A Tea Party group (founded by former congressman Dick Armey) known as FreedomWorks has provided new GOP congressmen and women with talking points that will help them survive budget-focused town hall meetings which have recently been very confrontational for conservatives. To review, a tea bagging group founded by a Dick Armey.
The Tea Party talking points are as follows...
1. First and foremost, don't hold or attend town hall meetings. Stay away from the American people as much as possible. They might ask questions, but worse yet, you may have to answer them. Plus, they have diseases like rickets and polio. Just being around them will greatly decrease your chances of reaching heaven.
2. Remember to always walk around with pockets full of tea bags. And hand them out generously saying, "I'm teabagging everyone!" And when people understandably clamor to get their hands on the tea bags, assure them by saying, "Don't worry, you'll get teabagged, too!"
3. When someone brings up that you want to privatize Medicare, blind them with an accurately thrown tea bag, then make your escape while they're busy removing the Earl Grey from their eyes.
4. When the issue of raising the debt ceiling comes up, tell the people that the only ceiling you'll be raising is the one over your in-house chapel, so that you can be closer to God. Then while people are aww-ing, disappear in a cloud of English Breakfast!
5. Don't bury your head in the sand. Bury it in solid gold. Gold is less reactive and will protect you from the germs of everyday people. Also, with more gold and wealth, you're sure to get into heaven.
6. To communicate the Democratic budget plan, simply hold up a blank sheet of paper. Everyone knows the book-reading liberals have been in the pockets of Big Paper for years. If you want an even more powerful image, hold up an empty tea bag. The people will get it.
7. Stick to your message. And to highlight your uncanny message stickiness, create a large sheet of fly paper, put in on the wall of the town hall and have your advisers catapult you high onto the sheet of sticky paper. If you run out of things to say while stuck to the wall, don't worry, our top conservative scientists tell us that American commoners hunt by detecting movement. Eventually they'll give up and find weaker prey elsewhere.
8. Hold town hall meetings at Senior Centers. These are the people most affected by the Medicare issue. Also, you'll get credit for holding the town hall meetings and they won't recall anything you said. Remember, they're old.
9. When people enter, give them a voucher for a free tea bag. This will get them used to a voucher system. "Hey, voucher systems can't be all that bad," they'll say. "After all, it did get me this free tea bag!"
10. If someone brings up the fact that 96% of the deficit increase was caused by Bush programs, remind them that you weren't there at the time because you're new. People often feel bad for the new guy. Remind them that new things have a nicer smell to them than old things. They'll want to smell nice, new things since they are likely poor and smell bad. Eventually the people's questions will go away, just like Styrofoam cups, racial intolerance, and the sun.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
A Beautiful Summer Day and Also a Robot Killed an Old Lady
Oh, Summer: the Season is nearly upon us, and we're catching the first glimpse of it today. An 80 degree day, a mild breeze keeping us cool, the smell of cookouts wafting from open driver side windows to open passenger side windows.
And also, a monstrous robot brutally beat an old lady to death.
Photosynthesizing grass dances on the olfactory senses, as our eyes are dazzled by the bright chloroform shades of green. "Well, I'd say summer's finally here," shouts your neighbor, his black dress socks rocketing up his leg and yet still painfully never nearing his plaid boxer shorts which he wears as if just regular shorts. But he's a nice guy and lets you borrow his weed wacker on summer days just like this. Days like this make you feel generous, like you have more to give to the day.
The aged lady hardly knew what hit her, but soon realized it was robot arms and legs. It came around the corner, the robot, first frightening the Jesus out of her. The scream carried like that of a beached whale, but was obscured by the screeching roar of the maniacal mechanical brute. Harmonized horror. One would think she'd keel over instantly from heart failure. But that old maid had life left in her yet, which the automated steel beast quickly extinguished by mercilessly flogging her with arms and legs made of metal clamps and cogs.
Blacktop roads, packed with automobiles, wither and wave beneath rising heat. No one seems in a rush to get anywhere. They drive aimlessly, one eye on the road, a second on the radio, searching for the song to perfectly capture the mood. This is the first real beautiful day this year. Record breaking Winter is over, but the snow shovels are still leaned against the garage. You'll put them away eventually.
After many minutes of titanium alloy pummeling flesh and bone, blood began mixing with robot oil, becoming indistinguishable. The robot had not sprung a leak, it was simply sweating oil due to exertion in the frenzied drubbing and trouncing of that geriatric meat bag.
The blue sky envelops you, its vibrant color like pure oxygen. You take in a deep breath. The waitress approaches while you relax on the bar's outdoor patio. She catches you off guard because you've been busy admiring the vivid treeline. Until now, it seemed to be forever set against grays and whites. Sure, you'll take another cold beer.
Another employee drags a hose around the corner and washes the mixture of oil and blood off the decorative brick sidewalk and into the gutter. That's where that robot killed that old lady yesterday. The spray mist from the hose feels good on your sun soaked legs.
On a beautiful day like today, the robot was probably out searching for another victim. Luckily, it prefers the elderly. You're young and energetic and you've got a good strong body. That would just mean more work for the robot in processing your tough, corporeal carcass.
One day, you'll be old too, but for now, let's just enjoy this beautiful day.
And also, a monstrous robot brutally beat an old lady to death.
Photosynthesizing grass dances on the olfactory senses, as our eyes are dazzled by the bright chloroform shades of green. "Well, I'd say summer's finally here," shouts your neighbor, his black dress socks rocketing up his leg and yet still painfully never nearing his plaid boxer shorts which he wears as if just regular shorts. But he's a nice guy and lets you borrow his weed wacker on summer days just like this. Days like this make you feel generous, like you have more to give to the day.
The aged lady hardly knew what hit her, but soon realized it was robot arms and legs. It came around the corner, the robot, first frightening the Jesus out of her. The scream carried like that of a beached whale, but was obscured by the screeching roar of the maniacal mechanical brute. Harmonized horror. One would think she'd keel over instantly from heart failure. But that old maid had life left in her yet, which the automated steel beast quickly extinguished by mercilessly flogging her with arms and legs made of metal clamps and cogs.
Blacktop roads, packed with automobiles, wither and wave beneath rising heat. No one seems in a rush to get anywhere. They drive aimlessly, one eye on the road, a second on the radio, searching for the song to perfectly capture the mood. This is the first real beautiful day this year. Record breaking Winter is over, but the snow shovels are still leaned against the garage. You'll put them away eventually.
After many minutes of titanium alloy pummeling flesh and bone, blood began mixing with robot oil, becoming indistinguishable. The robot had not sprung a leak, it was simply sweating oil due to exertion in the frenzied drubbing and trouncing of that geriatric meat bag.
The blue sky envelops you, its vibrant color like pure oxygen. You take in a deep breath. The waitress approaches while you relax on the bar's outdoor patio. She catches you off guard because you've been busy admiring the vivid treeline. Until now, it seemed to be forever set against grays and whites. Sure, you'll take another cold beer.
Another employee drags a hose around the corner and washes the mixture of oil and blood off the decorative brick sidewalk and into the gutter. That's where that robot killed that old lady yesterday. The spray mist from the hose feels good on your sun soaked legs.
On a beautiful day like today, the robot was probably out searching for another victim. Luckily, it prefers the elderly. You're young and energetic and you've got a good strong body. That would just mean more work for the robot in processing your tough, corporeal carcass.
One day, you'll be old too, but for now, let's just enjoy this beautiful day.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Poor Jefferson County
Last night in southeastern Wisconsin we had some thunderstorms. Serious enough to warrant a warning from the emergency broadcast system. Every emergency broadcast system warning I can ever remember has always included Jefferson County, Wisconsin. They're the first ones named in the advisory, always, without fail.
It got me thinking. These poor people. Their children must be genetically mutated to sense thunderstorms. Like a human barnyard animal hybrid. I wonder how that would -- you know what, Jefferson County, I don't want to know. It's none of my business.
Listen, you'd be affected too if your 365 day forecast was this...
These people must live forever in storm cellars. When I hear Jefferson County mentioned in a warning by the emergency broadcast system, I imagine this happening... "Oh no! It's a warning from the emergency broadcast system, Jefferson County!"
They probably have storm cellars within storm cellars. Did I just blow your mind? Do you think there are tattoos of storm cellars around Jefferson? In my dreams there are.
If someone wanted to kidnap the entire population of Jefferson, one need only construct the world's largest storm cellar, and then shake a few large sheets of metal to simulate thunder. They'll scramble out of the woods and make their way to the largest and most attractive doors leading underground. Like pure biological instinct.
I'm thinking of creating a new line of women's underwear specifically for Jefferson. The front of the panties feature the image of storm cellar doors. Though people will probably wonder why the population of Jefferson seems to explode approximately nine months after a large thunderstorm.
Haven't decided on a brand name yet. What do you think of Come Inside Underwear?
It got me thinking. These poor people. Their children must be genetically mutated to sense thunderstorms. Like a human barnyard animal hybrid. I wonder how that would -- you know what, Jefferson County, I don't want to know. It's none of my business.
Listen, you'd be affected too if your 365 day forecast was this...
These people must live forever in storm cellars. When I hear Jefferson County mentioned in a warning by the emergency broadcast system, I imagine this happening... "Oh no! It's a warning from the emergency broadcast system, Jefferson County!"
They probably have storm cellars within storm cellars. Did I just blow your mind? Do you think there are tattoos of storm cellars around Jefferson? In my dreams there are.
If someone wanted to kidnap the entire population of Jefferson, one need only construct the world's largest storm cellar, and then shake a few large sheets of metal to simulate thunder. They'll scramble out of the woods and make their way to the largest and most attractive doors leading underground. Like pure biological instinct.
I'm thinking of creating a new line of women's underwear specifically for Jefferson. The front of the panties feature the image of storm cellar doors. Though people will probably wonder why the population of Jefferson seems to explode approximately nine months after a large thunderstorm.
Haven't decided on a brand name yet. What do you think of Come Inside Underwear?
Friday, May 20, 2011
Large, Active Bottoms
CUSTOMER: "Yeah, hi there. Um, yeah, so I was wondering -- boy this is awkward -- if you had any hip or trendy new styles for the professional-on-the-go, whose stress of the job results in him having a more... active bottom? Really? Terrific. Oh, yeah, I'll need those in a large."
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Damn You, Disney
I blame Disney for making this video of a baby seal being released back into the wild both heartwarming and inspiring. That's right. Blame. Disney is perhaps the most responsible for the disgustingly adorable personification of animals. For the cuddly wuddly anthropomorphizing of baby deer, and baby lions, and bunnies and kitties and puppies.
That being said... check out this cutie-pa-tootie-fruity-poopie-shmoopie! Awwwwwwwwwww! (PUKE) Just precious! (VIOLENT VOMIT) So cuuuuuuuuuuute! (GUT WRENCHING EJECTION OF INNARDS) Elongated utterance directed at cherubic cuddlesome creature! (AGONIZING DISGORGING OF ENTRAILS)
That being said... check out this cutie-pa-tootie-fruity-poopie-shmoopie! Awwwwwwwwwww! (PUKE) Just precious! (VIOLENT VOMIT) So cuuuuuuuuuuute! (GUT WRENCHING EJECTION OF INNARDS) Elongated utterance directed at cherubic cuddlesome creature! (AGONIZING DISGORGING OF ENTRAILS)
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Most Athletic Baseball Fan Ever?
Uh oh, I predict new additions to the MLB stadium security guard training course!
Monday, May 16, 2011
Paul Ryan Looks Like a Muppet
Today while reading the news, it occurred to me that Wisconsin Representative Paul Ryan looks like a muppet. He's got big round ears and a large nose, bugged out eyes with a vacant stare, and I'm sure some lobbying group with their hand up his ass controlling him.
 |
| That's Paul Ryan on the right. |
Friday, May 13, 2011
Osamas Gone Abbottabad: Bin Laden's Porn Collection
Osama Bin Laden's compound had an extensive collection of porn, according to government officials. It's not really something most people want to think about, Osama Bin Laden declaring jihad on his holy land.
So let's begin!
Because of my extensive collection of government sources, I was able to obtain a list of films included in this "wank cache," this "spank bank," this "I'm bored-hoard," this "five finger hive," this "rash-causing stash," this "masturbation accumulation," this "masturbatory depository," this "erection collection," this "offending compendium," this "boobage assemblage," this "adult show depot," this "sexophile stockpile."
Okay then.
Well, I think I've embarrassed myself enough with these sexual innuendo skills. More to follow as they arrive in my brain out of the filthy, dirty ether.
So let's begin!
Because of my extensive collection of government sources, I was able to obtain a list of films included in this "wank cache," this "spank bank," this "I'm bored-hoard," this "five finger hive," this "rash-causing stash," this "masturbation accumulation," this "masturbatory depository," this "erection collection," this "offending compendium," this "boobage assemblage," this "adult show depot," this "sexophile stockpile."
Okay then.
- Allah For Clothes Off
- Allah For Clothes Off 2: No Hands
- Allah For Clothes Off 3: No Head
- Terrorjism
- Debbie Does Osama's South Tower
- Osama Terrorizes Bush
- Bush Terrorizes Osama
- Bin Laid In A Cave
- Search The Afghan
- Sau Ds In The Shower
- Jihad A Threesome
- Koran Away From Homosexuality
- Osama Penetrates Her Homeland Security
- Secure Her Ts
- Saw Me A Labia
- Burqa Biggler
- Mujahi-Ds
- Osama Packs a Stan and a Stacy
- So... Decided To Bomb Her
- In Like A Lion, Out Like Islam... And Then Back In Again
- A Hard Pilgrimage To Swallow
- Osama's Sword And A Stoning
- Mecca Lecca High And A Sunni Ho
Well, I think I've embarrassed myself enough with these sexual innuendo skills. More to follow as they arrive in my brain out of the filthy, dirty ether.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
The Douchiest Douche Who Ever Douched
I've recently met someone who is the douchiest person I've ever met. I don't say this lightly. But this guy is just that. The douchiest person I've ever met.
Now, without putting myself on a pedestal, I've always considered myself a class act. With the exception of some drunken, shirtless nights out, I've always carried myself with dignity and respect. And even then, I'm the classiest, most dignified, respectful shirtless guy around.
But I've always wanted to travel the low road once in my life, and this seems as good a time as any. So using notable figures of history and pop culture, I will provide a rough sketch of this particular man, who shall remain nameless, and likely dickless. Again this may lack poise and grace, but then again, so does he... as well as a penis.
Not only does he compare to this former French Emperor in height, but also in ego and self-importance. He thinks his shit doesn't stink. But as modern science tells us, all shit stinks, especially if you're a Frenchman who's been dead for hundreds of years.
This man's phone bill must be enormous as he receives regular long distance phone calls from 1986 asking for his hairstyle and wardrobe back. He looks like former INXS singer Michael Hutchence, seen here pulling off the look appropriately back in the 1980's, where it remains to this day...
The final piece of this caricature puzzle is simply a baby crying.
To review. This man is the douchiest person I've ever met. He has a Napoleon complex. He looks like INXS singer Michael Hutchence. But if Hutchence was still alive and had decided to go back to school and major in Arrogant Asshole with a minor in Dumb Racist. And he's a crying baby in (semi) grownup clothing, which probably includes a grownup diaper. To hold all the bullshit that comes out of him.
That is all.
Now, without putting myself on a pedestal, I've always considered myself a class act. With the exception of some drunken, shirtless nights out, I've always carried myself with dignity and respect. And even then, I'm the classiest, most dignified, respectful shirtless guy around.
But I've always wanted to travel the low road once in my life, and this seems as good a time as any. So using notable figures of history and pop culture, I will provide a rough sketch of this particular man, who shall remain nameless, and likely dickless. Again this may lack poise and grace, but then again, so does he... as well as a penis.
Not only does he compare to this former French Emperor in height, but also in ego and self-importance. He thinks his shit doesn't stink. But as modern science tells us, all shit stinks, especially if you're a Frenchman who's been dead for hundreds of years.
This man's phone bill must be enormous as he receives regular long distance phone calls from 1986 asking for his hairstyle and wardrobe back. He looks like former INXS singer Michael Hutchence, seen here pulling off the look appropriately back in the 1980's, where it remains to this day...
The final piece of this caricature puzzle is simply a baby crying.
To review. This man is the douchiest person I've ever met. He has a Napoleon complex. He looks like INXS singer Michael Hutchence. But if Hutchence was still alive and had decided to go back to school and major in Arrogant Asshole with a minor in Dumb Racist. And he's a crying baby in (semi) grownup clothing, which probably includes a grownup diaper. To hold all the bullshit that comes out of him.
That is all.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
White House Provides Press With Osama Bin Laden's Hawaiian Live Death Certificate
With reports of Osama Bin Laden's death, the White House has moved quickly to show proof of the terrorist's demise. To that end, they've released Bin Laden's Hawaiian Live Death Certificate...
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