makes your meat taste good. Not in a sexual way mind you, but if women feel like apple pie, then dead women must feel like ground beef. I'm, of course, not advocating that you sleep with a dead woman -- not that there's a law against it or anything. That was the point, though. Hamburger is just so damned boring. Advocates of hamburger point out that, besides feeling like the inside of dead women, there's no real purpose to this meat. Rich people eat steak and do coke, crack is for poor people, damn it. Alas, hamburger needed a friend, a helping hand, if you will. The marketing department decided to add in the eyes and such afterwards, because they were insane.

Where did this evil little thing come from? Is there a blood thirsty clown searching the world for his severed talking glove? Is this the mutated glove of Michael Jackson transformed by years of caked stage makeup and the juices of youth? Well, nothing so dramatic, I fear. It was a marketing ploy, a ruse. Just like the moon landing, it never happened.

Welcome to Chicago, why not. Sure, the sports suck and the people pretend they live in New York, but that's no reason to ignore the city as a whole. The people of Chicago know their meat and thanks to the constant state of feeling inadequate, they decided to spice up their hamburger, literally. With what though? Maybe that scrappy little shortstop from Boston would help? Okay, maybe that juiced left fielder? How about a rotation of injury-prone excuse-baskets? Nope, it all still sucks. Noodles on the other hand don't suck and thus a marriage of spice and meat was born, and thus the children of the world found another reason not to come home.

Since companies rarely know when to stop, Hamburger Helper eventually expanded to over fifty types of pure goodness including Tuna, Chicken, and the unpopular Hamburger Helper Clear. Through everything, the hand remained constantly haunting the youth while promising the old that there is no God and no mercy in the world.

Completely demented and perhaps the scariest thing I've ever witnessed. Rest assured there would be no list with out a scary detached talking hand. God that thing terrifies me.

Great Words From Great Americans
Let's just pretend the thing didn't talk.

Stevehen J. Warren was born in America. He knows people. American people. You should contact him if you are an American. Or if you aren't an America, but have ever met one.
He writes just to spite you.

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Works by Thomm Quackenbush

The Night's Dream Series

We Shadows by Thomm Quackenbush

Danse Macabre by Thomm Quackenbush

Artificial Gods by Thomm Quackenbush