Is this fucking thing is real?
THIS FUCKING THING IS REAL!
Alright, listen. Never mind ISIS or Ebola. We need to bomb Papau New Guinea right diddy. Burn the whole goddamn place into the ocean. I know we have a few Peace Corps volunteers down there being awesome and building bridges and spreading the good will of America around…unfortunately we must assume they have been captured and eaten by these big bastard ISIS spiders. Jesus! Can you imagine fighting one of these things? Nope. Not with anything less than a shotgun.
See? All you people who fear spiders (as opposed to those of you who, like me, hate spiders), those of you who live what must be a very anxious life, stuck in the constant struggle of what to do about the big-ass spider on your wall that’s looking at your pets and children the same way I look at steak: you know deep down the only real way to properly deal with this menace is to slay the beast then and there, in front of God, the Buddha, your kids, and everybody. Cleft it in twain. But no. Your hippy side kicks in: “Just capture it in a glass, and take it out side, and let it go. Free. Alive. Perfect.” Yeah. You know who thought of that idea first…the culture from which that idea originated thousands of years ago? That’s right, hippy: Papau New Guinea. And now look. Spiders so big they’ve developed lungs, and are starting to grumble about equal rights.
As Charles Darwin said, “Every society gets the spiders it deserves.” Papau New Guinea has gotten theirs. Let’s get them before theirs become ours.
This message brought to you by the Let’s Bomb The Snot Out of Those Huge Spiders Before They Eat Our Pets and Kids Campaign and a grant from the You See? This Is What Happens When You Take Spiders Outside In A Glass Awareness Fund.
Not to suggest that things recently have been exactly easy recently, but things could get particularly dicey this weekend and/or next week. Could be a real test. It’s probably nothing. Regardless, brace yourself and stay strong.
TRANSCRIPT OF PHONE CALL BETWEEN BARACK OBAMA, PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, AND JAYSON GALLAWAY, 29 SEPTEMBER 2014, 15:07h.
J.G.: Mmmmm…damn phone…mhello?
B.O.: Are you watching this?
J.G.: Goddammit…am I watching what? Who is this?
B.O.: It’s the President.
J.G.: Mr. President? Oh shit. I’m sorry. I’m taking a nap, sir. Wow, I haven’t heard from you since….
B.O.: Turn on CNN!
J.G.: Hold on, sir.
B.O.: You got it? Is it on yet?
J.G.: Judas Priest! Give me a second. This better be good, sir.
B.O.: Fore!
J.G.: What? Four? Sir, what are you doing?
B.O.: Golf.
J.G.: Oh no.
B.O.: Just nine holes.
J.G.: It just looks bad, sir. You know, what with the world falling apart and everything.
B.O.: Look, I don’t need a lecture from you about optics…just turn on your goddamn TV.
J.G.: Aw shit.
B.O.: What is it?
J.G.: My cable got shut off again, sir. Son of a bitch.
B.O.: Okay, listen, my secret service detail quit.
J.G.: What? Quit? What do you mean, sir? They left?
B.O.: And the Capitol Police. No, they didn’t leave…they’re just not working. I mean, they’re all still standing around here, pretending to be working, I guess, but they’re not doing anything. People are just fucking walking into the White House now. Apparently one dude came running in with a knife, ran right into the and went running straight for the East Room screaming about wanting to behead me, and no one did anything about it. No one even said, “Stop.”
J.G.: That can’t be true. If nobody did anything, what happened? Is he still running around in there?
B.O.: You know how we have that really deep shag in there?
J.G.: Yes sir.
B.O.: Dude tripped on the carpet. Hit his head on the edge of the table. Knocked himself out.
J.G.: You’re shitting me.
B.O.: I’m crapping you negative, cracker.
AL MASADA, CALIF, Sept 15 (JG) – Claiming to be a messiah, rapper Kanye West has begun to perform miracles during shows on his “I Said I’m Jesus, Goddammit!” tour.
Over the weekend, Mr. West stopped his show to heal the sick, insisting that he would not perform one more song until “those unbelievers ova dur get on they feet,” referring to a section of of the arena reserved for wheelchair-bound fans. According to witnesses, it appeared that a miracle might actually take place as one such fan attempted to rise from his wheelchair, only to immediately fall forward, slamming his head against a safety rail, suffering a broken nose and a concussion.
Unable to pull off that miracle, Mr. West next attempted to make the blind see and to raise the dead, but was met with even less success. Clearly frustrated, Mr. West then attempted what witnesses described as “a few low-rent card tricks,” and then stormed off the stage. “It was weird,” said one concert-goer who had paid over $5000 for a VIP package that included front row seats. “He was going up to everybody in the first couple rows saying, ‘Pick a card, any card,’ and we would, and he would say, ‘Three of clubs!’ and he’d be wrong and he’d get mad and try again with the next person. After about 10 times, he just said, ‘Fuck y’all,’ and left.”
There were no calls for an encore, and most who could walk were making their ways toward the exits before the house lights were turned on. Others just rolled out the same way they’d come in.
Kanye West rose to fame after making a sex tape with his now wife, Kim Kardashian, several years ago while he was a back-up dancer on her “Ass Big as Alaska” tour. Rolling Stone Magazine recently called him “the Hootie and the Blowfish of hard-core rap,” and he was honored with a guest appearance on Cartoon Network’s “South Park” last year.
Due to credible threats from everybody from under-aged and over-zealous readers, radical Islamic militants, and outbreaks of Ebola and Dengue fevers, as well as World War III, I have been forced to retain professional personal security services.
Behold!
This is Biscuit. Or, as he says when he calls me in an emergency “This Bicuit!” Or, if there’s an emergency and he’s already been hitting his afternoon Benzedrine and grappa, “Thiscuit!”
Biscuit is my new bodyguard, head of security, road manager, hype man, and fixer. I have never seen him without sunglasses on. He is not allowed to carry firearms as a condition of his probation, but he is an absolute menace with his BB gun rifle. I have yet to see him shoot, but he keeps bludgeoning the hell out of people with the butt of the thing, so much so that part of his nightly routine is to repair the the gun with duct or masking tape.
His resume, such that it was, was handwritten on a cocktail napkin from The Hideaway Lounge. It said BISCUIT in huge letters at the top, and then had bulleted qualifications, of which one was “former seal.” Of course, I thought he was indicating former membership in one of the Navy’s elite SEAL teams, but such was not the case. Biscuit very much believes that he was a seal, you know…water mammal, black eyes, flippers, aggressively cute…in a past life and had a particular fondness for mackerel.
Biscuit Trivia: Not only is Biscuit his given name, but he has two older twin brothers, both of whom are named Balloon.
