Jennifer Pisstler (moar leik Pisser, amirite?), aka Isobel Goudy, Hyldemoerwitch, armchair shrink Dear Jennifer, a Powerful (impoverished) Witchtress and Old Chick with the Mop; is a bitter old Midwestern hag, who really could have gone very far in this life had she not been such a stupid, paranoid, doped-up bitch.
Hailing from the faraway mythical kingdom of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Jennifer is the online consort and sole financier of Son of Art’s writing career. A dour middle-aged woman of poor white lineage, she toils her days away as a chambermaid for a large hotel chain.
“I do honest work and I am proud of it” she claims, while diligently scouring the scat from a shit-bombed toilet bowl in a hotel suite that was used for a fraternity house’s kielbasa eating contest the evening before. “If I keep this up and pass a performance evaluation before my 50th birthday, they’ll promote me the nighttime switchboard operator. That comes with a nickel raise.”
A life-affirmed Fag Hag and spinster, who spends her evenings living vicariously through back episodes of "Xena, The Warrior Princess"; Jennifer lives in a cramped tenement on the bus route to work with seventy or so cats, most of whom are living. The fetid air inside her apartment is tinged with the aroma of cat turds, dirty underwear and moldy bong water. The carpet is long ruined, and serves only to scarcely camouflage the enormous ashtray her living room floor has become. The occasional knock at the door fills her with dread, as it’s usually either the landlord seeking rent, the Health Department with an order for her to clear out the dead and dying cats, or her certifiably insane ex-husband, looking to cook up a batch of meth on the stove and talk about the good old days.
Son of Art
Her already dismal life took a horrific plunge when she fell victim to the inexplicably seductive wiles of a fat, dwarflike sack of shit called Son of Art. Sadly, she was very easy prey, because her insecurity and neediness is her calling card. Her moments not spent scrubbing toilets, rinsing cat piss from her clothing or trying to exchange food stamps for pot are spent online, trying to find the love of her life. She’s paranoid, clingy and aggressive, demanding lifelong affection and adoration in exchange for her tasteless Livejournal colorbars or memes. If she can hold the potential suitors attention for more than five minutes, she’ll seal their courtship with one of her legendary camwhore performances. A survivor of one such show offers his insight:
“The lighting was poor, so it was hard to make out what I was seeing at first. I saw discarded Arby’s containers, cigarette butts and large white thighs. A roach skittered by. I think she must have turned on a flashlight and I suddenly found myself in the dreadful grip of what may be the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. Her massive heavy labia hung very low, nearly resting on the tattered carpet and the folds were deep and sagging, like the roots of an old warped oak, long dead. She fumbled briefly with the top of a Crisco can before liberally applying a gob of the rancid lard to those dreadful folds. She then proceeded to prod them apart with an orange traffic cone, emblazoned with the bumper sticker of a Milwaukee classic rock radio station. I couldn’t turn away as she forced the cone in and out of her cavernous vagina, the long stretched and tattered walls of which rose and fell without strain or stretching. It was slack and flaccid, like Granny’s upper arm as she waves goodbye from the driveway. From time to time the cone would disappear into her equally lifeless asshole, finding traction on only the occasional hemorrhoid. The display was so appalling; I had no alternative but to record it, hoping to have discovered the next tubgirl or goatse. But even Ogrish.com found it too odious to display. I hope to never endure such revulsion again.”
Jennifer often uses her love for anal intercourse to be an anecdotal topic of conversation, as well as a come-on for men and women alike, gay or straight. She assures gay men that her stubbly cheek and yielding bunghole will make them feel just like they’re having sex with a man, thus solidifying their desire to never have coitus with a woman, specifically her.
Gypsies Tramps and Thieves
She did manage to consummate an online relationship with a man in real life, even though she was required to pay for the entire thing. A vagrant from Phoenix invited her to visit and the two spent a long weekend performing public sexual acts in a cramped Winnebago with the vagrant’s extended family. She eventually had sex with all of them, and upon arriving at the Greyhound station to return home, discovered that they’d stolen all of her money and used her undergarments as toilet paper.
Nauseating as she is however, she held incredible appeal to the reprehensible Son of Art, who realized he could easily utilize her misguided tenacity and mediocre credit rating for his own benefit. Under the guise of friend and teacher, he coaxed her credit card numbers away from her with wild promises of rich reward and love everlasting. She became his loudest toady, usurping his other sycophants and insinuating herself into every one of his online battles. As Son of Art’s mouthpiece, Jennifer has created no less than a hundred sockpuppet accounts for him, sacrificing sleep and personal hygiene to keep his numerous online lies active. As his spokeswoman, she expresses his southern right-wing viewpoint and sensitivities, but in sockpuppet mode, the two spend hours in revelry, making dead baby colorbars, tard jokes and bukkake spam bombs.
Bragging that the two of them are lovers, Jennifer justifies her numerous credit accounts which have defaulted and her increasingly indigent lifestyle as the necessary sacrifice to get Son of Art’s message to the world. He’s probably seen that awful video though.
Son of Art discusses his "relationship" with Jennifer
"He described her in unfavorable terms, however, and that he spent the money she sent him on Chinese food, computer games, and beer. He bragged that there was this woman who was dumb enough to send him $2000 for his "publishing business", despite the fact that he planned to have the books made to order and therefore at no upfront cost. He and Seth had a real laugh about that one. The only thing Tony was worried about was that he might have to fuck her eventually, but he thought it would be worth it if she kept sending checks like that."
Currently, Jennifer is facing lawsuit on two major creditors, though she claims Son of Art has repaid her for subsidizing his lifestyle. She loudly hints that she’d be satisfied with living as a plural wife to Son of Art, because he’s not so dim-witted to estrange his wife, who is the family breadwinner. She has been permanently banned from Livejournal, and has been warned that she will face legal ramifications if she continues to attempt activity on their servers. She claims to be dating a female Dutch moderator of Encyclopedia Dramatica, but it’s nearly impossible to confirm, as her only friends seem to be sockpuppets of herself. Her former friends think she’s a lunatic and even her job is in danger for her repeated breach of employee conduct by submitting hate speech to websites from their servers. She microwaves a pet cat here and there for food and vandalizes a blog to shake off some pent aggression. She is incredibly frustrated however, and on the verge of a balls-out fit.
Which means Son of Art is probably shopping around for a new minion.
Jenn's Dirty Secret
Jenn has recently declared:
[I have] "adopted Fat Tony's conservative methodology. He's the country's foremost Wiccan Southern Baptist and has required me to hate feminism, equality, education, science and most importantly, myself. I am no longer allowed to make homemade porn movies anymore either, unless they are for him and then I have to place a cardboard box over my head and keep my mouth shut. Once a month, when I send him his check and it clears his account, he tells me he loves me. When I reach the $10k mark in contributions, he will stand up in a chair so we'll finally be eye to eye and share our first kiss."
Unfortunately for Jenn, her adoration by Son of Art is quickly going to come to an end once he discovers that she had an abortion.
While there is no entry in the medical books for forcefully cunt-grunting a fetus from your ever-so-slack womb, Jenn Pisstler was able to successfully perform the operation after being knocked up by a vagrant meth-head and consequently provided dinner for her herd of cats the same evening.
Ode To An Old Woman Who Spent the Best Years Of Her Life Face Down In A Dirty Toilet And Making Crappy Colorbars And Sending All Of Her Money To A Dwarf-like Crybaby Dipshit Who Is Married And Mocks Her Sorry Ass While Spending The Money That Was Supposed To Go Toward His Self-Published Plagiarism Career On Chinese Food and Video Games
- In a dank and stinking hovel, there lives a bitter hag.
- An unloved wretched cat lady whose breasts do hang and sag.
- Jealousy has etched her face with lines so deep and hairy.
- Her rabid angst and paranoia make her quite unfit to marry.
- Her aging, gnarled knuckles bulge and stink of Tidy Bowl,
- as she spends her nights trolling online for the man who owns her soul.
- She sends him all her money and calls it love divine,
- scrubbing double the toilets for whom her heart does pine.
- Her health and credit are failing, her mind completely void,
- still sending all her cash, that he may remain unemployed.
- She believes that if she buys him, that she will own his heart;
- This remaining final dumbass who believes in Son of Art.
- But waiting in the wings is his next free cash supply--
- and an unloved wretched cat lady is how she's going to die.
Classic Jennifer Pisstler Ranting and Raving
|Featured article November 4, 2006|
| Preceded by
Kevin and Kat
|Jenn Pisstler|| Succeeded by|
Insane Clown Posse