NationStates Jolt Archive

Post your favorite political/ideological satire, jokes, humor, etc.

Folks, can we just post jokes here and maybe try to stay away from actual meaningful discussion? hehe

I'd like this place to be somewhere we can go for a good laugh. So please, try not to flame here. Thankyouverymuch.

Let's get it started... let's get it started (in here):
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The Difference Between The Liberal and Conservative "Debate" Over The War

Question: You're walking down a deserted street with your wife and two small children. Suddenly, a dangerous looking man with a huge knife comes around the corner and is running at you while screaming obscenities. In your hand is a Glock .40 and you are an expert shot. You have mere seconds before he reaches you and your family. What do you do?

Liberal Answer:
Well, that's not enough information to answer the question! Does the man look poor or oppressed? Have I ever done anything to him that is inspiring him to attack? Could we run away? What does my wife think? What about the kids? Could I possibly swing the gun like a club and knock the knife out of his hand? What does the law say about this situation? You know, he has not actually committed a crime, yet. Is it possible he'd be happy with just killing me? Does he definitely want to kill me or would he just be content to wound me? If I were to grab his knees and hold on, could my family get away while he was stabbing me? This is all so confusing! I need to debate this with some friends for a few days to try to come to a conclusion.

Conservative Answer:
BANG!

Texan's Answer:
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! click...
(sounds of magazine being ejected and fresh magazine installed)
Wife: "Sweetheart, he looks like he's still moving, what do you kids think?"
Son: "Mom's right Dad, I saw it too..."
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Daughter: "Nice group Daddy!"

Johnny is confused about the US political process, so he asks his dad about how to describe politics. His dad says "Alright, let me explain it like this. I make all the money in this family, so call me capitalism. Your mom handles the money so call her the governemnt. The nanny is the working class, and your baby brother is the people. Think about that over noght, and tell me what you think in the morning."

Well, johnny goes to bed, and he wakes up in the middle of the nihgt becasue his brothe ric crying becasue of a messy diaper. He goes to his parents room, and he sees that his mother is sleeping, so he goes to get the nanny. He looks into the nanny's door and his dad is having sex with the nanny. He goes back to bed.

The next morning his dad asks him what he thinks about governemnt. Johny says "While the government sleeps, capitalism is screwing the working class and the people are in deep Sh*t"

Let's get it started... let's get it started (in here):
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The Difference Between The Liberal and Conservative "Debate" Over The War

Question: You're walking down a deserted street with your wife and two small children. Suddenly, a dangerous looking man with a huge knife comes around the corner and is running at you while screaming obscenities. In your hand is a Glock .40 and you are an expert shot. You have mere seconds before he reaches you and your family. What do you do?

Liberal Answer:
Well, that's not enough information to answer the question! Does the man look poor or oppressed? Have I ever done anything to him that is inspiring him to attack? Could we run away? What does my wife think? What about the kids? Could I possibly swing the gun like a club and knock the knife out of his hand? What does the law say about this situation? You know, he has not actually committed a crime, yet. Is it possible he'd be happy with just killing me? Does he definitely want to kill me or would he just be content to wound me? If I were to grab his knees and hold on, could my family get away while he was stabbing me? This is all so confusing! I need to debate this with some friends for a few days to try to come to a conclusion.

Conservative Answer:
BANG!

Texan's Answer:
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! click...
(sounds of magazine being ejected and fresh magazine installed)
Wife: "Sweetheart, he looks like he's still moving, what do you kids think?"
Son: "Mom's right Dad, I saw it too..."
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Daughter: "Nice group Daddy!"
genius...pure genius

Fear and Loathing in the Mystery Machine
Excerpts from the never-aired 1973 Scooby Doo episode with guest star Hunter S. Thompson

We were ten minutes south of San Clemente when the putrid green daisy walls of the van started closing in. I recall the fat four-eyed lesbian sweater girl saying something like "are you okay, Mr. Duke? We've got a mystery to solve..." when suddenly the gullet of the garish chartreuse steel beast began to spasm, as if a digestive track readying itself to vomit. I began clawing at my hamstrings and when I turned my head I was looking into the irridescent eyes of a grotesque animal screeching "Ruh Roh! Ruh Roh!" in a hoarse irritating dog-accented gibberish. That's when it things began to turn weird.

I fought off the ether hallucinations and fly swarms and fumbled through my medical bag for my 9 millimeter and another shot of absinthe. I pushed off the safety and casually popped off three quick rounds, through the shag carpet stomach lining of the nauseous steel beast that was consuming all of us, and it began thrashing angrily. The lesbian was screaming, and the two Aryan Hitler Youth were screaming, and the grotesque talking dog jumped into the arms of the whimpering hippie boy. Holy sweet Jesus Christ, I thought, don't these people realize we're about be eaten alive by poorly-drawn Chevrolet? "Nevermind," I said. They would see it all soon enough, after the nightshade cookies and Scooby snack kicked in.

****************************

Hanna and Barbera liked my story on hormone doping at the '72 Laff-a-Lympics and proposed that I cover a Harlem Globetrotters game at a haunted Aztec pyramid in Mexico. They called me to their offices in Burbank. "Jesus Christ, you're killing us here, Duke," Hanna complained when I demanded a $1500 advance for the project. "I've got expense," I said. They relented and arranged for a chirpy entourage to escort me into the belly of the beast. There was the lesbian chick, the blond Palos Verdes neck scarf Nixon boy and his frigid miniskirt girlfriend, the gawky soul patch hippie kid and his paranoid Great Dane. Lost Manson kids all, Squeakies and Leslies and a canine Tex in a puke green van hoping for some Mexican helter skelter. All the better reason to pack a few guns, I thought.

"Like hi Mister Duke, ready to solve some Mexican mysteries?" said the hippie kid in a grating singsong. I was simultaneously repulsed and fascinated by the shape of his head. "Fuck that," I said. "We're going to Compton to pick up some supplies."

We backed up the van to the garage of my exploration outfitter, Dr. Tyrone, and loaded the necessary cargo for our insane basketball safari in Baja: twelve mason jars of absinthe-laced Goofy Grape, two pounds of hashish, 450 hits of Wacky Package blotter acid, a tinfoiled brick of pure Mendocino nightshade distillate, a Jif Peanut Butter jar of ether, two gross of amyl poppers, a sandwich baggie of MDMA, seven quarts of Mescal, 112 peyote buttons, two cases of Schlitz, and a new experimental medication Dr. Tyrone called "Tyrone Nitrate." The supension of the vomitous beast groaned under the load and we pointed it toward Tijuana.

*****************************

"Rejus Rist! Rejus Rist!"

The dog started whimpering in paranoid Scooby Smack madness when the two Federales started poking their flashlights into the rear van windows. How long can we maintain? I wondered. How long before one of us starts raving and jabbering and making weird sound effects? The lesbian was swatting away at invisible flies and the hippie was in a comatose peyote stare. The two Nixon youths had gotten into the Tyrone Nitrate and were rooting like animals on the van floor. I could probably shoot the two cops, but it would be just a matter of time until the other Mexican pigs tracked us down and fed our corpses to the Baja condors.

"Ola senor," I said, rolling down the passenger window and motioning to the fat one. I reached out with a $100 handshake. "There's one thing you should know. We're going to the Globetrotters game at the haunted Aztec pyramid. That fat homely girl in back, with the glasses? She's a hitchiker we picked up outside El Cajon, a runaway from a wealthy family. I think she is holding drugs."

We tore off south toward Ensenada, the two fat Federales disappearing slowly in the mirror as they struggled to handcuff the fly-swatting lesbian chick.

*****************************

"Keep digging," I ordered, my Glock trained at the hippie's hairy, bulbous head. The Schlitz-peyote cocktail had likely rendered him harmless, but I wasn't taking any chances -- with him, or any chupacabras that might appear in the desert night. The shivering mongrel dragged the limp bodies of the two Hitler Young Republicans one by one across the desert floor. It wasn't clear yet whether they were really dead or just in a Tyrone Nitrate-induced zombie state, but I wasn't in any state to explain them to another Federale. The holes were shallow enough that if they were still alive they could dig themselves out and hitchhike back to the border.

Pa-zing!

The hideous dog jumped out out of the way as I popped a round at his feet. "Ron of a ritch! Rut ruz rat for?" it screeched. "Stop walking on your hind legs," I said. "You're a goddam dog, for chrissakes."

*****************************

Madness and rank paranoia filled my mind as I looked down from the steps of the pyramid to the violently stupid spectacle. A team of lumbering Aztec ghosts is leading the Harlem Globetrotters, 82-6 with six minutes left to go, dunking over Curly Neal and Meadowlark Lemon like they were willing victims in one of their ancient blood sacrifices. I half expected the Aztecs to reach into the Trotters' chests and remove their beating hearts. Christ, I hadn't see such a beating since Sonny Barger took a baseball bat to a mouthy Oakland meth dealer in '66.

But the freak circus on the court is only the start of the snarling insanity. Who put a goddam basketball court in the middle of Mexico? And what the hell were Sonny and Cher and Don Adams doing here?

Mama Cass begins choking on a ham sandwich. The hippie gives her the Heimlich while the stupid dog suits up for the Globetrotters, who suddenly start scoring points. Nobody seems to notice.

*****************************

Me and the dog and the hippie started pulling the masks off the Aztec ghosts. "Like, YOINKS!" the hippie screamed, still half-addled from the amyl.

I should have known. In fact, I knew. I had always known. Those weren't ghosts. They were monsters, the flesh eating monsters of a country half-decayed by greed, stupidity and rot. The Aztec starting five: Nixon, Agnew, Mitchell, Haldeman and Erlichmann.

"We would have gotten away with it if it wasn't for you meddling dope fiends," said the evil Yorba Linda bastard.

"See you at the Bob Hope Hell Celebrity Pro-Am," I said, washing down a handful of MDMA with a bottle of Gusano Rojo. I ate the worm.

*****************************

Saturday morning in the late '60s was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe Roadrunner or Johnny Quest or Space Ghost or Lancelot Link Secret Chimp meant something. Maybe not, in the long run ...but no explanation, no mix of words or music or can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in front of that Zenith console color TV eating a gigantic bowl of Quisp. Whatever it meant.

And that, I think, was the handle--that sense of the inevitable victory, and that we were part of it. In the end we would unmask the ghost as the Old and Evil town banker, or kill those evil frogmen in a really cool explosion; our pre-sweetened, vitamin-fortified energy of youth would simply prevail. We were shooting the curl of a beautiful cartoon wave and nothing could stop us, except when our moms would yell at us and then we would have to go outside and maybe ride our minibike around for a while. Now, less than five years later, if you turn on Saturday TV and look at the cheap washed-out backgrounds in a certain way you can see where the wave broke and rolled back, and broke and rolled back, in an endless Xeroxed repetition.

Iowahawk Channels HST (http://iowahawk.typepad.com/iowahawk/2005/02/fear_and_loathi_1.html)

Blue State Blues as Coastal Parents Battle Invasion of Dollywood Values (http://iowahawk.typepad.com/iowahawk/2004/11/blue_state_blue.html)

"I'm not sure where we went wrong," says Ellen McCormack, nervously fondling the recycled paper cup holding her organic Kona soy latte. "It seems like only yesterday Rain was a carefree little boy at the Montessori school, playing non-competitive musical chairs with the other children and his care facilitators."

"But now..." she pauses, staring out the window of her postmodern Palo Alto home. The words are hesitant, measured, bearing a tale of family heartbreak almost too painful for her to recount. "But now, Rain insists that I call him Bobby Ray."

Even as her voice is choked with emotion, she summons an inner courage -- a mother's courage -- and leads me down the hall to "Bobby Ray's" bedroom, for a firsthand glimpse at the psychic devastation that claimed her son.

She opens the door to a reveal a riot of George Jones CDs, reflective 'mudflap mama' stickers, empty foil packs of Red Man, and U.S. Marine recruiting posters. In the middle of the room: a makeshift table made from a utility cable spool, bearing a the remains of a gutted catfish.

"This used to be all Ikea," she says, rocking on heels between heaved sobs. "It's too late for us. Maybe it's not to late for me to warn others."

Pandora's Moon Pie Box

While poignant, Ellen McCormack's painful battle to save her son is far from isolated. Across coastal America, increasing numbers of families are discovering that their children have been lured into "Cracker" culture -- a new, freewheeling underground youth movement that celebrates the hedonistic thrills of frog-gigging and outlaw modified sprint cars. No one knows their exact number, but sociologists say that the movement is exploding among young people in America's most fashionable zip codes.

"We first detected it a few years ago, with the emergence of the trucker hat phenomenon," says Gerard Levin, professor of abnormal sociology at the University of California. "At first we thought it was some sort of benign, ironic strain. By the time we realized the early wearers really were interested in seed corn hybrids and Peterbilts, it had already escaped containment."

Levin points to 'Patient Zero,' who in 1997 was a 23-year old graduate student in Gender Studies at San Francisco State University.

"During a cross-country trip to New York, he stopped at the Iowa 80 Truck Stop in Walcott, Iowa, and bought a John Deere gimme cap as a gag souvenir," says Levin. "Within a year, he had dropped out of graduate school, abandoned his SoMa apartment, and and was working at a drive-thru liquor store. Today he is a wealthy televangelist in Bossier City, Louisiana."

The contagion of 'Patient Zero' would prove devastating. Soon trucker hats were appearing throughout trendy coastal neighborhoods like Williamsburg and Park Slope and Portrero Hill, often accessorized with chain wallets and 'wife beater' t-shirts. A new alternative youth movement had emerged, rejecting the staid norms of establishment NPR society and embracing the 'tune-in, turn-on, chug-up' ethos of the Pabst Blue Ribbon underground. Before long, it would broadcast its siren call to an even younger generation -- one whose parents were woefully unequipped to recognize it.

Youthquake

"It was one day last spring," says Ellen McCormack. "My life partner Carol and I were in the garage, working on a giant Donald Rumsfeld papier mache head for the Bay Area March Against the War, when Rain walked by. I thought he looked kind of strange, so I stopped him and looked closely into his eyes. Then I realized the truth -- he was wearing a mullet. I was shocked, but he swore to me that it was only ironic."

"After a few months, it was clear Rain had lied to us -- that hideous Kentucky waterfall was completely earnest," she adds, choking back sobs.

Her 18-year old son would soon exhibit other signs of disturbing changes.

"I was driving past a McDonalds one day last summer, and I thought I saw Rain's bike outside. He had told me earlier that he was going to a friend's house to stuff envelopes for the Dennis Kucinich campaign. I pulled a U-turn and headed back," she recalls. "When I confronted him in the parking lot, he started giving me a lame story about how he was only there to protest globalization, but I could smell the french fries on his breath."


McCormack says that Rain's erratic behavior would also come to include excessive politeness and deference.

"Everytime I tried to talk to him it was 'yes Momma,' and 'no Momma,' when he knows damn well my name is Ellen," she says, anger rising in her voice. "It was like I didn't even know him anymore."

McCormack tried an intervention with friends from the Anti-war community, but to no avail. In October, Bobby Ray packed up his Monte Carlo and left for basic training at Camp Pendleton.

"I have no son," she says in a barely audible whisper.

Across the country In toney Westchester County, New York, Jim and Sandy Vandenberg describe a similar tale of family grief.

"We are people of faith who keep the sabbath," says Sandy, a curator in the Dada collection of the Museum of Modern Art. "Even when she was a toddler, we made sure Emily got up early every Sunday morning to read the New York Times Book Review. Sunday morning was our time, until..."

"Until those damned Jesus bastards stole my little girl," interrupts her husband, barely containing his anger. Once a Freshman honors student in Lacanian Deconstruction Theory at NYU, their daughter is now better known as Lurleen McDaniel -- reigning Princess of the Tulsa Livestock Show and Rodeo.

In Bainbridge Island, Washington, single mom Jane Michelson says she began suspecting that her son Brian was in trouble after he started hanging with a new crowd at school.

"These weren't normal kids, neighborhood kids in Che t-shirts who want to drop a couple of hits of X and chill on Radiohead," she says. "They would talk in a sort of strange code language, like 'Roll Tide!' and 'Gig 'em Ags!' and 'Piiiig Sooieeee!'"

Signs of trouble would soon multiply.

"One day I got into my Volvo and hit the stereo preset for Pacifica Radio, and then I heard this obscene 'Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy' song coming from the speakers," she recalls. "The very next week, the maid found a tin of Skoal in his Wranglers. I told him him right then -- it was either me, or his tobacco-spitting friends."

Now known as Randy Dale Cash, her estranged son is a starting linebacker for Sul Ross State University in Alpine, Texas.

Peer Pressure

Jane Michelson is not alone in her story. Throughout coastal America, school adminstrators and parents are reporting an alarming surge in 'Cracker' cliques on campus. Also known as 'Y'alls' or 'Neckies,' officials say the groups thrive by attracting outcasts and misfits from the student body.

"We try hard to engage all of our students in fun, healthy activities like Progressive Eco-Action March and Rage Against Intolerance Week," says Lawrence DiBenedetto of Patrice Lumumba Magnet School in Cambridge, Massachusetts. "Unfortunately, there are going to be those who fall through the cracks, into a life of bass fishing and stockcar racing."

It appears those cracks are widening. In one recent three-week period, fourteen high school students in Portland, Oregon were suspended for distributing pork rinds; a Burlington, Vermont high school was briefly closed for decontamination after janitors found a bible hidden in a restroom; and forty-six undergraduate coeds at Swarthmore were expelled for staging clandestine Mary Kay cosmetics parties.

"We became suspicious after several heavily made-up students arrived at a Katha Pollitt lecture in a pink Cadillacs," says Swarthmore Dean of Students Geraldine Marcus.

Some say the craze threatens even the nation's most exclusive prep schools. At Exeter, Andover and St. Albans, rumors abound of secret societies where initiates are steeped in the black arts of restrictor plate cheating and satellite descramblers. Washington's elite Sidwell Friends School was nearly forced to close after scandalized parents learned that several students were openly touting Sams Club cards.

The Eclectic School Aid Hayseed Trip

To better understand what attracts young affluent students to the subculture, I spent a recent evening interviewing a group of self-described 'Neckies' from exclusive New Trier High School in Winnetka, Illinois. Like countless other Friday nights, the close-knit group had made the 80 mile ritual journey to rural Belvidere, Illinois, to cruise Steak 'N' Shake and hang out at the Mills Fleet Farm parking lot.

"Y'all, check out these new mudders," says 17-year old 'Dakota,' proudly displaying the gigantic knobbed tires under his radically lifted 4x4 Audi Allroad. "I'm fixin' to get me a winch and Tuffbox fer it next week."

Not to be outdone, friend and fellow Neckie 'Duane' sounds 'Dixie' on the novelty horn of his jacked-up BMW M3. An early graduation gift from his parents, Duane has turned the expensive German coupe into an homage to the Dukes of Hazzard's General Lee, complete with orange Stars-and-Bars paint job and spit cup on the console.

"Grandma gave me some money fer a summer study trip over ta Paris, but I thought the paint job was cooler," laughs Duane. "Hell, she thinks I'm over in the Sorbonne right now, studying Foucault and all that shit."

"I'm a-fixin' to put in a nitrous system on the General Lee, so I'ma call Grandma up and aks her for some book money," he adds.

Like most of their classmates, these North Shore Neckies were once bound for some of the top universities in America -- Yale, Duke, Stanford, Northwestern -- until they succumbed to the allure of the Downhome slacker lifestyle. Now some openly talk of dropping out, learning TIG welding, waiting tables at Waffle House or draining oil at Jiffy Lube; some even hint of enrolling at Iowa State. What drives privileged teens to such seemingly self-destructive behavior?

"I guess you might could say we're rebels," says Rachel 'Tyffanie' Stern, 17, lighting a Merit Menthol 100. Once destined for Vassar, Stern is now living with friends after her parents kicked her out of the house for spending her bat mitzvah money on a bass boat. Last month she became the youngest Jewish female to win an event on the Bassmasters Pro Tour.

Pausing for furtive glances, several of the teens share sniffs from a bottle of Harmon Triple Heat deer scent.

"Wooo-eee, shit howdy, that's gonna bring a mess of them whitetail bucks," says 19-year old Wei-Li 'Lamar' Cheung. A former Westinghouse Science Award winner, Cheung has devoted his chemistry and biology skill to building a fledgling hunting supply business.

A first generation Asian-American, Cheung says he was drawn to the group by their acceptance of minorities. "Hell, I kept tellin' all my family and teachers I wanna play fiddle, not violin," he explains. "The 'Necks accept me the way I am."

African-American Kwame 'Joe Don' Harris agrees. "Just because I'm black, teachers were always pushing me to go to Spellman to study Langston Hughes and Thelonius Monk," says the 17 year old. "These ol' boys here never laugh at my dream to be a crew chief for the Craftsman Truck Series."

If there is one aspiration that unites them all, it is the dream of moving to Branson, Missouri. Long famed for its laid-back attitude toward religion, country music and the military, Branson has become a Mecca for radical young Neckies seeking an escape from the stultifying conformity of their coastal hometowns.

"Shit, y'all, I heard Branson's got like four Wal Marts, and more $5.95 all-day breakfast buffets than Glencoe has Starbucks," enthuses Dakota, adding quickly that "pardon my French."

"Plus it's only a short drive up to Fort Leonard Wood," adds Tyffanie.

Talk arises of Branson's 'Summer of Bubba,' the upcoming hedonistic hillbilly festival of music, hog calling and nightcrawler gathering expected to draw millions of Neckies from as far as Santa Monica and Ithaca -- even Europe.

"Y'all, I heard them Swedish 'Necks are hardcore," says Joe Don. "They digitally remastered all the original Jerry Clower albums."

A live-for-today attitude permeates the group's ethos, with little concern about consequences. I ask Justin 'Jim Rob' Borowski, 18, what motivates young men and women to abandon promising academic careers in Gender Theory and Critical History to take a wild ride in the dark world of roofing and drywall contracting.

"My daddy was sorta mad when I tolt him I was gonna skip Columbia Journalism School for a plumbing apprenticeship," he answer philosophically, popping a plug of Red Man into his lip. "I tolt him that journalism is important, but the world needs plumbers too."

"After the toilet backed up, I think he got my point."

http://politicalhumor.about.com/

Strap-On Veterans for Truth
An organization dedicating to exposing the truth about the former drag queen now known as Ann Coulter

http://rawilson.com/images/coulter.jpg

We are a coalition of former friends and co-workers of Ann Coulter who are upset by her vicious anti-gay, anti-Muslim, anti-feminist rhetoric and feel the truth should be told. Our organization, Strap-On Veterans For Truth, is dedicated to exposing the true past of America’s number one hatemonger.

Ann Coulter is actually a former drag queen from Key West named Pudenda Shenanigans. Ms. Shenanigans was famous for her renditions of “Dude Looks Like a Lady” “I Will Survive” and “You Shook Me All Night Long” as well as an extensive Barbra Streisand repertoire. We who used to work with her are concerned for her as well as upset by the vile hatred she has spewed towards her former friends in the gay community. We feel that by bringing the truth to light perhaps Ann will come to grips with her past and change her wicked ways.

As Pudenda Shenanigans, she was well known on the drag circuit in Key West. Whether she actually had a full sex change or not is a matter of debate, although her adam’s apple is still visible in photos, under the appropriate light. We who laughed, cried, worked and danced with her feel her story should be told. We are not out to punish her, but feel it’s time she owned up to what she really is.

The person known today as Ann Coulter was born Jeremy Levinsohn in the village in New York in 1960. His parents were typical latte-drinking liberals, religiously conservative, but socially and politically radical. His father taught Russian Literature at CUNY and his mother was a social worker. His childhood friend Rodger Mihalot described him, “The Levinsohns were nice people, but his father was distant, so Jeremy seemed to seek a strong male figure in his life. Although they were Jewish, he often hung out at our church, and really seemed to spend a lot of time with Fr. Donatella Nowunn. I also think he was really looking to rebel against his overly liberal parents. Otherwise he was a typical kid, he liked to play cowboy, sailor and gladiator a lot. His favorite movie was always The Sheik, he really seemed to have a fascination with Arabs, I don’t know why.”

In the 70’s Jeremy went to Brandeis, where he majored in Sociology, with a minor in comparative religions. His lifelong fascination with Muslims really seemed to take root at Brandeis. But college roommate Ima Gaiboyye described an unhappy man, “He was never really interested in women, but did go see the theater company’s production of “The Wizard of Oz” 10 times, I thought he liked the girl who played the lead, he really talked about her outfit a lot. After college Jeremy just dropped off the face of the earth, we never heard from him again.”

Jeremy drifted for awhile before finding himself in Key West. Co-worker Licky Dickenstein described these early years, “Jeremy was a natural, I never saw anyone take to drag so quickly. Once he found his persona, he WAS Pudenda Shenanigans. For most of us drag was a part time thing, but Pudenda was 24-7, always in character, always in costume. She really shook things up, she was a goddess on stage.”

By 1985 Ms Shenanigans was dating a Lebanese businessman, Ustahav Toubohls and the two were believed to be deliriously happy. Friends report Pudenda always had a fetish for Muslims and was considering a marriage proposal. But then she opened up the New York Times one day and saw a picture of Mr. Toubohls with a famous actress in New York. Former friend Gaivit Tuhym described the result, “Pudenda was devastated, she couldn’t stand seeing her Toubohls with another woman. She cried and cried, ‘I miss my Toubohls, I want my Toubohls back!’ I don’t think she ever forgave him, the New York Times, or Muslims in general.”

After that Ms. Shenanigans disappeared for years, only resurfacing in the 90’s as Ann Coulter. Her hatred for Muslims, gays and feminists is odd for her former coworkers. Long Dick Gone, a former co-worker stated, “At first I thought there was something funny about this Ann Coulter. I mean here’s a woman who claims to hate feminists, but is in her 40’s, single, no kids, is very opinionated and outspoken and concentrates on her career. Ann Coulter is the biggest example of a feminist I ever saw. Then I noticed that in just the right light you could see that adam’s apple and that’s when I recognized our little Pudenda Shenanigans, the hottest drag queen this side of Fire Island.”

Strap-On Veterans For Truth

Once they realized who Ann Coulter was, Strap-On Veterans For Truth was formed.

Ann’s former friends and co-workers realized that her intense hatred of gays, feminists and Muslims was really self-loathing and continuing hurt from the loss of her beloved Toubohls. Although we know she’s been through a lot, we feel hurt by her turning against everything she used to hold dear. We love you Ann, or Pudenda, or Jeremy. We respect whatever lifestyle of gender you choose. We just want you to be true to yourself and please stop the hatred. Come back to us and share the love of your friends and community again.

Strap-On Veterans for Truth is a proud partner of The Hoolinet.

There was a young man from Glenglozle
Who found a remarkable fossil
He deduced from the bend
And the wart on the end
'Twas the peter of Paul the Apostle

Three Texas surgeons were playing golf together and discussing surgeries they had performed. One of them said, "I'm the best surgeon in Texas. A concert pianist lost 7 fingers in an accident. I reattached them, and 8 months later he perfomed a private concert for the Queen of England." One of the others said, "That's nothing. A young man lost both arms and legs in an accident. I reattached them, and 2 years later he won a gold medal in field events at the olympics."

The third surgeon said, "You guys are amateurs. Several years ago, a cowboy, who was high on cocaine and alcohol, rode a horse head-on into a train traveling 80 miles an hour. All I had left to work with was the horse's ass and a cowboy hat. Now, he's president of the United States."

Dear President Bush:

The Presidential Prayer Team is currently urging us to: "Pray for the President as he seeks wisdom on how to legally codify the definition of marriage. Pray that it will be according to Biblical principles. With any forces insisting on variant definitions of marriage, pray that God's Word and His standards will be honored by our government."

Any religious person believes prayer should be balanced by action. So here, in support of the Prayer Team's admirable goals, is a proposed Constitutional Amendment to codify marriage on biblical principles:

A. Marriage in the United States shall consist of a union between one man and one or more women. (Gen29:17-28; II Sam 3:2-5)

B. Marriage shall not impede a man's right to take concubines, in addition to his wife or wives. (II Sam5:13; I Kings 11:3; II Chron 11:21)

C. A marriage shall be considered valid only if the wife is a virgin. If the wife is not a virgin, she shall be executed. (Deut 22:13-21)

D. Marriage of a believer and a non-believer shall be forbidden. (Gen24:3; Num 25:1-9; Ezra 9:12; Neh10:30)

E. Since marriage is for life, neither this Constitution nor the constitution of any State, nor any state or federal law, shall be construed to permit divorce. (Deut 22:19; Mark 10:9)

F. If a married man dies without children, his brother shall marry the widow. If he refuses to marry his brother's widow or deliberately does not give her children, he shall pay a fine of one shoe. (Gen.38:6-10; Deut 25:5-10)

Anything from Yes, Minister and Yes, Prime Minister. Including:

Jim Hacker: "Humphrey, we are talking about 100,000 deaths a year."

Sir Humphrey: "Yes, but cigarette taxes pay for a third of the cost of the National Health Service. We are saving many more lives than we otherwise could because of those smokers who voluntary lay down their lives for their friends. Smokers are national benefactors."

---
Sir Humphrey: "Taxation isn't about what you need."

Jim Hacker: "Oh, what is it about?"

Sir Humphrey: "Prime Minister, the Treasury doesn't work out what they need to spend and then think how to raise the money."

Jim Hacker: "What does it do?"

Sir Humphrey: "They pitch for as much as they think they can get away with and then think what to spend it on."

There's more, but I'm lazy, and I can't be bothered to post any more.

http://www.yes-minister.com/episodes.htm

Have fun.

From: hondalover11279
To: Aaron Leitch

Operator: Thank you for calling Pizza
Hut. May I have your national ID
number?


Customer: Hi, I'd like to place an
order.


Operator: I must have your NIDN first,
sir.


Customer: My National ID Number, yeah,
hold on, eh, it's 6102049998-45-54610.


Operator: Thank you Mr. Smith. I see you
live at 1742 Meadowland Drive, and the
phone number is 494-2366. Your office
number over at Lincoln Insurance is 745-
2302 and your cell number is 266-2566.
Email address is smith@home.net Which
number are you calling from?


Customer: Huh? I'm at home. Where'd you
get all this information?


Operator: We're wired into the HSS, sir.


Customer: The HSS, what is that?


Operator: We're wired into the Homeland
Security System, sir. This will add only
15 seconds to your ordering time.


Customer: (sighs) Oh well, I'd like to
order a couple of your All Meat
Special pizzas.


Operator: I don't think that's a good
idea, sir.


Customer: Whaddya mean?


Operator: Sir, your medical records and
commode sensors indicate that you've got
very high blood pressure and extremely
high cholesterol. Your National Health
Care provider won't allow such an
unhealthy choice .


Customer: What?!?! What do you
recommend, then?


Operator: You might try our low-fat
Soybean Pizza.I'm sure you'll like
it.


Customer: What makes you think I'd like
something like that?


Operator: Well, you checked out 'Gourmet
Soybean Recipes' from your local library
last week, sir. That's why I made the
suggestion.


Customer: All right, all right. Give me
two family-sized ones, then


Operator: That should be plenty for you,
your wife and your four kids.
Your 2 dogs can finish the crusts, sir.
Your total is $49.99.


Customer: Lemme give you my credit card
number.


Operator: I'm sorry sir, but I'm afraid
you'll have to pay in cash. Your credit
card balance is over its limit.


Customer: I'll run over to the ATM and
get some cash before your driver gets
here.


Operator: That won't work either, sir.
Your checking account is overdrawn also.


Customer: Never mind! Just send the
pizzas. I'll have the cash ready. How
long will it take?


Operator: We're running a little behind,
sir. It'll be about 45 minutes, sir. If
you're in a hurry you might want to
pick'em up while you're out getting the
cash, but then, carrying pizzas on a
motorcycle can be a little awkward.


Customer: Wait! How do you know I ride a
scooter?


Operator: It says here you're in arrears
on your car payments, so your
car got repo'ed. But your Harley's paid
for and you just filled the tank
yesterday.


Customer: Well, I'll be a #%#^^&$%^$@#


Operator: I'd advise watching your
language, sir. You've already got a
July 4, 2003, conviction for cussing out
a cop and another one I see here in
September for contempt at your hearing
for cussing at a judge. Oh yes, I see
here that you just got out from a 90 day
stay in the State Correctional Facility.
Is this your first pizza since your
return to society?


Customer: (speechless)


Operator: Will there be anything else,
sir?


Customer: Yes, I have a coupon for a
free 2 liter of Coke.


Operator: I'm sorry sir, but our ad's
exclusionary clause prevents us from
offering free soda to diabetics. The New
Constitution our country started using
in 2006 prohibits this.
Thank you for calling Pizza Hut!

You know you're a libertarian if you believe the law of gravity to be coercive and should therefore be repealed.

We’re all fucked. It helps to remember that.
— George Carlin

http://cagle.slate.msn.com

http://cagle.slate.msn.com

hah!

http://cagle.slate.msn.com/news/WheresOsama/images/cagle00.gif

Strap-On Veterans for Truth
An organization dedicating to exposing the truth about the former drag queen now known as Ann Coulter
She's got manhands the size of Brando's waistline.

There was a boy that went to prom. He came back from prom for the "after party." He took the girl to his room. The only bad thing was that he shared a bunk bed with his younger brother. The older brother slept on top the younger ont he bottom. So the older brother wanted to be quieted so no one would know what he was doing. So he said if you want it harder say tomatoe, if you want to switch positions say lettace. So all night it was lettace tomatoe , lettace tomatoe. Well the younger brother finally woke up and said "Hey you guys can you stop making sandwhiches you're getting mayonaise all over me." :p