Hey Poor People: Go Fuck Yourself

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It’s no secret that the rich despise the poor. This hatred stems from a couple very different, very dark places in the place that at one time may or may not have housed a soul. Either 1) the rich person was once poor, and the very sight of the un-monied sends shivers down their spine, reminding them of the life they fought out of, frightened every day that someone will take it all away from them and send them back to the horrors of non-richness. of B) they have never known a minute of want in their entire privileged life and are so out of touch, with no reference for the plight of the soiled dirty people, they don’t understand how everyone doesn’t own a drawer full of platinum dipped, emerald encrusted cock rings, except that their abject lazy and unwillingness to make something of themselves makes them despise them and their worn more than once clothing.

There’s really no other way to explain the mind rapingly unnecessary extravagances that the rich continue to treat themselves to when surrounded by a world that at best is barely scraping by and is at worst, scraping off a bite of those who failed to scrape by.

The latest luxury item being offered to the bored rich collector of things that they should be ashamed of is this beaut…

The "Zaffiro Iridium": More luxury than your face could ever need.
The "Zaffiro Iridium": More luxury than your face could ever need.

Feast your eyes on the majesty of the only razor greater than yourself.

Now, you may be asking, “Why has a razor for the wasteful wealthy pissed you off so very much Mr. Blog? It’s just a razor, what harm could it possibly do to you and your constantly yelly face?” And it’s a fair question. Just looking at this face deforestation utensil, it looks no more special than your average Gillette. Frankly, it actually looks kind of ugly. A razor is generally a fairly harmless bathroom expenditure and this one looks like you could probably buy a bag of three of them for five bucks at CVS. But if that were the case, I wouldn’t have been shouting at the sky for the last three hours, now would I? Well, okay, I probably would have, but at least this gave me a somewhat defensible reason.

You see, if you’d like to scrape the whiskers from your face in the most luxurious, exclusive way known to the abhorrent excess of man, you can get yourself your very own Zafirro Iridium for the bargain basement price of JUST… $100,000.

No, I didn’t just have a stroke and lean on the zero key for a comically long period of time: that’s the real fucking price. For only $100,000 you can stride confidently across the face of your own bought and paid for planet with chops as smooth as a starving child’s malnourished ass cheeks.

"Oh good, my shaving razor's HANDLE has arrived. Send someone poor to fetch that for me."
"Oh good, my shaving razor's HANDLE has arrived. Send someone poor to fetch that for me."

And you know what, you get your very last penny’s worth, because the Zafirro Iridium isn’t made with space age technology, that’s for poor assholes. No, the Zafirro Iridium is made from fucking SPACE! See, if Zafirro’s razor sounds sort of familiar in a weird, sci-fi kind of way, that’s because it gets its name from the material it’s made from “Iridium”. What is iridium you may be wondering? Well you see, most of the iridium found on our planet is “the result of crashed meteorites”… That’s right, this razor is made of space rocks. Actually, scratch that. The HANDLE is made of space rocks. The fucking handle is made of iridium, an “extremely scarce and expensive metal that is so dense, it could survive a drop into molten lava”. Not the business end of this $100,000 indestructible face smoother but just the HANDLE, the LEAST IMPORTANT PART of this thing is made of a Superman metal from a doomed planet far, far away that has crash landed on Earth.

So then, if the thing that holds the blade is made of metal that can leap tall buildings in a single bound, what the hell fuck could the actual blade be made of? Sharpened unicorn bones? Laser carved shards of a brown dwarf star? Jesus’ finger nail clippings? No, that’s ridiculous, nothing quite so extravagant and fantastical, the blades of this $100,000 dollar shaver are simply made from artificially grown sapphire… That’s all… I don’t even know what that means or if the reality of what the blades actually are is even less insane than the other options I threw on the table.

Zafirro, which apparently only exists to sell these razors, is only offering 99 of these grotesque impulse buys to the money soaked “public”, adding one more irresistible feature to lure in the bahudratrillionaires: exclusivity. The only thing the super rich love more than buying more comically expensive things that shouldn’t cost nearly so much, is knowing that they will be one of only a handful of people on the planet to own it.

To say this is unnecessary is a gross understatement, but that doesn’t mean that people don’t have the right to spend their money how ever they see fit. What makes me so angry is when I see something like this and then, foolishly, put it in perspective. The poverty line in the contiguous United States for the year of our lord 2000 and 11 for a family of 4 (with all family members 18 years of age or over) is $22,350. So, give those four families a couple extra bucks in walkin’ around money to waste on frivolous nonsense that the poor are known to throw their money away on, such as food and electricity, and 16 people could live the lavish life of the just barely not impoverished for an entire year for the price of a single, solitary, volcano proof grooming tool…

It’s better not to think about these things, I wish I didn’t. But I do, and that’s why I’m angry all the time. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go get a ten pack of Bics at the dollar store and try to resist the urge to cut my hands off with them… BYE NOW!

Beware: Exploding Babies

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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?
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!
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!