Better Get Your ‘Gaydar’ Fixed !!

A heterosexual black male, a gay white male, and a filthy hillbilly male walk into a bar. The bartender says, “We don’t serve your type here”. The three men look at each other in confusion, turn to the bartender and say, “Which one of us are you talking to”? And that there my friends lies the question of the day … Who was the bartender talking to?

The answer to this question will have many different answers depending on your own upbringing, beliefs, judgements, and what-not’s. The sad thing about this is that there ARE answers to this question. For some of you the answer is: The Filthy Hillbilly. Look at him, he’s disgusting, he reeks of Hamm’s beer, he’s gonna try and get in a fight with someone in this bar tonight, get him the hell out of here. For others it will be: The Heterosexual Black Male. Look at him, coming in here trying to take our white women away from us, and we all know he’s bound to steal something while he’s here. And then for others it’s: The Gay White Male. Oh lord, look at him with his great fashion sense, his manicured nails, white teeth, tan, and that gawd-awful lisp. Get that flamer out of here, he’s gonna try to hit on me, I just know it.

Good afternoon ... I'd like to donate some blood.

Now this brings up another question: How do you know that he’s gay? I know many men who match the description above, hell, I might even fall into that category. So … am I now … gay? Well according to some people’s ‘Gaydar’, I just might be, which I don’t think is such a bad thing considering, once again, the description above. But what happens when somebody’s ‘Gaydar’ is malfunctioning? What if it’s not as finely tuned as other people’s ‘Gaydars’ and they tell someone that there services aren’t wanted because they … well … they just … “look too gay”?

This happened to Aaron Pace, a 22 year old, heterosexual, black male. He wanted to donate some blood at the Bio-Blood Components donation centre in Chicago where he was turned away for “appearing to be a homosexual” and “looking too gay”. Blood donation centres, including those run by the American Red Cross, do not allow gay men to donate blood because of a 30-year-old federal policy. So, who is a chosen one to determine who is gay and who isn’t? Who’s ‘Gaydar’ can we trust? Has there been new developments in ‘Gaydar’ technology? Well, I think that my ‘Gaydar’ is actually quite good, so I decided I needed to test it out for myself. I looked for a picture of Mr. Aaron Pace on the googleweb and found his picture, and, well Aaron … you do look kinda gay.

The perfectly arched brows and the "lying on the ground" pose gives it away.

Your Fake Boobs Are Two Incredibly Beautiful Terrorists

What the hell is going on with TSA these days? A couple of months ago they were searching for bombs in baby’s diapers, then they moved on recently to searching for bombs in a 90 year old’s Depends Undergarment. But now … NOW … they’re going to need to start fondling all the ladies with implants. Very smart TSA, VERY … SMART IN-DEED! Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a job application to run down to the airport. Be right back.

RED ALERT : SEVERE RISK OF TERRORIST ATTACKS

Actually, no, it’s not TSA’s fault this time, it’s the plane terrorists making my wait at the airport another hour longer than normal. Dicks! What a bittersweet thing these terrorists are doing. Strapping those bulky, unbreathable bombs to themselves is so 2001, and the modern terror-fashionista-ist would never be caught dead with the cliché ”underwear bomb” from 2009. Those acts of terrorism were so bunchy, and the pantie-lines were simply atrocious. So what is a terrorist to do?

ORANGE ALERT : HIGH RISK OF TERRORIST ATTACK

Well one smarty terrorist has finally devised a way to not only look fabulous, but to blow a fucking plane to smithereens while doing so. Say hello to “The Implant Bomb”. That round, succulent, perky bosom of mass destruction teasing us with its low cut flirtyness, giving us just enough of a show to distract us from the mayhem that it will be causing very soon. Bittersweet in the fact that big fake boobs are great to look at, they might be a bit on the hard side when fondling, but for the most part, great, I’m not complaining believe me. But now with the implant scare, I’m sure there will soon be some sort of new US Regulation keeping women with low self-esteem from easily acquiring implants without some sort of huge screening process, which will then spiral out of control to a ban on implants altogether. Damn you Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab !!! First you take our freedom from safe flying, and now you take our eye candy too, you’re such a prick! However, I am interested to see the pictures they use on the new terror alert system.

GREEN ALERT : No terror here, let her on the plane

Mars’ Bio Station Alpha: Confirmation by Denial

There is a secret government space station, manned by a co-operative team of humans, aliens and human alien hybrids working together for no doubt nefarious purposes as we speak… on the surface of Mars! How do I know with absolute, unwavering, blind certainty that the crazy thing that I just said is the only pure, true fact in the entire world? Because someone else said it isn’t.

I don’t internet much. Most of the time you can find me by my butter churn or smelting furnace, whittling a squirrel out of a slightly larger squirrel. But apparently a member of my quilting squad tells me that there’s something called a YourTube which has a video going around right now in which “armchair astronaut” and hero of the human race, David Martines, exposes to the world a shocking discovery he made on one of his internet machines. And I tell you what, it was enough to make me drop my home spun wisdom spinner into my aw shucks bag like a ribble at a rabble rally. 

… yee haw…

Either that's a Mars base, or I got really excited by the idea that might be a Mars base.

So if you felt the very fabric of space and time shudder and whip around like a crank addled lemur a couple days ago, that was apparently when David warned infinity about his brain raping find: “Bio Station Alpha”. Clocking in at a wildly guessed at 700 feet long and 150 feet wide, this Martian base was discovered after a painstaking, exhausted “quite by accident” by Mr. Martines as he was diligently perusing Google Mars when he likely should have been doing something more important. Naturally after finding this tiny white pixellated smudge, David came to the only logical conclusion, that this was an artificial structure that that either currently or recently housed inhabitants of a secret nature.

But the powers that be are already working on damage control, sending out their first wave of “experts”, in the personage of Alfred McEwen, a “planetary geologist at the Lunar and Planetary Lab at the University of Arizona and the director of the Planetary Imaging Research Laboratory” and “principal investigator of the High Resolution Imaging Science Experiment (HiRISE)”, a “powerful telescope” supposedly ”currently “orbiting “Mars”"”.

Like any of those things are real things. The only people with titles that long are made up vaguely sciency flim flammerists that the United States government dresses up in CVS photo mat lab coats to try to throw true, trail blazing space cops off the trail of something so big, so important, that it could kill your face off to know the true truth of it all.

But this “expert” CLAIMS that Bio Station Alpha, the very real and factual Martian habitat recorded on space film for the world to see by the Googles, is actually just a glitch in the image cause by “cosmic energy”. What the bullshit is that fucksense?! They’re not even trying with this! If you’re going to call me and Martines, two true believers in Bio Stations Alpha through Epsilon, crazy, then you need to counter with an explanation at least somewhat less crazy than our own!

“It looks like a linear streak artifact produced by a cosmic ray,” said Alfred McEwen, fake science credential collector.

Pictured, from left to right: Bio Station Alpha

To which I can only respond, “No, it doesn’t look like a cosmic ray, comic book scientist. It looks like a god damned secret government space station on the surface of the cold red planet Mars and you’re making yourself and your made up profession sound ridiculous!” If what this space camera caught on its space film was “cosmic rays” then how come it didn’t turn into a stretchy, invisible, on fire rock camera?

…

It didn’t did it? Did it? Because that would be an awesome space camera. I’m going to assume it didn’t because that best helps my argument. Cosmic rays? Doom says pah!

So the only logical, rational, reasonable explanation for this clump of pixels is that the government is now trying to cover up their secret extra terrestrial agenda. Of course experts are denying the existence of Bio Station Alpha. You know what else they deny exists? Area 51. According to our own peaceful, trustful government, Area 51 doesn’t exist. Just like Bio Station Alpha. So, therefor and to wit: if we are told that Area 51 doesn’t exist, but it does, then Bio Station Alpha must also exist since we’re told it doesn’t! Don’t you get it! You can’t even begin to understand just how deep the rabbit hole goes! It goes all the way down to the rabbit home, filled with all of the modern luxuries of an anthropomorphic wise cracking rabbit, which experts will also tell you don’t exist, but I have film evidence dating back to the 40s that calls them a god damned liar!

In the end what it comes down to is this: there is a space station on Mars. You can say there isn’t, but I can say there is, and since I said there is first, it’s up to you to prove definitively, beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is not now, nor has there ever been a life sustaining research facility on the surface of Mars. Just the same way that it is now up to the governments of the world to prove that there isn’t a space camera orbiting the Earth with the combined powers of the Fantastic Four.  Until then, the plain and simple fact of the matter is that thing that I just made up exists now too and no matter how much you try to tell me logically how it doesn’t, you can’t prove that there’s not a lab somewhere in Eastern Montana growing more of these super cameras to enslave the human race as we speak.

Ball’s in your court science.

Wow! What A Wiener, Weiner!

I think the family photos in the background are a nice touch

New York Congressman, Anthony Weiner, decided he was going to show his pee-pee to some ladies on the interwebs. Apparently he thought women could keep their mouths shut, and I mean that in the most loving way possible, seriously. Let’s just take a quick look at this shit, shall we Weiner?

#1. You are a U.S. Representative, New York Congressman, and your wife is an aide to Hilary Clinton. Did you think you weren’t just a smidge high profile?

#2. You sent pics of your beautifully shorn chest and your boxer-brief’s bulge via Twitter and Facebook to about 6 different women? Why in the hell would you use your real Twitter account name you FOOL?!? It’s @RepWeiner for those of you who’d like to try and hook up with him. Everybody knows that you have a REAL account and a “I wanna show my schlong” account. Stupid, stupid man!

That pickle doesn't look too kosher.

#3. As soon as you pressed “Send” you must have known that some shit was gonna go down, right? There must have been a slight moment of hesitation where you said “I know I shouldn’t do this, but this girl isn’t gonna throw me under the bus, we’re tight.” I mean seriously. Did you not think that in this day and age with how fast information flies across the world, that any one of these girls wouldn’t try to make some serious money off your stupidity? Did you not think that any one of them would possibly want to get on a Good Morning news program, want to write a book, get on Oprah’s new network and talk, talk, talk about your groin?

I hope my allergies pass as being really upset.

Look bro, I’m not mad at ya, I just feel sorry for you since you got caught. But when you don’t think things through, that’s what happens, and now you’re gonna get a slap on the hand, you’ll need to make a Tiger Woods apology-interview,  and then just stay under the radar for a few days because the bigger, better, shavier chested news story is quickly coming around the corner, and your “5 minutes of fame” is going to fade away into the media abyss, and we’ll all go back to commuting to work, eating our turkey sandwiches and having no clue who you are.

Kirk Cameron vs. Soviet Russia vs. Stephen Hawking vs. Space Aliens vs. Sense of Any Kind

In American culture, there are two widely accepted sky myth stories.

The first of which being that a a giant bearded dude who lives in the clouds said one day “This shit is dark yo, BOOMSHACKALACKA!” and then everything that is happened. Then he made people in his image and decided he didn’t like them and washed them away and started over and sent his kid to check out how it was going and he got stapled to a fence post before floating back up to home until he collected enough crowns and a horse to ride back down from the sky on.

The other popular yarn is that a half dozen decades ago some little space mans in an intergalactic circle were taking in the sights of lovely, scenic New Mexico when they ran out of illudium Q-36 explosive space modulators and broke down on the side of the road. The United States Military was then kind enough to construct them an airbase that they deny exists and built us iPods out of the wreckage.

Each crazy belief system has it’s ardent, devoted followers, and each were under attack this week by nerds.

Crashed turtle person or Nazi mutant?

A new book, “Area 51″ by Annie Jacobsen claims that the craft that didn’t crash in Roswell was not in fact a group of drunken, joyriding frat aliens, but instead, a remote control Soviet Russia spy saucer built by Nazi scientists and filled with genetic experiments cooked up by Josef Mengele. Naturally. So we have gone from alien crash landing, to USSR Nazi crash landing “hoax” intended to freak us out “War of the Worlds” style.

Now, I understand that we and Russia were doing some crazy things back in the good ol’ days of black and white, and I get that Nazi’s had a whimsical sense of humor that was often a little heady and it was sometimes hard to see how throwing a Banana cream pie filled with genetically mutated astronauts at Nevada might be hilarious. The main problem with this argument though is trying to replace one fantastical, difficult to believe story, with another story that sounds like was left scribbled on a napkin by Quentin Tarantino after polishing off a plate of crystal meth and Draino lady fingers.

Since we’re clearly not being serious anymore, I’d like to offer my explanation for the Roswell Incident: a race of subterranean turtle people attempting to make contact with the surface world for the first time since sending their lone emissary nearly 2000 years prior with disastrous results, fashioned a land ship which burrowed up to the surface only to burst into flames and explode once being exposed to the atmosphere of the surface world. Fearing that no one would ever believe such a ridiculous story, the United States government, in co-operation with all other world leaders of the day decided it would be best to just tell the world aliens crash landed so as to not send the world’s population into a hysteria trying to dig down into the turtle people’s home and throw the planet into chaos.

Son of god, or misunderstood, murdered turtle person?

Then we have Kirk Cameron. Some of you may remember Kirk as the dreamy Seaver boy on America’s existingest 80s sit-com “Growing Pains”. Since then he’s found god and wants you to know all about it. Oh, and he’s also kind of a lunatic. But he knows what he’s talking about, like most lunatics, and not just because he talks to god like, every day, or because he was already in the pretend rapture in the “Left Behind” movies, no, it’s because he’s not going to give jokes like Stephen Hawking a free ride like everyone else who’s afraid to stand up to him.

“To say anything negative about Stephen Hawking is like bullying a blind man. He has an unfair disadvantage, and that gives him a free pass on some of his absurd ideas.”

Now, to the first sentence, I’m not sure if Kirk thinks that blind people can’t walk, or that he’s also calling Mr. Hawking lazy for riding around in that chair all the time just ’cause he can’t see. And really, to say anything negative about someone else seems kind of un-Jesus like, and counter productive to a reasonable intellectual discussion. But what do I know? I just usually like to interact with human beings who exist in real life rather than spending all day sending telepathic love letters to a character in a story book.

But I think the more entertaining part of Kirk’s insult is the second half of that statement, that because of Mr. Hawking’s hysterical, debilitating blindness which has taken from him the use of just about everything but his eyes, he believes that because of his “unfair disadvantage” nobody calls him on his shit. Kirk Cameron is telling us that the scientific community has just accepted this man’s theories and lauded him as one of the most brilliant minds in the history of the world, because they don’t want to hurt his feelings.

This fountain of crazy continues:

“Professor Hawking is heralded as ‘the genius of Britain,’ yet he believes in the scientific impossibility that nothing created everything and that life sprang from non-life. Why should anyone believe Mr. Hawking’s writings if he cannot provide evidence for his unscientific belief that out of nothing, everything came?”

Always one of my favorite arguments. In this case Kirk calls into question Mr. Hawking’s beliefs, asking how anyone could buy his blind gibberish if he can’t prove any of it. What I don’t think Mr. Cameron understands is that, the bible, for all of it’s nice words and well meaning thought, is not a receipt for the universe. It’s a book. Unless I missed something, it’s as much proof of the existence of god and an afterlife as Mr. Hawking’s assertion that the afterlife is a “fairy story for people afraid of the dark”. Kirk saying it is doesn’t mean it is and his argument is that since Stephen Hawking can’t prove definitively exactly how the universe came into being that makes anything he ever says on the subject nothing more than the ravings of a perpetually pitied blind asshole. And when that’s the position you’re going to start this discussion from, where the hell do we possibly go from there?

So in the end, what do we have? We’re left with the choice between Alien visitation gone wrong or Soviet Nazi prank and the views of the existence of the universe as proposed by Stephen Hawking or not unproved sufficiently to Kirk Cameron. Who wins in any of these arguments? I mean, besides me that is, ’cause I can write about these kinds of crazy all day long.

Look Who’s Siiiiiiiiiiiingle !! The Shrivernegger

I think I'll use this one for Match.com

Ok guys calm down, CALM DOWN!! Please get in a single file line and quit shoving each other. I understand now that Maria Shriver is single that we all can’t wait to get our shot at that Kennedy lineage poontang, but please, have some maturity here, Jesus!!

Oh, hi there dear reader. I’m just trying to organize this line of single men wrapped around the Sacramento Capitol who are just chompin’ at the bit to get their chance to date, and in some cases, to marry thee Ex-Mrs.-Terminator, and by the size of this line I’d say she’ll have her pick of the cream of the crop. And who can blame these guys, hell I’m even throwing my name in the hat for this hottie. What the hell was Arnold thinking? Cheating on his trophy wife. But the strange part is that he did it ten years ago … when she was actually easy to look at. Oh well … his loss and OUR gain. Those teeth, her manly jaw line, her Skeletor hands, those gaunt eyes … seriously, what’s not to drool over? But to her defense I saw the Governator’s mistress/housekeeper and holy crap Arnold, you just like ‘em homely don’t you?

What? Was that too mean? Too bad! This just goes to show that all the power and the money and the success and fame and the Hummers and the movies and the family pedigree and all that shit doesn’t get rid of our basic primal urges of wanting to go around and stick our Conan the Barbarian into some Twins, or to have our Red Heat pounded by a Kindergarten Cop. That’s just the way we’re wired, get over it society! But holy cripe how fortunate for the media and late night talk show hosts and ridiculous bloggers to have something this juicy to just fall in our … I mean … THEIR laps. It’s like that dream you have when there’s just money everywhere and you can’t pick it up fast enough, but the more you pick up the more you realize how worthless it is, but then when you wake up you’re all pissed because you thought it was real and how the good dream turns to shit so maybe it’s actually a nightmare like when your teeth are slowly crumbling out of your mouth when you’re talking to someone and you’re trying to push them back in while trying to not swallow the ones that fall into your mouth, but when you wake up you’re so fucking relieved that it wasn’t real and that maybe THAT one should actually be classified as a dream vs. a nightmare. Either way … where was I going with that? Oh yeah! I’m poor and unhappy so I’m just glad that when normal shit happens to the privileged, we get to jump all over it and talk about how lame they are and blow it so completely out of proportion as to take the focus off of us and project all of our shortcomings onto them which kinda sucks in its own right because now these people are just going to become more popular and make more money off of all this with the books and the shows and the Lifetime channel movies. Ugggggh!! What can’t I get paid for all the fucked up shit in my life?

Oh yeah, back to Maria. Nice teeth.

I vant yo baby !!

Beware: Exploding Babies

I don’t do a lot of flying, I have my reasons. One of them, certainly, is the fact that I don’t do a lot of traveling. I don’t think they have a lot of destinationless flights, and if they did, why would they? But when I do go somewhere, which as I’ve stated, I don’t, I usually don’t fly. And when ever someone asks me, trying and failing to mask their contempt and disgust like I just told them I don’t own a TV or that I’m literate, “Why don’t you fly?” I like to first joke with them “Because I wasn’t born on Krypton, a dying planet whose inhabitants my desperate father tried to warn of its impending doom. But in their arrogance they cursed him a fool and refused to listen to his pleas. Then, in defiance of the planetary council, he built an escape craft, large enough only for a tiny infant, I, their third choice for occupants, to be rocketed to the safety of a distant planet, this planet, this Earth. Though if I had been born there and had been sent here, my alien physiology would surely be fantastically affected by the radiation of this planet’s yellow sun, imbuing me with great powers, not the least of which could quite possibly be the gift of unaided personal flight.” And we laugh. And by we I usually mean me, because most of the time the people I tell that joke to will wander off midway through. Undeterred I always finish the joke, because it’s so whimsical and outrageous, it gets me every time. Krypton… where do I come up with these things?

The other reason I don’t fly is because of the ever-present threat of exploding babies.

Now you may say “Well, how big of a threat could exploding babies be? I’ve never been exploded by a baby.” To which I would say, that makes you one of the lucky ones. A statistic that I just now made up shows that three in every two people in America have been exploded by a baby. That is a true made up fact!

So when I hear of the “uproar” stemming from a photo taken by a busy body priest in Kansas City over the weekend, of brave air port security personnel putting their very lives on the line for the air faring general public by thoroughly patting down a suspicious, potentially explosive packed 8 month old, I just want to say “You shut up, you shut right the hell up before you set off that ticking baby!”

Did someone make a boom boom?

You see, Saturday the right Reverend Jacob Jester took a dirty picture of a felt up baby after he passed through security in the Kansas City International airport. The first question one might ask of course is, “Why the fuck was it any of this asshole’s god damned business in the first fucking place?” Which, despite the somewhat excessive use of vulgarity considering we’re speaking of a man of the cloth, I think is a fair question. This wasn’t the parents having a problem with it like the six-year-old from a little while back. This was a literally holier than thou air traveler who decided it was his job to make sure the world knew how he felt about baby security.

But moving past the obvious problems of a Reverend taking snap shots of child touching, we arrive at the question of “Is this TSA screening gone overboard?” An excellent question. Wait, did I say excellent? I meant dumb. A dumb, stupid question. The reason this toddler-erroist was being given the smooth hand was because it’s stroller set off an alarm during a screening for explosives (or so says the TSA). Now, the world that we currently live in necessitates us screening things like strollers for explosives. Whether or not that’s a world any of us ever imagined we’d be living in or not is another question for another day, but that’s the cold hard fact of where we are. And in this world, where people are tucking C4 under their balls and trying to light it with a Bic between peanuts and beverage service, if something sets of a “Go Boom Boom” siren, that something gets wiped with a rubber glove, no matter how adorable it might have been before we thought it could explode.

The parents, who were either trying to smuggle explosives onto a plane through very clever baby based means, or simply accidentally bought a strolled constructed from bomb, were said to be “very cooperative and the process was completely without incident” and apparently didn’t have a problem with the proceedings. They did what they had to do, which then included allowing their infant to get a little bit of the “‘ol rub ‘n tug” and then they went on their way, being transported in mid-air from where they were to where they went. End of story for them. They had no idea that footage of their child’s federal massage had become a Twitter sensation. So then the next question becomes, if the family didn’t have a problem with it, and they weren’t taking cupcake snaps of their off spring getting digitally manipulated by the deft fingers of justice, then why the fuck is it any one else’s business?

Reverend @JacobJester wants YOUR plane to be filled with exploding babies!

The TSA, whom everyone seems to have no problem beating up for trying to do what they’re tasked to do in what may largely be a system of mostly symbolic gestures but is still designed to protect people as best they can, said that while children are not excluded from security screenings, that they are reviewing ways to improve its procedures for “low-risk populations.” But Reverend Your Business is My Business told the Kansas City Star that “An 8-month-old doesn’t pose a threat to airplane or national security. I am grateful for TSA’s willingness and desire to protect, but I believe in this instance that was extreme,”

But I for one couldn’t disagree with Acting Home Land Security Chief Jester more on this point. Any parent will tell you that a small child is just one squirming bag of biological explosions, barely contained by thin layers of disposable absorbent pull ups. Most home-made explosives use bags of fertilizer, essentially ”doodies”. You stuff a fuse up the pooper of one of these things, wire it up just right, you’ve got a craptastrophe on your hands. And then where will your moral authority be Reverend? Plummeting 40,000 feet in a Pampers packed ball of smelly flames! That’s where!

So I say keep feelin’ up those babies air port security personnel. I’ll not fly better knowing that the skies are being protected from the clear and present, imminent threat, of air traffic’s new public enemy number one: exploding babies!

Friday The 13th Part IV : Osama Lives

You thought that was scary? Wait til you see Part V

Ok everyone, it’s safe to come outside now. We can now all go back to our regularly scheduled lives. Didn’t you hear? The boogie man is dead. Yeah!! He was all shot up in the head yesterday and then thrown in the ocean. Dead! Done! So now we’re all completely safe once again. Doesn’t it feel good, kinda like a Snuggle Fabric Softener commercial?

We can emerge from our storm shelters shielding our eyes with our forearms from the strangely bright sun that we haven’t seen in 10 years and go back to flying on airplanes without sweaty palm syndrome. We’re now once again safe to let our kids play at parks, we’re safe to go to shopping malls , safe to celebrate birthdays, go on road trips, hell, we’re even safe to go camping now. Or are we?

It's as safe as a fresh, warm pile of snuggly laundry

Haven’t you ever seen Friday the 13th? Dude ain’t dead! He’ll sink to the bottom of the ocean, bump up against some high voltage cable, his fingers will start twitching and he’ll emerge on the banks of some summer-camp lake late at night, fashion a turban mask and hide out in an abandoned cabin and wait to avenge his death on unsuspecting teen partiers lookin’ for a place to play “hide the weasel”.

THE BAD GUY NEVER DIES! It’s a metaphor folks, that’s just how it works. So if you now think all is well in the world because the Prez-o, the media and all your friends at work say it is because the machete wielding, hockey masked legend of the lake is dead, then may I suggest you think again. You can stab him, you can put an axe in his head, empale him on a fence post, track him down in the middle of a goddamn desert behind eighteen foot high barbed-wire walls, two security

You can't stop me! You can only hope to CONTAIN me!

gates, shoot him in the head, drag his body out to sea and dump him to the depths where King Triton rules over all sea creatures. No matter what you do, the body lying on the ground is going to creepily sit straight up with some scary ass orchestra music and return to kill next summer at a theatre near you.

Obama’s Birth Certificate Found In a Van Full of Candy

Here it is, now go back to being unemployed

Hey everyone, wow, we’re really sorry that this whole Obama/birth certificate thing got so way out of freakin’ control. We forgot that it was in the back of our van the whole time. Whoopsie right?? Silly us, we totally forgot that on one of our last roadtrips, Obama had it in his wallet and let us frame it. So we hung it inside the van so it would be “Officially Presidential”, like Air Force One, meaning we wouldn’t have to pay when crossing toll-bridges or when using parking garages. IT WAS AWESOME! And don’t forget that all the drive-thru food we could eat WAS FREE!! FREE G’DAMNIT!! So maybe when I say … forgot … maybe I meant … didn’t want to tell anyone. Well crap, would you? You know how much money I’ve saved over the last few months since this whole “prove you’re American” thing came out? Well I’d have to say it’s been WAY over $250. That’s a lot of Big Macs.

Here’s what I can’t quite wrap my little nugget around: When I had to renew my drivers license down at the good ol’ friendly DMV, I had to prove up and down with all kinds of documents and fingerprints and photos and fluids from places and a letter of recommendation from my 1st grade teacher and then had to recite the Cub Scout Promise while standing on a chair. Holy frakin’ shit! All of this just to renew a drivers license that I already had because I had previously aleady proved my citizenial worthiness? I can’t even IMAGINE how difficult it would be to become the Holy Ambassador to these United Lines on a Map. I mean seriously! I’m sure he had to show a birth certificate to get student loans at Harvard Law right? To get married, when his book was published, to be elected into the Senate, to say “hey I’m running for President”, and then finally to win the whole goddamn enchilada?!? So this whole time he was faking it? Well if that’s the case then holy llama shit! Slap my ass, paint me pink and call me Gertrude. Oh wait, that gives me an idea!

Van Full of Candy is officially announcing our candidacy for President of the United States in the 2012 U.S. presidential
election. And to keep things simple, we’re providing our birth certificate right now, right here for the nation to see, just so there isn’t any … confusion.

So stick THAT in your apple and smoke it

Donald Trump: The President We Deserve

I think that's Barbara Boxer on the right...

We can name more Jersey Shore cast members than our state’s Senators. We have commercials telling our kids to go outside and play. We are steaming into the twenty first century, powered by wheezing, poisonous 19th century technology. And the little pocket sized super computer that we bought six months ago, that tiny little thing that would have been considered nothing short of wizard class magic ten short years ago, we can’t wait to throw that worthless piece of shit away the split second they let us buy the new version that’s 3% slimmer and has TWO cameras in six months.

In a time when the goal is no longer to achieve anything laudable, or to contribute anything to the betterment of mankind for future generations, when to excel and be exceptional is seen as being kind of a dick move, when dignity and self respect are quaint and adorable notions of the past and the most sought after personal goal is to have one’s own reality show, who better to represent this failed generation than Donald Trump?

We all know that he’s probably not going to win. It seems like that would be a given. But just because he’s probably not, and that he never should, and to even think about it makes the brain wet its little brain pants, doesn’t mean that he couldn’t. My Governor killed invisible aliens and was Danny DeVito’s hilariously implausible twin for 90 minutes… So, don’t talk to me about won’t and shouldn’t.

This is a man who builds giant, forty story, gold plated failure penises and wallpapers them with his name. This is a man who brags about supposedly fucking over a dictator in a land deal like he’s waiting for you to high five him. This is a man who feuds with Rosie O’Donnell and has gotten backing from such great political titans as Bret Michaels and Gary Busey.

My foreign policy is: Let's Rassle!

There was a time, I assume, when we as a people wanted to be represented in the highest halls of power by those that we believed were the best of us. When we wanted people smarter than us to be in charge of important things like, making sure the French didn’t try to fondle our balls a second longer than we wanted them to, or to tell the Germans to cut it out already. The idea of choosing a leader because you think it might be cool to hang out with them and tell squirrel stompin’ storries over a couple Old’ Milwaukees, or because you think he might flip off the King of Arabistan, call Russia a fag and punch the United Nations in the taint, is all fucking insane.

If Donald Ulysses Trump were elected President of these God’s United States, sure, it would be hilarious. I’m not about to question the entertainment value of it. The country would finally complete its transformation into one giant reality show, issuing a flip camera and a web domain to every citizen within its borders. Camera crews would follow the Trump at all times, he would have a confessional room built into the oval office, and we would no doubt all be murdered by the outrageously inappropriate actions of Secretary of State Omarosa.

But… what was I saying? I’m not sure really. The more I talk about it, the more I wonder why I was even thinking of fighting this at all. I’m sure Vice President Gene Simmons couldn’t possibly be worse than Biden, and that’s a man that knows how to brand a marginal franchise into, pathetic, yet unquestionable profitability. And personal pride is over rated anymore anyway.

Let’s just face the facts that Abraham Lincoln isn’t going to show up again. And besides, we wouldn’t let him. Why would we want to? It’s not about what’s best for us anymore, it’s about what’s most ironically hilarious. This is what we get, this is what we deserve.

Trump Oh-Twelve!