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Archive for the ‘Satire’ Category

A new study from a prominent journal by an expert of some kind was not paid attention to today because a voice in your head you have not identified as your father’s told you not to believe it.

The study concerned an important matter possibly relating to public health, economics or political strife but was not received due to the insistent reflex inspired by a husky Dad voice buried deep in the cerebral cortex warning you that it was not content he would approve of. This triggering voice first entered your sub-conscious brain when you were a child and continues to influence executive cerebral and limbic systems of your body (as well as the house-cleaning functions performed by your digestive system) and thus will not allow you to receive this important breaking news on a topic of critical importance.

The study was full of useful statistics and percentages that might help you adapt and make contingencies for emergencies, as well as anecdotal evidence relating to something that might affect your financial status or one or two ways you might not use a hammer, but its salient points were masked to you by the persistent social conditioning you received by a certain grey eminence whose early rules set down as an exchange for simple nourishment were indispensable for a helpless young homo sapiens facing a hostile world of animals. This conditioning severely affected your ability to assimilate new information, mainly because of the gruff, stern tone of the hunter gatherer, as well as implied and now subconscious threats that a challenge to him meant risking the loss of family members and peers and their body warmth—things at the time critically important to a child’s survival and well-being.

“We are definitely headed for trouble,” said a credentialed and educated person whose face you could barely be brought to look at as he or she offered countervailing information that challenged the prevailing norms, value systems, semiotics and archetypes laid down in your neural pathways by the patriarchal strongman and lawgiver whom you still in moments of stress and discomfort call “Daddy.” The story mentions several things you could do to address the critical issues raised by this news story, which might have been about gold prices or the flammable liquid in your house but whose message conflicted with your father’s opinions and threatened to upend the folkways and learned behavior that are now an immutable part of your psychological profile—offering you your ego, your identity and cultural belonging and likely your entire concept of self, a sense of belonging your brain feels is vitally necessary on this tiny planet totally alone in the universe and vulnerable to expanding stars, asteroids and heat death. As the spirit of your father says, there is a heavy price to pay by questioning tribe loyalty and listening to the plea of an outsider that you listen to him about this important topic which might be about lead toy paint or STDs or municipal bonds or global warming but which is not, unfortunately, powerful enough to get through your impressively large Dad-filter or appeal to your brain’s otherwise rugged and impressive neuroplastic cells.

“The time to act is now,” said a person of authority, perhaps a politician or priest or business leader, “but there is only so much time we have before it will be impossible to act on this [issue your dad has already made up his mind about] whose dire consequences cannot be minimized, unless it is by the comforting and unrelenting voice that gave you the gift of fear when you were still learning to crawl, the voice whose dissent against which offers perilous pitfalls, sickness and likely a hideous and prolonged death.

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–*Lack of mental health care in the United States

–*Confederate flags

–*Marilyn Manson

–*Short skirts

–*Violent videos

–*The Dukes of Hazzard

–*Violent movies

–*Immigrants

–*Young black males

–*Twinkies

–*Barack Obama

–*Low carb diets

–*High fail quotas in our engineering schools

–*Godlessness

–*Unless it’s the god of Islam, in which case we are blaming that God

–*Atheists removing the Ten Commandments from state property

–*The lack of a Second Amendment in the Ten Commandments (after a fact check to make sure there is not a Second Amendment in the Ten Commandments).

–*Them

–*The others

–*The victims

–*Everybody but myself

–*Myself

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Antonin Scalia’s Not Very Gay Day

By Dr. Seuss

 

Oh I do not like that jiggery pokery

Or your startling wuz-wuz

Or your Kalamazoo

I do not like your decisions mystical

They are quite egotistical

To say who can love a what

Or a what can love a who

Just ask any hippie

Who is dippy or quippy

If he really believes all of your hippity flippity

That when jiggery pokery is on the menu

By the fish and fowl and hens too

That words will have no meaning

And all the talkers’ talk is puffed to o’erweening

I do not accept words that say more than they say

Is this is or is this not a sunny day?

Or is this is or is this not a rainy day?

Or was this both a rainy or a sunny day?

(Oh how confusing

When we wish to make hay!)

Oh I am so confused by that jiggery pokery

And by all the other justices’ hokery smokery

If marriages were meant to be happy

Then not all the wishity fishities would

Call them quite crappy

The law is the law and it says what it says

And only what is said is allowed in my head

Because Oh How I hate all that jiggery pokery

I will not eat it with a smolting smolt smokery

The law is not concerned with intimate affairs

Any more than my fanny is beloved by my chair

I will not be gay because I’m not obliged to

I’d rather protect rights of the guns, clubs and knives, too

 

 

 

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–*A video of the weird stuff guys do when they have run out of oxygen.

–*You’ll never guess which celebrity showed up in this woman’s endoscopy footage.

–*This racist meltdown started over a simple misunderstanding about Delftware.

–*This woman videotaped Martians to prove Martians are dicks.

–*This woman put a poisonous spider on her breasts to show how often people scream, “There’s a poisonous spider on your breasts!”

–*This video shows exactly what happens in America today when you turn on a camera in a room with no light source.

–*Try breast-feeding your baby while being on the FBI’s most wanted list. This video shows what will happen.

–*If black women talked like 16th century British pirates.

–*This is how people shriek if you tell them you’ve got Ebola.

–*This is your low self-esteem turned into gamma rays.

–*This is your pre-diabetes turned into gamma rays.

–*This is a potato dressed up like Kanye West.

–*A video montage of 750 sedentary people looking at pictures of Kim Kardashian on their phones.

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(API) Comedy’s old guard came out this month to give a lighthearted poke at punk rocker Courtney Love. Some 200 people attended the event to roast the Hole front woman and widow of venerated grunge rock icon Kurt Cobain, with jokes that left her laughing in the aisles, rolling on the floor and generally gasping for air.

Adam Carolla started the night by calling Love “the first sexually active kindergartener.”

“I tell young girls all the time to be more like Courtney: If you marry the right rich man, you don’t have to explain shit.”

Comedian John Byner said that Love was a true role model to her daughter, Frances Bean Cobain. “It’s not every mother and daughter who can exchange restraining orders for Christmas. But I kid. Everybody knows that Courtney gave Frances a good value system, and that was to tell her, ‘Money can’t change the person you are on the inside, especially if you’re already awful.”

Robin Williams said that Love has been hailed as a post-feminist icon, but added, “I think by ‘post-feminist,’ they meant there was something leaking from her anus.” Williams also mentioned that Love had over the years let go of several members of her band Hole. “As we know from biology,” said Williams, “when a Hole gets smaller, it’s actually a sphincter.”

David Brenner said that Love exemplified what rock ‘n’ roll was really all about: “Publishing rights.” He added that Love was very astute about her public exposure: “When you’ve flashed your breasts 80 times, it’s sexy. But that 81st time really let’s everybody know you are about to declare bankruptcy.”

“I like to keep up with Courtney on Twitter,” said Brenner. “Think of it as a great safe harbor for libel …  if you’re really, really stupid.”

“Also, I should stress that Courtney is no ‘twit.’ That would really be getting a vowel wrong.”

Daniel Tosh made a little dig at Love’s alleged involvement in her husband’s death.

“Why would anybody say Courtney killed her husband?” he asked. “Why would anybody make up stuff about a woman who’s already guilty for so many things?” He also said that obviously Cobain killed himself because it was the only way to get Love to stop talking to him. (“At least to Kurt. … Let’s face it, if life is a disease, Courtney’s got the talking cure.”)

Love could barely contain her laughter at all the playful barbs made at her expense. When she finally got up on the podium to exact her revenge, she mainly talked about how every man in the room was a lousy lay, something she had seemingly learned firsthand.

Her daughter Frances came up to speak last, and painted a rousing final portrait of her mother:

“What are we all laughing about? This woman needs help. For God’s sake, won’t somebody do something?”

(This story is fake news.)

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Ted Nugent.

Ted Nugent.

(API) The Ted Nugent Celebrity Roast kicked off at the Friars Club in New York on Thursday night, a raucous fun-filled laugh fest that featured a constellation of some of the best comedy stars around, all who’d come to rib their fellow entertainer a bit.

“We gather here to toast a man who thinks a loincloth is proper dinner attire,” said veteran jokesmith Mort Sahl. “Maybe tonight he’ll wear a tie.”

Nugent, seated in the audience, laughed heartily at the steady stream of one-liners made all in good fun at his expense.

“Ted Nugent doesn’t know the meaning of the word compromise,” said Don Rickles. “Also, he doesn’t know the meaning of the words ‘matriculate,’ ‘gustatory,’ or ‘erstwhile.’”

Nugent continued to laugh heartily, slapping his knee at Rickles’ shtick.

The gala, which started at 8, went well into the night as dozens of legendary comics took turns to jab at “The Motor City Mad Man.” Even rock ‘n’ roller Dave Grohl took a turn.

“Ted’s music is great,” said Grohl, “although not traditionally my taste. I kind of like rock music.”

“What else can you say about Ted,” said comedian and director Richard Lewis, “He didn’t know that one of his most famous songs, ‘Journey to the Center of the Mind,’ was about drugs. I’d say that not understanding the content of your own speech sums up Ted pretty well.

“But I kid, Ted knows personally that a journey to the center of the mind is best done through the eye socket with an orbitoclast and a mallet.”

“Everybody knows that ‘Cat Scratch Fever’ is Ted’s signature song,” said Norm Crosby. “But ‘We’ll Meet Again’ is the official song of Ted’s corpus callosum.”

Nugent continued to laugh, making the “I’ve got my eyes on you” sign at Crosby.

“Ted Nugent wields a big gun, a big guitar and a big crossbow,” said Shecky Greene. “So how many small penises is he trying to make up for exactly?”

Nugent doubled over with laughter until he was practically peeing himself on the floor.

“A couple of us tried once to explain the word ‘irony’ to Ted to see if he’d have a stroke,” said venerable yuk meister Jackie Mason. “Every day it seems our efforts have paid off anew.”

“Ted is a fulminous critic of black on black violence,” said Woody Allen. “He especially seems ready to bring focus on it right after an instance of white on black violence.”

“You can’t question Ted’s compassion,” said Robert Klein. “He prays for the soul of every person whose head he threatens to blow off. Ted thinks it’s OK to kill an endangered species, of course, if it’s for food, survival or because it’s wearing a hoodie in the wrong neighborhood.”

“People don’t understand when Ted tells everybody, including the president, that they can suck on his gun, it’s a double entendre. I can imagine that Ted explaining double entendre to the Secret Service was a pretty heady discussion.”

“But let’s be fair,” said comic legend Jerry Seinfeld, “Ted mostly doesn’t have the time for meaningless stuff like double entendre, metaphor, rhetoric, simile, dramatic irony, subject-verb agreement, ‘and’ or ‘the,’ or the participial phrases.”

Comedian Gilbert Gottfried said, “Most rock stars have had their minds addled by drugs. Since Ted doesn’t do drugs, we have to ask him, ‘What’s your excuse?'”

Nugent was rolling on the floor laughing by the time he had his own chance to get back at his tormentors.

“Thanks for toasting me,” said Nugent. “I got a joke. Stevie Wonder is brain dead. Eighty million gun owners didn’t kill anyone last night. Trayvon Martin was a dope smoker. Everybody can suck on my gun.  California, New York, New Jersey and Massachusetts have lost their souls. Fabulous rockin’ NRA orgy last night. God bless you St. Louis. Godspeed REO and Styx. Piers Morgan is bullshit. The truth hurts you subhuman racists. Go to hell. Win a ThermaCell killer bug zapper!”

See this clarification about the preceding story.

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photo_12044_20100201I just had this ready to go in case I won the Oscar tonight in the best original screenplay category, even though I was not nominated:

Well, this sure is a surprise. No, please you don’t have to stand up for this. I am in the bosom of my peers, and right now we are all winners. Of course, all of you are of the highest caliber in your fields. Ben Affleck, you are a double threat. Triple if I note how many babies you have. Ha ha. Just kidding with you there. Jessica Chastain, you have come out of nowhere in the last few years like a hurricane and just blown off our windows and doors and roofs and foundations. You were the moral center behind Zero Dark Thirty and who wouldn’t torture those bastards to get Bin Laden? I would. There are times when a self-righteous meltdown is totally justified both onscreen and off.

Jennifer Lawrence, or if I may, J. Law, I think you’re only 15 or something and here you are beating out Meryl Streep for awards. Scripture says,  “A child shall lead them,” but I think it also says a child will hand their asses to them on Oscar night. (No offense, Isaiah 11:6.)

I’ve been pretty fortunate to have worked on my script for so long when it was in the development stages with somebody who knows Steven Spielberg. This was a labor of love you gave me this Oscar for, and though I sit before you now, gleaming trophy in hand, most of the gleaming I’ve done over the last few years was born of the tanks of sweat coming down my glistening forehead and neck as I struggled over this thing I called “Piece of shit” maybe 1,200 times. The original draft is covered with blood and stomach acid.

When I first broached the idea for the screenplay with my agent (who is not at CAA, by the way), he said that my idea was more than a downer. It was also truly hostile. I had to ride that compliment for three more years alone as I worked through draft after draft and honed the script that you all know now to be a story of a man caught between extremes. My film was about the audacity of the human spirit in a world where everybody is a scorpion capable of fucking his own face. A world where people who called you their best friends and toasted you at your wedding one day could turn around the next and divorce you like an ax-handle turd and tell people you were on lithium for two years in the 90s.

I know that you are all, my peers, on the same page with me tonight when I talk about the kind of integrity I mean. Tommy Lee Jones. Ang Lee. Adele. All of you people of great sensitivity know. You who record human emotions like a photographic plate burns at the kiss of sunlight. You, my peers. Jack Nicholson. Helen Hunt. Daniel Day-Lewis. You who like me also likely know how loathsome it is to even be touched by other people when you have to brush by them in a supermarket. We who have the tender emotions of artists carry them like open wounds and yet must constantly suffer these indignities and miseries and beclown ourselves for people who are not fit to eat after us at Denny’s.

When you tripped after receiving your award, J Law, you said, “Aww shucks, you’re just giving me a standing ovation because I tripped.” When we both know what you wanted to say: “You all want to kill me. I can smell the hate from up here.” Sometimes I feel as an artist that the only safe place I have is up here on this stage with this award, yet tomorrow I will have to walk the streets alone among savages and dogs. Jennifer, you and I are safe up here. But for how long? For … how …  long?

Ben Affleck said when earning his producing award for Argo that you can’t hold grudges when you’re in Hollywood. How right he was. You must not ever show people all the horrible grudges you hold. You must instead hold them in until they make you sick with ague-y tendons and malignant formations in your pancreas. You must turn those grudges instead into fantasy on paper–specifically the fantasy of watching your enemies die in horrendous pain and bloodshed while suffering the beatings, fistings, garrotings and other degradations of Salo. You must put these fantasies on paper, waiting like a crouching tiger until the day you can make them real. Yes, right on the money, Ben Affleck. Believe me, frere, I know exactly how you feel after your Oscar snub, the pain like a fresco of freshly painted coral sticking to the insides of your stomach muscles. Yes, no grudges. Wink!

So yes, Academy, now I thank you. I thank you vile pigs for the validation that can no longer nourish me because it is too late in coming and can only sustain me the way eating pieces of notebook paper sustains an anemic. Yes, Academy, please honor me now and pretend that it is the sum of pain and humiliation and tawdry nights of loveless intercourse with streetwalkers. This is my valediction. Ang Lee says namaste, but I say kiss my boots you worms. All of you bow down and feel the sole of it on your neck and then watch me stick your patronizing Oscar up your effete Range Rover driving asses! I take your love and hand it back to you as abuse! How do you like that? Fuck this award! Fuck it!

Also, I’d like to thank Harvey Weinstein and Sid Sheinberg.

Image: Francesco Marino / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

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