Faith-based blogging with prankster Billy Sallies

Hi there, I'm Billy Sallies, a Christian and a part-time prankster. I share faith-related, lighthearted, and humorous stories. 

The other day I was in a local restaurant, just about to say grace, and I hear this guy sitting near me say he's an atheist, so I followed him home. I discover that he lives in a pretty nice house. (I know, atheists have houses??? I thought they all lived in shared sinner condos or something). I wanted to see where this guy lived, what his lawn looked like, what kind of shampoo he used, how he showers. (He starts with his feet! I know right, weeeiird). So turns out this guy’s a real creepy Weirdy McWeirdo, which I already suspected, with him being an atheist and all. 

So I'm in this guy's house, kinda just silently observing him from the shadows, just watching him, trying to figure out what makes an atheist an atheist, and I'm thinking about leaving, but I decided that before I go I'm gonna do something to this guy. I'll do one of my patented pranks on him, maybe paint his toenails or fart in his face when he’s sleeping; something really funny like that. But I decided to scare him straight…to Jesus. I would wait until he sneezed, and say "God blesses you," pretending to be God saying God bless you to this guy. I know, hilarious. I found a nice kitchen closet to hide in and wait until he fell asleep, which was a long time, like four and a half hours. He had plenty of food in there to snack on though. Thank the Lord he was storing some canned hams in this closet I was hiding in and that I have a stainless steel crucifix on my keychain; which I was able to use to open the can and jab his dog with so it would stop trying to get some ham scraps. Sorry, not all dogs go to heaven, especially ones with atheist owners. Again, how weird, the guy had this closet full of food(???). 

Somehow I fell asleep for like an hour or two, but what woke me up was this guy's sneeze. He was a yell-sneezer, totally uncalled for yell that accompanies his sneeze, which I despise, but it’s what woke me up to prank him, so I can’t complain. I right away say, “God blesses you,” in this real virtuous, deep voice. And let me tell you, it put the fear of God in him. He got real upset and started shouting, “who’s there” and that he “had a gun” and would call the cops. Which is hilarious; because you can’t call the cops on God, buddy. Just doesn’t work like that, you silly atheist.  

So I decided I should probably explain this to him and ask where his garbage was so I could toss away this canned ham tin. I may be a prankster, but I'm no pig. He must have thought I was God or something, because he was super scared, like he knew he would be going to hell for his lack of faith. Which is funny, because I had a hell of a time explaining to the police what happened the next day after I woke from surgery to get the bullet removed from my shoulder. The police, the judge, and even my lawyer must have been atheists too, because they didn’t believe much of my story either. 


If there’s one thing I learned from all of this, it’s that atheists have NO sense of humor. None at all. I can’t recall how many times I snuck into a Christian’s home and never been shot; getting pepper sprayed is different. There's no pill that can heal like prayer does. You know who has good wifi? Jewish people. Do they believe in God? Gotta go, OMG looks like this Jewish guy’s about to sneeze his yam-u-ku off.

Looking to Rent Your Kids

Friend of Greathouse of Humor, Nick Peterson, wrote this fine piece for a Craigslist ad:

Hello parents, I am looking a few young children to help me get Derek Jeter's autograph tomorrow. Jeter is training down in Tampa, and I need a few kids to stand in line with me and wait for the chance to get a baseball legend. Derek Jeter usually only signs autographs for kids, so this is a perfect opportunity for me to get his autograpg 3, 4 or even 5 times (depending on how many children I recruit).

I can NOT offer you a Derek Jeter signature in return, because I need his signature as many times as I can get. What I can offer you is a picture of your child next to him, and a story that will last a lifetime. If you commit before midnight tonight, I will also throw in an autographed baseball card of the Tampa Ray's team mascot "Raymond". . . an overall value of $3.50.

We will leave the next morning around 2:00 AM. We need to be in Tampa at around 5:00 AM so that we can be the first few people in line. Snacks and beverages will be provided by me. I will have all the Capri-Suns and Oreos that your children desire. If your child requires a car seat, please provide it.

Children must be between the ages of 3-12, male or female. They must be able to stand for long periods of time, have basic social skills, and be potty-trained. Please no medical diseases including Downs's syndrome, schizophrenia, Bell's palsy or any other types of deformity. This is actually a new stipulation because last year Alex Rodriguez did not sign for one of my recruited children. I thought that something like this would help my efforts but it completely backfired. I don't want to take that chance again.

Please feel free to ask me any questions before committing your child for the trip. I am a professional and will treat your kids like they were my own. (My own kids are actually unavailable for tomorrow. . .still waiting on that court hearing). I look forward to working with you and your child!

Types of Bumper Stickers and Their Respective Owners

You want the world to know something about you, something often ostentatious, so you promote that something…with a sticker…on your bumper.

• Political bumper stickers:

• Radical choice – You’re probably a partisan pothead: “Legalize It”; worship Glenn Beck: “Obama Is Hitler”; or otherwise have odd, but strong convictions: “People Against Zombies” or "Palin for Imperial Leader." 

• Local politician – Nobody knows who that person is or cares, except you; you’re probably related to them and were pressured into putting the sticker on your vehicle.

• My party won (and is better) - You still have a Bush/Cheney sticker on your SUV and/or the mast of your sailboat.

• My party lost (but should have won) – You’re still proudly parading Gore/Lieberman 2000 around town and regularly wake up in the middle of the night screaming, “Recount!”

• My kid’s an honor student - “Wow, I’m impressed. Good for them and their high achieving child” –Not one person, ever.

• Prestigious University- Ivy League, good for you…gooooood for you. And I see that you are driving a BMW. You are certainly doing well. You must’ve majored in Conceited Studies.

• Humorous- “Shit happens”- this is OK.

• Radio station- You still listen to the radio? Why would you put a sticker on your car to let everyone know?

• Bank- Did you really put a bank bumper sticker on your car? Even people who work at that bank don’t do that.

• Religious- Translation: “I go to church every Sunday and even some other days of the week, too. I’m virtuously better than you or at least that’s what I want people to think about me. Do you think I go to church because I like it!?”

• Sports team- Translation: “On weekends I’m very busy, often multi-tasking: watching TV, drinking beer, eating nachos and shouting at a luminous box.”

• Cartoon pissing on Ford/Chevy- This sticker doesn't upset the Ford or Chevy owners as much as it does geriatrics with prostate issues who have trouble urinating.

• I'm an advocate- You eat meat and shoot things or don’t like people who eat meat and shoot things.

• American flag- Translation: “Everyone take notice of my patriotism; I bought this at the gas station. No it wasn’t made in China. It was made in the Philippines. There’s a difference!”

• Confederate flag- Translation: “I’m tolerant.” You probably live in San Francisco and drive a Prius.

Review: Honey Bunches of Oats

Yesterday I was in the supermarket and couldn’t decide between corn flakes, frosted flakes, a cereal with almonds or one with crunchy clusters...so I just stood there...standing (yes, I stood there, standing)...irresolute...vacillating with uncertainty. Partly because I had no idea how I got in the store (it was because I took an Ambien), but for the most part because I was having a hell of a time deciding which cereal to buy.

I would reach out to grab a box and then stop halfway. A box would find its way into my cart and I would immediately put it back. At one point I even had four different types of cereal in my cart. “No way I’m buying all these different cereals. There’s just no way.” While I’m saying this to myself, the stockboy is staring at me. “Why did I ever decide to come in here with a robe on and slippers today?” I thought to myself. My attire had undermined any wisp of non-creepiness I had when I entered the store. Time was not on my side, a choice had to be made.

A crowd was starting to form. People were taking bets on what choice I was going to make. Okay, maybe that didn’t really happen; I mistook the crowd for a mom with a bunch of kids that I saw from the corner of my eye. Nonetheless, I had to get home. I was hungry. I decided to just close my eyes and grab a box. After spinning around several times, I stuck my arm out and grabbed what felt like a big bag of marshmallows; it was an elderly woman’s buttocks. She had apparently bent over in front of me to pick up a penny. I quickly tried to explain it was an honest mistake, however, she struck me with her purse before I could finish my explanation and take my hand off her bottom. Luckily, she hurried off soon after. 

This was beginning to become a disaster. I needed cereal and I needed it fast. My neck was cranked, after the purse smack, to an area of the aisle I wasn’t looking at before, and then I saw it: Honey Bunches of Oats. It had everything I was looking for in a cereal: the corn flakes, frosted flakes, almonds, crunchy clusters, and even some stuff I wasn’t looking for, like granola oat things (which look like they are perfectly sized to block an unsuspecting windpipe). But most importantly, the cereal denotes healthiness, while it’s actually not really all that healthy. I like that. Looks good in the pantry if someone sees it, but doesn’t taste like wood chips. Isn’t that what we’re all looking for in a cereal? Unfortunately, before I could pick up a box the manager told me to leave.

Long story short, I went home and bought this multi-pack on Amazon. It tastes like no cereal I have ever had before. And you know me, (edit: you probably don’t), I’ve had a lot of cereal. If you are on the fence about trying this cereal, don’t be. I think it was well worth the inadvertent old woman butt squeeze and getting banned from the store. But that’s just me.

Lessons I learned:

Honey Bunches of Oats is awesome.

Going into the real world is overrated. Especially when MTV has a show called The Real World, which I can watch from the comfort of my own home. And let me tell ya, when people start getting real, it gets real, really quick. That’s the slogan for the show, if you didn’t know.

Buying food online is fun!

Don’t take Ambien. Ever.

Link to the review on Amazon

Guest Editorial: Fat American Pigdog Parents Ruin Their Children

Greathouse of Humor got a lot of responses to yesterday's article about the American Idol parents, this one in particular stood out to us.

Recently, I read article on this site about two bourgeoisie parents supporting their offspring in fruitless endeavor that accomplish nothing but stripping needed resource from rest of society. One parent even said, “I told my son he could be an astronaut, a football or baseball player, even a famous singer.” This perfectly highlights spineless, greedy way fat American parent decide to raise their offspring. Why are you letting this child have choice in what they do when they reach adulthood? I had three children, and within two weeks of being born I assign them career which they would be trained in for next 18-20 years. Do you think Han, my glorious first-born son wanted to be doctor when he was four? I tell him, “Look little rat, you do this or I take away abacus.” Then he start learning periodic table, along with rigorous course in Latin and algebra.

The weakling parents in the article “supported” their child to the point of taking acting lessons to act surprise when child’s unrealistic aspirations come crashing down. Why? So the ungrateful, lazy offspring wouldn’t cry? True support for your child is to be strong, unyielding foundation of rock that forces your child to do what best for them. When Han used to cry into his pillow late in night, because of sheer exhaustion from eight hour academic lesson after school or hunger pangs from having his dinner withheld due to poor performance in partial fraction decomposition, I was there latching deadbolt on bedroom door every night.

I remember one day when Han told me that he wanted to go outside and play decadent American football with some capitalist progeny instead of learning how plot in three dimension. Lazy parents would let this travesty occur, with silly excuse of “free time” or “socialization.” Typical American, this is wrong kind of socialism! After I said no and Han asked me second time I slap him across the face and told him his insolence shame entire family and he was treasonous snake, roughly translated. Only after I threaten to unfriend him on Facebook, leaving him friendless, he go back to graphing. Western parents probably find this treatment harsh, but this is because you treat children as weaklings, like you are. If you treat them like strong people, they will become strong people.

While the child in the American Idol article is still living with parent and will continue to be failure in life, my Han is successful heart surgeon making millions every year from fat America. I now live with him in gigantic house, surrounded by decadence only America could come up with. Let your children lay on couch drinking soda, eating your big macs and watching Jersey Shore. My people thank you for it.


-Superior Chinese Mother

Parents of American Idol Contestant Do Their Best to Act Surprised

Bob and Maureen Nelson always knew their child, Alex, couldn’t sing. They were just doing what they thought every parent was supposed to do; feign that it’s possible to accomplish anything they set their mind to.  “I told my son he could be an astronaut, a football or baseball player, even a famous singer,” explains Maureen, “but apparently when I said he could be a famous singer, he took it to heart.” This led to years of instilling false hope in Alex. Bob and Maureen were always selective with who their son sang in front of. Besides Alex’s half-deaf grandmother, he only sang in the presence of his parents, or alone, in the privacy of their own home. Mr. Nelson says, “At times, the singing could be very disturbing, with my son shrieking and moaning; we even had the neighbors call the police once. I told Alex it was a false alarm.” Then, Bob and Maureen pulled off what would be their biggest triumph yet; Alex singing to a crowd of over 100 people at his 13th, Jewish coming-of-age, birthday party. “We paid-off everyone at his Bar Mitzvah to applaud and compliment him after he sang ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go’,” says Mrs. Nelson, “And let me tell ya’, the singing was really terrible, but in the end, it was well worth it. After that, he thought he really was that singer in the band…the one with the hair…George Michaelberg.” 

The insincerity struck an all time high when Alex asked his parents if he should try out for American Idol. Mrs. Nelson innocently reveals, “We knew he would most likely be humiliated on national television and mocked on the Twitter and YouToo [YouTube], but we felt we had invested too much time in building up this fictitious confidence that it would be a waste to stop now.” Bob tries to justify his actions by saying, “I was hoping he would just be so dreadful that he would be cut in the preliminary auditions.” The Nelsons knew it would not be easy to tell Alex he was not a good singer, so they decided it would be best to bring him to the audition when it came to their city.

Mr. and Mrs. Nelson planned out exactly how they were going to act when their son came out of the audition room after being rejected for his horrendous singing. “I knew we would need plenty of tissues, so I hid a small box in my purse in a spot where I could quickly grab them,” describes Mrs. Nelson.  Mr. and Mrs. Nelson even went as far as getting acting lessons.  Bob says, “We didn’t want to come off as disingenuous.” Maureen elucidates, “I needed to know how to act shocked and upset when I really wasn’t going to be, and at the same time be angry with the judges’ poor decision in not choosing Alex.”

Alex and his parents went to an audition, wherein Alex surprised his parents by making it to the celebrity-judge riddled, televised audition.  “Even though we knew he would never make it, we were still nervous,” says Mr. Nelson. During the audition the Nelsons could hear the ear-splitting shrills through the heavy doors.  “I did an interview outside the audition room with Ryan Seacrest and I even told him I wished my son would make it to Hollywood…and I think he believed me,” says Mrs. Nelson. Predictably, Alex came out crying after being eliminated. His mother Maureen was prepared with tissues and an excess of astonishment. Maureen and Bob were questioning the judges, the producers of the show and just in general, spewing skepticism at the cameras.

Mr. Nelson summarizes, “I think it went very well, both Maureen and I remembered what those acting lessons taught us and followed all the steps of the plan we made. Before we even got to the car, we had Alex convinced he was an incredible singer and to tryout again next year.”

Mr. Freeze- Student Advisor

Suspicious Incident ALERT!

UCF is University of Central Florida
*UCF ALERT!!* Garage H & A are closed due to a suspicious incident, UCF Police are on site. Sent to All users (E-mail, Pagers, Cell phones) through UCF ALERT. 
 
UCF Police have closed parking garages H and A due to a suspicious incident. We just wanted to let all 50,000+ people know what was going on in case anyone drove up to the police barricade and decided to drive around it, oblivious to the flashing lights, general police activities, and officers shouting to stop your vehicle. This is also to the blindfold club, in case any member is wandering the campus, somehow gets past the police in the vicinity, and winds up in one of the mentioned garages. 
 
Police also are keeping traffic away from the areas where the garages are located, so for real, do not drive up onto the scene and try to get around us; thinking why are these cops parked here leaving their flashers on and chit-chatting in front of the garage when I need to get in.

*UCF ALERT!!* Garage A and H are now OPEN - ALL CLEAR – Turns out it was a Walmart bag that a student forgot in the garage after shopping that happened to have an alarm clock in it. The ticking noise made a student (obviously, not the brightest of pupils, well this is UCF) think there could be a bomb inside. Because this could be a serious threat to safety we had to take it seriously, notifying authorities. Maybe the Walmart bag could have been a hint that this was a bag someone forgot. The alarm clock still in its packaging, personal items and a receipt hanging out of the bag was another clue this was perhaps more of a lost and found case than a bomb threat. Again, we are sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused, especially the potheads who like to walk the garages and laugh at the echo of their voice off the walls and the homeless guy, who won’t get this message, that likes to defecate under the stairwells.

Area Man Unfortunately Survives Accident, Lifts Car Off Self

For years Nick Peterson disregarded use of any other machine or piece of workout equipment his gym had to offer, solely utilizing the bench press. Often shouting when entering the gym, "HEY, someone spot me!” was a common site at Flex Fitness of Indialantic, FL. Frequenting the facility twice per day, Peterson began developing his pectoral muscles to show off while wearing tight shirts. But in a strange twist of fate, his ballooned chest helped absorb the impact of a speeding automobile that struck him yesterday afternoon. His abnormally and enormously developed chest also enabling him to lift the vehicle, a 1992 Ford Taurus, off himself after a believed drunk driver jumped a curb, landing on top of Mr. Peterson.

A passerby who witnessed the accident and incredible feat of strength recalls the incident:

“I saw this car swerving and all of a sudden it jumped the curb, landing on top of some guy, before I could even get close to the accident the car began to almost levitate. I looked around and thought there was a crane or wires lifting it off the ground; then this guy got out from underneath it, told the driver to ‘be more careful next time’ and mentioned his chest may have bent the frame.” 

Paramedics on the scene that afternoon explained, “If this were to happen to any other person they would have most likely been seriously injured.” Another paramedic commented, “The only other person that comes to mind who could have possibly survived something like this is that stripper with breasts so large she can crush beer cans with’em, yeah, she probably could have survived the accident, but, there’s no way she could’ve lifted a car. That is freakish strength.”

It is now being reported that Peterson is being sued for damages caused to the supposed drunk drivers vehicle. The driver now claiming they were not intoxicated, rather, became so distracted by the outward expanse coming from Mr. Peterson’s chest, lost control of the vehicle. Peterson declined to meet at the scene of the accident claiming his chest is now too large, preventing him from wearing a seatbelt and does not want to drive or be transported without wearing one 'even though his pecs would probably act as airbags' should an accident happen. For fear of a similar accident occurring he cannot leave unless after dark. Now confined to his house, Mr. Peterson spends most of his time watching TV, mocking contestants of the World’s Strongest Man competition, and only leaving to pump out some reps on the bench press at the gym. Over the phone, Peterson explained he is in mediation with the drivers' attorney, offering to pay for some of the damages but can’t be singly responsible for someone with a pec fetish who can’t keep their eyes on the road. Asked if he has an attorney, Mr. Peterson snidely replied, “No, I let my chest do the talking.” By agreeing to be interviewed about the events, Mr. Peterson in turn requested that from now on it is essential he be referred to as “Buff McBuffman”.