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G2: Grudgement Day

The Scenario

October 31, 1998, Castle Rock, Maine - The streets of this normally-bustling town are fairly quiet this afternoon, as the cloudy skies begin to drizzle rain. Children's laughter bounces off the houses as they hurry home on their bicycles, trying to avoid the rain. In the distance, a man carrying a satchel makes his way up the street.

"Stupid good-for-nothing Postmaster General! Doesn't know his elbow from a damn hole in the ground," he mutters to himself, as he frenetically paces up and down the pathways leading to the brightly colored homes. "Supervisors always think they're such big shots. Gonna show them! Tell me to shut up, will they?"

"Hey Mister," the kids yell from their bikes. "That movie about you with Kevin Costner - IT SUCKED!" The sound of their taunting laughter as they ride away beats savagely within the postal worker's skull as he grimaces in pain. "You little BASTARDS! Don't you EVER talk about Kevin Costner like that again!" He reaches into his mail bag and the gleam of steel shimmers from out of the darkness. His body stiffens, the voices in his head scream out to him: "DO IT! DO IT!"

"No," he says to himself. "Can't do it here," as he loosens his grip on the gun. "If I kill here, all is lost." He draws a deep breath, "Must wait until I get back to the office." He repeats his mantra, "Must... keep... control," as he struggles with every stitch of what is left of his sanity. He must remain focused, on this, what is sure to be his last day on the job. As he swings open the massive wooden gate leading to the old house, his thoughts are concentrated on his "mission" and he fails to notice the gashes in the wood and the dried smears of blood.

Thunder resonates; sheets of rain drench the postal worker from head to toe. The ominous sound of the heavy wooden gate thudding closed behind him snaps the last remaining straw of forbearance within him. His head fills with screams. The only thought that can get through the thick molasses of his madness is this: someone must pay.

The mailman's crazed eyes survey the landscape. A low rumbling noise draws his attention towards a massive St. Bernard, foaming at the mouth. Crouched not twenty feet away, the dog's haunches are tensed and it's clear that an attack is imminent.

A gruesome smile slowly forms on the postal worker's face. As he reaches into his mailbag, he asks his adversary, "You feelin' lucky? Bring it on, bitch!"

So John, choose the champion in this canine-courier conflagration!

Cujo Disgruntled Postal Worker



A Disgruntled Postal Worker

The Commentary

JOHN: This ultimate dog-mailman matchup has been a long time in coming, and frankly, HotBranch, I'm going to have to go with the dog. After all, mailmen are much filthier and sweatier than dogs, and can't be taught as many tricks. Also, the dogs have a score to settle - these mailmen are always invading their piss-demarcated territory - time to set things right.

In fact, let's check out the violence track record of insane postal workers. Quite an extensive list, I'll admit, but the thing you quickly start to realize is that deranged mail carriers are only good at picking off other mail carriers. And it's not like that's such a challenge in the first place. Who wouldn't run up a huge killboard if all they were chasing was in the post office? My grandmother would notch up more kills, and she's dead! If this postman possessed any real killing skills, he wouldn't be a postman, he'd have a job like Marine, or mercenary, or Buffalo Sabre.

Let's do the Tale of the Tape™: Cujo is a two-hundred pound rabid St. Bernard, possessed with the spirit of a serial killer. The prototypical postal worker is Cliff Clavin, or possibly Taylor Negron, most likely possessed with the spirit of peach schnapps. Good God, HotBranch, this is about as mismatched a fight as you get. Indeed, Cujo would have snacked on some postal worker skull earlier than this, except that in Cujo's eponymously-titled novel, the postman was too damn lazy to finish his route! (BTW, where is the horror book entitled "The rabid crazy postal worker who killed a shitload of people and whose name became synonymous with terror"?)

Ten seconds after he claws the postal worker's neck into the next county, Cujo lifts his hind leg over the engorged body of his adversary, sprays the corpse with steaming hot urine, cocks his head slightly to the left, and says "ˇYo Quiero Taco Bell!"™.

HOTBRANCH: Personal hygiene aside (including yours Johnny-boy), it's time for a reality check, and this one clearly indicates that the dog is going to be put to sleep. If there's a score to settle, it's our less-than-gruntled postal worker who is going to take care of it. Scienticians have known for quite a while that dogs communicate via "pee-mail". It's not bad enough that e-mail is taking away jobs from the posties, now dogs are making matters worse. For that alone, Cujo should be eating hollow-point kibble.

The violence track record for USPS employees is unimpeachable. Dogs, on the other hand, St. Bernards in particular, have nothing to brag about. Most dog-related attacks are A) the work of Rottweilers or Pitbulls and B) against children that were poking said dogs in the eyes or the 'nads. You'd probably maul a child too, if it poked you in the balls. What recent claim to fame do St. Bernards have? Um, well, er... There's Beethoven. Oh, and Beethoven's 2nd. Whoop-de-frickin-do! If a St. Bernard can't even get out of a gig that involves Charles Grodin, do you really expect it to get out of the way of speeding bullet? (Granted, Grodin is a bomb, but he can only bore you to death, not turn you into swiss cheese.)

As for your Tale of the Tape™, do you honestly think that a postal worker who is a few sandwiches short of a picnic is best represented by Cliff Clavin or Taylor Negron? No, my ill-informed friend. The man you seek is Newman! He is the living embodiment of madness in a postal uniform. Not only does Newman outweigh his canine competitor, he has previous experience in "doggie disposal". Finally, you should consider the time it will take for Cujo to cover the distance that separates canis-familiaris from homo-sapiens. Donovan Bailey, the world's fastest man™, ran the 100 meters in 9.84 seconds. Assuming Cujo has Olympic-calibre sprinting ability (and that's one big ASSumption), it will take over half a second to travel the 20 feet. Your typical 9mm bullet travels around 1000 feet per second. Twenty feet will take a piddling 0.02 seconds, roughly 25 times faster. The hollow tips will quickly ventilate the pooch and begin a killing spree that will end up in a tangled mess of bodies and melted mozzarella at the local Chuck-e-Cheese.

JOHN: After reading your opening arguments, HotBranch, I have just one question for you: How does a little boy like you get a hold of big boy smut like this?

And NEWMAN! You bring up the Spectre of NEWMAN??? By my count, the man lost once to the Dilophosaurs on Isla Nublar, and once to Cliff Claven. If Newman is your benchmark, the impeachability of Postal Worker violence reaches near-Clinton levels.

Your physics, on the other hand, would be at least somewhat accurate if you assume away that a) the postal worker has already drawn his weapon, and b) much more seriously, that the postal worker is clean and sober. I think we can agree that your second assumption is taken strictly from the realm of fiction. Let's give the letter carrier the benefit of the doubt and assume that Cujo takes a five-minute nap before strolling over to where the postman is. Here's how I see this time breaking down:

0:00-1:00 Postal worker searches for gun amid Reeses' wrappers and frito-lay bags.
1:00-3:00 Unable to find gun, Postal worker sits down on grass and weeps in frustration. Cujo now in deep fifth-tier REM sleep.
3:00-3:30 Postal worker consumes appropriate amount of amphetamines and amaretto to achieve USPS standards of intoxication.
3:30-4:00 Postal worker notices he has been holding weapon all along.
4:00-4:30 Further weeping.
4:30-5:00 Postal worker looses several shots in general direction of dog-shaped blur. Random slug catches neighbouring postal worker in thigh. Second postal worker returns fire.
5:01 Cujo dismembers Postal worker like Nebraska football vs. Temple

And as for your nad-poking, eye-gouging arguments, let's look at recent pro wrestling history, shall we? Karl "The Mailman" Malone (clearly disgruntled from losing to the Bulls for the millionth time), lost a match with Hulk Hogan, who then went on to lose to Jay Freaking Leno. Using transitive logic we can therefore deduce that:

Mailman < Hogan < Leno < Remainder of Zoological Tree

QED, The postman only rings once.

HOTBRANCH: Truly, John, you are too polite. You graciously open doors for me to walk through that I can then SLAM IN YOUR FACE!

It's amazing that you, of all people, would bring up the subject of intoxication. (Actually, not so amazing; rather another of your predictable drunken mistakes.) St. Bernards are almost always seen with kegs around their necks. Now I know that makes this the ideal dog for you, but you have to figure that Cujo has been taking a few nips from his necklace ornament and is probably drunker than the letter carrier. Even if our gun-totin' USPS worker is drunk and hasn't drawn his weapon, Cujo still gets up close and personal with a barrage of Black Talons™, because the satchel will gladly cede the way to the bullets.

If you do not accept Newman as the ultimate in disgruntled postal worker, I then counter with David Berkowitz. Checkmate! The "Son of Sam" not only was a postal worker, he was one of the most feared serial killers in New York city, a place that don't scare so easy. Before embarking on his killing spree, Berkowitz killed his neighbor's dogs for barking too much; you think Cujo will be spared the same fate? No chance! Face it, John, USPS employees are much scarier than anything Stephen King could ever dredge up from the darkest recesses of his mind, and they are real, as opposed to King's Fiction-by-the-Pound™ books. Our disgruntled postal worker will reduce Cujo to roadkill (without the road) in less than 3 seconds.


Thanks to Brad for suggesting the matchup. Thanks also to Eric Pivnik for the finer points regarding disgruntled postal workers.

The Results

The Digruntled Postal Worker (708 - 58%)

makes kibble of

Cujo (513 - 42%)

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Voter Comments

Gold Grudgie


Well, let's face it. This is not going to be much of a fight, but I'll run some stat checks and a play-by-play to show everyone playing at home how this match turns out.

First, lets check the intelligence of the two combattants:

St. Bernard - dumber than dirt

Postal worker - dumber than stupid dirt

Now lets check the weapon systems:

Angry dog- Sharp teeth and probably a few diseases....

Postal worker- Nice rifle (all postal workers are NRA members) and a few diseases

Finally let's check undeniable urges:

Angry Dog - overwhelming urge to kill, pee, and hump anything in sight.

Postal worker - read above.

That little analysis just lets me show that these two contestants are on fairly equal ground. Now, let's check the play-by-play.

I say that the postal worker, sober or not, takes a minute or two before he realizes what a dog is and what the gun must do to it. Then he takes another, say thirty seconds, to figure out which end of the gun to point at the dog. Finally, the poor guy realizes that bullets are needed, which takes another minute or two. Unfortunately by this time, Cujo has killed 8 children, marked over 6 square miles of "territory", and has done the "Good and Plenty(tm)" with his leg 3 times. By the time the two have figured out whats going on, they are too tired and confused to fight, so they just curl up into a little ball and snooze for a while. Meanwhile, as you remember, this is Halloween night. I'll leave it up to your imagination what will happen when a bunch of teenagers up to no good find a sleeping dog and a postman with firearms..... Bottom line, even Soccer Hooligans are talking about what happened on "The Night of 1000 Howls".

- Shaft

Silver Grudgie

ROTW ™ Silver Medal Grudgie ™

The mailman's eyes gleemed pure hysteria. The big dog kept its gaze on him, the foam from its mouth slathering the pavement below. Any minute now it would jump. Any minute now...

The mailman's grip tightened on double-barrel. He was scared. Not scared enough to piss his pants, but A-one-f*ckin' close. Slowly he pulled out...

The writer came to a halt. How was he going to get the mailman out of this fix? He was already on probation from the Postmaster General after his last bout of carnage. Suddenly, an idea came to light. He continued typing:

...of his mailbag a bulk delivery of taco sauce. Without a second thought he threw the sauce at Cujo. Hitting the ground, it burst and doused the maniacal mutt with eye-blinding irritation. Before the massive dog was able to come to, he was viciously set upon and cut to pieces by a Rottweiler's weight in chihuahuas which had been attracted to the taco sauce. Cujo was no more.

"Well," Stephen King said to himself, "it lacks the suspense of a Stand or Misery, but I gotta fill my quota for this month." He then proceeded to crank out the next three novels he had to complete before dinner.

(hey, this is Castle Rock, Maine, after all)

- Chris 'Jedi' Knight Postal workers should be disgruntled if they have to wear shorts like that

Bronze Grudgie

ROTW ™ Bronze Medal Grudgie ™

Since HotBranch took my bullets-faster-than-dogs commentary, (damn!) I'll have to think of another reason...............Okay! Got one!

Postal Worker: product of real life ("truth is stranger than fiction" rule is in effect), stress and insanity (adrenaline levels high, increasing reflexes, balance, and strength), and public services (the most maddening jobs of all, including police, bank tellers, and the most feared, the taxi drivers *shudder*.

Cujo(literally): product of Steven King, one of the most bestselling authors, ever, and owner of the most sick, twisted imagination this side of Hell.

Cujo(fictionally): a big, foaming dog. Oh. Wow.

I mean, jeez, if you're the spirit of a serial killer, pick something a little more tough to kill! The problem with all these evil spirits is that they take the stupidestforms!

Child's Play 1,2,3,and now 4: Judas Priest! A foot-tall doll is going to take out our ankles! RUUUUUUNNNN!

Demonic Toys:AAAAAAACCCKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!! A shameless rehash of Child's Play! NNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

And so on and so forth. I did hear of one movie that was about possessed trees. Trees! Honestly, one would think the dead would have more sense! Get with it, you damned souls!

- Tracer "critic in training" Malone

This is easy - no matter how fast the DPW fires, it will take the bullets 3-6 business days to arrive, if they doesn't get lost, mangled, or returned to sender instead.

That said, I will quote:

"Ten seconds after he claws the postal worker's neck into the next county, Cujo lifts his hind leg over the engorged body of his adversary, sprays the corpse with steaming hot urine, cocks his head slightly to the left, and says "ˇYo Quiero Taco Bell!"™. "

Kinda insulting to the Chihuahuas there John.

Not to mention, if I may quote further:

"Dogs, on the other hand, St. Bernards in particular, have nothing to brag about. Most dog-related attacks are A) the work of Rottweilers..."

I think this blantant taunting cannot go unanswered any longer. Consider also that Cujo will be covered in gobbets of DPW, which is somewhat similar to Salsa, at least the kind they make in New York City...

If I may quote one more time:

"It is a little known fact that the chihuahas many moons ago, back in the time of the Incas, were highly feared. They were basically LAND PIRAHNAS, roving the country side in gigantic packs that would raise up a tremendous amount of dust, often obscuring the sun. Chihuahas still remember those glory days of yesteryear, and that is why they are collectively pissed. Memories, misty water-colored memories of the way they were, drive those furry little balls of attitude to shred that Rottweiler in 2.2 seconds. End of story. "

Thus, we can determine that the victors are the Chihuahuas, in 12.2 seconds.

- -martinl

Cujo: Supernatural killer beast.

Disgruntled Postal Worker: Obsessed with revenge.

This couldn't be more one-sided if the Disgruntled Postal Worker had a wooden leg.

- Call me Michael Leung.

Cujo in a landslide. Even the scariest disgruntled postal worker you could come up with was only Son of Sam, an infamous serial killer. And who is Cujo, a dynamo of whirling fangs and fur, possessed by? Three guesses, and the first two don't count. That's right, a SERIAL KILLER. With the innate cunning of a serial killer combined with the natural killer instinct of a St. Bernard, Cujo makes mincemeat of the dazed, confused, and disgruntled postal worker in 2.3 seconds flat.

- Jan B.

Let's look a little closer at the quote John made in his opening argument:

"If this postman possessed any real killing skills, he wouldn't be a postman, he'd have a job like Marine, or mercenary, or Buffalo Sabre."

No Buffalo Sabre has the guts to go up against Cujo! Need I remind you that Cujo was Edmonton's best player, until he went East in search of more money and a team who needed a good goalie even more than the Oilers (the Maple Leafs)?

Curtis Joseph is da man! He went to high school in Wilcox, Saskatchewan, facing the cold, white Arctic tundra that is Southern Prairie Canada. No American mailman can face the American stereotype that is Canada's below-zero temperatures!

He single-handedly brought a mediocre team such as the Oilers past the first round of the Stanley Cup two years running!

Give me good ol' Canuck-style hockey over the other made-in-Beaverland sport known as basketball any day!

- Vlad, Oiler fan of Wonder

After much deliberation and a trip to the think tank, i.e. bathroom, I have decided to go with the dog. Why? In a word: rain.

As far as I could tell, your description of the setting implied a large amount of rain. I'm guessing that our disgruntled friend will pull the action on his automatic and find the water has gummed up the works. With 300 pounds of rabid (What is the "possessed by serial killer thing?" He was bitten by a rabid bat) dog barreling into him, our "quick" thinking hero in blue will swing that bad mother of gun in the only workable way, as a club. Unfortunatly, years of not delivering the mail has left our U.S. employee with a Cliff Claven, dare I say, Newmanesque (TM) physique. His slow muscle reactions allow him maybe one swing at the big poochie before the furry embodiment RAGE(tm) uses paws, claws, and jaws to rip your friendly neighborhood postal worker a new mail slot. Cujo gorges himself on Civil Servant Sausege(tm) while the mail man find out what happened to his friends in the I.R.S.

Cujo in 3 seconds, 5 if the mail man gets a swing of the gun in, 1 year if you count the time it takes for him in injest and dijest the embodiment of laziness.

- Steven

Cujo in a cakewalk. We are in the world of Steven King here, and one of the first rules of Steven King is that only nice people can kill the monsters. The evil types, no matter how intellegent or competent they are, always end up dying horribly. Plus, Cujo killing the disgruntled postal worker is an example of Cheap Irony, and thus is something Steven King could never pass up.

- Joe Gottman

Hello. My name is Adam, and I am a JERK .

Now, why am I a jerk? Well, as is the case with most of my friends, as a youngster I was quite a Hellraiser; my exploits ranged from the usual and expected Shenanigans of eggings, prank phone calls and toilet-paperings to the Advanced Tomfoolery of psychological torment and warfare. In the winter, I would hurl snowballs at the local police dog German Shepherd (never said I was all that bright...); in the summer it was usually rocks (what a JERK! ). One day, I was on my paper route (I forgot to mention I was a loser as well as a jerk), and this dog managed to get loose, and recognizing me for the jerk that I am, ran over and bit me. I've been deathly frightened of this Hellspawn ever since; it's been about 7 years, so that evil beast is probably dead.

I've also designed numerous tortures for my mailman as well. One of my favorites is putting up that flag for no reason (hehe, they hate that shit), but the best is blocking the mailbox with my car. Now, you would expect that a mailman would get particularly steamed about this, but my mailman usually just drives by with nary a word or threat; he just delivers that day's mail later on in the week with a note telling that the box was blocked. Pathetic.

So, I have been bitten by a measely 100 pound German Shepherd (not anything near a 200+ St. Bernard, and no match for the legend that is Cujo), while my mailman was nowhere's near evil enough to even honk at my parked car.

- Adam B.

This match goes to Cujo.

Though not because he'd maul, rend, and devour the postal worker. Not a chance. Cujo would be discount lunchmeat for an elementary school before he got remotely near killing distance.Why, you may ask? (Of course you would! You have to!) Because of:

Really Obscure References(tm).

Postal Worker: Recieves his divine intervention from none other than the game Postal. Sure, teeth, slobber, a healthy heapin' of The Rage(tm) and that whole physics thing (mass, weight, velocity... well, whatever) go in Cujo's favor, but how is that gonna help you against an arsenal that makes the Predator look wussy?(or that pansy, Boba Loo, too.)

So how is Cujo gonna win this one? Simple.

Remember, some while back, there was an album. On that album was a song. In that song, there was a reference. Went something like "[Something] like Zorro. Crazy like Cujo." That's right, ladies and gentlemen, Cujo's got the support of The Fresh Prince(tm?) in his corner.

Everyone knows that The Fresh Prince later became Will Smith, who later became K(er... J?) from the Men in Black.

The MIBs have already proven their Grudge Match superiority by taking out the only Mentos Level Cool(tm) figure to come out of the 70's, Mork.

This match in the amount of time it takes J(K?) to retrieve K(J?) off the roof (darn noisy crickets!) and plant a tree where their dear, departed Cujo died.

(Side note: Bragging rights go to the Postal Worker, but knowing you're better than a rabid dog don't mean jack after having a hole blown in you that happens to be bigger than you are. Were. Whatever.)

- Mighty Florist

Yo, Flo! Will Smith is the MiB formerly known as J - Eds.

Two key words that have been forgotten in this match: Second Ammendment. That mailman is probably carrying more firepower than most Montana militias. And since Cujo was killed with a Shotgun, though not by a postal worker, I think its pretty clear who's going to loose the vast majority of their body mass through exit wounds in about four tenths of a second.

- Joel Mathis

(going into Cliff Clavin mode)

Welllll, seeing as I was a former postal employee, I can tell you a thing or two about a thing or two...

(going back into human mode)

Like I was saying, as a former employee, I have to give it to any USPS worker vs any rabid canine. I've seen how these people drink, for god's sakes, they're animals. Luckily, I was fired due to a lack of keeping myself awake at all hours of the night-so I didn't "go postal." A mailcarrier's life is a much harsher life than I experienced, but I can tell you this, any psychotic person harboring all his demonic temptations is ALWAYS GOING TO DESTROY ANYTHING IN HIS PATH, INCLUDING A DOGGIE. So in ending my statement, god bless america, and god bless our mail carriers, for if it wasn't for them, I wouldn't receive my Playboy(TM) on schedule.


We all know that both canine and courier combatants are rabid and have the mind of a homicidal maniac. So the conclusion of this match will not be decided by will or RAGE or whatever the popular catch-phrase is this month. Both are also experienced in the merciless slaughter of whoever or whatever happens to be near. Thus it comes down to a question of firepower. We all know that postal workers are the undisputed masters at aquiring illegal weapons such as AK-47s and high explosives. That mangy pooch cannot possibly match this, though that keg could be a molotov cocktail. I predict the epic battle to go something like this:

Cujo leaps at the postman, mouth open wide to swallow his head. In return the few-tacos-short-of-a-combination-plate postman pulls out the aforementioned AK-47 and adds a few new orifices to the fluffy dog's pelt. Just to be fair, lets say this doesn't kill the presumably supernatural Cujo (They never die easy). Cujo would land a foot or so short of his goal. The terror of suburbia, now in a good mood, would let the b***h have it. Then blow up the leftover pile of quivering dogmeat wit one of his many mail bombs. Free hot dogs for all the surviversOf the subsequent mailman rampage.

PS- "Sex, lies, and videotape"!?! I hear enough about Clinton's hobbies on TV for Chrissakes!

- Gen. Moore

I'm afraid that I'll have to give this one to the U.S. Postal Service. After years of Rocky-esque training beating on packages, the postman is a lean, meaning fighting machine! Also, the fact that he has lived to an age where he can become a government employee in the town of Castle Rock says something for his survival skills. That's two for the postman. Now, Cujo's an impressive specimen. But, as readers of the book know, he got killed by a dehydrated woman using a broken baseball bat! I think a gun could do a BIT more damage than that.

Sorry, Cujo, but you should have stayed on the porch.

- Big Sexy Jared Goodrich

The postman will win this one. It is all a matter of armament. Our disgruntled postal worker will certainly be armed with a an automatic weapon, probably an Uzi or a Mac-10. Cujo will be armed merely with teeth and a rabies-heightened aggression. As the history of big game hunting shows, even the most vicious of animals cannot win against an armed man. In this case, an Uzi could get off at least 10 shots (in full automatic mode) before Cujo could cover the distance between him and the postman. As Cujo is wounded by each round, he slows down, giving more time for more shots until he has a whole magazine worth of rounds in his corpse. Victory through superior firepower!

- The Demented Astronomer

Okay. Let's look at this logically. On the one side, we have the disgruntled postal worker. A wreck. With shaky hands that belong on a popular gynecologist, not a sharpshooter. He's obviously utterly whacked out of his mind, which is likely to affect his vision as well.

On the other, we have Cujo. Man, natural dogs were hunting man down and turning him into kibble before humans were walking erect. Cujo is possessed by the spirit of a psychopathic murderer. One who was GOOD at what he did. He's smaller, he's lethal, and he has no compunctions about going straight for the throat.

Cujo takes this one. By the throat. And wrestles it around a little before settling down to eat.

- Istanbul

Rock beats Scissors. Scissors beat Paper. HollowPoints beat Teeth... its as simple as that.

- Buddha

Why aren't people writing letters anymore? Because they have e-mail. Why is there e-mail, because there's a network. And if you know my employers, they have a mascot named "Network", who looks awfully familiar...

Am I writing this to you in a postcard? I don't think so.

This postman bombs worse than Costner.

- Dan McD. (

This is one of the closest, most evenly matched pairings I've seen.

I actually had to THINK as to who would win this one, but I have decided to go with the postal worker. First, you've got the "insane factor," something I am quite an expert on. Now be honest, have you ever heard of anyone or anything going "Cujo" on someone? Now have you heard of anyone going "postal?" I thought so. But I digress.

Secondly, and more importantly, you've got the weaponry factor. Put simply, postal workers have some type of gun. Posessed rabid St. Beranards on a Killing Spree(tm) don't. Any questions? "But what if the postal worker is drunk?" I believe Adam Sandler said it best: "WHOOPITEE-DOO!(tm)" If he's sober, the postal worker will finish it with one clean gunshot to the head. If he's drunk, the postal worker will fire so many shots that he's guaranteed to kill Cujo with one or more of the bullets. Without true insanity or guns, Cujo is toast.

By the way, Brendan, I still know what you did on John Wayne vs. Clint Eastwood. Expect a suggestion from me in the coming weeks about my previous challenge.

- Devin The Mental Hospital Escapee

The disgruntled postal worker has a distinct advantage, namely, WEAPONS! All the poor pooch has is teeth and claws. So, the scenario: Joe The Mailman pulls his AK-47 and is about to splatter Cujo's fur everywhere.....and then the French Army accidentally shows up and surrenders. In the confusion the dog runs away and Joe is declared victorious over both.

- Big Boy

Before explaining why things happen the way they happen, let's clear up a few matters. HotBranch, get a freakin' unabridged dictionary. You'll find that "gruntled" means angry, and that the prefix dis- is an intensifier. Thus, "disgruntled" means really angry. Or pissed off, or whatever the f&*% you want it to be. I do agree with the speed analysis, though. Cujo, unlike Superman, is slower than a speeding bullet. And the postal worker will have a little more time, simply because it probably takes Cujo a little time to get up to speed (hey, 200 pounds takes some energy to move, dig?). However, that postal worker better have silver hollowpoints or whatever, because Cujo is supernatural and thus immune to a simple killing.

Furthermore, there's always the Friday-the-13th-Clause(tm). The first killing only LOOKS like it was successful. Aw crap, I gotta change my vote because while the USPS guy is creaming his shorts from "killing" Cujo, the dog gets up and eats the gun, somehow manages to fire it and have the bullets come out his mouth, and reduce the USPS guy to hamburger through the wonder of the expansion of hollowpoint bullets.

Ah hell you guys never print my stuff anymore so why the hell did I bother anyways?

- Squidboy of the Windy City

My dictionary is bridged quite nicely, thankyouverymuch! - HB!

Hotbranch has a good point about e-mail taking away mailman's jobs.

While Cujo is just a dumb rabid dog, the postal worker has reasons to fight: stamps losing to the @ sign. He has got the Rage(TM), man!!

With the anger and might of an unemployed Pony Express Rider he rips apart Cujo and then goes on to destroy Compuserve.

- Katrover

Oh my god, they're invading!!

Alright, now that I've got a little attention, someone has to tell me where Cujo is. Damnit people, can we shut up for two seconds so I can get some answers?!

What??!!? I knew this was going to happen...I knew I was gonna be too late. Stupid government, always waiting until the lives of the mostly harmless American public are in danger! And a Postal Worker??? He's working for the government, for Chrissakes! Someone's head is gonna roll, and it ain't gonna be mine.

Who am I? I'm just a lowly Animal Rights Activist, out there slinging the sign over my shoulder and wearing my little button like everyone else. We've been talking a lot about this whole Cujo mess, and we've very proud to finally announce to you, the readers of WWWF, that we have joined forces with the Human Rights Society to fight for the dog that cannot fight for himself: Cujo. Our reasoning is very simple. We know that he's possessed by the spirit of a bloodthirsty serial killer, and therefore can, in theory, carry out human thought functions. So really, he should get "punished" in the legal system just like everyone else.

No more bones, Cujo! I don't have any more! My leg is NOT a bone! No, Cujo, nnnnoooOOOOOOOoooooooooo......

(Bone-crushing chomp)

- Fire and Ice

If you've ever seen a dog chase a squirrel and watched the dog in the process of chasing said squirrel barrel into a tree head first at full speed then walk away like nothing happened, you know a few measly bullets aren't going to stop Cujo.

Anyway, no matter who wins, this is going to be the shortest Grudgematch since Death Star vs. Enterprise.

- King of No Media

The postal worker draws his weapon and, maddened with rage and the voices in his head screaming at him to finish the job, strides towards Cujo. Cujo, growling menacingly, gets ready to spring. The postal worker takes aim with practiced efficiency, squeezing the trigger. Alas, he is so intent on his canine competitor that he fails to notice a little surprise on the lawn, "doggie logs" deposited there by Cujo earlier that morning. As the first report comes from the gun, the Postal Worker's hand jerks towards the skies as he slips, slapstick-style, and lands on the grass with an unceremonious whump.

The gun has flown from his hands in the fall and sits, useless, on the lawn just out of his reach. Cujo leisurely pads towards the postal worker and pins him down with a massive paw. With a victorious snarl on his face, he brings his slavering muzzle towards the mailman's panic-stricken face. But the overconfident Cujo underestimates his opponent and, in a last ditch effort, the mailman lunges up at Cujo's throat. The postman's teeth find the jugular, and he clamps down hard. Cujo tries to yelp, but no sound will come as the postman violently thrashes at the dog's throat. Another moment, and it is all over.

"Neither rain nor snow nor sleet nor hail nor gloom of night shall stay these appointed couriers from opening up a can of Whoop-Ass"

- Rick

Never before have I voted for the underdog (Bad Pun- TM), but this time I feel compelled to do so. America's fascination with maniacs has gone too far. We belive them to be indestructible simply because they are insane. This is not so. In fact, maniacs have largely proven to be grade-A wimps, like Jeffrey Dahmer, who was beaten up and cuffed to his bed by a potential victim, and Charlie Manson, who had to make his Bitch Squad (TM) do all the killing for him. Now, I don't wanna get off on a rant here, but... oh, f*ck that. To put it simply; nobody with a gun ever posed the LEAST bit of threat to Cujo. They hide behind their weapons like Linus clinging to his blankie, and when Cujo pops out of the standard shadows and rips the weapon from the gun-weilder's grasp, they cower and simper like Christians at a bris.

I know, I know, I KNOW dammit, in the movie Dee Wallace ultimately iced Cujo with the gun, but I'm speaking about the book here. In the book, Cujo wasn't merely rabid, he was possesed! In the book, the lady had to beat the dog to death with the bat, and continued beating him until she collapsed. (Is that sensationalism or just good writing?)

Also, in the book, the little kid DIES. But that's Hollywood for ya. Anyway, just because some blubbering asshole who's been pushed far enough to pick up a gun comes knocking on Cujo's door doesn't mean Cujo is a dead doggie. Hell, one look at the blood-and-mud caked dog will probably send this already-fragile postal worker over the edge and cause him to put a bullet into his own skull. We have romanticized disgruntled postal workers to the point where we make them seem much more dangerous than they actually are. Most of them end up being killed by the post office's SECURITY GUARD. Think about that shit. Is Cujo going to drop for a rent-a-cop? Didn't he EAT a cop? Thank you.

Oh, yeah, one more thing: it's Halloween. The monster CAN win.

- Phat Cheops

Ordinarily, dogs are the predators and postal workers are the prey in the intricate, high-stakes game of mail delivery. However, this postal worker is no ordinary, gruntled fellow: he has somehow become ungruntled! Lets face it, dogs only get away with the shit they pull on mailpersons because kicking their ass would be wrong (and impolite). In his malgruntled state, our posty just doesn't care anymore -- and he's got the firepower to back up his newfound distolerance of the canine species. The fact that this particular doggie is possessed by the spirit of a serial killer doesn't make any difference at all -- being a really _mean_ dog doesn't make you immune to hollow-point bullets. The dog is going down.

- Eugene

Unlike serial killers such as Jason, Freddy, and Michael Myers, Cujo got only one film, and therefore only one rampage to his credit. Seems like we hear about these crazed mailmen more than once, so they seem to have more staying power than Cujo.

Kinda similar to comparing a tornado and a hurricane -- you never want to be in either (unless you're drunker than both Cujo and the postman combined), but a tornado just zaps a specific geographic point with one good shot, whereas a hurricane pretty much wipes out a several-hundred-square-mile radius over the course of about several days.

Take this analogy a step further: Cujo jumps the postman, delivers a few bites, and gets pumped full of lead in the process. He staggers off somewhere and dies a miserable death. Suddenly, a chorus of weeping kids is heard in the distance...OH NO, you killed Beethoven!

Mr. Eisner will hear about this!


Not stopping with that one rampage, he waltzes into the local post office, then makes Swiss cheese out of the boss and a few other employees. Afterwards, he waltzes into the local Whataburger and offs a few dozen folks there. Next, he encounters the local sheriff and Barney Fife-type deputy and delivers a few fatal rounds them-ward.

Finally, the ATF is called in...representatives of the government...the source of the Fury that Dwells within Him. At last, his shot at the ultimate revenge...give the interns all the good government jobs, will they? I'll show them!!!!! He'll die in the bloodbath that ensues, but not before taking a few dozen Feds with him in the process.

The Postman Always Rings Twice...or three...or four...or maybe even a couple hundred dozen times. Too bad pooches don't have Nine Lives.

- The Genius Formerly (and Still) Known as Eddie

Castle Rock, as well as pretty much the entire state of Maine (and parts of Colorado and Nebraska) are ruled with the iron fist of none other than Stephen King. That postal worker was never, to my knowledge, in any of King's books, so as he attacks one of King's cherished monsters he will be facing the revengeful wrath of ALL of King's creations! Lets look at the battle...

POSTMAN: Take this ya damn flea-bitten,$h!t-caked mongrel!


(Cujo falls to the ground, wounded and bleeding as the postman walks away, laughing. As he walks through the town, his eyes pass the window a store,called Needful Things. In the window, there is a >GASP!< ballistic missle! He quickly runs in, where the man running the store, Leland Gaunt, sells it to him after hypnotizing him into walking next to a sewer and sticking his arm down there.)

POSTMAN: Hey...why the hell am I doing this?!

(He sees a clown in the sewer)

CLOWN:They float down here,"Postie"...They FLOAT! And when youre down here, YOULL FLOAT TOO!!!!

As the clown begins ripping his arm off, a bloody girl in a prom dress, a grizzly old man with a rouque mallet, a cult of cleaver wielding children, and about ten thousand animated pet corpses descend on him! Things are looking grim...

For the postman turns out to be none other than MICHAEL CRICHTON, one of King's biggest competitors! King gloats about the greusome events ocurring downtown as the world is spared of yet ANOTHER Jurassic Park sequel!

- Quoshbog the Bullfrog (And Stephen King scholar)

Just any old disgruntled postal worker? How could you possibly not use "The Postman" *himself* for this Grudge Match. Do you realize how many opportunities to mock, belittle, and heap mountains of (fully deserved) abuse upon that execrable excuse for a movie you have deprived your loyal fan base of?

If we can't even find any good opportunities to get in cheap shots on bad movies, then WHAT'S THE GRUDGE MATCH WEBSITE COMING TO, ANYWAY?

PS -- Gun = range. Teeth = no range. Range > no range, therefore Cujo = "Lie Down, Play Dead."

- Chuckg

Postmen. Well, not being American I don't know about USPS men, but I assume the following holds true as it does for the Royal Postal men over here.

Post men are forced to wade through knee high puddles, no LAKES of Dog piss and bardge asside foltilas of dog Feaces to actually reach the post box, which for some reason. On opening the letters fall into said lake, oh, and some tramp has urinated in the box, mistaking it for a toilet after an all night methalated spirit bindge.

This, over the average career is engough to slowly unhinge the mind of any postal worker. As he walks down the streets he does not percieve the world as we do. He sees the dogs, laughing, yes laughing at him, the hundreds of personal insults, rigned in red on the letters. The voices (Not at this address, NOT AT TEHIS ADDRESS NOT AT THIS ADDRESS!) chanting, chanting.

This added to the coctail of drugs required to keep a human being up and walking down streets 24 hours a day. Soon, the world begins to take on a new quality. The trees and houses begin to turn grey, whilst letters, dogs and postboxes all take on hightend bright colours, other postman pass him by, they are mumbling, how dare they. how DARE they, they think they have it bad??

Also, bare in mind that this is happening in a small town area, the horrible 'cute kids' the white picket fences. As he drives through they tree lined avenues, the sun flickering theough the branches adds to the madness.

Now, cut to the end of the day, urine sodden, mad, high on all sorts of drugs he sees Cujo waiting for him. He snaps. Aiming his gun he fires at the dog, bullets blast into the dogs shoulder, the dog takes it unflinchingly, but the sparks from the gun are enought to ignite the cloud of meths spirits in his bag from the tramps piss. The Postman explodes and burns with a horrible smell.

- Seb Rabit

Cujo lives to KILL, and KILL AGAIN!

A postal worker lives to sort, stack, and deliver neverending, monotonous mountains of mail.

A disgrunled postal worker realizes that sorting stacking and delivering neverending monotonous mountains of mail isn't worth it. A disgruntled postal worker is enraged at the pointless futility and high stress levels of his life. A disgruntled postal worker wants one thing only.

To die.

The end of the typical rampage is invariably the same: postal worker either kills himself, or commits suicide by cop, going down in a final blaze of glory taking on "Th' MAN" (TM).

Building up to this psychotic break is an immersion of radical right wing ideology...he spends his meagre paycheck on high-powered weapons for "self defense", to be used in dire emergency against armed robbers, communists, Japanese Trick-or-Treaters, or any other Threat to the American Way of Life.

So, our postal worker is disgruntled, and in mid-psychotic break. His rage has dictated that SOMEONE MUST PAY before he succumbs to welcome oblivion. He has an illegally modified full-auto Desert Eagle .50 caliber pistol with an illegal 25 round clip that he bought to defend himself from outlaw bikers and liberals. He now has a target.

He is being threatened. His cause is just. His rage is demanding blood. His soul has resigned itself to an abrupt and painful end.

Cujo expects his prey to want to live, and Cujo expects to live to KILL AGAIN. The postal worker expects nothing of the sort, so he lets Cujo leap and get close enough so nothing is left to chance. As Cujo's jaws clamp around the postal worker's throat, 25 slugs the size of the cap on a "Dry-Erase" (TM) marker rip though his mangy body, turning him into 250lbs of pre-tenderized korean barbecue.

Our disgruntled postal worker, slowly suffocating due to his crushed windpipe, slips contentedly into the Long Night, knowing that HE TOOK THE BASTARD WITH HIM! HAHAHAHAHAHA! HAAAAAAAAAAAAA-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

The Disgruntled Postal Worker wins, having not only vanquished his foe, but also obtained from the cur a final release from the dreary drudgery of life in the Postal Service.

- SoupIsGood Food

  Well, let me just say that if *I* were a disgruntled postal worker who required various dosages to properly perform my duties, I'd take the most potent weapon available, in the smallest package. It'd have to be easy to operate too. Let's say I've got a cut-down 12 gauge in that mail bag. And let's say I've got it loaded with buckshot buffered by white phosphorus. All I can say is "foom". So the mail bag catches fire. So what? Do I really care? At this point would I even remember that I was a federal employee? Doubtful. All I would be thinking is, "I hope my freezer's big enough for 250 pounds of pooch-kebabs..."

- Infrared35

Fortunately, for the sake of all, this fight happened to commence at the doorstep of one Dr. Dolittle. The good doctor, noticing a clamoring outside, opens the door to assess the situation. Quickly, he tells Cujo and the postman to relax.

As it turns out, this dog-vs.-postal-carrier thing was all just one big misunderstanding. Within minutes, Dr. Dolittle has the two sides shaking paws and making up.

"Let's stop this fussin' an' a-feudin'," begs the Postal Worker.

Cujo concurs and soon they are back at the Postal Worker's house watching TV and eating kibble. With his newfound mellowness (and hygiene), the Postal Worker also finds love--in the form of the bus driver lady on South Park. (It seems her personality is all one big misunderstanding, also.) Soon the pitter-patter of little misunderstandings is heard in their household. Proudly, the family members don their Sunday best(TM) as they are photographed for the cover of Time(TM) magazine's family of the year.

- Mark Wentz

Its interesting. One week ago I liked dogs, now I despise them. A week ago I got a job as a promotions representative for Moden Streamline Australia. Now, after being attacked by nearly every breed of dog there is, I think the entire miserable lot should be shot! And this is only after one week! Imagine what posties all across the world must think about dogs. At least Australia Post workers have those small motorcycles. But if you're on foot its another matter. Every time you go into a house with a fence around it, you put your life into your hands. If this is how I feel after just one week on the job, postmen must be ready to shoot the owners as well!! (Maby that isn't such a bad after all...)


I'm ashamed. I'm deeply ashamed.

How could anyone be voting for Cujo here, when the dog, while mighty, and truly a chihuahua-killing force to be reckoned with, is up against the single most threatening predator in the history of our fragile planet, the postal worker?

Perhaps if this was a mutated Cujo, the poor beast would have a chance. If, for example, Dr. Hammond got a crack at its DNA over at Jurassic Park (TM), and gave it Kevlar skin, steel teeth, infared vision, acid resistance (just 'cause he could) and a little Eye of the Tiger (tm), then Cujo would be able to make a showing for him- or herself.

As things stand right now, the dog hasn't a hope in hell. It may stalk. It may pounce. It may take out a fair number of innocent bystanders (if anyone in Castle Rock can be said to be innocent). It may even get a tantalizing taste of postal worker flesh. But eventually, this will end, as all battles in this century have, with this melodious sound:


"Yark!" *splat*

It's like bloody poetry.

- Thomas Wilde

A couple years ago (true story), I was on my way to pick up my wife for lunch when I passed some semi-gruntled postal workers picketing outside of their office. Though these folks were armed with nothing more deadly than balsa stakes, I can't begin to describe the sinking feeling I got in the pit of my stomach at the sight of them. I got out of there quick, and my wife and I had lunch on the other side of town.

I've also seen angry dogs, some from alarmingly close range. Yes, it scared me, but that was just an adrenaline reaction. It wasn't the mind-numbing terror that hit me when I saw the potentially-disgruntled postal workers. I know what to do if a dog tries to take me out (although getting jumped by Cujo is no normal dog attack). If a DPW opened fire nearby, I don't think I'd do anything but pray.

Finally, the expression is "to go postal", not "to go Cujo" or "to go Stephen-King". The DPW drills Cujo, exploding him like a blood sausage.

- Aero

Though you mentioned Kevin Costner's dreadful film The Postman, you forgot the considerably more popular Italian Il Postino. *This* Postman taught us an important fact: postmen are communist. Cujo, obviously, is also Communist, as evidenced by his Russo-Chine sounding name and his favor for the color red.

Dog and Postman will immediately recognise in the other an ally, and will together go to the post office. Once there, they will take out all of the civil servants there, and will flood the mail with copies of the Manifesto. These will be received by every man, woman, and child in America, except for one guy named Joe who lives in a tractor-trailer just outside of Omaha. Once the American people read the Manifesto, they will see it as the *one true way*, primarily because they confuse Karl Marx with the ever-popular Marx Brothers. The proletariat will rise up, overthrowing the government, and ridding us once and for all of the snore-inducing Monica Lewinsky scandal (though a small coalition of insomniacs will object to this.) Postman and dog will be put in charge, in a Lenin-Trotsky sort of situation. Unfortunately, just like the aforementioned Lenin and Trotsky, they will be torn apart by infighting, until the government is taken over by a Stalin for the new millenium.

His name?

Bill Gates.

- Guildenstern

Cujo is simply no match for our Disgruntled Postal Worker.

1) The Stephen King movie is what, 10, 15 years old? Cujo is one ancient canine. Probably jumps up and bites someone's ass slower than Kate Winslet on a treadmill.

2) Newman was able to take down the complete computing and security system at Isla Nublar with only the single click of a mouse and crazed with greed. He can most assuredly take down a graying old St. Bernard with the squeeze of a trigger while crazed with the Postal Worker Blues.

- Chris Boyd

Mmmm, title character vs. unnamed persona.

You might as well put a red shirt and starfleet badge on the postal worker. The very fact that he a) Doesn't have a name and b) has never been seen before on grudge makes him fit perfectly into the infamous Star-Trek-Beam-Down-To-The-Planet-Cannon-Fodder-Away-Team-Target (STBDTTPCFATT) category. Ensign Generic, meet evil title character who's gonna rip you a new hole.


I voted for your friendly neighborhood postal worker for a very simple reason which can be summarized in two words: Opposable thumbs!!!!

I don't care how big, how strong, how rabid, or how supernaturally empowered Cujo is, let's see him wield a pistol, let alone a shotgun!

Personally, I've never understood those FOX specials (e.g. When Gophers Attack!); I just don't see the humans in any *real* danger as long as they've got OTP: Opposable Thumb Power (Not currently trademarked, incidentally). Why don't these stupid idiots pick up a rock, ferchrissakes, and bonk the oncoming zebra in the head with it? Even the Disgruntled Postal Worker should have enough sense to grab a weapon when Old Yeller charges. Even if he can't reach his Post-office standard issue sidearm, there's nothing stopping him fom grabbin' an Ugly Stick (TM) and whacking the bejeezus out of the poor mutt.

The end result? The Postal Worker is no longer disgruntled (does that mean he's gruntled?) and Cujo is left to star in Beethoven 3 with Charles Grodin. A fate worse than death!!!

- 1/2 Nelson

The scenario pits a rapid Saint Benhard ready to pounce from 20 feet away against a clearly deranged postal worker who doesn't even have his weapon drawn. Even if the postman's weapon was drawn, the odds are pretty unlikely that he could aim it properly. Clearly no contest, Cujo wins paws down.

Then I read the commentary. Hot Branch's arguments defy logic.

First casting Newman as the prototypical mailman: Newman's devious, but he's still a wuss. Then he tries to paint Cujo as drunk from the little keg that he wears on his collar: First of all Cujo's a rapid dog from Maine, he's got no keg. Even if he did, Hot Branch's argument would still side with Cujo because those St. Bernards that do have the kegs perform Search and Rescue in snowstorms that most postmen would never go out in regardless of their pledge. Finally, Hot Branch invokes the Son of Sam. If he would only follow the HTML link he would see that the Son of Sam took his orders from a dog.

Yes I was thinking of voting for Cujo anyways but the logical geek in me demands that I MUST vote for Cujo just so Hot Branch and his illogical arguments go down to a well-deserved defeat.

- Terpman

This match takes place in Maine, my home state. And in the Maine State House there are many portraits and all of them are of white males. So the good people of Maine, being inclusionist to the exclusion of all else, decided to set up a Blue Ribbon Panel(tm, Pabst Brewing) to replace a few of them with portraits of Downeasters(tm) who were members of Oppressed Minorities(tm). Soon a list of worthy candidates had been assembled, engineered to cover every ethnicity and both sexes. "But wait," cried the advocates of an Oppressed Minority(tm) that had nearly been left out, "there's only one Franco-American(tm) on the list!" As Dave Barry would say, I'm not making this up. In the world of the Politically Correct, Mainers descended from French settlers are genuine, certified, lifetime members of the victim class. And therein lies my dilemma.

I am a Franco-American, so I am oppressed. I should therefore side with Cujo, a victim of a heartless society too greedy to spend the money for proper bat control, against this enemy who is not only a whitemale&but a white male with a gun! As everyone who's been near a college in the last 10 years knows, white males with guns are the source of all evil! But wait&I am also a white male. In fact, I am very white (I've been known to tan under a 60 watt bulb) and very male (anything as hairy as me had better be male or on four legs) so I am also an oppressor. As a military-trained marksman and the son of an avid Maine deer hunter, I shouldn't be bothered by the gun issue. As a thinking man I should turn from the Franco-American lobby and other "victims" and look for real injustices to fight. And as a conservative and a student of the Constitution, I should realize that anyone standing up against the Executive branch without the Supreme Court or the Congress on their side will be crushed, so I should back the postal worker out of simple realism. What am I to do? I am a cheese-eating surrender monkey, but I am also the man I must surrender to! I am at war with myself!

But I am also a man of reason, and reason can't get around the cold realities of hot lead. With unearthly speed, the postal worker pulls out his semi-automatic .88 Magnum (It shoots through schools!) and turns Cujo into a particularly well-ventilated lawn ornament in mid-leap. She flops to the ground with a sickening thud-and-whimper combo reminiscent of the sound made by the Republican Party on election night. But the carnage is not over yet by any means. Castle Rock is so small that the deadification of every member of its post office staff could easily be accomplished with a single clip of ammunition, which is all our postal protagonist has with him. Checking his weapon, he finds a single bullet left. Then he does what natural law mandates that every disgruntled postal worker do after running out of ammo: He sits down and splatters his fevered gray matter all over the back fence. Out of decency, his mom waits three days before renting out his room.

- >Mr. Silverback- Went postal, liked it, decided to stay.

As much as I hate to say it, I'm..with...Hotbranch™.

Mailman: Bring it on, you smelly beast! I've knocked off Lassie!!

Dog: Raaalff! Bark! *lunges*!

Mailman: *whips out gun, shoots the Dog right between the eyes*...

As you can see, life is crule for poor Cuji, or whatever his name was. Man has guns, Dogs have teeth. Well, I think that about sums it up.

- "better print my message" starnik

I will admit that I'm not an expert on Cujo, but Postie has to have my vote for one major reason: video games. Cujo has never had a video game made about him, and as far as I know there are no games with a target audience above 5 that allow you to play as a dog.

Meanwhile, Postal was a game in which you played a posessed postal worker trying to fight back demons from the nether realm. The fact that our Grudgie postal worker hears voices telling him to shoot gives pretty good evidence he's posessed. So if a postal worker can take out FBI agents with gauss rifles, i'm pretty sure he can handle this little doggie.

- Wheeljack

Cliff Clavin was by far the scariest character on Cheers. He was always a little nutsy, and given a nudge in the right direction, he would have gone postal in the truest and most extreme sense of the word. Cliff vs. Cujo? Get ready to call the animal hospital/sausage factory.

- Longfellow's wench

after looking at the pictures of this weeks grudge match, i decided that there can be only one outcome. the mailman gets ripped to shreads. what movie do you think of when you look at cujo's picture.

you guessed it. jaws. jaws' record isn't all that great, he's 0 for 4 in movies, and 0 and 1 in grudge matches, but now look at the mailman's picture. it seems to me that he is made up of clay in that picture. he vaguely resembles Mr Bill. Mr Bills record is 0 and 100000000000. remember that jaws at least got to snack on a few people before getting shot down. cujo by a mile.

- Bri Rob the Caveman

So, we have a posessed dog up against an insane mailman. On the surface, everything's even - they both have voices inside their head to contend with, both are willing to blast the first thing they see, etc. But one thing does set them apart - Cujo has to fight hand-to-hand with our mailbag-carrying psycho, while the disgruntled postal worker has options ranging from the uzi taken from the pile of packages sent before the 16-ounce rule went into effect to various artillery that, were the ATF bureau aware of their existence, would be banned immediately for private ownership.

- Nicholas Eckert, a.k.a. the Vidstudent

Cujo is going to be dead before he knows what hit him. Since the mailman is holding a satchel it won't be an assault weapon, so its gotta be an auto-mag. Weather its a .357 or .44 doesn't matter, both rounds are supersonic. The speed of sound is about 1080 feet per second, the speed of a St. Bernard is measured in feet per minute.

As far as head start for the dog forget it. Have you ever looked at a Cujo's eyes? There redder than a socialist. Cujo won't see the gun, and the bullets will hit him before the sound reaches his ears.

Oh, great now I've agreed with Hotbranch. Thanks guys, now I'm going to need therapy to deal with this. Where did I put those bullets?

- Claymore, future Postal Worker

In any heavily debated pugilistic battle, check the wisdom of Bruce:

"Good ... bad ... I'm the guy with the gun."

And who's got the gun here?

- Kilgore Trout

This doesn't take a lot of thinking. The Postal Worker is armed. Arm Cujo, and then you've got a fight. Maybe mount a gattling gun on his back, with the midget from Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome to fire it. Of course, even then Lance Henrikson and Ally Sheedy might be able to take the dog down. . .

- I.C. Sedablineman

Listen, Cujo and I go way back and if he can't handle some under-sexed, over-stressed, and otherwise stupid Mail Hound, then I might as well go back to chasing cars.

More importantly, I'm writing to address the myth that we dogs have a paricular grudge against mailmen. To this I say BARK! and BARK! again. This dangerous stereotype greatly upsets my kind-almost as much as being considered to be a match for a mailman! Ha! All dogs know that as the intellectual superiors, we must triumph!

- Pluto

Cujo's advantage, and it's a big one, is that he has but one goal in this fight: to disembowel the psychotic postal worker's kibbles. It's called 'focus.'

However, our mailman of mayhem has TWO tasks to juggle. He has to neuter poochy with the business end of an AK-47 to win, WHILE safely delivering that day's cards and catalogues to their appointed rounds, etc. As battle strategies go, it's like putting half your armies on Venezuela, and the other half on Irkutsk.

(Oh, Mr. Bonaparte, how'd that two-border war go? Anything to add, Mr. Hitler?)

A loony tune divided against itself cannot stand (particularly after you chomp off its Achilles tendon). I say that Mr. McFeely gets snuffed while simultaneously reloading with one hand AND trying to see which of the tiny boxes on the yellow redelivery slip was checked off.

The ultimate price of our postal pal's conflicting responsibilities will end up in a little plastic baggy, 36 to 48 hours later. That is, assuming that pooper-scooper laws remain in effect for the aftermath of this gruesome Grudge Match.

- The King of Tonga

I think people miss the real horror in Cujo. It's the kid.

Anyone who has agonized through this movie knows what I mean. Yes, it starts out with Cujo on the rampage but it quickly becomes blatantly obvious that the real evil is that hellspawn boy. His stupid monster rules, his incessant whining and his ear-shattering screams that seem to last for hours drove me nuts. Quickly, my motivation for watching this movie changed from seeing Cujo stopped to hoping that the brat would shut the **** up to begging for Cujo to devour the kid and his dysfunctional parents so there could never a sequel. And that even sucked since the snot-nosed kid's weezing death groans were reminiscent of fingernails across the board while listening to Yanni. And he didn't even die!

That child survived and now is grown up and on the loose in this town, perhaps siring additional hellspawn. He has to be stopped. And while I don't know if the Postman will be able to waste the grown-up brat on his rampage, I know Cujo couldn't get the job done. For the good of mankind, GO POSTMAN!

Of course, in the ideal world, that brat would be the Postman. Kill the pathetic dog and then himself. I can dream, can't I?

- Paul G.

Have to give it to the mailman this time, guys.... Fortunately, I've done some research on this. The argument that Cujo will win because he has the spirit of a serial killer is laughable. Why, you may ask? Well, according to "The A to Z Encyclopedia of Serial Killers", Maine has the lowest number of serial homicide cases: none (pg 275). How can there be a spirit of a serial killer in the dog, when Maine _has no serial killers_?! So that leaves us with one dangerously rabid St. Bernard. But the mailman has a distinct advantage. Much like his hero, the Patron Saint of all Angry White Wimpy Males, Michael Douglas (see _Falling Down_ as a prime example), the mailman has Nothing To Lose (TM). Logic is not an option. Neither is fear. If he runs out of bullets, he'll pistol-whip Cujo. Loses the gun? He'll beat Cujo with his mailbag. The bag gets shredded? He'll rip at Cujo with his own hands and teeth. This mailman will kill until they are both killed, which will be right after he flings away Cujo's bloody corpse and raises his gun at Castle Rock's finest (who will finally decide to show up after dealing with Max Von Sydow on the other side of town). The sparrows are flying again. And, boy, are they having a field day!

- cygnia

The Final Word


Cujo doesn't want to kill the mailman. He just wants to know if the latest issue of "Bitches in Heat" has arrived yet.

- Rick

If you liked this match, check out these other past matches:

Chucky v. Toy Story
Hannibal Lector v. Jeffrey Dahmer
A Rottweiler v. A Rottweiler's weight in Chuihuahuas

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Next match: Sex, Lies and Videotape
ETA: Wednesday, November 11th.

© 1998, WWWF Ground Zero; © 2000, Dragon Hamster Productions, LLC