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?

Robot Girlfriends Aren't Just for Sex Anymore

As History has shown, the pornographic think tanks have been responsible for nearly every invention and innovation since the wheel. When you think about it, some are more obvious than others: Gutenberg had a thing for she-male bondage, the Wright Brothers were voyeuristic swingers, and the Internet would implode if porn was abolished. We owe these captains of smut a great deal of gratitude, and shouldn't be surprised to discover they have forged a new era in robotics. Many presumed the Japanese or perhaps the US government would be the first to make a breakthrough in android technology, but neither has the funding nor the drive of adult entertainment.

A Canadian software engineer named Le Trung has developed Project Aiko, the sexiest and arguably most advanced robot ever created. Le Trung lives in his mother's basement, a damp dungeon with cages suspended from the ceiling, discarded Sunny D jugs littering the floor, and the pungent odor of burnt hair and spermicidal rubber wafting through the air.

Aiko has the ability to recognize faces, read the newspaper, and have unique conversations. She also comes equipped with a host of gimmicks, including live weather reports, text messages, a tip calculator, Sara Palin impressions, funny Bible quotations, and a stainless steel apple peeler/corer/slicer. Aiko is wheelchair bound, allegedly due to a career ending ACL injury after a drunken prom night twenty-six car pile-up (although it might be because Trung blew his budget on the best silicon breasts on the market, or the robotics industry’s inability to create a robot that can walk and climb stairs without toppling over like a rusty trash can). Aiko also comes equipped with a watchdog program, using her face recognition software to identify unknown intruders, alert the police, and use her superhuman strength to pacify the intruder with a firm grasp on their skull. After an incident with a nine year old Girl Scout peddling Thin Mints, the Watchdog program has been shut down until a non-lethal upgrade is developed.

Aiko's nubile body is also filled with hundred of "pain" sensors. If you grab her arm (or her breast as the video demonstration shows you), she coldly expresses how much it hurts, and wishes you would stop molesting her in an inappropriate fashion. Trung claims that he does not sleep with his robot, but is unable to answer to why she has sesnors in her "swimsuit area," and why she often asks strangers if she can massage their monster cocks with robotic precision. Clearly a 42 year old living in his mother’s basement designs robots so he can have sex with them. Men have often shown their willingness to use technology to pleasure their insatiable sex cravings, and usually end up having to act nonchalant as a paramedic and plumber try and disengage their unit from a hot tub water jet.

More disturbing than Aiko's Myspace page is Trung's assertion that he is on a quest to create the perfect woman. If the perfect woman is a wheelchair bound rubber doll that shoots lasers from her eyes and yells at you when you grab her breasts, than I am clearly with the wrong girl. Aiko sounds more like the perfect receptionist, and Trung has admitted she could be marketed as such (especially with her love for sexual harassment). But the idea that his concept of female perfection is a mechanical slave worries me, and unless preemptive nuclear strikes are unleashed upon Canada soon, Trung and his fellow puck-slingers will surely unleash their fembot hordes on us all.

Countless films have made it more than clear the inevitably grim outcome of developing artificial intelligence, so why do we foolishly keep trying to create it?. Hollywood hasn’t been wrong yet, and the Oracle in Tinseltown assures us that robots will enslave and then destroy humankind. I just pray I never live to see the day I wash my overlord toaster’s dishes and get unceremoniously raped by the horny hair dryer.

GOP Determined to Shroud Themselves in Villiany

In a real dick power move, the Republicans began preparing for their new role as the bane of Obama's existence by squashing the Dems proposed Auto bailout. Outspoken Republicans beg the question, "Hey, is bankruptcy really that bad?" UAW reps, Democrats, Big Three CO's and most Americans understand it could mean a devastating blow to our already feeble economy. It's quite like finding a blind cripple trying to locate the nearest trashcan, tripping him so he falls on his face, then savagely stomping his testicles with golf shoes until he swears to make greener cars (even though he never graduated from high school and has never actually seen a car).

It is true that many companies use Chapter 11 bankruptcy to restructure, pull themselves up by their bootstraps and return to profitability and lifestyles of greed and excess, but this depends on the industry. Delta Airlines has done it, twice, and thanks to charging for peanuts & blankets, is back on top. However, an airplane ticket is a service, not a good. When one invests in an automobile, one needs to know that there will continue to be parts, service, and a company that manufactures it existing for at least as long as he/she intends to own said vehicle.

Although polls indicated the majority of Americans, and nearly every single Republican, did not support an auto bailout, polls also equally suggest Americans would find themselves disinclined to buy a car from a bankrupt company. The thing is, most Americans don't want the Big Three to fail, causing catastrophic job losses in the millions while samurai sword wielding foreign powers buy out America’s most powerless industry. They also don't want the nickel dicks in Congress to "goof up" again after blatantly wasting $250 million on banks that refuse to lend.

People wouldn’t mind the bailout, if the morons representing us in the congress were able to execute it properly. Congress simply put bags of money in a giant leaf blower and forgot to count it, keep track of it, or make sure it was used for things other than manicures on lavish "We Aren't Totally Screwed" themed company retreats. The GOP needs to realize that Americans don’t have a problem using their tax money to protect American industrial interests and financial stability; they have a problem with the goons in Congress being grossly inefficient in allocating the money. How did these Senators get their jobs again? Aside from charisma and an intense belief in the End Times, what were their actual qualifications? We know they are quite good at having sex with teenagers, driving drunk, and murdering interns- but what about staying in touch with their constituents, drafting progressive and pragmatic legislature, and preventing the megalomaniacal President from pooping on the Constitution and becoming more powerful than Jesus juicing on GHB?

Obama is in for a wild ride if these Repubs insist on playing

the opposite game. Hopefully he is clever enough to support an initiative to not allow the Republicans to hurl themselves off a cliff, and following through with their sworn pact of defiance, they smugly soar over the edge.

Racists Panic as Blacks Discover the Internet

I always thought the Internet was created by Al Gore and some prominent pornographers in the 80's, but apparently the Ku Klux Klan’s Grand Wizard at the time became a silent partner in the beast that would evolve into the World-Wide Web. HTML is in fact the ancient and once secret tongue of the KKK used to talk about black’s while in church, and was adopted by the Wizard as the descriptive code for this invention as part of a totally evil racist conspiracy. Gore wanted to create a platform for people to bitch about how everything should be "green," the pornography barons wanted to fulfill the fantasies of middle-schoolers everywhere, and the KKK pigs wanted to create opportunities for the white men, recruit impressionable teens mentally exhausted from masturbating 14 hours a day, and deprive the African American community of their culture.

Thankfully, an innovative marketing firm 40A created BlackBird, the first web browser designed specifically for the African-American community, to break down the electronic walls we never even knew were there. This browser is powered by Firefox, but has several important differences.

• a black and brown color scheme
• pre-installed links to notable black sites
• a modified black search feature
• black news feed
• black videos
• a fund to raise money for OJ's appeal

Most of you didn’t even realize how white the internet is. Although it may appear as a colorless forum of anonymity, apparently the BlackBird designers felt that although content relative to the African-American community exists on the web, prejudiced meta-search engines like Google prevented a culture from flourishing. Some see Blackbird as a divisive, weird, unnecessary, marketing ploy, hearkening back to the days of segregation. Should there be a "separate but equal" internet for Blacks, another for Hispanics, another for Crackers, and yet another for the Rest?

When reached for comment, the KKK Public Relations goon said grimly,” We knew this day would come. We had a good thing going for quite a while. I only wish we hadn’t revealed our secret language to the world. Now we speak in Pig-Latin and I just feel like a jackass."

Terrorists are the New Indians

The American Indians stand to be some of the most savagely mistreated, marginalized, and abused people that the White American Man has ever decimated. The native peoples we gave cholera infested blankets to (and forced into small plots of land to drink our firewater and learn the secrets of the casino) have been demonized in our culture for no real reason other than being in the way of our Destiny. This prejudice was passed onto American children, who equated the Indians with the Bad Guy, and the American Cowboy with the Good Guy. This concept endured until WWII, when it became Cowboy versus Nazi Pigs. In the 1960's it became Cop versus Hippie, in the 70's Capitalists versus Communists, in the 80's ThunderCats versus Hair bands, in the 90's it went back to Cowboys and Indians for a few years, and then shifted to the Internet versus Saddam....In the 21st Century, the last American Cowboy finds himself President of the United States, and he and his screwball regime decides to create a real shitnami during eight years of tragically abused power. In this reign, a new version of the classic Good and Evil archetype has emerged, and thus, Freedom versus the Terrorist.

Hence, the creation of toys like this pseudo-LEGO Mr. Bandit, a must have for any boy or girl whose passion for Freedom burns like gonorrhea. BrickArms, a small family toy company in Seattle specializes in knocking off LEGO toys, with a historical and violent twist.

And who better to team up with your radical insurgent toy than a German SS Major, sporting a fancy hat and silver MP40 SMGs. There isn’t anything these two diabolical scoundrels can't scheme up: Overthrow pervasive Western culture, win the Amazing Race, open up a Quizno's franchise, lead a Little League soccer team to victory (overcoming insurmountable odds after Marty Bernstein mysteriously disappears). I smell a sitcom with star potential.

Since America is clearly the infallible source of all that is pure and moralistic, we have the unavoidable responsibility of demonizing a people until it’s no longer convenient, then moving on to the next. American Natives and Terrorists have undergone similar persecution (albeit for dissimilar reasons). Both were hunted down ruthlessly, both are denied basic legal rights guaranteed to Human Beings, and both have been made into toys for our Cowboys to triumph over again and again. But with all these enemies, it’s often hard to figure out who we are at War with.

Now that it has been transformed into a child's toy, we finally know who the Enemy is.

Bailing out the "Beg Three"

As the American automotive industry teeters on the brink of utter annihilation, our Congress earnestly jabbers away, toying with the idea of playing David Hasselhoff to the smelly, drunk homeless junkie (executives) flailing flamboyantly in the murky water. But should the American people keep our industrial cornerstone afloat? Last time I checked, stones tend to sink, or roll. Dodd admonishes “We cannot afford to let them fail,” and also insists we cannot simply write a blank check, after our capital injections into banks were less effective than lard injections into pork- wary Islamic fundamentalists (the first taste is free, and after they abandon their radical ways, we charge them exorbitant prices for limited edition Qurans printed on scrolls of savory bacon, and thus capitalism burrows into their hearts like an gluttonous tick). If the Big Three were to go under, millions of lives would be affected. Already, the 240,000 some layouts they have issued to cut costs led to three tenths of a percent rise in unemployment, bringing the rate to nearly 6.9%- the highest our brave country has seen in 34 years.

There is no easy solution. Restructuring in bankruptcy or being bought out by successful Japanese companies might work, but the fact remains that even if we shell out the $34 billion they requested, the real problem is still not addressed. No matter how much money we give the Three to remain operational, it doesn’t change the fact that people can’t and won’t buy cars whilst in the grips of this freakish recession. You & I could speculate until blue in the face about what they should do- but in the end, Congress will do what they want, not what We want.

I am looking to the future. The Age of the automotive vehicle is over, gone like the Dodo before it. We need to focus on the future of transportation (and no, it has nothing to do with electric cars or hydrogen powered hovercrafts). We need to get back to basics, and consider alternative modes of transport.

First to be considered- the classic bicycle (although China has given this once proud conveyance a Communist taint, unless we are talking about the cool ones with one giant wheel, and one tiny wheel, a fitting metaphor for American extremism). I personally fancy a skateboard of the longer variety (mysteriously dubbed longboard), and enjoy weaving in and out of traffic, teasing death while eating a falafel and deviating from my phone conversation to yell at foolish pedestrians that lunge in front of me. I don’t want to see any more rollerbladers- they make me want to puke and should be hunted down like dogs. I’d like to see more people skiing somewhere other than pointlessly meandering down hills, more hang gliding from your nearby cliff to your favorite sushi house’s roof, and more enthusiastic pogo-stickers bouncing their way to the bar. I’d like to see El Camino’s pulled by ornery donkeys, more people riding ostriches, and an increase in the always popular Zamboni (although seemingly sluggish, they get great mileage and easily deal with lingering pedestrians in crosswalks). And the last I checked, submarines are powered by nuclear reactors, not liquid dinosaur bones, so I would like to see more day to day travel by sub, especially in Middle America. A new craze has swept the wheelchair community, and pioneers have begun attaching a small mast and sail to the chair, and those tired of walking are encouraged to take a seat and let the magical power of the wind whisk you away to where you need go.

We need more moving sidewalks, more guacamole powered monorails, and more people willing to tie hundreds of helium balloons to their lawn chairs, rising above this pathetic dependency not only on foreign oil, but on the antiquated notion of life being made easier by a gas guzzling “hot whip.”

Let the Good Times Roll

There’s nothing I admire more than the spirit of innovation. Let’s face it, doing things the traditional, obvious way, usually sucks. That’s why I eat potato chips with a fork, poop standing up, and insist on a first date we shave each others knuckle hair. America is known as a pioneer in innovation, and more specifically known for creating seemingly ridiculous, but absolutely essential inventions. My favorites include the male chastity belt, the electric indoor sundial, and the GPS bra and panty set.

When it comes to useless junk, chances are they fall in one of two categories: kitchen crap or fitness junk. I think we are all familiar with these products that can slice, dice, splice, and deep fry mice, but not everyone knows as much as I on the latest cutting-edge revolution in fitness technology. It is with great pleasure that I present to you the newest treadmill by Speedfit. We've all seen treadmills with desks built into them, or ones that dangle a cheese steak just out of reach, but nothing could prepare you for this! Why be confined inside your home or gym, running like a hamster on a wheel under harsh fluorescent lighting, when you could be outside, running like an idiot on a treadmill with wheels?

The new Speedfit treadmill is the world’s first all-terrain 4 wheeled treadmill, powered by your flabby thighs, and your sense of self-worthlessness. Originally created by the military, this futuristic technology I never thought I would live to see is finally available to obese civilians and bloody-nippled running freaks everywhere. Although it doesn’t turn very well, and has an SUV-like tendency to flip over and burst into flames, it certainly makes your neighbor on his/her Segway look like less of a dork. An upgraded version with bulletproof plastic shields allows the runner to avoid being pelted in the face with rotten vegetables and stinging insults from everyone you pass. Also, for those too ashamed to take their new Speedfit out in public, they also offer a double wide indoor treadmill, that one can place their four wheeled Speedfit on top of for a new level of Fit.

Coming soon from Speedfit, the wheeled stationary bike and the outdoor tanning bed (with wheels).

Get Ready for Obamaville

Currently, speculations about what He will do first are what the media seems to be devoting most of its time and energy into. However, the press’ pointless presidential prognostication prevents proper political probing. I say stop trying to beat the news to the punch, and just wait for it to actually happen, and then tell us about it.

I was recently able to sit down with the President- Elect and clear up the swirling haze of rumors and conjectures, and find out precisely the first three things he plans on doing after the coronation on Jan. 20^th.

As you know, America has lost a lot of respect and envy the rest of the planet once had for us. Now the French don’t even do us the honor of spitting on our tourists, the Russians no longer use our blue jeans as currency, the Japanese no longer force their daughters to have corrective surgery so they can more closely resemble Beyonce, and the Peruvians no longer dream of moving to Dawson’s Creek. The name brand America Is unsalvageable and Barack’s savvy PR squad realizes this. That’s why his very first order of business as President is to abandon our nations sullied moniker, and start a brave new chapter in the Promised Land called Obamaville! It just rolls off the tongue without the sour after-taste of USA. It sounds like a charming little place just down yonder, where you might bump into Tom Daschle at the market buying several gallons of cottage cheese. And think of all the confused terrorists, once so intent on destroying America, only to find it no longer exists. Obamaville sounds nice; the kind of place Bin Laden goes to summer when his gets all stir crazy in his lavish caves. Obama did promise change…

His eminence’s second initiative as Ruler of Obamaville will be to shut down Guantanano Bay (the prison, not the chic clothing-optional resort adjacent to the Pit of Despair). Closing Torture-Town is a no-brainer, but what do we do with the three hundred some detainees we have held illegally and savagely abused for the past seven years? The O-man has a plan. All the residents of North Dakota will be relocated, and the prisoners will be set free to live and flourish in the new state of Bush-is-a-Dickota. To show our sincere regret for the inconvenience we caused these men, we will offer them the greatest gift of all time- 15 glorious minutes of fame (and he will throw in the World’s Largest Buffalo Statue, too heavy to relocate). Some will be selected for a Fox special “Scared Straight- The Gitmo Boys,” and will tour elementary schools across the nation, making sure our youths never again take candy from Terrorists they don’t know. Others will star in “So You Think You Can Terrorize,” where former detainees will be paired with a washed-up celebrity. The detainees will give tips and tricks on how to endure invasive torture techniques administered by real CIA specialists. The show ends with a dancing contest, and every misstep sends a terrific blast of electricity to the nipple and testicle electrodes worn by each dancer (my money’s on Al-Awlaki and Dustin Diamond)

His third action taken will be of utmost importance to the national security of Obamaville. All flannel will be outlawed. Too long has our brave nation suffered from this aesthetically asinine pattern. This will put thousands of construction workers, farmers and lumberjacks out of work, but is a necessary step in securing our borders, and maintaining our freedom.

Excellent input thus far, and if you have further information on what Obama plans on doing once inaugurated, let me know. And do your part, click Follow This Blog at the top of the page and receive up to the minute updates on new entries appearing in your Google Readers section, or on your Dashboard).