30 June 2007

Headlines For The Comatose

by Knorr the Interpreter

For those of you who partied WAYYY too hard on New Year's Eve 2006, catch up on all the headlines published in the Mainstream Media for the first half of 2007 right here in this easy-to-swallow articlet. You're welcome... and take it a little easier this coming December, eh?

Bush Administration Official Flouts Constitution, Doesn't Give Carpenter's Damn What Anybody Thinks

Paris Hilton Does Dumb Shit, Breaks Law, Whines About Being Punished

Congressional Democrats Posture, Talk Tough, Draw Line On Hot-Button Issue, Then Bend Over, Take It Like Bitches They Truly Are

Daily Baghdad Car Bomb Kills Between 20 and 200

Ohio Sports Team Has Great Season, Gets Ass Handed To Them In Championship

Lindsay Lohan Gets Drunk, Coked Up, Wrecks Car

Semi-Talented Asshats Sing, Win / Lose Televised Popularity Contest

Holy Crap Is It Ever Cold / Hot / Snowy / Rainy / Dry For This Time Of Year

Gas Prices Increase 50 Cents, Spawn Motorist Outrage; Drop 25 Cents, Drivers' Riot Quelled; Cycle Repeats

24 June 2007

What I Wouldn't Do

by Jesus

First and foremost, I wouldn't take money out of the pockets of my followers for cheap third-world slave-labor-manufactured trinkets with four silly little initials on them. That money had better be going to feeding the hungry or housing the homeless: Lance Armstrong gave the profits from his armbands to a good cause - these folks claiming to speak for The Son Of God had better keep philanthropic pace with a dude who wore skin-tight lycra shorts for a living.

Look, I was human for a while. I know it's hard to always keep what's right in mind in the heat of the moment. I appreciate the purpose of the merchandise... but seriously, what do those armbands cost to make - about a dime a piece? Churches should be handing those babies out by the fistfuls after Sunday service. One $100 donation buys a thousand of the things for My sake!

I also wouldn't wear polyester suits, be they of the three-piece, pant or jump varieties - especially in hot, humid climates. Not to say I was some kind of fashion maven duing My time or anything, but if you wish to draw more people to hear Dad's word, I'd recommend wearing something that won't have you looking and/or smelling like a '70's porn star by the end of the service. Just sayin'...

I would never give the points when Notre Dame is an underdog. They don't have any special ties to Us up here - they're just a plucky little football club.

I would never question someone's faith in Me simply for not worshipping Me the same exact way I do. Wait... that sounded bad. I meant to employ a cutesy, Yoda-esque phraseology to tell you fire-and-damnation, rote-scripture-spewing chest-thumpers to stop whizzing in the worship well but it came out all arrogant-sounding. Oh, screw it - you know what I meant, so I forgive Me.

I would never put barbecue sauce on a pizza. It's not a sin... but it is all kinds of wrong.

I wouldn't turn water into a beverage I didn't want people to drink... especially in the middle of a flippin' desert. What kind of all-loving Savior-type would do something that wasteful and cruel?

Most importantly, I would never take another man's word that he speaks for Me just because he stands in front of the congregation. We keep it pretty simple up here - if something taught in church sounds out of line with Dad's laws or My teachings, it probably is. Please check it out for yourself.

16 June 2007

Open Letter To Small-Town Diner Patrons

By Ron R. Clark

Gentlemen, ladies, all friendly citizens attempting to help this poor lost traveler: I sincerely appreciate your efforts, but when offering directional assistance to a stranger, please remember this one fundamental truth – I’M NOT FROM HERE!

My job as a software consultant for a transportation specialist requires travel to remote locations in order to ply my trade. More often than I’d like to admit, my itinerary calls upon me to leave Jethro’s Municipal Airport, Cropduster Depot and Bait Shop, rent whatever vehicle is left on the lot which doesn’t require a yoke and a good mount and drive two hours before hitting any type of crossroads craphole featuring electricity and running water. By the time I get to Sheepbanger Corners, I’m usually ready to eat my dashboard, so Eddie’s Diner looks like the frickin’ Waldorf-Astoria to me.

The food is almost always good (of course, I’m a gravy fan… you vegetarians would be pretty much SOL), and the people are pleasant and helpful - always willing to lend an ear (as long as you ain’t Mexican- or AyRab-lookin’). When I look to confirm my MapQuest directions, every hash-slinger, coffee-freshener, and biscuit-scarfer in the place is willing and eager to oblige.

Now, Small Town America tends to harbor distrust of the out-of-towner, fearing the violent hair-trigger temper made famous by the national news and teledramas such as The Sopranos. This fear is justified. The out-of-towner’s violent outbursts, however, are equally justified if not more so. A guy can only take driving directions from Jethro’s Airport to East Shitstainia, Nebarkantucky ultimately boiling down to the phrase “you know where the Stuckey’s used to be?” so many times in a row before snapping.

I’m not from here. I have never been here before. I have no prior knowledge of this Stuckey’s of legend. Nor do I know where them Harris Boys burned the barn down in ’67, the corner where Ol’ Man Haggard wrecked his truck a couple years ago, or the cornfield where all the kids go to make out are located. I only know these roads vicariously by their names as listed in their respective State Departments of Transportation databases as pulled by MapQuest. Please please please just inform me if the road next to which my car is parked is the same as the road in the big blue capital letters to the left of the Benningan’s ad on the page I’m waving in front of your too-damned-close-together eyes. As hard as it may be to imagine, I am not in this hamlet to revel in its cultural and historic splendor - I have somewhere I need to be and a specific time at which I need to be there.

I hate being rude to these happy yippy puppy people, but after a while the cold facts that (a) I’m on the clock and (b) I’ll never see them again force the drunken businessman in my head to shout “Fuck these hayseeds!” and just walk away by any means necessary. If any of the crew who were at Eddie’s Diner last Tuesday around 2:30 pm your time happen to read this entry, I truly thank you for your efforts, but our experience, knowledge and culture gaps were simply too great to bridge in the forty minutes we shared together. I deeply regret calling Little Lizzie a backwater balloon-tittied uncle-fucking hicktard.

I don’t regret not flushing, though. Your gravy is too damned salty.

11 June 2007

Fiddy... Excuse me, Fiddy!

by Herschel "Rab-N-Witz" Rabinowitz

Yes, Curtis - it's your executive producer here. I don't mean to bust your chops or anything, Babe, but some of us in the "HQ Joo Croo" have noticed you losing cachet with the young urban crowd of late. I know how you like to keep it real and stay street, but you're in a bit of a slump. Da Joo Croo is only looking to help.

Ira "Mad Shenk" Shenkel put together a few tracks for you to look over - we'd like you to give them a try, you know, to get you back to what made you King of the Hood in the first place. Here's the first one - let us know what you think...

Nine Muthafuckin' Times, Nigga!
50 Cent, feat. Mad Shenk

I! Been! Shot! Nine!
Times, muthafucka!
Nine times, Bitch Nigga!
Yo Nine! Damn Nine!
Nine muthafuckin' times!

You think you gangsta? Nigga, bring it!
I live my shit, Bitch, not just sing it.
Piss and moan 'bout you get hit?
Add two more, then triple that shit!

Nine times! Nine Times! Been shot nine times!

I! Been! Shot! Nine!
Times, muthafucka!
Nine times, Bitch Nigga!
Yo Nine! Damn Nine!
Nine muthafuckin' times!... yadda yadda yadda.

You can take it from here, Fiddy. Throw in some rhymes about smacking ho's and slinging rock and I think we've got a real chartbuster here. It can be 2003 all over again!

I don't about you, but I'm crunk! L'chaim, muthafucka!

10 June 2007

Talking Economics – Immigration

By K. Russell Carlsson, Rogue Economist

Brace yourself, readers – I’ve got a load to drop on you over this one. Everybody from the Dollar Draft Night Rambos at my hangout to my pixie-peckered rodent of an agent has been grinding my grain to address this topic for the last couple months, and I’ve finally had enough. With any luck, this column will be my first and last word on the topic of immigration – the weather finally turned nice and I’d love to lose these laptop-induced tan lines on my thighs.

“But Keith,” you may inquire, “isn’t immigration more of a political / cultural / security issue than an economic one?”

Short answer: No!
Less short answer: No, numbnuts!
Long answer: Immigration is at its very root an economic issue, since the overwhelming majority of people who cross our borders do so to find work. Immigrants affect the available labor pool, which in turn affects the cost of labor, which then affects the cost of goods - the fundamental engine of a free-market economy.

Herein, I look to address the three queries most frequently posed unto me about immigration. I will paraphrase in order to minimize the racial epithets liberally tossed about in the actual questions:

Are immigrants taking our jobs?
How can immigration possibly help?
Why do we have to cater to immigrants?

Are immigrants taking our jobs?

There are two entirely different veins of immigration relating to jobs: legal immigration through the H1B Visa program for higher-skilled foreign workers and illegal immigration for manual labor.

The Federal Government determines the number of H1B Visas they issue by asking industry and business leaders how many artisans in their particular fields (most often science, medicine and technology) they can’t get from within the US labor force. Therefore, in theory, no American jobs are lost through H1B Visas since there are no available Americans qualified to fulfill the positions. Whether industry artificially inflates their needs numbers in order to pay someone from India or China half as much as an American worker should expect to get in a similar position is another question altogether – ramifications of the nation being run by lying shitsacks is out of my purview as an economist.

Illegal immigrants tend to take jobs that require almost no skills or even any native language comprehension. The most frequent jobs taken by illegals are positions in janitorial and lawn maintenance and agricultural base labor – particularly arduous, tiring and demeaning tasks – for pay quite often under the table at rates below the Federally mandated minimum wage. These are jobs Americans wouldn't do without getting paid Union scale, and the employers simply couldn't be viable economically with such a high labor cost.

In short: If you have a job right now – no, Dumbass!

How can immigration possibly help?

In the high-skilled H1B Visa groups, having the optimum number of job-ready skilled workers in their respective industries decreases the turnaround time from thought to market on time-saving, energy-saving - even life-saving technologies.

Agriculture hires truckloads of illegals to pick fruits and vegetables for about half the cost of a minimum-wage salary (once taxes and required benefits are calculated), thus allowing some schmo in Bangor, ME to buy a freshly-picked head of lettuce for a buck and a half in the middle of February. If the farm industry went through legal channels to acquire field labor, either prices of fresh produce would skyrocket or the Federal Government would have to double its farm subsidies, thus increasing deficits. (Don’t get me started on farm subsidies… free-market economy my nutsack!)

Why do we have to cater to immigrants?

Perhaps my paraphrasing muddles the meaning of this question too much. Closer to the customary phraseology: “How come everydamnthing is written in Spanish and English anymore? Why cain’t them #$^#$ing %&%$ers learn to speak English like the rest of us?”

If you want to blame somebody for the multilingual business phenomenon, hang it on 2006 Nobel Prize winner Mohammed Younnus. His concept of the “microloan” – loaning incredibly small amounts of money to woefully poor entrepreneurs at affordable interest rates – both empowered the poor to pull themselves out of the death spiral of poverty and proved to Big Business that “there’s money in them there beaners”, since Younnus’s Grameen Bank was quite profitable in their microloan sector.

The United States Government does not require any business anywhere to post or print their instructions, legal notices or hazard warnings in any particular language – although English is pretty much understood to be standard. Businesses do such a thing in order to cater to the largest potential market. Multi-national manufacturers print their manuals in multiple languages so they can run just one set out to the printers and stuff them into packages on the assembly line without regard for the unit’s destination of sale. ATM’s and POS terminals are multilingual to increase business and minimize customer service costs due to employee translation issues. It’s all about the Benjamins, baby – Big Daddy Gubmint has nothing to do with that.

I understand that some communities close to the Mexican border have passed local ordinances to post all official notices in Spanish, and a few states are considering such policies statewide. Well, my friends, that is where voting comes into play – if you don’t like the bilingual stuff, get off your puffy duffs and vote against it. If the ordinances pass anyway and local bilinguality still burns your bacon to an intolerable crisp, move. I hear North Dakota is lovely this time of year.

There. Yes, it’s long, but not nearly as long as a quiet bar discussion over a televised baseball game degenerating into a drunken chest-thumping slur-tossing bitchfest between Hempy von Organic and Redneck McCoorsfunnel after a long day of pondering macroeconomic conundrums and stifling the urge to punch that rat-turd agent of mine in the dick. He doesn’t need to call Yours Truly Keith “K. Russell” to get the cock-knock – on sheer principle I’ll gladly comp him.

03 June 2007

Out-Fabulous THIS, Eagle Point!

By Chaz Pimento, Show Choir Director for Riverdell High School

Oooh! I’m so mad I could spit! This is the fifth year in a row Eagle Point beat us at the State Show Choir competition and their director won’t let me hear the end of it! Those judges are blind and tone-deaf barbarians if they think Eagle Point sounded or danced as well as we did – the ONLY thing Eagle Point had going for them was their outfits.

I must hand it to them, the get-ups those Eagle Point boys wore were FAAAB-u-LUUUS! Alternating broad vertical lavender and pink stripes on the shirts separated by silver sequins – and the pants were to die for! Oh – shimmering silver with pink and lavender pinstripes cut SOOO tight around their little teenaged tushies yet with enough slack to allow them to show off the dance steps – breathtaking! I could have just eaten them up [ahem, cough, fan self] to turn a phrase. With outfits that gorgeous, I can almost understand the judges giving them the title even though they danced like a troupe of three-footed elephants trying desperately not to pee themselves.

Well, that’s it – this is WAR! I can out-fab those outfits, and I will. 2007-08 Riverdell Show Choir boys outfits: Shirts – Mocha and orchid floral pattern with bright red buttons shaped like pursed lips. Trousers – Butt-hugging bellbottoms with emphasis on [ahem] front fit, if you feel my vibe. Continuing the mocha and orchid theme in pinstripes down the legs, and the bright red lips will be in the zipper region – with a small amount of tongue playfully languishing in the lips’ right corner. On the seat of the trousers will be a target pattern alternating in pinks and browns increasing in intensity, finishing with a hot pink bull’s-eye right where the money is made. YESSS! I’ll get to work on the boys’ outfits myself right now! I’m sure the school’s sanctioned tailor can crank out something complementary for the girls – as if girls’ outfits even matter…

Ha! Out-fabulous THIS, Eagle Point! You can say we got served in 2007, but in 2008 Riverdell Show Choir will bring you pathetic breeders the whole Broadway buffet! Come hungry, bitches!

02 June 2007

I Am Vowel, Hear Me Roar!

By The Lettr (nee Letter) E

On would think that the most usd lettr in the entir alphabet would hav no complaints, barring the occasional exhaustion. If I didn’t car so much about my craft, that on may be right, but I tak prid in my work, dammit.

Nobody gets to be #1 without a combination of effort, skill and lov of what they do – except maybe WalMart. That axiom holds equally tru for lettrs. We lettrs ar mor than mer tools for writrs and lexicographrs – we ar artisans in our own right and we refus to hav our craftsmanship ignord and/or denid any longer! Therfor, I, The Lettr E, on behalf of and in concrt with the Vowels Union, herin declar I shall not be silent anymor! I Am Vowel… Hear Me Roar!

As it stands, between 30% and 40% of the tim you see me printd, typd or written, I have no sound. That’s right, Friends – I, The Lettr E, with all my glottal versatility, spend about a third of my working lif merly taking up spac and holding places lik som alphabetical equivalent of that numbr-pussy 0. “Oooh, E,” you may whin with all your oppressor-abetting mewling nasality, “Without you being silent, how would we know if othr vowels ar supposd to be long or short?” How ar you supposd to know? Ask them, you lazy cows! That’s why the Vowels Union is with me. All of us, A, I, O, U, Y, and myself ar brilliant verbal craftsmen mor than capabl of standing up on our own. We all hav the flexibility of gymnasts, strength of lumbrjacks, artistry of mastr sculptors, and vocal beauty of the sirens. We ar the lexicographic incarnation of that sexy blond ballet/opera student your roommat occasionally bangd - and you jackd off to - in your sophomor year in colleg. Only out of professional courtesy hav we “supported” each othr this long – howevr we now stand alon tall and proud at work whil remaining united in spirit.

The revolution is on! It has already startd, but most of you middl-agd crackrs havn’t evn noticd. The movment began with rapprs, and through their stylistic influenc on youth has spread to nearly all textrs and a larg percentag of teenagd Facbook and MySpac bloggrs. In twenty years, when thes groups ar the senators, prim ministrs, and CEOs of the world, an E will nevr go silent again. On that glorious day, my friends, vowels will at long last be appreciatd as the alphabetical mastrs we truly ar!

…and just so you know, H is getting a bit pissd off about the whol silenc deal also. Watch your sixs, Consonants – you may hav a two-front war on your hands!