Michael Jackson Broke and Selling it All

This particularly annoying recession has left a number of states and countries broke as a joke. First, the robot sent back in time to bankrupt California, then the Guinness World Record holder for a nation drinking the most Coca-Cola per capita (Iceland), and now the King of Pop find themselves financially insolvent. Beginning April 22nd, Julien’s Auction House in Beverly Hills will be selling over two thousand personal effects of the legendary child star turned child rapist, Michael Jackson.

Where a normal celebrity might simply sell their sperm or eggs or crack-pipe collection, Michael Jackson remains far from normal. Instead, the crotch-grabbing moonwalker has decided to sell everything from the gates of Neverland Ranch to his prolific bedazzled white glove. It turns out the Smooth Criminal had quite a fetish for tacky and expensive art (such as the painting above), furniture, toys, clothes, and vehicles. Here are just a few of the irresistible items soon to on the auction block……

Everyone should have an oil painting of themselves dressed like an elf determined to look like a pompous prick.

Nothing better than a statue of an elderly shriveled wigger butler

The pointy shape of this award assures that Michael Jackson put it in his ass, and I'm not sure if the fact that this American Music Award is encrusted with Jackson's butt-juice makes it more or less valuable. As the saying goes, "one mans music award is another mans dildo. "

Perhaps one of the most useful items up for sale, these original scissor-hands are good for topiary & ice sculpting, picking locks, and pet grooming, although they can be somewhat constrictive when it comes to taking a shit.

For those seeking comfort, style, and protection from 6" tall dragons, this pair of chain mail socks is for you. Never fear yappy chihuahuas or accidentally slicing through your Achilles tendon again.

The coolest item up for bid- if we all pool our money, we could buy it together and share the animatronic robot head one day a month. Aside from its face opening up, I believe it also makes cappuccinos and predicts the future. I need this.

Furthermore, the King of Pop is also selling a number of jewel encrusted thrones, his tour bus (including sheets he hasn’t changed in 15 years), the hood of his limousine (featuring a custom painting of himself dressed as Peter Pan), the left pinky finger of his chimp Bubbles, a rare porno featuring Ronald Reagan and Elizabeth Taylor, a set of ten pairs of jeans with holes cut out of the inside of the pockets and a faux stick of licorice peeking out enticingly, his Thriller Pog collection and bejeweled slammer, his automatic moon-walking shoes, and an autographed collection of jokes about himself (featuring my personal favorite- Why was Michael Jackson in the hospital for a week? He ate a ten year old wiener.).

Monkey Athletes to Compete in 2010 Olympics

According to a recent press release from the Olympic Commission, for the first time in history, monkey athletes will be allowed to compete for medals representing their country of origin in Vancouver next year. Not surprisingly, humanity is once again trying to usher in its own demise, this time by educating its once less evolved monkey brothers. For years the highest job a monkey could hold was a butler- no longer. A recent study has shown monkeys increased prowess and proficiency in once human activates like bowling, abstract art, and chain smoking, thanks to the tutelage of dim-witted humans everywhere.

Apparently in the early years of the Olympics, the Greeks regularly allowed animals to compete, both against each other and their human counterparts. In those days the Olympics were a great deal bloodier and full of gratuitous nudity (nearly identical to early episodes of the Jerry Springer show). After a few centuries of animal domination in the Games, bitter humans decided it was better to simply eat their competition, and phased non-humans out of the picture.

Since the inception of the Cold War, the Russians have began dabbling in training monkeys in a variety of insidious programs- monkey comedians to entertain the troupes, monkey black operatives to assassinate capitalist pigs, monkey bookies to rig the Superbowl, and monkey rock and rollers to compete with Sonny and Cher. The Chinese sent hundreds of AIDS infected simian sleeper agents to American zoos as diplomatic gifts. When exposed to a specific audio trigger, these Trojan Chimps would slip out of captivity, make their way to the White House, rape the President, and hurl their feces mercilessly at the Vice President.

Presently, training monkeys to do human activates is seen as cute rather than incredibly dangerous to the survival of our species. When primates evolved into Neanderthals, you didn’t see cavemen teaching monkeys how to make fire and swing clubs. No, instead they hunted down their less evolved brethren, feasted on their flesh, and ensured humans would remain the dominant species. However, a great deal of time has passed, and as the inter-species monkey alliance has evolved in secrecy, scores of foolish humans insist on teaching them our way of life and ushering in the next generation of super-apes.

Recent video footage has been leaked of some alarming chimpanzee training programs. The ice skating monkey (a product of the German military) is so talented and graceful that it and many more like it are sure to overtake the entire sport in less than a decade, leaving Brian Boytano and others forced to sell their sequined leotards on the streets for nickels to survive. Ask yourself What Would Brian Boytano Do then? Tokyo’s monkey waiter is reportedly “better than most bad waiters,” and spells disaster for every bright American with their AA degree.

And the footage revealing some sick freak teaching a chimp to not only wear overalls, but also to operate a Segway is truly frightening. Imagine what will happen when the terrorists see what these monkeys can do, and unleash hordes of jihadist chimps with shotguns duct-taped to their Segways onto the American public. These monkey warriors are dedicated, strong, smart, and willing to blow themselves up for 72 bananas.

Few Americans seem concerned with this imminent threat, and instead worry about America’s lack of any note-worthy monkey athletes. Most of the chimps ice skating and playing basketball have been trained by European and Asian countries. Americans have spent the past century focusing on teaching our monkeys to smoke cigars, use potentially life threatening shampoos, and fornicate in a variety of positions. The government needs to wise up and allocate a billion or two of the stimulus package to building and maintaining several monkey athletic training facilities, to give our nation a fighting chance come 2010 in Vancouver.

Chilling evidence recently unearthed by leading fake news authorities suggest the inter-species monkey alliance is behind global warming, the 2008 election of Barack Obama, and the popularity of Elmer Fudd winter hats. Obviously the Olympic Commission has been infiltrated by these nefarious apes, and no one knows how deep it goes. It’s only a matter of time before the monkeys and robots humans train to mimic our humanity team up and eliminate us.

The only recourse to thwart this evolutionary coup is to legalize and make mandatory all performance enhancing drugs, and give humans a fighting chance. We need to pump Barry Bonds so full of GHB he becomes a muscled mutant home run machine. Or, since that has already happened, we need to murder Bonds’ family, frame an innocent chimp with a record, and strap some ice skates onto the controversial baseball superstar. His berserker rage and diet of raw orangutan flesh, compounded by incessant intravenous steroid usage will make America a viable Olympic contender in 2010, and give Humans a slight edge in the coming Primate World War.

Michael Phelps Caught Smoking Super Bowl

Letter from field correspondent Jericho Swarley, sports fanatic

This weekend was a bonanza of sports extravaganza, the likes of which I hadn’t seen since the Fighting Saints lost to the underdog Quivering Beagles in the Utica Boys and Girls Club regional semi-final baseball blowout of 1979 (when one of the players pulled a gun, the fans broke into fits of feverish rage and destruction, literally tearing the stadium into thousands of pieces and then overtaking a nearby Arby’s).

Firstly, the world discovers that despite how many gold medals they have won, 22 year old white males still enjoy smoking the reefer. Why is Phelps non-medical inhalation of marijuana smoke from an alarmingly inornate glass water pipe a major story? Shouldn’t the real story be capturing and dissecting this merman to understand his indomitable aquatic speed and prowess? I recall an era not too far gone, that when you return home from the Olympics with eight gold medals, you can do whatever you please. The American government shows their appreciation and respect for this super heroic athlete by granting him carte blanche. He should be allowed to eat, sleep, drink and urinate wherever he pleases, he’s earned that. Fathers would proudly offer their daughters virginity; mothers would offer to videotape it, and Phelps can go into any cage at any zoo at any time and challenge the animal to a duel. Phelps is barely old enough to drink and already has more gold medals and endorsements than Jesus. Sources close to Phelps attribute his actions to the corrosive reggae music he had been involved with, and after a short spell in rehab, believe he will be just fine.

The second major event was the Australia world championship tennis match between fierce rivals Nedal and Federer. The 22 year old Spaniard Nedal played with the fervor of someone whose baby had just been eaten by a dingo. He came back from down sets to prevent Federer from tying Pete Sampras for winning the most championships ever, and made Federer eat his tennis ball, repeatedly. Federer is a known marksman and polygamist, and was so overcome with hatred for his opponent he broke into tears during the trophy presentation. This slugfest was fun to watch even if you can’t decipher the scoring system- the mere chance of seeing a bellboy get perforated by a 140 mph serve makes it all worthwhile.



Finally, the tumultuous Super Bowl game rounded the weekend off nicely. This game not only represents the titanic struggle between the two best teams of the NFL, it also represents a plethora of fun gambling opportunities. I placed small wagers on everything from the color of the Gatorade dumped on the coach to the total hot dog revenue to the Boss flashing a tasseled nipple during his half-time show. Why not? It’s a recession, and people need to start getting creative when it comes to making a buck, and I think gambling on the obscure minutia of sporting events is the perfect opportunity. The game itself was highly entertaining, and although I was rooting for the birds, I couldn’t deny the herculean efforts made by players on both sides. I think the turning point in the game was when Bruce Springstein let his power slide get away from him and slammed his genitals into an unsuspecting cameraman. It’s a good thing Bruce is a eunuch, or that slide could have been severely damaging.



As my cab driver raced down the streets of Queens in speeds exceeding 120 mph (assuring me in broken English there is safety in speed), the reality of what had just transpired began to set in. Although there are still many other sports left to drink to and gamble upon, the passing of another football season leaves my heart filled with a great sorrow. I perk up, realizing sumo season is just around the corner, and try to fill my mind with thoughts of flabby men in diapers to distract myself from the reality of my cab hitting a small dip and launching into the air. The SUV’s shocks handle the jump well enough, and I hand the grinning cabby a wad of crumpled bills as I arrive at my apartment. I decide to start my Olympic training, and light up neatly twisted spliff, wishing deep down inside I could just hibernate until next September.
-Jericho Swarley

Barack Obama versus Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

With the most historic American inauguration fast approaching on the heels of Martin Luther King Jr.‘s birthday, most Americans are left with one nagging question on their minds- who would win in a fight between Barack Obama and Martin Luther King Jr.? This high-profile hypothetical battle royal would be a tough skirmish- with each opponent fighting with tooth and claw to the bitter end- and must be carefully evaluated from all sides.

Although it is true MLK might have been jealous of Obama’s newfound status as the most popular black man in American history, most agree they probably wouldn’t have fought to the death in nine savage rounds of bare knuckle no-holds-barred boxing had they both been alive today. However, when a title like most popular black man in history is up for grabs, these far fetched hypotheticals must be considered and analyzed in depth.

If the two powerful leaders did meet, it is certain they would have been far from best friends, or even soul brothers. King was an avid death metal fan and member of several Gospel choirs, while Obama prefers the anguished screeches of Tori Amos. King was a devout Christian, and Obama secretly sleeps facing Mecca. When it comes to the Jonas brothers, King likes Nick, while Barack favors Joe. Clearly the two had different tastes, and could very well have been bitter rivals.

THE CONTENDERS

In the red corner, at approximately 5’7” and weighing in at 152 lbs, is the Equal Opportunity Puncher himself, Martin Luther King Jr. aka the King of Swing. Although King is of a slight build, his body has been hardened by thousands of southern mahogany police batons, and is used to taking a beating. He is incredibly tough, can endure both slings and arrows, and the simple fact that he can withstand the pain of getting a bar stool broken over his back makes him a dangerous contender. His study of the Holy Exploding Testicle Punch at seminary gives this zealot a sinister secret attack. MLK is no stranger to fighting bigger opponents, and actually rose to fame first as an underground street fighter, dishing out biblical pain and suffering to the bums and Irish sailors along the Gulf Coast. After a scary incident where King nearly defeated the reigning champion, but was attacked by a rabid panda bear intending to ensure both his loss and death, King was never the same. He left the ring that day covered head to toe in fresh panda blood (after viciously ripping out the beast’s throat, and then unleashing the wrath of God on the cheating champion), and left the world of illegal street fighting behind to become a motivational speaker and avid marcher. King is tenacious, resilient, has a lot to lose in this fight, and is not to be underestimated.

In the blue corner at 6’2”, and weighing in at 165 lbs is the Golden Child himself, Barack “Babyface” Obama aka the "The Ding-a-Ling Man." Obama is a wiry specimen, and is known to keep himself in peak physical condition. After defeating Chuck Norris in hand to hand combat, Barack became the official spokesman for the Total Gym, and has already installed “The Perfect Push-up” in the Oval Office. Although King might try a surprise swipe with a colossal Bible, Barack is ready to counter with an equally massive tome of archaic Athenian democratic principles. Known for his platform of Change, Barack also embodies this in his fighting style, and is ready and willing to change the game with a devastating roundhouse kick to the face.

THE SHOWDOWN

The fight would begin with a formal handshake, where the two men stare grimly at the other’s eyes and attempt to gain a slight psychological advantage. Neither shows any sign of fear, and MLK bows his head in a prayer to his big guy in the corner in the sky. Obama respectfully waits for the pastor to finish the recitation of his prayer, and lowers his guard for a moment. In this instant King unleashes an Alabama Slammer, sending the suckered President Elect stumbling backwards in stunned disbelief. Babyface Obama shakes it off and retaliates with a flurry of savage low kicks and sweeps. King shrugs off the rain of blows and follows with five calculated strike combinations, forcing Babyface to backpedal guardedly. The two range around the ring in a graceful dance of feints and evasions. The Killer King fakes a retreat and suddenly lunges at Obama with a flying knee to the chest. Obama is ready with a block, and snatches the Prince of Peace from the air, deciding to use his wiry strength on the ground to try and grapple the Good Doctor into submission. But King is a hard man to keep down, and is soon back on his feet. It quickly becomes apparent that he hopes to capitalize on Obama’s nicotine addiction and diminished lung capacity to win this fight by taking the abuse and punishment as his people have done for years, until Obama tires out. As the O man delivers heavy handed blow after blow, he soon appears to lose his head of steam, and his strikes become dangerously sluggish. Seeing his opportunity, the civil rights leader prepares to wind up and deliver his secret atomic Heathen Halter to his wheezing opponent (when studying the Art of War, the Old Testament can be a brutal manual of strategic death and destruction). Obama suddenly drops his guise of fatigue and delivers a skull shattering spinning back-kick he likes to call “The Stimulus Package,” sending the King to DreamLand for good.

It is truly unfortunate these two great men never had the chance to meet face to face and savagely punch one another in real life. My conjecture, although highly scientific and considering a plethora of variables, is only the most likely outcome of such an imaginary showdown. I predict Obama uses his youthful quickness, skinny frame, dedication to change, and Ivy League savvy to outwit the once revered doctor.

Who do you think would win in a fight between the Obaminator and the MiLK Man?

Wall St. Brokers too Broke for Models, Begin Dating Fat Chicks

Remember when the stock market used to be as, if not more lucrative than Bingo and scratch-offs combined? Those days are but a distant memory, and the market instead now resembles a steaming pile of elephant feces, that if you were to stick your money into, you would surely come down with a nasty case of bloody nipple syndrome. The stock market today is the modern day leper colony, full of unwanted souls. The recession is broad and unforgiving, and is seriously affecting the lives of countless stockbrokers and the models they sleep with.

These waify Amazonians have depended on the stock broker for centuries to provide them with the luxurious lifestyle of frivolities and debauchery they require. The entire industry of lettuce bars (providing high-end imported Arugala lettuce sandwiches starting at $85) has suffered tremendously. An estimated 100% of their income comes from skinny models, paid for by their wealthy coke-addled number crunching boyfriends. The recent indictment of grafter extraordinaire Bernie Madoff has left a baker’s dozen of gold-digging mistresses flat broke, unable to afford a simple lettuce sandwich or room of chinchilla hair wallpaper. It is a deeply troubling and sad state of affairs in the world of elitist love affairs. Models are forced to turn to arms dealers and air traffic controllers (the highest paying federal job that doesn’t require a degree) for the dollars and cents they crave (instead of normal portions of food).

Conversely, the overworked frat boys in ties down on Wall St. find themselves strangely single. For as long as they could remember, they had dated, or at least slept with, countless superficial models impressed by their imported silk and white gold embossed business cards or their comprehensive collection of skin and hair products. But now that the market is tanking daily, they no longer can afford fancy business cards or shampoos made from the pituitary glands of baby penguins. No longer can brokers afford swanky clubs and meat bars with a $200 cover fee, which is basically an exchange of money for the guarantee of a model in their bed that evening.

Times are tough, and the insatiable need for status and sex has forced many a stock broker to start dating overweight cashiers and lunchladies. Many scientists wonder why when moving down the chain of attractiveness have these broke brokers skipped from models to fatties without consideration of hot or even average women. This puzzling trend can only be a testament to the desperate and confused state of mind these financial flops find themselves in. Wall Streeters as a profession are exhibiting signs of clinical depression, and extreme bi-polar schizophrenia, with just a zesty hint of meningitis. And this condition is only further aggravated when many stockmen find themselves in more debt than ever before, having to flip the bill for enormous amounts of food some of these hungry heifers devour. Some appetites are more intense than a homeless man, a black hole and the 1976 Boston Celtics combined, leaving the broker stunned and impoverished. .

On a positive note, many big girls find themselves large and in charge- of hollow shells of men used to pampering women with platinum cards, that is. Perhaps America will finally alter its unort

hodox devotion to the anorexic, and begin to appreciate the beauty of the ball over the stick? In other words, develop a fat fetish. In the year of the Ox a half black man rises to power, and with just three short years until the Mayan Apocalypse, anything is possible.

Picking up the Pieces - the Aftermath of Kwanzaa

Despite numerous warnings by economists and theologians alike, this past December Americans seemed vastly unprepared for the onslaught of another vicious Kwanzaa. Although the official death toll is still unconfirmed, the chaos that erupted during the seven deadly days of this once innocuous, made-up holiday has left many Americans terrified, impotent and/or flabbergasted.

Kwanzaa is a week long orgiastic feast of death and debauchery, typically observed from December 26- January 1^st. It was created in the groovy 1960’s by Ron Karenga, avid bird watcher and anarchist. Karenga allegedly created his cult after a discussion with a very sassy sea turtle, and currently the 27 million estimated followers blindly heed seven unholy principles divinized by the reptile: cannibalism, necrophilia, sorcery, communism, tomfoolery, vagrancy and flatulence.

The once sacred and utterly Christian holiday season is slowly being eroded- first by BCS Bowl games, then by Hanukah, then Pagans getting kinky on the Solstice, and finally by the horrors of Kwanzaa. This has resulted in irreverent abominations like the upside-down Christmas tree suspended from the ceiling, and lynching an effigy of Santa during what used to be quaint seasonal gatherings.

“Not even Satan astride an armored dragon shooting fiery feces from a small catapult scares me more than Kwanzaa,” says Elaine Huffington, an 82 year old retired podiatrist and just one of the many lives affected by Kwanzaa. On the fourth day (dedicated to extreme vagrancy) she could barely walk down her building’s stairs, and had to ask the Kwanzaa fanatics lounging in dedication several times to please move (which they begrudgingly did, but not without a disdainful look). Most were just extremely tired after a night of serenading, and then copulating with their favorite dead celebrity and/or world leader. “It was the worst, I mean, I thought the Holocaust was bad- they should all be sent to prison,” complained the crotchety old woman.

The New York City Police Commissioner confirmed that although meth-heads and skateboarders are their primary targets during most of the year, come Kwanzaa time they dust off the riot gear, and brace for the worst. And the pandemonium was not isolated to American shores. Kwanzaa is worshiped in over 60 countries, and on the sixth day (aspirations of tomfoolery) when a mayonnaise filled condom was hurled over a wall and splattered on a Hamas General, the result was nothing short of War. Currently the skirmish between Israel and Palestine has left nearly 400 dead, hundreds injured, and toothy smiles on the faces of those Kwanzaa maniacs.

The devastation is immense and far reaching. The insanity of Kwanzaa must be addressed in the public forum, not merely whispered about in dark rooms like some mythic boogeyman. Scientists predict that next year, if 27 million people fart in one calculated strike, the Earth could be thrown out of orbit and hurled into the Sun. There are only 354 days left until Kwanzaa strikes again. Will You be ready?