Can O' Whup-Ass

Helms is Dead: Let The Weenie Roast Begin!

Decrepit tub of paste Jesse Helms was yanked into the underworld by the icy hand of death today. He had just finished penning his fourth unpublished volume of homoerotic poetry when his bile-choked heart farted to a long overdue stop, causing his sagging carcass to declare independence from the world of the living.

"...in the 18 years and 5 months I've been in the senate, none, none have been more capable than Dan Quayle."
-- Jesse Helms

Across the Deep South, segregationists, bigots, racists, xenophobes, homophobes and those opposed to modern art (read: Southern Baptists) shoe-horned themselves into their best polyester stretch pants to pay homage to the insufferable troll (post-poning their Backyard Weenie Roast/Burn Obama's Effigy/Dad-n-Lad Three Legged Race hootnannies for several hours). Elsewhere, the hell-bound liberal elite (read: high school graduates) marked the Senator's passing by bursting into an impromptu rendition of the Virginia Reel.

"Democracy used to be a good thing, but now it has gotten into the wrong hands."
-- Jesse Helms

"Life sucks. The economy's taking a nose-dive, I'm facing foreclosure, Iraq is a quagmire, the dollar is disintegrating, I've lost my health insurance, I'm unemployed, and I'm spending the kid's college fund on milk," said one elated onlooker. "But now that Helms is dead, I feel I actually have something to celebrate today."

"To rob the Negro of his reputation of thinking through a problem in his own fashion is about the same as trying to pretend that he doesn't have a natural instinct for rhythm and for singing and dancing."
-- Jesse Helms

HIGHLIGHTS OF HELMS' ILLUSTRIOUS CAREER:

• He fought against Federal AIDS funding, claiming it was God's punishment for "disgusting" behavior
• He brought down the National Endowment for the Arts (objecting to Serrano puting Jesus in pee-pee and Finley inserting yams in her butt).
• He once told President Clinton not to come to North Carolina without a body guard.
• He tried to buy CBS because he found their news coverage to be too liberal.
• He ran ads in his 1990 re-election campaign that said "You needed that job. But they gave it to a negro." The ads worked.
• In 1950, he helped Willis Smith win a senate race by distributing flyers depicting his opponent's wife dancing with a negro.

"I've never heard once in this chamber anybody say to the homosexuals, 'stop what you're doing.' If they would stop what they're doing there would not be one additional case of AIDS in the United States."
-- Jesse Helms

Our only regret is that he didn't white-knuckle it and cling to life for just a few months longer so he could see that thing he most feared and loathed (read: a negro) get elected President of the country he tried for so long to smother under a veil of hatred and bigotry.

"I've been portrayed as a caveman by some. That's not true. I'm a conservative progressive, and that means I think all men are equal, be they slants, beaners or niggers."
-- Jesse Helms (in an interview to the North Carolina Progressive, 2/6/85)

UPDATE: According to a source (a highly admired clairvoyant), Senator Helms is currently being sodomized by a negro demon who's shoving yams up Jesse's butt.

IN RELATED NEWS: Bozo the clown died.

Bitterer Than Thou (or, Why Obama was Right)

BLACK LUNG, PA -- In 1988, odds-maker Jimmy the Greek was approached by a reporter in a restaurant and asked why he supposed negroes have athletic prowess. A racist question, to be sure (and not entirely accurate; we have a hard time picturing Star Jones clearing the lowest of hurdles without chafing her stomach staples on the crossbar), but one to which JTG responded by tracing it back to the antebellum, saying that slave owners would "breed his big black man to his big black woman so that he could have a big black kid." Of course that's true, but no one wanted to hear it. He was quickly crucified and dispatched.

We prefer not to be told true things if they annoy us. So when Barack Obama suggested that John and Mary Lunchmeat from Headcheese Arkansas are "bitter" and therefore cling to their guns, bibles, flags and bigotry "as a way to explain their frustrations," Mr. and Mrs. Lunchmeat took exception, as did every pundit (and one "bitter" political rival) devoted to scanning Obama's armor for a chink. But the thing is, in spite of the fact that he's since been forced into that tiresome "I misspoke" tapdance, he's right.

Simmer down, now. We hail from a small town and know whereof we speak. We know quite well what would happen if one were to, say, stage a gay pride parade in Pocatello, Idaho. Or a gun control rally in Wetonka, South Dakota. The outcome would resemble the climax of Shirley Jackson's "The Lottery," and if you don't believe us we dare you to drive through Tuttle, Oklahoma with a "Praise Allah" bumper sticker on your Volvo. If that makes us "elitist" so be it. "Elitist" is Republican for urban, cultured and educated; we'll wear that banner proudly and we've been called worse.

But don't take the blathering of an elitist refugee from Bitterville, just consider the following tidbits culled from smalltown USA:

• Totally unbitter blogger by the name of Texas Fred offers his sophisticated musings on the topic of immigration:  "You Mexican asshats had better be glad I’m not the POTUS, the Rio Grande would be renamed, Río De la Sangre, Mexican sangre" ("sangre" is Spanish for blood). That's tame compared with the hateful comments the post has garnered (one charmer suggests pushing all Mexicans out of planes over Mexico City). Not that there are bitter xenophobes in Texas or anything.
• Six white trash hillbillies from rural West Virginia (including a mother/son team and a mother/daughter team) recently kidnapped a young black woman and imprisoned her at their trailer, where they stabbed her, made her eat rat poop, sexually assaulted her and punched her around for a few days. The totally not bitter ring-leader, the demure and classy Karen "two-teeth" Burton, told the victim as she stabbed her "this is what we do to n****** down here"
• In Indian River Delaware, when a Jewish family sued the public schools for saying things like "Jesus is the only way" at commencement ceremonies, in a spectacular display of Christ-like values, the townsfolk sent the family anonymous death threats that terrorized them to the point where they had to move. Not that running godless Jews out of town on a rail is the behavior of folks who "cling to religion" as an excuse to hate. We're just sayin.
• In Worcester Massachusetts, Roger West, his daughter Penny and his son Roger Jr. are charged with a hate crime because they burst into the apartment of one of their tenants roughed up him and his boyfriend and trashed the place, all while hurling homophobic epithets. Nothing like playing an old-fashioned, down-home family game of smear the queer, right?
• One day in the dazzling metropolis that is Blaine Minnesota, some nice young men expressed their lack of bitterness by walking into a convenience store owned by Mohammed Ismail and hurling molotov cocktails hither and yon whilst shouting rude expletives about Arabs. The store was destroyed and Ismail barely escaped with his life. So the police searched Mr. Ismail's house, made him take a lie detector test (illegal, but he passed it anyway), but haven't made any arrests and are generally dragging their feet. The store was his only means of income, and the insurance company won't pay the claim until the not-so-forthcoming police report is filed. 
• In bitterness-free Oxnard California, a 15-year-old student by the name of Larry King was sitting in the computer lab at E.O. Green Junior High when another student walked into the classroom, put a gun to his head and blew his brains out. Larry, a resident of a local shelter for abused and neglected children, had recently come out of the closet. Hmmm, why would a child grab a gun when confronted with someone different?
• In opposing a hate-crime bill, the fear monger for small-town America known as The Traditional Values Coalition released the following statement: "this legislation strikes at the heart of free speech and freedom of religious expression." This in no way is indicative of the mindset of folks who cling to the Bible to rationalize their hate. Lynching and gay-bashing are expressions of their religious beliefs, not their bitterness. Right?

Of course not everyone living in a small town is a flag-waving, bible-thumping bigot. But small towns sure as hell are where they grow 'em. Why? Because the residents of Cowpie Oklahoma rarely have to endure the horror of interacting with folks who are different. Their sky is bigger but their universe is smaller. They cling to bibles, guns and the flag because they're the closest things to grab when faced with a threat. It's how it's done there and a life lived by a  paradigm that strays from the straight and narrow (minded) is anti-American by default. The thing is, we defend Mr. and Mrs. Lunchmeat's right to live their lives as they please. Asking them to return the favor is precisely what makes us "elitist" in their eyes.

Not that we're bitter, or anything.

Yoo-Who

WASHINGTON -- In 2003, a lawyer for the Justice Department by the paranoid name of John C. Yoo, wrote a lil memo (81 pages long, to be exact) about how torture-y the Prez can get with detained enemy combatants. It's a charming read, reminiscent of a Saw or Hostel sequel, wherein this colossally evil tw*t itemizes the sadistic things that can be done to our prisoners if given the green light by our much-adored commander in chief.

With numerous citations and footnotes, Yoo's opinion (which is tantamount to law, as the White House's Legal Council interprets the Constitution in order to determine how the Defense Department can conduct itself; see Abu Ghraib) is offered on an impressive laundry list of rude behavior. For instance, can we toss acid in a prisoner's face? Gouge out his eyes? Douse him in scalding water? Yes, claims Yoo, as long as it doesn't result in "death, organ failure, or serious impairment of bodily functions." Holy freakin' crap.

But lest we overhastily attack Yoo for his cold and callous ode to torture, we take this opportunity to introduce our devoted readers to Yoo's heretofore undiscovered warm and fuzzy side; in fact, Mr. Yoo has penned numerous unpublished Seuss-esque childrens books under the unlikely nom de plume Nurse Noose. And our unruly band of underground operatives has miraculously gotten its mitts on a partial manuscript of an enchanting book called "Yoo Smacks a Who." We've generously provided a glimpse below:

YOO SMACKS A WHO
In the faraway kingdom of Snugglety-Snort
On the outskirts of Zim and right next to Zagort
A dark dingy dungeon the color of poo
Held an insurgent-y hairy young Who
And on the instructions of Good King McSnert
I went to the dungeon to hand out some hurt
He was chained to a chair, he was nakedy nude
He was covered with hair, he was asking for food
His name was Mohammed Bobammed McGlop
And he smelled like a pile of gurglebeast plop
"Praise be to allah-boballa-kazoo!"
He snarled with a sneer, I knew what to do
I put on some gloves, I took off my hat
And conked him a bonk with my booger-ball bat
I gave him a noogie, I stomped on this toes
Shoved an ouchy magouch up his nostrily nose
I stapled his eyelids, drilled holes through his knees
Filled his mumble-y mouth up with bumble-y bees
I made fun of his mother, I poked out his eyes
Made him run with some scissors and slashed at his thighs
I opened the hole that he uses to poo
Inserted a ferret and sealed it with glue
I chopped off his wang, which I fed to a cat
Spanked him so hard that it hurt when he sat
I made him watch Oprah, I whacked off his head
Until he was acting all dirt-nappy dead
When in came a guard who announced with a frown
"The Who that you want is two dungeon doors down"

The End

Human Math: Revisited

Hey! It's Happy Fun Math Time Again!!!

When Indonesian Irian Separatists kidnapped 12 Koreans in January 2001, they demanded $12 million dollars, so:

1 Korean Life: $83,333.33 (adjusted for inflation: $99,431.60)

When an Afghani or Iraqi civillian rudely lies down for a dirt nap after carelessly getting shot to bits by a terrified and exhausted teenager from Head Cheese Arkansas, the American military typically pays the victim's family a "condolence payment" of $2,000.

1 Afghani/Iraqi Life: $2,000

In 1893, after a seven year old girl named Ettie Pressman was trampled to death by a team of horses on Ludlow Street (NYC), a court awarded her father $1,000 based on the girl's lost earnings as an enslaved garment moppit. Therefore, adjusted for inflation:

1 American child's life in 1893: $22,802.25

During the Vietnam War, the families of non-commies who made an ill-advised stroll into the path of gunfire were given "solatium payments" as follows:

1 Vietnamese Adult: $35 (adjusted for inflation: $195.89)
1 Vietnamese Child: $15 (adjusted for inflation: $83.95)

Statistically, today's average "street value"* of an American's life (as established insurance companies, auto makers and other potentially liable entities) is $6 million. But for those folks who had the bad taste to have been in the World Trade Center on a certain September morning, the U.S. Government has placed an "oopsie" value of $1.8 million. Therefore:

A normal American = 3.33 World Trade Center workers

So far, approximately 4,000 troops have lost their lives in the war on terror. About 3,000 Americans died in the 9/11 terrorist attacks. In the same conflict, the number of Iraqi civilian deaths is estimated to be between 82,476 and 89,996. Therefore, VERY conservatively, in the open market known as the War on Terror (we'll call this the Barter System):

1 American = 8 Iraqis

However, by the "street value" (*see above):

1 American = 2,400 Iraqis

It would seem, then, that the retail mark-up on Americans is 3,000%. It would also appear that, in Baghdad anyway, Iraqis can be had at bargain basement prices.

In 2003, the Taliban demanded that the Afghan government release 250 terrorists in exchange for the life of Turkish hostage Hanan Onal. Therefore:

1 Turk = 250 Afghani terrorists, and
1 American = 10 Turks (street value)

When 15 British sailors were captured by Iran, Tony Blair seriously considered Iran's offer to release them in exchange for 6 captive Iranians (and conspiracy theorists believe Britain secretly complied). So it follows that:

1 Iranian = 2.5 Brits (barter system)
1 Brit = $30,000 (street value)

We can see then, that the street value of:

3 Brits + 4.5 Iraqis = 1 Korean, and
1 circa 1893 Street Urchin + 3.4 Iraqis = 1 Brit

Moving on: in the enchanting world of celebutots, the gossip rags have put the following pricetags on exclusive photos:

Brangelina's up-and-coming spawn: $10 million
Halle Berry's uterus spew: $7 million
J-Lo and Marc-Lo's twins: $6 million (or, $3 million each)
Christina Aguilera's fresh womb booger: $1.5 million

Therefore, Emme Lopez-Antony is worth two Max Aguileras, who in turn is worth 15% as much as Brangelina's diaper loader. Sadly, Sara Jessica Parker's child, who was unwisely displayed for photographers gratis as she left the hospital, isn't worth anything.

CONCLUSIONS:

• When Angelina Jolie-Pitt squeezes baby #2 through her oopsie-hole, a photograph of the screaming poop machine will be worth the lives of 1.66 Americans, 51,049 Vietnamese adults, and 119,118 Vietnamese children (with the obvious exception of Maddox Jolie-Pitt).
• A photograph of Max or Emme Lopez-Antony, on the other hand, is worth the lives 132 street urchins, circa 1893, but a photograph of Max and Emme Lopez-Antony together is worth an adult American's life (as long as they didn't have the bad taste of dying in the World Trade Center). 
• A photograph of Halle Berry's lil' scream machine is worth 1.2 Americans, 14 Turks, 71 Koreans, 3,500 Iraqis, and 10,500 Brits.
• A snapshot of Christina Aguilera's vagina plop isn't quite worth the life of a WTC worker, but is nonetheless worth 17,867 thousand times more than a Vietnamese child, unless that child is Maddox Jolie-Pitt, in which case the unfortunate infant is worth only 15 cents on the dollar.

Prez Bush Speechificates to Mark Iraqistan's Fifth Year of Shrapnel-riffic Freedom!!!

*** OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPT ***

Good morning. Today I come to this here Pentagram building to speechificate on the fifth anniversary of the shrapnel tsunami my daddy and me like to call "Operation Do-Over." As Pickles will tell you, the fifth-year anniversary gift is s'posed to be wood. When I and she marked año-numero-cinco, I gave her a set of teak swizzle sticks carved with topless hula bitches with grass skirts and bodacious ta-tas. To this day every time she mixes up a pitcher of xanatinis she puts wood in her drink and I get wood in my pants. I also get wood in my pants when I think about stuff like how Iraqistanis are all free and stuff. Free to be blown to smitheroonies while window shopping at Hijabs-R-Us. Free to perform their hilarious nekkid-iraqi-pyramid skit at the Abu Ghraib Cabaret. Free to enjoy exciting evenings having their front door kicked in by jittery high school dropouts with machine guns in the middle of CSI: Tikrit re-runs.

Let me pause at this part to look serious and make a meaningless, impotent hand gesture. Every day I wake up in my "mission accomplished" cammo underoos and thank Jesus for our brave young men and lesbos in uniform, who every day are defending God's favorite country by riding convertible Humvees through the streets of Falluja with targets painted on their almost-armored backs. But now a bunch of cry-baby commie demon-crats want to bring our sons and daughters home before we even get them properly fitted for toe-tags! They say that even though we blowed up their country and threw a necktie party for Sadam, we're gonna lose the war! I say fiddle-sticks! I say we shockified and awe-ized that smelly sandbox to get rid of WMDs! Well guess what, buckaroos! How many WMDs are there now? Zilcho! Nada! Mission accomplished!

I'll pause right here so I can put frat boy smirk on my face and make another empty, awkward hand gesture. You know, yesterday an uppity negro named Barak Hussein Bin Laden Allah Muhammed Ali Mahmoud Fatwa Jihad Obama gave a little speech about how negros are people too; they think thoughts and know what they say and stuff. At least that's what I think we was talkin about 'cause when he got to the part about his honkey mammy, Barney started humping Condoleeza's leg and Pickles started laughing so loud she choked on a tequila worm so me and Perino had to shake Pickles upside-down until she hawked the worm critter across the room where it got stuck on the portrait of James Madison. But I Tivo'd it so whatev. Anywho, it got me to thinkin two different thoughts. First is that Arabiac folks are like negros cause they're kind of similar to people too. Second, just cause he talks good and stuff and people like him and trust him, that don't mean that after 7 Bush-tastic years of terrorism, phone-tapping, screwing up on that Katrina thingy, pissing off the world and driving the economy into the toilet, that people want change and stuff! Change is bad! Change sucks! Just ask the folks in Baghdad.

Thank you, and may God bless America. And stuff.

North Korea Make Lucky Fun Official Welcome to Poopy American Orchestra Peoples!!

Pyongyang -- Early today, the New York Philharmonic Orchestra landed in Pyongyang North Korea, marking the first time American musicians have played in this insular kingdom since Eisenhower's boys played their farewell performance of the Shrapnel Symphony in D.

As the musicians emerged from the plane, woodwinds in their hot little clutches, scores of North Korean "minders" met them, their faces lit up with the kind of dazzling smile only the threat of a one-way ticket to a gulag can inspire.

A dozen North Korean school children stood by, holding bouquets of roses, standing upright in their crisp uniforms, each handpicked for this occasion for their cuteness, dimples, and willingness to sell their grandmother up the river for the sake of Dear Leader.

Following an ear-splitting fanfare blasting through a circa 1948 loudspeaker, the tallest child marched up to Conductor Lorin Maazel, and issued the following welcome statement, knowing full well that DPRK guards stood by ready to drag her behind the terminal and bust a cap in her noggin if she stammered, forgot her lines, or failed to sufficiently demonstrate her adoration for Kim Jong Il:

"We make happy to saying welcome to glorious nation of Democratic Peoples Republic of Korea! Dear Leader is wanting to extend smiley-lucky florals to sad poopy imperial oboists and frowny unlucky violin peoples! Today is big historical, and you to lay official florals at foot of statue of Dear Leader! Yay! Then to happy fun tour of Yankee Soldier bloody skeleton museum! We the happy lucky fun peoples of DPRK not to have starvy freezy fun-famine! We not to eating bark noodles or dog patties! We have iPod!!! When we to conclude our happy hello we make gift of super fun blindfolds for ride in funny bumpy bus! We to feed you yummy happy Korean foodstuffs of rice with rice on top! But before we to embark on funny smiley bus, we happy childrens are to sing laughy fun traditional songy song that Dear Leader write just for you!"

CHILDREN'S CHOIR
(signing to the tune of "Happy Talk" from South Pacific)
Kim Jong Il write funny happy song
It's about how you lost the war
You used to eating poop
But we'll serve doggy soup (woof-woof!)
You the ones we build the nukies for!
You play evil song
We pretend we like
Then you watch our army make parade
You admit you wrong
We make fun of Ike
Then we make the rice for iPod trade
Kim Jong Il write lucky happy song
It's about how you stupid yanks
We dance Korean jigs
For you imperial pigs
We're nukies now and we have you to thanks
We play funny jokes
Pee-pee in your Cokes
Then we tour museum of yankee bones
You pretend not see
Our starvy freezy folks
When you go we give you back your phones
Kim Jong Il write laughy happy song
It's the best song you'll ever know
Too bad you lost the war
And don't let that screen door
Hit you on your fanny when you go

A Statement From President Bush to All Cuba-Ricans: Adios, Grampa Stinky-pants!!

Good morning. Today, me and Pickles toured this here country in Africa. At first I thought I was bein punked by Condi when she told me I was goin to a place called Rwanda cause sometimes she likes to make stuff up, like when she told me cow farts are melting Antarctica. I tell you, for a negro broad with an Alfred E. Newman smile, that Condi is one hilarious dyke. But anyways, it seems a while back a bunch of folks in these parts got a little killy and stabby 'cause there was a gang of negros called the Tootsie-Pops that got a tad uppity. Then Pickles and me had our pictures taken with a mountain of human skulls. Boy was my face red when I called them Obama voters and no one even cracked a smile at my funny joke. Then Pickles picked up one of the skulls and asked the tour guide how much he wanted for one of those cute souvenir negro-noggin ashtrays.

But speaking of smelly foreign countries no one wants to go to, I understand that you Cuba-ricans have somethin to cheer about. Seems that fuzzy old humidor Fidel finally got it through his retarded noggin that he might have overstayed his welcome. Ya THINK? I mean, when this dude was painting Cubastan red, I was still sucking ice milk from my mommy's pendulous hirsute titties and dropping bunker busters in my pampers. And now, eight gazillion years later he's decided to take a powder. And you Cubist folks can can dust off your Carmen Miranda fruit hats and cha-cha in the streets as you gulp down your first sweet breaths of freedom air. Now you can quit outfitting your family in leaky water wings so's you can feed the sharks as you dog-paddle to Miami. No longer must you gaze longingly through the razor wire at Gitmo to see how Jesus' favorite country handles its business. And you don't hafta pretend to have a boner for Señor Castro; you can openly wish for your president's demise, just like they do here in America.

Yessiree. After decades of enduring the ickiness of collectivism, universal health care, and equal access to education, you all are on the brink of breaking the shackles of misery brought on by a certain thing I like to call "el trado embargo." You all haven't let it sink into your retarded skulls that the good ol' U. S. of A. don't do business with no stinkin' commies. Face it, only pinkos imprison political prisoners. You can thank gramps Castro for making you take Kruschev's flesh missile up your collective poop chute and getting all uppity over that Bay of Pigs thingy.  So let la dia nuevo signal an end to the rude and cruel exile of Vanna White and Elian Gonzales. Let us embrace a future of plantain mcmuffins. Let the poor skulk back to the mountains where they belong so's you can bulldoze your slums to make way for Havana-Disneyland. Let the gates of free trade be open wide, so's you can stop sending us your wetbacks and start sending those cigars. Cause if Hillary is our nation's first Presbian, our first lady-man slick Willy will have nothing but time to cram Montecristos up porker JAP stink holes. And America can send you folks some Carpet Fresh and Febreze. Face it, dudes. Cuba-stan could use a million or five Glade Plug-ins. If there's one thing y'all got in common with Rwanda (aside from a negro problem), it's that both your gross countries smell like donkey butt.

Thank you, and may God Bless America.

Dispatch From Beijing: Duper-Super Lucky Fun Progress Report For Make Glorious Orympics!!

Super happy hellos! It make big lucky pleasure to report on duper-super progress for make extra glorious orympics! As China New Year become year of the mouse, all mouses are be Chinese! Hello, Mickey Mao!! Ha ha!! We making fun joke! But seliousry, we make checkrist below of happy good things we do for making to preparations so laughing happy Summer Games are extra lucky and smiley-fun!!

• When frowny sad workers get into belligerent accidents at stadium sites and act all lazy-dead, we pour concrete over them so no one see! Ha-ha!!
• Beijing air still look like chow mein and smell like panda ass. It also make face melt and ovaries fall out. But we make plan so laughing happy peoples with athsma to live in hide-y cages so they don't make insolent falling-over-dead dance in front of poopy foreign media! Yay! We also to make happy smiley kiddie slave labor fun factories to make duper-super Nike gasmasks! Swoosh!!
• Evil sad dissidents who are to say rude stuffs about China's happy laughing poritical plisoners is getting extra fun bamboo-shims-under-toenail jabby jab, we send to lucky good re-education camps for to learn funny happy cattle-prod dance!! Wheee!
• We lock up evil baby in Bo Bo Freedom City! For we a jorry good fellow!!
• We make new orympic sport! We pay for lucky happy Janjaweed to take camel rides in Darfur and play funny game we call "machete polo" with smelly bad negro peoples! Yipee!
• Yelly peoples with stupid poopy relatives stuck in deep coaly fun mines will shut their loud yaps when smiley army mens to give funny loud conk on noggins! Happy face!!
• Silly fun Panda Poop souvenirs be selling like dogburgers!! Arf!
• We make upsetty frowny face at evil bad Dalai Lama to make smelly tour of peace! We make bad icky stink!! :-(
• We offer Falun Gong kidneys at plices so row, you are thinking we insane!! Ha-ha!!
• We make make hard training for Chinese gymnasts so if they slip on balance beam and land on icky vaginas, or if they to get dishonorable blonze medal, we sell their sad frowny families to Sudan!! Ha!

Here, crybaby gymnastic girly learn that she can eat her dinner only when her stupid head touch her fanny.

This is lucky fun punishment for rudeness of being born not as a boy.

:-)

Eavesdropper: Bush n' Abdullah, Sittin' in a Tree...

RIYADH -- Halfway through his "I want peace in the Middle-East and that's why I bomb it" tour, President Bush found time to steal a few precious moments with his honey-pie. As soon as Bush set his infidel feet on Saudi soil, these two lovebirds couldn't keep their hands off each other. Always kissing and holding hands and skipping through the garden, we half-expected them to burst into a touching rendition of "Happy Talk" from South Pacific.

Fortch, our ruthless band of ninja eavesdroppers were able to pick up on one of their more intimate moments. After carving their initials into the trunk of a rape victim convicted of adultery, the two strolled amongst the hibiscus and palm trees, unaware that their every sigh was being overheard.

KING ABDULLAH: Penny for your thoughts.
PRESIDENT BUSH: I was thinkin about when I'm pretendin to be a cowboy in Texas, I can't go skippin hand-in-hand with a man in a dress. Not in public anyways. Folks wouldn't understand it.
KA: In America is not okay for the manly men to hold hands and do the skippy skip?
PB: Nosiree bob. A fella does that in Crawford, well he's the kind of fella whose noggin you folks like to hack off with a saber.
KA: That is barbaric, Mr. President! Here, men can do the skippy skip together. Men hold hands, kiss, suckle on each other's hairy man-teats, even play a game we call "let's drill for oil in your fart hole." As long as we do it like manly men, and not like a couple of sissies.
PB: Man, this Saudi Arabistan sure is a goofy town. Pickles was here a while back to talk to some gals about boob rot and she said all the chicks she met were dressed like jawas and ninja nuns.
KA: When you talk my heart sings a song to Allah about your pretty mouth.
PB: Well, shoot...pucker up buckaroo. I'm fixin to lasso your tonsils with my tongue.
KA: Is that a shish-kebab in your pocket?
PB: That there's my heat-seeking skin missile, Abdulster. And I'm a-fixin to launch a payload of man-yogurt from my aquaman underoos!
KA: You make me want to ride you bareback like a bronco in the American butt-rodeo.
PB: Well golly, Abdulster. Hike up that perty dress, face Mecca and bend over!

The Year in Asshats: Fond Memories of 2007

Dearest bitches: among the many time-honored year-end rituals, list-making is perhaps the most tedious. When forced to revisit the past year's most unfortunate people and events, one can either brace oneself for the demise of the human race, or conclude that things can only get better (curmudgeons and cranky nihilists might see those two as one in the same). Nevertheless, below we've provided a list of folks so retarded, nasty, duplicitous, egotistical and/or dangerous that a person can't help but read it and feel a whole lot better about one's self. In no particular order:

• KRISTEN SWING: Ace reporter for Tennessee's widely recycled Johnson City Press decided to publish the names, photos and addresses of local men arrested for disorderly conduct as part of a public sex sting. A week later, she blithely reported the suicide of one Jerry McCloud, whose identity was among those disclosed in her previous article, without the slightest hint of remorse. Congratulate the twat by dropping her an email and toss some kudos her for destroying forty lives and at causing at least one death. She's single, guys! kswing@johnsoncitypress.com
• DAVID GEST: This is the nelly twat who claims he was beaten repeatedly by Liza Minnelli, yet still shows his unfortunate face in public. Known to throw diva fits if room service won't deliver zebra milk at four in the morning, he's also the douche who went to a costume party dressed as Liza with a "zzzzz" the day after she collapsed and was rushed to a hospital. This oily cow has had fifty thousand cosmetic surgeries and the look he's settled on is a drag queen with Down Syndrome. We believe Liza was fully justified in smacking the sissy out of this putrid lump of head cheese (we picture her with a beefeater martini in-hand, stumbling over Gest's whimpering body to soak her bloodied fists in an ice bucket). The fact that he's recovered from his Liza-whuppins enough to prance about London in sequins and slingbacks is testament to her considerable restraint.
• REICHEN: This professional fame whore and c-list arm candy dated Lance Bass and made him scream "I'M GAY!!" on the cover of People so he could publish a book about being ass-raped at the Air Force Academy. After the book tour he quickly dumped Bass and has since gone to increasingly desperate lengths to hang onto his ill-gotten (and long expired) fifteen minutes. The kicker? The man who likes to pose naked and wrapped in a flag fabricated the only interesting parts of his tiresome memoir (currently ranked by Amazon at 132,345, selling right behind a "When Mommy had a Mastectomy" but ahead of "The Idiot's Guide to Yorkshire Terriers"); chiefly, his being raped, the attempted suicide of a fellow cadet, orgies that never happened, etc. (documents attained through the Freedom of Information Act prove as much). He paints himself as a patriot but one of his classmates recalls that "[Reichen] thought he walked on water, always did. [He] never gave a fellow cadet a hand over the wall, put it that way." Douche.
• MAHMOUD AHMADAHMARAMALAMADINGDONG: Shortly after declaring to an audience at Columbia University that "we do not have homosexuals in Iran, not like in your country" he nevertheless found a homo to be guest of honor at an Iranian necktie party. So when he says Israel should be wiped from the map then turns around and insists Iran's nuclear ambitions are peaceful, there's some strange fruit dangling in the public square who might beg to differ with his pacifist rhetoric. We can tell from his pictures that he smells like a cocktail of camel poop and English Leather cologne. A ghastly little worm.
• LARRY CRAIG/BOB ALLEN: Personally we have no problem with pervs wanking it in bathroom stalls. As long as we don't see or hear them dance their sweaty butt polka it's all good. But these two sperm whales are Republican politicians who have voted against gay rights at every opportunity. Larry "wide-stance" Craig tap-danced like Ann Miller in a Minneapolis Airport men's room in an effort to play an undercover officer's rusty trombone, while Bob Allen offered another undercover officer half a c-note to play a symphony on his flesh oboe. Once arrested, both made pitiful excuses (we love Allen's priceless assertion that he was hiding from scary negros). Both are married to spectacularly unfortunate women. Both ooze a palpable aura of ickiness. We believe the two have no choice but to elope together to Massachusetts and join the ACLU. Only then would they be promoted from pond scum to tacky pricks, which is about as far as their ascent will ever take them.
• ROBERT MUGABE: Vying against Antonin Scalia to be the grossest man alive, this man is two-hundred pounds of zebra poop crammed into a cheap suit. We haven't enough energy to itemize his many retarded, thuggish crimes against the pitiable people of Zimbabwe. He makes us pro-Ebola.
• RUDY "BENITO" GIULIANI: He married his cousin, had the marriage annulled 7 years later, bullied his critics, closed off City Hall to protests, tried to close an art exhibit he found objectionable, informed his wife he wanted a divorce via press conference, sued his family for the right to bring his tart (and current wife) home for sleep-overs at Gracie Mansion while his kids were still living there, pretended he was Mr. 9/11 (when in fact his actions that day were rather cowardly; he was hiding in his personal multi-million dollar taxpayer-financed bunker, that is until WTC1 fell on it, whereupon he emerged caked in death dust just in time for a photo-op), hired a profoundly corrupt police commissioner (under whom such proud moments as the Amadou Diallo and the Abner Louima incidents occurred), created "Giuliani and Partners," which among other things snuffed out critics of Purdue (maker of Oxycontin) for objecting to its wide-spread abuse, addictive nature, and slightly "killish" properties, plays 9/11 like a fiddle on his campaign trail, demands huge sums for public appearances (and has been known to pinch a hissy if the private jet provided isn't big enough), and bears a striking resemblance to the Child Catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. All in all, we believe he's the perfect representative of the "values" party.
• DOCTOR BEETROOT/YAHYA JAMMEH: The South African Minister of Health, a foul lump of hyena plop wrapped in a dashiki who answers to the name Dr. Tshabalala-Msimang, is notorious for recommending that people with AIDS shun life-saving ARVs in favor of retarded traditional medicines (such as beetroot; hence her nick). However, when the skank came down with a nasty case of lung-rot, she experienced an unforeseen conversion to the virtues of western medicine. Yahya, on the other hand, is the thuggish and entirely retarded president of Gambia who claims to have discovered a three-day "cure" for AIDS. He keeps a dozen or so PWAs as pets, shielded from public view, on whom he practices his idiotic ooga-booga. Anyone who suggests he might be fibbing is exiled or imprisoned. Together, these two have certainly done their bit to ensure sub-Saharan Africa would become the AIDS-ravaged wasteland it is today. True, African leaders have a lot on their collective plate, what with ass-raping bat demons to contend with.
• CRAZY POOPY PANTS ASTRONAUT LADY: Sometimes a bitch has a bad day. Like when she decides to kidnap her ex boyfriend's girlfriend so she puts on a fright wig and speeds across the country wearing diapers so she could poop without stopping and she finds the girlfriend and tries to force her way into her car but instead gets thrown into the pokey for being a nasty c*nt and gets fired from her job as a spacegirl and her face is splashed all over the news until she can pretty much count on being known as crazy poopy pants astronaut lady until she's buying Depends for more legitimate purposes. Chick, really. Take a Stress-tab.
• KEN HUTCHERSON: This shrill hate-monger-slash-preacher woke up one day and decided that the White House should send him to Latvia to rid the retarded country of its pesky homos, like he was a negro Anita Bryant mincing about in Pied Piper drag. Unfortch, not only did he fib about his non-existent White House credentials (a federal crime), he forgot that if there's anything the pasty white citizens of Latvia loathe more than a fairy, it's an uppity negro.
• FRANCISCO NAVA: Fred Thompson-like, Mr. Nava is a late entry in the Asshat-of-the-Year Awards, but un-Fred-Thompson-like, he actually has a chance to win. Nava, a Princeton University student, was all upset cause he and his fellow homo-hating Anscombe Society members (who preach against any extra-marital, non hetero hippity dippity) weren't particularly welcome on campus (ya think??). A few weeks ago, in an act of one-upsmanship as desperate as it was retarded, he reacted to the uproar over some homophobic graffiti by sending threatening emails to himself (and like-minded conserva-twats) and beating himself up. After filing a police report claiming he was hetero-bashed (queen, please) it was quickly discovered that his scrapes, cuts and bruises were self-inflicted. We see greatness in the cards for Mr. Nava, a third year politics major. Somewhere down the road, we totally expect him (after a meteoric rise through the ranks of the Republican Party) to be found doing his Ann Miller tap dancing routine in an airport bathroom a la Craig.