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
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
-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.
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*
Browse through People of Walmart for a bit. Pretty scary stuff.
The universe needs balance, though. Enter the yuppies of Trader Joe’s, a force countering the grizzled mass that comprises Walmart’s patronage, not in looks, but in sheer pomposity.
Last Friday, I witnessed a 40-something male, clad in snug, halfway-down-the-quad navy blue short pants and a tight pastel plaid shirt, shaming an elderly woman that may have been his mother, lover—or through some sort of strange sci-fi twist, daughter—for suggesting that they buy frozen corn.
Picture that: unfettered fury, arising from the mere mention of produce stored below thirty two degrees Fahrenheit.
The situation played out like this:
Mother, daughter, or lover: “They have some corn in the freezer.”
Man, through gritted teeth, with a vein protruding from his forehead, talking very slowly: “What did……..I tell you……..about frozen…………………… products.”
Then he stood, glaring at her in silence, as a look of genuine terror overtook the woman’s face.
I feel like I should have intervened, but I got the vibe that this would have earned me a room temperature organic daikon radish stuffed into one of my many unfrozen orifices, courtesy of short pants.
Issue: you just don’t see funny tampon commercials.
Cause of issue: lack of innovation and creative stagnation in marketing this product stems from the lunar-like cyclicity of the feminine, ahem, time, which leads tampons to be designated as a need, not a want, causing top napkin producers to take sales for granted.
Solution: rebrand the product.
For this rebranding, our ideal situation would have been to land famed pitchman Billy Mays, but as we all know, it’s been seven years since he mainlined his last speedball of OxiClean, sending him screaming enthusiastically into the Great Void.
It’s okay, with the internet, we can find an impersonator.
So then we move on to the name. The most obvious choice was to christen the product Tampon Daddy.
That probably needs an explanation.
Well I’ve got one.
The name adds a subtle masculine aspect to a product that has, historically, captured nearly 100% of its sales from a demographic of child-bearing age females. It’s time for tampons to break into a new market—a market that has the potential to double sales.
How are we going to sell Tampon Daddy to men? You make tampons sexy again.
And how do you do that? I……don’t know.
Oh yeah, back to the beginning: the issue was that tampon commercials aren’t funny.
So I guess come up with a tampon commercial featuring a Billy Mays impersonator that portrays the product in a very hilarious, sexy light, and somehow opens an educated discussion on why men aren’t using these things, all while not alienating women.
Boring tampon commercial problem solved.
“Let’s change the way we eat.”
—Tupac Shakur, Changes
I recently ate a Rueben sandwich for the first time. It was pretty good. I like Reuben sandwiches now.
Did you know that my nom de plume for this blog, Michael Cedarwood, was concocted by using the classic porn formula of (middle name) + (street you grew up on)?
But did you also know that like NBA legend Dikembe Mutombo Mpolondo Mukamba Jean-Jacques Wamutombo, I have more than one middle name? And that I grew up on more than one street? With all those names and all those streets under my belt, the identity of my blogging alter-ego had the potential to swing in many different directions.
I have compiled a list of my other middle names and streets that I grew up on. Let us now take a look at what could have been.
Veiny Von Opulent
Lactose Jackson (not to be confused with Catfish Jackson)