Bizarro Post Cringe Crisis Response Team- On December 9th, an article was published to Huffington Post's "Style" section by Ellie Krupnick. It referred to a totally legitimate report by a marketing firm that found 58 percent of men ages 18-24 and 63 percent of those 25-34 use some kind of moisturizing product. Brace yourself guys, because that number goes down once a man become elderly. Gosh, it's almost like it's not being used for its "age defying" properties! But that surely can't be the case!
What's more, she strongly recommends getting the man in your life a supply of his very own lotion, because for some reason they tend to use it whenever nobody is around to see them do it:
"A Escentual.com survey found that your boyfriend is likely to grab your Clarins Extra Firming Day Cream or DIOR Capture Totale Multi-Perfection Crème while you're not looking."
Huhuhuhuh. Hey Beavis. "Firming." (Also, what in the FUCK is "Multi-Perfection"?)
And the final line--oh, it is a thing of beauty!
"Avoid that fate by buying your man some day cream of his own -- chances are, he's probably into the stuff already."
Guys? Nobody tell her.
Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
The Failure of the Magi
One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies, so you just know you're going to be dealing with a pissed off cashier. Oh, and the people in line behind you? In the middle of the Christmas shopping season? Jesus, forget about it!
Della could have gotten a job, but she decided that there was nothing she could do but fling herself onto the tattered couch and let the bedbugs massage her scalp.
While the mistress of the home consorts with her thirsty friends, let's have a look around. It was a furnished flat that went for $8 per week, due in part to the busy railway ten yards from the front door that transported hazardous freight at all hours. It was also haunted by the ghost of a serial killer that used the leather torn from his victims to fashion a recliner, an ottoman, and other handsome living room essentials. But hey, it was furnished, so you can't beat that.
James Dillingham Young was away now, hard at work in a textile plant across town. Whenever a child laborer got their fingers mangled in the razor-sharp, unregulated machinery it was his job to wipe away the soft tissue and mop up the peasant blood before it stained the product. James had been thrilled when his supervisor announced the implementation of "employee discounts" to everyone in the factory. He hadn't realized that what they had meant was they wanted their employees at a discount, and his wages were cut by $10 a week (approximately $1000000000 in future people money).
Della began to feel anemic from blood loss and decided that now was not the day to be found cold and covered with flies after James' 16-hour shift. It was so close to Christmas, after all. She rose and stood by the window. Every day, the view was the same. Each surface gritty with industrial waste, stray cats fighting and breeding endlessly. Maybe a dead hobo in the yard, stray cats fighting and eating him endlessly.
Tomorrow was Christmas, and Della had only $1.87 to purchase her husband a gift. For months she had wandered around town scouring the sidewalks and flinging herself into wishing wells, and this was all she had to show for it. Only a $1.87 for Jim, who had never asked her to be both barefoot and pregnant. Just the first one, because broads are always wasting money on shoes. Am I right?
Della stepped back from the window until she could see her reflection in it. With a flourish and a shower of swollen parasites, Della allowed her hair to cascade freely over her shoulders.
Poverty didn't allow for many precious possessions, but Della had always cherished her hair. Its gorgeous length flowed like gossamer, and was the envy of all who were fortunate enough to see it. Jim had a treasure as well. The heirloom pocket watch never left his side. He never failed to gently polish it with a clean-ish rag every Sunday evening, whether it needed it or not. Secretly, Jim enjoyed the jealous eyes that fell on him whenever he pretended to check the time; allowing the golden device to catch the light. That the jealous eyes usually belonged to starving child laborers wasn't enough to diminish his love for the trinket.
Della pulled her hair up again quickly before the temptation to change her mind overwhelmed her conviction. She threw on a jacket and left in a hurry. Della walked with a purpose until she stood before a sign that read: "Ooooh Gurl! Weaves and More!" The shop was atop a narrow flight of stairs that Della climbed with labored, trembling steps. Pausing to collect herself, she closed her eyes and opened the door. A woman with her hair elaborately done up like a large Christmas bow looked up at Della and openly appraised her worn clothing with a cynical stare.
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I dunno. Maybe," the woman replied without much enthusiasm. "Let's see what you've got."
Her hair rippled down a final time.
"Twenty bucks, I guess," the woman muttered, rising to collect her instruments.
"Give it to me quick," said Della."
The stylist laughed. "Girl, if I had a dime for every time I--"
"No!" Della interrupted. "Sorry, just--Can we do this already?"
For as long as it takes to grow hair as fine as Della's, it took only seconds for it to be cut cruelly away. The swaying weight of it was gone, making the muscles in her neck feel strange.
As heavy as Della's heart was over the loss of her hair, the money in her pocket made her feel light and free. She moved from store to store, searching for the ideal gift for Jim.
She found it at last in Henry's Cash 4 Gold Mart. Lying in a display on a bed of purple velvet was a platinum watch chain. Just like Jim's golden watch, it was simple and understated. The substance that made it precious was enough to convince anyone of its value, especially if it caught the light just so. After parting with $21 (approximately $532934 in future people money), Della walked home as fast as she could without drawing attention. She felt like a stagecoach driver moving a bank's strongbox through the territory of highwaymen.
Once through the door, Della's adrenaline high faded and she regained her wits. Though she had obtained the perfect gift, the price she had paid was high. Something had to be done about what remained of her hair before Jim returned home. Grasping a can of grease drippings in a fit of inspiration, she went to her bedroom mirror to begin the sad task of repairing her butchered scalp. Forty minutes later, her hands sticky with grease, she decided that there was nothing more that could be done.
"God, I look like frigging Peter Pan over here," Della muttered.
At 7 o'clock, coffee was beginning to percolate next to the pan that was currently frying the rat steaks. Jim always arrived home promptly, and it was prudent for Della to make it seem as though she hadn't neglected her rightful place in the kitchen (haw, old timey people).
Della sat at the table and cradled the watch chain in her hand. As the unmistakable thud of his boot striking the first stair sounded, her beating heart began to answer in kind. Her eyes did not blink as she watched the door and listened to his approach.
"Please God, let him still find me pretty," she whispered. "People still like Ellen Degeneres, right? That's something!"
This did little to comfort her, for she didn't quite know who Ellen Degeneres was.
The door opened, and Jim stepped in. He was thin and serious, his apron smeared with orphan chunks. It had clearly been a hard day.
Jim froze in the doorway and stared at Della, frozen as though she were Medusa. With a shout, his trance was broken and he stumbled back against the door.
"Dear God, Della! Call the constable!" he cried. "We're being burgled by a lesbian biker!"
"Jim, darling!" she sobbed, rising from her seat. "I had my hair cut off and sold! I couldn't live through Christmas without giving you the gift that you deserve! My hair--my hair grows very fast! It will be at pixie-cut levels in no time!"
"You've cut off your hair?" Jim muttered. His voice was low and empty of emotion like the bloody, naked ghost that leaned over their bed and whispered about what he had done in Hell that day while they were trying to sleep.
"And I sold it," Della continued. "I think we have a paper bag in the cupboard. If you'll just let me cut eye holes you don't--"
"You said that your hair was gone?" he rasped.
"Yes!" she replied, trying to remember everything she had read about aneurysms. "And I did it for you! I know you'll love your gift! Please stop forcing blood into your face."
Jim flung himself against Della and held her to his chest, sobbing. A hideous feeling of foreboding clouded Della's soul, and soon she was weeping as well. Suddenly, Jim pulled away and slammed a package on the table. An assortment of combs clattered out onto the table, the very ones that she had fawned over in the storefront window for ages. Of course, she had always known that the beautiful things were far beyond their financial reach. Unless...
"Oh God, Jim. You sold it, didn't you?" she shouted, balling her fists in front of her pale face. The chain felt like it was burning into her palms.
"Yes, the watch. I did it for you, and I'd do it again a thousand times over. Oh, if I had only known that fate would play such a cruel trick on us!" Jim lamented.
"The cruelty is greater than you know," Della gasped, holding her open palm out to Jim. The chain seemed dull in the gloomy kitchen. All the promise that it had held was torn away.
"Oh God! It's perfect! But you!" Jim screamed, his finger thrust at the sky. "You couldn't let us have this moment, could you? What did we do to you? Was it the baby? Goddamnit, it was the baby!"
Della rushed forward and grasped his shoulders. "No, it wasn't! You couldn't have known! You're not responsible!"
"Apparently I've been found guilty by the Judge of Heaven!" Jim cried. "'Drop it off at the fire station,' they said! 'It's completely legal," they said! But they never told you where in the fire station to place it! And the rubbish bin was a warm enough place. Someone was sure to take out the garbage in a matter of minutes and discover the wriggling bundle there! How was I to know about mechanical compactors? Who knew such a damned thing existed at this point in history?"
Della pressed her face to his chest. Her hair stabbed into his jaw while they cried together in a state of hysterical misery.
"What shall we do, Jim? What can we do?"
For a time, Jim did not answer. His breathing became slow and even. Della could feel his mind arriving at an inescapable conclusion.
"I know of a bridge," Jim began. "It is high, and this time of year the water is cold enough to stop a heart in mid-beat."
"Let's go, darling!" Della implored. "Right now! Together!"
"Yes, Della. Today we escape this torment forever!" Jim returned. In spite of everything, he began to smile. Then he laughed.
Della, grinning too, began to pull him towards the front door. "Freedom, Jim! Isn't that the greatest gift of all? Oh, I hope the ice is as deadly as you say!"
"I hope it is twice as fatal for you, my dear! But let us not forget to burn this place before we depart! Burn it right down to its odd-smelling foundation!"
Della seized a lamp and began to slosh the oil across the kitchen, laughing all the while.
"Cleansing fire!" she shouted. "Let this Hell we occupy better represent the Hell that lies in wait for us!"
"Yes!" Jim cheered! "Burn it all, and then we shall gladly dash into the Devil's arms!"
The magi, as you know, were terribly misinformed men. They brought things like frankincense and myrrh to a newborn baby, after all. What, exactly, is a newborn baby going to do with potpourri? Is it even safe for them to breathe in all those vapors and crap, because I know it isn't cool to burn incense right next to a frigging kid that's just a few hours old.
Anyway, when the magi found out their mistake, the exchange of gifts was terribly awkward (although not as bad as the moron that gave a SLEEPING BABY a drum solo). As the tales of that child's incredible acts began to spread, the magi were reminded again and again of their failure. Finally, the burden of it grew too heavy. All three flung themselves from the summit of the highest temple. And though they were oppressed by the cruel memory of that night around the manger, they did not have to escape the tyranny of a squandered life alone. Sometimes, the greatest ambition a man can entertain is to find someone willing to help them step off that high ledge.
Jim and Della, just like the magi before them, achieved this noble goal.
Della could have gotten a job, but she decided that there was nothing she could do but fling herself onto the tattered couch and let the bedbugs massage her scalp.
While the mistress of the home consorts with her thirsty friends, let's have a look around. It was a furnished flat that went for $8 per week, due in part to the busy railway ten yards from the front door that transported hazardous freight at all hours. It was also haunted by the ghost of a serial killer that used the leather torn from his victims to fashion a recliner, an ottoman, and other handsome living room essentials. But hey, it was furnished, so you can't beat that.
James Dillingham Young was away now, hard at work in a textile plant across town. Whenever a child laborer got their fingers mangled in the razor-sharp, unregulated machinery it was his job to wipe away the soft tissue and mop up the peasant blood before it stained the product. James had been thrilled when his supervisor announced the implementation of "employee discounts" to everyone in the factory. He hadn't realized that what they had meant was they wanted their employees at a discount, and his wages were cut by $10 a week (approximately $1000000000 in future people money).
Della began to feel anemic from blood loss and decided that now was not the day to be found cold and covered with flies after James' 16-hour shift. It was so close to Christmas, after all. She rose and stood by the window. Every day, the view was the same. Each surface gritty with industrial waste, stray cats fighting and breeding endlessly. Maybe a dead hobo in the yard, stray cats fighting and eating him endlessly.
Tomorrow was Christmas, and Della had only $1.87 to purchase her husband a gift. For months she had wandered around town scouring the sidewalks and flinging herself into wishing wells, and this was all she had to show for it. Only a $1.87 for Jim, who had never asked her to be both barefoot and pregnant. Just the first one, because broads are always wasting money on shoes. Am I right?
Della stepped back from the window until she could see her reflection in it. With a flourish and a shower of swollen parasites, Della allowed her hair to cascade freely over her shoulders.
Poverty didn't allow for many precious possessions, but Della had always cherished her hair. Its gorgeous length flowed like gossamer, and was the envy of all who were fortunate enough to see it. Jim had a treasure as well. The heirloom pocket watch never left his side. He never failed to gently polish it with a clean-ish rag every Sunday evening, whether it needed it or not. Secretly, Jim enjoyed the jealous eyes that fell on him whenever he pretended to check the time; allowing the golden device to catch the light. That the jealous eyes usually belonged to starving child laborers wasn't enough to diminish his love for the trinket.
Della pulled her hair up again quickly before the temptation to change her mind overwhelmed her conviction. She threw on a jacket and left in a hurry. Della walked with a purpose until she stood before a sign that read: "Ooooh Gurl! Weaves and More!" The shop was atop a narrow flight of stairs that Della climbed with labored, trembling steps. Pausing to collect herself, she closed her eyes and opened the door. A woman with her hair elaborately done up like a large Christmas bow looked up at Della and openly appraised her worn clothing with a cynical stare.
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I dunno. Maybe," the woman replied without much enthusiasm. "Let's see what you've got."
Her hair rippled down a final time.
"Twenty bucks, I guess," the woman muttered, rising to collect her instruments.
"Give it to me quick," said Della."
The stylist laughed. "Girl, if I had a dime for every time I--"
"No!" Della interrupted. "Sorry, just--Can we do this already?"
For as long as it takes to grow hair as fine as Della's, it took only seconds for it to be cut cruelly away. The swaying weight of it was gone, making the muscles in her neck feel strange.
As heavy as Della's heart was over the loss of her hair, the money in her pocket made her feel light and free. She moved from store to store, searching for the ideal gift for Jim.
She found it at last in Henry's Cash 4 Gold Mart. Lying in a display on a bed of purple velvet was a platinum watch chain. Just like Jim's golden watch, it was simple and understated. The substance that made it precious was enough to convince anyone of its value, especially if it caught the light just so. After parting with $21 (approximately $532934 in future people money), Della walked home as fast as she could without drawing attention. She felt like a stagecoach driver moving a bank's strongbox through the territory of highwaymen.
Once through the door, Della's adrenaline high faded and she regained her wits. Though she had obtained the perfect gift, the price she had paid was high. Something had to be done about what remained of her hair before Jim returned home. Grasping a can of grease drippings in a fit of inspiration, she went to her bedroom mirror to begin the sad task of repairing her butchered scalp. Forty minutes later, her hands sticky with grease, she decided that there was nothing more that could be done.
"God, I look like frigging Peter Pan over here," Della muttered.
At 7 o'clock, coffee was beginning to percolate next to the pan that was currently frying the rat steaks. Jim always arrived home promptly, and it was prudent for Della to make it seem as though she hadn't neglected her rightful place in the kitchen (haw, old timey people).
Della sat at the table and cradled the watch chain in her hand. As the unmistakable thud of his boot striking the first stair sounded, her beating heart began to answer in kind. Her eyes did not blink as she watched the door and listened to his approach.
"Please God, let him still find me pretty," she whispered. "People still like Ellen Degeneres, right? That's something!"
This did little to comfort her, for she didn't quite know who Ellen Degeneres was.
The door opened, and Jim stepped in. He was thin and serious, his apron smeared with orphan chunks. It had clearly been a hard day.
Jim froze in the doorway and stared at Della, frozen as though she were Medusa. With a shout, his trance was broken and he stumbled back against the door.
"Dear God, Della! Call the constable!" he cried. "We're being burgled by a lesbian biker!"
"Jim, darling!" she sobbed, rising from her seat. "I had my hair cut off and sold! I couldn't live through Christmas without giving you the gift that you deserve! My hair--my hair grows very fast! It will be at pixie-cut levels in no time!"
"You've cut off your hair?" Jim muttered. His voice was low and empty of emotion like the bloody, naked ghost that leaned over their bed and whispered about what he had done in Hell that day while they were trying to sleep.
"And I sold it," Della continued. "I think we have a paper bag in the cupboard. If you'll just let me cut eye holes you don't--"
"You said that your hair was gone?" he rasped.
"Yes!" she replied, trying to remember everything she had read about aneurysms. "And I did it for you! I know you'll love your gift! Please stop forcing blood into your face."
Jim flung himself against Della and held her to his chest, sobbing. A hideous feeling of foreboding clouded Della's soul, and soon she was weeping as well. Suddenly, Jim pulled away and slammed a package on the table. An assortment of combs clattered out onto the table, the very ones that she had fawned over in the storefront window for ages. Of course, she had always known that the beautiful things were far beyond their financial reach. Unless...
"Oh God, Jim. You sold it, didn't you?" she shouted, balling her fists in front of her pale face. The chain felt like it was burning into her palms.
"Yes, the watch. I did it for you, and I'd do it again a thousand times over. Oh, if I had only known that fate would play such a cruel trick on us!" Jim lamented.
"The cruelty is greater than you know," Della gasped, holding her open palm out to Jim. The chain seemed dull in the gloomy kitchen. All the promise that it had held was torn away.
"Oh God! It's perfect! But you!" Jim screamed, his finger thrust at the sky. "You couldn't let us have this moment, could you? What did we do to you? Was it the baby? Goddamnit, it was the baby!"
Della rushed forward and grasped his shoulders. "No, it wasn't! You couldn't have known! You're not responsible!"
"Apparently I've been found guilty by the Judge of Heaven!" Jim cried. "'Drop it off at the fire station,' they said! 'It's completely legal," they said! But they never told you where in the fire station to place it! And the rubbish bin was a warm enough place. Someone was sure to take out the garbage in a matter of minutes and discover the wriggling bundle there! How was I to know about mechanical compactors? Who knew such a damned thing existed at this point in history?"
Della pressed her face to his chest. Her hair stabbed into his jaw while they cried together in a state of hysterical misery.
"What shall we do, Jim? What can we do?"
For a time, Jim did not answer. His breathing became slow and even. Della could feel his mind arriving at an inescapable conclusion.
"I know of a bridge," Jim began. "It is high, and this time of year the water is cold enough to stop a heart in mid-beat."
"Let's go, darling!" Della implored. "Right now! Together!"
"Yes, Della. Today we escape this torment forever!" Jim returned. In spite of everything, he began to smile. Then he laughed.
Della, grinning too, began to pull him towards the front door. "Freedom, Jim! Isn't that the greatest gift of all? Oh, I hope the ice is as deadly as you say!"
"I hope it is twice as fatal for you, my dear! But let us not forget to burn this place before we depart! Burn it right down to its odd-smelling foundation!"
Della seized a lamp and began to slosh the oil across the kitchen, laughing all the while.
"Cleansing fire!" she shouted. "Let this Hell we occupy better represent the Hell that lies in wait for us!"
"Yes!" Jim cheered! "Burn it all, and then we shall gladly dash into the Devil's arms!"
The magi, as you know, were terribly misinformed men. They brought things like frankincense and myrrh to a newborn baby, after all. What, exactly, is a newborn baby going to do with potpourri? Is it even safe for them to breathe in all those vapors and crap, because I know it isn't cool to burn incense right next to a frigging kid that's just a few hours old.
Anyway, when the magi found out their mistake, the exchange of gifts was terribly awkward (although not as bad as the moron that gave a SLEEPING BABY a drum solo). As the tales of that child's incredible acts began to spread, the magi were reminded again and again of their failure. Finally, the burden of it grew too heavy. All three flung themselves from the summit of the highest temple. And though they were oppressed by the cruel memory of that night around the manger, they did not have to escape the tyranny of a squandered life alone. Sometimes, the greatest ambition a man can entertain is to find someone willing to help them step off that high ledge.
Jim and Della, just like the magi before them, achieved this noble goal.
Bizarro Post Obituary: Actor Paul Walker (FINAL VERSION)
Bizarro Post Obituaries: Actor Paul Walker, 40, died in a car crash in Santa Clarita, CA on Saturday. Walker is best known for his lead role in the wildly successful "Fast and the Furious" series, which left such an indelible footprint in American culture that the Department of Justice decided to name their Mexican gun charity program after it. He is survived by his daughter, Meadow.
There. That's all you jackasses had to write. It was really that simple. Yet somehow I ended up having to fire no less than fifteen editors for writing things like: "Police say that Walker was driving with excessive speed and ferocity, which contributed to his loss of control."
A man died. A father died.
"Oh boss! I couldn't resist! It was just too perfect!"
No, idiot, it's low-hanging fruit that spits in the face of journalistic integrity. And I swear to God on His golden throne, if I hear one more of you assholes misuse the word "ironic" I'm going to do things to you that will be unanimously condemned by the United Nations. Yes, that includes America and Israel., This is a coincidence, not irony. Goddamn Alanis Morrisette for what she's done to our society.
I'm disgusted by all of you. Do yourself a favor and avoid me for a few days.
There. That's all you jackasses had to write. It was really that simple. Yet somehow I ended up having to fire no less than fifteen editors for writing things like: "Police say that Walker was driving with excessive speed and ferocity, which contributed to his loss of control."
A man died. A father died.
"Oh boss! I couldn't resist! It was just too perfect!"
No, idiot, it's low-hanging fruit that spits in the face of journalistic integrity. And I swear to God on His golden throne, if I hear one more of you assholes misuse the word "ironic" I'm going to do things to you that will be unanimously condemned by the United Nations. Yes, that includes America and Israel., This is a coincidence, not irony. Goddamn Alanis Morrisette for what she's done to our society.
I'm disgusted by all of you. Do yourself a favor and avoid me for a few days.
Alternative Reality: The Bizarro Post Celebrates President Sheriff Joe Arpaio
Bizarro Post Alternative Reality Bureau- Millions flood the Capitol at gunpoint as America inaugurates President Joe Arpaio.
Arpaio rose from humble beginnings as the Sheriff of Maricopa County, where he presided over a massive jail with over 10,000 inmates. Most of them were waiting for trial, and had not been convicted of a crime. But Sheriff Joe realized that "innocent until proven guilty" is a concept promoted by liberal pussies and dangerous minorities. For years, Sheriff Joe righteously used his prisoners as his torture dolls. His devotion to justice was so great, he could often be seen rubbing his nipples in patriotic fervor while overseeing the torture of misdemeanor drug possessors and petty larceny aficionados.
Sheriff Joe won a landslide victory of President Barack Obama, even though Republican insiders were nervous about his tendency to flagrantly violate the Constitution. Further concerns were raised over his use of taxpayer dollars to buy a customized tank with his name on it so he had something to ride in parades (I'm fucking serious, look it up). But their fears were unfounded. The American public's lust for violent retribution against the pettiest of crimes allowed Arpaio to ride a giant American Justiceboner all the way to the Oval Office, where all portraits and busts have been replaced with art depicting Sheriff Joe's glory.
We salute Sheriff Joe as he prepares to enter the Joe House for his first term. The United Joes of Joemerica is a country born anew! No car will go unsearched! No door will go unkicked! No cavity will go unfingered!
Yours at gunpoint, this has been a Bizarro Post Alternative Reality Bureau special report!
Arpaio rose from humble beginnings as the Sheriff of Maricopa County, where he presided over a massive jail with over 10,000 inmates. Most of them were waiting for trial, and had not been convicted of a crime. But Sheriff Joe realized that "innocent until proven guilty" is a concept promoted by liberal pussies and dangerous minorities. For years, Sheriff Joe righteously used his prisoners as his torture dolls. His devotion to justice was so great, he could often be seen rubbing his nipples in patriotic fervor while overseeing the torture of misdemeanor drug possessors and petty larceny aficionados.
Sheriff Joe won a landslide victory of President Barack Obama, even though Republican insiders were nervous about his tendency to flagrantly violate the Constitution. Further concerns were raised over his use of taxpayer dollars to buy a customized tank with his name on it so he had something to ride in parades (I'm fucking serious, look it up). But their fears were unfounded. The American public's lust for violent retribution against the pettiest of crimes allowed Arpaio to ride a giant American Justiceboner all the way to the Oval Office, where all portraits and busts have been replaced with art depicting Sheriff Joe's glory.
We salute Sheriff Joe as he prepares to enter the Joe House for his first term. The United Joes of Joemerica is a country born anew! No car will go unsearched! No door will go unkicked! No cavity will go unfingered!
Yours at gunpoint, this has been a Bizarro Post Alternative Reality Bureau special report!
Peepers Peer at Politician's Pornography
Bizarro Post National Security Bureau- A recently leaked NSA document detailing plans to use pornography habits to discredit undesirable speech has politicians terrified; even those who previously supported the massive surveillance program that targets both allies and enemies.
The revelation paved the way for the latest YouTube sensation, where Speaker of the House John Boehner (R-OH) can be seen pouring vodka onto a burning laptop. "Come on, dammit! This isn't working like the movies at all!" the Speaker shouted as the flames kept sputtering out.
Even worse news for political bigshots: the Internet is delighting in trying to match up political titans with their classified profiles, which Snowden released with redacted identifying information. Speculation suggests that former Senator Ron Paul has searched for "king midas rule 34" hundreds of times. Tea Party darling Ted Cruz (R-TX) is said to have written hundreds of explicit "fanfiction" documents about Dr. Seuss' Green Eggs and Ham.
In an emergency gathering of both congressional houses, political leaders vowed to obtain lists of the NSA officials' weird fetishes.
"If we're going down," Senator John McCain (R-AZ) shouted before thinking better of it. "Er--I mean, if we are going to be defamed, we want the ability to return the favor. It's that simple."
Political analysts cite this incident as further proof that all future elections will be won by whoever uploads the most flattering picture of their genitals to social media.
The revelation paved the way for the latest YouTube sensation, where Speaker of the House John Boehner (R-OH) can be seen pouring vodka onto a burning laptop. "Come on, dammit! This isn't working like the movies at all!" the Speaker shouted as the flames kept sputtering out.
Even worse news for political bigshots: the Internet is delighting in trying to match up political titans with their classified profiles, which Snowden released with redacted identifying information. Speculation suggests that former Senator Ron Paul has searched for "king midas rule 34" hundreds of times. Tea Party darling Ted Cruz (R-TX) is said to have written hundreds of explicit "fanfiction" documents about Dr. Seuss' Green Eggs and Ham.
In an emergency gathering of both congressional houses, political leaders vowed to obtain lists of the NSA officials' weird fetishes.
"If we're going down," Senator John McCain (R-AZ) shouted before thinking better of it. "Er--I mean, if we are going to be defamed, we want the ability to return the favor. It's that simple."
Political analysts cite this incident as further proof that all future elections will be won by whoever uploads the most flattering picture of their genitals to social media.
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
A Special Message From the Holy Prophet of the Grand Overspirit
The Holy Prophet is the anointed servant of the Grand Overspirit. All hail the Holy Prophet!
Greetings, blessed children of the Grand Overspirit. I come to you now with a vital message, for now is the time for the world to know the truth. Why now? The Supreme Court of the United States is currently considering a case that could potentially allow corporations to bypass any number of laws based on their religious beliefs. What an incredible occasion this is for our faith to blossom as it never has!
Sadly, many lost souls have not heard the commandments of the Grand Overspirit. I hope I can rectify this to some degree with a crash course in the teachings of the Spirit.
-The Grand Overspirit reigns in glory, and is unequaled. However, at the Spirit's right hand are the chosen few. I, of course, am among them. Standing with me are the world's elite. I stand among the CEO's, the hedge fund managers, and the political elite. These people are blessed with incredible wealth and business prowess through the touch of the Overspirit. And thus, they are granted special privileges.
-Once a person is among the Spirit's chosen, they can never be allowed to lapse into poverty or bankruptcy. It is the job of the state to "bail out" the afflicted chosen, and to invest in their continued prosperity. Failure to do so represents an unconstitutional breach of religious liberty.
-For those who are not chosen, a life of diligent labor is required. Abiding by the Spirit's teachings will guarantee the non-chosen a place in the Holy Labor Camps, where they will produce inexpensive goods for the chosen. Failure to abide by the teachings assures damnation and eternal torment. The following acts are forbidden:
-Taking breaks, relieving oneself while on the clock, and any other activity that involves the cessation of labor.
-Unionizing, or speaking of labor unions in a positive light is grounds for immediate damnation.
-The Great Overspirit's infinite generosity permits a wage of $1 per hour for all American non-chosen laborers. No more. Less, however, is always a possibility.
-Healthcare is only permitted for the chosen. The non-chosen may use an assortment of leaches or medical bleeding devices to balance their humours. However, no hospitals, clinics, or medical practitioners are allowed to squander resources on the non-chosen.
-Along with protection against financial hardship, the government has several more obligations that it must meet if it does not wish to illegally violate our religious doctrine.
-Raising taxes on the non-chosen is permitted. Raising taxes or closing loopholes in ways that negatively affect the income of the chosen are mortal sins.
-All elected delegates must represent the best interests of the Church of the Great Overspirit and the chosen. Failure to vote in our interests is a violation of the 1st Amendment.
-The Great Overspirit wishes for all American law to be penned by chosen men who are active within the Church. All outsiders and non-chosen cannot be trusted to write legislation, nor do they have the supernatural knowledge needed to vote the correct bills into law. Any election that does not result in the election of a Church member is an illegal violation of our religious rights.
CEO's, executives, men or means! Please turn from your lives wrought with error and embrace the Church of the Great Overspirit. When the Supreme Court empowers us to a place of unquestioned authority, you can be at the forefront of our Church's proud movement. Official church membership cards are required. They can be obtained by making a tithe of $50,000 to the Prophet.
Greetings, blessed children of the Grand Overspirit. I come to you now with a vital message, for now is the time for the world to know the truth. Why now? The Supreme Court of the United States is currently considering a case that could potentially allow corporations to bypass any number of laws based on their religious beliefs. What an incredible occasion this is for our faith to blossom as it never has!
Sadly, many lost souls have not heard the commandments of the Grand Overspirit. I hope I can rectify this to some degree with a crash course in the teachings of the Spirit.
-The Grand Overspirit reigns in glory, and is unequaled. However, at the Spirit's right hand are the chosen few. I, of course, am among them. Standing with me are the world's elite. I stand among the CEO's, the hedge fund managers, and the political elite. These people are blessed with incredible wealth and business prowess through the touch of the Overspirit. And thus, they are granted special privileges.
-Once a person is among the Spirit's chosen, they can never be allowed to lapse into poverty or bankruptcy. It is the job of the state to "bail out" the afflicted chosen, and to invest in their continued prosperity. Failure to do so represents an unconstitutional breach of religious liberty.
-For those who are not chosen, a life of diligent labor is required. Abiding by the Spirit's teachings will guarantee the non-chosen a place in the Holy Labor Camps, where they will produce inexpensive goods for the chosen. Failure to abide by the teachings assures damnation and eternal torment. The following acts are forbidden:
-Taking breaks, relieving oneself while on the clock, and any other activity that involves the cessation of labor.
-Unionizing, or speaking of labor unions in a positive light is grounds for immediate damnation.
-The Great Overspirit's infinite generosity permits a wage of $1 per hour for all American non-chosen laborers. No more. Less, however, is always a possibility.
-Healthcare is only permitted for the chosen. The non-chosen may use an assortment of leaches or medical bleeding devices to balance their humours. However, no hospitals, clinics, or medical practitioners are allowed to squander resources on the non-chosen.
-Along with protection against financial hardship, the government has several more obligations that it must meet if it does not wish to illegally violate our religious doctrine.
-Raising taxes on the non-chosen is permitted. Raising taxes or closing loopholes in ways that negatively affect the income of the chosen are mortal sins.
-All elected delegates must represent the best interests of the Church of the Great Overspirit and the chosen. Failure to vote in our interests is a violation of the 1st Amendment.
-The Great Overspirit wishes for all American law to be penned by chosen men who are active within the Church. All outsiders and non-chosen cannot be trusted to write legislation, nor do they have the supernatural knowledge needed to vote the correct bills into law. Any election that does not result in the election of a Church member is an illegal violation of our religious rights.
CEO's, executives, men or means! Please turn from your lives wrought with error and embrace the Church of the Great Overspirit. When the Supreme Court empowers us to a place of unquestioned authority, you can be at the forefront of our Church's proud movement. Official church membership cards are required. They can be obtained by making a tithe of $50,000 to the Prophet.
North Korea Slips One Past...Everybody
Bizarro Post Foreign Policy Bureau- Following Secretary of State John Kerry's secretive deal with Iran, Republicans loudly objected that it wasn't necessary for Iran to develop weapons-grade radioactive material inside Iran itself. According to GOP officials, North Korea could provide Iran with all the ingredients required to make a nuclear warhead from its own stockpiles. It seems that their grave predictions have come to pass today, as Iran gleefully unveiled their nuclear missile kit over state television.
"Hahaha, you imperialist pigs believed us! Talk about owned!" said an Iranian regime spokesman.
The video revealed an assortment of parts and a copy of Nuclear Proliferation for Dummies: A Reference for the Craziest of Us.
North Korea is also taking the opportunity to boast after the historic trade between the two countries, who share little in common beyond their mutual disdain for the west. The materials departed Yongampo in a large crate marked "VERY LEGAL MATERIALS. MAKE NO OPENING IF NOT ARE IRAN!"
Both the State Department and the Pentagon are mystified over how the shipment managed to travel over land for nearly 4,000 miles without interference. During its journey, the crate moved through China, Mongolia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, and Turkmenistan. There were never any inspections or scrutiny, even though pretty much everyone is very cynical about North Korea's goofy bullshit. A number of border agents are reportedly facing severe disciplinary action over their monumental failure, particularly in China. As one Chinese inspector was dragged away to the organ harvesting shed, he remarked to assembled reporters that the shipment had "looked totally legit" to him.
Senator Lindsey Graham (R-SC), having tiptoed away from his Benghazi gimmick, took the opportunity to jump on the fast train to Itoldyousoville.
"My starth, you guyth, I muth have thaid it a thousand timesth! Maybe nexth time y'all will take me theriously."
"Hahaha, you imperialist pigs believed us! Talk about owned!" said an Iranian regime spokesman.
The video revealed an assortment of parts and a copy of Nuclear Proliferation for Dummies: A Reference for the Craziest of Us.
North Korea is also taking the opportunity to boast after the historic trade between the two countries, who share little in common beyond their mutual disdain for the west. The materials departed Yongampo in a large crate marked "VERY LEGAL MATERIALS. MAKE NO OPENING IF NOT ARE IRAN!"
Both the State Department and the Pentagon are mystified over how the shipment managed to travel over land for nearly 4,000 miles without interference. During its journey, the crate moved through China, Mongolia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, and Turkmenistan. There were never any inspections or scrutiny, even though pretty much everyone is very cynical about North Korea's goofy bullshit. A number of border agents are reportedly facing severe disciplinary action over their monumental failure, particularly in China. As one Chinese inspector was dragged away to the organ harvesting shed, he remarked to assembled reporters that the shipment had "looked totally legit" to him.
Senator Lindsey Graham (R-SC), having tiptoed away from his Benghazi gimmick, took the opportunity to jump on the fast train to Itoldyousoville.
"My starth, you guyth, I muth have thaid it a thousand timesth! Maybe nexth time y'all will take me theriously."
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