Saturday, December 31, 2011

A Reminder for New Year's Resolution Planning

It seems like every time we get ready to celebrate the coming of a new year we partake in the tradition of judging ourselves with new year's resolutions, which generally include losing weight, quitting smoking, furthering your career or education, improving your love life, or any combination of them.  It is not clear why we do this to ourselves, but it is simply causing introspective insecurity on a global scale and damaging self image.  This is not a healthy way to begin your new year, and self-admitted loser status is terribly detrimental to your confidence.  That is why this year, Popular Irony is introducing a reverse approach to new year's resolutions that is sure to become popular worldwide!

Considering how making your own resolutions is an embarrassing and painful experience, we purpose that the opposite may be true, and you could inspire confidence and gratification by writing resolutions for your friends and family!  So get out your best holiday stationary and write each person in your life a harsh criticism to kick off a new year in alienating form.  Here's mine!

B.C. - In 2012 you and I will likely continue to associate outside of work, and I look forward to the coming year's experiences.  And to ensure our continued pleasantness I ask that you resolve to cease all discussions of conversations we have outside of work, with people we mutually know inside of work.  This includes, but is not limited to, tasteless but humorous comments I have made while drinking, criticisms of our coworkers I have made while drinking, political/religious rants I have made while drinking, as well as any discussion about the frequency or quantity of my drinking.

Daniel - In order to start the new year with your personal development as the highest priority I am now giving you the gift of some personalized new year's resolutions.  First and foremost, and putting your political beliefs aside, you MUST resolve to stop using The Drudge Report as your primary source for news.  This has caused you no end of embarrassment when having to retract hastily-made comments about current events that are later proven false.  And please stop bringing copies of Guns and Ammo to work and keeping them in plain view on your desk.  People have been talking.

Michael - Happy new years.  You need to stop being such a fucking liar, and try working for a full day once in a while.  And dump your fat girlfriend.  She is a hateful single mother with horrible breath and acne, and manages to finish a distant second when compared to the pro/con ratio of fucking a dry catcher's mitt.  

Sir Chapsworth - In the coming year I ask that you stop chewing tobacco.  You have left your home state now, and I don't want you perpetuating hick stereotypes while living in another part of the country.  And if your lips fall off I refuse to be seen in public with you.  Also, you must resolve to keep all relationships with the opposite sex purely physical in nature.  If you get engaged to ONE more woman that I have never met I will fucking kill you.  If you experience the desire to make a commitment of any kind give me a call, and I will help you destroy the relationship.

And of course, Terlet - In the past year we have grown quite close, and communicate daily regarding post ideas, potential projects, or just to discuss hilarious shit.  And from one friend to another, I have a few resolutions you should observe for 2012.  For one, you must resolve to allow visitors to ring your doorbell once in a while.  You have a habit of nervously peeking out the window like a geriatric shut-in in anticipation of company, and we both know you are better than that.  Second, the whole "bangin' a bunch of highschool cheerleaders" thing was totally cool back when we were 17, but these days it is a criminal offense.  If it doesn't stop I am contacting the authorities.  I am serious.  

Friday, December 30, 2011

Mustaches make everything OK

Everyday, terrible things happen to countless people.  Horrible travesties besiege the globe.  Not even the innocent are spared from the innumerable catastrophes culling the human population.  If only there was a way to make everything OK.  Generation after generation people have sought ways to lighten the impact of the horrific, to soften the blow of the gut wrenching.  Well seek no further for I have found the cure to the worlds ills.  It is so simple, that it is brilliant.  Hidden in plain site, the motherfucking MUSTACHE!! 

Our first example of the healing power of the mustache is the Pulitzer Prize-winning photo of General Nguyễn Ngọc Loan executing Nguyễn Văn Lém.  Holy shit that is a horrific photo.  It gave many Americans a negative view on the Vietnam war.  But if you throw a mustache on there, suddenly it's just two drinking buddies having a good time.  HA HA!  I GOT YOUR MUSTACHE!
I got your mustache!

Mustaches can make even the strangely, odd historical moments even more memorable.  Especially when that mustache is accompanied by accessories.  Maybe if George Bush had manned it up a bit with a magical mustache and a sophistication disguise, the Iraqi guerrilla fighters might have taken "Mission Accomplished" seriously and not increased the insurgency. 

Now that is a mustache that I can trust!

AAAAAHHHH!!!  NOOOO!! FULL FACE TRANSPLANT!! FULL FACE TRANSPLANT!!  This spaniard received the worlds 1st full face transplant after a "Gun Accident" lost him the use of his face.  Even with his new face he looks like a melted wax dummy.  Good thing I equipped him with a curly tipped mustache.  Mustaches are magic handsome machines.  Take a look, I'd fuck him.

That is one fine mustache!

In certain situations a mustache can save your life.  If only JonBenet Ramsey had a sweet, slim, John Waters mustache.  I bet you anything she would still be alive today. Most pedophiles don't like to choke-rape a child who is staring back at them with their own mustache.  Major boner killer.

JonBenet Waters

So why not take my advice and get some hair growing on that upper lip.  Can't grow a mustache?  Modern science has developed many varieties of "simulated mustaches".  They may be fake but the security and happiness they provide are real.   But don't overdue it!  Sometimes a mustache can get out of control.  Take Hitler for example.  That tiny square mustache caused more destruction that any mustache before it.  That is why it has been internationally banned.  Go ahead and look for it, you'll never see anyone wearing it.  And if you do see someone wearing it, you'll probably end up fucking them.  It is that powerful of a mustache.  So please, mustache safely my friends!

-Stache up bitches.

Thursday, December 29, 2011

Non-Descript Sexual Encounter

When Cheryl and I gave way to our desires it became a challenge of sexual equals, a match of lustful will.  We kissed until the swelling in our lips gave way to a bouquet of raw sores, then combined into a two headed beast of shuddering passion with flailing arms reminiscent of the deliberate flutter of a serpent's tongue.  She pressed into my thankful maleness until we could be no closer, then manipulated our fused sex with precise thrusts and parries designed to balance the stimulus of both the lover and the loved.  Cheryl controlled my every twitching muscle, prompting a range of reactions from tears to laughter, and from lust to spite.

To gain control was to take it by force, and a fight she gave with great enthusiasm.  I pressed down her arms and kept her teeth at bay, while breaking her grip on my not-unwilling todger with a rhythmic dance of hip gyration and deep squatting.  Once freed my focus did, by necessity, shift from defense to aggression, turning her shoulders away from me and driving her snarled visage into the bosom of the bed.  With the considerable threat of her snapping maw neutralized, I began the assault of her every vulnerable orifice with my throbbing instrument of vengeance.  Cries of defeat slowly faded to uninhibited grunts of pleasure, punctuated by fits of frenzied barking and spitting.

The uninitiated could view the display as an otherworldly dark ritual of combat, something intended to foster a blood lust in the eager participants, but they would be missing the beauty of mutually combative sexual conquest.  But once the lion had his fill, and the broken feminine form yielded all her fruits for him, her transition from sexual prey to wily puppeteer was complete.  The strength of her musk, and the promise of future fruit she would yet yield was beyond the resistances of the lion's massive layers of corded muscle.  Despite his eager and capable physical power he would become the marionette to her every whim, and she the wielder of his ample capacity.  And the seed she made him spill, the sweat she stole from his skin, would mark the covenant they shared.

The exchange of power complete, Cheryl sealed the agreement with a savage bloodletting, raking her claws across my bare torso with enough ferocity to mark for months to come.  This grim reminder of the encounter to prompt a measure of commitment greater than any that can be achieved through the giving of rings, or the swearing to gods.  We were two carnal adventurers agreed to brave the harsh wild together, and in doing so sharpening our collective resolve. 

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Popular Irony - The Comic Strip #1

Hello Douches and Douchettes,

The other day Hamtackle posted a hilarious "comic strip" about rape.  I thought that making a comic strip looked super fun!  lo and behold, I made one.  I am expecting the nation's remaining newspapers to be circulating it soon enough.  So enjoy "Popular Irony - The Comic Strip #1", Glenda Bekk and Dick Scustin discuss dinner etiquette. 

Popular Irony - The Comic Strip #1 - Click for a larger version


Tuesday, December 27, 2011

A Man, A Musket, And A Murder Vol 4

Far from home, smelling foul, and in an unfamiliar bar, detective Vic Musket sat perched atop a large bar stool.  It was not often that he made it to bars, and much preferred drinking out in public where he could make lewd gestures at passing women.  "Give me three shots of the house whisky." Vic barked, loud enough to get the attention of the half a dozen or so truckers that sat around him.  They were all stereotypical fat, unshaven rednecks in overalls and foam hats with oil advertisements and such on them.  It was clear that the sign outside offering $5 showers didn't stir up much business here.

"You got it, fella.  Three bucks."  The bartender said.  Vic thought of asking why the shots were so cheap, but decided not to look this gift horse in the mouth.  After one swig he knew the answer.  This whisky was piss.  

"I needed that.  Got my car wrecked up the highway a bit, now I have no way to get down to Dallas to see my daughter get married."  Vic laid that bait out to see if anyone was going that way.  In his limited hitchhiking experience a trucker is usually willing to give a ride to anyone headed their direction.  Helps to keep sane when the roads start to turn into endless straight lines out west. 

"Yer car was wrecked up, my ass!  You that queer boy they locked up last night.  I saw you come in when they was lettin' me out the drunk tank."  The biggest redneck of the bunch chimed in, clearly looking for trouble.

Vic turned to look at the meaty bastard through the smoky bar air.  "Must have been somebody else, Susan.  I just drove in this morning, and hit a deer at about 60 miles an hour.  Bambi messed up my car real good.  You must have me mistaken for someone else."

"No, sir!  That was you all right.  Cops couldn't stop makin' jokes about what you had planned for that rubber wiener you were carryin'.  You a queer boy fer sure!"  The brute stood up for emphasis and walked over to the bar, making it clear he was at least a half foot taller than Vic.

"Look, friend,"  Vic changed his tone "I don't want trouble.  I just need to find a ride to Texas."

"Well I'll be goddamned if I am gonna let some sissy faggot into my rig!  In fact, yer lucky I don't chain you to the trailer and drag you down to Texas!  I tell you what, sissy boy, I'll give you a ride all the way down to Dallas if you can beat little old me in a friendly arm wrasslin' contest."  The man sat down at the nearest chair with his elbow firmly planted on the table.  For emphasis he turned his cap around to the back.

Vic looked the much larger man straight in the eyes, removed his jacket and took a seat opposite him.  He slowly rolled up the sleeve of his right arm exposing the paleness beneath, and breathed deeply.  His left hand plucked the lit cigarette out from his lips and snuffed it out in the empty ashtray between them, and grabbed a hold of the man's massive hand.  "Ready."  Vic said.

SLAM!  Vic lost almost before the contest even began, his hand crashing painfully onto the table.  "Ha!  I ain't never gonna lose to no queery city boy!  Get out of here, sissy!  I ain't givin' you no ride!" Came the man's immediate victory cry.  

Vic didn't respond, and didn't get up to leave with his tail between his legs like everyone expected.  He just reached into his pocket for another cigarette, lit it and sat back.  Calmly, he replied "Aww, c'mon Susan.  Can't I get a ride?  I'll suck yer dick!"

The man turned and charged Vic like a wounded animal, clearly incensed at the nerve of this stranger who lost at arm wrasslin' and still was talking shit.  Vic quickly flicked the lit cigarette at the beast and hit him dead in the face, raining fiery embers all around and leaving him disoriented.

"Fuck!" Cried the large man as he crashed through a wooden table and fell face-first into the floor.  Vic calmly stood up and walked over the downed man, dropping a heavy boot into the back of his head.  All four limbs tensed up and the man started immediately snoring, relieving everyone that he was still alive after the brutal stomp.  

CLACK, CLACK!  The familiar noise of a pump action shotgun being readied came from behind Vic.  The bartender glared at him from over the barrel.  "Get out of here, mister.  Before I do something we both regret."

That was all the invitation he needed.  He downed his last shot and grabbed his jacket before storming out the double doors.  "Great" he thought. "I guess I had better start walking." 

"Hey, mister!  Hey!"  A woman came running put of the bar after him.  At least he thought it was a woman, although she looked akin to the meaty bastards inside.  "I'm headed down through Dallas!  I can give you a ride!"

Vic smiled.  Things were finally looking up.

To be continued...

Monday, December 26, 2011

Let's Stay Together

Just a heartfelt romantic comic to keep the Christmas spirit alive in all of us.  And before you cry foul at the lack of effort today, I would like to invite you all to fuck yourselves.  Merry day-after-Christmas.

Sunday, December 25, 2011

Savior to Santa - A Christmas Story

Father Dunson Gramalazzo
Merry Christmas everybody!  Well, shit me sideways, I have had an awful Christmas.  As you can see, the prosthetic eyebrow my Old Lady gave me, looks fucking perfect.  What is that Mrs. Rashton?  I'm not supposed to have an "Old Lady".  For fucks sake, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand fucking times, Svetlana is just my housekeeper.  And before you even start bitching about it, you know I always smoke on Christmas.  Gimme 5 Hail Mary's and a Shut the Fuck Up.

As I was saying, after Svetlana attached my new eyebrow, we still had decent amount of that sweet smelling glue.  One thing led to another and I ended up losing an eye.  The doctor says I'm lucky the stiletto heel didn't puncture my brain.   It feels like my eye-socket is full of ever-crawling fire ants.  But I don't want to bore you with my problems, it's fucking Christmas.  I'd rather bore you with somebody else's problems.  Look at all of you sitting there, thinking you know what the fuck Christmas is all about.  Well hold onto your fucking scalps because I'm about to blow your fucking minds.

So a couple thousand years ago Jesus was born, died, was resurrected and then ascended into the sky or something.  Well, little does everybody know, he never ascended, he stayed on earth.  Oh, he was supposed to fly away and wait for the apocalypse in heaven.  But, as you my have guessed, heaven is fucking boring.  Jesus preferred life on earth.  So after Jesus was resurrected, which is a completely different, Three Stooges like story, he stood in front of his 11 apostles.  Jesus, who spent a brief stint in a stolen time machine, (again another story) had a secret stockpile of top grade fireworks.

Jesus lit the fuse, and told his apostles that he was about to ascend to heaven.  The apostles waited with bated breath.  The fireworks exploded into showers of multicolored sparks for several minutes.  The apostles, completely distracted by the Godly magic, did not see Jesus calmly walking away.  He has spent the centuries wandering the earth, living different lives.

Now that is not the fucked up part.  Jesus is immortal, but he still ages.  1 Jesus year is equivalent to 50 human years.  He has aged about 40 years in the last couple of centuries and is currently in his early seventies.  But that is still not the fucked up part.  The fucked up part is Santa Claus is real and he is Jesus.

I can tell by the look on your faces that you don't believe me.  Well listen up fuckheads!  Have you ever seen a little show by the name of Doctor Who, what about it's spinoff, Torchwood?  Ah, I see a few hands, excellent.  There is a character in those shows called Captain Jack Harkness.  Harkness is a time traveling, bisexual from the 51st century.  Due to some cosmic bullshit, he became a fixed point in time, which pretty much means immortal.  You can shoot him in the face and he will die, but a few hours later his head regrows and he wakes up.  He also slowly ages over the centuries.  The BBC used an abandoned investigative report on Jesus as the template for the character of Harkness.

So Jesus has existed long enough to grow into an obese senior citizen.  He has become a little senile and a lot crazy over the centuries.  Jesus is an extremely powerful magical being, that coupled with his senility has created some interesting results.  The myth of Santa Claus started when a slightly delirious Jesus wanted to thank all the good Christians in the world on his birthday.  He bewitched some reindeer and with the help of his elven slaves, created gifts for every person.  Using magic and other bullshit, Jesus spent several decades sneaking presents into his followers homes.  Early on, he was spotted quite frequently.  He was always dressed in red with a thick, white beard.  Jesus didn't want people to think it was weird that he was giving gifts on his birthday, so he always said they were from an alias, "Santa Claus".  Fucked up, I know.

As the decades passed, Jesus' sanity faded as well.  Most of his elves died of neglect and exposure.  In the 21st century, he has been reduced to an elderly, magical, home invader.  He rarely leaves presents anymore, and if he does, they normally contain feces.  He gets into your refrigerator and eats whatever he wants.  He poops.... constantly.  It has been said that he has "exploded" several families that were roused by his aimless shamblings inside their homes on Christmas eve.  So for the love of Santa, people, if you hear somebody going through your shit on Christmas, DON'T INVESTIGATE.  Senile Santa Jesus will blow you and your children the fuck up with his magical fucking fingers.

If you think it's bad now, I wonder what he will be like in the distant future.  There is probably a reason he was supposed to wait in heaven for the apocalypse.  Probably because the apocalypse is not due to happen for several million years.  Christmas in the distant future may have a terrifyingly different Santa Claus.  An insane bag of flesh vomiting magic fire across the globe?  A quivering, reaking lich?  A tickling monster that won't take no for an answer?  Getting old is a bitch.

Oh and kids, the Santas in the mall is not Jesus, those are hobos.


Jesus "Jack Harknessed" into Santa Claus

Saturday, December 24, 2011

Twas the Night Before Christmas - A Story of Home Invasion

Greetings Gentle Reader,

Sometimes, we at Popular Irony like to take a break from the incessant vulgarity and bullshit we spew on a daily basis and do something nice.  Today I have provided my own dramatic reading of "Twas the Night Before Christmas".  Mostly because it is literally the night before Christmas.  I don't really feel like writing a filthy story or making a stupid video.  I've had a few drinks and I am ready to watch a few episodes of Deep Space 9.  (How the fuck is Sisko gonna get outta this one??)

Why not go and forcefully wake up the kids, drag them downstairs and have them repeatedly listen to this holiday treasure. Why not make them stay awake until they complete an essay on the poem?  They are getting stupid as shit on the Christmas holiday from school and would benefit from some aggressively instructed academical immersion.  I am sure that they will agree that this is possibly greatest reading of that old fucking poem, EVER!

So strap in and enjoy Terlet's stupid, old man voice reading "Twas the Night Before Christmas"

Murray Crimmus!!

Auto-Erotic Asphyxiation, the Safe Way

Auto erotic asphyxiation can be an exciting and satisfying release that, if done correctly, can be accomplished with little difficulty or danger.  The practice originates from the struggles of the ancient caveman as they copulated in the harsh environments of times past.  Back then the protocol for lovemaking was quite rough by the standards of a modern society, and greatly resembles rape.  An ancient human would judge the health of their mate during coitus by the vigor with which they fought back.  Because of this ancestral custom, modern humans receive a heightened sense of pleasure from the act of choking.  The practice is not entirely without risk, however.  If one is left without breath for too long they can quickly descend into unconsciousness, and this has led to the deaths of many great and powerful lovers, although usually while engaging in the activity alone.  This was never an issue in caveman lovemaking, as unconsciousness just invited the victor to either complete the act uncontested, or to escape, depending on the gender of the winner.

This is why much care should be taken before attempting this new and dangerous endeavor.  First rule of AEA is to never attempt this alone.  The act was never intended to be a solo procedure, and unless you want to be selected out of the genepool in embarrassing fashion, avoid it.  Your backup does not have to be a sexual partner, although it can heighten the pleasure of the experience, and can be used to grow trust and closeness in a relationship.  If selecting a trusted friend, keep one simple tip in mind before making an invitation:  If you wouldn’t trust the person to spot you in the gym, don’t ask them to spot you in the bedroom.  Physical strength is a premium in the characteristics of an ideal backup.  And don’t be selfish.  Remember to offer a reciprocal turn in the choker, and be as involved and vigilant as your backup was.  And it should be unnecessary to say, but make sure you have no unsettled arguments with your spotter, and be willing to trust them with your life, since that is what you will be doing.

Preparation should be given thorough detailed attention.  This can be the most important step, as most AEA adventurists fall to improperly prepared ligatures.  If you used to be a boyscout, then now is your time to shine.  You need a variable tension slipknot with a safety switch.  When you pull the loose end you drop to the floor, into the protective embrace of your spotter.  If you begin to either lose vision or see floating spots, pull the cord.  The tendency of the greedy masturbator is to finish at any cost, but pulling early will not only ensure a safe environment, but will heighten the experience once you are able to resume.

Please keep this brief tutorial in mind before attempting any self-endangering masturbatory pursuits, and may your towels always be soiled.  Be diligent in your prep work and partner selections, and avoid cameras of any kind.  The idea of watching a homemade porn starring yourself sounds great until you decide to run for political office in the republican party.  Just ask Herman Cain.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

International Santa Claus - A Study - Part 4 - White Baby Christmas Beast

Hello and welcome to the fourth installment of -International Santa Claus - A Study-.  Yes!  It is I, your ever-handsome host, Dr. Desmond Morales.

Dr. Desmond Morales
Christianity has dipped it's diddle in many a culture's business.  In every corner of the planet where Christmas has been imposed, there exists some form of the "Santa Claus".  This holiday visitor does not always take the form a jolly, red-clad, obese elf.  Often the myth takes the shape of a culture's fears and superstitions.

Nyeupe Mtoto Krismasi Mnyama is Swahili for "White Baby Christmas Beast".  Supposedly, every Christmas a Caucasian infant dressed in an expensive red suit, sneaks into your house and circumcises the wicked (children and adults, men and women) with his rusty machete.  The infant is extremely agile, sometimes running along the ceiling, always spitting curses.

The belief in the White Baby Christmas Beast is scattered throughout the African continent.  There are many ways to ward off the Beast.  It only attacks the wicked, so be good for goodness sake.  Some tribes will burn homosexuals in hopes of appeasing and deterring the white beast.  It is easy to determine if someone is homosexual, it's all in the eyes.  

Other societys outright hunt the Beast on Christmas, many armed with machetes or AK-47s.  Many times it is thought that that neighboring tribe is harboring the Beast.  One of the primary causes of war on the African continent is attempts to locate and slaughter the Beast.  Many villages have been completely wiped out in the futile search for this mythical Christmas monster.

White Baby Christmas Beast

Again, everyone has their in individual interpretations of the White Baby Christmas Beast.  It is not always a negative portrayal.  Some say that if you catch and have sex with the Beast that it will cure your AIDS.  This has lead to many international, cultural misunderstandings........ and raped babies.

Whether it be a red suit wearing, genital-mutilating demon or a magical, rapable, baby leprechaun.  The White Baby Christmas Beast is definitely in a Christmas creature league of it's own.


Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Shitty Christmas Gifts

You almost did it, didn't you?  You almost absentmindedly gave an incredibly offensive gift to someone you love and respect.  Good thing you read Popular Irony every day, huh?  Tonight we offer a brief last minute checklist to make sure your gifting remains appropriate this holiday season.  No one wants a repeat of that year you gave grandma the personal lubricant gift basket, so pay attention.  Avoid giving any of the listed items to the corrosponding people, and you can be sure that the only tears shed this holiday season are tears of familial hatred, not shame and regret.

Person recently diagnosed with cancer:
  • Electric razor
  • Lifetime membership to ANYTHING
  • Geiger counter
  • An hourglass
  • "Bucket List" themed stationary

A male homosexual:
  • A subscription to the Westboro Baptist Church newsletter
  • Condoms
  • Ableware 725120000 Bathroom Anus Stimulator ($67.48 on Amazon)
  • Narrow bicycle seat

A paraplegic:
  • A pedometer
  • A ladder
  • 10 year paid membership to e-harmony
  • Any length of rope

An obese person:
  • Airplane tickets
  • A bike
  • Industrial size baby powder
  • "Adopt a starving child" sponsorship
  • One shoe (tasteless diabetes joke)

A recent parolee:
  • City bus pass
  • New hairnet and latex gloves
  • Carton of cigarettes
  • Tattoo removal voucher
  • Resumé writing service

An expectant mother:
  • Rollerskates
  • Planned Parenthood brochure
  • Extra large novelty underwear
  • Victoria's Secret gift card
  • Condoms

So just remember to be a little more thoughtful the next time you go shopping for your diverse group of friends.  After all, it's the thought that counts, and you almost let everyone know you are an asshole by giving an inappropriate gift.  You can thank Popular Irony later for this faux pas prevention post! 

The Ableware 725120000, since you're curious.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

Christmas Conversation

Sit down with the Johnson Family for a rousing 
Christmas Conversation.


Monday, December 19, 2011

The Story Of Kim, The Littlest Tyrant

Yesterday the world lost yet another eccentric, egomaniacal tyrant in Kim Jong Il.  Having recently witnessed the fall of Moammar Gadhafi I am confronted by an irrational longing for insane and evil international supervillain of years past.  So as a respectful send off Popular Irony offers a short biography of Kim Jong Il.  Enjoy.

Greetings... Seriously

As we all know, Kim Jong Il was born at the foot of Mount Baekdu on February 16 1942 under the beautiful celestial phenomenon of a double rainbow and the spontaneous inception of a new star in the heavens.  And from these humble beginnings he rose to obtain the simultaneous rankings of Supreme Commander of the Korean People's Army, Marshal of The Democratic People's Republic of Korea, Chairman of the National Defense Commission of North Korea, Great Leader of The Democratic People's Republic of Korea, General Secretary of the Worker's Party of Korea, and the Chairman of the Central Military Commission.  And you would never know it by looking at his modest garb and simple fur hat.  How's that for modesty?  And considering he had some of the most fabulous hair in the known world, the fur hat speaks to his "regular guy" personality.

Much has been made about the glorious claims made about the man, but there can be little doubt that his legendary exploits are genuine, and have been dutifully documented by the North Korean media.  For instance, did you know that Kim Jong Il doesn't defecate?  Or that he once attempted golf, but was bored by it after hitting 11 holes in one and ending up 38 under par?  It is also a widely known fact that Kim Jong Il sparked a fashion trend the world over and was the modern pre-eminent international authority on the internet. 

And let us review the list of commercial successes that have made North Korea a shining example of the possibilities the western world can aspire to:

North Korean soda is best!

North Korea meat is best!

North Korea paper is best!

North Korea fish is best!

North Korea jam is best!

In his short existence on this planet Kim Jong Il overcame incredible odds and oppression by the United States to flourish as the economic powerhouse it is today.  And although his star burned too bright for most of the world to appreciate, and he certainly made some enemies throughout his political career, his struggle against the evil empire of the United States of America was greatly exaggerated as many government sponsored posters were misunderstood to be anti-American propaganda:
This work of art has been widely misinterpreted to call for the demolition of the American capitol by the North Korean red army.  The artist is actually trying to convey a sense of infatuation with the US by displaying the frustration his country feels in falling behind international standards of human rights, displaying the heavy hand of diplomatic negotiation damaging North Korea's international influence.

This image has often been mistaken as a propaganda piece implying that US troops committed atrocities against the people of Korea during the Korean war.  In actuality, this image shows how troops were able, on occasion, to save the innocent children from certain danger.  In this case a dangerous open air well.  The Americans were well appreciated for their altruistic efforts, as indicated by the joyful expression on the face of the mother.

And here we see a popular political piece that has received much criticism by the uniformed viewer for it's apparent display of contempt for the American flag.  Truth be told, this image does not show a vengeful North Korean subject attacking democracy, but rather a hopeful youth with visions of the glorious annexation of North Korea by the United States to create a new American State!  She eagerly disposes of the current flag to hep usher in a new era that includes the newest 51st star!  Go America!

So before you join your friends or coworkers in ridiculing the fallen icon, just remember how great and influential Kim Jong Il became, and mourn the loss of a great leader.

Sunday, December 18, 2011

Imperial Love March

A couple days ago, Hamtackle was singing his own lyrics over the Star Wars Imperial March. They have been stuck in my head and I wanted to share my misery with everyone. George Lucas has phenomenal neck meats.

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Dear Popular Irony,

I am a recently divorced father of one beautiful, wonderful daughter.  My wife of twelve years left me after a lengthy extramarital affair, and since she has a much better career and can provide a much better life for my daughter, I did not challenge her request for full custody.  I now greatly regret that decision.  My ex wife has turned my daughter against me to the point that she now refuses my phone calls and does not respond to my email.  I have no proof, but I am pretty sure my ex has been throwing away the birthday and Christmas gifts I have been sending.  And now I hear that she is planning to move halfway across the country and I may lose my daughter forever!  I have no way of preventing this without at least partial custody, and I am at odds with the situation.  Please help!

Floundering Father, Jacksonville FL

Dear Floundering Floridian,

The loss of a child-parent bond is one of the most tragic events in a family, and one of the most difficult problems to solve.  The longer the connection is cut the less likely it will ever be repaired, and it may be beyond saving.  The good news is that your daughter's estranged relationship can still be leveraged against your ex wife in a very satisfying vendetta setup.  

I have a suggestion that will ensure you ruin the life of your former soulmate, however you are going to need to accept the loss of your relationship with your daughter.  This means cutting off all contact with her and encouraging an environment that will allow her to forget about you entirely.  Considering you were married for twelve years, and have been divorced for at least one, I estimate the age of your daughter to be between 10 and 12 years old, give or take.  She should be able to completely forget about you by the time she turns 18, so you are going to have to play the waiting game.  Hire a private detective to keep tabs on your daughter, and have him contact you in the event your daughter becomes engaged to be married.  Then you must act quickly.

The detective should be able to give you a date and venue for the wedding, and no one will suspect that you would attempt to attend.  Rent a tuxedo and clean yourself up for the big occasion, and make sure to show up fashionably late.  Late enough to interrupt the ceremony in progress.  Come running down the aisle, getting everyone's attention, and scream the following:

"My darling daughter... I am so sorry...  The truth is that I am beside myself with shame!  I can't live with it anymore... I can never apologize enough for what I did to you... No father should ever...."

And then shoot yourself in the head in front of everyone.  Your daughter's fiancee would likely leave her at the alter, your daughter would certainly spiral into depression and visit a never-ending list of psychiatrists attempting to uncover repressed memories, and your ex wife would become suicidal over the guilt of being oblivious to horrifying abuse.  Point.  Set.  Match.   

Friday, December 16, 2011

Imp of Color

(Sung to the tune of the Imperial March)

Hey there you, I love you, I love you,
Hey there you, I love you, I love you,
Hey there you, you look really good, you do,
You look really good, you do,
I love you , I love you
Hey there you, you look really good, you do,
You look really good, you do,
I love you , I love you

And now... Imp of Color


Thursday, December 15, 2011

Making the Olympics Special Again

With great influence comes great responsibility, and we at Popular Irony have a rich history of giving back to the community.  Tonight we will do our part to help popularize one of the most heartwarming organizations the world over, the Special Olympics.  In recent years donations to keep the games going have been tepid at best, and critics cite the lack of broad appeal in a modern viewership on television.  We think we have a few ideas to make the Special Olympics a more exciting and profitable cause.  This will involve the introduction of several new events, which we detail here.

Stair Races:  An element of danger makes this event a crowd favorite.  Participants line up at the starting line atop a massive staircase ready to race their competitors to the bottom!  The catch?  Everyone must keep their hands firmly in their pants pockets at all times.  Only the most skilled and coordinated athlete can make it to the bottom unscathed!

Javelin Catching:  We plan to introduce a summer games favorite with an exciting twist!  Each competitor waits downfield from an able-bodied javelin thrower with the hopes of being the first to successfully catch a launched javelin!  The game ends with the first to make a successful catch being deemed the winner, or in the (likely) event of complete failure by all participants, the last athlete to be rushed to the hospital.

Synchronized Drowning:  Behold the wonders of artistic expression that these "special" competitors are capable of!  Between the pairs competition and the group event you will see a dazzling display of gags, screams, and flails all in amazing unison!  The winners are fished out after each round and scored by the panel of judges to determine which team gets the glory.  There is no second or final round, with zero allowable alternate athletes.

Long Distance Falling:  This game of risk and reward is a true favorite among polled viewers.  Each competitor is free to choose an altitude to compete from, weighing in the risk of the variable landing platform.  Soft grass?  Go big or go home!  Rough gravel?  Just make sure your ambitions are survivable!  Winner takes all, and the fates favor the athlete with the greatest balance of reserve and gaul. 

Child Rearing:  Perhaps the greatest life challenge adapted to a competitive format.  Each athlete is issued a live human baby and is released into the streets accompanied only by a camera crew.  This is the only event that spans the entire length of the Special Olympics, and culminates in the gathering of the participants for the final ceremony whereby they turn in the child they have been entrusted with.  Any surviving baby would be examined by a group of physicians, who would use the data along with the footage of the experience to announce a final winner, determined by either the lease injured child, or the longest surviving child.

And before you judge us for the heightened level of personal danger in these proposed additions, just remember that these athletes put the greatest effort of their lives into these events, and to cheapen them by considering the likelihood of injury or death is doing them a great disservice.  Thank you.

Wednesday, December 14, 2011


A couple of weeks ago I asked a very important question.  "What's in the Motherfucking Box?!".  I am finally prepared to open the motherfucking box and find out.

This unlabeled box could contain anything.  It could be from my college days or even from my recent move.  Let's see what we got.

Ah.... It is quite an assortment of shit.  Some old, some new.  My wife must have combined several "shit boxes" creating one almighty Motherfucking Box of Shit!

Let's see we have......

1 Shake Weight DVD for Men
1 Shake Weight DVD for Women
1 Large Orange Battery Powered Fridge Magnet Gear
2 Large Red Fridge Magnet Gears
1 Mini Chalkboard Eraser
1 Tiny Stuffed Monkey on a String Tied To a Stick
1 Paper Dream Productions Comics Bookmark
2 Large Green Fridge Magnet Marble Ramps
4 Small Gray Fridge Magnet Gears
2 Swivel Cup Fridge Magnet Marble ramps
9 Wooden Sculpture Tools
1 Paper Envelope Stuffed With Unmarked Dirty DVDs and CDs
3 Medium Green Fridge Magnet Gears
1 6' Gray Telephone Cord
1 12' Green Telephone Cord
1 Small Paintbrush
1 Drywall Portrait Hook
1 Hanging Plant Hook
1 Fridge Magnet Marble Holder
2 Medium Blue Fridge Magnet Gears
1 Empty Green DVD Jewel Case
1 5" ACE Comb
1/2 Roll of Scotch Tape
1 Catering Business Card
1 Jar Tattoo Ointment
1 Boyz II Men Cassette Tape "CooleyHigh Harmony"
1 Plastic Back to a Digital Clock (my wife has been looking for this)
1 Leather Case Containing Glasses With  My Current Prescription
1 Tiny Egg laying Rubber Chicken Keychain
1 Soiled Bumper Sticker
1 Cassette Tape "Harpin' It Easy" Harmonica Instruction
1 Plastic Buddha Statue
1 Cassette Tape "The Beavis and Butthead Experience"
3 Tickets To A Scum City Avengers Concert
1 Old Glasses Prescription
12 Printed Wikipedia Pages "List of Cryptids"
2 Car Keys for a GM
1 Folder of My College Comic Strips
1 Wooden Hawaii Surfboard Fridge Magnet
1 Tiny Scenic Painting Fridge Magnet
1 Guggenheim Museum Fridge Magnet
1 Automatic Outlet Timer
1 Ceramic Wind Chime
4 Small Black Fridge Magnet Gears
1 Chiropractor Business Card
2 Medium Fridge Magnet Marble Ramps
1 Invitation To a Baby Shower With a Small Metal Dream Catcher Pin Attached
1 Portion of an Unknown Video Game System Cable
1 Deck of Marvel Comics Playing Cards
1 Florida Fridge Magnet
2 Curvy Fridge Magnet Marble Ramps
1 2$ Bill
1 Boba Fett Mandalorian Symbol Iron On Patch
1 Mouth Harp
1 Small Glasses Cleaning Cloth
1 Verizon Wireless Installation CD for a Phone I No Longer Own
1 Unmarked Orange Swipe Card With Barcode
1 Small Piece of Wood With "Hawaii" written on it
1 C + C Music Factory Cassette Tape "Gonna Make You Sweat"
1 Swirly Dispenser Chute Fridge Magnet Marble Ramp
1 Phone # for "Arica"
1 Florida Scuba Dive Instructor Business Card
1 Thermometer In a Wooden Tube
1 Label For a Dickies Shirt
1 Red Ticket #353296
1 Commie Self Adhesive Mustache and Beard Set
1 Kohl's Coupon Mailer
1 Phone # for Muffler Repair
1 Crumpled Note Instructing Me To "Empty The Dishwasher"
1 Rusty Cast Iron Railroad Spike
1 Battery Powered Robot Crab Toy
2 Wooden Coins "Pat" and "Front"
11 White Marbles
1 Blue Mardi Gras Beads
1 Green Mardi Gras Beads
1 Purple Mardi Gras Beads
1 Butterscotch Candy
1 10" x 1" Styrofoam Stick
1 Bunch of Pipe Cleaners
1 Pen Without a Cap
1 Old AAA Card
1 SD Card
1 Progressive Insurance Card
1 Large Yellow Fridge Magnet Gear
1 Broken XBOX Earpiece
1 Large Paper Clip
1 Small Cereal Box Star Trek Flashlight
1 Old Checkbook
1 2" x 3" Adhesive Bandage
1 Blister Pack of Gum With 2 Pieces Remaining
1 Empty Plastic Sandwich Bag With "Banana Kush Mix 1/4" Written On It
1 4" Piece of Electrical Tape Coated in Birdseed and Cat Hair
2 Small White Magnets
1 Wooden Toothpick
1 Small Hair Clip
1 Penny
1 Empty Picture Frame
1 DVD Collection of "Deadtime Stories" 10 Movies on 5  Double Sided DVDs that Hamtackle gave to me for Christmas years ago.  The best is "Night Train to Terror".  God and the Devil play chess while a bunch of 80's aerobics instructors make a shitty dance video on a train.  It has a great song lyric "Everybody's got something to do, everybody but you".

The Keepers

I Kept a few items, as you can see.  As for the rest?  It's back to the box!!  One day I will dig it out again and rummage through it's piles of dusty, useless memories. 

I can hear you saying to yourself  "But Terlet!  Shouldn't you at least throw away that filthy piece of electrical tape?!?"  To that I say "FUCK YOU, I NEED IT!! MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS!!"


Tuesday, December 13, 2011

The Legend of the Half-Naked Dandy

When the fields are nearly ready for harvest on the rich countryside of Bumblespire a curious figure makes his presence known.  This is the time for the half-naked dandy to visit the farmers late at night and wrestle them for the promise of good weather.  If the farmers are able to impose their dominance on the dandy then they can be assured that their crop will be protected from the unpredictable Bumblespire late season storms.  This has long been the tradition, and the farming community has made it into a celebration that includes competitions of strength designed to prepare the farmers for the coming visit from the half-naked dandy.  It is a time of great joy and friendship.

But one fall, after the harvest celebration was long over, the farmers began calling on each other in a panic.  The half-naked dandy hadn't visited any of them yet, and they all feared that the storms would claim their delicate crops before the had a chance to wrestle.  And since the dandy only appears in the pitch black of night the farmers had no way of knowing what it looked like, or how to find it and plea for their harvest.  The only detail they knew is that the dandy was a being with a skinny build, who wore nothing more than a hide tunic.  It never spoke, but if bested in a wrestling match it would leave the bones of a small rodent at the farmer's doorstep signifying that their crops were safe for this season.

When the dandy first appeared it had the farmers badly outmatched, and left them confused and terrified about the purpose of this clandestine invader.  But whenever someone successfully wrestled the being out of their home they found their crops would withstand even the most foul late season storms.  The farmers had all become very able wrestlers to give them an edge, and over the years their fear of the half-naked dandy turned into eager anticipation.  Some years only a handful of farmers could best the dandy, and when the storms came they were the only farms left untouched, and they enjoyed a fantastic financial return when they took their harvest to market.  But these days the farmers rarely lost to the dandy, and everyone seemed to prosper.

That season the half-naked dandy never came to Bumblespire, and the late season storms devastated the crops.  The following year the farmers made a great effort to find out who, or what, the half-naked dandy was.  They knew that their hard effort in growing their crops would be wasted if they couldn't find their wrestling savior, but try as they may, they found no evidence of the dandy within the town, out in the fields, the forest, or in the northern hills.  It seemed hopeless as the growing season came to a close, and the community didn't even bother to celebrate the coming harvest.  They all just desperately hoped the dandy would come, or that the storms wouldn't appear until the crops were ready.

But one morning the town of Bumblespire erupted with excitement.  One of the farmer's daughters rushed to the market with the news that the half-naked dandy had returned that night, but her father had been unable to defeat it and was badly hurt.  Everyone in the town traveled down the dirt road to speak with her father and make sure their salvation was at hand, and they crowded at the doorstep with hope in their hearts.  The farmer's wife reluctantly let the townspeople in to speak with her husband, but warned them that he would not be able to entertain them for long.

The crowd gasped as they gazed down on the broken man, arms and legs twisted in un-natural contortions, his face battered and broken, and barely able to speak through shattered teeth.  He moaned and told his story, that the dandy was bigger than before, and was more aggressive than ever.  He told about their violent struggle the night before, and how the dandy clawed, bit, and battered him to within an inch of his life.  He warned the other farmers that the years of easy victories were over, and the half-naked dandy had grown weary of losing.  In the past two years it had transformed into a much more formidable and ominous foe.

The news crushed the hopes of the farmers and their families.  No one had trained for this kind of challenge in some time, and the canceling of the harvest celebration seemed so foolish in retrospect.  The next night another farmer fell victim to the dandy, and although he gave a spirited wrestling match, he was nearly killed for his efforts.  Rumors began to spread through the community that maybe the dandy had never really saved anyone from the storms.  Maybe the dandy had been causing the storms all along, and had the sadistic habit of punishing the weak when he bested them.  Everyone began to agree that it might be better to get rid of the half-naked dandy rather than face him and risk permanent injury.  

The townspeople of Bumblespire formulated a plan to capture the dandy and try to exploit his powers for their benefit, or defeat the menace once and for all.  The blacksmiths, the innkeepers, and the town guards all agreed to lay wait in each of the remaining farmer's homes the following night and overpower the dandy when he appeared looking for another victim.

That night, after midnight, the dandy returned.  One of the farmer's cabins was as quiet as the night outside, and just as dark.  The dandy crept into the farmer's room looking for another wrestling match, when suddenly four large men sprung from their hiding places and attacked in unison, quickly overpowering the beast and beating it unmercifully.  Once satisfied that the deed was done, and the dandy beaten into submission, one of the men lit a lamp to get the first ever view of their foe.  Laying on the floor between them was a massive man with several obvious handicaps.  His face displayed all the hallmarks of severe retardation, and one leg was noticeably shorter and less muscular than the other.  They all immediately recognized the unfortunate freak.

Years prior the town was considerably less modern, and was ruled by superstition.  One of the innkeepers' daughters bore a child with the same grotesque maladies, and in keeping with the superstition of the time, was forcibly taken from the mother and left in the woods as a gift to the forest spirit.  Those superstitions had long since faded away, but now appeared to be haunting the town that committed the injustices.  The men wasted no time in dispatching the freak with a fire poker, and paraded the corpse through the town that night, sparking a celebration that lasted for days.

In the years that followed the town learned to deal with the unpredictable late season storms, and managed to thrive by staggering the harvest schedule and sharing profits should the late crops become damaged.  They also renewed an ancient custom that had long ago been forgotten, and with it came revitalized superstition.  The harvest celebrations were no more, but every season one newborn child was taken to the woods as a divine sacrifice, in hopes that one day the half-naked dandy would return to Bumblespire and bring with him the ability to secure the crops agains the harsh late season storms...

Monday, December 12, 2011

Boredoms - Pitch at Butch on Itch -

Hey look! My video editor has filters and effects. I could be the next George Fucking Lucas! Big, fat neck and all. I think I'll use some filters on some old schizophrenia footage with a song by Boredoms, Japanese weirdness at it's finest.

Sunday, December 11, 2011

A Man, A Musket, And A Murder vol. 3

There is little else in this world as depressing as trying to sleep in a jail cell surrounded by obese drunkards and wife beaters.  Vic had already been abruptly awakened by the presence of an unfamiliar hand rummaging inside the front of his pants.  The hairy man barked assurances that he was just looking for a pack of cigarettes, but Vic knew it wasn't so.  This pair of pants didn't have pockets.  The exhausted detective accepted the man's excuse, and just wanted to get back to sleep and wait out his short stay until the next morning when the courts could process his citation and bail.

"What are you here for?" The hairy man asked, quite casually for a serial molester of sleeping men.  "I don't want to talk about it.  I'm going to sleep.  Please don't fondle my genitals."  Vic replied.  He had no desire to explain the situation to a stranger, particularly after getting the third degree from the police.

Six hours ago Vic Musket was pulled over on a lonely Alabama highway while staggering drunk.  Lucky for him the officer had no suspicion about his intoxication, since a practiced drunk rarely slurs his speech, and an unwashed drunk smells like ass, not booze.  But mid conversation the cop glanced in the back seat of the car and spotted a thirteen-inch black rubber cock.  And apparently in the state of Alabama sex toys are illegal contraband.  Vic tried explaining that the cock belonged to a pimp named Swisha, and Vic had absent-mindedly forgotten to clean out the car after purchasing it, but that seemed to have made matters worse.

Vic awakened to an empty cell, which was a welcome sight.  The same officer that had arrested him was now explaining that his bail was suspended by the judge earlier that morning, and he was being released.  But he was going to have to pay the $300 towing and storage on his car before his trip would continue.  And he had to sign an agreement that he would pay his fine for possession of illicit goods within 90 days or he would have to return to Alabama for court.  The fools accepted Vic at his word, and he explained that it might be a day or so until he could get the money wired to him so he could get his car out of impound.  In reality, Vic was nearly out of money, and pretty much knew that he would never see that car again.

"Can I at least get the dildo back?" Vic was pushing his luck with the redneck cop.  "Son, yer lucky to be going anywhere.  Thirty years ago we would have made you into a quiet windchime hanging from the nearest oak tree." The cop replied with a stern tone.  Some people just don't appreciate good humor anymore.

Vic collected his belongings and thumbed through his remaining cash.  Forty bucks.  That wasn't going to get him very far, definitely not all the way to Texas considering he had to get some drinking done.  The detective became suddenly aware that he looked alien in this town.  Everyone was dressed well and clearly bathed regularly, and here was Vic Musket wreaking of piss and body odor, and piss was winning the battle.  He was going to have to fit in a little better if he wanted to hitchhike his way out of this town.

As if answering his thoughts, Vic looked across the street and noticed a truck stop down the road a way.  Truckers were not discerning people, and he might be able to make an arrangement with one of them in the bar next to the hand-painted sign that read "Truckers welcome!  Rig parking out back, showers $5"  Hopefully that arrangement wouldn't involve wearing a wig and crying afterwards, but he wasn't ruling anything out as he walked into the bar.

To be continued...

Saturday, December 10, 2011

Prince wants to Jack U Off

For Popular Irony's 201st post, I decided to try something different. We have never embedded audio into a post before.  With the explicit intent of annoying Hamtackle, I picked a Prince song, "Jack U Off". I have also set the song to automatically play and for it to repeat.  I realize that this may be annoying to our dedicated readers as well.  Please take solace in the knowledge that Hamtackle hates it so much more than you.  He suffers from involuntary Prince boners and hearing this song is going cause him a lot of chafing.


Friday, December 9, 2011

A Popular Irony Anniversary: 200 Posts And Growing

Welcome to a landmark moment for Popular Irony, the 200th post since our humble beginnings this July past.  In such a short time we went from a mere twenty or so pageviews per day to literally dozens.  We have managed to garner a loyal following due to our dedicated daily ramblings of vulgarity, and we are proud to say that we have not missed a single day.  Now many of you have expressed an interest in the two strange personalities that have authored this blog, and have been disappointed by the lack of detail in the "About Popular Irony" page that has been under construction since our beginning.  But now all of your rampant speculation comes to an end.  For tonight, we present the true identities of Hamtackle and Terlet. 

Alias: Hamtackle
True Identity: Thomas Burton
Location: Tulsa, OK
Education: B.S. (Physical Anthropology) Columbia University
Age: 31
Marital Status: Single
Occupation: Non-fiction author (under a pseudonym); Professional Rodeo Rider (PBR)

Thomas Burton is an outspoken liberal atheist with a passion for community service through local outreach programs.  Dedication to altruistic pursuits despite his many social and professional obligations has made him the subject of many local media profiles, and has led to a significant online following supporting his political aspirations in both the local and national stage.  He has remained reluctant to accept his probable destiny for public life because, as he has been quoted "it complicates my daily schedule of volunteer work and tends to distract from the political message of economic equality and emphasis on scientific education in public schools that I have dedicated my life to."  This humility and personal compassion have become the hallmark of his iconic image, and has led to his refusal of public office despite a write-in victory for Mayor of his hometown of Tulsa, Oklahoma.  He hopes to one day find a wife that he says, above all, must be his intellectual equal.

Alias: Terlet
True Identity: Stanley Pudgins
Location: Tulsa, OK
Education: N/A
Age: 33
Marital Status: Single, estranged father of two
Occupation: N/A

Stanley Pudgins currently resides on the couch of Thomas Burton, to whom his care was released by the State in 2006.  He has benefitted from the charitable contributions of Mr. Burton after an unfortunate conviction of serial public exposure and a brief 18 month incarceration.  His diminished mental capacity brought on by a serious glue sniffing addiction has likely inspired the protective instincts of those around him, allowing for a life free of public financial assistance.  Mr. Pudgins appears to have discovered a therapeutic outlet for his creative ability with his participation in the online blog Popular Irony, and displays an almost autism-like penchant for humor despite the lack of any social skill.  In his own words, Stanley Pudgins is "really grateful for my friend Thomas Burton, who never yells at me even though I keep accidentally peeing on his things."  Perhaps best known for his State-enforced participation in an advertising campaign for the National Sex-Offender Registry that was an expressed condition of his release, Mr. Pudgins has aspirations to one day become "either a railroad conductor or a zookeeper."

We at Popular Irony hope this has given all of our dear readers some insight into the minds that bring you daily original content to brighten your otherwise disposable lives.  And if you ever wish to reach either Hamtackle or Terlet, please write us at   

Thursday, December 8, 2011

International Santa Claus - A Study - Part 3 - Santa Bones

Hello and welcome to the third installment of -International Santa Claus - A Study-.  Once again, I am undoubtedly your host, Dr. Desmond Morales.

Dr. Desmond Morales
 The "Santa Claus" is a pervasive theme sprinkled throughout all the lands that have been touched by the eager hand of Christianity.  Every culture has their own unique interpretation.   Today we are exploring the practices of an elusive tribe from Papua, New Guinea, the Korowai.

The Korowai are a small tribe of people from southeastern Papua.  It is commonly thought that they were an undiscovered tribe until 1970.  Little do people know, in 1932 a small group of missionaries became lost in the vast jungles of Papua.  They eventually encountered the Korowai people.  The Korowai were wary at first, but soon warmed up to the missionaries and their delicious food. 

During the following weeks the missionaries and the Korrowai were able to establish a crude dialogue.  The missionaries began their biblical teachings much to the confusion of the Korowai. 

The weeks leading up to Christmas were full of stories of Jesus Christ and Santa Claus.  Sally Masterbilt, one of the missionaries, was from New York and was infatuated with the American Santa Claus.  She spoke very fast and constantly to any villager that would listen.  The Korowai became very confused by the little that they understood from the visitors.

On Christmas eve, Sally told the villagers that Santa was coming that night and tomorrow was Jesus' birthday.  The villagers broke into a panic all of the villagers taking up spears and shouting.  The missionaries were corralled and ritualistically executed by the Korowai. 

The meat was stripped from the Sally's bones and a crude statue was erected.  They clothed the statue in red feathers and created a wispy, white feather beard.  Every year, around Christmas, the Korowai repair their bone sculpture and replace the suit of feathers. 

In 1982, Anthropologist Stacey Hunt, asked the Korowai about the strange totem.  It seems that the Korowai misunderstood the stories that were told to them by the missionaries.  They thought that Jesus and Santa were mortal enemies and they had to choose a side in the battle or be destroyed by God.  When Sally Masterbilt said that Santa was coming to the village, the Korowai knew they had to decide. 

The Korowai chose to fight under the banner of Santa Claus.  The Korowai were amazed by his ability to fly and his omnipotence.  They dressed the bones of a follower of Jesus like Santa as a ward to fend off Jesus.  Every Christmas, the Korowai sit with eyes full of fear, spears in hand, waiting for the year when Santa forsakes them and Jesus finally comes.

Santa Bones hates Jesus.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Popular Irony Presents: The Truth About Pearl Harbor

FDR, aka "Poppa" to the ladies
Greetings from the Patriotic Historical Revisionist Society of America, where we are re-educating the world at large about important events in world history that serve to bolster the image of the greatest country on earth, the United States of America.  Join us tonight as we expose the true motivations behind the attack at Pearl Harbor in honor of the anniversary of the event.

Before going too deeply into the details, we must first acknowledge the conditions of the time.  Back before cable news and the internet the powerful people of the world were free to act on their every whim without consequence.  There was very little opportunity for scandal because the only information disseminated to the public was carefully released by the source itself, without interference by the free media.  Thus began the controversy between Franklin D Roosevelt and Emperor Hirohito.

Most of us remember FDR by the inspirational images taken during his speeches, but by all accounts he was one of the most sexually ferocious world leaders since Caligula.  It was widely known throughout his administration and beyond that President Roosevelt could not control his appetite for beautiful women, but the coverup was orchestrated to preserve the dignity of the first lady Eleanor Roosevelt.  And a startling lack of documentation supporting any kind of paralytic disease in the President suggests that his famous use of a wheelchair was a response to his fatigue following his ample sexual conquests.

In order to hide FDR's womanizing ways the administration arranged frequent trips abroad, so as to limit public exposure.  On one such trip to Japan (Franklin was a very progressive lover for the times) the President found himself taken by a particularly beautiful woman with whom he remained literally attached to the hip with for nearly a week, like some kind of interracial conjoined twin.  Unbeknownst to him at the time the woman was Empress Kōjun, wife of Emperor Hirohito.  The response to the befouling of his wife by the brash American President came in the form of the attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941.
Hirohito and his sexually unsatisfied wife

Without the true facts about the feud between FDR and Hirohito the world media assumed that the attack was a preemptive strike designed to cripple the American Navy, thus preventing it from complicating the Japanese advance on Malaya and the Dutch East Indies.  In reality this was a hastily designed battle born in the heat of passion, and against the urging of Japan's military strategists.  The following day America declared war on Japan and single handedly beat back the Nazi advance across Europe (you're welcome, France!)

Of course, FDR passed away on April 12, 1945, just when victory seemed certain.  One particularly satisfying detail that is little-known outside of military historians is that the atomic bombs that were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki both had a name scrawled across them... "Kōjun".  This was to remind the Emperor of the recently-deceased President's sexual conquest, and Hirohito's biggest mistake.