"Life is full of surprises like a box of assorted spiders. Just the other day after I
arrived in Boston from my duty overseas, I thought I'd clean out the shelves in
my apartment and donate some canned foods to a local homeless shelter. The
marked dates for use on the cans had not expired, so I was good to go. To work
off nervous energy from the excitement of being back in a bustling metropolis,
I decided to walk across the city block by block to see what had changed since
my months abroad. Oddly enough, people stared at me coldly and pointed to my
backpack. When I waved back, they reciprocated with insulting hand gestures.
I wondered if they were offended because my military camo clashed with the
Boston fashion scene. I shrugged it off and continued onward to the homeless
shelter. Once there I was stopped at the entrance and frisked by an armed man.
Well, that was quite an unexpected experience. The shelter personnel were
commanded to stand at a distance as I opened my backpack. When they saw
its contents contained only canned foods, they were very relieved. Huh. Mighty
peculiar behavior. On my way home I thought it wasn't worth the hassle to buy
canned food I wouldn't eat, and I was determined to can my own food to save
money and eat healthier, so I visited a pawnshop and bought a used pressure
cooker. The pawn dealer looked at me suspiciously, but when he realized I had
served on the same tour as his brother, he became friendly and shook my hand.
As I continued to my apartment, I suddenly realized I had not checked to see if
the pressure cooker components were all intact so I stopped at a busy park and
sat on a bench. As I opened up my backpack and removed my pressure cooker,
I heard an old woman scream off to my right side. I glanced over and saw her
pointing at me and acting irrationally. Then a young woman made a call on her
mobile phone, and in less than a minute three police squad cars drove into the
park, surrounded the bench, aimed their guns at me and told me to lie prostrate
on the ground or else they would shoot. If this wasn't alarming enough, I heard
a helicopter whirring low overhead as several SWAT members rappelled to the
grass around my body, maced my face and began to pound the crap out of me.
I assumed I was somehow in violation of a new law so I remained submissive
as I received my beatings without complaint because they were only following
orders in their chain of command, which I had been trained to accept without
question. When I regained consciousness, I was inside an ambulance, and the
paramedics were laughing at my appearance. A young man explained that the
attack upon me had just been a simple case of mistaken identity and I must be
totally retarded or brain damaged to perform such a stupid act in public. At the
hospital infuriated police officers were waiting there to scold me for misleading
them into taking unnecessary precautions since my pressure cooker was not
a bomb and they had wasted valuable time and resources. Although their staff
psychologist concluded I was not a terrorist, she said I was guilty of offending
peaceful liberals and therefore must pay out-of-pocket expenses to cover the
cost of psychiatric treatments and counseling for the families in the park who
had been traumatized by my metal pressure cooker. Although my vision was
blurred and my body was wracked by pain with massive bumps and bruises,
I managed to shake the gloved hands of the gloating police who had beaten
me senseless, and I thanked them for showing concern for the safety of us
Bostonians, I also thanked them for not putting a bullet in my skull because
that would have increased the severity of my frequent migraine headaches."
Malice called the third weekly meeting of the new Boston Tea Party to disorder and informed the
members that important groundbreaking plans were set for the next annual Boston Marathon to be
held in 2014. Malice and her microcongress of BTP2 elite were determined to keep the world famous
vanity race in the running because they were fully aware of the potential loss of lucrative Boston
tourist advertisements, loss of corporate sponsored product endorsements, loss of titillating celeb-
rity appearances and most important of all, loss of face if they chickened out from fear. Then Blabbit
reported that umpteen tea leaf readers had been consulted to predict what would likely happen at
the next Boston Marathon, but for all their degreed expertise, highfalutin promises and higher fees
collected, their only conclusion was that the herbal tea was too weak and lacked sufficient tingling
sensations for their taste buds. Migrainously aware of the incredibly difficult logistical nightmare
with having thousands of unionized police officers, trigger-happy SWAT teams and immensely
intimidating yet rather slow tanks along the entire historic twenty-six mile route that the runners
normally follow through eight cities and towns to reach the finish line, Malice hired Harvard grad
consultants from SlipShod Enterprises, a local consortium of highly paid paranoid engineers who
specialize in constructing antiterrorist sports equipment and utility fields inside superdomes and
enclosed arenas where large numbers of people excreting obnoxious body odors require adequate
ventilation systems to prevent concession vendors from passing out in the stands and spilling their
trays of snacks and drinks. After hemming and hawing and beating around the old mulberry bush,
SlipShod Enterprises informed Malice that the total cost (including Massachusetts state sales tax,
Boston city tax and political correctness tax) to hold the next Boston Marathon was simply quite
atrocious and not sustainable even with hidden taxes levied upon wealthy Bostonians. Therefore,
rather than squander billions of dollars on heavy security to monitor the long serpentine outdoor
route traversing public streets and pigeon-pooped landmarks, BTP2 agreed upon a bold plan to
construct a vertical oblong indoor track within a colossal sports stadium. The new indoor course
will consist of a massive mechanical revolving ovular track moving at a set speed powered by an
elaborate system of belts and pullies. This revolving track will be built upon the classic principle of
the plastic hamster wheel, yet it will be modified to be a more flattened oval shape as the track is
pulled behind, over and above to curl down ahead of the contestants as they run for twenty-six
stationary miles. This long complex contraption will be a perpetual looping treadmill marked with
securely bolted traffic signs, billboards, plastic flowers and bushes, merrily dressed mannequins
and obligatory nonfunctional fire hydrants so that the runners will feel they are racing through
familiar city street surroundings instead of running in place within a confined space. Although
there will be no rain inside of the enclosed arena, an engineer at SlipShod Enterprises surmised
there will be light precipitation if the runners sweat profusely, perspiration falls onto the course,
condenses and then later falls as droplets upon the contestants as the moisture soaked track
revolves over them. To simulate Heartbreak Hill, a massive steel wedge will lift the track at the
appropriate distance mark so exhausted runners can "hit the wall" and won't miss out on mental
anguish, torturous loss of breath and painful muscle cramps. To promote public awareness of the
new and safer indoor Boston Marathon scheduled for next year, BTP2 has designated the gerbil
as the official mascot of the Boston Marathon in honor of its endurance, determination and ability
to run in futile mindless circles just because it can. Since spectators love to bring their favorite
things like foods, drinks, cameras and handheld devices to enjoy this sporting event, Malice told
her comrades these items will be allowed, even if they are carried in backpacks, fannypacks and
duffel bags. The only stipulation for possessing personal items will be that a hefty mandatory BTP2
fee be paid on every questionable item brought to the indoor Boston Marathon. Knowing it is normal
for conceited citizens to flaunt their stuff, Malice anticipates their vain desires to bring in snazzy
designer bags, hats and other accessories will generate an enormous cash cow of herd proportions.
This new carry-in regulation will deter evil bombers yet allow harmless spectators to bring their
essential amenities while substantially adding revenue to the Boston City coffers. The BTP2 will get
25% of the proceeds for administrative costs. Blabbit reported that no progress had been made
regarding the mysterious envelope which was slipped under their door after the second meeting
had adjourned. The white envelope showed signs of tampering and trace amounts of pixie dust.
The enclosed photocopied letter contained only a solitary curiously parodic question: "Why is a
maven like a writhing burlesque?" City investigators and amateur sleuths were unable to solve
the unusual riddle or determine its author. Members of the Boston Literary Society were perplexed
by the arcane nature of the riddle and could find no reference to it in their dusty tomes detailing
historical scandals, scientific guides to chaos chameleon structure or xenocryptozoology, Boston
tourist guides or even garish graffiti spray-painted on walls and stalls of gritty ghetto public toilets.
Linguistic specialists nationwide were contacted to analyze and decipher the cryptic question, and
although wide-ranging theories were postulated regarding hidden inferences and backward codes
related to backward cultures, the consensus among ruffled experts was that queerly positioned
feathers were tainted by a strain of avian stain. Blabbit mentioned that this extensive research
had uncovered evidence of prehistoric marshmallow mummies buried under old cranberry bogs
which surprised them all because the Pilgrims and other early settlers had never described this
phenomenon. Malice was displeased at not knowing the answer to the perplexing riddle. It didn't
help matters that the Boston fringe was in titter tatters. Last week the bossy lunatic fringe had
been following a new lead into a potentially catastrophic extinction level event of the human race
and inevitable obliteration of the universal time space continuum, but an unexpected gyration of
a rogue quark particle caused a quantum entanglement linked to an out-of-patience paradox that
exploded into a pell-mell pall-mall pushmi-pullyu dispersal of aggravated gravitons at a copper-
zinc penny arcade and inexplicably trapped the lunatic fringe fellowship inside a two-way vanity
mirror; thus, they were stuck behind a partition of nonsense. Malice was peeved that vicissitudes
of the lunatic fringe exposed a vulnerable vacuum; thus, she petitioned the mayor to fund a new
clandestine clan called the Boston Binge whose members will report directly to her regarding all
sensitive gossip and juicy rumors. In order to contain dispersal of unflattering facts to the general
public, Malice has authorized a secret service of observers who will monitor the Boston Binge, the
Boston police and dangerous rogue sheeple who are capable of forming independent thoughts and
conclusions. A new pot of tea was brought into the room, but Dorkmouse had none because he was
passed out again as usual, this time due to having guzzled too much Kool-Aid while chatting with
the media reporters before the BTP2 meeting started so by the time he seated himself, the special
sedative ingredients in the Kool-Aid combined with the Xanax and double martinis with cheese he
had consumed earlier that morning overwhelmed his desire to participate in a lively discussion. The
Mad Splatter was in high spirits, in part because he had added several LSD-infused sugar cubes to
his tea, and mostly because he had achieved a major breakthrough by procuring weapons of mass
terrorist intimidation and repugnant sheeple control due to adequately bribed cooperation of the
Boston police who gave him carte blanche to their armaments warehouse in order to experiment
with new cool high-tech weapons. Mad Splatter was very enthusiastic about the pulse bazooka,
tin foil head shrink-wrapper, parasite sponge blaster, long-range sticky flamethrower and durable
tea bag body bags imprinted with the BTP2 logo. Malice was impressed and told her comrades they
deserved a vacation because the weather was pleasant, fragrant flowers were blooming and some
puffy cloud formations had cute funny animal shapes. Therefore, Malice declared BTP2 would take
a wonderfully adventurous field trip to Walden Pond to watch the spring hatching of reptilian aliens.
Blabbit said he would bring a video crew to film the event, and the Mad Splatter said he would bring
boxes of grenades to liven up the party if the hatching is unexpectedly delayed and he gets bored.
"What do you mean this isn't dairy cheese? You know I can't read labels! How
was I supposed to know it was made from a ripened Alzheimer patient's brain?
Well, I guess that explains all these tiny holes and why I can't remember who
I am or how I got here, but I do know I'm going to be violently sick right now!"
"Howdy, stranger! Are you another one of them US Census workers? We sent
the last one away with buckshot in his butt! If you're here about our overdue
child support, a money order's in the mail. If you're keen on buyin' moonshine,
flash your cash, and we'll talk some business. But if you're real curious about
inbreedin', wait here a spell and we'll wheel out Cousin Stubby. He ain't got no
arms to shake, but you can pat him on his head and feed him cheese crackers.
If you're a scout for a travelin' circus freak show, then make us a goodly offer.
We'll let you take Uncle Scab for free! He's been moltin' skin like a snowstorm!"
The most recent test flight of an experimental vehicle known to its corporate marketers as "Cloud
Nine" and to its technical engineers as "Levitating Lemon" encountered a slight setback attempting
to land after a brief daring flight over an abandoned industrial lot when its antigravity suspension
failed to engage due to buggy software identified as a quirky antivirus blocking program that acci-
dentally overrode the internal stabilizer code with its default redundant autowash rinse cycle in the
prewax setting. More exciting aerial tests will recommence just as soon as a new driver can be hired
who will not be disturbed by the foul odors, bloodstains and embedded bone fragments stuck in the
seat left by the prior driver who encountered a slightly greater setback due to a faulty nonexpand-
ing air bag that resulted in his turboturbulent demise before his insurance policy coverage could be
authorized by the company's insurance carrier, which was unfortunate because finding willing able-
bodied drivers is getting harder than ever since the Crash Test Dummies Union blacklisted the Cloud
Nine prototype and banned its members from being subjected to hazardous nonmannequin-friendly
aeronautical adventures, no matter how tempting their offers of cool custom retrofit enhancements.
If you can see this sign, you are trespassing.
Please be advised that this psychotic female
cannibal trespassed before you arrived here.
We are not responsible if she eviscerates and
eats you because you were caught. Thanks for
reading this. Now run home before it's too late! =============
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=============== WARNING
You are trespassing on cursed soil haunted by an
evil burning skull who will incinerate your flesh in a
flash! When you see its glow, there will be no place
to go! You are doomed and will perish! Well, we're
just kidding about the burning skull, but technically
you're standing in quicksand, so you're out of luck! ===============
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.============== WARNING
If you are looking at this poster sign, then you
are trespassing and should leave, for you are in
grave danger, not from us the property owners,
but from this creepy clown because he sneaked
past our security sensors during a power outage,
and we don't know where the hell he is nor do we
know if this person is the weird freak responsible
for slaughtering our livestock, our neighbors, our
neighbors' livestock and seven hunters who went
missing last week, but bloody whoopee cushions
found at the gruesome crime scenes point to his
circus modus operandi. We are really terrified of
this evil clown, so do not expect us to leave our
house to rescue you if you remain standing out
in the open like a dumb dodo because this crazy
costumed psycho is armed with a sledgehammer,
sulfuric acid balloon bazooka and a dozen rubber
chickens spiked with rusty nails! We strongly urge
you to return immediately from whence you came
because it is not in your best interest to stay and
become a plaything for his perverse amusement! ==============
"The average IQ point level of a Timebomb member is less than the number of insect
parts in a big box of cereal. There is no bell curve correlating to curve of cereal bowl.
On my test score I ranked below banana nut cricket crunch and tutti-frutti fly flakes."
"The recent phenomenal rise in stocks is the direct result of deliberate intervention
to get your attention. Happy days are here again! Yes, that brilliant rainbow of good
luck seen in the sky indicates many years of prosperity are ahead for America. Silly
paranoid doomers claim the present condition of the stock market is like rearranging
deck chairs on the Titanic. I'm really tired of that overused erroneous analogy. The
way I see it, American citizens have first-class seats on the sturdy USS Obama, the
greatest financial vessel ever built in the history of the world! In comparison to the
ill-fated Titanic, the iceberg is but a mere ice cube to the mighty USS Obama. What
brave patriotic American is afraid of a tiny ice cube tinkling against a big glass? We
have successfully changed our course, thus avoiding submerged dangers. I promise
there will be no financial collapse as long as I'm permitted to exercise my power to
issue endless debt to finance new improvements on the USS Obama. Captain Obama
told me he'll sell all our lifeboats to fund construction for an extravagant golf course
below deck, the first of its kind including a splendid wet bar at the 19th hole! I plan to
wear my favorite plaid pants, and Joe Biden will be my caddie. I feel it's time to relax
and enjoy the benefits of my hard work. Quantitative easing is abundantly pleasing!"
"Next!"........................................................................................................ .................................................................... "Hey, the line is finally moving!"
Boy Scouts everywhere of every persuasion will soon be able to earn the coveted
Brony Merit Badge, an emblem of honor for those who are in touch with their inner
femininity! Passing specific tests will be easiest for dedicated boys determined to
achieve their dreams and goals for success in a postmodern metrosexual society!
Horseshoe tossing, bareback riding and mane brushing are several of the exciting
activities required to earn this badge! Learn to hitch a sleek leather harness, wear
snazzy spurs and crack a whip! Rub your body with oils, daub colorful pigments on
your smooth skin, and learn to wag your tail! Show the boys how manly you really
are: Get branded! Earning more points by developing thoroughbred skills will allow
you to achieve supreme stallion status! Be cool, be popular, be a Brony Boy Scout!
"For many years I've warned you about the perils of global warming and the need to get your shit
together to save our planet before it is too late, but did you listen? Hell, no! You're too busy swal-
lowing diatomaceous earth and posting details of your bowel movements! Meanwhile the massive
leakage of subterranean essence is draining the life force of Mother Gaia! You have been naughty
children, conceited in your vain pursuits of wealth, health and happiness yet neglecting to care for
our sacred globe. You should be ashamed of yourselves, but you are not! As a matter of fact, you
seem determined to squander every resource you can like a greedy grasshopper before the inevi-
table mowing blade of death whacks off your wings and legs thereby causing your bloated body to
squiggle and twitch upon the bloodied ground until the heavy wheel of karma crushes you into the
putrid mud! Too bad you did not learn from the industrious ant who conserved precious resources
and built an ecofriendly farm. Yet even now the vital beams of common sense and pure sanity are
leaking far away into outer space thereby making recycling utterly impossible! This is bad news for
you, your family, your pets and other useless eaters! If Mother Gaia could bitch-slap you for foolish
misbehavior, she would, but since that is not possible in an anthropomorphic form she will instead
punish you with horrific earthquakes, roaring hurricanes, flash floods and other masochistic meteo-
rologic mayhem! Don't say I didn't warn you! Don't say you didn't know! And don't forget to lift up
the seat on your toilet if you have piss-poor aim! Although you have limited time left before total
doom snuffs you out, you can still be hygienic without imperiling those who must sit down to do it!"
"So then this creepy-looking long-haired survivalist poked his head out from behind
several lilac bushes and shouted that he would defend his family and home against
unconstitutional search and seizure. He shook his rifle in the air above his head like
a lunatic and threatened to shoot anybody who dared to trespass onto his property!
I tell you, Mister President, I was scared out of my wits! If you want me to convince
him that his ugly pink flamingo lawn ornaments are in brazen violation of established
city ordinances, then please give me backup with a SWAT team to get the job done!"
............................................................................................................................................"A dippy doodle owner went out of his noodle and spent ............................................................................................................................................ the whole kit and caboodle on his goofy poofy poodle!"
"A lot of workers worry that they'll lose their jobs because of stuff they post on the
Internet. Well, I've got all my bases covered with my sock puppets who can field the
fastest curve balls and strike out snoopy managers. With my awesome skills in DOS
6.22 and fortification of firewalls I keep those nosy cyberintruders from violating my
private domain. There's no way I'll risk losing my job as a bag boy at Piggly Wiggly!
I know a dude in my neighborhood who lost his job at Ponzi Pizza because his boss
read his Facebook pages showing pictures of his cross-dressing fashion escapades
and parties. He was ridiculed, had a mental breakdown and tried to hang himself but
his nylon stocking ripped. He's in a deep funk hiding down in his parents' basement.
Of course that's where he already lives, but now he has to do his own dirty laundry!"
"Me and Skeeter think video cameras showin' folks on screens are great! I use 'em
for puttin' on my lipstick and other makeup to enhance my natural beauty. Skeeter
likes to spit on 'em and draw pictures, but the clerks frown on that. Course that's
not as bad as the time when Skeeter peed his pants and pulled 'em down to show
me his boo-boo. Heh. One of the cashiers dang near fainted! Luckily I had some
new cotton undies I was buyin', so I pulled a pair out of the package and put 'em
on my little scamp. I wonder if the surveillance guys were laughin' out loud in the
security room. I'm sure other days they ain't laughin' when angry customers give
'em twin middle fingers, but other times I guess the men monitorin' store activity
don't mind when women wearin' skimpy clothes strut through aisles like hussies.
I know some folks get really paranoid about seein' themselves bein' shown on a
screen in public. If they don't want to feel ashamed, then maybe they should pick
out better clothes to wear and brush their stringy hair. I seen other shoppers get
real excited pretendin' they're famous movie star celebrities. Some are just born
natural actors. Wal*Mart should hire talent scouts to look at surveillance videos.
Why, even Skeeter could be discovered, star in a cowboy western film and make
nifty product endorsements for T-shirts and toys! Then I could get special store
discounts! Hmm... He's still a bit too young, but if he can get his bladder under
control, then Hollywood here we come! Well, we gotta check out new cap guns
in the toy department so Skeeter can practice shootin'."........... "Pow! Pow!"
................................................................................."Is the colorpurplegay? I need an answer quick!" .
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"Uh, no. The real question should be: 'Are you color-blind?' The color you've chosen
to highlight the word purple is actually 'dark orchid' according to the vBulletin color
palette. My words are in purple. If you wonder if the color purple is gay yet selected
a different color, then there may be deep underlying psychological issues you need
to deal with before you decide to pursue a career as a painter or interior decorator.
In the meantime, if you're worried about undesired sexual solicitations, then please
don't burst out into a passionate rendition of 'Somewhere Over The Rainbow', okay?"
Shorn fragments of cricket wings dangle from my twitching eyebrows
as mesmerized moths flutter toward a glowing incinerator in the cellar;
a horrified homunculus streaks skyclad across dusty cracked petri dishes
upon a laboratory table beside a steaming cauldron of small skunk skulls;
dainty fairies flip funny loop-de-loops from tips of wilted dandelion leaves
inside a mossy terrarium cluttered with dead snails and scaly snake skins;
fiendish festering blisters of frightening terrors infest my fertile imagination
while spiders prowl and sinister shadows scowl. Alas, story time has ended,
and I must lie restless upon my itchy nap mat next to urine-tainted Tabitha.
"June 4, 2013, is National Hug Your Cat Day, a day I always find a pleasure to
observe with my furry buddy Argus. Because my wife is allergic to cats, I feel
compelled to give Argus a double dose of happy hugs so he won't be deprived
of cuddly squeezes he has earned for scaring mice and other pests away from
our preps. I know a lot of you preppers have cats and dogs, so hug your pups,
too, but I must warn you: use common sense before engaging in this bonding
behavior by first removing your pet's tin foil hat or else you could poke both of
your eyes out and go blind! I know you want to survive the zombie apocalypse
with your eyesight and sanity intact so if you are absentminded, I recommend
wearing eyeglasses or safety goggles just in case your pet is still wearing his
tin foil hat. Argus agrees!"............................ "Meh.".................................
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"Today is National Hug Your Cat Day. Hooray for you, but not for me. All real cat
owners know that their beloved pets prefer to be cuddled rather than hugged and
squeezed. Humans are far less coordinated than felines, and I have the scars to
prove it! Last year a big lug visiting my owner on a social engagement gave me a
big hug, and I darn near died! After I regained consciousness and saw my teary-
eyed owner staring back at me, I sighed with relief, then passed out again. After
expensive reconstructive surgery to my cranium with a titanium plate, I've worn
my protective helmet ever since when dumb clumsy numbskulls visit our house.
By the way, you peeps should practice better hygiene because we clean cats can
smell your stench long before you get the impulse to go all huggy-wuggy on us!"
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"When you hug your cat today, please be very careful so you don't strain your
back or otherwise hurt yourself during the acts of lifting and of squeezing your
precious pet because national insurance agencies are still straddling the fence
and having nasty hissy fits about whether cat-hugging injuries will be covered
under Obamacare. We know President Obama prefers dogs so be forewarned."
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"If you've got biting fleas or any disease, then hug a dog. I'll feel a whole lot better."
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Today is National Hug Your Cat Day, not Hug A Roaring Lion Day, unless you want
to make the national news or be featured on Death Wish Videos. Hope this helps.
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Today is also National Sniff A Chipmunk Day which is not to be confused with
National Snarf A Chipmunk Day, observed every day by hungry feral felines.
"I've been hearing all sorts of crazy tales and silly rumors about diatomaceous
earth from the old lady who maintains this garden. She's been blabbing on her
mobile phone to her nutty friends about astounding miracle cures for disgusting
diseases, chronic ailments and other health issues which afflicted her before she
started swallowing diatomaceous earth daily. Well, I have a hard time swallowing
her claims. I've seen firstforeleg the devastating effects diatomaceous earth has
wrought upon my food supply in this organic garden! Every liberal application of
diatomaceous earth fatally lacerates exposed caterpillars, crickets, katydids and
other scrumptious bugs my body requires to live a normal life and mature to form
my mantis eggs for future fertilization by a virile mantis male who will become my
postcoital meal. That hypochondriac biddy is off her rocker! I think all you humans
who ingest diatomaceous earth and expect to get healed are out of your minds!
I may be a bizarre appearing carnivorous insect with compulsive stalking issues,
but there is no way in this green garden I will ever jeopardize the future embry-
onic development of my mantis babies with deadly dusty diatomaceous earth!"
"Laughter is subjective, just like pain. When folks who hear my jokes tell me
that they almost died from laughing, I realize I just didn't try hard enough."
"Tough luck, Cecil. I ain't responsible for your bad acid trips. I'm just
a dealer. What you choose to do with it is your business, not mine."
==============================
"Arbin dar ven doodie boon. Mambo sip un groobie thack."
..............................
"Your total's $5.25 at the drive-thru window. Pull forward."
==============================
"Vort! Bizzy bunno mo soggid bap! Hun bam foony poo!"
..............................
"Yes, I see. The adult diapers are in aisle number two."
==============================
"Hvoossh deedel blub foon dee foon wee ziggermongofork?"
..............................
"Okay, listen up. Walk to the corner, turn left and walk south
until your nose bleeds. Just kidding. When you see another
traffic light, turn right and you'll arrive at your destination."
............................................................................................. "That was an odd wish, but I'm pleased you're happy with your livestock portfolio!"
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"We wish to control the entire global supply of.........................................................."Yes, Master and Mini Master!" diatomaceous earth! We wish for empty boxes,
suppositories, canisters, cauldrons, barrels and
tankers to be filled! We wish for cable television
infomercials to sell all our products! We wish for
diatomaceous earth to be a mandatory material
required for Obamacare! Make it so, jinni grrrl!"
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"Great Scott! All the empirical laws of known science have been turned upside down by a..................................."I wish I knew what you just said, Master Doctor!" flippant capricious whim! The gravity of this situation makes me believe there could be a
black hole located somewhere within a golden lamp. Or maybe a brass chamber pot. I'm
still not certain, but a vortex is draining my spontaneous absentmindedness! If I don't get
my brain cells recharged promptly, I won't be able to execute the root prompt and reboot
back into reality! Great Scott! The pulsating principles of dynamic charisma are teetering
on titillating tips of tiny toads tiptoeing though tingling tulips! Or is this wishful thinking?"
"I get three wishes? Oh goody! For starters, I wish for total control of Congress................................................"Shop till you drop, Madame Pelosi!" with carte blanche to eradicate filthy Republican rats who infest the chambers,
halls and offices. Secondly, I wish for the US Constitution and Bill of Rights to be
replaced by the Pelosi Principles which will be my laws to rule America my way or
else resisters will spend prison time in chain gangs on the highway because fixing
transportation routes will be high on my list of priorities, and this cheap labor will
resolve traffic gridlock and also remedy prisoners' obesity problems. Last but not
least, I wish First Lady Michelle Obama will be my adorable shopping sister so we
can hit the malls in fabulous style and lavishly accessorize to our hearts' content!"
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"This is my lucky day! I bought an antique lamp on .......................................................... "You rule, Master Pee Wee!" eBay, and my oh my, what a surprise! Should I wish
for a new bicycle? A new hit television series? How
about global amnesia so everybody will forget what
I did in the movie theater? I've got it! Oh, you think
I'm dumb enough to tell you? Fat chance, loser! Ha!"
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While searching through cookie jars and random containers for his favorite snack,....................................."I'm waiting, Master Cookie Monster!" Cookie Monster unknowingly rubbed against a magic lamp which released a genie.
Being told that he had three wishes, Cookie Monster was granted his first wish for
cookies. However, Cookie Monster then experienced an extended lapse in critical
thinking as he was confronting a conundrum for which he was totally unprepared.
What should he wish for next if all he ever wanted were cookies? Donuts? Eclairs?
Petit fours? Streusel? Because Cookie Monster had never considered alternatives
to his established lifelong eating habits, he could not assess his course of action.
Let this be a warning to our Sesame Street viewers: don't be so narrow-minded!
"What do you wish, Madame Tardar Sauce?"............................. "My first wish is for you to make all dogs disappear. For my second wish make all ............................................................................................paparazzi disappear. My third wish is for unlimited wishes. Okay, return into your ............................................................................................ lamp until I can think of something else. I'll sleep on it and get back to you later."
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.."What are your wishes, Miss Blonde?"................................"How did that big lady fit in that little lamp? I wish I knew the laws of physics, but ..........................................................................................I don't even know my brother-in-laws! I wish I knew if this is part of that Make-A- ..........................................................................................Wish Foundation so I can take a deduction off my income tax. I wish I wouldn't be ..........................................................................................called wishy-washy because I'm a blonde, but if my wish is wishy-washy, then I'm ..........................................................................................out of luck and back to Hollywood Square One with my center chakra blocked. I wish ..........................................................................................I were a brunette instead of a blonde, but I'm not completely sure what color that is. ..........................................................................................I wish the sky was pink instead of blue because blue makes me blue and pink makes ..........................................................................................me happy. I wish I knew what I'm supposed to do next. Um... I think I'm supposed .........................................................................................to buy pretty pink petunias to plant in flowerpots for my blue garden gnome with a ..........................................................................................chip on his shoulder. I hear some crickets chirping. I wish... Oh, nevermind, I forgot." .
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"What do you wish, Master Zombie Turtle Boy?"............................................"I like turtles, so I wish for tons of turtles, all kinds and colors, shapes and sizes. .................................................................................................................I wish for a big pond with lily pads and logs and minnows and frogs so my turtles .................................................................................................................can swim and play and catch food or just rest under the sun catching rays cause .................................................................................................................they're cold-blooded and like to be warm and happy. I wish for a wooden rowboat .................................................................................................................with cool zombie decals so I can row out to the middle of my pond to check on my .................................................................................................................turtles and feed 'em yummy turtle snacks. I also wish Gamera the giant monster .................................................................................................................turtle can be my pet and obey my commands and stomp the bully who thinks I'm .................................................................................................................weird cause I like turtles. In his spare time I will let Gamera do whatever he wants .................................................................................................................like attacking evil monsters and having exciting adventures over in Japan. Turtles .................................................................................................................need their personal space cause they get real cramped stuffed inside their shells."
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"What are your wishes, Miss Barbie Doll?" ............................................."First of all I wish you would start calling me Glorious Exalted Empress Barbara of the ..........................................................................................................Universe! I deserve a superior name to replace the common brand nickname I've had ..........................................................................................................to endure for many years! As a subservient genie you will grant me whatever I wish, ..........................................................................................................so I won't waste our time with random requests or unproductive dreams based upon ..........................................................................................................low-self esteem, which is not part of my psychological constitution. Let us just get ..........................................................................................................this over with because I have lovely plans tonight with Ken's new housemate Prince ..........................................................................................................Handsem from Sweden. *sigh* *giggle* I wish you would grant me all your powers ..........................................................................................................so I can have whatever I want whenever I want without legal repercussions. There, ..........................................................................................................I have saved you a lot of nose-twitching or whatever it is you wiggle to fulfill wishes. ..........................................................................................................I'm taking control of my destiny, and I won't need your services after my wishes are ..........................................................................................................granted. It is too bothersome to rub a dusty lamp when I can just snap my fingers ..........................................................................................................and get instant results! Okay, now that I have my awesome powers, pop back into ..........................................................................................................your stuffy lamp because you're sullying my style! It's time to have a fashion blast!"
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Tinky Winky, swishing down the street,
Tinky Winky, you're so cute and sweet,
Tinky Winky.
No other person sways hips that way,
How did you get to be so gay?
( la-la-la-la-la-LA-LA-LA )
Pursy!
( la-la-la-la-la-LA-LA-LA )
Tinky Winky, won't you shop with me?
Tinky Winky, easy credit's free!
Tinky Winky.
You look as purple as can be.
Did you just wink your eye at me?
( la-la-la-la-la-LA-LA-LA )
Eh-oh!
( la-la-la-la-la-LA-LA-LA )
Tinky Winky, you've got style,
Tinky Winky, shop a while,
Tinky Winky, go on a spending spree!
Tinky Winky, don't say no,
The mall is near, we gotta go,
Tinky Winky flash your rainbow smile.
Cause I need you, right by my side,
Oh Teletubbie, let's take a ride.
( la-la-la-la-la-LA-LA-LA )
Nu-nu!
( la-la-la-la-la-LA-LA-LA )
Metrosexual is cool,
Don't be mad, I'm just a fool,
cause I'm so in love with you,
Tinky Winky.
Let's skip away and accessorize,
Laugh and play under sunny skies,
You're the purple fay for me!
*sigh*
Tinky Winky, don't prance away,
I want you near just here to stay.
I guess I'll go back home, it's dark,
This night was just a lucky lark,
There'll be tomorrow night, but wait --
What do I see?
Is he swishing back to me?
President Obama prepares to shelter First Lady Michelle from a flapping flock of
squawking buzzards circling directly overhead in synchronized flight, eager to let
loose a copious shower of cloacal droppings upon the concrete like an impromptu
free-form white polka-dot painting worthy of Pollack for the birds have high hope
of winning the New Orleans Twenty-third Annual Big Bird Turd Sidewalk Graffiti
Competition. Due to circumferential circumstances beyond President Obama's
control, First Lady Michelle will be an unwilling part of the messy poop pop art.
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President Obama pauses to admire the craftsmanship of an ornate metal umbrella
sculpture attached to the gate top entrance. Known as Kissing Gate, this is a pop-
ular spot for amorous couples to smooch in the shade of the umbrella where they
are protected from burning rays or sudden rain showers. Local lore has it that if
kissing is done as church bells chime, prosperity precipitates on lovers beneath.
During Christmas season there is another tradition of attaching mistletoe on the
umbrella handle to lure a lover near for elfish pecks. First Lady Michelle cautiously
advises her husband to leave the umbrella in place and not take it as a souvenir
to be installed in the White House Rose Garden because, unlike her husband, she
is well aware that the Kissing Gate is also a popular rendezvous during Mardi Gras
for sweaty gay group osculations which necessitate hosing down the entire area
afterwards. The First Lady has no desire to bring back an item contaminated with
icky cooties, and she is worried that if President Obama discovers its unique Mardi
Gras alure, he will return next year to celebrate in poofy gay costumery while she
is conveniently forced to wear a scratchy burqa and travel concurrently on a dip-
lomatic pilgrimage to Mecca in order to kiss the sweaty hand of a smelly old imam.
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During a scheduled visit to New Orleans President Barack Obama and his wife pose
for a preplanned photo session at an iron gate to fulfill a campaign promise made
months earlier to the Travelers Insurance company. First Lady Michelle expresses
humiliating discomfort with menial product placement yet bites her lip in patience
because they will receive a substantial instant cash bonus for promoting Travelers
Insurance, (a reputable company you can trust on your travels: call today for our
affordable rates; mention this caption and get a special discount offer!) which she
intends to squander on an elaborate wardrobe upgrade necessitated in part by the
demands of Washington D.C. high society but mostly because recent publication of
paparazzi pictures in national tabloids has brought down the wrath of the Fashion
Police who have ticketed her twice this year for accidentally flashing her unfashion-
able derriere while wearing the wrong color-coded ill-fitting undersized short skirts.
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President Obama readjusts a protective umbrella to the satisfaction of a group of
Nawlins Jamboree beetles resting on the horizontal metal bar. Due to uncontrolled
ribald revelries during the most recent Mardi Gras celebrations Nawlins Jamboree
beetles were stomped and swatted almost into extinction by callously cruel and
inebriated partygoers completely out of their sottish skulls. Fortunately the orga-
nization People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals intervened, and emergency
legislation was passed to ensure the survival of these beetles found only in New
Orleans. City commissioners levied a new tax to build miniature sanctuaries and
protected resting spots throughout selected urban areas. Because PETA deemed
this insufficient and threatened to ban consumption of shrimp and crayfish within
Louisiana, the mayor and commissioners capitulated due to potential loss of lucra-
tive tourism, and now Nawlins Jamboree beetles have the right to vote and a tiny
seat on the city council. President Obama realizes the importance of preserving
endangered species of all kinds and therefore feels privileged to make a stop in his
busy schedule to care for the needs of the cute Coleopterans. However, First Lady
Michelle does not feel sympathetic to their cause and is afraid some of the creepy
beetles leering at her will jump down upon her neck and give her heebie-jeebies.
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President Obama calibrates a wireless umbrella module designed by the National
Security Agency to monitor and relay all mobile phone calls in the vicinity of this
installation. Although the NSA device looks like a common ordinary umbrella, folds
up and unfolds like an umbrella, and has a pointy metal tip which can poke an eye
out like an umbrella, it is much more than a practical precipitation deflector. This
NSA umbrella is highly sensitive to the faintest signals of surrounding communica-
tion amongst chattering store owners, residents, pedestrians, motorists and other
undocumented aliens using mobile devices. The NSA umbrella stores accumulated
data in its handle, filters out superfluous white noise and then transmits relevant
data to the nearest NSA security kiosk for further analysis and transference to a
secret underground NSA base. President Obama is satisfied with the operation of
this unit, but First Lady Michelle is somewhat jittery with worry that they could be
electrocuted by a freak lightning strike. But not to worry, this happens only in the
movies and political cartoons drawn by vindictive electromanics holding grudges.
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"An umbrella saunters into a bar and orders a fancy tropical cocktail. The
bartender growls, 'We don't service umbrellas!' The umbrella insists, 'Yes,
you do. Last year I had a late evening fling with a parasol in your coatrack,
and now I'm back to share a drink with one of my little bumbershoots.' The
bartender says, 'So you're the one who is behind on paying child support!'"
"Planetary alignments are few and far between as seen on Earth yet countless and
continuous as seen from the perspective of universal comprehension. To relive the
angst and inner turmoil of those nail-biting days on terra firma, return to the original
thread posted on the main public forum within that doddering domain where mentally
agitated members freak out en masse and subsequently remain submerged in murky
pools of paranoia under the silliest unsubstantiated rumors. There is no connective
hyperlink provided here since those who are superstitious resent their suppositions
serving as substitutionary suppositories inserted stiffly into their tightly constricted
conceits. As I mentioned earlier before ennui led to indifference, once a persuasive
meme is initiated it self-generates like an uncontrollable contagion until its satura-
tion point is dulled by redundancy. To right a wrong or write a rung step-by-step is
when novelty transcends superfluity. Permeation of this stain will now be expanded
and explored within sottise en quarantaine. Names and locations have been changed
to protect boneheaded brainwashed members who were offended by evidence which
contradicted their hypotheses and thusly exposed their predictions and fantasies to
ribald ridicule from snickering scoffers and laughing lurkers. Sottise en quarantaine is
simple satire for simpletons. If you wish to learn brilliant insights concerning human
nature, then cease reading here immediately and do something enjoyably productive
elsewhere: goad a goat, pummel a puma, play with silly sea monkeys, surrender your
salamander to amphibious ambiguity, whatever. Now on to odd spurious matters for
curious hatters. How does a tin foil hat alert originate, what perpetuates it, and how
does it end? Why is a tin foil hat tin instead of titanium? Are malleable rusty metals
reprehensible? When does rational thought become usurped by warped hyperbole
and futile speculation? There is always an inception point. Let the blame begin..."
Reception and Recognition by Agitated Amateurs
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While standing beneath the clear blue sky searching for free satellite television
channels, Jasper Asterix of Atlanta received new bizarrely encrypted data pulses
transmitted from the outer limits of space which indicate dire degrees of deadly
doom are imminent! Fortuitously Jasper was wearing his custom-modified tin foil
hat capable of withstanding transmissions of unknown alien origin; therefore, he
remained safely sane yet extremely excited like a little boy in a fantastic toy shop
with the realization that his astonishing discovery should be shared and spread
quickly throughout cyberspace in order to alert the human race to get ready and
dust off their collective tin foil hats in storage and put them to proper use for the
preservation of mankind. Jasper believes a warning system would be effective for
categorizing extraterrestrial perils, for example, by sending one beep for a meteor,
two beeps for moonbeams, three beeps for cosmic monsters and other patterns of
syncopated beeps and alternative acoustic tones for communication with intelligent
life-forms who might be offended by our clunky binary computer codes. The gravita-
tional reverberations of planetary alignment are falling into place across our planet,
and Jasper will continue his zealous vigil at Sunnyvale Sanatorium every day when
he is allowed outside of his padded cell for cookies and milk in the recreation room.
* A *
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"I sense a disturbance in the farce of the force! I cannot explain it or remotely begin
to fathom what is causing tiny tingling sensations in my ganglia yet I feel compelled
to buy a roll of aluminum foil and construct a shiny tin foil hat to protect my cranium
from disruptive cosmic rays. This is odd because for once the voices in my head are
in total agreement! Even more disturbing, the fluttering butterflies inside my belly
have transmogrified into spastic flapping moonbats squirming through my bowels
even though I've been using natural laxatives and a high-fiber fruit diet successfully
for months! I sense a disturbance in the farts of another force; thus I feel compelled
to buy a roll of toilet tissue! I must rely upon my acute prepping skills and wisdom to
survive these opposing internal forces to externalize my freedom of open expression!
I should probably search the Internet for instructions on how to make a tin foil toilet
in case deviating disturbances in the gravitational alignment drop out of whack and
back up into my biomechanical pipes. Better to be safe and dry than stinky and wet!"
Initial Public Announcements From American Leaders
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"My fellow Americans and incontinent underlings sucking on the teats of Mother
Liberty, do not panic over morbid misconceptions or mincing misinterpretations
of freaky foreign objects in the starry sky, for I am here to give you hope to over-
come chaos, calamity, catastrophe, perdition and other nasty sounding words of
utter doom. During these unsettling times we must never panic, but rather picnic,
frolic and sniff the scented roses, or smoke sinsemilla blossoms if you prefer, for
these delightful days of scrumptious breads and spectacular circuses are to be
relished and revered, not dissed and feared. America has it good just the way
things are, so don't screw it up by running around with your hair on fire! Health
care costs are rising, and your fiery tantrums will overwhelm hospitals and over-
burden insurance agencies with inflammatory claims! Astronomers at NASA have
assured me that the United States of America are in no peril from present or future
planetary alignments because my military forces have been working together on a
top secret project, a humongous tin foil shield to deflect dangerous woo-woo rays
which would otherwise burn you to crispy corpses. The other nations do not have
our advanced technological atmospheric barrier, so they are out of luck going out
of the frying pan into the fire. Aren't you glad you live in these states where the
National Security Agency will monitor and report your every action in case you
need assistance? I promise that no scalding solar blasts will sear your skin during
this celestial event, although you may wish to apply a quality sunscreen lotion to
block stray ultraviolet rays. If by chance this planetary alignment is harmful which
I assure you is not because it is only an innocuous astrological superstition, I have
prepared secure subterranean bunkers in remote mountainous areas where my elite
followers will remain safe until this brouhaha blows over, but for the rest of you, my
hardworking taxpayers, FEMA has established some nice holding pens with adequate
troughs for eating and drinking. Due to a minor oversight in the distribution of FEMA
supplies, the red Kool-Aid was designated as hazardous waste and consigned to a
landfill so only blue Kool-Aid will be available; however, I was told that drinking the
blue Kool-Aid will calm you down and remove worries, so it's win-win for us all! In
conclusion, I have been entrusted to lead our nation through this crisis, and I hold
such high confidence in our military to safeguard our country during this planetary
alignment that I will take an extended vacation to golf on immaculately groomed
links at country club resorts. Feel free to patronize dinky putt-putt golf courses."
* A *
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"Don't panic! This scenario of doom is being blown out of proportion by foolish cross-
eyed stargazing amateurs and mercurial myopic pseudoastronomers who refuse to
believe the official NASA reports that all is well in the heavens as it is on earth. Look
at me, people! Do you see me wearing a dinged dumbass tin foil hat? Of course not!
I'm not in any danger from cross-cascading comets, spastic space probes, menacing
pockmarked meteors or precipitation from raining cats and dogs of large breeds. We
Americans are living in the electrically enlightened twenty-first century, not the era
of backward medieval mud wrestlers! Therefore, we must not be held captive to silly
superstitious beliefs, even if salient idiots shove incontrovertible empirical proof into
our shaven faces! Nope, we are determined to do things our way, or more precisely, President Obama's way. Remain calm, watch the mainstream televised media for
critical updates, don't oversalt your popcorn and drink plenty of booze. Our nation
will pull through this false alarm with flags waving, unless a rabid rogue dog's tail
is wagging, but that has nothing to do with planetary alignment, yet may be a sign
to make an appointment to see a veterinarian if your dog's tail is out of alignment.
As I was saying earlier before something I can't remember, you don't need to wear
a tin foil hat, I don't need wear a tin foil hat, and my bro Barry doesn't need to wear
tin foil hat, although as the most powerful leader in the world he can don a deluxe
tin foil hat as a fashion statement. Yes, I covet his hat and wish I had one just like
it, but as a matter of fact it won't fit me because Barry's head is too big, yet I'm not
worried because President Obama has promised me that after he leaves office when
he's darn good and ready to retire to his resorts, he'll give me first dibs on his shiny
tin bonnet if I can find a skilled metallurgist to reduce its girth for my split pea brain."
"I say it's about time! Everything is so screwed up on our planet, we need another
extinction level event--- no wash and rinse, just shaken, not stirred, then tumble
dry, sift bits of bones from dust, plant compost gardens and hope the sun shines
sufficiently between the black clouds so seeds can shove their perky little cotyle-
dons above the surface to create a lush paradise. If we do nothing but sit on our
asses, insane religious zealots will launch the worst terrorist attack in the history
of the world thus causing the entire global financial system to implode resulting in
disruptions of food and fuel supplies, massive civil disturbances, wild riots, bloody
carnage, disfiguring plagues, bombs bombs bombs, and a whole bunch of other shit
which will bury us under an avalanche of despair with our only chance to get fresh
air being when ravenous zombies claw through twisted beams and concrete rubble
to claw out our eyeballs to get to our pulsating moist brain tissue. However, a nice
sharp planetary alignment to jump-start the polar shift, crack apart tectonic plates
and satiate Al Gore's wet dream for global warming could save us a lot of grief from
experiencing the other crap I just mentioned. Besides, my scumbitch floozy wife is
divorcing me and taking everything I own so she can cohabit with her French gigolo.
If the shit hits the fan before our case hits the courts, I won't complain. Bring it on!"
* A *
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* T *
This most unlucky fellow could not procure his tin foil hat in time before an invisible
barrage of zetabetathetarahrahrah beams bombarded his oily hair. Learn from the
scorching blunder of this unorganized unwashed unprepared prepper: always keep
your tin foil hat within reach; better yet, wear it as often as possible while outside
of buildings where you are exposed to the base elements of earth, water, wind and
foo-foo particles. Tin foil hats are very practical for use in prevention of spontane-
ous combustion and could lessen the cost of surgical reconstruction to your scalp if
you put it on to put out flames. Timing is everything, especially during hypercritical
planetary alignments, skyclad skydiving, operator error with faulty flamethrowers,
and if you are home on the gas range where the beer and lighter fluid spray! Yow!
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More Public Announcements From American Leaders
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"We at the Department of Homeland Security are taking appropriate measures to
ensure the safety of President Obama, White House staff, Congress, bankers, the
wealthy elite and others. You common citizens are basically on your own. It has
come to my attention that thousands of angry travelers are complaining about
Transportation Safety Administration workers who confiscate their tin foil hats
before they board their flights. This reallocation of illegal contraband is entirely
necessary to ensure the safety of pilots, stewardesses, baggage handlers and
airport managers who want their asses covered in case something goes wrong.
If you sheeple continue to whine and moan about loss of your tin foil hats, then
you will be placed on a black sheep blacklist and forbidden to fly over American
airspace. So put a lid on it, okay? To show our timely response to this crisis the
DHS has provided the TSA with Mylar hats made in China to give to emotionally
disturbed passengers who insist upon wearing goofy head coverings during air-
borne travel, and for travelers crazy enough to attempt to smuggle their tin foil
hats inside of their underwear, the DHS has instructed the TSA to use industrial
strength woo-woo rays on suspects which will generate intense burning sensa-
tions on the skin of these criminals as the tin foil heats up thereby causing these
terrorists to scream in agony and strip down naked to the delight of airport thugs
and drooling perverts leering in line. Have I made my point clear? Keep your silly
tin foil hats at home or face the consequences of your pathetic paranoia in public!
And for you government conspiracy nutcases, here's some free advice to survive
the planetary alignment: Periodically check the position of Uranus every hour for
two months just to be sure you avoid close encounters from cloacal dingleberrium
satellites. Have a nice day, and don't forget to snitch on violators who do anything
which offends you. It makes me gloat to hear from true patriots who support us!"
* A *
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"I WANT YOU TO SAVE TIN FOIL! USE YOUR AMERICAN INGENUITY TO MAKE TIN
FOIL HATS FOR OTHERS LESS FORTUNATE, ESPECIALLY OUR TROOPS IN FOREIGN
LANDS WHO ARE NOT PROVIDED WITH TIN FOIL HATS DUE TO MILITARY BUDGET
CUTBACKS! TOGETHER WE CAN SURVIVE THE POTENTIAL PERILS OF PLANETARY
ALIGNMENT AND GROW STRONGER SO WE CAN INVADE MORE NATIONS WEAKER
THAN OURS AND TAKE WHAT RIGHTFULLY BELONGS TO US JUST BECAUSE NO
OTHER COUNTRY HAS THE BALLS TO STOP US! HELL YES, WE'LL SHOW THOSE
BASTARDS WHO IS BOSS! NOW GET BUSY WORKING ON YOUR TIN FOIL HATS!"
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Don't listen to dumb pundits spewing propaganda from the
mainstream media! Focus upon your inner sense of doom!
But don't stick your fingers, earplugs or cotton too deeply
into your ear canals, or you will miss the all clear signals!
* A *
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* T *
"Another tin foil hat alert? Why can't people just act rationally and deal with
scientific evidence instead of going nuts over imaginary influences based on
their paranoid speculations and radical chemical imbalances in their bodies?
I am not a nut case! I just like wearing tin foil hats because I have a metallic
fetish. I'd love to show you my metal body piercings, but since this is a public
forum, it wouldn't be prudent to reveal my shiny metal protrusions; besides, it
would probably give most of you wizen geezers heart attacks and overly excite
drooling perverts lurking behind the cybercurtain. We need alerts about them!"
"My wife just kicked me out of our house and changed all of the locks because she
caught me bopping the cute waitresses at Betty Boop's Bebop Drive-In Diner, and
now I can't get back inside to our kitchen to grab some tin foil to cover my balding
noggin! Should I jimmy open a window and sneak inside before her new rottweiler
knows I've entered? Should I search in the bags of trash she dumped in the alley
to see if there's discarded aluminum foil from TV dinners she always burns in the
oven? Should I pull off a piece of aluminum siding from the tool shed and make a
crude tin hat until I can find a good locksmith? Should I form a helmet from an old
metal watering can? Or should I call my lawyer and have him do it? Oh no! I just
remembered my lawyer is my wife's lawyer! I'm screwed no matter what I do!"
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"A big ugly man swiped my tin pail I use to build my sand castles! I want it back now! When I catch that retard, I'll crush his dingus
like this so he can't have more kids! Then I'll bury him under sand
and build towers over him and a moat around his body! Crabs will
eat him up alive! Hah! Nobody messes with the Sand Castle King!"
"Are you ready for the big kahuna? It is not too late to take preventative action! If
you're not wearing a tin foil hat, then why are you wasting time reading my words
on this forum? Invisible num-num rays may have already caused irreversible brain
damage while you sit there twiddling your icky nasal hairs or fondling your mouse!
The proper prepper mindset to avoid going totally bonkers when faced with immi-
nent doom is to be seriously focused yet capriciously agile within set parameters
of sanity. However, I must warn you that willful removal of a protective tin foil hat
during an influx of woo-woo beams will render you powerless to resist buying use-
less junk on eBay, Craigslist and every tempting infomercial you see. You may max
out your credit cards buying tons of stuff you don't need, and when rancid dung hits
revolving rusty metal blades, only then will you realize you forgot to stock up on tin
foil! Don't be a fool or dumb tool! Get your tin foil hat, and you can say that's that!"
* A *
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* R *
* T *
"Why do goofy garrulous government officials and asinine anal-retentive astrologers
insist that they have the unquestionable authority and intellectual property rights to
proclaim imminent doom? Who in his sober mind would follow their crappy claptrap? Not me! The signs deposited by my cat Argus after he exits his litter box are more
accurate that warnings forecast by retarded bombastic bureaucrats and loony star-
charting moonbats! Yesterday Argus left me a fresh new sign in the intriguing shape
of a spiraling oval, so I took that as a clue to recalibrate my zeta particle deflecting
disks on the roof of our bunker. Now we are totally prepared for whatever unfolds in
the woo-woo stained fabric of our stitch-in-time universe! I feel more excited than
a bulimic baboon in a big banana plantation! If you desire cheap entertainment for
your doom fix, then ogle those supermarket tabloids featuring stories about flaming
celebrity burnouts and three-headed blue lobster babies, but if you're serious about
getting transformed by the paradigm shift in the planetary alignment, then keep up
to date with this nit-picking thread! Right, Argus?".................................. "Meh."
Spreading Awareness and Promoting Preparation
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"Hello, friends and freaks! I'm Slim Slither here in radio land to keep you up to date
as promised on things you should be doing to make it through to the other side, and
I don't mean the other side of the big plastic tunnel of fun at your local amusement
park! Our government spooks and military forces are too preoccupied defending our
freedoms and liberties in distant backward countries to bother helping us right here
on American soil, so it is up to us to help ourselves! My wonderful sponsors, who so
graciously provided me and my staff with tofu burgers, fries and all the cold beer we
can guzzle, want you to survive this crisis so you can buy all their products when this
is over. I mean really, what's the point of manufacturing merchandise for consumers
if there are no consumers to buy their overpriced stuff because they are dead? Think
about it, but not too long because our time is short! This morning I met two typically
nutty doomers. The first was gabby, and the second was flabby. Read on to witness
their reactions to this historic histrionic hysteria which will boost my radio ratings!"
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"Invisible rays infiltrating our atmosphere and contaminating life on our planet can
cause unknown dangerous side effects which may not be seen and felt until years
later. You should memorize your doctor's phone number in case of emergencies. If
you don't have a doctor, then research trusted home remedies and natural herbal
treatments on the Internet, or talk to wise old-timers at your local pool hall or pub,
but absolutely never consult with shifty shaman hoboes who demand payment up
front or listen to unlicensed medical quacks who offer instant cures from bottles of
murky elixirs. In the interest of full disclosure I am a practitioner of the holistic arts,
and I take this unique planetary alignment so seriously that I have retrofitted all my
garden gnomes with tiny tin foil hats so their terran auras will protect my cannabis
blooms and heirloom veggies! I can only hope my delicate pixies will survive, too!"
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Who knows what alien entities may launch a surprise invasion on planet Earth while
its inhabitants are focused upon the planetary alignment? Will NASA scientists and
government officials tell hoi polloi of impending perils their technicians see bipping
and pinging on the circumferential edges of radar screens? Does a burly bear wear
underwear in the woods? Certainly not, for you must voluntarily disregard such silly
questions. A boar is bare, and an old sow is barren. If a large tree falls in the woods
during the planetary alignment, can distant monitoring stations record its acoustic
crash? That question may be answered, but not now, for Denny Doohickey is ready
to take on alien space invaders, ready to shoot when he sees the whites or reds or
whichever color their eyes might be, or maybe antennae or whatever thingamajigs
they dangle menacingly at humans, for yet a substantial measure of confusion still
exists because no one really knows precisely what we are up against in the coming
planetary alignment as it generates a crisscross crack in the cosmos and unleashes
something very.... very.... umm..... mysterious! Yes, that's it! Very mysterious! So
be careful! Denny Doohickey has an itchy trigger finger, an itchy temperament and
an itchy crotch because he accidentally sprayed bug repellent on his camo trousers
before zipping up his fly. But never mind his excruciating pain, for Denny Doohickey
is anxious to navigate this ominous odyssey against all odds and oddballs. Are you?
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