Category Archives: Humor
The Next Star Chamber Defendant
Iowahawk has dug up an old Canadian radio program that is sure to be banned in the Great White North. Warman, of the Mounted:
From the Maritimes to the Yukon, the Great White North was once a lawless land where cruel and offensive opinions roamed free – until one man stood up and brought them to justice. One mighty masked man, clad in the scarlet breechcoat of the Royal Canadian Mounted Human Rights Police, astride a golden disabled lesbian steed, with his faithful transgender Indian scout at his side. Together they rode from Yellowknife to St. John’s, keeping Canadians safe from the spectre of multicultural insensitivity.
The Canadian Broadcast Corporation invites you to return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear as we tell the tales of that legendary singing Human Rights Mountie. It’s time for excitement – it’s time for lawsuits – It’s time for… Warman of the Mounted!
It’s a particularly exciting episode. I expect we’ll see him in the HRC docket presently.
Not Familiar With The Concept
Here’s one for the stupid criminal files. We’ve all heard of putting nylons over your head to conceal your face, but here are a couple mental defectives who robbed a gas station wearing thongs on their heads.
[Via Jonah’s Odd Link Gal, who should just get her own blog]
Problems I Will Never Have
Eight annoying types of people you’ll run into at Starbucks.
I don’t frequent Starbucks, because, not being a coffee drinker, or consumer of high-glycemic carbs, they have absolutely no items that appeal to me. But those who do may find this amusing. I particularly liked the Starbucks hater. I might be him if, you know, I ever went to Starbucks. But unlike him, I practice what I preach.
[Via Geek Press]
More Relationship Advice
It’s round two of Ask Barry!, over at Iowahawk’s place.
And In Plenty Of Time For Christmas
Hey, Father’s Day is coming up, too. This isn’t new, but it’s the first time I’d come across it. Behold, the complete ACME catalog. Considering the election coming up, I could use the anti-nightmare machine. And the atom re-arranger sounds like a proto-form of nanotech and molecular assemblers.
I wonder if they have a gift registry?
Time To Give It Up
So sayeth Hillary:
Frankly, there’s just no way around the stark mathematics of the situation: Inconvenience(Me) = 1.0 * Accident(You). It is an inescapable statistical fact, as proven over and over again by my loyal team of Karma accountants — including Sid Blumenthal, Howard Wolfson, and Harold Ickes. Contrary to what some people say, my boys did not learn untraceable poisoning techniques from the Russians. In fact, it was the other way around. And let’s face it: even if Senator Obama receives prompt medical attention for his eventual post-nomination accident, voters in the general election will be repulsed by his grotesque and permanent Dioxin scarring. Once again, Hillary Time.
So today Senator Obama faces a clear choice: (a) stay in the campaign through the convention, wasting millions of dollars on primary advertising and expensive food tasters, or (b) withdraw immediately and graciously transfer his war chest to the only remaining Democratic candidate capable of appealing to hard-working white voters, such as Hillary Rodham Clinton. Same outcome either way, with the possible exception of body count.
I don’t know how Burge finds these scoops.
Too Much Time On Their Hands
A blog devoted to things younger than John McCain.
[Via Geek Press]
Some Graduation Advice
From P. J. O’Rourke:
Don’t moan. I’m not going to “pass the wisdom of one generation down to the next.” I’m a member of the 1960s generation. We didn’t have any wisdom.
We were the moron generation. We were the generation that believed we could stop the Vietnam War by growing our hair long and dressing like circus clowns. We believed drugs would change everything — which they did, for John Belushi. We believed in free love. Yes, the love was free, but we paid a high price for the sex.
My generation spoiled everything for you. It has always been the special prerogative of young people to look and act weird and shock grown-ups. But my generation exhausted the Earth’s resources of the weird. Weird clothes — we wore them. Weird beards — we grew them. Weird words and phrases — we said them. So, when it came your turn to be original and look and act weird, all you had left was to tattoo your faces and pierce your tongues. Ouch. That must have hurt. I apologize.
So now, it’s my job to give you advice. But I’m thinking: You’re finishing 16 years of education, and you’ve heard all the conventional good advice you can stand. So, let me offer some relief.
Read on. Some of it actually is good advice.
A New Campaign Slogan
“Obama: Not As Elitist As John Kerry”