| News headlines |
Jul 3, 2008 6:51 pm
Mood: bouncy, 82 Views |  | Word of the day:
HUSSIES n. Female Obama supporters changing their middle names to Hussein
Obama: we have always been at peace with that woman --- Hillary Clinton
Grand Rapids Mayor George Heartwell vows city will be "vanilla" when rebuilt
Media grows impatient with Iowa's lack of flood-related rapes and pillaging: Why can't they be more like New Orleans?
CNN investigates Iowans caught blowing FEMA debit cards at Tractor Supply Company
Obama: WTC problem ended on 9/11, Pentagon still a problem |
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2 Comments | |
| Mad About Bush |
Jul 3, 2008 1:27 pm
Mood: scared, 73 Views |  | Mad About Bush
By Komrad Jak
6/28/2008, 12:45 pm
To those calling for withdrawal: No, we're not going to quit before the forces of evil are routed. Not when we're so close to victory. Even if it takes 100 years, we will never, ever, cease our quest to impeach Bush.
Granted, it may get discouraging. But every time I begin to ask myself why I'm doing this, something always shows up to distract me. Most recently, it came in the form of a letter from one brave soul. A mere 37 years old (name withheld) has championed the cause and suffered for it. I hope his story inspires you the way it has me.
-- Mikael of impeachforpeace organization.
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Dear Mikael,
It all started one night when I was talking to my friend on the phone. We were discussing the best way to impeach Bush when suddenly we heard a strange clicking noise. It was like someone had picked up the receiver on another line, but different, and more sinister. We paused for a moment then continued. I went first,
"I think the FBI is listening to us. Switch to the code words."
"Why would they listen to us?" my friend asked.
"Code words!" I reminded him.
"Oh, um, spoon rocket splindledum Bush... how do I say impeach again?"
"Brad Pitt!"
The clicking sound had turned into static and then a man's voice limped in,
"... and I'd like three bean burritos with a grande nacho supreme and ..."
Just as quick as he faded in, he faded out. Clearly Karl Rove was trying to make us THINK they weren't listening to our conversation. I knew what this meant. It meant he knew they knew that we knew that he knew. The static itself cleared with silence taking its place.
"Phew! Our phone line just got mixed up with Taco Bell again," my friend naively proclaimed.
"Fool, that's what they want us to think. Never mind, I'll talk to you in person." I scowled at my friend's incompetence.
The CIA was surely onto us now. I biked over to his mom's house and we went down to the basement, where we always go to hide from Bush, when all of a sudden...
The most wicked bloodcurdling cowboy laugh rang out in the darkness and two red burning eyes crept in from the darkness. They were the color of HATE, no, worse, the color of Bush. As he crept closer, I suddenly realized how tall he looked; then I noticed part of it came from his giant hat. As he crept closer still to my friend's night light, I saw him a bit better than I could on TV or in my nightmares, and he was scarier than I had previously imagined.
I was petrified. He lunged out at me. Something in me made me move. I kept a locket around my neck with a bit of raw oil in it just in case. I broke it on the floor and backed off, only to see Bush stoop to the ground like a ravenous beast and slurp it up. I tried to run away. Then Karl Rove stumbled out of the broom closet and smacked me with a diseased mop. Cheney came down the stairs with a shotgun and spoke the most terrifying sentence I've ever heard,
"I seeeeeee you."
"No Cheney, aim to the left of him, that way you'll hit him." Karl sneered.
Then, for the first time in my life, I decided I wasn't going to run anymore. I was going to stand up to Bush for breaking my arm last summer, for stealing my homework so it would look like I never did it, for leaving the toilet seat up, and for tapping my phone calls.
"Leave me alone Bush, I'm not afraid of you anymore!"
"Then you will die!" Bush screeched. "I can shmell the oil on you!"
That was too scary for me. I ran up the stairs into the light and dialed 911.
"BUSH IS TRYING TO KILL ME! PLEASE, HELP! IMPEACH HIM QUICK! HE'S GOT MY FRIEND!"
All they did was laugh. Clearly they worked for Bush. I locked the basement door and ran to my house, curled up in a ball and cried for the whole weekend.
On Monday I ran to the forest to call my friend. I began dialing his number when a man in a plaid shirt walked by and said,
"Excuse me, why are you poking that pinecone?"
"I'm not poking a pinecone, I'm calling my friend to impeach Bush."
"Ok... sure." he replied as he continued to look on confused. Had he never seen a phone before?
The phone rang forever. Eventually I gave up. I walked home and saw that my friend was waiting for me. He seemed different. He said he didn't remember anything. I was trying to help him remember when suddenly my Mom interrupted,
"Honey, who are you talking to?"
"Mom, I'm talking to my friend. He's right here, duh."
My Mom looked at me like I was from Mars. Then she speed-dialed some number and said to the person on the other end of the line, "He's doing it again."
Doing what again? Trying to protect the world from Bush?
The next day, my friend was gone, as if he never existed. Come to think of it, I can't remember his name or anything about him. Weird. My Mom took me to this man in a nice building and made me lie down on this bed thing with a white sheet on it, then tell him what happened for like two hours.
I told him everything. While he scribbled away on a clipboard, I told him how Bush stole my homework and listened in on my conversations and would make me whistle Beach Boys tunes on Thursdays for three hours and twelve minutes. I told him how Bush hunted me for my oil and how his tax cuts for the rich caused global warming. It was exciting to share this with another. I thought he might help me, but he was working for Bush.
Before I knew it, I couldn't move my arms. They put some leather sweater on me when I was asleep, that was sewn together so I couldn't move my arms. The walls all around me were soft. I would bounce off them. Somehow I knew that if I bounced enough, Bush couldn't get my oil.
These men in white suits would come in sometimes. Ladies in white suits too. They told me I made it up. I knew they were sent by Bush to brainwash me the way he did everyone else. At first I resisted. Then I realized I could pretend to believe them and they would eventually let me go. They did.
And here I am, ready to serve to impeach Bush for ruining my life.
Sincerely,
(name withheld)
* * *
Update:
At the request of the author, we have removed his name from the letter as well as the address of his Mom's basement.
Update#2:
In response to a flood of emails, we would like to state that the original author of the letter and "Mikael" of impeachforpeaceSMOTorg are not the same person despite his known history with mental institutions, established behavior of sending himself letters and pretending they are written by fans, and having the same birth date and address as the author of the letter.
Update #3:
Due to a dispute involving a squirrel and Mikael over the possession of a pinecone, and the undisclosed conflict, which resulted and may or not have involved public nudity and tree-groping, Mikael has been admitted to a mental institution to receive urgent care once more and will not be reporting for The People's Cube until further notice. |
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| It's Your Patriotic Duty to Get Neked! |
Jul 2, 2008 2:39 pm
Mood: adventurous, 87 Views |  | It's Your Patriotic Duty to Get Neked!
As you may know, this Friday is July 4 – also known as Independence Day. The next day, according to an e-mail from Momma Poet, is the day on which we will root out the Muslim jihadists.
How will we do this? Simple: women will strip naked and walk around their neighborhood. Men will sit in chairs outside their houses with a six pack and watch.
How will we accomplish our goal with this tactic? Well, the version of the Koran that tells radical jihadists that they will get 72 virgins for blowing up a wedding party in Jerusalem also says that it is a sin for Muslim men to see a woman other than their wife (or wives) neked. Muslim men who violate this dictum must commit suicide. Sooooooo … men who declare that it’s “OK” for them to see a woman other than their wife neked are not radical terrorists. There's also a rule about not drinking alcohol so guys, this is your chance to go the extra mile.
Ladies, prepare to strip on Saturday. Men, get your lawn chairs and six packs. I know it could be a terrible sacrifice for all of us, but if you love your country you'll either get neked (if you're a gal) or watch and drink beer (if you're a guy). |
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| MARINE ETIQUETTE |
Jul 2, 2008 12:50 pm
Mood: adventurous, 91 Views |  | MARINE ETIQUETTE
The Commandant of the Marine Corps was General Al Gray, a crusty old 'Field Marine.' He loved his Marines and often slipped into the mess hall wearing a faded old field jacket without any rank or insignia on it. He would go through the chow line just like a private (In this way, he was assured of being given the same rations that the lowest enlisted man received. And, woe be it to the mess officer if the food was found to be 'unfit in quality or quantity').
Upon becoming Commandant, General Gray was expected to do a great deal of 'formal entertaining'...fancy dinner parties in full dress blue uniform. Now, the General would rather have been in the field eating cold 'C-rats' around a fighting hole with a bunch of young 'hard charging' Marines. But the General knew his duty and as a Marine he was determined to do it to the best of his ability.
During these formal parties, a detachment of highly polished Marines from 'Eighth and Eye' (Marine Barracks located at 8th and I Streets in Washington , D.C., home of the Silent Drill Team) were detailed to assume the position of 'parade rest' at various intervals around the ball room where the festivities were being held.
At some point during one of these affairs, a very refined, big-chested, blue-haired lady picked up a tray of pastries and went around the room offering confections to the guests. When she noticed these Marines in dress blues, standing like sculptures all around the room, she was moved with admiration. She knew that several of these men were fresh from our victory in Kuwait. She made a beeline for the closest Lance Corporal, drew near him and asked, 'Would you like pastry young man?'
The young Marine snapped to 'attention' and replied,' I don't eat that sh1t, Ma'am.' Just as quickly, he resumed the position of 'parade rest.' His gaze remained fixed on some distant point throughout the exchange.
The fancy lady was completely taken aback! She blinked, her eyes widened, her mouth dropped open. So startled was she that she immediately began to doubt what she had heard. In a quivering voice she asked, 'W-W-What did you say?'
The Marine snapped back to the position of 'attention'(like the arm of a mousetrap smacking it's wooden base). Then he said, 'I don't eat that sh1t, Ma'am.' And just as smartly as before, back to the position of 'parade rest' he went.
This time, there was no doubt. The fancy lady immediately became incensed and felt insulted. After all, here she was an important lady, taking the time to offer something nice to this enlisted man (well below her station in life), and he had the nerve to say ; ;THAT to HER! She exclaimed, 'Well! I never...!' The lady remembered that she had met that military man in charge of all these 'soldiers' earlier. She spotted General Gray from across the room. He had a cigar clenched between his teeth and a camouflaged canteen cup full of bourbon in his left hand. He was talking to a group of 1st and 2nd Lieutenants. So blue haired lady went straight over to the Commandant and interrupted.
'General, I offered some pastry to that young man over there, and do you know what he told me?'
General Gray cocked his eyebrow, took the cigar out of his mouth and said, 'Well, no Ma'am, I don't.'
The lady took in a deep breath, confident that she was adequately expressing with her body language her considerable rage and indignation. As she wagged her head in cadence with h er words, and she paused between each word for effect, 'She said, 'I - don't - eat - that - sh1t - Ma'am!''
The li eutenants were in a state of near apoplexy. A couple of them choked back chuckles, and turned their heads to avoid having their smirks detected. The next thought that most of them had was, 'God, I hope it wasn't one of MY Marines!' and the color left their faces.
General Gray wrinkled his brow, cut his eyes in the direction of the lieutenants, put his free hand to his chin and muttered a subdued, 'Hummm Which one did you say it was Ma'am?,' the General asked.
'That tall sturdy one right over there near the window, General,' the woman said with smug satisfaction. One of the lieutenants began to look sick and put a hand on the wall for support.
General Gray, seemed deep in thought, hand still to his chin, wrinkled brow. Suddenly, he looked up and his expression changed to one indicating he had made a decision.
He looked the fancy lady right in the eyes and said, 'Well, f-ck him! Don't give him any.'
When next you have a drink, raise a toast to the Marines.
God bless them all.
Semper Fi... |
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2 Comments | |
| a funny email I got |
Jul 2, 2008 6:53 am
Mood: amused, 99 Views |  | I got sent this, and thought I'd share:
June 27, 2008
Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton
United States Senate
476 Russell Senate Office Building
Washington, D.C. 20510
Dear Mrs. Clinton,
I recently read where you have incurred substantial debt with your unsuccessful campaign for the Democratic Presidential nomination. Your plight concerns me and I would like to help as much as I can. I would certainly hate for you to feel pressured, due to the size of your debt, to support a candidate that you do not truly believe is ready to be "Commander in Chief on Day One."
I have always believed that our form of government, while less than perfect, is the best the world has to offer. I’ve also always believed that Congress with 535 elected members has more power to do good for this country than only one person or even nine people. Congress has the power and ability to guide and direct this country like no other group.
I vividly remember in 2006 how the Democrats gained control of both houses of Congress trumpeting “Change” and a better America. Let’s review how that has worked out for us.
* Mortgage companies have declared bankruptcy costing thousands of people their jobs
* Home values have nose-dived
* Millions of Americans have lost their homes
* World oil prices have risen astronomically
* The Democrats continue to block drilling in oil rich reserves to continue and even increase our dependence on foreign oil
* Gasoline prices have increased to over $4 a gallon and there appears to be no end in sight even though Americans have reduced their driving over one billion miles a month.
* The stock market, where most Americans’ retirement hopes are invested, has dropped by more than 15%.
* Food prices are increasing at an alarming rate fueled mostly by rising energy costs
All in all I’d have to say that the Democrats fulfilled their promise and have brought change to our country. It isn’t good change, but it is change. Unfortunately, because of all this change, change is all I have to give you to help you retire your debt.
I am enclosing one penny for you to add to your campaign “war chest.” I think that’s a fair trade. Everything you’ve done for me is worth about a penny and because of the success of the Democrats, that’s all I have. Just so you know that you really aren’t alone in this, I had to borrow the penny from a friend.
I do have one simple request in return. I would really appreciate it if you could teach me how I can get the American people to pay off my debts that I knowingly and willingly incurred. Isn’t this a great country?
Good luck in your future endeavors.
Sincerely,
Steve Russell
American citizen, patriot, veteran, taxpayer and voter |
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| George W.'s War |
Jul 1, 2008 11:01 am
Mood: enthusiastic, 107 Views |  | B]George W.'s War
No one likes war. War is a horrific affair, bloody and expensive. Sending
our men and women into battle to perhaps die or be maimed is an
unconscionable thought.
Yet some wars need to be waged, and someone needs to lead. The citizenry
and Congress are often ambivalent or largely opposed to any given war. It's up
to our leader to convince them. That's why we call the leader "Commander
in Chief."
George W.'s war was no different. There was lots of resistance to it. Many
in Congress were vehemently against the idea. The Commander in Chief had
to lobby for legislative approval.
Along with supporters, George W. used the force of his convictions, the
power of his title and every ounce of moral suasion he could muster to
rally support. He had to assure Congress and the public that the war was morally
justified, winnable and affordable. Congress eventually came around and
voted overwhelmingly to wage war.
George W. then lobbied foreign governments for support. But in the end,
only one European nation helped us. The rest of the world sat on its hands and
watched.
After a few quick victories, things started to go bad. There were many
dark days when all the news was discouraging. Casualties began to mount. It
became obvious that our forces were too small. Congress began to drag its
feet about funding the effort.
Many who had voted to support the war just a few years earlier were
beginning to speak against it and accuse the Commander in Chief of
misleading them. Many critics began to call him incompetent, an idiot and
even a liar. Journalists joined the negative chorus with a vengeance.
As the war entered its fourth year, the public began to grow weary of the
conflict and the casualties. George W.'s popularity plummeted. Yet through
it all, he stood firm, supporting the troops and endorsing the struggle.
Without his unwavering support, the war would have surely ended, then and
there, in overwhelming and total defeat.
At this darkest of times, he began to make some changes. More troops were
added and trained. Some advisers were shuffled, and new generals installed.
Then, unexpectedly and gradually, things began to improve. Now it was the
enemy that appeared to be growing weary of the lengthy conflict and losing
support. Victories began to come, and hope returned.
Many critics in Congress and the press said the improvements were just
George W.'s good luck. The progress, they said, would be temporary. He
knew, however, that in warfare good fortune counts.
Then, in the unlikeliest of circumstances and perhaps the most historic
example of military luck, the enemy blundered and was resoundingly
defeated.
After six long years of war, the Commander in Chief basked in a most
hard-fought victory.
So on that historic day, Oct. 19, 1781, in a place called Yorktown , a
satisfied George Washington sat upon his beautiful white horse and
accepted the surrender of Lord Cornwallis, effectively ending the Revolutionary
War.
By INVESTOR'S BUSINESS DAILY | Posted Friday, June 20, 2008 4:20 PM PT |
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| Juan Rubio |
Jul 1, 2008 8:31 am
Mood: enthusiastic, 128 Views |  | Juan Rubio
The citation accompanying his Silver Star Medal detailed how a well-emplaced and determined enemy ambushed Rubio and members of his team along the Euphrates River in a complex attack. As Rubio and an assault element swept through the ambush site, insurgents detonated an improvised explosive device. Rocket-propelled grenades and machine gun and small-arms fire followed immediately after the explosion, wounding three Marines.
Realizing the severity of the Marines’ wounds, and bleeding profusely from his own, Rubio low-crawled across open terrain, exposing himself to enemy fire to provide triage. Simultaneously taking care of three urgent surgical casualties, Rubio coached his fellow Marines who were assisting other casualties as incoming enemy fire intensified.
After stabilizing the wounded for casualty evacuation, Rubio directed the platoon to provide covering fire as he and several Marines began moving the casualties towards safety.
Without regard for his own life, he once again exposed himself to the heavy and accurate enemy fire, moving the
Marines from the ambush site to the shoreline.
Rubio’s Silver Star Medal elevates him to a distinctively exceptional category of valor among Navy corpsmen since the commencement of Operations Enduring Freedom and Iraqi Freedom. Only two others have been awarded the Silver Star, none have received the Medal of Honor, and only one hero has been presented the Navy Cross.
Rubio does not consider himself a hero, though.
While addressing the audience, he revealed who he believes are the true heroes, mentioning his two sons by name and that of the mortally wounded Marine lance corporal who shielded Rubio from 90 percent of the IED's
shrapnel during the engagement.
“When people ask me what it is like to be looked upon as a hero, I don’t see myself as such, because Joshua and Mathew and every son and daughter who’s out there and who has family members in Iraq, they’re the heroes,” he acknowledged while fighting back emotion. “They’re the ones who sacrifice their fathers and their mothers. That takes honor, courage and bravery to go home every night and pray that their fathers and mothers come home safe.
"And Brian Parrillo, this is for you, brother," he said. "Thank you for bringing me home.
CORPUS CHRISTI, Texas, May 1, 2006 —U.S. Navy Petty Officer 2nd Class Juan M. Rubio, 32, of San Angelo, Texas, was awarded the Silver Star Medal April 27 for conspicuous gallantry against the enemy Jan. 1, 2005, while serving as a Marine platoon corpsman in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom.
The Silver Star Medal is the U.S. Navy’s third highest award for gallantry in combat, following the Navy Cross and the nation’s highest award, the Medal of Honor.
Rear Adm. Thomas R. Cullison, commander, Navy Medicine East and commander, Naval Medical Center, Portsmouth, Va., made the presentation in front of the Naval Hospital located aboard Naval Air Station Corpus Christi, Texas.
During the ceremony, Cullison spoke about the bond that Navy Medicine, particularly Navy corpsmen, share with Marines.
“When we serve with the Marines and the Marines are with us, it’s a relationship that you can find nowhere else,” said Cullison. “The acceptance between these two groups is like no other. The responsibility that we put on our young corpsmen in battle to perform and to save lives is incredible.”
Clarifying that point, Cullison compared the controlled environment that he and other surgeons work in with the help of many others.
“Young corpsmen who go to Field Medical Service School - usually straight out of high school - perform to save lives in combat, just as Petty Officer Rubio did, and they are amazing!” he said.
Representing the Commanding General, 1st Marine Division, Marine Maj. Gen. R. F. Natonski and Command Master Chief Kelvin Carter hand-carried the award to Texas from Camp Pendleton, Calif., and assisted Cullison with the presentation. He also brought a personal message with him for Rubio.
“I talked to all the Marines and sailors in Iraq before I left, and those back in Camp Pendleton, and they want me to tell you, ‘good job, and outstanding job!’ They are damned proud of you," he said. "Please continue what you have done for our great nation, the Marine Corps and Navy team, and also for the hospital corps community.”
Rubio had already earned the Purple Heart for wounds sustained in the Jan. 1, 2005, engagement while serving with 4th Platoon, Small Craft Company, 1st Marine Division, I Marine Expeditionary Force, U.S. Marine Forces Central Command. |
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| The New Age Annoints a New Opiate |
Jun 29, 2008 6:25 pm
Mood: enthusiastic, 138 Views |  | The New Age Annoints a New Opiate
By Ivan Betinov
6/14/2008, 1:03 pm
"God is dead, and we have killed him." So said the great philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche. Thus, there is a void that can be exploited in the herd that is the American voting population." With these words opened the first neo-ecumenical council of world pseudo-religions held June 10 - 13, 2008, in Ventnor City, New Jersey. "We are here to proclaim the arrival of an Enlightened Being who will lead us to Justice, Peace, Health and Wholeness. All the evils in the world are the Fault of the Bushitler, and it is time to fix that.
With the refrain that "it is all Bush's fault" echoing through the halls, it was little surprise that the New-Age Faiths offered their unanimous endorsement to Senator Barack Hussein Obama's presidential campaign.
"Here we have a true Lightworker," explained Alexis Virago, High Harridan of the Church of the Holy Hooter (commonly known as the Boobtists). "He is probably not really human, or at least not totally human; I suspect that his father was a spiritual being residing temporarily in physical form in order to accomplish The Obama's incarnation."
~
That The Obama is a Lightworker was adopted into the articles of ideology of each religion by acclamation: "He will lead the people out of the bondage of Capitalism and into the Pure Light of a new consciousness, where all things are held in common, where all sickness will be cured by caring doctors and compassionate public health service nurses. The Wealthy shall give to the poor, until there is no wealth. The artificial borders that separate the peoples of the Earth will be nullified, and the Earth herself will begin to heal. The waters shall recede, the sun shall smile on a green and fertile land."
"We look with favor upon the nomination," pronounced Hans Bedlamite, leader of the Goreman delegation. "We feel that it in fact is more of an anointing than a nomination, that the divine hand of Mother Gaia is at work here. He has promised that He will consult with the Goremans on all ecological policies, and with that we are wonderfully pleased."
"We look forward to a full and final investigation of the Bushitler's war crimes, starting with the inside job that destroyed the World Trade Center. The Truth will finally be revealed and all of our conspiracies will be proved," intoned the leader of the Trutherans, who declined to be identified by any name other than a simple "Mikael." "We have lived under the lies of the 19 percenters for eight long years. We have kept the faith when all others deserted us, called us fools, produced 'evidence' to refute our gospels. Now we will see justice."
"The Church of the Holy Hooter embraces The Obama despite his gender," confirmed Virago. "He may have a phallus, but his wife is a speaker of Truth to Power. We hope that she will join us in our rituals one day, but we are happy enough to have such a strong woman behind the throne. We expect an immediate withdrawal of American troops from Iraq, Afghanistan and all bases in San Francisco. We further prophesy that an immediate reign of Peace will follow this shining accomplishment, that all violence will cease, that the Religion of Peace will heal the rifts in the Middle East that were only created with the illegal American invasion of this peaceful region."
Top representatives of new beliefs met in solemn conclave amid the serene atmosphere at Trump's World Fair Conference Center. "The so-called 'mainstream religions'-with the exception of the American Episcopal Church-have grown stale and failed to move with the times," explained conference organizer Myron Postal, leader of the Fifth-Year-Plan Adventists as he led the way to Section 8 of the Conference Center. "We offer the same features as these failed faiths, but we can back our beliefs up with solid proof. And we don't condemn people for being different, for being sinful. We only condemn people who don't agree with us."
"We are exploiting the humyn proclivity to believe in something," agreed Harridan Virago. "People have a need to embrace things that cannot be proved and to take part in rituals designed to alter the course of the universe. We have successfully ridiculed the beliefs of the 'traditional' religions to the point that we can replace them with our own articles of faith and acts of ritual." She paused to lift her T-shirt at a group of school children as we passed the casino day care center, calling "Boobs not Bombs, kiddies! Boobs for Obama! Tell Mommy to vote Democrat!" then continued. "I'm particularly proud of the little fish with legs with the word 'Darwin' written on it. I thought that one up. It really puts those 'Christian' fascists in their place for trying to force their religion on me with that misogynistic fish symbol of theirs." When asked how a fish is a symbol of misogyny she grasped the hem of her shirt threateningly. "Don't question the articles of my faith, hater!"
In Section 8 the various neo faiths had interesting and educational displays set up to explain the subtle mysteries of their beliefs:
-The Boobtist pavilion was resplendent with no less then seventeen pairs of bared breasts. Their literature (which was a welcome diversion from the acolytes) explained that through the sacrament of exposing a pair of sagging, leathery dugs, the believer could lead the apostate to Truth. At the sight of the Holy Hooter their eyes will be opened and they will see the Truth that Bush is Hitler and anyone that has ever even thought of voting Rethuglikkkan will be condemned to everlasting damnation. To be bra-less is to be sinless.
-The Trutherans had perhaps the largest kiosk in the convention hall. The Gospel According to Saint Michael played on a continuous loop DVD, explaining how the attack on 9/11 was a sinister plot by Bushitler to enslave the entire world. The Revelations of Saint Rosie the Bovine proved that fire cannot melt steel, reinforcing the revealed mystery of the Controlled Demolition Fact. The booth was operated by sisters from the Order of Our Lady of the Incoherent Misconception, although the Abyss of the Ditch, Saint Sheehan was too busy planning her next pilgrimage to Venezuela to attend in person.
-The Percustionals had a noisy display set up, where they drummed for World Peace, Environmental Awareness and Loose Change. "We'll believe just about anything anyone tells us, as long as they are from Holy Wood!" shouted Moonbeam Whalesong. "They have taught us that every single thing that Amerikkka has ever done is wrong and stuff! Have you got any spare money so I can go to Starbucks?!"
-The Maotheodists had a small display in one corner, touting the deification of the chairman. There was a bit of friction evident between them and the Fifth-Year-Plan Adventists. "We have a mausoleum and a glass coffin, and we still have our own country," observed Xian Gri-la, People's Guardian of the Shining Path of Sacred Mysteries. "Who are the real Communists here?"
"Real Communists hate the Bushitler," retorted Postal as he dragged the party bodily away from the Maotheodist display. "When was the last time you did anything to oppose the illegal occupation of Iraq, Afghanistan and New York by the Rethuglicans? Just passing money to the Democrats doesn't count, Hsu know." He gave them a particularly condescending smile "And those really helped out your little false goddess, didn't they?" He hustled the reporter pool out of the convention display hall and down to a conference room.
"What we are seeing here is merely the inevitable progression of history as initiated by the first People's religion, Leninism," he explained over a glass of sacramental wine after we had settled into chairs. "Once the vanguard of the People pioneered the methods it was as inevitable as the success of Socialism that fellow travelers would seek Truth through alternative means." He admitted privately that many of the new denominations were populated by "useful fools" who would of course require theological reeducation once the Great Satan had been cast down. "And besides," he added conspiratorially, "We believe all religion to be an outdated collection of superstitions, except for our progressive Muslim brothers, of course; despite their ridiculous belief in a God they did not manufacture, they do show a healthy contempt for so-called 'Western Civilization.' What we are after here is simply a tool to keep the proles distracted..." He might have said more had we not been joined by the Goremon representative at this point.
High Thermidorian Hans Bedlamite lost no time in chastising the heathen. "Unlike primitive superstitions, our faith is based on solid scientific consensus of every real scientist on the planet. Anybody who disagrees with our holy writ that Human-Driven Global Warming is going to cause earthquakes, floods, abnormally high and low temperatures, male pattern baldness and an increase in bad indy bands is not a real scientist and has been paid off by the Halliburton Company to tell filthy lies. But unlike the Christians, who used to burn people at the stake for heresy (and trust me, that pack of Fascists would be at it again in a heartbeat if we didn't keep them under close supervision, and they wouldn't even buy carbon offsets) we believe in the absolute right of every individual to agree with every word that comes from the mouth of the Goracle without question. The only people we want to silence are those dangerous counter-revo -er, misguided tools of the establishment that demand to 'see the raw data' or who question the 'methodology of the study.' Those who question the revealed wisdom of the Goracle must be stopped from spreading their wicked lies. Oh, and it's all Bush's fault."
With a rosy new dawn lightening the horizon, it seems that a New Age of aroused consciousness and spiritual evolution has arrived with the nomination of The Obama. Soon all dissent shall cease-by law, if necessary-health will abound, waters will run pure and clear, and peace shall descend. All due to the arrival of the Lightworker. |
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| Flood Ravaged Iowans Idiotically Move On |
Jun 27, 2008 11:06 am
Mood: envious, 151 Views | Flood Ravaged Iowans Idiotically Move On
Two weeks ago cities across Iowa were inundated by record floods. Now, as the waters recede, some Iowans are finding themselves victimized again -- by their state's self-destructive work ethic. Blogger / flood victim Dave Burge reports from the scene.
As an Iowan and the proud owner of two big screen LCDs from Coralville Rent-A-Center, I've seen my share of weather disasters. But, even with full 1080p HD, I never really stopped to think that it could happen to me. So when the floodwaters of the Iowa River reached my own home this week, I suppose I was unprepared for the devastation -- and the aftershock that my fellow Iowans would sabotage my once-in-a-lifetime golden ticket on the FEMA gravy train.
I was enjoying midmorning cocktails on the patio of my estate a few blocks from the Iowa River when I first heard the flood warnings, and when I turned on the television I saw the shocking pictures of downtown Cedar Rapids inundated by the rising Cedar river. The implication was obvious: Ka-Ching!
As many of you know I am a victim of the subprime mortgage crisis, and have been battling eviction while our do-nothing Congress holds up my bailout money. With video like that -- and with a $2 million flood insurance policy -- your old pal Dave was 24 hours away from the mother of all disaster jackpots.
With the river rising by the minute it was time to spring into action and prepare. I went to the rec room and woke up my colleague Kyle off the pool table. We drove to the Wal-Mart Supercenter to stock up on a two-day supply of Old Mil and spray paint, which I calculated would last us until the start of post-flood "discount shopping season." While we were in the checkout lane, I realized the store was eerily quiet. "Where'd everybody go?" I asked the cashier.
"The radio said to orderly evacuate to higher ground," she said. "I guess they all did."
That seemed a little weird to me, but hey, I figured shorter lines for FEMA cash cards. And less competition for the weekend free laptops at Best Buy.
After we got back to the house I called up Randy and Chuck, and invited them over to celebrate with one last pre-flood tear around the back yard on the dirt bikes. But when we finally got down to the river, we saw a man-made tragedy unfolding before our eyes: a fireline of volunteers was reinforcing the levee with sandbags.
"What the hell are you doing?" I yelled.
And the guy is like, "hey, grab a shovel and help us fill some bags." I turned and looked at Kyle, and even though he was completely baked he couldn't believe these idiots either. Luckily they loaded up in a truck and went downriver after about an hour, so Randy and I borrowed a couple Bobcat loaders from the construction site down the block and knocked a big hole in the embankment. All that was left now was to spray paint some plywood protest signs for the TV helicopters, have a few drinks, and wait for that sweet watery windfall.
The next morning I woke up on the patio with a hangover which wasn't exactly helped by Tammi Jo kicking me in the ribs. When I looked up, she was standing over me, waving an envelope.
"You forgot to pay the flood insurance bill again, didn't you."
Shit. I mean, what am I supposed to do, woman? The freaking Big Game lotto was up to $250 million last month, for crissakes. When I rolled over I saw that the river was still 15 feet from the patio, so I figured I'd have enough time to call the insurance company and have my policy reinstated. But then they give me the old shyster rigamarole -- "I'm sorry Mr. Burge, but you have to have two consecutive months coverage," bla bla bla, like I have some kind of two month flood crystal ball that will magically remind me to pay the bill.
I told the insurance lady I could pay her for the back premiums next week after I got my FEMA credit card, but she's like, "I'm sorry, that's not allowed," and when I offered to pay her today with some unused lottery tickets, she just hung up. Tammi Jo stood there on the patio glowering at me, ankle deep in the river.
"Um, they're looking into it," I said.
Over the next 24 hours I floated around downstairs on little Dakota's inflatable Spongebob pool raft, figuring that was probably safer than going upstairs where Tammi Jo was. She eventually calmed down when I explained to her the insurance thing was just a temporary setback, and that the cash airlifts and class action lawyers would be coming any day now. And, if we played our cards right, we might be looking at a three year hotel vacation in Vegas. As a peace offering I volunteered me and Kyle to take the bass boat up the Coralville Strip to do a little "bargain hunting."
I was worried we might be a little late for the good stuff, but when we moored the boat at Chuck E. Cheese and waded over to Wal Mart we discovered that the parking lot was empty and the windows were still intact. Sweet! We grabbed a couple of carts and started ramming the doors, with little effect. Luckily a couple of Coralville cops pulled up in a cruiser. "How about a little help here, man?" I asked, handing the one cop a rock. "Those flat screens aren't gonna last all day."
Guess what? He hits his stupid siren. Kyle and I hauled ass around the back and dove through the underbrush by the railroad tracks and barely got away from the two cops, who apparently wanted the Wal-Mart inventory all to themselves. "Protect and Serve," my ass.
We walked along the railroad tracks behind the strip, and it was the same story at every damn store: locked up, and not a single shopping spree mob in sight. I was getting pretty worried at that point, because I promised Tammi Jo I'd be bring home some jewelry and electronic stuff, and you know how she gets. Anyway, we walked the tracks into Iowa City, when we saw a school gym with a big sign that said "REFUGEE CENTER."
Bingo! This was our chance to pick up some quick eyewitness tragedy story cash from the tragedy reporters. But when we got inside there wasn't a single TV camera, and it was half empty except for a few ladies with little kids.
"Where is everyone?" I asked.
"Oh, most of them volunteered for sandbag and cleanup duty," said the stupid old lady at the desk. "Isn't that nice?"
Oh, great. I looked over on her TV set and the reporter was talking about how all the "hardworking Iowans" were "quietly pitching in," and "picking up the pieces," and "stoically moving on." Frankly, I'm getting a little sick of being labeled with these kind of destructive stereotypes. Hey, media - what about the Iowans who aren't necessarily stoic or hardworking or self-reliant? Or don't we matter in your stupid media soundbites?
It was clear that somebody needed to take the bull by the horns and create some socko headlines to keep the media ball rolling. Kyle and I tried to get some of the little kids to start a riot inside the Refugee Center, but that fell apart when Dora the Explorer came on. Next we tried calling CNN to report possible cannibalism, but they just hung up. The only real violence I sparked was when Tammi Jo showed up at the gym with Dakota and Tiffani. And her 12" Maglite.
After getting first aid from the old lady at the desk, Kyle and I headed over to Chuck's to stay for a while.
We tried calling some Hollywood celebrities to see if they would organize a telethon benefit for us or something, but that was a gigantic waste of time. I probably left 30 unanswered messages at Scarlett Johansson's office. Kyle got through to Kanye West, who threatened to pop a cap in his ass. Even Sean Penn refused, like he's got anything better to do. The closest we got to any deal was Richard Gere, but he canceled after he found out Iowa wasn't part of Tibet.
After the third day the river had dropped and most of the TV trucks had packed up and left. Chuck's old lady Rhonda was yelling at us to leave, plus they were out of beer. I figured Tammi Jo was probably calmed down by now so me and Kyle walked back to my place. When we got there she was standing at the front plastic sheet, and handed us some shovels and mops.
"Get to work."
"Isn't FEMA suppose to ship in some Mexicans to do this sort of thing?" I ask.
She pointed down the street. All the neighbors were back, cheerfully cleaning crap out of their yards and basements.
"THANKS A LOT," I yell over at Gary, the moron next door.
"Any time, Dave!" He waves back with that stupid grin of his. "You betcha!"
So there you have it: a 500-year, gold plated, biblical grade flood, and all I have to show for it is a sore back and a basement full of soggy rental stereo equipment. This tragedy has been brought to you by a negligent government and an indifferent media. And most of all, my neigbors: 3 million stoic, self reliant, hard working morons who can't figure out a million dollar opportunity when they're waist deep in it.. And they wonder why they call us "Idiots Out Walking Around."
Screw this state. I'm moving to Vegas.
Oh, and Scarlett Johansson? Call me. | |
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| Hippies Accidentally Create World's Largest Mercedes Sign |
Jun 25, 2008 4:49 pm
Mood: tired, 152 Views |  | Hippies Accidentally Create World's Largest Mercedes Sign
Posted by Harvey at 11:57 AM
Ithaca, NY (AP) - While attempting to create the world's largest peace sign, festival-goers in Ithaca, NY, created the world's largest Mercedes sign by mistake.
Can you imagine the smell?
5814 participants gathered to form the familiar symbol of pacifist activism, but - through either oversight or stupidity - only formed three of the four radii required to create a traditional peace sign. Since the missing radius was the lower center line, the symbol they formed was actually the trademark hood ornament of the Mercedes-Benz automobile - a quality German luxury car since 1926 - rather than the anti-war symbol created by a British nuclear disarmament protestor in 1958.
"Dude, this totally sucks!" observed participant Summer Sunshine Rainbow Rabinowitz. "We were, like, trying to tell Bush McChimpyhitler that his war totally blows, but somehow he managed to get his Haliburton oil buddies in here to screw us over with some sort of totally covert inside job. Just like 9/11!"
Other participants, such as Moonglow Moonbeam Johnson suspected less conspiratorial causes. "'Twas the weed, my man. The Acapulco Fire-Bud has a way of rendering one incapable of creating complex geometric figures. Heck, we're lucky we didn't end up with a swastika, or - even worse - the Windows logo."
Ithaca High School sophomore Trevor Dougherty, the organizer of the attempt, claimed they were still successful. "Maybe it's wasn't a peace sign, but Mercedes isn't all gas-guzzling & global warming. After all, the high priestess of high people, Janis Joplin, used it as an icon of war resistance in her song, 'Oh Lord, Won't You Run Over George Bush With a Mercedes Benz', which I once saw on YouTube or maybe somebody's MySpace page."
"Anyway," Dougherty concluded, "we all got super-mega-stoned, and that's what REALLY matters." |
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