Tag Archives: Satire

Octuplets move to mystery mansion – Plus, why everyone with six kids should have another eight

Considering the News…

Scintillating details of the California octuplets remain shrouded in mystery, now four days removed from the babies’ removal from the mother’s womb.

Traditionally patient and polite news media is growing uncharacteristically anxious. Many pressing questions remain unanswered. What are their names? Who are the eight fathers? Are they Clippers or Lakers fans?

Yet the family is proceeding with painstaking secrecy and caution, striving to protect the anonymity of these eight little miracles, and paying no mind to the joyful reporters calmly seeking an interview.

The latest rumor seasoning this savory story is word the parents already have six little miracles – meaning their humble home has now contributed 14 healthy and happy and necessary additions to the otherwise scarcely populated state of California.

Unfortunately, heartless skeptics now wrongly question the family’s sincerity, speculating the true incentive for breeding eight little miracles simultaneously is an unbridled desire for fame and undeserved gifts. But that’s not the honest Christian thing to do, now is it.

Representing this batch of miracles is the grandfather ( identifying himself as Ed), who has offered few guarantees or promises thus far, aside from leaking word of a huge mystery mansion existing somewhere in the remote hills of the countryside, well beyond the mental and physical limits of lazy media members.

There, he says, his two dozen or so grandchildren will live in unchallenged secrecy, never bothering with the unworthy outside world. That 16 miracles can move anywhere in this country without anyone noticing is a relatively common feat destined for absolute, unhindered success. They will probably never be found, seen, or heard from again.

They certainly will never stoop to repeating the same trite interview again and again for any TV station agreeing to donate to the college fund, a college fund that will undoubtedly go toward the octuplets’ education alone, and not to any extravagant trips or boats or new cars or an even bigger mystery mansion in the even more remote hills of the countryside.

I wish the family only the absolute best. A great service they have done for the world. Think of how much less crime there would be if every family with six children made the admirable decision to take fertility drugs (true story) and have another eight.

We can only wonder how many less cars would be on the road. How much food everyone would have. How much cheaper college tuition would be. How many less people would be on welfare. How many more people would be employed. How many more people would be able to visit Wal-Mart and buy Chinese toys and appliances.

Indeed, we can only wonder.

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The flabby saga of Jessica Simpson – Plus Barack Obama proves in one week that he is not God

Considering the News…

Thirsting for a major news story to fill the ominous void left by the passing of President Barack Obama’s inauguration, the mainstream media naturally turned to Jessica Simpson’s luscious jelly rolls.

I cannot honestly claim to be surprised, nor can I fathom any other way this could have unfolded. The sequence of events makes rather perfect sense.

A country predominately comprised of fat, hypocritical, superficial louts falls in love with a transcendent public figure, unwittingly believes manifest change will sweep through the land by the efforts of one, only to then direct all eyes and attention to a flabby, washed-up music icon 7 days later.

This must be poetic justice for the conservative fellows who trumpeted the farce of Obama’s celebrity from the beginning. While President #44 may indeed salvage the economy, resurrect our foreign endeavors, and breed unparalleled mental peace, he certainly cannot wrench our attention away from flabby, washed-up music icons. An impossible feat, if ever one was so.

Ms. Simpson’s pooch has now spawned one of the most contentious public discourses since the November election, as a myriad of pundits and talk show hosts (many of the female variety) don capes and attempt to save Simpson’s dignity. Another impossible feat.

What they fail to understand is that Jessica Simpson’s jiggly mid-section is deserving of ridicule, for she claimed the admiration of many only by flaunting a once impeccable figure. Once that falters, so does America’s appreciation for her existence. If sheer singing ability and intelligence defined her, I would not have invested 20 minutes of my time in writing these playful words. She would be just another fat, hypocritical, superficial lout clogging up the pores of America.

But perhaps there is hope for Simpson to reinvent her image, maybe as a physical metaphor for the American people, the people who once soared to wondrous heights by utilizing god’s gifts, only to stuff the spoils down the chute with no sense of consequence.

This unflattering attention will likely inspire Simpson to hit the treadmill, working earnestly to reclaim her fruitful form. The true wonder is whether America can do the same.

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Bush vacates the White House, a terribly sad sun sets

Considering the News…

President Bush is back in Crawford, Texas, the sun having set at last on his memorable and abundantly eventful presidency. It’s back to civilian life, back to making trivial decisions that affect no one of interest.

Done are the presidential press conferences that inspired the collective cheers of so many Americans, all lauding his fine leadership while saying, “Just look at the truth spray from the glorious fountain that is his blessed mouth.”

Gone are the nightly compliments paid by popular late night talk show hosts, who so often honored President Bush with flattering Top Ten lists illustrating his competence and valor, or featured unforgettable clips from his valiant speeches, inevitably comparing him with the prolific orators who preceded him to the Oval Office.

Evaporated is the comforting notion of unchallenged national security, impregnable to the venomous terrorists hellbent on sowing America’s terrible doom, forever ready to sweep up any suspicious rogue who attempted to board the wrong plane or make the wrong cell phone call.

Lost is the simple honesty and crystal transparency of the Executive Branch, where Bush devoted the entirety of his eight years to illuminating to us common Americans the duties and privileges of this uncommon office, incidentally proving formidable leaders are never compromised by arrogance, stubbornness, or hubris.

Ended are the jovial bonds forged in the Bush administration, a successful experimentation in which friends and close colleagues worked intimately together to achieve the monumental, dismissing the antiquated sentiment that only a hodgepodge of so-called experts can propell the country to unbridled prosperity.

The nation, and thus the world, is much different today. A queer and unsettling feeling looms. Can our country survive without George W. Bush, the man who so cautiously overlooked our armed forces and national pocketbook with prudence and due diligence, the Commander-in-Chief who sacrificed his own passion, familial grudges, and personal agenda for the betterment of his treasured country?

No one can be certain. The future looks grim, with only a hint of sunshine gleaming off the coast of Hawaii. No expert myself, I have no authority to say.

But as a proud and concerned citizen of the greatest nation in history, I’m sure as shit ready to find out. God damn.

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President Bush delivers inspiring farewell speech – Few listen and some laugh uproariously

Considering the News…

President George W. Bush delivered a heart-warming, belly-tingling, buns-tickling farewell to the nation yesterday, and I’m both alarmed and appalled that this magnanimous leader – general of all things mighty, admiral of all that is right – was given second ticket to an airplane landing in the Hudson River of all places.

Never mind that America has gone terror free since that infamous September day back in 2001. No, we wouldn’t want to pay Sir Bush any gratitude for that startling accomplishment. And that’s to mention nothing of the sweeping social progress in Afghanistan and Iraq, where swimming pools and McDonald’s restaurants are being built daily. I know, right, we’re bringing recreation and exquisite dining to the Middle East and still lacking is the litany of cards thanking Bush for his heroic labors.

And did I mention this airplane incident didn’t even amount to any fatalities? What happened to the old “Blood leads” creed that has been an indisputable ratings booster since the inception of this thing television? What happened to sticking to your guns, both figuratively and literally? Why, George Bush has over 4,000 gruesome deaths on his watch, and still he can’t even get 13 uninterrupted minutes to bid us farewell.

That American media is in shambles, faltering, sinking, capsizing with a torrent crash, need not be said. And now we know why. In lieu of the traditional blood and guts that endeared a country so obsessively to one medium, the news media chose a deathless plane ride that ended with pictures of people cruising safely across the Hudson River in boats.

Well, if America desires feel-good sunshine stories over the bungled artistry of a master manipulator like George W. Bush, then I say good riddance to the whole blasted thing. Here we have one of the most extraordinary criminal minds of our time hanging up his crowbar and wiretap, and we do no more than sit idly by, sharing trivial God bless Americas because some fortunate citizens managed to ride on a plane and boat in the same hour.

I give up.

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The Osama Bin Laden Guide to Immortality

Considering the News…

Former terrorism mogul and one-time television sensation Osama bin Laden has lugged his crippled bones out of the death box once again, this time calling for jihad hell in Israel until Jerusalem is rightfully or wrongfully (who really knows) returned to the Palestinians.

Bin Laden, the generous soul that he was, also welcomed the President-elect to the world stage with a nugget of invaluable advice, namely that his unthoughtful predecessor is leaving him a pile of shit and he might consider withdrawing American troops if he doesn’t wish to step in it.

Initially, my reaction to this latest installment in The Middle East is Fucked Diaries was “Wow, that inbred clown is still around. Go figure.” Then it was, “Wow, what happened to al-Quaida’s marketing budget? They go from polished militant videos to a barely audible audio recording played over a picture of Osama from 1998? Something’s gone terribly wrong here. Have they not been to Best Buy Dubai lately? Have they not seen the kickass HD camcorders on the market?”

Further analyzing this Wizard of OZ tomfoolery spawned thoughts of my own immortality, and what low-budget production might prolong my own impact beyond these living days. The exact nature and capacity of my impact concerned me little – only how I could prolong the damn thing.

Thus I commenced recording a manifest compilation of random, spontaneous, and often times nonsensical ramblings. No topic escaped my attention. I realized that the recorded word, no matter how outlandish, could ultimately breed everlasting life if the right people managed my affairs after my expiration.

My plan now is to find someone, anyone, to play my tapes (Yes, I’m using tapes) once every six months after my death. Then it will be as if I were alive and well and speaking the fine words of wisdom myself – and in real time, too.

By recording 200 or 300 variations of the same speech – occasionally throwing in a fact I trust will withstand the test of time (Say, the Palestinians and Israelis fighting an everlasting holy war) – and then summoning a responsible and trustworthy colleague to play the tapes while holding up a picture of me (Personal Note: Find old high school baseball photos), then immortality will be mine.

That oafish assclown Osama was a ruthless son of a bitch, but he certainly had it all figured out. What a prodigious mind that rat bastard had to be. Way ahead of his time. And apparently beyond his time to boot.

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Tim Tebow, future President of the United States?

Considering the News…

I’m now convinced Florida Gators football superstar, American legend, and Christian goodfella, Tim Tebow, will be President a day not too far from today. No doubts. No reservations about that one.

The guy exudes confidence. Spouts leadership. Is to charisma what Amy Winehouse is to crackheads – the definition.

Now some will say, hey, what about him being born in the Philippines? No way he can be President. Just not constitutional. Can’t happen.

Well, such minutiae, no matter how damning, is never impugn to the smearing and twisting of a genuine spin doctor – at least not one worth his or her weight in venom and wax. Was Barack Obama born within domestic borders? Kenya? Malaysia? Hawaii? Ah, who cares, the guy weaves rhetorical gold at the podium. The same will hold true for Florida’s chosen son, the natural hybrid of Abe Lincoln and Johnny Unitas.

Then some will say, hey, the guy’s like 21 years old. That’s way too young to be President.

Yes, such restrictions can hinder progress at times. But what about the Chinese Olympic Gymnastics team? Talent can make 12 the new 16 with few hardships when the right people rework the script. Thus I’m confident Tebow can smile and fist-pump his way to 40 in no time. Little effort required, to say the least.

Then some might say, hey, can he even win any southern state other than Florida after pummeling their football teams every year for seemingly an entire decade?

Football is next to religion down south, and Tebow’s dominance makes him somewhat of a demagogue in the region. Touchdowns are the new doctrine, you see. He’ll sweep every state by at least 95-5, with the other 5 percent going to Mike Huckabee and Jeb Bush.

So there you have it, Tim Tebow is destined to become President. No force, formidable as it may be, is going to impede his mystical ascension to the pinnacle of national prominence. Not even  a few minor rules and technicalities can stop him. Maybe not even Jesus.

Ok, probably Jesus. But nothing else.

Either way, I can’t imagine voting for him. Can’t stand the Gators.

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Applying for a dream job – FBI here I come

FBI:

It recently came to my attention the Federal Bureau of Investigation is aggressively seeking talented new agents, and I must say this joyous news couldn’t have come at a better time. Believe it or not, I have myself been aggressively seeking the right agency for my services, yet the economic uncertainty of today has made the task rather cumbersome and tiring (The search has forced several naps into my daily schedule).

As the FBI is the finest institution in the land, comprised of the most capable agents the earth has ever known (much more so than those bastards at the CIA Рwink, wink!), I can fathom no better place to invest my prodigious abilities.  Our union truly will prove divine, as my qualifications easily exceed even your most stringent requisites.

Now I see in the job posting that fluency in a foreign language is desired, which incidentally benefits me a great deal since I recently mastered the lyrics to Feliz Navidad this past holiday seasonno small task, I can assure you that. I am also quite familiar with the French language, having twice taken an introductory course on the subject in college. Should any covert operations require an agent to order a baguette or express an affinity for soccer (football over there), then look no further than my sterling record.

The posting also indicated a need for advanced computer skills. Well, not only am I a wizard with Microsoft Word, but I can balance a checkbook and research porn super secret stuff per the CPU as well. Without sounding arrogant, I feel it necessary to note my No. 87 ranking in World of Warcraft, where I honed my combat skills with a variety of weapons and gadgets. Needless to say, the enemy shall fear my wrath.

And lastly, the posting was vehement in stating that only candidates with previous intelligence experience will be considered for the plethora of openings. Ho, ho, ho! Not only am I somewhat of an expert in everything James Bond, but I have also studied thoroughly the artistry of Axel Foley and Maxwell Smart – two of the nation’s finest intelligence agents.

Additional achievements and qualifications can be found in the attached resume. Should you feel like I feel (that was a bit Peter Frampton-esque, eh?) that I would fit seamlessly into your agency’s hierarchy, please contact me via the provided phone number or email address. Oh, and I also respond to the Bat signal.

Look forward to hearing from you,

God Speed!

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