Wednesday, November 30, 2011

The Sexy Ballad of Kim Jong-il


Come on down and cop a feel 
Come squeeze the balls of Kim Jong-il
He won't deny you, so you're in luck
Because Kim Jong-il just loves to fuck

Bend over and give your ankles a grasp
So Kim Jong-il can pound your ass
For a Korean man, his dick is long
His sexual prowess is the point of this song



Kim Kim Kim Jong-il
Master of Korea, he's a really big deal
Man or woman, child or cow
It don't matter he'll fuck you now!




Kim Kim Kim Jong-il
Worlds greatest lover, potent sexual appeal
Virgin or whore, monk or nun
Just close your eyes and let Kim have fun



North Korea is a sad, sad place
You've always got Kim's Jizz all over your face
He'll lick you neck and eat your butt
He'll cover your back in his salty nut




So part your lips and give him a wink
Sex with him is better than you think
His soldiers line up single file
While he pretends their asses are a vertical smile



Kim Kim Kim Jong-il
Leader of the world, your heart he'll steal
Commie or king, corpse or brother
Kim Jong-il will make you his lover



Kim Kim Kim Jong-il
Dick so strong it could club a seal
Sick or fit, old or young
He don't care, he'll still pillage your bung



Whatever you do, just don't say NO!
Kim Jong-il is not your average Joe
You'll have no choice as you will see
He'll eat your ass like a bowl of Kimchi



You may think that you can deny him
But if he wants in you better let him
So spread your bits and hold on tight
Kim's lovemaking could last all night



Kim Kim Kim Jong-il
Kim Kim Kim Jong-il
Kim Kim Kim Jong-il
Kim Kim Kim Jong-il
Kim Kim Kim Jong-il
Kim Kim Kim Jong-il
Kim Kim Kim Jong-il
  
 






Tuesday, November 29, 2011

A Man, A Musket, And A Murder vol. 2

Pull his pants down and drive a mason drill up his ass, winding his guts up like so much spaghetti on a fat kid's fork.  That's what Vic Musket was planning on doing to whoever carved up that poor hooker and set him up.  Vic's eyes stung from the rising cigarette smoke, but he didn't even blink.  His eyes only broke from the road to stare up at the roof of the car as he pulled heavily from his leather-wrapped flask.  Some men think drinking and driving is dangerous.  To detective Vic Musket those men were cowards.

He was barreling down the highway at a speed he didn't care to keep track of.  He was having enough trouble staying in his lane as it was, closing one eye from time to time to reduce his lane options by half.  Vic didn't have the time to buy a car the normal way, or even to have his license renewed, so he bought the '97 Toyota sight unseen from a pimp named Swisha.  He was assured the beat up vehicle would make the trip to Texas just fine, but the only people who trust pimps are hoes, and Vic hadn't turned a trick in years.  

Then he saw it.  Red and blue lights in the rear view mirror.  Vic was hoping his week old body odor could cover up the whiskey, but he was now kicking himself for not shaking down the car before hitting the road.  There was no telling what kind of depraved rubbish was long forgotten in this car.  He pulled over, wishing the police car would continue past without incident.  No such luck.

The cop car pulled onto the shoulder behind him and waited for what seemed like an eternity.  A grossly overweight white cop stepped out of his cruiser, with the relieved shocks lifting the car back up to it's unburdened height.  

"Roll down the window" The cop asked politely.  "I can't.  This car is a piece of shit" Vic said as he opened the door.  He caught sight of the policeman's hand as it crept towards his gun holster.

"Where you headed in such a hurry, sir?"
"Texas.  How close am I?"  Vic asked sincerely.
"Shit, son.  This is Alabama!  You look like you got lost, boy!"  The cop leaned in and quickly reeled back in disgust.  "Good God, man.  You smell like a stray dog.  Step out of the car and we can talk in the fresh air."

Vic complied.  He knew better than to cause trouble while staggering drunk on the side of an unfamiliar highway.

"I'm just trying to make it to my brother's funeral.  I heard he died yesterday and I have been driving ever since.  Maybe I lost track of my speed back there..."  Vic lied through his teeth as the cop peered into the back seat of his newly acquired vehicle.

Suddenly the cop drew his weapon and stepped back.  "Get on the ground!  You are under arrest!"

*So much for talking my way out of this* Vic thought as he quickly dropped face down on the pavement.  Hopefully whatever the cop saw in the backseat could be easily explained...


To be continued...

Monday, November 28, 2011

WHAT'S IN THE MOTHERFUCKING BOX?

Oooooh!  I wonder what the fuck it is!  It could be anything!  Holy Fuck!  So many possibilities!  What the fuck could it be?


There could be a squirrel in there..... Or a small badger.  Maybe it is not an animal at all.  Maybe it is food!  Like a big, filthy lasagna or a folded up pizza.  It could be a bucket of clams.  Mmmm Steamed Clams.  The box does seem like it could be steaming.  Other things steam too..... Like warm poop on a cold day.  I sure hope that this fucking box is not full of poop.  But it could be.  It could be full of any damn thing imaginable. 

It could have a head in it like in Se7en.  Do you remember that shit?  Brad Pitt shouting "What's in the box?!  What's in the box??!".  What if it is Brad Pitt's wife's head?  Angelina Jolie's head in a box???...  Hmmmmmm...?  Well, I guess it would be fun for a few days but then it's just another rotting head.  And if you have had one rotting head you have had them all.

There was a mystery box in one of my favorite movies.  UHF.  That box ended up being full of nothing.  That dumb bitch should have chosen the Red Snapper.  I hope this box isn't empty.  Even better, I hope this box is full of Red Snapper!  I could really go for some Red Snapper right now.  Blackened with a little creole sauce, Fucking delicious. 

What if I open the box and there is a little, naked, old man in there.  I mean, what am I supposed to do?  Do I keep him?  A tiny, little, old man like that can't survive on his own in the big city.  You need to get him some Ken doll clothes and make sure he is taking his heart medication.  What a fucking pain in the ass.  I really hope the box does not have a tiny, helpless, old man inside............... Well, I guess it would be cool if he was spry enough to battle my old He-Man figures.  Ok, now I want it to be a tiny, old man.  He could wear Skeletor's armor and shit.  Bad-ass.

It better not be a bucket of mayonnaise or a used prostate massager or a dimple-cheeked ginger orphan or a subscription to Tiger Beat or half of an egg salad sandwich or a picture of my parents fucking or a detailed, negative critique of my sexual practices or a hammer with a baby on the end of it or a porcelain replica of Roseanne Barr's swollen vagina or a Jack in the Box To-Go order (Fucking Disgusting) or my birth certificate smeared with feces or a letter from my grandmother confessing her unrelenting sexual attraction to me or Hamtackle's pubic trimmings.  I guess anything else is acceptable.

I have no idea what the fuck is inside of this motherfucking box.  Do you think that you know?  If you know what is in the motherfucking box, please Post A Comment.  We really need to get down to the bottom of this shit and quick!  What is it going to hurt?  Just take a fucking guess already!!  If you think of something good, there may be something special in it for you.  If you know what I mean..... hmmm?  Aw yeah.... That's right.....  mmmmmmm.  Slow and deep baby.

SO WHAT'S IN THE MOTHERFUCKING BOX?

-

Sunday, November 27, 2011

Bible Belt Babble with Willard "Teabag" Chinsley: Volume 7


Hat=Aphrodisiac
 Welcome to another edition of Bible Belt Babble, saving your country once again from the Kenyan invasion!  Willard "Teabag" Chinsley here, and we have got more sanity coming at y'all in true teabagger form.  Tonight we debunk speculation surrounding Ann Coulter's gender, salute the thinly-veiled racism of Rush Limbaugh, and respond to slanderous poll results surrounding the knowledge of the average Fox News viewer.


Why censor gender?
Ann Coulter has long been a lightning rod of controversy despite her clear efforts to bridge the divide between  the liberal "educrats" and the conservative heart of patriotic America.  And with her growing popularity she has sparked a movement among the youth that is reaffirming that it is just plain "cool" to be pro-establishment.  This has spurred a predictable response in the liberal media to discredit her by implying that she may in fact be a man, and releasing some clearly photoshopped images of Ann sporting an exaggerated adam's apple.  It is true that she can palm a basketball, and there is evidence that she was forced to register for selective service, but these are mere coincidences that are being exploited by the left.  What's next?  Do we ridicule any woman with a baritone singing voice?  Is there no place in our society for a woman that is unashamed about wearing size 13 men's stiletto high heels?  And I thought the left was the party of acceptance...



If ever there was a man deserving of recognition for outstanding work in the field of racial prejudice in politics, Rush Limbaugh is the man.  Just this week he was able to get away with calling the first lady "uppity" when commenting on her use of government jets to travel overseas.  But his pro-America racist agenda has been the backbone of white conservatives for years, saying what we have all been thinking (but can't express for fear of liberal persecution).  Take these quotes, for instance: 

"You know who deserves a posthumous Medal of Honor? James Earl Ray [the confessed assassin of Martin Luther King]. We miss you, James. Godspeed.”
“I mean, let’s face it, we didn’t have slavery in this country for over 100 years because it was a bad thing. Quite the opposite: slavery built the South. I’m not saying we should bring it back; I’m just saying it had its merits. For one thing, the streets were safer after dark.”

You earned it, Rush!

And for truth in the face of public scorn, we would like to present Rush Limbaugh with the first ever "Ivory Hood" award for racism.  You are doing us proud, Rush!


And finally, we find ourselves once again in a position to defend the last source of unbiased, unfiltered truth in American media, Fox News.  It comes as no surprise that the left is throwing accusations against the intelligence of the Fox News viewer, and it just reaffirms that they consider "intelligence" and "literacy" to be virtues, and have turned their backs on the uninformed masses that make up the conservative voter base.  And in a recent poll conducted by Fairleigh Dickson University the left found more slanderous ammunition.  The poll indicates that viewers of Fox News were less informed than people who watch no news at all.  This only reinforces the teabagger belief that ignorance is the best policy, and voting should be done by "gut feeling" rather than some kind of communist "informed decision".  I mean, we are born into ignorance as perfect beings without sin, and that is how we should strive to be as adults.  Personally I have made efforts my whole life to limit my intellectual development and thereby preserve my youthful ignorance and I encourage all other like-minded patriots to do the same.
So until next time, stay stupid America!

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Casper, WY

Casper, Wyoming is a diverse, beautiful and isolated place.  It also holds many dark, horrifying secrets.  Did you know that Casper Mountain is the actual location of "At The Mountains of Madness" as described by H.P. Lovecraft?  In Lovecraft's story, an expedition to Antarctica discovers the ancient home of the Elder Things or Old Ones and their shape-shifting slave-creations the Shoggoths.  They are monstrous and cruel beings bent on the annihilation of humankind. 

Very few people know that the story is based in fact and the actual location was not Antactica but scenic Casper!

On the road to Casper!

Casper has a population of around 75,000 beings.  65,000 are human and 10,000 are a combination of undead, Shoggoth in human form and inhuman beasts.  Casper has a booming oil industry.  Unbeknownst to the true human oil rig workers, the oil wells are drilled in an attempt to free the Elder Things from their eternal slumber.  The oil keeps the Elder Things sedate and unconscious deep under the surface of the earth.  An ingenious prison created by the star-spawn of Cthulhu.

Scenic Casper

The Shoggoths have worked for millennia attempting to free the Old Ones from their prison, but to no avail.  Until the arrival of the white settlers.  The native Americans always shunned and continue to shun Casper, but the settlers, ignorant of the horrors beneath their feet, established Fort Caspar.  Years later the city of Casper grew from the blood soaked ashes of Fort Caspar.  The monsters of the dark realizing the possible usefulness of the humans.

The Shoggoths and other dark beings manipulated the growing human population for decades.  The modern age brought the need for fossil fuels and with it, a means for freeing the great Elder Things.  Once the oil is depleted, the Old Ones will once again cover the earth in salty darkness.

Land of green, lush valleys

Dick Cheney is from Casper.  He was born in 1865 to a one-legged prostitute mass murderer.  She was to be hung for her crimes even though she was pregnant.  As she swung from the gallows her convulsions birthed a premature monstrosity, Dick Cheney.  Ignored by the townsfolk, the infant Cheney was collected by the followers of the Elder Things.  He was raised into adulthood and groomed for his future as a world leader and Chairman of the Board and Chief Executive Officer of Halliburton.  Conveniently enough, the board of directors of Halliburton consist entirely of followers of the Old Ones.

Home of Dick Cheney

Until the eventual release of the Elder Things, Casper will continue to be an interesting and attractive place to live.  The Shoggoths will leave you alone if you don't poke your nose where it should not be.  There are some things humans need not know.  So keep you head down and keep those oil wells pumping!  Viva Wyoming!


-

Friday, November 25, 2011

A One-Legged Vagrant's Guide to the Movies

Me when I was in the paper
Great news for the people who read my postings on the internet!  Frisky Pete is gonna be a daddy soon!  I am extra happy about it, and decided I am not going to run away to Portland.  I do worry that the baby isn't hers, though.  I made lovings to a lot of homeless ladies this year.  To celebrate the good news I decided to spend my last $30 that I made killing squirrels for Arthur.  It is hard to kill squirrels when you only have one leg, but it is worth it because I really like the movies.


Not scary vampire movie
 The first place I went was the movie house by the library, which is probably my favorite because I sleep in the science section of the library because no one likes science, and it is only ten minutes hopping time from there to the movie house.  I only had money for my ticket so I had to steal a bag of popcorn from a man that was either a kid or a midget.  He didn't cry, just looked at me funny so I guess he was a midget.  The movie house was showing "Breaking Dawn", and there was a lot of little girls and gay dudes.  It is weird how they like the same things all the time, like clothes shopping and talking about Justin Bieber.  It was about vampires and werewolves but it wasn't scary at all, and there was only a love story and not any murders.  The film makes no effort to hide it's pandering toward the target demographic, and is riddled with unintentionaly funny moments.  I am glad I didn't pay for my popcorn, because I felt ripped of when I was leaving.


Happy Feet Two Movie
 Then on last Monday I went to the movie house in the, the one that only has 2 stores and is really depressing.  I was already by there because a guy gave me a wagon to ride in and I had to go get it.  Now I can park it on the sidewalk with my thumb out for hitch-hiking, and sometimes people are nice and pull the wagon for a ways.  The movie I saw there was "Happy Feet Two".  It was mostly kids, but I got to look at the moms when we were in line.  A man came over to tell me to go away but I had a ticket so he had to fuck off.  There was a snowy fish-bird (I can't remember the bird type) that danced a lot.  I felt sad because I don't have as many feet as the fish-bird so I can't dance. Fans of the Oscar winning 2006 film will find their expectations are not met in this sequel, and despite the able voice acting it is curiously out of step.


The Immortals movie
 The last movie I saw was "The Immortals", which I saw at the mexican people's theater.  I went there because I only had $4 left and they will let you in there for that much.  Some lady told the movie people that she saw me pee in a trash can outside, but I told them she was just racist and they let me go.  The movie was real good, with lots of swords and magic and stuff.  I didn't even mind that they were all talking mexican in the movie, because it was mostly fighting.  The people behind me moved because I was yelling too loud at the screen, but I didn't care.  The hyperstylized visual approach can keep the intrest of some viewers, but the lack of narrative direction quickly alienates the "over thirty" crowd.

I can get to lots better panhandling spots now that I have a wagon, so I will see more movies soon.  If you see me please give me money because I will have a baby as long as Julia stops shooting dope, and I don't want to work at the glory hole in the park bathrooms again.  See you soon, internet people!

Thursday, November 24, 2011

Happy "Worthless Treaty" Day


Eat until you puke.  It's your patriotic duty.
 Thanksgiving is the holiday Americans use to say "fuck you" to the rest of the world.  This time-honored tradition began with the betrayal of the Native American population of the time, and continues today with the open affront to the starving masses the world over.  With widespread famine in Somalia so severe that some people are resorting to cannibalizing the dead, we celebrate excess by cramming food inside of other food, then eating ourselves into a coma.

I am not trying to imply that we should all feel deep regret and shame for the actions of our forefathers.  Far from it.  In fact, I believe that we need to gain perspective on the ample bounty of our country in the face of an uncertain economic future.  Although many of us feel as though we have fallen on hard times we still have the resources to shove a chicken inside a duck, then inside a turkey, and eat until you nearly puke.  Today my small family has three pies and a cake to supplement a spread of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, corn, broccoli, peas, cranberry sauce, and dinner rolls all slathered in thick turkey gravy.  That's right, Somalia.  Go fuck yourselves.

Thanksgiving is the most patriotic holiday of the year in my opinion.  No other single day better represents the values and culture of this great country than this glutton's paradise.  And before you go telling me that Christmas is the REAL American holiday because of it's christian and capitalist roots, I would like to remind you that tomorrow is the biggest shopping day of the year, and there is nothing more christian than displacing indigenous people and destroying their culture.  And the only reason we don't do any shopping today is because the retail stores all have the good sense to remain closed in the anticipation of the inevitable inactivity of the gluttonous consumer base.

And with this in mind I would like to close by recognizing the true heroes of Thanksgiving, those brave few that will give their lives today in freak fried turkey fires and by choking on a hastily-chewed chunk of bird flesh.  Those people paid the ultimate price to sustain the greedy traditions of the greatest country on earth.  God bless you all.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

There's a Man in My Room

There's a man in my room.
Hiding in the day, he comes to me only at night.  He seems polite, even lightly rapping on the wall to let me know he has come again.  At first I was frightened, and thought I was going crazy, but when the sun came up he was always gone.  But I can still smell him in the air...

There's a man in my room.
He stands behind the television, over by the closet.  I tried rearranging my room, putting the dresser in his place, but when I wake up I see he has moved it out of his spot.  The carpet is warm where he stands, even when I can't see him.

There's a man in my room.
He is very quick.  If I turn on the lights he hides in the shadows.  I don't think I want to see his face anyway, but his eyes glow like a cat's in the dark.  I would try to talk to him but I am scared he would talk back.  My girlfriend can't see him, and she doesn't understand why we don't make love at night.  When we lay together I can see him watching.

There's a man in my room.  
He is getting impatient.  If I ignore him he pounds on the walls, and has started unplugging the lamp at night.  He wants me to know he is watching, but doesn't want me to see.  It is very cold in my room now, and I only feel safe under the warm comfort of heavy blankets.  They are my only protection in the dark.

There's a man in my room.
He started making noises in the daytime.  While doing dishes I can hear him humming in my bedroom.  I run in, hoping to catch him while the sun is still up and I feel in control.  But as always, he hides when I come in.  I have bad headaches now.

There's a man in my room.
I started staying at my girlfriend's apartment, but when I come home my room is torn apart.  He does not like it when I am away.  I spend hours cleaning up the chaos, and I know he is watching me the whole time.  My dog won't come into my room anymore, and sometimes his barking wakes me up late at night.  I don't sleep much anymore.

There's a man in my room.
When I get in bed it is already warm.  I can tell that he was there.  I put up a listing for the house, but that was a mistake.  Now I can't find my dog, and I know I never will.  He is punishing me for leaving him.  I took the listing down, and I'm afraid of how far he will go.  I think I see him in the daytime, but when I turn to look at him he hides.  He's not afraid of the light anymore.

There's a man in my room.
When I close my eyes he gets closer.  I can hear his shallow breathing, but I only pull the covers higher over my head.  I haven't slept for days now, and I miss my dog.  It has been weeks since I spoke to my girlfriend, and she thinks I am on drugs.  Sometimes I wake up with bruises, and try to rationalize how they got there.  I don't want to believe he can touch me.

There's no one in our room.
Everything is just fine.  We must have been imagining things.  We never leave our room anymore.  This is our home.  We can't see the light anymore.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

The Tiger Lillies -Thousand Violins-

Hello trusted friends,

This is not my usual style of video post.  I found a clip of chimps boxing from a silent, "Our Gang" short from 1922.  I tried to do something funny with it but the more I watched it the more depressed it made me. 

Now I am not a fan of chimps.  They are insane little monsters with no morals and abundant retard strength.  They will gleefully rip off your genitals and eat your face.  I actually fear and hate the little fuckers.  Making them box, while cool and funny, is still horrible.  I thought the best audio partner to this video was one of my favorite songs from one of my favorite bands.  The Tiger Lillies.

The Tiger Lillies are a three piece band from London.  They consist of a standup bass, drums, accordion and a lead singer with a "menacing falsetto".  Most of the songs center around rape, incest, murder, prostitution, bestiality and Victorian era orphans dying in the cold.  The songs are demented and most of the time, hilarious.

So enjoy,

The Tiger Lillies - Thousand Violins -





-

Monday, November 21, 2011

A Man, A Musket, And A Murder v.1

A wrinkled eyelid opens to expose a bloodshot eye to the morning sun, an unpleasant stimulus to an around-the-clock alcoholic. Detective Vic Musket shook his head a few times before noticing that he was nude from the waist down and covered in vomit, but he put aside his curiosity about the previous night's events. In his experience any night that he blacks out is a night he didn't want to remember. It's kind of like Vegas: what happens in drunken stupor stays in drunken stupor. And since he collected on his last case he had many such nights, but instead of an alley and cheap vodka he had an expensive hotel room and all the 12 year scotch he could drink.

Then a faint memory of last night played through his head like some debauchery-filled zapruder film. There was a whore last night. A good one. Suddenly Vic shot to his feet and looked around the destroyed hotel room, certain she had robbed him and left in the wee hours of the morning. It wouldn't be the first time. Vic started tossing the room, looking for a tattered briefcase that held ten thousand dollars and an eleven inch black dildo (for obvious reasons). All he found were four condom wrappers, a pair of soiled women's underwear, and a greased bowling pin, but nothing out of the ordinary. Vic pulled on the panties, which were hardly up to the job of containing Vic's sore genitalia. One testicle dangled out of either side of the g-string, but he took no action to correct it and resigned himself to taking a shit and a shower. He always thought better after evacuating his colon of feces and whatever foreign objects that made their way up there last night.

When he opened the bathroom door Vic was pleasantly surprised to see his briefcase on the counter and wasted no time in prying it open. The ten thousand dollars stared back at him, but no dildo. That was a mystery he wasn't sure he wanted to solve. Secure that he hadn't been robbed Vic decided the whore must have hit the bricks once it was clear he was going to remain unconscious for the immediate future. Relieved, Vic sat on the toilet to start what was likely to be an hour long bowel movement. Then he noticed the shower curtain was drawn... He pulled the curtain back and immediately released a wet splatter into the toilet. The whore was in the bath tub with a sea of red around her, clearly dead. "I'm fucked". Vic thought.

After gathering all his belongings and scrubbing the room for fingerprints Vic hung the "do not disturb" sign from the doorknob, then hastily headed down the elevator and politely paid for another night in cash. "Thank you, Mr. Tipton. We are thrilled to extend your stay." Vic was happy he had the foresight to give a fake name, but truth be told anyone that befouled as many hotel rooms as he did quickly adopted an alias. There were two things on his mind. One, there was no way he killed the prostitute. Vic considered that profession to be more prestigious and altruistic than any legitimate occupation, and some of his best friends worked in the sex industry. Second, there was a killer out there that wanted desperately to frame Vic for murder. Vic didn't pretend that he made no enemies over the last twenty years of depraved detective work, but most of his enemies were of the filth-covered back alley meth addict variety, not the type to organize a conspiracy.

But now the detective had very few options, but he knew which he would take. There was a very important man that owed Vic Musket a favor, and what better time to call it in? But first he would have to turn the ten g's in the briefcase into a decent car to make his way down to Texas...

To be continued...

Sunday, November 20, 2011

People I would Like to Punch in the Face

I never condone violence. However, I do recognize the power of violence can be incredibly productive, and has an amazing ability to persuade the masses. It can be so productive that sometimes it feels like cheating. So tonight I will present to you a list of people that I would delight in pummeling with an unexpected suckerpunch to the face. Keep in mind that I am not suggesting that anyone else assault these people, but if they did... it would be hilarious.


Grover Norquist. I might have to wait my turn on this one, but man would it be sweet. This is the asshole that forced the vast majority of the spineless republicans in congress to sign a pledge to never raise taxes under any circumstances. Now that might sound like a pretty good idea to the average taxpayer, but it is designed (like everything else) to be beneficial to the richest among us. When social security, medicare, unemployment, and even public education is destroyed by the party of the rich, there will be no one left to foot the bill. And besides that, who can honestly say that they are comfortable with having the republican party beholden to an unelected single private citizen? A right cross delivered from just outside his peripheral vision would take him down, and the following face stomp would follow, to the delight of Mr. Norquist's dentist.


My boss. This would be a very satisfying, albeit financially damaging, punch to deliver. This is a man that is in WAY over his head, and insists that he knows the ins and outs of the business despite his 3 day work week. He assures me that he works very hard from home, but I consider conference calls to be talking about work, not actually working. I would probably have to sneak up on him to deliver a massive uppercut, since he is terrified of me. I am the only person that works under him that doesn't agree with his every word, and I have told him to fuck off once. Oops.


Phillip Rivers. He is the crybaby quarterback for the San Diego Chargers, and a grade A piece of shit. He runs his mouth at extremely large men and then hides behind the refs. And since you aren't allowed to tackle quarterbacks in the NFL anymore the defense has to take it on the chin. I hope to one day attend a Chargers game just on the off chance he suffers a detached retina after a vicious sack delivered by a 260 pound lineman. He would be easy to punch. I would approach with a pen and paper like I was seeking an autograph, then WHAM! Right in the mouth, just the way he likes it.


Glenn Beck. I clearly have a political bias here, but that is not the reason I want to punch him. There seems to be something deeply wrong with the way his brain works (or doesn't work, rather) and I am pretty sure a right hook to the temple might rewire things for him. As evidence I offer you this fact about him: When Glenn Beck was first married he and his new wife sat down to have a conversation about which religion they should be. And if it wasn't weird enough, they chose to be Mormons. The only obstacle to a successful temple shot would be the "magic underwear" variable. You never know...


George W. Bush. Yes, I am still holding a grudge here. Call me crazy, but between the Patriot Act, Iraq, torture, the word "newk-yew-ler", and the economy, I am still a little upset. And I don't care that he bowed out of the limelight and wrote a book, I still want to give him the gift of temporary unconsciousness. It is true that he was but a mere puppet for Dick Cheney, but I can't just punch the evil undead. Taking on Cheney would require a wooden stake, or something. To execute this knockout punch to former President Bush I would have to get past the secret service, but I have a feeling they secretly would love to watch it happen.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Religious Ridiculousness

There have been many mistakes made by man since we first branched off the evolutionary tree, but few have been as costly as the invention of religion. People have always done insane and dangerous things, but religion validated these practices and gave the insanity legs to run wild with. So tonight I present you all with the evidence of how ridiculous faith appears to the modern sceptic, and expose some of the strange rituals that are still performed today. And please remember that here at Popular Irony we never discriminate. Whether Christian, Buddhist, Jewish, or even Mormon, we treat them all as dangerously gullible sheep. Just like their religious leaders do.



Seems legit...

For my first submission I bring you Kaparot, the Jewish ritual of sin absolution. Basically you bow down while a man waves a live chicken around your head, supposedly imparting the animal with your sins, then killing the bird and eating it later that night. My first concern here is for the chicken. This seems like a shitty deal on his end, no matter how spectacular the sin was. The Christians had Jesus to die for their sins, and the Jews have poultry for the same purpose. But only one Jesus had to die for all humanity, while the chicken is only good for one man's annual sin accumulation. It seems to me that if you don't want Jesus/Chicken to have died in vain you should put more effort into committing sacrifice-worthy sins. Best homework assignment ever!


Now take a moment to consider the Hindu practice of Sati, which still occurs in rural parts of India today. Normally, when a married man dies he leaves his wife to carry on alone, until she croaks and they both get to live together in an imaginary playground for eternity. Sati relieves the wife of the terrible burden of living without her strict, often unwanted husband to a ripe age by dictating that when her husband is burned to ashes (as is customary in Hindu funerals) she throws herself on the blaze. And before you get all emotional about her sacrifice in the name of love, there is much documentation indicating that the women were often forced onto the fire by the other attendees. And it probably surprises no one that there is no equivalent ritual for when the wife dies before the husband. Considering the universal mistreatment of women in religion I can only conclude that God hates vaginas. I am not sure why, since I consider them to be absolutely fantastic.



Japan has a well-earned reputation for being incredibly weird, from having vending machines that dispense dirty underwear, to the popularity of tentacle porn, but their religion often gets a pass concerning cultural criticism. It might be because of the emphasis on peace and happiness in the Buddhism, or it's refreshing lack of aggressive recruiting practices (we're talking about YOU, Jehovah's Witnesses). But give credit where credit is due... the Buddhists have their own fucked up practices. Sokushinbutsu is described as "ritualistic self-mummification". Chew on that for a minute to properly grasp the horror. Monks that wanted to make the ultimate sacrifice would spend 1,000 days eating nothing but a minimal diet of nuts and berries, eliminating all body fat and giving that holocaust chic look. Their diet would then switch to bark and roots, including a tea made from the poisonous Urushi tree for the next 1,000 days. This would cause violent diarrhea, and making their flesh distasteful to maggots and other insects. They would then be locked in a room where they would sit in the lotus position, ringing a bell each day to confirm to everyone outside that he was still alive, until he starved to death. Naturally they would then be placed in a prominent area for everyone to see. Oh yeah, this process also imparted the corpse with magical powers. Sounds like a solid tradeoff.

It is worth pointing out that these rituals are only examples of how the faithful treat each other, not outsiders. They save far more horrifying practices for us non-believing heathens and infidels. But that is a post for another day.

Friday, November 18, 2011