Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Which Celebrity is Most Likely to Die in 2012? - A Popular Irony Poll - RESULTS!

2012 has passed and with it so has our Celebrity Death Poll!  I set up a poll last year with a random assortment of celebrity names.  I invited you to vote on who was most likely to die.  Let's see the results!


It looks like only one person on my random list died in 2012, Ray Bradbury with 2 votes.  The poll had a total of 63 votes over 1 year!  That's 5.79 votes per day.  What an outstanding turnout!  We pride ourselves on audience participation.  Thanks for playing!
 

We had only one write in submission.  It was from our dear friend, Hamtackle.  Boy was he deadly right!  Goodbye Dick Clark!  It was weird counting down without you.  By weird, I mean, I wasn't creeped out by your stroke face this year.


Good luck in 2013 motherfuckers!  We are gonna need it!


-

Monday, December 31, 2012

Steaming Pile o' Tekkit - Episode 26

Hamtackle and Terlet take their first trip to the Nether.  8 Minutes of lame adventure!




Want that Texture?:  http://www.minecraftforum.net/topic/513093-32x16x142-dokucraft-the-saga-continues/


Music by Kevin MacLeod  http://incompetech.com/music/royalty-free/



-

Sunday, December 30, 2012

Diary Of A Degenerate 28

The "very best" accommodations in an indian-themed motel doesn't amount to much, since the room was only large enough for a double bed and a beat up sofa and the walls were thin enough to let the heat in during daytime and out again at night, but we lived like royalty. And with no apparent competition for the luxury suite we were going on two weeks in that place, which suited the manager just fine since we paid every morning in cash.

Vanessa was back to her neurotic self again and I was able to drink myself half to death with complete impunity from her judgement, so long as I went outside to throw up when I had to. The sound of retching made her skin crawl and I was doing it more often now, like some fraternity pledge away from home for the first time in his life. I had a spot near the back of our teepee that was just out of sight from the lobby that I frequented for exactly that purpose, a spot that featured a mummified cat corpse jutting out of the hard, sun-baked earth from some long forgotten flash flood that no doubt ruined this place at one point. Now it collected my sick in stringy strands of mucous and liquor to a depth that had the cat posthumously drowning one last time.


There was a small town a few miles down the road, but there was hardly any reason to go there except for the liquor store or to pick up an overpriced loaf of week old bread and sardines in mustard. Even the bar was off limits to us. We stumbled in that place a day or so after we arrived only to find a game of bingo being played by a group of geriatric alcoholics that were sinful enough to drink, but innocent enough to consider bingo a good way to spend their time. But I sure did enjoy the dichotomy of reactions Vanessa got from the old men and old women with her tits hanging out of a five hundred dollar cocktail dress. The women stared in shocked anger and the men in wide-eyed wonderment. I wanted to hate fuck her in front of them but was dragged out before I could finish dreaming up the fantasy. Vanessa was embarrassed enough to cry. I didn't understand how she could be so ashamed by the very qualities that made me almost love her.


But when we were locked up in the teepee things were different. I wasn't shouting at her or degrading her, I let her take a bath first, decide when and what to eat, went down on her from time to time... we were playing like we were married. I even got blackout drunk one night and wrote a few dozen poems for her, all terrible, derivative, hackey, love-sick bullshit, but Vanessa wouldn't shut up about them. She read them over and over to herself and hid them from me like an overprotective cat with her kittens, like I might stomp the life out of them to hurt her when my mood changed and I wanted her to suffer again. And that's how we lived together out in the desert, always in the moment, just waiting for the other shoe to drop and get back to resenting each other again.


I was sure things were going better. I thought the happiness was going to sustain her. I thought she might be mending from all the badness that she was living through all those years, and that I would be able to keep her at my side for balance like an old bum with a million-dollar cane that he had no fucking business possessing. Maybe I was the naive one the whole time.


 

.

Saturday, December 29, 2012

Scum City Avengers - Scum City

Well, it's finally happened folks.  After this, I am out of Scum City Avengers songs.  I am ending with the first track of their album, their theme song.  I know you'll miss it folks, but somehow, we'll get through this.  Please enjoy my final Scum City Avengers song..... Scum City








-

Friday, December 28, 2012

Chubby Eric - The Hotdog Eating Iguana

Chubby Eric is a hotdog eating Iguana.  Chubby Eric gets laid all the time because he constantly reeks of hotdog water.  Bitches love that hotdog water.




-

Steaming Pile o' Tekkit - Episode 25

Hamtackle and Terlet argue and then set off for the Nether!  Oodles of salty talk!




Want that Texture?:  http://www.minecraftforum.net/topic/513093-32x16x142-dokucraft-the-saga-continues/


Music by Kevin MacLeod  http://incompetech.com/music/royalty-free/



-

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

The Merriest Christmas

HO-HO-HO... Motherfuckers!


Hot damn! What a merry fucking christmas we had this year! The holiday spirit was in full effect, with only a few minor setbacks to the traditional american cheer and goodwill. On the good side, I got everything I wanted and those I love were genuinely moved by my thoughtful and generous gifts. But on the bad side... well, it looks like our president is still in a dick measuring competition with congress that will likely lead us to another credit downgrade, and dozens were murdered in unprecedented acts of terror and cruelty.

I know we should just learn to take the good along with the bad, and I am the type of guy that can see the silver lining in almost any mass killing, but even I choke on the stench of feces when it is close enough for the steam to fog up my glasses. And as an american gun owner (I own a handgun. And a rifle. Okay, it's a semi-automatic rifle. Maybe it looks a little menacing... Alright. It's a fucking AK-74. Full disclosure here.) I am pissed off at the assholes that put my choice to own firearms at risk. They act totally irresponsibly, scare the shit out of the general populace, and make all gun owners look like crazy maniacs. And I'm not talking about the kid that shot up an elementary school, or the nutcase that just killed two firefighters in New York. I'm talking about the NRA spokesperson Wayne LaPierre and the ambulance chasing media.

For the week after the massacre that killed dozens of schoolchildren there was little you could do to escape the media coverage. For fucks sake, I watched a reporter interview a FIVE YEAR OLD that witnessed the killings just a few HOURS after the crime. "Do you remember where the gunfire was coming from, Billy? Did you see any bodies?! Did little Suzy have a sucking chest wound?" Real classy. And what is the response from the NRA about all this madness? Surely they tried to redirect the focus of the argument towards the failings of our mental health infrastructure, or the aptitude for our culture to disregard mental illness as mere eccentricity or perceived weakness, leading those that need help to avoid it for fear of being stigmatized.

Nope. They lead off with the suggestion that we start taking volunteers from within our random, shit-kicking, gun enthusiast populace to stand guard in our public schools with their boom stick of choice. Yeah. That might work. The obvious flaw in this logic is that the LAST person that you should give authority to walk the hallways of our elementary schools armed to the teeth is anyone that would enthusiastically volunteer for the job. So why not cops? Oh yeah, I forgot. The NRA is a conservative organization and any suggestion that might lead to an increase in the tax burden would get you tarred and feathered in their world.

So what's the answer? In my humble opinion the NRA should take every public opportunity to condemn gun violence in all forms, and stop pretending that every asshole with a piece is really just a superhero in waiting, ready to leap to action in their community's time of need and slay the monsters that plague them. And the media needs to report these mass killings from a more practical and responsible mindset instead of turning every sadist coward that tries to kill as many people as he can before shooting himself so as to avoid any consequence whatsoever into an instant celebrity. But that will never happen, so I guess I will have to move to some country that is progressive, pleasant, and free of these kinds of mass shootings by loner psychos. Like Norway. Wait... Fuck.


.

Merry Christmas!

Wishing you the merriest of fucking Christmases.

From all of us at Popular Irony.

Now go eat some Ham you fat fuck!



-


Monday, December 24, 2012

He is Coming!

There is a man who has been watching your children.  All year long he has been secretly observing and making detailed notes on his list.  He knows what your children are doing almost all of the time.  He knows when they are sleeping, he knows when they are awake.

This elusive monster surrounds himself with brightly dressed man-children.  He lives with these eccentric, stunted half men, in an isolated cabin.   They worship him like a deity and spend every waking hour making toys in his arctic sweatshop.  The dim witted half-lings work themselves to exhaustion and eventually death.  They sacrifice their lives at the perverse whim of this red and white clad beast.  They churn out toys invisibly painted with sorrow.  Their master is going to find a way to give these blood toys to your children, whether you want him to or not.  He is coming.

He won't announce himself when he comes.  He won't knock on the door or ask permission.  He will gain entrance any way possible.  He will climb onto your roof and force his way through your chimney.  If you don't have a chimney, he'll smash a window.  He is as silent as a cat.  He needs to watch you all sleeping.  He'll stand over you and taste your breath.  He'll run his calloused fingers across your lips.  Maybe your fingers were suckled in his mouth, maybe they weren't.

As quickly as he entered, he exits, leaving toys and ample sweat stains.  Don't complain.  Act like this is totally normal.   He is still watching you and your children and he will return next year.  Your don't want to know what he does if you are on his naughty list.





-

Drunker Than Light - Episode 4

More intergalactic drinking with Sir Chapsworth, Hamtackle and Terlet.  The loud mouth soup of the week is Miller Light and Jagermeister. Sir Chaps is drinking cider because he's a lady like that.




Music by Kevin MacLeod  http://incompetech.com/music/royalty-free/



-