Pluto is a Planet! Nasty Run in Staggering Humidity

“Why are you still writing about Running? I don’t think 🤔 that anyone is still reading this. Your site is a jumbled amalgam of Running, exercise, rotting adult diapers, weird sex acts, creepy Poe-like Mansions, billions in ancient coins, objéts d’art and priceless tomes. I am madly, romantically in love 😍 with you, but you have not addressed the astronomical issue of racism.”

Spake the Caribbean Queen 👸.

We were stretching 🙆 in the 93% Humidity (no lie) at 73 degrees.

“Pluto is a planet 🌎. It’s astronomical racism to de-planetize a beautiful black planet 🌎 with a huge white heart ❤️. There are nine planets. Why kick out the only black planet? It’s racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, islamophobic, anti-Semitic, scientific institutional violence against celestial bodies of color.”

We started Running 🏃. I didn’t have any juice. But I needed mileage. The rail trail was easy on the body, but last week’s trail runs had been too destructive.

Each Mile was lame 😒. The humidity hung like fog ☁️ over the trail. It could have been raining 🌧 but it was so wet we couldn’t tell.


Trail shot from stock Botendaddy footage

”October! WTF! It should be 37% Humidity and 48 degrees. And yes… PLUTO IS A PLANET 🌎!!!! FIGHT THE POWER! FREE PLUTO! MOTHERF@&$&$! FREE HARVEY! FREE THE UNABOMBER! FREE D.B. COOPER!”

We stopped at the 3.11 mile mark.

”That is the largest adult diaper I’ve ever seen. How do you run 🏃 in that thing? Have you been running the entire way with a massive, bacteria-stoked, brownuous, festering, sweet-hot Bowel Genie? Ah the taste of it!”

Said the CQ.

”Listen… I’ve got nothing. You’re right. I have no valuable information for my readers.”

I said.

”OK enough of this Humidity let’s go to your private airfield and f@&$.”

”Horchata with Kahlua?”

Peace be the Botendaddy


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Botendaddy proposes new TV Series: I cloned Hitler!

“Listen Moishe, it’s not so bad, so you’ve been accused of molesting 197 different men with varying degrees of phallic bowel penetration. Don’t worry 😉 Trump, the NFL, Kim Jong Un and the Kardashians will knock you off the headlines in two weeks. So while we’re meeting in the dark under the Hollywood sign, let me pitch you my idea 💡.”

I noticed other figures in the dark, Moishe’s brother, Schlomo and their huge-buttocked niece, the lovely 😊 Rachel Leah Miriam Boingboomtschak all of ‘Werenottoojewish’ productions. Rachel was prone to saying inappropriate things in front of people.


Under the Hollywood Sign

”So Botendaddy, my gaping vagina is still drip 💧 ping with your hot spermatozoa. You defiled me in every orifice like I was a ten dollar 💵 whore. I still smell like your massive, gnarled, filthy, ancient, torqued out, liver-spot-covered old man tool.”

Rachel said right in front of her uncles.

”So give me your pitch my Boychik! And stop 🛑 violating my niece. She’s such a little tramp already with her shamefully gigantic Woolly Mammoth 🐘 sized buttocks.”

”OK Schlomo, so this scientist 👩‍🔬 is working in a lab 🔬 and he accidentally clones Hitler when his sample gets crossed 🤞 with a sample of Hitler’s DNA on loan from the Moscow Museum of Art.

So Hitler comes back to life as a 22 year old long haired hipster, beatnik, slacker guitar 🎸 playing research assistant and they have hilarious 😆 hijinks at the University. Hitler calls him ‘Daddy-o’ and the Scientist 👩‍🔬 has to pass Hitler off as his own son.

They constantly are working on a ‘medical marijuana’ 🍃 project and they do ‘bingers’ with a lab 🔬 beaker cum water pipe get the munchies and try to outwit the frazzled Dean of the dying Grad School at the University.

Their whole existence is scheming to get research grants to keep the school from being shut down by the researcher’s first cousin and budget-crazed, cigar-chomping, muy Macho, muscular, lesbian drag-king University Chancellor Estella Sanchez LaBiya and her evil sidekick Provost Woodrow ‘Woodie’ Wilson.”

”I ❤️ love it 😍!” Said Rachel.

“We need a love interest for the researcher, maybe a Malvinian Argentine Art Professor 👨‍🏫 who also is lusted after by the Chancellor. And Hitler plays guitar 🎸 for the coeds on the quad like a beatnik troubadour. And let’s go for another round right here under the sign.”

”Iced Vanilla Latté?”

Peace be the Botendaddy

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TNL Refuses to Joke about Botendaddy and Trump Disinvites Botendaddy from the White House

Trump: “I love ❤️ Botendaddy, I hate Botendaddy, he’s a great guy, wonderful, awful, despicable pervert, he’s invited he’s uninvited…”

Now that I was uninvited from the White House 🏡 I decided to go to Hollywood with my latest story idea 💡.

I turned on Tuesday Night Live and no mention of the Botendaddy.

I met with Schlomo Boingboomtschak of ‘We’re not too Jewish’ productions’.

“My brother Moishe is in velike big trouble my Boychik. He’s all verklemmt. He’s been accused by all these Hollywood male stars ✨ of man on man deep bowel ejaculation in exchange for movie roles. Hey, how did you get that role last year when you wore those buttockless chaps…”

”I’ll thank you 🙏 to mind your own business.”

I said, cutting him off abruptly. His niece Rachel winked at me when I denied 🙅 all knowledge of deep bowel ejaculation (DBE).


Boingboomtschak Studios, Hollywood California

”Here’s the pitch. it’s a new TV 📺 series about the Young Feldmarschäll von Blücher and Friedrich der Große they hang out with buddies Voltaire and Wellington. They are all teenagers. Friedrich and Voltaire are totally 🌈 for each other and von Blücher had a thing for young Maria Theresa. Their school is totally strict and Friedrich is always in trouble because he hates his dad because his dad thinks he is too effeminate. Blücher wants to run off with Maria and go to Sweden 🇸🇪.“

“I 😍 Love it! The kids will love it! So what advice do you have for my brother, young Boychik!“

“Just lay low. World 🌎 War VII will break out with like eight different countries, football players will kneel, Game of Toilets 🚽 will be back on TV 📺 and everyone will forget! Then he can revenge on everyone who schtüpped him in the anus.“

I Said helpfully.

“The 📱 phone is 📞 for you!“ said Rachel. Some guy named Donald…

“Mocha Java?“

Peace be the Botendaddy


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An Open Letter to my Readers

I stood at the podium in the University Auditorium, The Old one, built in 1911.

Shaking a stack of 📝 papers, adjusting eyeglasses ruffling collar of tweed jacket.

”Botendaddy readers… You are truly beautiful, you are the sexiest people alive, adventurous, brilliant, glamorous.

May I say, you are nothing like the stupid, vapid, shitty, self-involved, smarmy, douchebag, 👄 mouth breathing 💩 shit-heads who don’t read my site.

Dejected Steeler fans below:

Even though you are only a series of electrons on the « intérnéts », I am madly, passionately, romantically in love 😍 with all of you in an icky, gooey, uncomfortably creepy, ‘I am your density’ McFly, killer clown 🤡 kind of way.”

Thus I dedicate my 💯 th Distance Run 🏃 to all of you, because you are special just for being you. Cause there’s no one in the world 🌎 just like you.

You aren’t weird like the f@&$ing idiotic freak show that is the Writer’s Workshop.

I want you to know that I was once accused of sexual harassment and homosexual 🌈 harassment by every single member of the Writer’s Workshop, but I was acquitted on grounds of ‘assault with a dead 💀 weapon’ and no, really, I mean like look 👀 at Botendaddy, he’s like… dead 💀, he’s lame 😒 and sad 😞 a total loser, decrepit. And ‘is it in yet?’

At any rate, I am on track to run 🏃 the most mileage in a year ever and the most runs in a year ever despite cat 🐈-ass-trophic knee, spine, Achilles’ tendon and neck pain. But unlike other 💩 shit-covered losers, I just run 🏃 through the pain, because I run 🏃 just to run 🏃.

Let me apologize for discussions of weird sex acts with every 🎤 single ‘member’ of the Writer’s Workshop, for endless recitations of hideous, rancid, yeasty, Bowel movement stoked, urine-soaked, Bowel Genie festering, Yog Sothoth-conjuring adult jogging diapers.

If I have offended any of you in any way, it’s your own fault for reading this shit-covered mindless psychotic drivel. Every post of mine that you read, you get dumber and you waste minutes of your life that you will never get back.

Dear Mr./Mrs. {Fill in the blank} this is a special personal message written just for you, {Fill in the blank} for faithfully reading the Botendaddy site. You {Fill in the blank} are special. And I very personally, specifically love ❤️ you: {Fill in the blank}.


The professor 👨‍🏫 stood up slowly. She looked dramatically around the auditorium.

”Yes Botendaddy, on behalf of the Writer’s Workshop, you are a f@&ktarded shit-covered, diaper-wearing ass. And I demand that you make love ❤️ to me immediately after this debacle.”

”Mocha with Jameson’s?”

Peace be the Botendaddy


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100th Distance Race for the Botendaddy The Rochester ORTC Ohio River Run

It was my 💯 lifetime distance run 🏃.

Over those runs I have covered over one ☝️ billion miles.

It was unseasonably warm for a race abou 73 degrees and 90% humidity as we were at the 💦 water’s edge.

“Liberalism… classical late 18th Century Scottish University Philosopher wig-wearing Liberalism.”

Said the Librarian.

First mile about 9:08 not great. Massive knee pain. 19:02 second mile. 29:30 Third Mile, 5k time at 30:38. So-so, not great. The Run was scenic, almost too warm and humid. There weren’t many runners.

For some odd reason, my lungs were very strong. The course seemed a little long. No one would ever admit that they were long, but 6.52 on my GPS vs 6.22 miles? Almost impossible. 1/20th of a mile per mile?

May any rate, I was able to hold my pace, but the knee was too balled-up.

In the end I ran a tolerable 10k for me. Not my worst but not near my best.

I’m bored 😐 and I don’t want to write anymore, but Running 🏃 down by the industrial Ohio River is pretty 😎.


Said the Librarian

Peace be the Botendaddy 


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Review: ‘The Addicts’ by Gertrude Friedberg

Friedberg is almost lost to history. She was a mid 20th Century New York City playwright and author.

’The Addicts’ is a story eerily familiar to today’s readers.

The cautionary tale is about a family who love to read at the dinner table.

The habit crept up on the Tuppersons, a husband and wife who then passed it on to their children.

They would hide their habit if the grandparents were coming to dinner, but otherwise they always obsessively read at the dinner table.


Man in the Fictional Mode, Book 3

Mrs. Tupperson thought they could break the habit if they accepted a dinner invitation from a friend, a Mrs. Ravell.

The family practiced by devouring a book of Ettiquette, also read at the table.

Their attempts to make conversation fell flat.The Ravells, who did not read at the table, but rather kept a phone there so Mr. Ravell could respond to business calls fell into a terrible, ugly argument.

The Tupperson’s conclusion? Not only is reading at the table not rude, it avoids nasty interpersonal conflict brought about by conversation.

So don’t yell at friends or family for being on the cellphone at the dinner table, it leads nowhere good.

Peace be the Botendaddy


‘The Addicts’

Man in the Fictional Mode, Book 3

Hannah Beate Haupt, editor

McDougal, Littell & Company

Evanston, IL 1970

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A 4.32 Mile Run in the Rain

“Rain 🌧. Clouds ☁️. It’s awesome 👏 out here in the haunted park.”

I said to Hiroyuki.

”Look in light 💡 of everything that’s going on in the world 🌎 I think that you should avoid your usual topics: weird sex, adult diapers, mad 😠 💩 pooper 🚽 jogger 🏃 ladies and idiotic literary and music 🎶 critiques.”

Said Hiroyuki as we stretched just under the canopy of the trees 🌲.

”I just made a massive, brownuous, succulent bowel movement in my ginormous adult diaper, the mad pooper 🚽 would have just deffed’ out on the ground, I’ve been listening to Mendelssohn lately but Tchaikovsky, other than the 1812 Overture is boring as crap 💩 and we should try that new thing where you sit backwards on my…”


Trail in the rain

”Stop!” She screamed. “You just can’t help yourself, can you.”

We ran slowly. The Trail was slippery and my shoes 👞 were ‘wore’ out. I made it down the hill on the narrow path through two of the three switchbacks. A shitty bee 🐝 stung me on the forearm and I lost my footing in the shit-covered mud, landing directly on my filthy anus. I jumped right up and kept going.

”Are you OK 👌 aged, crippled, shit-covered Botendaddy?”

She asked. We ran to the far end of the park and we turned around at the two mile mark with a run-on sentence. Our mile times were horrific.


The Elysian Fields

We continued up the asphalt. It was a slog. Warm and rainy. We down the Old trail across the ball ⚽️ fields and out onto the frog 🐸 ger Road. We ended up at the top of the hill where we saw the heat, a Peeler, a copper the popo 👮‍♀️ un Federalé.

The cop rolled down his window.

”Faith be the luck of the little people Leprechaun 🍀 s May be out looking for a pot of gold sure and begorra, Blarney Stone and stout (pronounced styghte) to ye’ don’t be fyckkyin’ that girlie’s simian-vageena in me park wit’ ye giant, veinous, pulsating,, tasty 😋 man-shillelaighoire (pronounced shill-lay-lee).”

We nodded to the officer 👮‍♀️.

”That run was horrible. You covered with mud and bowel movement. That Peeler called me an ape 🦍. Let’s get a shower and get in the hot tub 🛀.”

Said Hiroyuki

“Steamed Latté?”

Peace be the Botendaddy

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