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Posts Tagged ‘satire’

Breitbart’s Best and Brightest

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).49687728-cached

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

 

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Joe Mauer On Opening Day Win: “That Was Not Twins Baseball”

h7yvwsji2bngl8v6n0o4o3x9k“It’s a long season, you know, and we’re going to right the ship,” millionaire Joe Mauer said today from a hot tub deep in the bowels of Target Field after Monday’s 7-1 season opening victory over the Kansas City Royals.

“Fans know what to expect from us; we’ve lost our last nine season openers. When we take the field, we want them to watch us and say ‘Wow, these guys play like a bunch of peglegs.’ What you saw yesterday was not Twins baseball. We’re going to get the schooner pointed in the correct direction.”

The Minnesota Twins return twenty of twenty five players from last year’s team, which lost 103 games.

“We’ve just got to focus. We’re like a clipper that is going sideways.”

Many in the locker room believe the club can replicate the massive failure of 2016, and then some.

“Talking to the guys on the ‘poop deck,’ which is what I call the locker room, we all came to a general agreement that, as professional ball players raking in all this booty—doubloons, pearls, golden chalices—we owe it to ourselves to really blow that 103 number out of the water. Many of us believe we could be mathematically eliminated from the playoffs just after the All-Star break. Yeeeaaarrrgh,” said Mauer.

When asked if catching the 1962 Mets, a team that lost 120 games, was possible, Mauer had this to say: “We’ve got all these parrots in here. And look, there’s a chest full of gold. While you’re at it, visit Mauer Chevrolet.”

Mauer’s brother has a car dealership.

“International waters, that’s where it’s at, man,” Mauer went on. “Nobody owns the ocean. You can do whatever you want out there,” he said, devilishly petting a parrot that he had corralled.

Mauer was then informed that this article sucked and had wandered hopelessly from any sort of cogent or sensible conclusion.

“I wish to be a pirate,” he said, holding a hand over his face, pretending it was an eye patch.

 

 

The Road To Flavor Country Is Paved With Chicken Nipples

Most fast food chains volumize their meat with chicken nipples, and why not—they’re inexpensive, abundant, and packed with complex layers of flavor. This spongy, cloud-like tissue creates a receptive environment within the meat for a sauce or marinade to fully penetrate its inner fibers. The road to flavor country is paved with chicken nipples.

Which brings us to a long-neglected aspect of this blog: tips for rich, savory, home-style cooking (the art of which I have learned from producing industrial volumes of soup as a peon in a corporate kitchen). I thought I’d make something featuring the chicken nipple as the star of the dish, as it has been hidden in dark, meaty folds for far too long.

And now, without further ado, the recipe reveal:

Minnesota Wild Rice Chicken Nipple Soup

Ingredients

Wild Rice

-Chicken nipples (A note on the nipples: fresh is obviously best. As for acquisition, the chicken from whom you are gathering the nipples should be dead. Some countries (cough, Bolivia, cough) still adhere to nipple harvest traditions which are antiquated and, quite frankly, barbarian. We won’t go into that. In my home kitchen, I use humane methods. So, the most simple way is the lop the chicken’s head off (I like to use a machete and pretend I’m a roided-out Barry Bonds). Once its got no head, that pinche pollo is gonna wanna take off runnin’, and you’re gonna wanna stop that from happenin’. Grab it, and hold it close. Now grasp the headless chicken with one hand, and use the other to drive your knife downwards over the fowl’s anterior pectoralis. Do this quickly, before all the blood spurts out of the giant hole on top of the bird, for you want a little, but not too much engorgement.)

-Stock (After the harvest, you’re going to have an entire chicken (sans nipples) left over. Don’t throw it out. Stick it in a large pot with some carrots and onions, a few herbs, cover with water, and simmer for a few hours.)

It doesn’t really matter what else you put in the soup. You’ve already got chicken nipples, which will enhance anything they come in contact with. And the best thing about teats is their versatility—they’re uniquely delicious whether baked, boiled, grilled, or sautéed.

This soup is perfect for an early spring evening such as this.

And also, you’re welcome.

The Corned Beef Conspiracy: Ireland Doesn’t Exist And St. Patrick Is The Meaty Equivalent Of Mrs. Butterworth

Corned beef.

Just as Hallmark created Valentine’s Day so they could sell cards and De Beers invented the concept of marriage in order to give false value to diamonds, March seventeenth has forever become entwined with this strange salted meat, despite said meat having no basis in traditional Irish cuisine, because there is no such thing as Ireland, and therefore no such thing as traditional Irish cuisine, as we will soon see.

Why?

Because.

Oh, and also this: Colorado Premium, a company specializing in meat processing solutions, created Ireland and the myth of St. Patrick in order to sell corned beef. It’s not crazy at all. Think real hard. Do you know anyone who’s been to Ireland? Do you know anyone who’s met St. Patrick? Didn’t think so. Let’s have a look.

Colorado Premium happens to be one of the world’s largest producers of corned beef, and they also happen to have a picture of a guy wearing a hard hat on their ‘About Us’ page.

Why in the name of fictional St. Patrick’s sheleighleigh would anyone dealing with meat need a hard hat? Meat, and generally any solutions pertaining to it, involve softness. A hard hat seems like something someone who is anticipating a visit to a construction site would wear. Since construction sites aren’t necessary to meat, that means this whole thing is an Illuminati conspiracy. You see, Colorado Premium is run by Kevin LaFluer. LaFluer is a French name. France touches Germany. The Illuminati was founded in 1776 in………….Germany.

Moving right along: a quick scan of Colorado Premium’s ‘Partners‘ page shows standard industry meat alliances—Tyson Foods, Cargill Meat Solutions, Smithfield Beef Group, etc.—except for one: Tapatio Hot Sauce?

What are Tapatio Hot Sauce and a prolific corned beef producer doing in bed together?

Why, they are both shadowy victual fronts veiling the sinister plot intended to further screw the clueless herd of sheep that is the American people, of course.

In what way? Well the guy in the hard hat is obviously building something, and Tapatio Hot Sauce just isn’t that good. So we have an industrious producer of corned beef partnering with a company that makes inferior salsa picante. That means something. Corned beef. Hot sauce. Hot sauce. Corned beef. Corned sauce. Hot beef. Corned hot beef sauce.

Colorado Premium is taking that salsa picante partnership cash and using it to build a moat filled with disgusting Tapatio Hot Sauce around the United States in order to keep us

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she’s cheating on mr. butterworh with a fake saint

from leaving. Why do ‘They’ (Colorado Premium, Tapatio, and the Illuminati) want to keep us in? It’s pretty obvious. If the lie about Ireland is exposed, the corned beef gravy train comes grinding to a halt. Since the Earth is flat, you should be able to look out from the east coast and see the Emerald Isle. One glance and you’ll notice it’s simply not there. ‘St. Patrick’ is just the meaty equivalent of Mrs. Butterworth. Guinness is Michelob Golden tinted with discarded beef drippings.

 

So there you go. Hallmark, De Beers, Colorado Premium, Taptio, and the Illuminati all want you to keep buying things because they created a way for you to buy them.

Wake up America.

 

 

 

 

 

alternate facts, wings, timelines, and private grabbing

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 hunter-s-thompson-for-sheriff-poster_200_200course 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*

 

 

Sitting, Standing, and Channel Surfing During the National Anthem

September 14, 2016 2 comments

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?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Life Objective: Land A Spot On The Writing Staff Of Dr. Oz

Oh, to be a fly on the wall of the Dr. Oz writing room. No—to be a person on a chair in that writing room.

To make the cut on the Dr. Oz show, you’ve got to know a thing. The thing being, of course, redundancy. When you send the esteemed Dr. Mehmet Oz out into that standing-room-only-lioness-den-and-also-television-studio packed to the brim with bored, middle-aged women, he better be stuffed up to his beady little eyes with tips on how to lose weight.

If not, upon you will the harem of Oz feast.

So, if anyone from the Dr. Oz camp happens to be reading this, I went ahead and drafted a spec script:

Dr. Oz, returning from commercial: “Welcome back ladies, yes, I am a real doctor.” He pauses here to allow swooning. “Now, let’s get right to it: who wants to lose weight?”

Audience: “MEEEEEEEE!!!!! MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!”

Oz: “Okay then. I’ve got a secret to share, something no other doctor will ever tell you. Quick survey: how many of you eat a cheeseburger and French fries every day? Show of hands.”

Everyone raises their hand.

Oz: “Did any of you know that a diet like that is actually bad for you?”

Everyone looks around in disbelief.

Oz: “It’s true, it’s true. What if I told you that, instead of eating a cheeseburger and fries every day, you will lose weight if you eat broccoli and rice instead?”

The audience collectively bows down to The Oz: “We’re not worthy! We’re not worthy!”

Dr. Oz: “And here’s a bonus tip—it’s also healthier to drink water instead of soda!”

Everyone is now spasming and speaking in tongues.

Dr. Oz: “And one more thing before we go: if you exercise instead of sitting on your couch, your metabolism will speed up!”

Something like scales fall from upon every eye in the audience. A massive rebirth has taken place. They all go forth into the world, ready to turn their lives around. However, in the time between the end of the show and the next morning, all of these brutal truths are washed away by one last binge, followed by the intoxicating coma that comes after eating a box of Cosmic Brownies….

Tomorrow, Dr. Oz replaces cheeseburger with hot dog. Broccoli becomes spinach. Water is now decaffeinated green tea. No one notices.

The unstoppable Oz cash cow continues to feast upon itself.

ouroboros_white

Ouroboros.

 

 

 

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