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?