Well, the guy who sent the pictures in claims it’s Jesus, but Jesus’ General, who knows Jesus and Commies when he sees ’em, says it’s actually a shrimp with a picture of Che Guevera, and no doubt a dastardly plot to pull us away from Jesus and towards the ungodly worship of socialist shellfish.
Could I make a comment about National Defense: the biggest threat to America today is not communism. It’s moving America toward a fascist theocracy. And everything that’s happened under the Reagan Administration is steering us right down that pipe.
After seeing our reactions to the capture of various vaseline-wielding senior citizens and brown people in ninja costumes, my wife, Ofjoshua, suggested that we might consider creating a product that would prevent us from soiling our pants. She even came up with a name for it, “Patriot Pampies.”
Although I promised I’d run it by all of you, I don’t think much of the idea, myself. I’m not ashamed of the sudden incontinence I experience when I see a swarthy person. The dark stain that radiates from my crotch isn’t an external display of fear. It’s a warning symbol to all around me that I’ve spotted a potential terrorist and will report him or her to the State Security Apparatus the moment I stop shaking enough to dial my cellphone.
I like to think of it as a kind of self-awarded medal, a “Dark Stain of Valor” or “DSV” if you will. It’s a commendation that almost anyone, no matter their class, can obtain. Just as Sen. Specter wore it deservedly and proudly when he attempted to pass his warrantless wiretap legislation, so did Allahpundit when he risked a coronary reporting on the “Ahmadinejad virus” and the dangers of petroleum jelly. Their respective stations in life made no difference. Each earned the DSV solely on his own merit.
I guess, I’m not really giving Ofjoshua‘s idea a fair hearing. I suppose there are advantages to wearing Patriot Pampies. They’d save us a little in laundering costs and the French would stop laughing while pointing to our crotches (although I still get a lot of that even when I haven’t soiled myself).
So what do you think? Would you buy Patriot Pampies if they were available?
Or would you rather wear your Dark Stain of Valor, proudly, like me?
Heterosexually yours,
Gen. JC Christian, patriot
So much for background. I think these things would sell like hotcakes, myself! Since everything in America eventually gets super-sized, including the children, it was inevitable that the sanitary pad was destined for bigger and … uh … bigger things.
Now if only I could get some of them on that CC list to try the tampons, we’d really be onto something.
Particularly if they put them in their mouths.
In any case, Corrente has taken inspiration from the General’s call for DSV-wearing patriots to stand up and be counted. And he’s set it to music, of which we present a slice here.
Pissing Our Pants
(sung to the tune of “Staying Alive”)
Well, you can tell by the way I stain my pants
I’m a patriot: just read my rants
Muslims make me want to hiss, when they come at me
I start to piss
And now it’s airtight, it’s inside
I have hung onto my pride
We just want to all be safe
But when I walk I tend to chafe
When you are so frightened the tension is quite heightened
You’re pissing your pants, pissing your pants
Feel the bladder leakin’, everybody freakin’
And we’re pissing our pants, pissing our pants
Ah, ha, ha, ha, pissing our pants, pissing our pants
Ah, ha, ha, ha, pissing our pants…
Well now, I get moist and I get dry
Sometimes in back I “bake a pie”
My body sometimes like to twist
I’m leakin’ from every orifice
And now it’s airtight, it’s inside
I have hung onto my pride
We just want to all be safe
But when I walk I tend to chafe
Saw a brown person. Somebody help me.
Somebody help me, yeah
Saw a brown person. Somebody help me.
Somebody help me, yea. Pissing my pants.
Shut down, laid off, on the nickel, run out of town, shown the door, eighty-sixed, suicided, under heavy manners, finaled by the fuzz, down in the hole, out of the groove, sadder than a map, under the Hoover blankets, taking a bank holiday, riding the rails to Hungry Town, brought down and fought down.
Winners write the history books, but anybody can write the blog post. So get right up close to your computer screen and we’ll tell you a little story…
And so they do, at length, but who cares? More interesting to me is their secret file of Weekend Filler How-To’s, as apparently Denton didn’t want them to play with real news on the weekend, as they might break it. So here’s their secrets to handy-dandy filler, secrets which I intend to carry to my grave.
Sploid wasn’t just a 24-7 news operation — it was a painstakingly engineered information factory.
While free from the dull tyranny of “Headline News” or “whatever’s on the front page of the New York Times,” Sploid editors nonetheless followed careful instructions formulated by senior editors.
Say it was a Saturday, and nothing was happening in the world except bombs in the Middle East and world leaders dying or lapsing into comas, and maybe the planet was getting hotter or whatever. On those “slow news days,” and even on some exciting days, the editors had to rely on a detailed technical manual with exact instructions for filling the “news hole.”
Following the Sploid Topic List requirements resulted in the following wonders from this magical world we share:
Other topics of constant concern included robots, monkeys, occult killings, X-rays of humans revealing foreign (and frequently disturbing) objects lodged within, Nazis, dismemberments, frightening conspiracies featuring the Knights Templar and/or Dick Cheney, dumb and/or evil cops, UFOs and the many problems faced by America’s obese citizenry.
We hope you continue to enjoy these timeless tales from our most delightful planet.
Sara K. Smith was Sploid’s bureau chief in Austin and is a novelist, which means she has to get a job now.
No, seriously. There’s a Church of Tom Jones. In California, of course. What’s slightly worrying is that it’s in the state’s capital city, a place we’d thought had more than its RDA of showbiz nuttiness already, what with the Gouvernator and all.
Thanks to FE for the video, and to the BBC, via Fark, for the story.
A US preacher who has set up a church dedicated to the Welsh sex symbol and crooner Tom Jones has denied using religion in vain.
Pastor Jack Stahl said Jones‘s “soulful, spiritual and supernatural” voice helps him contact God.
Would this have anything to do with all those women yelling “Oh God, oh God,” at certain moments? Just close your eyes and think ofTom Jones…
“It’s weird, but a positive thing,” he said. “I inspired Pastor Jack. He saw the light through me, so it works.”
Well, the guy who sent the pictures in claims it’s Jesus, but Jesus’ General, who knows Jesus and Commies when he sees ’em, says it’s actually a shrimp with a picture of Che Guevera, and no doubt a dastardly plot to pull us away from Jesus and towards the ungodly worship of socialist shellfish.
raincoaster 