There are wackos, and even a few normal people, on every political site from the far right to the far left and everything in between, Breitbart being no exception. I’ve cruised through a variety of comment sections on that site, and saved the best and brightest (or worst and darkest, depending on your view of reality).
Here, copy-and-pasted (names omitted), are some things that people decided to type and send out into Breitbartia:
REPEAL Odildocare! <——‘Odildocare’ is a play on ‘Obamacare.’ The commenter is likening former president Barack Obama to a dildo, a phallic simulacrum used by men and women the world over in place of a real, live penis. –Editor
Just nuke the entire Middle East and be done with this nonsense! <—–Wouldn’t be able to get oil out of a nuclear wasteland. Oh, and also, innocent people live over there too. –Editor
Saint Bannon, not Trump, is the heart and soul and mind of the Trump Administration. <—-Steve hasn’t been canonized. Yet. –Editor
Just think, if Hillary had campaigned in blackface, she might’ve won. <——Probably not. –Editor
Facebook should be known as Gay Facebook.
(on Scarlett Johansson) She’s not even attractive anymore. She’ll be doing hard core porno in two years with Ashley Judd. <—–Save that one for Gay Facebook. –Editor
Stop ALL immigration!
I would happily go back to Europe if all the Muslims will go back to Mecca and all the blacks will go back to Africa. <—–It’s also possible for you to go back to Europe without anyone else leaving. –Editor
That’s why colleges have become retard dens for men: The EFFECTS of Feminism on MEN. <—–A MAN wrote that comment. –Editor
Trump is reminding me a bit of what was great about Nixon. <——Richard Nixon was the only president to resign from office. –Editor
And of course, the anti-Jewish comments:
Those two NY liberal jew rat bastards are nothing but out to destroy old man Trump.
Well, he’s a Jew….what do you expect?
More and more people are coming to the truth about Jews. After all the Bible says even the disciples spoke in whispers for fear of the Jews.
It was the Jews who were chosen as a foil to show the weakness of humanity.
There is only one race and religion causing the entire worlds problems right now and since it seems the entire history of man and it is NOT Islam but Jews as the entire internet and every book on the planet proves. <—-That’s as good a place as any to wrap this up. –Editor
i go away a lot, but i always come back.
november ninth, twenty sixteen: i woke up and thought to myself ‘something’s…..different.’ i soon found that biff tannen had ripped his way through the fourth wall of cinematic fiction and into this supposed reality, regained possession of the futuristic sports almanac, and wrested control of the white house (bob gale, a writer for back to the future II, has acknowledged that the rich, powerful tannen is based on someone who recently became king of America—google that), giving rise to a wave of ‘alts’—facts, wings of the right, and of course timelines. within these alternative timelines, expect quite a few of them to legalize pussy grabbing (some in more lawyerly language, some not so much), and in those where a female version of tannen assumes power, an equally degrading form of something called dong conking.
none of that really matters, though. the only thing i ever worry about is me, of course, which is why i have emerged from a months-long hiatus to make it known that i am not fake news. that’s all. i’m expecting many of these alternate timelines to produce executive orders shutting down any and all outlets that do not acknowledge the supreme insight and godliness of our new *rutaceaecean* figurehead of american greatness. so, as of this writing, the official stance of the philosophunculist blog is that america has been made great.
and speaking of biff tannen, was it really so bad that he got to be rich, if only in one timeline? in all three movies, dude gets smothered in poopy, which is what we have to assume is happening to this current commander in chief in every other timeline. just let the guy have one feces-free life, alright?
back to me. this blog is very real. it’s not even news, therefore it can’t be fake news. when the witch hunt for publications of ill repute commences, please don’t censor me. i’ll do anything. grab my pussy (in a timeline where i am a woman). conk my dong (in the timeline where the king is a woman. or even a man. i don’t care. if the masculine king of america wants to conk my dong, i’ll take it. years after this, when i’m homeless because all workers have been replaced by robots and the children and friends of the king, i can tell passersby that the king of america once conked my dong, and they will reward me with a russian ruble.) just let me keep this blog. it’s really all i’ve got, until america achieves an even greater level of greatness and me and everyone i know gets rich from working at our jobs (before the robots take over) because america will be that great
*i sort of made that up, but it has a base in rutaceae, which is the citrus family, and i know that doesn’t help my ‘not fake’ spiel, but due to its base on a real word, it can’t be classified as fake*
A few weeks ago, at one of them political rallies, Dr. Ben Carson said something like this: Hillary Clinton wrote her senior thesis on Saul Alinsky. Saul Alinsky mentions Lucifer in one of his books. Therefore, Hillary Clinton worships Satan.
Compelling argument, but there’s no way she’s that cool.
So I sat for a while, thinking. Following Dr. Carson’s logic, I learned some very dark truths about myself.
Here are a few:
I read Gravity’s Rainbow, a big novel with a small part featuring coprophilia. Therefore, I am a coprophiliac.
I enjoy using car batteries to torture hookers, because a copy of American Psycho is sitting in my book pile right now. Also, I like to stab small children at the zoo.
I am a homophobic pill popper who hates his mother. That would be from my high school days listening to Eminem.
I cook meth. Thanks, Breaking Bad.
And most horrifying of all, I might not play football next year because I’d rather hang out with Wooderson and drink beer.
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.
I think it’s pretty obvious how the Democratic National Convention is going to end: tomorrow night, right during primetime, expect Hillary Clinton and Bernie Sanders to be sown together, legally making them one person, something called Billary Slinton or Hernie Clanders, who will become the new nominee.
Or they’ll conceive a baby.
Then they’ll pump Hillary full of age-accelerating pills—something the government has been hiding from us—in order for the love child to be born and advance to an electable age by November.
Either way, I don’t care anymore.
*caution: the following post mentions bodily functions. why? i don’t know. perhaps they are being used symbolically as a way to say that we all need to find some sort of common denominator in these divided times. or they’re a metaphor shining light on the crumbling infrastructure of…..something. but maybe, just maybe, if you highlight every fourth letter of this post, it will reveal a hidden message.
We all have annoying Facebook friends that shellac us with political posts, gym selfies, and pics of their butt-ugly babies—nothing new to talk about there.
Personally, I like to stay away from ‘putting myself out there’ on the internet. I have boundaries. I don’t need people to know everything about me.
When it comes to social media, my movements are few and far between. Every now and then, I guess, I’ll crowdsource a question that seems important to me. Like lately, for instance, I’ve had this thing going on with my bowels. Without getting too deep into the problem, here’s the gist: I will go about three days without defecating, and then BOOYA—like a warm and cold front colliding, a frenzied twelve hour period ensues in which a torrential downpour produces up to twenty four inches of excrement (to put that in scale: one inch of excrement is equivalent to 36 inches of snow, and 72 inches of rain). If someone knows what would cause this, by all means, pipe up. Yes, you there. What’s that? Who am I going to vote for in the upcoming election? Your mom. Did you not just hear, a moment ago, that I prefer not to share those things on the internet?
Anyways, after this purge, my intestines will lay dormant for another 72 hours. Sure, they’ll bubble, they’ll gurgle, and sometimes even squeak, but there will be absolutely no productive action. Nada. Pardon? Where do I stand on people using the pubic bathroom that they identify with? I’m not going to comment on that, but if I happen to be in one of my violent defecation cycles and a women’s restroom is the only one available, let’s just say I’m going to start feeling very womanish for a brief period of time. I’m not going to sit over here and apologize if some little girl has to listen to that.
This brings us to the color of my pee. For example, I drink a lot of water, so normally my urine is pretty clear, like a mountain creek, or saran wrap. In the morning though, it’s more yellow, probably because I am not able to take in as much water while I am asleep, which results in a deeper urinary shade. Hmmm? Repeat that please. Ah yes, the Confederate flag and free speech. This is similar to the restroom situation above. If I were in dire need of bath tissue and a Confederate flag were the only thing lying around, I suppose I would use it to wipe. I would use any flag to clean myself if that was all that was available.
So back to my pee. Sometimes I have trouble going, and OH GOD WHAT NOW? Fine. You want me to share something personal? Here goes. I’m going to hand you a filthy, dirty secret. I try to use public bathrooms as much as possible. I do. It’s gross, and it’s part of my life. It slashes my toilet paper budget, and if the thing clogs, hey, not my problem. Some teenager named Ashton or Aiden or Sean’Trell gets to clean it up, and it’ll probably learn some sort of valuable life lesson in the process, like the fact that a guy with a spinach-rich diet who only poops every three days will produce thick tubes of green feces capable of clogging a jet-flush public toilet. That’s something you just don’t learn sitting in a government-funded classroom. There. I said something about the government. Now I suppose you want me to click ‘love’ on the picture of your fat, stupid baby. Not gonna happen.
And by the way, sometimes, when I’m in the public restroom, I’ll unwind a little extra toilet paper and take it home with me. Is that a crime? It is a public bathroom. The things inside belong to the public. I am part of the public. Now you probably think I’m some uber-liberal Hillary supporter. Yes, I’m going to vote for her, provided she delivers a solution to my mysterious bowel thing. If Trump can figure it out, then I’m in his corner. Maybe I’ll be in the Dollar Tree bathroom one day and a friendly woman dressed like a man will recognize my symptoms and help me out. There’s no way of knowing.
There are holidays going on this month. Kwanzaa, Hanukah, New Year’s Eve, Festivus, the winter solstice, Bodhi Day, and probably the biggest one, the birth of Philip K. Dick. Not much else. Unless you want to count the birth of Philip K. Dick’s twin sister, whose tragic passing at the age of six weeks provided a tremendous influence on the writing of her surviving brother.
As you make your way through this celebration-stuffed month, you may come across certain folks that get angry if you don’t wish them a ‘happy’ whatever holiday they celebrate, whether it’s Boxing Day or the anniversary of Pearl Harbor. And this is your fault, because it is December, after all, and if you are unable to take one look at a person and not know what holiday greeting they wish to receive, then, well, why are we even here.
So why not do this: wish people a ‘happy’ whatever is you enjoy, and don’t be mad if they wish you a ‘happy’ something else in return. After all, you will both be wishing each other happiness. Be happy about that. However, if someone becomes hostile and says ‘death to Iowa for growing corn instead of mangos, because we need mangos for National Fruitcake Day on December 27th’ just play it cool, and politely inform them that Iowa doesn’t have the proper terroir to support a bountiful mango harvest. Then maybe share a mango and read about corn together on the internet. You are now friends with someone who wanted to kill you five minutes ago.
I have somehow avoided all of this, even though I have been wishing people my religion’s greeting for some time now (it should be noted that I have recently converted from Discordianism to Pastafarianism). In my new belief system, every Friday is considered a holiday. I’ve been wishing people of all religions a ‘Happy Friday’ for months now, and no one has been offended. It seems that the loving, noodly appendage of our Flying Spaghetti Monster has reached down and wiped away the hate among people who believe some days are better than others, for not one person has corrected me with something to the effect of “Not everyone celebrates Fridays. You should really just wish people happy days.” So maybe people are just more accepting of Pastafarianism, or the key is to dwell in particulars when wishing someone ‘happy something,’ instead of cramming all holidays together into one giant fruitcake of a greeting. I don’t know.
The lesson of this whole thing is to just be happy, dammit. And also, instantly know the beliefs of everyone you come into contact with and accommodate them accordingly.