Jesus
Santa Christ Is Coming To Town
What better way to bring in the Yuletide season with the wonderful smell of Gingerbread Lattes and White Christmas playing in the background. Storming the malls on black Friday and hopefully not trampling anyone in the process, let alone being the trample-ee. Getting all the things our family wants and eating all the things that make us feel good about the season. Santa and Rudolph, snowflakes and chestnuts, presents and misletoe and … oh wait … what about Jesus? No, not your gardener, the little baby from the book who’s mama never did the nasty … no, not that movie about the barren mother who went on an adoption spree … the freakin’ son of God people, come on !! So let’s go back to the beginning of this nonsense run-on sentence and start over … what better way to bring in the Yuletide season then by combining the things we love, the things we have faith in, the things we know are both real … right? Enter Loudoun County Courthouse in historic Leesburg, Virginia … virgin, Virginia … I smell co-ink-ee-dink. The good people of the courthouse decided to let the first 10 applicants put up an art display, on the courthouse lawn for the holidays, and here’s what they got for their trust in mankind … I like to call it … Santa “Bones” Christ …
Apparently some of the residents in the area did not like this art installation and neither did the councilpeople who decided that this would be an ok idea. “I just think that these folks are trying to ruin the holiday spirit in the name of the first amendment,” Leesburg councilmember Ken Reid said. “They are just very disrespectful of the community.” But the odd thing was that they didn’t seem to mind a very similar wood carving in church the following Sunday … strange.
American Atheists Unveil New Super Hero Team: M.Y.T.H.S.
Just in time for Christmas: the holy celebration of the birth of the one true lord who shall judge us all at the right hand of the father as we pass from this mortal realm to the infinite of our judgement, the folks at American Atheist have introduced America’s new favorite super team:
M.Y.T.H.S.!
(Mentoring Youths Trough Heroics Super!)
(From right to left: President Chupacabra, Secret Beard, Power Heart and of course, Aquaman.)
On Earth 7, Doug Parks was just your normal, every day, run of the mill live stock de-boner. He had come from a long line of live stock de-boners and expected he would live the rest of his life, going through the motions of the work a day world, removing the skeletal structure from farm animals for $9.50 an hour before someday retiring to a little place that a life time of de-boning and careful savings had bought him. That is until the day that his entire family was kidnapped by a squishy bag of goat meat that called itself “Vengepuddle”. Leaving the rescue of his family to the proper authorities Doug would go on to receive pieces of his loved ones in the mail for the next seven years.
Seeing that there was something wrong with the system Doug Parks launched a successful Presidential campaign on the back of his blue collar, rags to riches roots. Then, one day while touring an alternative energy facility President Doug Parks was sucked into an interdimensional vortex and deposited here on Mega Earth 1A, where he fights to protect a world that fears and distrusts him.
Dwight T. Eiffeltower was a sickly young lad who was rejected by the Army Corps of Engineers when his patchy, speckled facial hair caused a decorated war hero to commit suicide at a recruiting table that Dwight was simply walking past. Encouraged by a sense of responsibility for the Nine Star Admiral’s death Dwight volunteered for a secret government program that he’d read about on a public rest room wall. Eiffeltower was injected with a top secret serum consisting of Racist Honey Bee Pollen and Haunted Low Fat Milk and bombarded with Gramma Rays. The experiment seemed to be an embarrassing failure as Dwight was immediately killed to death and stayed dead for twenty-eight years.
But finally, after clawing his way out of his own grave Dwight T. Eiffeltower emerged again with strange powers beyond reason and a voice in his head that was not his own. Upon returning to life Dwight found that he had been possessed by the spirit of Nine Star Admiral Beauregard Tinwhistle. Dwight knew that he and Beauregard must use their new found powers to fight injustice where ever they found it, and so was born “Secret Beard”.
Secret Beard has the power to make anyone, anywhere forget facial hair.
While rummaging through a cardboard box full of donations behind an abandoned thrift store one Flag Day, Carlos Arriba discovered a heart shaped amulet glowing with energy. When no one would buy it from him Carlos decided to keep the stupid thing anyway then. Then, one afternoon, while taking a break from urinating on his possessions and screaming at invisible cookie people that he was certain were trying to kill him in the back of the alley he called home, Carlos took a moment to examine the back of the amulet where he found writing in a language that he had never seen before. Suddenly, as if possessed by the invisible cookie people themselves Carlos slipped into a trance, recited the words on the amulet and was transformed into the being known as “Power Heart”.
Able to seek out and destroy bad cholesterol where ever it dwells, Power Heart is the scourge of the Buttery Under World of New Oldly: The City of Whenever. Now, when Carlos speaks his magical oath “No fatties!” he becomes POWER HEART!
And Aquaman punches people with fish.
Together they visit inner city youth shelters, teaching children how to fill out job applications and the importance of adequate tipping while occasionally saving the world from the ruthless machinations of The Orange Bucket and his Legion of Fuck Offs.
So where ever there is three for one wing nights, when ever someone drops their keys into a stripper, how ever somebody forgets what they just came in for, there is just one force to scream for like a lost child in a lost child factory:
www.atheists.org Presents:
M.Y.T.H.S.!
This Time For Realzies: Judgement Day, Part 2: The Judgementing
Uh-oh, remember back in May, how the world was supposed to end with a bunch of goody goodies floating up into heaven and flashing their balls at us? And then remember how that didn’t happen and it was all hilarious? And remember how we all laughed at the guy who said the world was going to end with sack flashing god flights? And he was all like, “Well fuck you, it did happen, it was just invisible and you’ll see in six months when you’re starin’ up at my taint!” And we were all like, “Yeah, what ever crazy man, go be crazy somewhere else while we get back to not worrying about angry invisible rapture.”
Well, do you remember what day he said it was going to really happen for realzies this time? Well you know who DOES remember? Jesus.
Tomorrow, at “when ever you see believers in the sky” o’clock, this stupid little stupid planet full of stupid is gonna be over! It’s really going to happen this time! Seriously guys!
Have you noticed how many earthquakes there’ve been recently? Why, I read that just today there was one in San Francisco. SAN FRANCISCO of all places, experiencing an earth quake, co-incidentally the DAY BEFORE THE PREDICTED END OF THE FUCKING WORLD!? Did I say co-incidence? I meant NOT A GOD DAMNED CO-INCIDENCE AT ALL! And what about those floods and hurricanes and, you know, stuff. The world is flying apart at the seams people! Open your eyes!
I for one am here and now proclaiming my life long love of God and Jesus and everybody. Peter and Luke and who ever else. John, there was a John, right? I love all those mother fuckers. I always have, and I know that they’d never let their biggest fan be swallowed whole by this dying shit ball that I’ll be so glad when its gone! I’m gonna be kickin’ it up in heaven, with like, eighty tight angel ladies all complimenting me on my love of god and my indeterminate amount of abs. Me and JC and the Father, we’re all gonna hang out and laugh at the world writhing in agony below us, tip back a couple Four Lokos and play a little game of “No YOU’RE more awesome.” It’s gonna be so amazing and you’re not even gonna be there.
What? Wait, what? God’s not accepting any more applicants. On May 21st we were all judged and he’s just needed the last six months to warm up his planet splitter chain saw? Well that’s, that’s not really fair. I mean, I’ve just been comparison shopping. Like any good spiritual being, I’ve been pricing out deities, trying to find which one was right for me. ‘Cause, isn’t that what it says in the Bible, “Thou shalt have a fair amount of time to look around and make sure that you’re absolutely positive that you’ve made the best decision for you about having no other Gods before me.”? That’s in there somewhere, right?! RIGHT!?!
Oh science, I’m fucked! I’m fucked, you’re fucked, we’re all double plus super fucked! Alright, you know what? Fine. I’m good with that. I’ve lived a full, meaningful… productive… happy… life.
NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Oh Darwin! Oh Einstein! Newton help me! Alright, it’s not too late. I’ve got, I don’t know, some amount of time between eight and thirty-two hours left. If I’m going to hell I’m going there like I’ve got a god damned rocket strapped to my balls!
If I hurry, I’ve still got enough time to murder a drug dealer, have sex with the corpse, steal their drugs, sell them to a kindergarten class, maybe blow up a petting zoo. Oooh! I know! I’ll steal a car with a baby in the back seat, drive it through a handicapped nun picnic before finally crashing it into the river and lighting it on fire. Then, I’ll take a stack of Bibles that I’ve been saving for just such an occasion and give them a gathered crowd of homosexuals and feminists and activist judges and abortion doctors and we’ll all stand around in a big circle and jerk each other off onto them! Afterwards, we can sacrifice a new born lamb to, I don’t know, the wind or some shit.
Unless of course you’ll still have me Jesus, in which case, I’ll try not to do most of that.
Good luck with Hell suckers! Or… See you in Hell suckers!
Science: It’s Not an Exact Science
Last week science made a wild ass guess about how many things exist and we were just supposed to let that shit slide…
A paper published last week by the scientific journal PLoS Biology, which is a complete fucking guess, says that there are 8.7 million species on Earth. Of which, they completely make up that there are about 7.77 million species of animal, probably 298,000 of plants, give or take, more or less your guess is as good as mine 611,000 fungi, who the fuck knows 36,400 protozoa and completely made up 27,500 chromists. Of course, only seven percent of those fungi, 12 percent of the animals and 72 percent of plants have actually been identified, but why the fuck not just say that there’s so many fucking more?
Now obviously, there’s a shit ton of things crawling around on this out of control mud ball, flying around at fantastical speeds through the vast voidiness, but only we, only humanity, has the arrogance to think that they can just throw out a number with little to no basis in reality and say “Shit yeah, that’s what is. AH GOTS THUMBS, MUTHA!”
Apparently before this new and improved absolute total of all that there is, the previous estimates by other completely guessing sciencemans has ranged from 3 million to 100 million. So why then is this guesstimate any more legit than the 100 million number? Why do these fellahs get to say that “86 percent of all terrestrial species and 91 percent of all marine species have yet to be discovered, described and catalogued” and they get to be treated with any more respect or seriousness than the guy at the bus stop screaming about how he just discovered a new race of invisible mites living in his toes?
If you answered anything other than “Butterflies stole my meatloaf!” while hitting yourself in the thighs with paper plates, you’re wrong.
So I’ve decided I’m going to beat science at it’s own insane game: wildly speculating about shit you can’t even begin to know and calling it science!
Painstakingly researched and documented wild guess number one: there are more than sixty hundred trillion batrillion microscopic road warriors living in our intestines, battling infectious disease which keeps us from being eaten alive by the hostile surroundings of Earth’s atmosphere. It is only after the last of these wild, post apocalyptic survivors, invisible to the naked eye, is killed by the forces of this otherwise inhospitable planet, that we finally die.
Carefully examined and documented complete bullshit made up fact B: When we die, a series of small explosions are triggered inside our cardio vascular system which trap our collected demons, keeping them from escaping into into your attending physician and taking over the physical realm. These tiny “vein bombs” are implanted in each of us by Jesus himself, immediately before we are born.
Sober, reasoned, completely ridiculous insanity that I’m presenting as truth Sigma: There are as many as 188 quadrillion or as few as 9 flavors of pudding still completely undiscovered by man.
There, I’ve just published a paper in the VFoC Journal of Sciencesque Factish Foundings. And my body is completely hollow and inhabited by a race of intangible plastic army men who have been locked in combat with the robots in my leg for what they perceive as six thousand years, with nary a resolution in sight!
And that’s entirely as plausible as almost anything else that these “respected” sciencers get paid to crap out.
Science: It's Not an Exact Science
Last week science made a wild ass guess about how many things exist and we were just supposed to let that shit slide…
A paper published last week by the scientific journal PLoS Biology, which is a complete fucking guess, says that there are 8.7 million species on Earth. Of which, they completely make up that there are about 7.77 million species of animal, probably 298,000 of plants, give or take, more or less your guess is as good as mine 611,000 fungi, who the fuck knows 36,400 protozoa and completely made up 27,500 chromists. Of course, only seven percent of those fungi, 12 percent of the animals and 72 percent of plants have actually been identified, but why the fuck not just say that there’s so many fucking more?
Now obviously, there’s a shit ton of things crawling around on this out of control mud ball, flying around at fantastical speeds through the vast voidiness, but only we, only humanity, has the arrogance to think that they can just throw out a number with little to no basis in reality and say “Shit yeah, that’s what is. AH GOTS THUMBS, MUTHA!”
Apparently before this new and improved absolute total of all that there is, the previous estimates by other completely guessing sciencemans has ranged from 3 million to 100 million. So why then is this guesstimate any more legit than the 100 million number? Why do these fellahs get to say that “86 percent of all terrestrial species and 91 percent of all marine species have yet to be discovered, described and catalogued” and they get to be treated with any more respect or seriousness than the guy at the bus stop screaming about how he just discovered a new race of invisible mites living in his toes?
If you answered anything other than “Butterflies stole my meatloaf!” while hitting yourself in the thighs with paper plates, you’re wrong.
So I’ve decided I’m going to beat science at it’s own insane game: wildly speculating about shit you can’t even begin to know and calling it science!
Painstakingly researched and documented wild guess number one: there are more than sixty hundred trillion batrillion microscopic road warriors living in our intestines, battling infectious disease which keeps us from being eaten alive by the hostile surroundings of Earth’s atmosphere. It is only after the last of these wild, post apocalyptic survivors, invisible to the naked eye, is killed by the forces of this otherwise inhospitable planet, that we finally die.
Carefully examined and documented complete bullshit made up fact B: When we die, a series of small explosions are triggered inside our cardio vascular system which trap our collected demons, keeping them from escaping into into your attending physician and taking over the physical realm. These tiny “vein bombs” are implanted in each of us by Jesus himself, immediately before we are born.
Sober, reasoned, completely ridiculous insanity that I’m presenting as truth Sigma: There are as many as 188 quadrillion or as few as 9 flavors of pudding still completely undiscovered by man.
There, I’ve just published a paper in the VFoC Journal of Sciencesque Factish Foundings. And my body is completely hollow and inhabited by a race of intangible plastic army men who have been locked in combat with the robots in my leg for what they perceive as six thousand years, with nary a resolution in sight!
And that’s entirely as plausible as almost anything else that these “respected” sciencers get paid to crap out.
AAAHHHHHH!!! (Apocalypse Edition: Parte the Somethingth)
It’s the end of the world! Oh sweet Jesus who up until this very moment when you might actually be of some use to me, I have heretofore ignored and denied, IT’S THE END OF THE MONKEY FIGHTING WORLD!
Don’t believe me?! Well fuck you! ‘Cause it’s real Jack! You’re dead! I’m dead! We’re all fuckin’ dead and we don’t even know it! But I do! I know it! You don’t, but I do! I know it! I know it and now you know it! So fuckin’ disregard the first part of this statement! Because now you know it JACK! WE’RE FUCKIN’ DEAD!
Alright… Okay… Alright… Breathe… Deep breath. New pants. Liquor. More liquor. More pants. Alright.
I can’t stop crying. And I’m not sure if it’s from fear or joy. Or foy… or, jear… But the end of days is at hand people. Oh yeah, call me a lunatic, as I have called many others in the past. It’s easy, just look: “I’m a fucking nut job crazy person who’s blind faith in the unseeable is as sad as it is moronic. Someone should put this pathetic excuse for me out of my misery, if just so that I don’t get to see the coming end of the world that I’m waiting for.” See, just that easy, I’ve belittled and discredited myself in one swift movement… Wow, I’m kind of a dick…
But you may be wondering why I’m now so convinced that the end is here and now. Why, after so often calling fans of the smiting lord blithering nut candy, I am now so certain that I’m going to be paying for my heresy unless I start sucking the blithering nut candy of those who can put in a good word with king nut candy… Who I should probably start referring to as my personal lord and savior, because continuing to call him hurtful names is probably doing very little to help my standing.
Well I’ll tell you why. THIS SHIT IS WHY!
Lake turned to blood. That’s some OT (Old Testament) shit right there son! That’s vengeful, child killing, world flooding, here’s my delicious fruit that you can live around but better not even think of enjoying, mountain top thou-shalt-not shit right there! And this is in Texas, where God is only slightly less worshiped than High School football, so this is some serious business!
Now sure, you can try to use some godless sciencey “facts” and “non-freaking out rational thought” to explain this lake suddenly and miraculously turning to blood. You can SAY that it’s more likely the result of Chromatiacea bacteria thriving in oxygen-deprived water that is killing the fish of this almost dried up stagnant, drought ravaged reservoir giving it the delicious, thick hearty blood like tint. But that’s exactly what a godless heathen like you WOULD say if you weren’t so damned busy killing babies and drinking their juices at your gay orgy weddings for communists!
But you know what, since I’m now a warrior of Christ, ready and waiting to be raised from this damned place to my rightful station in the mutha fuckin’ CLOUDS, I can take your flimsy argument and just Goddize it up any damned way! Droughts? This is the result of droughts? Well, what exactly is a drought, except a reverse flood? And who’s literature’s biggest flood lover? MY SKY MONSTER!– NO! Not… Not sky monster. What’s the other thing, the– OH! My God… person. Lord? Something… And a bunch of dead fish? That’s some kind of tragedy? Fish are a bunch of lazy freeloaders just swimmin’ back and forth over our borders drinkin’ their own poop. Build the dang water fence!
And speaking of the reportedly “Good” book which I fully intend on reading as soon as I get the chance; this is all in there, warning us from Heavenland that this day would come. Indiana preacher Paul Begley went to the YouTubes to tell the world about it.
“The second angel poured out his bowl on the sea, and it turned into blood like that of a dead person, and every living thing in the sea died,” my new best friend Mr. Preacher Pastor Begley Poperson said. “The third angel poured out his bowl on the rivers and springs of water, and they became blood.”
IT’S RIGHT THERE! The order doesn’t matter, I seem to recall making up something about Jesus or one of the others saying something about “The first being the last and the third being the first.” or some such nonsensical, contradictory shit used specifically to help my narrative! Bowls are being poured people, and that’s the important part. Blood bowls. Angels, with bowls filled with blood, are pouring them into our reservoirs and killing our fish! And if that ain’t 100% scripture proof, then I don’t know what the fuck is… But that’s probably just because I don’t know what the fuck is.
So this is it folks, it’s fer rillzies this time. End of the world time. Unless it isn’t, in which case next time will absolutely be it. You see, God knows it’s not the eternity of gnashing and wailing that will be the true torment for the nonbelievers and sinners of the world: it’s the anticipation that really gets ’em…
Hail whom ever is willing to accept me into which ever afterlife is true!
Bases covered.
Hey Poor People: Go Fuck Yourself
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…
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.
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!
VFoC "LIVE" on The Comedy Buffet's Podcast
The good fellas at The Comedy Buffet were kind enough to let us stink up their otherwise hilarious podcast the other night. We’d like to apologize in advance for our uncontrolable crass behavior, rude language, and complete disregard to fat kids, cross-dressing boys, and religion in general, … yeah right, who am I kidding? Let’s face it, there’s just not enough room for those “types” here on this earth that’s about to overheat anyway, so forget all that bullshit I just said, click the link below and hold the F on because here we go !!!
Click Here to … HEAR !!!
VFoC “LIVE” on The Comedy Buffet’s Podcast
The good fellas at The Comedy Buffet were kind enough to let us stink up their otherwise hilarious podcast the other night. We’d like to apologize in advance for our uncontrolable crass behavior, rude language, and complete disregard to fat kids, cross-dressing boys, and religion in general, … yeah right, who am I kidding? Let’s face it, there’s just not enough room for those “types” here on this earth that’s about to overheat anyway, so forget all that bullshit I just said, click the link below and hold the F on because here we go !!!
Click Here to … HEAR !!!
Can I get a Pack of Crusty Lung Light Menthol 100 Extra Slims Please?
Good news everybody! It’s still legal to suck disease straight down your throat, and it just got a whole lot sexier!
Word came down today that the smooth, rich flavor that just makes life worth living is now going to come in new, “edgier” goth doom packaging. Adorned in “labels that depict in graphic detail the negative health effects of tobacco use… the corpse of a smoker, diseased lungs, and a mother holding her baby with smoke swirling around them” and hip new catch phrases like “Smoking can kill you” and “Cigarettes cause cancer”… Hooray?
This will of course do very little to curb smoking, likely as much as, say, distributing servings of heroin (that’s how they’re doled out, right? Serving sizes with nutritional information on the side? I haven’t caught up on my DVRed episodes of “The Oxycontin Express”, please, no spoilers) in mylar party balloons with the words “Don’t” scribbled on the side in the blood of your own children. See, we as Americans often do stupid shit, that’s kind of our thing. Not that smoking is strictly an American past time, ’cause it ain’t, but we know how to put our own particular child lock brand of insulting stupidity on it. It’s the American way.
There’s nothing in this latest move by the FDA about banning the sale of cigarettes or tobacco products. Nothing to remove from the shelves a product that is responsible for approximately 443,000 deaths a year. Their solution is simply to make the packs hard to look at and hope to scare smokers straight. By making half the pack look like a snuff film, telling them that “Eating poison will surely assassinate you” and giving them the 1-800 number to a stop smoking hot line, the FDA has done its job and made the world safe again. Smokers today are allowed to smoke legally only in a two foot square cabinet under their bathroom sink which upon moving must be shipped to a special cigarette nook disposal facility in North Dakota where it is then buried three miles deep under a thick protective layer of E.T. Atari 2600 game cartridges until Jesus can safely exorcise all of the inky black cancer vapors or the sun expands to the point of devouring the solar system and all life as we know it… Which ever comes first. Making the packs scary ain’t gonna stop smokers from smoking their smoke making smokes.
Debating whether or not cigarettes should be made illegal is pointless. They never will be. They’ll be $60 a pack and sold wrapped in photographs of the grandchildren that cancer will prevent you from ever meeting before they’re made illegal. Should they be? Well, the way I see it, the key to whether something should be illegal or not should be whether or not that something’s sale would be approved if it were presented as a brand new product today.
I personally have a product that has been proven to, if used properly, fucking murder you. When can I start selling this thing to children while telling anyone trying to arrest me that I am in no way trying to sell them to children? My new product is called “Chainsaw to the Face”. And just as the name suggests, it is the rich, refreshing taste of chainsaw, delivered conveniently and comfortably, directly to the god damned face. Chainsaws are legal, faces are most certainly still legal, despite all of big anti-face’s efforts to make them otherwise. Why couldn’t I sell boxes of “Chainsaw to the Face” in every gas station and drug store across God’s own free land. Go ahead FDA, slather it in warning labels if it’ll make you feel like you’re doing your job. Dip our boxes in pictures of the results of the use of our product: old people with their faces chainsawed off. “Chainsaw to the Face” is just too addictive, that’s why we secretly try to hook our customers when they’re young, to get the most possible “Chainsaw to the Face” years out of them before, inevitably, they are killed by the proper, clinical, only possible use of “Chainsaw to the Face”: a chainsaw to the face…
The only thing the FDA can think to do, or will be allowed to do, to a product that kills 1 in every 693 people in this country is to make half of the pack look like what will happen if you use what’s inside as directed. Nobody at this point in human history doesn’t know that cigarettes are bad for you. The last person born before packs of cigarette had to legally start telling people that they wanted to murder you for buying them, turned 56 this year. Seeing exactly how cigarettes plan on doing it every time you pick up your pack isn’t going to make many people suddenly realize that their sucking a dozen kinds of poison into their face might not be the best thing for them… They could start packaging cigarettes in people recently murdered by cigarettes and it would have little effect on their purchase power.
By the estimates of this article and of new studies 20% of Americans smoke: about 46 million Smokey-Americans. By implementing this new horrific labeling, the FDA, BY THEIR OWN ESTIMATES, believe they will reduce the number of smokers by 213,000 in 2013 “with smaller additional reductions through 2031”. So their big victory against tobacco is that by making half of the pack look like a cereal killer’s frigidaire, they are going to reduce the number of smokers in the United States by… wait for it… 0.46%! Twice as many people will still die in 2013 from smoking, as their new horror porn warning labels will save over the next 18 years…
The tobacco companies are laughing their tar covered balls off at you FDA.
Cigarettes got in on the ground floor of murdering Americans with their products. tobacco products have been killing Americans as long as there’ve been Americans. And if one of our nation’s original biggest exports had been cocaine of heroin or Chainsaws to the Face, then they would be just as inexorably entrenched in American commerce as the tobacco industry.
So good for you tobacco, you made yourself too important to have to give a shit that you’re murdering your customers and too big to be stopped. Good for you.
Van Full of Candy 