PELOSI’S BILL FOR FEDERALLY FUNDED TOILET PAPER OPTION INCLUDES FINES FOR NOT WIPING ASS

POLL SHOWS MAJORITY OF AMERICANS DON’T TRUST POLLS

TEN MILLION CHINESE TROOPS “JUST VISITING,” SAYS OBAMA

WANDA SYKES SHOW IN SECOND SEASON – AMERICANS BAFFLED

15 MORE WOMEN, 6 MEN, 3 HORSES, 4 SHEEP, AND AN END TABLE CLAIM TO HAVE HAD AFFAIR WITH TIGER WOODS

GLOBAL WARMING NOW PERVASIVE, CATASTROPHIC; CHICAGO A TROPICAL PARADISE

CATHOLIC PRIEST CLAIMS TIGER WOODS MOLESTED HIM

OBAMA OFFERS CALIFORNIA TO CHINA AS DEBT REPAYMENT, “NO THANK YOU” THEY RESPOND

AMERICA INVADES IRAN, OBAMA WINS SECOND NOBEL PEACE PRIZE

JIMMY FALLON STILL TELLING JOKES ABOUT PRESIDENT BUSH

PALIN ANNOUNCES RUN FOR PRESIDENCY IN 2012, BABY JESUS CRIES

ILLINOIS SELLS OBAMA’S SENATE SEAT TO MARK CUBAN TO COMBAT RISING BUDGETARY DEFICIT

OBAMA BECOMES FIRST BLACK PERSON TO GIVE “STATE OF THE UNION” ADDRESS

WORLD CUP MAKES AFRICA SEEM ALMOST BEARABLE

WINTER OLYMPICS A SUCCESS, NO ONE NOTICES

FURBY ARRESTED FOR PUBLIC DRUNKENNESS, SAYS, “I USED TO BE ON TOP.”

“SEXT” RAPIST GETS DEATH SENTENCE; JURY SAYS, “C YA”

ABC’S “BIGGEST LOSER: RELAPSE” CANCELLED, AMERICA LOSES HOPE

LOST’S SMOKE MONSTER REVEALED, OBAMA TO GUEST STAR

KANYE INTERRUPTS OBAMA’S NOBEL PRIZE CEREMONY, SAYS “DESMOND TUTU WAS BETTER”

Thanks to Christian Gonzalez and Kent for contributing headlines to the list.

Do you have a communicable disease of public health significance such as tuberculosis (TB)?

Have you ever violated, or engaged in a conspiracy to violate, any law relating to controlled substances?

Are you coming to the United States to engage in prostitution or unlawful commercialized vice or have you been engaged in prostitution or procuring prostitutes within the past 10 years?

Do you seek to engage in espionage, sabotage, export control violations, or any other illegal activity while in the United States?

Do you seek to engage in terrorist activities while in the United States or have you ever engaged in terrorist activities?

Have you ever or do you intend to provide financial assistance or other support to terrorists or terrorist organizations?

Are you a member or representative of a terrorist organization?

Have you ever ordered, incited, committed, assisted, or otherwise participated in genocide?

Have you ever committed, ordered, incited, assisted, or otherwise participated in torture?

Have you committed, ordered, incited, assisted, or otherwise participated in extrajudicial killings, political killings, or other acts of violence?

Someone got paid American tax dollars to sit in an office and come up with these questions. It probably took them six months and cost millions of dollars. And all for what? It screens out the completely moronic people that actually answer in the affirmative.

I suppose if an immigrant gets caught committing a crime mentioned in this questionnaire, they could also get prosecuted for lying to the government, but do you really need another reason besides “started a brothel” to deport someone? “Started a brothel and is such a total liar. We’re going to deport you, let you back in, and then deport you again. Suck it.” How long before you think they start asking multiple choice questions?

Circle some of your favorite activities:
A. Murdering
B. Pillaging
C. Violencing
D. All of the Above

Is there a way to answer any of these questions that won’t get you denied entry, besides “no”? Any ideas? My favorite so far is “just for fun.” Kent likes “not yet.” Post your responses below!

I’m sure you’ve seen this sticker.  It was probably plastered to the ass end of a Prius outside a farmer’s market or college book store or abortion clinic in Vermont and you probably didn’t even look twice at it.  Maybe you thought it was clever.  Maybe you were dimly accepting of its message.  Well you were wrong.  It’s not clever, it’s not cute, it’s not creative.  It’s ignorant.  It also happens to be one of the three things a human being can do to make me instantly dislike them and discount everything they say from that point further:

1)      They can talk during an episode of LOST.

2)      They can say (during LOST or at any other time), “You know, George Lopez is actually pretty funny.”

3)      They can put a “Coexist” sticker on the bumper of their car.

For anyone remotely familiar with my political leanings (i.e. mostly confused but leaning toward conservative), it should come as no surprise that I despise these stickers.  What may surprise you is that the mere sight of a Coexist sticker is enough to induce a rage blackout during which vehicular homicide is given serious consideration.  (Note: The irony of this reversal of the sticker’s message is not lost on me.)

These stickers are intellectual travesties and my hatred of them has little to do with my love of holy wars.  I mean sure, I enjoy some good old-fashioned religious violence as much as the next Boondock Saints fan, but I’m willing to admit that it can occasionally get out of hand (i.e. the World Trade Center attacks, Battlefield Earth, pretty much everything that happened between 1095 and 1291, etc).  My problem with these stickers is that they – like most liberal platitudes – get praised for being “noble” and “inspiring” when what they really are is “inane” and “meaningless”.

These stickers carry the same intellectual legitimacy as a sticker saying “Abolish Mondays” or “Give Dinosaurs a Chance”.  It sounds nice.  It seems like something we could all get behind.  But it means nothing.  It’s like a Lil Wayne album or the Matrix trilogy, it sounds pretty good and it looks compelling, but, upon closer inspection, it doesn’t make any damn sense.  These stickers are pie-in-the-sky liberalism at its worst.  They give liberals a chance to engage in their favorite pastimes like raising awareness, hoping, and holding signs but they are have no grounding in the world most of us call home.

Let’s take a look at the groups depicted in the Coexist sticker.  One (Islam) is unwaveringly committed to the destruction of one of the others (Judaism).  Another (Wicca/Paganism) celebrates and worships all that one of the others (Christianity) considers evil.  A third one (female sign) is biologically wired to destroy all that another (male sign) holds dear.  It’s Ohio State vs. Michigan but with 3,000 years of bad blood behind it.  And now what?  Leaders of these mutually-exclusive congregations are supposed to set aside their dogmas, join hands, and dance around the mosquechurchogogue together because an REI employee from Seattle thought it was a good idea?  Give me a break.

I know I sound uncompassionate and defeatist saying these things, but that’s what happens when you make fun of liberals.  They have the moral high ground.  They love peace, poor people, and puppies and if you oppose them you must hate all those things.  Or, maybe you realize that certain things in the world aren’t going to change.  As long as religions exist there will be religious conflict.  We’re never going to outlaw currency.  Bumper stickers aren’t going to free Tibet.  Music isn’t going to change the world.  And people are going to keep handing Glenn Beck microphones.

Once we establish certain conditions as brute facts of the universe, we can stop wasting our time fighting them and start focusing on the things we can impact.  Like bringing back the McRib or getting Jay Leno off television.  I’ve had to do this in my own life.  I said to myself, “Ok, dinosaurs aren’t coming back. What else is there that could introduce some modicum of fulfillment into your existence?”  It was in this manner that I discovered writing half-assed articles on the internet.

It is time liberals did the same.  I just hope they don’t also discover writing half-assed articles on the internet.  That could be worse.

Unfortunately, Californians are as bad at whispering as they are at putting out wild fires or being straight.  They peddled their dream through teen soap operas, Colin Hanks movies, and pop/punk songs to a waiting world and it died quicker than a security guard at a Raiders game.  What remains is the bombed out shell of a state that has all the charm of Miami in the 80s except with higher taxes and slightly less cocaine.

Thanks to California, we now know the answer to the age-old quandary: what would happen if 30 million addicts, war protesters, child actors and sex offenders banded together and took over a country?  What happens is a deficit of $26.3 billion, an unemployment rate of 9.3%, humans breeding with goats, and a thousand other maladies born from a populace that is heavy on opinions and light on fully-functioning brains.

When it comes to government futility, it is hard to imagine a place south of Moscow better at it than California.  The state is simply and obviously ungovernable.  Criminals don’t stay in jail.  Kids don’t stay in school.  Roads don’t work like they’re supposed to.  Air doesn’t taste like it’s supposed to.  And tax dollars…well, uhh…haha, about those tax dollars…they’re umm…yeah, they’re gone.

As the uproar over the state’s fiscal starvation becomes loud enough to drown out the American Idol auditions, more and more Californians have started scrambling to figure out just what in the hell everyone is talking about.  This has split the state between people who can’t figure out what the big deal with a measly $26.3 billion is and people who don’t believe that 26.3 billion is a real number.    The rest are just happy to be upset about something and, in all likelihood, probably think they’re raising money for Africa.

Since most of the citizenry is busy trying to count to 26 billion on their toes, The Governator chose last week as the time to send out an innocuous little email letting everyone know that he’ll be appropriating an additional 10% from our paychecks for the next two months.  Not to worry though, this is not a tax increase; merely a temporary hike in deductions that will address the state’s current budget “shortfall.”  Basically, Uncle Arnie needs an advance on next year’s allowance so he can buy a few lotto tickets and keep the bookies at bay until after Christmas.  Besides, we owe him the money anyway.  If he winds up taking more of our checks this year than he normally would, he will be happy to send us a refund in April.  He’s not taking our money, he’s borrowing it.  He’s totally gonna pay us back when he can.

Mr Schwarzenegger is able to get away with this because he knows the average California voter doesn’t understand economic principles like opportunity cost, the time value of money, or direct deposit.  Having not been educated by the California public school system, I do understand these principles.  I also understand an even more relevant one: the importance of hoarding Halloween candy when it goes on clearance.  I love me some candy corn and Reese’s cups and I really could have used that extra 10% of my income on Sunday afternoon.  Will I still be able to buy bags of fun size Snickers for $0.85 when I get my tax refund in April?  Not likely.

This is the stupefying ineptitude of the California political machine.  They raise my taxes in order to open more smog-check stations and hire more police officers to keep me from texting while I’m driving and all they succeed in doing is coming between me and my cheap candy.  In Sacramento this is referred to as “collateral damage.”  Where I come from it’s referred to as stealing.

I can deal with the flavored air.  I can deal with the surcharges on my debit card purchases.  I was even getting used to the radio stations that are half Spanish, half English.  But I cannot deal with one more cent of my paycheck going to subsidize the spending habits of a government that’s trying desperately to destroy its state before God does.  If I wanted that I would have moved to Zimbabwe.

That being said, it’s November 3^rd and I haven’t worn long-sleeves in seven months.  So, you know, no complaints.

Can I talk to you for five minutes about health care?  Last night, while I was trying to find Frankie Muniz’s E! True Hollywood Story, I accidentally stumbled upon MSNBC and was deeply disturbed by what I found there.  If Keith Olbermann and the channel’s other intolerable lesbian are to believed, it seems a healthy percentage of the American populace spent the final month of their summer at community centers heaping invective on the government overlords responsible for their respective townships.  The cause of their ire is, from what I could ascertain, a strong affinity for or hatred of doctors.

For me, the MSNBC report raised two immediate questions.  One, hasn’t the invention of the television made “Town Hall” meetings obsolete? Two, isn’t it time someone punched that smirk off Rachel Maddow’s face? When I got done thinking about those questions, I thought of a third: What?

Since politics is one of the few subjects that confuse me more than the work of Tyler Perry, I usually make it a point to stay out of it and make fun of the people who care.  However, when it comes to health care, I feel I have a valuable perspective that can help clarify this convoluted issue.  During their broadcasts, I heard Mrs. Olbermann and Mr. Maddow implore their viewers to imagine what it must feel like to be one of the 40 million uninsured Americans who live each day with one foot in the Walgreens and one foot in the grave.  Well I don’t have to imagine what it’s like, I live it every day.  I am one of those uninsured Americans.  You want to know what it’s like?  It’s awesome.

Three months ago I took a job with a company on the West coast that provides healthcare for their employees but only after they endure a 120-day probationary period.  I am still in this probationary period and am therefore not yet regarded by my employer as fully human.  Thus, no health insurance.  When I was informed back in June that I was about to be deprived of one of my basic, inalienable rights, I had some concerns.  Would I have to stop driving like a maniac?  Should I befriend a drug dealer who kept valium in stock?  Would it be prudent to reduce my frozen pizza intake?  As it were, I did not have to do any of these things, and my summer could not have gone any better.

Living without health insurance adds a visceral, raw element to daily living that is all too often lacking in American life today.  Walking out your front door – heck, even sitting in the safety of your own dryer – becomes something it has not been since suburbs were invented: an adventure.  Mundane activities like running errands, merging onto the interstate, and visiting 3^rd world countries are infused with danger.  Suddenly, every moment spent out of bed is packed with courage and peril.

Consider these facts – the single greatest contributor to bankruptcy is medical emergency; I am highly allergic to bees and, if stung, would require immediate hospitalization; there are many bees where I live – and you will begin to see why walking the 50 yards from my apartment to my mailbox makes me feel like a contemporary conquistador.  Death and financial ruin are lurking in every bush.  It may not impress Frodo Baggins, but it’s a heckuva lot more exciting than life was when my employer was covering 80% of my medical expenses and I could get prescriptions for $4.00.

The problem in America today is not too little insurance but too much of it.  We have car insurance, life insurance, and home insurance.  We insure our appliances, our pets, our hand guns, our collections of post-cubist, neo-impressionist oil paintings, everything.  We’ve become a population who won’t lift a finger until we are assured someone else is picking up the tab in the event of fire, theft, or stampede.  We are limited by our fear of liability.

Think if Christopher Columbus had refused to sail off the edge of the earth without first securing reasonably priced insurance for the Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria.  Think if Shakespeare decided not to write any plays until he had a good lawyer to protect him from all the Jews he was offending.  From merchants to mariners to matadors to Forrest Gump, our forebears were able to accomplish great things because they understood one immutable principle: stuff happens (you’re welcome mom).  You can spend every day avoiding it, insuring against it, and insulating yourself from it.  It’s still coming and it’s still going to suck.  Why spend a lifetime hiding from it?

I’m not going to lie; living one bee sting away from bankruptcy is terrifying.  I probably wouldn’t recommend it for people with spouses, children, nice boats, or professional ambitions.  I, on the other hand, have none of those things.  So, I will continue savoring the jolt of adrenaline I get every time someone sneezes on me.  My quickened heart rate reminds me that, while I cannot afford the co-pay, at least I still have a pulse.  Call it foolish, call it reckless, call it what you will.  I just think America could do with a little more balls-to-the-wall living.  Life without health insurance got me there.  Perhaps it will get you there as well.

Or maybe you should just quit wearing a seatbelt.

The photograph above may or may not be copyright of BuzzFlash.com

He didn't know Jesus was such a stickler.

recently read the Gospels for the first time during a segment of the MTV Special True Life: I’m Joel Osteen. “Ya know, I decided it was about time I toughed it through all four Gospels. They’re super long but I mean, I am a pastor, right?” Osteen said laughingly in his charming Texan accent. The author of Your Best Life Now, a theological dissertation concerning the Biblical hermeneutic of success, was shocked at the lack of material prosperity present in the words of Jesus. “I tell you what, I don’t get it. Where’s the prosperity in the Gospels? Jesus didn’t own anything really. Not a yacht, not a Merc[edes], or, well, whatever their equivalents were back in the 1600′s when He was alive. What would that be, a carriage? I don’t know. You get my point.” Osteen went on in shock as he described how Jesus told his followers to give up everything and follow Him, rather than telling them to “invest everything wisely in solid mutual funds” or how “being a good steward means being successful in the stock market.” The story of the rich young man was apparently the straw that broke the pastor’s back. “And then, and then, Jesus goes and tells the rich guy to sell everything and give it to the poor? Everything Jesus? Everything? You can’t be serious.”

The experience has completely derailed work on Osteen’s next book Your Bestest Life Now. “What am I supposed to tell people? When God came to Earth, He was poor? Come on. No one is going to buy that,” Osteen said as he dismissively sipped on a Perrier. “If people are going to do this whole ‘Christian’ thing, there’s gotta be something in it for them. And what’s the Gospel offering them? Spiritual wealth? Treasures in Heaven? What does that even mean?” Osteen is also unsure of how to incorporate Jesus’ words regarding the ease with which the wealthy enter heaven: “A camel through the head of a needle? Give me a break. That’d take a miracle.”

In order to avoid any confusion between his writings and the “poverty” of the Gospels, Osteen has decided to have bookstores categorize his books as Christianish rather than just Christian. “See that? See what we did there? We’ve got Christian in there because that’s P.C., but we threw the ‘ish’ on the end so that people know it’s not so Christian that it’s not about money. We dodged a big one here, we really did,” said Osteen.

This article is satirical and is thus completely fictional. None of the quotes are real and are not intended to be used as such. Joel Osteen was not involved in the writing of this article and is not associated with us. He also has a lot of money and could probably sue us into the Revolutionary War, which is why I’m writing this right now. Just as a side note – this article was originally going to run in the Whittenberg Door, but they apparently have lost their funding or something so I’m running it here, assuming we’re not competing with their readership.

(SUPERMAO walks into an open courtyard. He is decked out in silver and purple, the greatest of all colors. Several young men stand attentively, discussing which animal might be his favorite. Women show humility by keeping their eyes on their feet. It is a glorious day for SUPERMAO to peacefully contemplate himself.)

SUPERMAO: Because I find my identity in a functional, superior body of citizens and have no concept of self, it seems I have forgotten my super qualities.

MAN 1: You are intelligent, industrious, and you shoot laser calligraphy from your eyes.

MAN2: You are unbelievably lifelike with your hand puppetry.

WILT CHAMBERLAIN: Your escapades virginize me. Also, you are taller than me.

(TWO DISOBEDIENT STUDENTS enter the courtyard and cause a disturbance. One’s hair exceeds the appropriate length of five centimeters, and the other looks like he might own a book.)

STUDENT 1: Look how disruptive I am! Disrupting things is my favorite pastime!

STUDENT 2: We are disciples of American rebellion. Our interest in outside literature and art poses a threat that is nearly nuclear.

(SUPERMAO’S gyroscopic core begins to generate heat, causing him to take on dragon-like qualities. The TWO DISOBEDIENT STUDENTS’ knowledge of the liberal arts angers him and he considers disemboweling them through their navels. SUPERMAO is patient yet.)

STUDENT 2: Hey, shouldn’t we have a dance party?

STUDENT 1: Good idea! As long as it is fun, it must be right.

STUDENT 2: Maybe this guy wants to dance with us!

STUDENT 1: Let us shamelessly approach him.

(The TWO DISOBEDIENT STUDENTS surround SUPERMAO and begin shaking their hips in his general direction, like FAT AMERICAN DEMON ELVIS PRESLEY. SUPERMAO notices they are gathering attention from onlookers. It is within his super responsibility to take appropriate action.)

STUDENT 1: I’m not feeling too well. It almost feels as if I’m—

SUPERMAO: –turning into a heap of smoldering rice?

STUDENT 1: Whaa???

(STUDENT 1 explodes, and rice rains down over the courtyard for the children and women to enjoy. They are thankful. SUPERMAO squints his eyes and white light emanates from his pupils.)

STUDENT 2: Oh no! Oh please, no, do not kill me! I renounce my wicked ways and solemnly dedicate myself to Your service. I wish for nothing but the uniformity and cohesion of this nation. I am so sorry!

(Unmoved by this undignified groveling, SUPERMAO raises his arms triumphantly and a strong breeze causes panic in the courtyard. Suddenly, from the East, a green dragon with SUPERMAO’S face flies in and graphically devours STUDENT 2. SUPERMAO’S eyes return to their normal state, and he is erotically satisfied with himself. The dragon serenades SUPERMAO with beautiful, high-pitched growls in recognition of his superiority.)

THE DALAI LAMA: In honor of this noble deed you have performed, I, the Dalai Lama, formally apologize for Tibet’s disobedience.

(THE DALAI LAMA gives himself a wedgie as a show of penance. The scene ends with a flock of sparrows forming a silhouette of SUPERMAO’S face against the subservient sunset.)

Steve Etheridge is shorter than you, has less money than you, and has never traveled anywhere exotic. He’s a hard worker, though, if that counts for anything.

Allow me to inaugurate this audit with a scathing declaration: Pocahontas is the worst movie of all time. The colors were too gay, the music too sprightly—had it lasted a minute longer, I would’ve crippled myself like my dear son Franklin. It was an abomination, a calamity. Utterly treasonous!

Led by the honorable Governor Ratcliffe, the film commences as a merry crew of settlers sail toward the hallowed American shores. They’ve come to claim the land the Lord hath rightly prescribed them. Within their ranks, though, is the vile pervert John Smith, whose eyes declare his intent to have his way with a savage. His villainous appearance, we find, precedes his execrable actions.

Danger awaits the settlers in the Virginian woodlands, where a bloodthirsty pack of savages seems eager to slaughter them and use their bones to make pan flutes. With souls composed of noxious gasses, one assumes the savages are without mercy.

The savage princess, Pocahontas, is a portrait of quiet malevolence. Alone she stalks the forest, speaking curses to the critters, wearing nothing but the garnished hide of a dead animal. She evokes the banshee spirit of her dead grandmother by talking to a willow tree. They converse lewdly about the pleasures to be found in the company of men, and injudiciously conclude that Pocahontas should cast her bewitching powers on the next man her tar-bloated heart fancies. How preposterously appropriate that that man be John Smith.

Smith, whose libidinous appetite grumbles audibly for brown-stained flesh, finds Pocahontas and fails to properly smother her with a smallpox blanket, thus sparking their disgraceful tryst. Vulgarly they profess their love through a nauseating musical duet about the colors of the wind. Not only is wind colorless, but savages lack sensory modalities common to most mammals, meaning they’re incapable of fathoming wind both physically and metaphorically. Regardless, the two are wildly taken by their mutual lust.

With luck, the stink of their asinine affair wafts to our hero, Ratcliffe, and he enlists the valiant Thomas to send a message from a smoking gun. Thomas shoots a savage, and honor is restored. Afraid and vengeful, the savages take John Smith hostage, who, deplorably, finds his capture rather kinky.

(Note: Here begins a perverse romantic subplot between a raccoon and a pug dog. Though undocumented, I surmise they conjugate premaritally. Like I said, worst movie of all time.)

But so then John Smith is bound and gagged at Hi-Howaya headquarters. He deservedly awaits his execution. Will the savage children eat him alive or will they cook him first? This is the film’s only suspense.

Just hours before he is to die, Smith and Pocahontas have the following exchange:

Pocahontas: I’m sorry my nonexistent virtues led to your capture. It would’ve been better had we never met.

John Smith: (Sounds like a pigeon) No. A hundred lifetimes aren’t worth the pleasures of your corn-flavored lips. If only we could have a mongrel child together.

Pocahontas: Yeah, that sure would be neat. Too bad you’re going to die soon.

John Smith: Too bad.

The forgiving and dauntless settler crew comes to save John Smith and destroy the savage horde, but Pocahontas casts a powerful spell and saves her species. The settlers befriend the savages and, welp, there goes the neighborhood. All are happy and brainwashed except for our good hero, Ratcliffe, who is imprisoned for being so courageous. And that’s the movie.

Balderdash! Poppycock! Cocky poop! Cuckoo clock! Popping corn! Give me my eighty minutes back! Failure has a name and it is Pocahontas. Micturate on my beloved flag before again subjecting me to this movie. I hereby award it my presidential seal of atrociousness.

Steve Etheridge is shorter than you, has less money than you, and has never traveled anywhere exotic. He’s a hard worker, though, if that counts for anything.

PROS: Brings with him a huge NFL fan following, which could spark an interest in Constitutional law among sports fans. Bonus, he is an actual lawyer.

CONS: Prone to throwing yellow flags at attorneys-and anyone really-throughout court proceedings. His form-fitting robes and needlessly wordy opinions will grate on the rest of the court.

BONO

PROS: Still miffed at being passed over for Pope in 2005, he will bring intensity to the Court that’s been missing. Mononym would save taxpayer money on engraved desk and door plates.

CONS: Have you ever seen him without his sunglasses?  It’s terrifying.

GEORGE CLOONEY

PROS: Can charm the pants off both the National Right to Life Committee and NARAL. Some fine Scotch over an intimate meal and this modern-day Rat-Packer will have Nino Scalia and Ruth Bader Ginsberg
agreeing on everything from Gun Control to Gay Marriage.

CONS: Frequently causes other attorneys to swoon causing major delays in the docket.  Also, his Michael Clayton connections raise some concerns about an anti-corporate bias.

KELLY RIPA

PROS: So annoyingly chipper, the blatherskite will unite the competing counsels by giving them a common enemy: Kelly Ripa.

CONS: Extra seat on panel needed for Regis. Gelman to produce gavel-to-gavel coverage.

TOMMY LEE JONES

PROS: College roommate of Al Gore. Has to count for something, right?

CONS: Writes scathing dissents whenever ruling doesn’t include Court-mandated follow-up to U.S. Marshals.

ALEC BALDWIN

PROS: Solid host of Saturday Night Live. Wrote a somewhat law-related book on the plight of the divorced father.

CONS: Opinions consist solely of recommending the death penalty for his ex-wife, no matter what the case on hand is.

And if that wasn’t enough, here is a bonus bit from Frank regarding the upcoming Digital Television conversion:

OTHER THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW IF YOU’RE STILL USING RABBIT EARS TO WATCH TELEVISION.

– Modern dentistry has eliminated the need for wooden teeth.
– The printing press has made reading available to the masses.
– Indoor plumbing means you don’t have to leave the house to relieve yourself.
– The telephone allows us to speak to anyone by merely entering a numeric code.
– The Internet…I can’t even explain it. It will blow your mind.

Frank Ferri is a copywriter who thinks he’s funny.  His work has previously appeared in McSweeney’s, Yankee Pot Roast, and The Big Jewel.  You can visit him at frankferri.com.

Hail to our chief.

America,

I’m disappointed with you. You got plastered-drunk on the Obama administration’s hip-flask of hope, and now you have a reality hangover.

It’s been a month… WHERE ARE YOUR FLYING HYBRID CARS?!? What have they been up to in Washington? A month long Scrabble tournament? What’s the hold up here?

This is not the bright new future you were promised when you chugged Obama’s champagne of change. You were foretold of a world free from genocide, poverty, and large words. A world where bipartisanship and children’s laughter would be the modus operandi. A world no longer bound by tyrannical right-wing policies like Monday mornings, awkward conversations, and confusing song lyrics. Together, we were to usher in a new day where butterflies would serenade us as rainbows sneezed Skittles. This was the vision you had when you snorted the opium of Obama optimism. This was what you signed up for.

Alas, a month has passed, and what progress has been made? None. We’re not one inch closer to that Utopian dreamland than we were in 2000. Loud noises are just as startling as they were under Bush. Parking spots are just as difficult to find as they were last year. Ugly people are still free to roam the streets, and the McRib still isn’t on the Dollar Menu. Let me ask you something, America.  How many times have you made out with a mermaid or ridden a unicorn under the new Obama-stration? ZERO. That was the very least you should have expected when you stuffed your face with Obama’s poundcake of promises.

I understand we’re in a recession and the world’s at war. That’s fine. Those weighty issues take time. But Obama’s margarita of merriment should have at least fixed the little things. For instance, you still have to do quick math in your head. You’re just a middle class person.  You don’t have the resources for that! You can send a man to the moon and harvest electricity from sunlight, but you’re still forced to do quick math at the grocer like you’re some barbarian?! Where is your dignity?!

And now you find yourself with a hangover. The bright lights of recession and the loud noises of nuclear proliferation are pounding your brain. What brought this searing pain? Let’s take a look back at November 4th, 2008 – your most shameless display of public intoxication to date. You had spent the previous months taking shots of Obama’s sanguineness and puffing from his peyote peacepipe of positivity. The media had been force-feeding you dimebags of dreams and you grew dependent on it. So you couldn’t help but stagger into the voting booth and order another serving of the stuff. I get it, I really do.

And that’s why I’m holding this intervention. You need help, America. Look at yourself! You’re stumbling all over the Middle East. You can’t hold down a job. I can see you’re depressed, but that’s no reason to lie in Cap’n Crunch residue watching Fresh Prince reruns all day.  Pull it together, man!!

You’re just ending an abusive relationship with your ex-president, and that can be tough. But don’t you remember the last time you got this drunk?  You thought Johnnie Kennedy and you were gonna be together forever.  Remember how that ended?  Heartbreak and entanglement in an endless, unwinnable war, that’s how! You were a wreck for a good 20 years! Do we really need to go through all this again?
Please, just take this stimulant (its package cost an arm and a leg!), get some rest, and go shopping or something.  That always made things better in the past right?  Whatever you do, for God sake, put down your needle of naiveté. You’re killing your family.

Kindest Regards,

Tory
Tory James Robert Schalkle is currently enrolled as a full time student of life. One of the most sensitive people you will ever meet, he spends his spare time reading at nursing homes and baking for veterans.  He frequently fails to write for us.  Incidentally, he also has two middle names.