Jeremy Spoke On Cable News Today

Posted on April 5, 2013 by

Pictured: Brian Williams.

I have a confession to make: I have rape fantasies about Megyn Kelly. In them, I basically perfect Star Trek transporter technology, and I beam her into my cave of unending tortures and tolerance. My vinegar strokes generally come when she is being forced to lick Sarah Palin’s asshole, and neither of them are enjoying it that much, because that’s what makes it squishable. That and the part when she tells me she shouldn’t have to because “she was a real lawyer once before the hair bleaching and the Kubrickian brain washing.” It’s not my fault, I just have this natural inclination toward Muslim eye-for-an-eye philosophy after being subjected to so much Catholic indoctrination. Also, I am a pervert.

Now my favorite go-to Fox News punishment pig has done good and challenged the gun nut intellectual equivalent of Ernie on ecstasy when the rhetoric finally got so bad even a friggin prime time Fox pundit had to say, “Well hold right the fuck on.” Something that hasn’t happened since an intern told Mike Huckabee his latest virgin sacrifice to Jesus and capitalism Hucka-wouldn’t.

(Hereis a video concerning Megyn Kelly making actual almost realistic distinctions between 10 and 30 dead elementary school children, and a convenient retelling in case you like to read)

You can tell by the tenor of my previous paragraphs that I am well past too-little-too-little-clevage-after-your-pregnancy with this bitch. I didn’t even watch it. I didn’t have to. And you are reading my opinion on it.  Who’s the hot dog now, Barry Bostwick?

The short “I am a mother now” hair somehow makes her seem sluttier.

30 rounds of ammo? Ten? Who gives a five year old girl’s crinkly ballsack? Here is one round, gun nuts. You can save it to shoot the monkey president you didn’t vote for when he doesn’t come to take your guns, or you can fucking kill yourself. In either case, you are a clown sprawled alone on his mother’s spare room floor with his tiny Arian dick in his hand. We didn’t rise up when the Bush administration killed thousands of our soldiers and many thousands more innocent Iraqis and Afghans for his Hatfield and McCoy global hissy fit. We enjoyed The New Adventures of Old Christinewhile thousands were displaced from their homes for the Super Litter Box during Katrina. We held signs over our limp, impotent humanity when they took away our unionizing rights. We barely took to the streets when the richest of us made it publicly clear they would genuinely enjoy putting us all in fucking dunk tanks once they ensured we were all homeless and on bread lines. Do you honestly think you’re going to need to fire off a single round – - let alone 30 in the course of a minute – - because our admittedly faulted president thinks we should all be able to figure out what that rash on our balls is all about without paying hundreds of dollars? Do you need a killing machine for this horrifying jock itch that plagues my evenings with sleeplessness and wallowing in my homegrown dick mushrooms? Because if you think that will help…

The internet insists this is also her, and not Chelsey Lately pretending to be as hot as she thinks she is.

I don’t want to hear about your gun rights, and who’s plot it is to put white people in ovens like in the good ole days, only now it is you.Your second amendment rights are literal shit to me next to a 7 year-old with a bullet hole in his amygdala. This is the plan to save kids from being shot in the head. A noble goal. If you have a better one, give it a go. Until your plan is to make sure we all have universal nut job crazy head care, you can shut the fuck up about your gun rights. Because if you are more worried about your murder machines than solutions to making sure a psychopath doesn’t find it a walk in the park to mow down 20 first graders in as many seconds, then your opinion doesn’t count. You are literally a media non-entity and I do not feel bad about it. I am fucking Whitney Houston incarnate, cocksuckers. I have no legally binding kids, and I still believe the children are our future. So sit the hell down and let the adults have a goddamned conversation, for once in your cousin licking, Heston rimming, crotch monkey lubing, Randian pornographic existences we politely agree to let you call lives.

… and Megyn, I will see you in t-minus 3 minutes.

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Oh Yes, Oh Yes, Oh Yes! The Big Chucklehead Contest!

Posted on March 25, 2013 by

Mickey. The teenager they trusted with the key to the most lethal thing ever built in an American high school.

By: Micky from It’s A Wonderful Life

What’s the matter, Henry VI? Bored? Did you know there are teenagers getting knocked up all the time? And did you know that teenage girls aren’t known for their intelligence, even when they are not in massively stressful, life-altering situations? And did you further know that there is a place you can rip them larger cloacae than their unplanned get will in about seven and a half months?

I’ve got the key.

The… key to making hapless, vulnerable people suffer. I feel like that wasn’t as obvious as it should have – - look, it’s Yahoo! Answers, OK?

Hurry up and get your answers over to her, you only have four days left! I know kids aren’t known for planning ahead, but planning a scuba birth for the Lone Ranger and her doomed Tonto with four days left? Honestly, I have procrastination envy, and I once let a broken bathtub faucet run on full blast for 4 weeks before I called a plumber.

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That’s Latin American Politics, Folks

Posted on March 7, 2013 by

 

We can no longer afford 700 dollar image editing software. Deal with the free version or GTFO.

Acme recognizes its target demographic as one lone desert canine, and upgrades to biological warfare.

You may be struggling to understand what the news channels are trying to tell you about Venezuela right now. That’s alright. Most of what they are saying are gloriously ballsy lies, and you probably don’t care much anyway. Not to worry, I propose to confuse the issue irretrievably for you by employing a weak cartoon metaphor.

Imagine that, after sixty-five years of Wile E. Coyote, Super Genius (right-wing capitalist post-revolution rebels), trying to kill and eat him, the Road Runner (Hugo Chavez) gets cancer and dies.

Now imagine, the very day it happens, the Coyote publicly announces his intentions to devour the Road Runner’s corpse on the hot stretch of desert highway where it collapsed, at the end of a red, fly covered racing stripe. He then plans to sell the parts of the cadaver unsuitable for desert predator consumption to Yosemite Sam (US oil interests), who has been bankrolling ACME spending sprees for much of his bumbling career, for pounding into prospecting pans.

It had just been declared by the brass at the WB (general elections) that the Road Runner character has been renewed  to rule the vast, dry, unlivable plains outside of Las Vegas for at least six more long years. Years that would see the Coyote living on nothing but the occasional desert vole whilst mail-ordering ever more complicated contraptions from the only catalog that has tumbled through the wasteland he calls home this decade. Years that would see oil pans sold below cost to bumbling family men like Pinky (Cuba) and Mugsy (Nicaragua), leaving Yosemite Sam to prospect with the pittance of the monopoly he has on sifting pans in the Middle East.

“Duah… Ouch! My legitimacy!”

Like Little Beeper (Venezuelan VP Nicolas Maduro), the young road runner personally groomed for succession by the late fowl king of the Mojave, the Toon world smells a rat. In a scathing 30 minute speech, Beeper says, “Meep meep, meep,” and added,

Meep meep, meep honk beep meep meep. Meep meep beep. (ABC)

Roughly translated, he says, “Road Runner’s cancer is the result of an enemy attack. At some point, the historical enemies of the Road Runner have found a way to damage the delicious speed demon’s health. I apologize for my vulgar use of goose vernacular. It is an emotional time for all of us.” Beeper does not elaborate on the identities of RR’s historical antagonists, but references are made to “varmints” and 10 gallon hats on 5 gallon stereotypes.

In 3 years, SBS's first Polish joke.

Also, Poland.

Imagine the remaining professors at Acme Looniversity mourn in their own particular fashion. Yosemite’s NRA pal Elmer Fudd (opportunistic Republican senator from Florida) declares Socialist season in the Mojave area, espousing “great opportunities for otherwise well-fed carnivores to edge in on the sliver of pie not yet afforded them. Fudd’s lobbyists, largely exiled desert coyotes themselves, throw a parade reminiscent of effigy burning mobs in Iran, but every one is vewy vewy quiet about it.

“We are not celebwating deaf,” Elmer Fudd, 37, said amid a jubilant crowd in the Miami suburb of Doral. “We are celebwating the opening of a new door, of hope and change. Huh huh huh.” (CBS)

Tweety (Argentina) and Speedy Gonzales (Uruguay, that’s not racist, right?), also subject to constant attacks from a larger, goofier predator, show up at the funeral with black bands on their arms. Pepe le Pew (Francoise Hollande) offers condolences, while adding that not everyone agrees with the Road Runner’s ideas of basic Darwinian survival for all.
Sylvester (Canada) and Foghorn Leghorn (The UK) call the death “a bummer,” but find the silver lining in a hope for the future that doesn’t include Road Runners.

And the Tazmanian Devil (Mahmoud Ahmadinejad), in a rare confusing display of verbal acuity, insinuates the martyred bird will return with the prophet Imam Devil at the end times.

Meanwhile, major players and perennial Yosemite antagonists like Daffy Duck (Russia) and Porky Pig (Cuba) alternately sob at the loss of a powerful ally, and laugh their animated asses off at the martyr made for their causes. Bugs Bunny himself (China) says little but offers a sloppy victory kiss to Sam and enacts a hooting tribute escape in the idiom of his fallen friend.

Ain’t grassroots socialism a stinker, though?

There you have it. The reason CNN exempted your favorite novelty cooking segment yesterday is not because an obscure leader from some Indian country you never think about bought the coffee plantation. The reason the electricity and water are never on at the same time in my apartment in Nicaragua – apparently it just does that now – isn’t because the dude who kept that for happening for thirty years in another country is dead. The reason I learned Nicaragua has an emergency broadcast system… well that’s because Hugo Chavez’ day long funeral was on every cable channel yesterday, like, all day.

The reason there’s a crazed , cunted madman on the corner outside my window, doing his toothless damnedest to incite religious revolutionary riots in incomprehensible Spanish, as we speak, 9 am, is because that sloppy, sozzled volunteer alarm clock realizes something many in white western suburbia don’t: the political line in the world isn’t that hard to define. Dr Doom and Elmer Fudd are villains, Spider-Man and Bugs Bunny are good guys.

So the line gets finer out on the fringes.

Step forward if your country and its leaders are on the right side – - not so fast, Oklahoma Jones.

There’s no shame in being the scumbag, but there is shame in pretending like you’re not. Nobody wants to hear your ass wax poetic about opportunities for the future, when we all know that what you really want to say is, “Yes! That big gay pain in my ass is dead, and I killed him! I am straining my zipper with the anticipation of Ollie Northing all over your criminally underdeveloped country.”

And don’t pretend you hated him enough to kill him because of some vagaries involving fuzzy evil and generalized political leanings, shout it out: “I fucking hate that prick because he isn’t charging out the ass for oil and food like the rest of us, and he cares about education and infrastructure, which is not my primary focus in my own country. It’s not fair and it’s not good looks for me, and at some point one of my subjects is going to put two and two together, and keeping a death grip on them is actually going to take some work.” Own it! Did you know that there are countries out there whose citizens have no illusions about their nation’s role in the world? How cool would that be?  clicky clicky mr sticky

Whatever, in the end, Hugo Chavez proved socialism is a fricaseein’ wabbit. And they don’t give out fricaseein’ wabbit licenses.  Now, I am going to lock my door and hope those drums and explosions are a really enthusastic parade.

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Pop Whale’s the Weaselsaur

Posted on December 21, 2012 by

“There is a reason people ask if I have heard of things. I will send Jesus to kill you if you do any of them. Same goes for shitting in the woods. Mine.”

Utopia is a bad word. It means people living together, all colors, all faiths, all forehead configurations, without issue. It means no conflict over petty shit, no greed throwing up roadblocks to first world living like energy and food prices. It means no one is happy until elaborate contraptions are built for the blind to see. It means you can be fat if you want, without worrying if your elevenses took a meal off of some African family’s table for a week. You can bang who you want, with no backlash but the smirky walk of shame, and some good-natured gossip. It means getting your food free from the wall, get your porn free from a room everyone shares, and then the room cleans itself without any underpaid Mexican suicide-case jizz-mop. It means getting into crazy adventures, simply for the sake of helping each other better themselves and contribute to a universal appreciation of life beyond our brief existences. It means Star Trek, and Star Trek is awesome, and none of us deserve awesome. Pure, uncut awesome is a responsibility we may never be ready for. Also, Bolians freak me out, and I won’t have one cutting my hair.

The Vatican is taking issue with the fight for marriage equality in Europe and around the world, saying that same-sex couples live in a “different reality” and continue to chase the “utopia” of equality. [HuffPost]

The Vatican is right about two things. First, “utopia” belongs chained in quotation marks, because it is a criminal that thinks everyone should be equal in free societies.

Second, the gays do live in a separate reality from the Vatican. Most people do. It is not their fault. It’s all this liberal media bias. See, the way people are born, they just automatically want to actively support members of their tribe/pack/murder in their endeavors, and expect the same in return. Meerkat Mansion isn’t a fucking soap opera, no matter how much Sean Astin’s voice makes you want to plunge through a bottle of wine like there’s a straight Hobbit at the other end. It’s a pretty accurate representation of how animals have similar societal structures to us, because we are all fucking animals that evolutonarily want to live together and work for the whole.

… and yes, some of them like musicals. Simba turned out alright, as I remember.

It takes years of indoctrination from a young age – a lot of uncomfortable sessions from the age of 7 with a creepy virgin that wants to hear all your naughty secrets and make you feel guilty about them, a lot of weekly, public self-flagellation – all of this to make us realize that while “equality” and “utopia” sound like two of the most positive English words this side of “co-ed vagina fight,”  they are really the two things that will actually cause the collapse of society. Seriously, I want you to go outside, right now, find a hippie, knock him down and mercilessly, repeatedly kick him whilst repeating this mantra: Everyone living together in peace and harmony, with no wars, no one to hate, better things to do with our time, is evil and needs to be stopped. Go ahead, this page isn’t going anywhere.

Welcome back.

The word “utopia” is antithetical to religion, especially the kind the Vatican has been clinging to with its monster movie claws since it became irrelevant hundreds of years before its inception. Catholicism is a business, and if you don’t think so, you’re not in on the joke, which means you’re perfect. We’ll take you. You go back, enjoy your Christmas, go to midnight mass, drop your envelope in the basket, be good, and don’t have fun with your own genitals. The rest of us need to rub our hands menacingly and plan.

Some of us will slobber menacingly. You’ll get the idea.

Seriously, you guys. The Vatican is too big to fail. But faggotry is catching on, probably not something we can stop at this point. The world has realized our product is antiquated, and one exclusive group of people suffering is hard to watch. Homosexuality is Sin 1.0. We need to go next-gen. Something bigger, flashier. We still don’t actually produce anything, so we have to stick with an imaginary product. Sin.

Sin, sin, sin. What if wanting everyone to be happy could be a sin. Need something flashy, big, something sci-fi. UTOPIA. Utopia is now a sin. Very Apple.

Now, let’s tell everyone that disagrees that they live in another reality. Also sci-fi. But actually true. WE live in a reality in which the Bible has been rewritten to be anti-gay. THEY live in a reality where original and faithful translations show that the Bible was never actually anti-gay, that Jesus never mentioned it, that Paul never mentioned it, that King James was actually a queen, and by the way men had to kiss each other on stage all the time for Shakespeare’s plays.

The Queen James Bible. Because nothing SCREAMS fabulous like 2nd Corinthians.

THEY live in a reality in which Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was revoked. WE live in a similar reality, but we can pass laws that just make it so it doesn’t count. WE live in a reality where boycotting a sporting goods company, for removing assault rifles from their stores as a sign of respect after 20 seven year-olds were killed by one in under two minutes, is alright, but boycotting a restaurant for giving money to people that like killing gay people is just fucking dandy.

We can live in our separate realities, just like that one (thousand) Star Trek episode, and never the twain shall meet until we want to bash those mincing little fudge packers around.

Sin is the only product we have, and we pulled it out of our ass. Moral authority is our only advertising, and we have literally no claim over it. They bought it all, we have that on our side. Utopia is a world where our tiny-peckered, self-hating, spiritually Napolean-complexed existences don’t have a position of power, and our megalomania will literally implode our skulls under that kind of pressure. Equality is a state where one shriveled old Nazi child fucker can’t have a golden throne, thousands of Africans don’t have to die for our uncomfortability with our penises, and we all have to own up to raping children and accept the consequences.  What is the happiness of millions compared to that?

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Ouch! My Guns!

Posted on December 15, 2012 by

Hey! You gun control nuts! Shut the fuck up and stop politicizing the fourth or fifth  mass shooting in 18 months! Any move to stop it that even looks at the second amendment sideways will be met with immediate and vehement resistance, but you be quiet and don’t disrespect the victims by making this about Republicans and their gun happy, no-mental-health care platforms.

You just wait until nobody is paying attention anymore to make your statements about fixing this politically. Anything else would lack taste. Make sure we can get these ideas out first:

That was me being super nice to a good friend, and probably losing a good friend in the process.

You just make sure our 2nd amendment rights are protected before you start making rules about batshit crazy motherfuckers having access to weapons, dig? We need to have our guns, because while there have been a few million victims of shootings and literally zero political revolutions in the US for a hundred years or less, a revolution is coming and we’re going to need our AK-47s single load powder muskets.

God, it is all about politics for you gay atheist liberals, isn’t it? All the time, with you pansy communists. There are two things I won’t do: give up my guns, and use my hard earned tax dollars to help the mentally ill. I would genuinely rather the daffy fucker shoot a bunch of grade-schoolers and die in the gas chamber like a real American. I would rather some uppity, liberal she-senator get half her face shot off, and then have an obvious mental case sentenced to death, or killed by police, before I have rules governing buying something meant for nothing but killing people deer,  or get people the help they need. I would rather have hero stories of husbands taking bullets for their wives in a fucking movie theater than have someone with the very thought of putting on clown makeup (without having the proper college training) have access to assault rifles. That’s the America I want my children growing up in. You know I am going to breed prolifically with my sister.

We shouldn’t have waiting periods and background checks to purchase killing machines, we should pray about it, and weep. We shouldn’t have universal healthcare to take care of the nutballs, we should make sure our right to have the tools to shoot our black Muslim president are secure for the time that will never come when I can personally do it, because I am a racist piece of shit. How are we supposed to pay for Obamacare when we need to hire all these janitors to mop up the blood and little bits of brain from the elementary school floors? And we definitely shouldn’t make this political, at least until we have the time to throw another sand bag in front of an amendment that has never been in less danger. (The dirty little secret Heston isn’t telling anyone is that Obama is more gun friendly than both Bushes combined)

There is a time and a place to fix this with finger pointing, and that is when the next news cycle comes around, and nobody but the bereft families care anymore.

Children are dead.

This young woman is dead:

I stole this from my mother’s Facebook timeline for a cheap shot, and I am not the slightest bit ashamed.

But even after all of this – after a veritable high score for “civilized western nations” in mass fucking shootings – what is really important is that we – by which I mean the royal we, me, myself, moi, yo – have the right to shoot people with more bullets, in more rapid succession, than conceivably necessary. Jaysus never advocated killing, but I bet he would have if brown people came to take away his assault rifle.

I bet if the kids were all given open carry permits, this would never have happened. Arm the elementary students before it is too late!

A 12 year old child was shot in the head yesterday, but today it looks like someone might step on the toes of a right I don’t need. And that’s what really hurts.

This country needs an enema.

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Send Back the Kraft Trays

Posted on November 30, 2012 by

This is his concentration face, just kegeling that beard out his face.

Forget it. Cancel the viewing parties. Put away the sideways visors and cargo shorts. Cancel the eBay orders for severely overpriced Surge soda, slap bracelets, and Skip-Its. Make a bonfire of your pogs and tamagotchis (that one’s just because you’re 30 now, man, you can’t even get away with that ironically). Oh, and don’t even begin to utter “da bomb,” even if you are inexplicably singing along to All-4-One album tracks.

We all got the chicken skin of nostalgia when we heard the Disney cash cow and TGIF perennial Boy Meets World was coming back for a sequel series about Corey and Topanga’s inevitably maladroit get. But it all came crashing down, when this was announced:

At this point, I have no official involvement in Girl Meets World. Girl Meets World will be, and I think it should be, it’s own show. It will be about Cory and Topanga, their daughter, and a new set of characters. (Rider Strong’s Official Page, why not?)

Nobody watched that shit to see Fred Savage’s awkward, pube headed little brother try to figure out if he still loved a Topanga who inflated before our eyes like a Macy’s float on its period. I am kind of curious to see an in-depth exploration of how a person copes with being named Corey even when he is an adult, but that probably won’t even come up until halfway through season one when they run out of first menses story lines.

No, this show was always about Shawn Hunter and his boneheaded adventures as second banana to a Curious George impersonator. Remember that time he joined a cult because they promised him cake? That’s entertainment. Half of our audience would be entirely dishonest to say watching Rider Strong, the boy with the best name ever and perfect floppy hair, wasn’t their first experience with sexuality confusion. Eventually we all graduated to Dylan McDermott filling that role, but before The Practice got really good, between ’93 and 2000, Rider Strong was your celebrity bi. Admit it now, before you embarrass yourself and me.

What is gained by shoving a heavy lid over the depthless well of story lines concerning what becomes of a kid like Shawn Hunter in adulthood? That shit could easily be an HBO series of its own. Or at least an AMC original. Shit, wouldn’t it be hilarious if it turned out Walter White was actually a 30 year old Shawn Hunter messed up on cancer and meth? Totally plausible. Shawn was a poor kid with questionable morals, an anti-hero and an idiot savant when it came to making the exact wrong decision. Even if he was just the loser friend of Corey who keeps showing up for dinner and parks his RV in the driveway for months at a time, the septic tank jokes alone would be enough to distract from the rehashed , Gen-Y dubious hilarity Corey and Topanga’s daughter will be experiencing.

“How much money will you give me to stick this in that kid’s cup of Jello?” Bro, you’re like 35. Why don’t you have job?

It ruins their day, and it feels squishy good!

Nope. It’s over. Get off our memories, you little bitches. Get your own childhood. I bet we can’t even look forward to Mr. Feeny’s magic sarcasm to temper this newly declared abortion.

this is practically his obituaryWilliam Daniels – Born: in Brooklyn, New York, USA (IMDB)

That guy’s pushing a hundred, bro. That’s practically his obituary. Pack it in, Disney.

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It’s the Great Scumbag, Charlie Brown!

Posted on November 24, 2012 by

Kids! Kids, look! This is what we call a metaphor. In this case, Tobey Maguire feasting on the leavings of the American inability to distinguish a decent film from literal shit!

The fowl are slaughtered and consumed en masse, the uncles have been bawled out, the pregnant sisters called NDS‘s by surprisingly streetwise grandmothers… and oh, the wonderful jingle of the cheeks and jaws of exhausted mothers – desperate to give their ungrateful get an Xmas they won’t get beat up for at school – shattered like glass by other mothers desperate to fork over their last dollars to the doll maker with the most hypnotic television ad, and just in it to win it. Only thing left to do is sit back, heft your gut, wait for real football to start on Sunday, and look back on the most batshit, scumbaggiest Thanksgiving holiday in recent memory!

 

1. Thank you, may I have another?

We at SBS are thankful that we did not join in the chorus of sobbing for Rihanna a couple of years ago when she had the Deuces kicked out of her in her car, because she clearly digs it, and minding our own business is what we do best here.

After wrapping up a whirlwind tour for her new album, “Unapologetic,” Rihanna celebrated Thanksgiving with her on again, off again beau, Chris Brown after his “Cape Diem” tour in Germany, according to Perez Hilton. (A second source, because Perez Hilton doesn’t deserve traffic. Seriously, this writer, who was lazy enough to use the term ‘whirlwind’ to describe a pop tour, is a better journalist than that guy.)

Pictured: love taps

We can think of a few things Rihanna could be apologetic about. Like, using up all that cop equipment to take pictures of her face, reduced to bloody, wet brown sugar paste, when she was going to get back with Chris Brown anyway. Like taking up space on supposed news outlets, generating public sympathy for a beating she obviously enjoyed. We mean, shit, do what you want. We think it would be hilarious if you went on the Kids’ Choice Awards this year with your new hit “I Had It Coming (Go And Bang Super Models For A While Until I Am Pretty Enough For You Again) feat. Bobby Brown.” Because saying, ‘I didn’t ask to be a role model’ only works before they pour gak over you in an auditorium of a few thousand screaming, impressionable girls.

 

2. Flag Burning

And then… and then I told him he had to put on a dress and serve us all absinthe.

Those of us not hanging with family were able to devote our full attention to the annual Thanksgiving game in Detroit, and were treated to an exhibition of one of the NFL’s fabled go-fuck-yourself-sportmanship, referee-tug-job-with-extra-gravy rules. For those of you not versed in the intricacies of the NFL (Torrie), a year or two back, a rule was instituted in which all scoring and turnover plays are automatically reviewed. Seemed logical, but what they didn’t tell us fans (in such a loud voice)  is that, should a coach so much as look at a ref sideways before said review, the refs have the right to give them the finger, not review the play, slap that coach with an “unsportsmanlike” penalty, and gang fuck his wife at midfield on the halftime show.

So when Houston’s Justin Forsett was tackled, and the refs were all circle-jerking and forgot to do their most common, baseline job and blow the damned whistle to end the play, Forsett got up and ran in for the touchdown while Detroit’s entire defense stood looking around like someone had thrown their car keys on the roof of the garage. Detroit coach Jim Schwartz threw his challenge flag, because seriously, what the fuck, man? which is a coach’s subtle way of saying the refs are fucktards, so the bullshit, game winning touchdown couldn’t be reviewed and stood. Everyone expected the Lions to lose this one, but:

(you can get it explained less colorfully here)

3. Sarah Palin’s Turkey Death Camp

We are pretty much over getting angry about Sarah Palin over here. It was one thing when she was an elderly tyrannosaur’s heartbeat away from hunting poor people from helicopters, but now she is literally nothing, and holds sway over no man. Except, inexplicably, Wyclef, who thinks she’s “rad,” which explains a lot about his run for president of Haiti, but nothing about his suddenly alarming large presence in my record collection.

Not the point. Point is, once you can stop being angry with something, mockery is readily available. Here’s the hockey mom with a tour bus spouting some of her trademark inexplicabilities concerning what she thinks she knows about people, but this time at an all-American, outdoor abattoir.

Yes, our values *buzzzz, gobble gobble NOOOO!* traditions and *decapitation, carnage* government get out of our way *death, neck blood* the current administration *this is where your food comes from* spending is bad and *you can’t write this kind of metaphor*. We personally love the executioner, shoving these poor bastards in head first, then turning to look at the celebrity politician quizzically as she sips her Starbucks in the most comically chosen shot location since Nico Tortorella in Scream 4.

4. Who leaked this to the press? WHY?

An exercise we’re pretty comfortable comparing to our fat uncle leaving one shrimp on the platter after loading his plate. They can’t all be Hitler jokes, you know.

The ridiculous but amusing farcical tradition of the president pardoning a Turkey took a dark turn just before Thanksgiving, when Peace, the understudy turkey Obama graciously extended his usually stingy pardons to last year, was euthanized, presumably with cranberry sauce and bland whipped potatoes.

An official insisted the timing of the death – days before the Thanksgiving holiday – was not suspicious. (ABC)

Well now it bloody well is! Apparently, a pardon from the president is about as good as the party store napkin it’s written on. Apparently, it was sick. Yeah, sick of not being the centerpiece of a gluttonous celebration of the Native American genocide reenacted on its unfortunate species every year on our tables! Sick of not being slathered in Betty Crocker jarred Gravy n’ Hereditary Guilt! We can just imagine the White House press secretary running around all sweaty and disheveled demanding to know who leaked it, because heads are gonna roll, and it’s not going to be mine, goddammit! Well, Peace’s, too, obviously. Her head rolled…

5. BONUS BLACK FRIDAY SCUMBAGGERY: Be a dick, brandish a gun, and get a gift card!

Black Friday is a glorious festival to the gods of Avarice and Acrimony, and we all revere the brave and gallant would-be Geraldos who get us pictures and video of fat, tired shoppers beating the Christ out of each other for the last Furbys, especially knowing what a pain in the ass that holiday sensation turned out to be. It’s a chance for us to show the absolute best aspects of our humanity – sharing gloves and cocoa in the long cold queues in the dead of night – and the even better aspects – when the doors finally  open and we trample our line-mates like so much Who concert-goer. It’s an excuse to be a true scumbag, because who can fault you when that TV is fifty bucks off?

… and one of those Kenmore washers. No, the nice one, where my wife doesn’t have to push any buttons.

Jose Alonzo Salame, 33, was apparently that amazing douche from Jump Street in the line outside of Sears yesterday. Must have been because he was pissed that he still lives in 1986 and hasn’t heard of Best Buy. Either way, he was apparently such a cunt that another shopper slugged his ass in the store, and like a reasonable ‘Murican, Salame took out his loaded 9 and started ‘brandishing’ it – - a comfortable little euphemism we have here in the US that means he threatened to cap a bitch.
But it is OK, European readers, because here in America we have licenses that say you can do just that. Even when you have one in the chamber, the cops will apologize to you, and send you on your way.

Salame was [within his rights], released from police custody and asked to leave the store with the rest of his family. A manager gave him a store voucher, the report says. “We’re glad the incident was resolved peacefully,” said Sears spokeswoman Kim Freely. “The safety of our customers and associates are our No. 1 priority.” (my san antonio)
Which is why you get a gift card for waving a gun around Sears. For the safety of everyone. Retailers will do some pretty nutty promotions to attract shoppers on Black Friday, huh? I think I’ll go wave a Bowie Knife at a few GameStop customers and see what kind of Atari games I can get.
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13 Abortion Memes That Shit The Bed

Posted on November 11, 2012 by

Uh... what? Why is Tyler Durden here? Why did you turn a weed whacker on your dictionary? Did it do something horrible to you?

Propaganda is the most important human invention outside of the ole painter’s radio. Propaganda is what got lazy women off their stoves and do some real work starting in the 1940s. Propaganda is what stopped you from buying that iPhone, even if it wasn’t the propaganda about your being a pro-slavery twat weasel for even considering owning one. But sometimes propaganda can get so caught up in the message that it forgets the message reads like it was written by Trigg Palin mid-attempted shame drowning. And speaking of Trigg, no issue has more idiot rhetoric than that which Sarah wishes could have seen more play when the time came: abortion.

We aren’t even taking sides on this one. Not because we aren’t combative pricks who think it would be fun to watch the world burn. Not even because sometimes people we agree with can get carried away with the fervor of simian poo hucking intelligent debate and say something a little dumb. No, we aren’t taking sides in the pro-life/pro-choice debate because we believe in instituting one mandatory abortion per breeding capable couple. And make it a federal law, ladies. We don’t want any of this individual states backing out crap like in Vermont where they made it illegal to shoot suspected Nickelback fans. Anyway, here are some of the memes we’ve seen floating around that aren’t quite making the points they think they are.

And the answer to a crisis puberty is to get crackin' on that drinking habit.

What the shit do you think is making this pregnancy a crisis? It isn’t the rather sudden, unplanned choice between prohibition-for-one and drinking like a recently divorced flounder until this parasite curls up and throws in the afterbirth. It’s the goddamned baby, and what a pain in the ass heap of trouble it’s going to be. So unless you want to cock the shotgun and pump a 16 year old girl’s folks full of crisis resolution, this itsy-bitsy crisis is coming down the spout early. Unless you want to get a nursing degree and pay for it working down at The Dancing Bare for the little lady, hand over the coat hanger and stfu.

Apes can also paint modern art using their feet and enact violent uprisings against their human overlords, but nobody wants to see people reduced to making modern art.

Duh. Apes don’t have the manual dexterity to screw in a light bulb, let alone perform a delicate operation like an abortion. And we don’t even let them inside a Planned Parenthood, let alone become doctors, so there. I mean, I guess an ape is capable of throwing his daughter down the stairs, but most of them can’t afford two story houses, so I don’t know how we can even begin to put together a reliable study.

If your idea here was to make Peter King's head explode, you almost succeeded.

In case you were wondering who the ultimate poster boy for violent, brown skinned extremism pictured here was, they have provided a rather handy caption. Also, if you didn’t know what pro-life was, the definition is in there. Somebody wasn’t paying by the letter. Look, your execution was pretty solid: you have to talk slow and use a lot of captioned pictures when dealing with folks in the Bible Belt, but this isn’t going to help your cause, guys. What’s being said here? Bin Laden also seems to be a rather avid beard enthusiast. Are all men with power beards pro-life (and opposed to abortion, because those are two different things)? Or are they… terrorists? See, your argument still has to hold up after more than 10 seconds of thought, even when it is on a billboard.

She just really likes old people cereal and pointless, boring board games.

Whoa, nelly! If you think putting tape over your mouth is going to protect you from a uterus scraping, you know less about a woman’s orifices than Marcus Bachmann. I mean, seriously dude, ask your mom to give you the talk, because you are way too old to be imagining the possibility of ralphing up an infant on prom night (though you are not going to like the truth by comparison). Seriously, your Alabama public school health teacher screwed the pooch on this one.

Heh. He said, "after birth."

Heh. He said, "after birth."

This is the most recent thing one of our dyslexic Facebook friends fired off into the ether before their morning Redbull and bleach smoothie, and I’ve got to say, it’s a favorite. You know how some kids play connect the dots wrong – like, they don’t go in numerical order, either because they want to be little assholes, or they got hit by a car and now they have to go to special school? That’s what’s happening here. Seriously, it’s like someone shot one of those Planned Parenthood protesters with an alligator tranquilizer dart, and they started making ridiculous sentences out of the twelve words they know. Then one of her ridiculous friends heard it, and thought to himself, “Not only does this sound like truth, it is an excellent argument against abortion.” Except it isn’t. It has nothing to do with abortion! It doesn’t even really mean anything. But it doesn’t matter, because sense making is no longer what Facebook is for. You just sling literal bullshit into the air, and see who is dumb enough to look up with his eyes closed and his mouth open. And then you pat yourself on the back for getting some illiterate, bored housewife to ‘share’ the product of your mush brain after three hours of porn and a half hour of thinking about Jaysus. Kill yourself.

You got it.

Uck. Now I can’t think of anything but the inside of your twat, and ugly and severe is not my type. You suck at sloganeering. Also, pussy slang is for dudes, lady. It’s just weird when chicks refer to their clams without the accepted scientific nomenclature. Sausage wallet.

By the polo made for a twelve year old draped over your shapeless form, I'm thinking the kid is better off.

… and now you have an awesome comic book black hole baby. Probably has cool powers and stuff. Man, people need to stop bitching when the come home from the infant store with upgrades. Frankly, we are more interested in this National Association of Needed Information. I have scanned this thing like a hundred times, and have found nothing anybody outside of this man’s immediate family needed to know. Maybe your girlfriend got her tainted womb to a clinic post haste because she didn’t want her kid to grow up with a chubby man-child with no sense of self-worth for a father, that still lets his mom dress him and hasn’t changed his hair style since he was seven. The only message I got from this is that abortion is an entirely acceptable way to save your potential spawn from embarrassment later on.

... but two gray areas make something that look like two 70 year old lesbians scissoring!

I heard there’s this one thing – - this thing that’s the equivalent of forcing a microwave through a garden hose – - that hurts women pretty bad. A lot of times, I hear, they have to slice open her grundle just to make it work, because all the vaginal tearing, while extensive, just doesn’t cut it. Add to that the mortification of uncontrollably shitting in the lap of a person with an M.D. in front of your sexual partner, after 5 odd months of constipation and hemorrhoids the size of lemons, and I’m not sure your comparison to an outpatient tickle really cuts the mustard there, chief.

It really doesn't.

… but childbirth tears her vagina apart, almost irreparably. Seriously, you can kegel it up all you want, strap all the weights in the world up in there, but nothing heals the PTSD of the equivalent of a grenade going off in your once pristine center of your womanhood.

Nope. Too many words. We only have so many Facebook hours in a day, friend. It’s a meme, not a masters thesis. Who are you trying to convince here? The religious right? They don’t even read their own book. You’re just dribbling jizz on a cracker for people who already think like you to eat. We actually read things here, and we were like, “Next!” We’re going to need a meal and a nap after trudging through that desert of words and names.

Seriously, a tin soldier? Not cool, at all! What, do you hate your kid or something?

See, as a recent kid, all I am getting from this is that abortion = more for me. Trust me, the toys will be played with – - well, maybe not the toy soldier. And apparently the toys are playing with the kids, which… feels creepy no matter how you read it. Whatever, point is, the toys will be just fine, and will actually have other toys to pal around with in this weird reality you have concocted with sentient toys. Wait, you know Toy Story wasn’t a documentary right?

Just like Vanessa Williams’ pussy hound boyfriend, we saved the most irretrievably ridiculous for last. We know this is the dumbest, because of the frequency it showed up in our news feed. When so many people fire off fucknuttery on Facebook, you know it has to be ridiculous. We don’t have the digits on our hands and feet to enumerate the many ways this is completely retarded. A single living cell found on another planet would be fucking incredible, whereas fat rednecks and dopey teens knocking up their girlfriends is a fucking minutely occurrence. No, overpopulation isn’t the massive problem it is made out to be by some, but for the love of Kaiser Wilhelm the Horny, we don’t want more of you! You suck!  And as it stands, that alien life is thriving on its own, without any help. It is a self-sustaining, single celled organism, and very likely a key element in the beginning of millions of years of evolution that will spawn more complicated and fascinating sentient organisms. Your kid will more than likely turn into a fat, lazy, selfish toddler that will languish in a call center his entire life until the diabetes takes his foot, his wife takes his kids, and a shotgun takes the top of his skull off when he can’t fucking take it anymore. Oh, and right now, it is an unfeeling, unknowing cell that (yes, is life, nobody is disputing that, but) can’t live on its own, and wouldn’t care to if it did.

The point is not that your little bundle of parasite isn’t special (it absolutely isn’t, but that isn’t the point), it’s that you can’t make a point to support your beliefs without shooting yourself in the foot. And you can’t do that because your brain doesn’t function at that high a level, the level where the rest of us generally decide cause and effect, truth and consequence, basic argument skills. It is nothing to be ashamed of: the world needs fucking janitors. But stop trying to throw your hat into rings when all you’ve got is a plaid, vajazzled trucker cap.

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Steph, Live From A Bar

Posted on September 12, 2012 by

 

I am not eating. I am scraping my fucking forks on my plate to make harmony with these horrible country karaoke cunts.

(Flagstaff, AZ) My travels frequently take me through The Grand Shitstain State, and when I find myself in Arizona, I always make it a point to visit one of their fabled public houses, preferably late at night. I’m in one right now, barely tolerating a third gut-wrenching karaoke rendition of ‘Before He Cheats,’ periodically grinding my teeth into the corner of my iPad to center my writhing Chi. Why am I doing this? My sexy sexy masochism, sure. Because I know all the words to and references in “We Didn’t Start the Fire” and my super particular fetish is lording it over a bunch of sloppy hicks? Absolutely. But also because I go to Arizona bars for two reasons every time: to get blasted on shitty pilsner and get raped. And I am damned close to being out of boozin’ money.

See, the Grand Mexihatin’ State isn’t just famous for its wildly corrupt sheriffs and serial killer governors. It is unique as the only state in the union where merely being present in a bar is a legal invitation into your gash. Let me paint you a picture:

A cop in Flagstaff pounds a John Daly six-pack (8) and heads over to a local watering hole, using his badge to gain entry. He then proceeds to come up behind some lucky slut and shove his sausage fingers up her skirt to get a feel of her slit. The bitch then decides that, even though she was totally in a bar at night, she somehow wasn’t asking to get touched up by a stranger with booze exacerbated, socially enabled sense of entitlement.

I dare you -- DARE YOU -- to tell me anybody wouldn't want to be savaged by this beast.

Oh ya, bitch. Nobody’s buying it. Except the bouncers who removed the dude, who in turn pulled out the trusty badge immunity talisman that wards off douchebag responsibility again. Well thankfully, a good, old fashioned she-judge knew that this was, while a felony assault, also a learning experience for a would-be discount bin whore.

[Judge Jacqueline Hatch] asserted that it was the victim’s fault, as she was at the bar. “If you wouldn’t have been there that night, none of this would have happened to you,” the Daily Mail quoted the judge as saying. [NewsTrackIndia]

Judge Jackie should have brought me in as a character witness, because I would have destroyed that harlot. I could have told her that women don’t have social lives for any other reason than our vexatious biological imperatives grabbing us by the uteri and dragging us through untold dark alleys and cowboy bars where you can number the rapists just by counting the American flag button-up shirts and multiplying by two. You think we want to leave the safety and familiarity of our duties in the kitchen? Our vaginas just get all plump and hungry, and we can’t help but go out for some baby batter, no matter what we do. Secretly, we are all afraid our pussies will grow teeth and feed on our fallopia japonica, and go all anime holocaust on us. All told, she got off entirely under-groped.

Sometimes I wear my Pats jersey to the bars for an extra angry "nonconsensual" pounding. Nothing infuriates these frontiersmen more than a New Englander doing something better than they can.

The bad news is that what the public safety officer did, when it comes down to semantics, was still kind of a felony. He got nailed with two years’ probation, fired, and because of that, will probably lose his house. But the real kick in the spunk bunkers is, it is a violation of his probation to even think about booze. So as his life collapses around his first offense, a drunken mistake, he can’t even drown the misery. Heh. Fuck the po-lice. You want to feel bad until you realize that, if he wasn’t a public safety officer, was just a normal person, he would have ended up on the sex offender list, with all the joy that entails. Hey, if he hadn’t have been at the bar so late, this may never have happened.

Or maybe, if we, as a society, demanded that cops leave their guns and badges at the office when they go home, this mess could have been avoided. If asshole cops could leave their sense of entitlement in their gay little uniforms, they might think twice about harassing people when they are off duty, and may just avoid making the press for acting in an official capacity whilst retarded. I was once harassed by an NYC cop in fucking gym shorts. GYM SHORTS! Without pockets! Where was he even keeping his badge? There is absolutely no reason a cop needs to hang on to his penis stretcher after work hours. As a school teacher, I can’t run around telling teenagers to sit down and shut up and write an essay outside of school, can I? Cops need to realize who is here for who, that it is just a job, that most of them are there because they are too stupid to do anything else, and most of the rest are there because they couldn’t fathom a world in which they didn’t have a license to kill another human being – -

Wow, I must be getting drunk. I turned off the irony machine for a second. Anyway…

And Judge Jackie was eventually coerced into an apology she totally meant, you guys: a pussy move probably inspired by a state tired of pumped up rhetoric that gets politicians shot in the face and people to believe Mexicans are hiding in the unlivable parts of Arizona waiting to cut good, white, truck driving American heads off. It’s too bad, I was really hoping this trend would continue into other areas of law. Like when an Indian owned bodega on Long Island gets robbed and destroyed by idiot Christians that thought they were Muslim, a judge could say, ‘Well, if you hadn’t had a store there, and open so late with so much malt liquor, it never would have been wrecked.” What’s good for the hoe-bag is good for the small business owner, eh?

Oops, gotta go. My Rapey-Sense is telling me I have a taker creepin’ up on me. Wish me pregnancclicky clicky mr stickyy!

<3 Steph~~~{~~@

Were you aware, Scumbag Style is now trolling on the Facebooks. Just like them liberal boys what get written up in the papers. Get your bonus SBS in your feed by ‘liking’ the page.

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I Would Be More Worried About Something Else Popping

Posted on July 9, 2012 by

Everybody’s dropping cats over this music video, like it’s child abuse or something. At first glance it may seem like some kid with a generous allowance imitating what he sees on the BET, maybe to set himself up with a future. After all he’s a little short for basketball yet, and you know what they say about that. But you’re wrong. It is insidious, it is sexism, it is teaching kids to objectify women. Apparently.

There are bums in this video. Multiple bums. And because he is short, they happen to be at eye level. Huffington Post posits it may be “too explicit?” asking a very real question and in no way trying to drum up page hits. A Vibe blogger called CPS on the kid’s folks because it is the only way anyone will ever think of Vibe at all.  But all bums are at eye level when you are six! Should the ladies in question feel a little strange about shaking their asses at a 1st grader for an entire day of shooting, with multiple costume changes? Sure, and I believe the uncomfortable feelings are downright palpable, but by the time they realized what was going on they had most likely blown their commission on  blow and various animal print summer wear at the thrift shop. There was no turning back.

The chick on the left just realized she wants nothing more than to button those shorts, but she also knows the continuity director is a twat about that shit.

Of course, you can always count on the YouTube comments in any video to give us incisive analysis of items of cultural  significance. I once watched a Carl Sagan video that somehow sparked a flame war concerning the proper way to consume fecal matter from one’s own mother’s vagina. YouTube is second only to Yahoo! Answers as the internet’s repository for Mensa over-qualifiers.

 

 

 

Geeze indeed. Kid’s dropping rhymes at a fourth grade level, and you can’t force a cogent sentence out of that shriveled up dishrag under your weave. Though you do have psychic whore telling powers, so you may have a valid argument.

 

 

 

 

Why would you… OH! I smell ya. Because he’s a little brown boy in a pool. This kid’s just talking about   dancing with older ladies, and you’re talking about your poop. Who’s had the tough upbringing now?

 

 

 

I reposted this 1) because I laughed my ass off for 5 minutes and 2) this is the caliber of people adding their voices of dissent on YouTube. Do you really want to be in this club? Not secretly, but out in the anonymous internet public? Leave the kid alone. How many of you have over a million hits on YT and a single on iTunes? Your jealous of him and his haircut and his alarming outy that looks like he swallowed a live chicken whole and it wants out.

 

 

Yes! Yes, I bet exactly that. This single is sending the little perv to college. You’re always going to be a lower-functioning racist.  That likes metal. Your projection is showing, fuck head.

Really I don’t see the big deal. The kid wants the ladies to know his songs  are intended to make their posteriors shake in an urban, dancey kind of way. Kids have been giving dance instruction in lyrics since “The Hokey Pokey.” Any further implied sexualization of the lyrics are  in the minds of the oversexed listener.

The only real problem I see is the “all night long” part. Aspiring young rappers should probably have a bed time no matter how many whores he’s Super Soakered that day. Little bastard had to be plum tuckered.

Not to mention the very real decline of standards for hot chicks in hip hop videos. This can’t be the best the casting director could do just outside Miami. If it is, this is my new reason why I don’t visit Miami.

 

 

Also, yes, his dick is on his stomach.

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