When I’m watching a sporting event at home I sit on a couch during the national anthem. Sometimes I stand to go use the bathroom. Most of the time I watch something else until the game starts. I know the song is playing, but it’s on a different channel. Does the mere knowledge that the national anthem is playing somewhere require some sort of action?
If you camped outside the house of a pro-stander (or anti-sitter) and played the song continuously would they never sit down?
If you did the same thing at the home of a pro-sitter (or anti-stander), would they never stand up?
If the song is performed acapella using sign language in a forest, does it make a sound?
I recently read on the internet that all lives matter. Read: since only things with lives matter, that automatically means that anything without life, any object lacking that essential élan vital, is second class scum and not worthy of our time. All of this pleases me, ‘cuz I’ve got this dead guy.
This dead guy does not matter one bit. It’s right there in the hashtag. That gives me the go-ahead to really go to town on this corpse. Sex. I didn’t say it. You were thinking it. Anyways, there are a lot of non-sexual things you can do with a worthless body that just wouldn’t fly with a live person. I plan to stab it first. After that, I’m going to throw it off my balcony and see if it explodes on the concrete below.
That’s it. That’s all I want to do with the dead guy.
“We cannot ban guns in this country because of a few bad apples. But we can ban an entire religion.” —The actor currently portraying Donald Trump
August 6, 2015—A Republican presidential debate occurs the same night as Jon Stewart’s final Daily Show. Backstage after the debate in Cleveland, Chris Christie, turning his nose up at the provided fruit trays, pulls a hoagie from his pocket. The toppings accidentally spill onto the floor. Christie lures Donald Trump to a dark corner and places him inside the hoagie.
Chris Christie eats a Donald Trump hoagie as the rest of the candidates watch. No one intervenes.
August 7-present—Donald Trump continues his presidential campaign. How is this possible if he was eaten and turned into fecal matter by Chris Christie?
August 6, moments after Chris Christie has licked the last drops of Trump juice from his fingers—Realizing they are all accomplices, the candidates settle on the following plan: they will hire Jon Stewart, who now has free time galore, to play Donald Trump. If there is one thing they all agree on, it is that Trump should be out of the race. Stewart will alienate voters by simply doing and saying things that Donald Trump would say and do, and as his popularity in the polls inevitably declines, he’ll drop out of his candidacy, eventually fading from public memory.
The present—Jon Stewart, in his Trump disguise, is the most popular Republican candidate.
This is just a conspiracy theory. It might not be true.
This post is featured today over at the internet comedy magazine Long Awkward Pause. So click that link and read it there, because they were nice enough to add pictures and make it look pretty, or stay here and feast your vision balls on the original. It don’t matta.
The current debate over whether or not it is necessary to construct a wall along the United States border is a complex and delicate subject. As a resident of one of the potentially affected states (Minnesota), I have compiled a by-no-means-comprehensive list of pros and cons outlining some scenarios that would possibly stem from erecting a barrier between America and Canada.
Pro—The first, and most obvious benefit of a wall: it will keep Canadians out. American jobs will go to American people. American currency will stay in America. Con—You can kiss authentic Canadian cuisine goodbye. Imagine, instead of a real Canadian using his finger or other long, dangling digit to put the hole in your Bagel de Montréal, this will now be done by a pock-faced American teenager that cannot locate Saskatoon on a map. Americanized poutine simulacrum will proliferate. No more shipments of ketchup-flavored potato chips.
Pro—Three studies have shown that catapults are the most effective way to get over border walls. Therefore, stock in an obscure Canadian ballistic laboratory will skyrocket, and American investors will suddenly have no problem with Canada. Con—The investors will collectively lose millions after throwing their money at what turns out to be a backwoods moosemilk distillery run by a Canuck with a slingshot.
Pro—A massive network of underground tunnels will be dug underneath the wall. We will cap the exit holes on the American side, and use drone strikes to demolish the Canadian entrances. Thousands will be trapped beneath the Earth’s surface, and they will evolve into a blind albino race capable of absorbing nutrients from clay. The pro here is that racism will not exist in this culture, because they are blind. Con—When the albinos inevitably make their way earthside, whether in Canada or America, hobby stores will find it virtually impossible to keep clay in stock. The owners will send their minions on a rush to clay-rich regions, giving rise to boomtowns and all of their associated vices (prostitution, massive slaughter of indigenous peoples, ruthless barons, greedy tycoons, uncouth lawmen, cowpokes riding into saloons on horseback, etc.). Hobby store owners will be the new royalty, and America will soon smell like the deepest, darkest recesses of Bob Ross’ afro after a marathon painting session.
Pro—Mexico will become the voice of reason and intervene. Future Mexican presidente Ronaldo Rodreaganez will give a historic speech, broadcast to America on Telemundo, that goes something like this: “Señor Trump (not Donald, by this time his grandson will have inherited the American dictatorship), tear down this wall.” Con—Microscopic fibers from the current Trump’s hair were sprinkled into the wall’s concrete mixture, and as that concrete set, Donald spoke to the wall every night, telling it xenophobic anecdotes and tales of his business prowess, which caused the barrier to form a think narcissistic skin that is indestructible. America falls into something similar to the Japanese period of Sakoku, in which no outsiders can enter, and no natives can leave.
Pro—David Hasselhoff will one day perform a concert on the wall. Con—The social and political messages of his music will be overshadowed by the Hoff’s well-defined cheekbones and swiveling hips. He will also be pelted by an unopened can of Molson Ice, further souring Canadian/American relations.
Sides will be taken. Hashtag activists will wear out their ‘shift’ and ‘3’ keys. Bunkers will be stocked with French fries and gravy. A counter movement will form, wanting to dig a trench instead.
The storm is coming.
What does this look like to you?
Add stars, change the color, and you’re looking at a Confederate Flag. These things are flying all over Scotland—the Deep South of the United Kingdom—above whiskey drinking, tartan-pattern-clad-inbred-half-human-sheep in foggy front yards full of tractors on concrete blocks next to doorless refrigerators and weight benches outside of shacks constructed from pillaged castle stones and petrified loch-beast droppings.
Until these icons of hatred are torn down, I propose a boycott of all things Scottish. During the coming days, weeks, maybe even months or years, let us all abstain from eating haggis, wearing kilts, and pumping on our bagpipes. I don’t want to have to put myself through this, Scotland, but I will.
Until your queen issues a decree forcing the removal of these flags, Scotland is dead to America. Remember when we didn’t hesitate to call French fries “Freedom fries,” and French toast “Freedom toast?” France’s attitude got a nice little tune-up after that.
Actually, by that logic we don’t have to give up anything Scottish, just rename it. Haggis is now Patriot Guts, kilts will be known as Freedom Man-Skirts, and bagpipes will be used to play the Windsong of America!
The ball is in your court, Scotland. Don’t make us have to wear Freedom Man-Skirts. You can be the change.
Kelly Clarkson. Singer. Songwriter. Woman. Idolized by Americans. Daughter of somebody. Friend to someone else. Philanthropist. And, after poring over the written content of her music, millimeters short of lyrical genius.
The quotation in question comes from the song Stronger, the titular track from Clarkson’s fifth album. During the chorus, Kelly states “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” It’s inspiring and hot.
It really made me think. I envisioned all those people with herpes, syphilis, gonorrhea, dealing with their afflictions on a daily basis, achieving superhuman levels of strength. The heroin addicts in that shantytown near downtown St. Paul, tying off, shooting up, and stepping forward into a new dimension of puissance that I can’t even fathom. But something wasn’t right.
What if, and I’m not talking about myself here, someone with an insatiable appetite for blood, an individual with some bizarre sexual fascination involving the suffering of others, were to amputate Clarkson’s arms and legs? What if a real sicko, not me of course, who can’t sleep at night unless they have knowingly harmed another human being, just chopped off all her limbs, while maintaining a sterile operating procedure so that infection is prevented? Because without arms and legs, that’s what, like 80% of the body’s muscle mass?
Someone missing that many limbs can’t be that strong. Even if before the amputation, her max bench press was at 60 lbs., immediately after it would drop right to zero. In my book, someone who can bench press zero lbs. isn’t strong, they’re weak.
Now, I do realize that Clarkson herself did not pen the song. But I expect someone of her status to at least look at what is being presented, explore the various philosophical meanings that can be taken away, and only then agree to record. Quite frankly, I’m embarrassed for Kelly. What an enormous oversight.