We Existed! Former Countries of America

Posted on August 4, 2011 by

Herro children!  The time has come for frivolity and fun.  Disaster is in the air.  America looks vulnerable, crippled by the very political system that brought about our fading greatness.  Our government hijacked by a tiny minority of maniacal assholes whose political ideology is so far to the right that they refuse to “left foot let’s stomp,” the future is not bright, and we don’t have to wear shades.  Sorry Timbuk3, but the world is a much darker place than it was in the salad days of 1986, and we may never return to the Ronald Reagan-Top Gun-Hands Across America heyday of that glorious year.  In times like these, it is important to remember that the U.S. wasn’t always the only nation on our slice of the continent, and that one day, may not be again.

Vermont Republic

No one calls Allen a fag, no one.

In January 1777, following controversy between the holders of New York and New Hampshire land grants, Ethan Allen (the furniture guy) and his Green Mountain Boys militia suppressed British sympathizers.  Deaf to their cries of “We won’t do anything!  We are pussies!”, Allen, tired of being called a fag every time they bummed a cigarette, suppressed the fuck out of them.  On January 15, 1777, delegates from regional towns declared their independence from New Hampshire and New York because it is a brilliant idea to declare independence during a war for independence.

Slave polo reenactors.

Ratified in 1777, the Constitution of Vermont was the first in the New World to outlaw slavery and grant all men suffrage regardless of property ownership, an idealistic framework which history would again and again prove unworkable because the poor are gullible and the rich NEED slaves.  How are they supposed to play slave polo and smell their own delicious farts when they have to wash the dishes?  Fuck liberals.

Vermont did not achieve statehood until 1791 when New York agreed to relinquish its land claims for $30,000, and it was admitted into the Union as a non-slaving holding counterweight to Kentucky.  Good old slavey Kentucky.  All together now, “The sun shines bright on my old Kentucky home, ’tis summer, the darkies are gay!”

State of Franklin

Two words: Sex. Symbol. Dude slayed Parisian gash like Michael slayed that dragon.

In August 1784, settlers from what would become Northeast Tennessee succeeded from North Carolina.  In 1785, they attempted to get “Frankland” admitted as the 14th state by the Continental Congress, but fell short of the 2/3 majority needed under the rigidly unworkable Articles of Confederation.  The settlers even offered to change the name to Franklin, after Ben Franklin, but Ben passed, apparently not realizing the sexy opportunities presented by having a state named after you.  Let’s go to Ida Ho for comment.  ”Hello?  Yes. Ida? Are you there?” “Herro! I here!  Yes, name state bring me much preasure!”  Thank you Ms. Ho for that stereotypical response, and may I say what beautiful rabbit teeth you have.

Who run Bartertown? Master Blaster run Bartertown, for he who wears the cod piece run Bartertown.

Once the attempt at statehood failed, the area became an independent republic, officially named “Franklin” because fuck Ben Franklin.  Oswald Cobblepot-looking mother fucker.  The government adopted a boiler-plate constitution and established itself in Greeneville, the small town where drunken racist President Andrew Johnson later launched his horribly embarrassing political career.  Franklin’s economy used the barter system, a model later adopted by the mutant residents of Tina “Aunt Entity” Turner’s post-apocalyptic Mecca, Bartertown.

Shhh. Watch Donkey Hodie child. Sleep.

In 1788, the savage Cherokee, Chickamauga, and Chickasaw nations, after several years of suffering whitey playing government in their midst, began murdering white people indiscriminately, a favor which would be repaid when we murdered all of them indiscriminately.  Like latch-key kids playing house when Mr. McFeely drops by with a “speedy delivery” (his dong), the settlers suddenly realized that being independent kind of blows, and reached out to Spain for support.  North Carolina had had enough, and ordered its officials to arrest Franklin Governor John Sevier and drive Squanto out.  North Carolina ceded the area to the U.S. Government to satisfy Revolutionary War debts, which became part of the Southwest Territory and eventually Tennessee, hell hole.

The Republic of West Florida

Actual picture of Bonnie's white star. The blue skin? Inbreeding, delicious inbreeding.

In 1810, disagreements with the Spanish government led American and English settlers to declare the area between the Mississippi and Perdido Rivers and South of the 31st parallel (the head of Florida’s  penis) the Republic of West Florida, though the area did not actually include any portion of present-day Florida.  On Sept. 23, 1810, rebels overcame the Spanish garrison at Baton Rouge and unfurled the “Bonnie Blue Flag” of the Republic, a single star on a blue field.  Bonnie had a white star.  She was very clean.  It was glorious.

He is risen! Let us pray. "Let hip hop keep blazing the charts. May the past keep a warm spot in your heart. May the future hold more joy than pain. Hands in the air waiting for confetti to rain." Will-en-ium!

The Republic’s constitution was based on the U.S. Constitution, with the curious exception of requiring that all citizens observe the “Willenium,” celebrating the coming of their savior, mommy rap luminary Will Pinkett-Smith. The first and only governor, Fulwar Skipwith, a former U.S. diplomat whose popular campaign slogan, “Don’t Skip Fulwar” won him the governorship, foresaw the possibility of U.S. annexation.  He was right.  On October 27, 1810, President James Madison annexed parts of West Florida, claiming the region as part of the Louisiana Purchase.

Deputy Ronnie don't negotiate with terrorists, strangers, liberals, or girls! I am so hard right now.

Governor Skipwith opposed annexation, preferring to negotiate terms to join the union.  The U.S., however, following a precursor to Ronnie Reagan’s “Don’t Negotiate with Terrorists” policy, refused to recognize the legitimacy of the government, prompting an incensed Fulwar Skipwith to declare he was ready to die in defense of the Bonnie Blue Flag and Bonnie’s tasty white star, of course.  Skipwith and friends, cowards all, backed down and accepted Madison’s proclamation.

Spain eventually ceded all of Florida, except Miami, to the U.S. in the Adams-Onís Treaty (1819), and in 1822, the Florida Territory was established.

Republic of Indian Stream

The Republic of Indian Stream (July 1832-1835) was a small, unrecognized, yet constitutional republic – dammit! – along the section of the U.S.-Canada border that divides Quebec from New Hampshire.  The establishment of Indian Stream resulted from the ambiguous boundary between the two nations as defined in the Treaty of Paris.  Both countries claimed the area, and sent in tax-collectors and debt-collecting sheriffs.  Americans hate taxation, especially double taxation, and the “Streamers,” real OG Tea Partiers all, formed the Republic to end this injustice.

RIP you beautiful round patriot.

In 1835, a group of “Streamers,” led by anti-Canada patriot John “Bud Boomer” Candy, invaded Canada to commit the “most serious of all” Canadian crimes, littering, and to free a fellow citizen who had been arrested by Dudley Do-Right for an unpaid debt and faced confinement in a Canadian prison.  Canadian money is worthless and their prisons are made of marshmallow, but the freedom fighters worried about the Frogs’s penchant for fresh American butts.

Ho Ho! We love your butts!

The smell of rape wafting down from the North, Boomer’s Boys sprung into action.  The posse shot up a judge’s home where their compatriot was being held, touching off an international incident.  The British, having learned their lesson after the American Revolution and War of 1812, quickly backed down and relinquished their claim.  In 1835, the New Hampshire militia occupied the area after the Indian Stream Congress authorized annexation to the United States.

The Mormon Kingdom on Beaver Island

Spurned by April O'Neill, Strang forced his wives to wear yellow jumpsuits.

Thank you Amerijesus for your crazy followers!  When dum-dum Joseph Smith died, most Mormons considered Brigham Young his successor.  Others inexplicably followed James J. Strang, founder of the Strangite sect of the LDS.  In 1848, Strang and his Strangites moved to Beaver Island, the largest island in Lake Michigan, and established their “utopia,” which surprisingly did not resemble the Foot Clan’s stronghold in “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,” enforcing strict no skateboarding/teen smoking/karate brawl policies.  Once he entered the “Beaver,” as nobody called it, Strang, overcome by beaver fever, a less virulent strain of Beber fever, declared himself a polygamist, a practice which he had previously opposed, taking 5 wives and siring 15 stranglings.

Namesake of the "Amelia Bloomer Least Likely to Fuck on Third Date Award."

In 1850, Strang proclaimed himself king, not of the island, but of his church.  Although Strang claimed to only reign over the Strangites, he exerted authority over the non-Strangite residents of Beaver Island, who regularly accused him of seizing their property and physically assaulting them, sometimes with a canon. Strang’s increasingly autocratic style of rule eventually led to dissension in the Strangite ranks.  When two women refused to wear bloomers, a loose-fitting trouser and skirt combo named after women’s rights and temperance advocate, fun-Nazi Amelia Bloomer, as required by royal edict, Strang had their husbands flogged.  The mortified husbands assassinated Strang by shooting him in the back.  Buford Tannen would be proud.

What? Can't a brother touch his nipple?

In July 1856, after Strang ascended into heaven as a result of his earthly wounds, mobs from neighboring islands drove the Strangites from the Beav like R. Kelly’s smooth R & B phallus realizing its slam piece is of age, snuffing the Mormon Kingdom. Believing that LDS leaders were chosen by angels, Strang refused to appoint a successor.  Amazingly, this didn’t happen, and the Strangites fled to Wisconsin, where they continue to “exist” today.



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American Tail: The Catholic Sex Abuse Scandal in the U.S.

Posted on July 22, 2010 by

We are lost.   Standing at the precipice, screaming into the growing darkness, scrambling frantically to claw back into the warm sunshine as the ground below us falls angrily into the sea, we are dinosaurs in the age of rodents.  Too dumb and too big to survive, unable and unwilling to evolve, we are a doomed race of adolescent hooligans for whom there can be no adulthood.  Our government broken, our environment poisoned, our nation bankrupt, our people impoverished, our military impotent as we toil under the yoke of expired responsibilities, we have sown the seeds of our downfall.  And as this heartbreaking realization slowly seeps into our atrophied brains, to whom do we turn?  The Apocalypse upon us, we look now to that which we know to be true:  the Catholic Church, unselfish, beating back the darkness, holds our interests at heart, our salvation above all.  Wait, scratch that, reverse it: the Catholic Church, selfish, beating back the lawsuits, holds their financial interests at heart, their reputation above all…and they facilitated child molestation.  We are alone in a perilous sea children, and we don’t know how to swim.  Where are our fucking parents?  This is goddamn bullshit.

The Boston Massacre (of little boys innocence): A Scandal Begins

Did I know about the rapings? You're goddamn right I did.

Although tales of Catholic priests’ abuse of children first surfaced in the 1980s and 90s,  the issue did not thrust its way into the national consciousness until the Boston Globe’s 2002 coverage of a series of successful criminal prosecutions of five Boston-area Roman Catholic priests.  Cardinal Bernard “Only God Can Judge Me” Law, the Boston Archdiocese’s bishop at the time, initially characterized these as isolated incidents.  As church documents became available as a result of the legal actions, however, and as more alleged victims, empowered by the public outrage, began to come forward, it became clear that clergy abuse was a systemic problem in the Boston Archdiocese, involving many priests and hundreds of child victims.

Unfortunately for this dapper gentleman, his name is also Paul Shanley.

In response to the abuse, church leaders orchestrated a decades-long systemic cover-up through an elaborate culture of secrecy, deception, and intimidation.  Victims who came forward with abuse claims were ignored or bribed into silence.  Accused priests were quietly transferred from parish to parish or sent for brief periods of psychological counseling, after which they continued diddling junior believers. For example, one of Cardinal Law’s top deputies wrote convicted child rapist Reverend Paul “The Irish Taint Tickler” Shanley,  a “street priest” and “sexual expert” specializing in homosexual runaways, a letter of recommendation when he transferred to a California church despite possessing detailed information that he had numerous abuse allegations against him and even publicly advocated for NAMBLA.  The archdiocese allowed Shanley to donkey-punch his way through Bostonian street urchins like a pederastic Napoleon collecting Germanic road apples because they didn’t want to mess around with the fruity little bastards.  But Shanley did.  Given free rein by his supervisors, Shanley proved unstoppable, his thirst for at-risk youth wiener unquenchable.

Nice to see you father. Have a seat over there. What was your plan here today?

Despite claims of innocence, Cardinal Law and his cronies possessed extensive information on many of the archdiocese’s most serious molesters.  Church officials did not remove most abusive clergymen from parish ministry until decades of allegations had accumulated against them and it became clear that their removal was necessary to protect the Church’s reputation and assets.  Confronted with reports of rape, grab-assing, games of musical laps, unchecked hornswoggling, and the trading of drugs for delicious boi sex, church leaders made no effort to inform law enforcement authorities or party pooper Chris Hansen.  They did nothing.  When the mother of an altar strumpet inquired whether Father Joseph “The Boston Creamsicler” Birmingham, later accused of polishing over 50 boys’ tabernacles during his 29 year career, had a history of molesting children, Cardinal Law responded that he had spoken to Birmingham, who assured him that the allegations were untrue.  Case closed bitch.

Cardinal Law, unable to weather the storm created by his aiding and abetting child molesters, ultimately resigned as bishop and received a choice Vatican gig from Pope John Paul II, “The Pedophile’s Pope,” as a reward for his outstanding work in the field of crushing children’s souls.  Way to climb the corporate ladder kumquat.

Holy Valtrex: The Scandal Spreads

Who has a penis? BOYS! Who has a vagina? GIRLS!

Unfortunately, and like most terrible things (Aerosmith, Benzino, insufferable accents, Super AIDS (ok not Super AIDS)(still Aerosmith)), Boston was just the beginning.  As the scandal ripped through the U.S. Catholic community like oral herpes at a Rutgers make-out party and other dioceses began confronting abusive clergy in their ranks, it became clear that in the latter half of the 20th century, priests and lay members of religious orders had sexually abused minors on a monstrous scale.  The John Jay Report, a comprehensive study commissioned in 2004 by the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops (USCCB) and covering the period of 1950-2002, found that allegations were made against 4,392 U.S. priests, that 6,700 of the 7,700 allegations investigated by dioceses were substantiated, and that the problem affected more than 95 percent of dioceses and approximately 60 percent of religious communities.  The Report further stated that, like the achievements of the feminist movement in the U.S., the number of alleged abuses increased in the 1960s, peaked in the 1970s, declined in the 1980s, and by the 1990s had returned to the levels of the 1950s.  This is what happens when you challenge male-dominated society.  Stay at home.  Bake blowjob pies.

Is some pedophile molesting your child? You want revenge? Call 1-900-GO-WHITEY and let US do YOUR dirty work!

According to the Report, 6% of all priests against whom allegations were made received convictions and about 2% received prison sentences, with at least one priest getting romper stompered by white supremacists.  This conviction rate is only slightly higher than that of black pop stars, or blop stars, accused of bad-touching minors, with the acquittals of R. Kelly and Michael Jackson (twice) keeping it at a so-fresh-and-so-clean-clean 0%.  (With apologies to Outkast).

A major aggravating factor in the scandal was the policy of many bishops to keep these crimes secret and to reassign the accused to other parishes in positions where they continued to have unsupervised contact with youth.  Instead of reporting the incidents to police, many dioceses forced offending priests to undergo psychological treatment and assessment.  According to the John Jay Report, nearly 40% of priests alleged to have committed sexual abuse participated in treatment programs.  In response to withering criticism that the Catholic hierarchy mismanaged the handling of pederastic priests, bishops claimed they acted on the “best medical advice available at the time,” that they were unaware of the danger this policy posed.  Despite this awesomely asstarded defense, known as the “let’s put Rick James in charge of the crack-cocaine and female hostage store” defense, over the course of 2002, five U.S. prelates resigned due to child sex scandals, in addition to the four that had resigned previously.

Pissing on A House Aflame: The Church’s Response

The Church’s response to the scandal proceeded on three levels: the diocesan level, the Episcopal (bishops) Conference level, and the Vatican.  Prior to the Boston Globe coverage of the sexual abuse scandal in the Boston Archdiocese, handling of such allegations was largely left to the individual bishops’ discretion, which often used their discretion to facilitate kiddie throttling.  As the breadth and depth of the scandal became apparent in dioceses across the U.S., however, the Ameribishops decided that the scandal warranted a joint response at the Episcopal Conference level.

Safe Place! (To fondle black children) (also Gary Coleman)(and Emmanuel Lewis).

In 2002, the USCCB throbbed into action and unanimously approved the Charter for the Protection of Children and Young People.  The purpose of the Charter is to provide a “safe environment” for all children in Church-sponsored activities by adopting a “zero-tolerance” policy for sexual abuse, requiring background checks for all church employees, and further requiring dioceses confronted with an allegation to alert the authorities, investigate the charges, and remove the accused from duty.  The Charter signaled a departure from the previous policy, developed in partnership with the pro-pedophilia Children of God cult and published under the title, “Erotic Excellence or Jesus Will Love You If: Young Believer’s Trust and Your Penis,” also available in audio book form as narrated by sexual renegade and playdate rapist Roman Polanski.

Did I know about the rapings? You bet your sweet ass I did.

In April 2001, Pope John Paul II, notorious for shielding accused priests and torpedoing their investigations during his papacy, attempted to get ahead of the scandal and issued a letter condemning the sexual abuse of minors as a “delictum gravius.”  Oh, they licked them alright.  The Vatican responsibly chose not to respond to the scandal until 2003, when JP II reiterated his no-tolerance “stance” and the Vatican organized a conference of Vatican officials and psychiatric experts to understand the “problem.”  The experts found several factors contributed to the sexual abuse problem:  failure by the hierarchy to grasp the seriousness of the problem, overemphasis on the need to avoid a scandal, use of unqualified treatment centers, misguided willingness to forgive, insufficient accountability, belief in magic and the healing power of laughter, and being completely out of touch with reality.

Yeah, I'm molesting one right now. What? No, he can't hear us.

The current pontiff, Pope Benedict XVI nee Ratzinger, has repeatedly apologized for the abuse amid criticism that he mishandled and even ignored allegations while head of the Vatican’s watchdog, the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith.  One such mishandling, and a good example of how the Vatican and Cardinal Ratzinger dealt with allegations of abuse, is the case of Friar Lawrence  “The Milwaukee Meatpuppet” Murphy, a Wisconsin priest who allegedly handled 200 deaf boys at the St. Francis School for the Deaf between 1950 and 1974.  Even though under the U.S Constitution, a deaf boy only counts for 3/5 of a real boy, that still amounts to 120 Herman Kellers handled in the frigid horribleness of Wisconsin.  The Vatican claims that it was not informed of the abuse until 1996 when an archbishop wrote Cardinal Ratzinger and requested disciplinary proceedings against Murphy.  A canonical trial ensued, but Ratzinger halted the proceedings after Murphy wrote him a heartfelt letter asking that, since he was ill, he be allowed to live the remainder of his life in the “dignity of my priesthood.”  Although molesting deaf children is genius – the other children can’t hear them scream and they already sound like they have a mouthful of penis – it is neither challenging nor dignified.  Have some fucking pride Larry.  Larry you fucking asshole.

Did I know about the rapings? Does a bear crap in the woods? And does the Pope crap on the broken lives and dreams of 200 deaf boys? (Yes).

Attempting to redefine the Church’s pedophilia problem as a homosex one, the Vatican issued new rules, informally called “Freddy Mercury’s Law,” disallowing ordination of men with “deep-seated homosexual tendencies” or “exceedingly creepy moustaches.”  The gays were super pissed, fabulously flamboyant outrage ensued, and they threatened to keister a bunch of holy stuff in retaliation à la Linda Blair in “The Exorcist.”  The power of Christ compels you!  Oh, and you.  In 2009, Archbishop Silvano Maria Tomasi argued that because 80 to 90% of the abuse cases involved adolescent boys between the ages of 11 and 17, these predator priests are not pedophiles, those possessing a sexual attraction to prepubescent children, but rather ephebophiles, those with a shine for teenage boy anus.  For the record, unless you are Don Johnson (14-year-old Melanie Griffith), Jerry Lee Lewis (his 13-year-old cousin), or live in Afghanistan (dancing boys), ephebophilia is still a crime.

Recently, the Vatican has followed a policy of apologizing without accepting responsibility, blaming the scandal on “sin within the Church,” attacking media criticism of Benedict, and linking pedophilia with homosexuality.  In response to calls for a universal set of rules for bishops confronting abuse, the Vatican has failed to implement desperately needed reforms like allowing individual dioceses to defrock abusers instead of demanding time-consuming and inefficient canonical trials, mandating that bishops report molesters to civil authorities, or even requiring them to alert parishes and communities where predators worked.  They did, however, publish some nifty recommendations on their website and issued new rules equating pedophilia with the ordination of women (REALLY bad).  Way to inspire confidence dudes.

The Part Where We Take Their Stuff: The Fallout

"Kiyah! Let's gobble some scrotums!" - Larry King, Scrotum Goblin

Aside from the resignation of bishops accused of covering up abuse or being scrotum-gobbling scrotum goblins, individual dioceses have suffered serious financial consequences.  By the end of 2009, the various dioceses had paid out settlements totaling $1.269 billion to over 1,835 victims.  In order to protect their assets from greedy “victims” and continue their good work, several dioceses filed for bankruptcy, including those of San Diego, Portland, and Poundtown.  Recently, a U.S. appeals court allowed a lawsuit brought by a Oregon man against the Vatican to move forward, stating that the predator priest who molested the man could be considered the Vatican’s employee, making them potentially liable for damages.  Welcome to America fuckheads;  our God is money, and apparently, so is yours.

The Great American Fuck You

In summary: (1) during the second half of the 20th century, a small percentage of U.S. priests sexually abused thousands of children; (2) abuse occurred in the majority of U.S. dioceses and religious communities; (3) in many instances, rather than confront the problem or punish offenders, church leaders attempted to cover up the abuse; (4) the Vatican stonewalled bishops that turned to them for assistance; (5) the Vatican has failed to implement any real changes in the way it handles abuse cases and is apparently unwilling to alter church procedures and governance to prevent future abuse.  They are trying to ride this thing out.

What now?  Fuck ‘em.  They are pathetic.  Beware superstitious celibates in silly costumes; they are not for us.  Sue them until the streets run red with the ink from their balance sheets and their houses are turned into shopping malls.  Abandon the past.  Embrace our fledgling dystopia.  Who knows, in a few years it might be as awesome as alternate-universe Hill Valley in Back to the Future Part II.  See you at Biff’s Casino.  Bring some guns. And cocaine.

And now, a poem based on President Whitmore’s speech in the documentary Independence Day.

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
 
 
 
 
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
 
 
 
 
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, Rage against the dying of the light.
 
 
 
 
Wild men who cause and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
 
 
 
 
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
 
 
 
 
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

- Dylan Thomas


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Little Big Men or Why Haiti Sucks: Haitian Despots and America

Posted on March 26, 2010 by

In case you haven’t been watching the news ever, Haiti really sucks.  A lot.  But why?  Why does Haiti suck so fucking much?  Poor leadership mostly.  Also America.  The poorest, least developed nation in the Americas, Haiti boasts an 80% poverty and 50% adult literacy rate, ranks as one of the world’s most corrupt nations, and if not for Darfur and Philadelphia, would be the worst place on earth.  Since winning independence from France in 1804, 57 different emperors, kings and presidents have ruled the island nation with varying levels of incompetence, cruelty, and corruption.  Congratulations gentlemen, you took advantage of the weakest of us.  And before you condemn the U.S.’s massive response to the 2010 earthquake, remember that we are at least partly to blame.  We have been raw dogging Haiti for a long time.

Jean-Jacques Dessalines

You always remember your first.

Like a one-time prom-goer waxing nostalgic about their first, awkward, Bacardi-fueled coupling, Haitians today consider Dessalines an icon of Haitian nationalism.  Brought to the French West Indian colony of Saint-Domingue (Haiti) as a slave, Dessalines worked as a field hand for a black master, or blaster, until 1791, when he joined the slave rebellion that broke out in the colony amid the turmoil caused by the French Revolution.

For the next ten years, Dessalines distinguished himself as black revolutionary Toussaint Louverture’s lieutenant, who established himself as governor-general of Saint-Dominigue with nominal allegiance to Revolutionary France.  During this time, Dessalines gained a reputation for his “take no prisoners” and “take no shit from anyone” policies, peddling brake pads across the country and burning entire villages to the ground.  In 1802, when Toussaint was deposed by a French expedition sent by Le Petit Caporal, Napolean I, to reconquer the colony, Dessalines at first submitted to the new regime.  When Napolean decided to reinstitute slavery in 1803, however, Dessalines and other black and mulatto (Afro-European descent) leaders rose up in rebellion.

Hold my coat! I'm gonna kick that n-bomb in the balls.

With British help they expelled the French, under Viscount Rochambeau, after the Viscount offered to settle the matter over a testicle-kicking contest, a traditional game played by the Rochambeaus, and lost, flailing about on the ground while screaming, “Sacrebleu!  I am ze worst ball-kicker tout le monde.”  This victory represents the only slave rebellion in world history that successfully established an independent nation as well as the only time France has ever lost a war.  On January 1st, 1804, Dessalines declared Haiti an independent nation, and in September, he proclaimed himself Emperor Jacques I.

As emperor, Dessalines continued many of Toussaint’s policies, including the use of forced labor on plantations to avoid reverting to a purely subsistence economy, a system known as caporalisme agraire (agrarian militarism), under which Dessalines required all blacks to work either as soldiers or laborers.  His forces strictly enforced this system, to the extent that some blacks felt as if they were again enslaved, much like when the U.S. government “freed” the Amerislaves and then abandoned them to sharecropping, which is pretty much slavery with less interracial rape and hand-lopping.  Your name is still Toby, though you may one day get to host children’s television show Reading Rainbow.  I can be anything!  Take a look, it’s in a book, a Reading Rainbow!  Oh Toby, you can’t even read.

Only Al Jolson was spared.

Very hostile towards the whites, Dessalines made it illegal for whites to own property and confiscated their land, which is really fucking unfair.  Taking a white person’s land is like telling a Mexican they can’t bust piñatas or not allowing the Japanese to murder whales and deny war crimes.  It’s their birthright dammit.  It’s all they know.  And if that wasn’t enough, Dessalines launched a campaign of extermination against the country’s white inhabitants, a move that, if history has taught us anything, white people are NOT cool with, murdering thousands.  Dessalines did not discriminate in his discrimination, suppressing the elitist mulattoes or “gens de colour,” quadroons,  octoroons, quintroons and hexadecaroons alike, while also relying on these high yellows to run his government since they were more likely to be educated and literate.  If he really hated mulattoes that much, why didn’t he just prohibit interracial relations?  Answer:  he loved interracial pornography and thought mixed babies were adorable, which they are.  Although Dessalines achieved his dream of forever ending white, but not partially white, dominance over the black majority, he was assassinated in 1806 while attempting to put down a mulatto revolt.  For the next 150 years, frequent coups, assassinations , and foreign invasions plagued Haiti’s beleaguered government.  And then this happened.

Dr. François “Papa Doc” Duvalier

I'm gonna fucking murder all you bitches.

Born in 1907 in Port-au-Prince, Papa Doc grew up during the 1915 invasion and subsequent 20-year occupation of Haiti by U.S. Marines, followed by incessant violent repressions of political dissent and a series of American-installed puppet rulers, the most infamous of which, Frackle legend and daredevil extraordinaire Gonzo the Great, required all Haitians to watch his bizarre, sexually charged performances honoring Camilla the Chicken.  These events powerfully affected the young Duvalier, making him acutely aware of the physical absurdity of inter-species love, as well as the latent political power of the poor black majority and their resentment against the tiny mulatto élite.  Graduating from the University of Haiti School of Medicine in 1934, both the most prestigious and only medical school in the country, Papa Doc rose to prominence in the U.S. sponsored anti-yaws campaign, a tropical infection of the skin, bones, and joints, which, like vitiligo and Pepsi commercials, can cause the infected’s nose to disintegrate.  During this time he earned the nickname “Papa Doc” from his patients.

Some say Papa Doc died in 1971. Some say he became "Pat."

In the early 1950′s, Papa Doc emerged as a central opposition figure to Paul Magliore’s military junta.  After Magliore resigned in 1956, Papa Doc, running on a program of sock hops, popular reform, and black nationalism or blationalism, was elected president, a position in which he would remain for 14 years.  Papa Doc consolidated power by reducing the size of the army and organizing the Tonton Macoutes or “Boogeymen,” a private, sunglassed force,  granted automatic amnesty for any crime committed and  responsible for terrorizing and assassinating alleged foes of the regime.  He resorted to bigmanism, a surprisingly sustainable form of government popularized by African warlords, to maintain his rule by promoting and patronizing members of the black majority in the civil service and army.  In the name of nationalism, Papa Doc expelled most of Haiti’s foreign-born bishops and generally harassed the clergy, actions that earned him excommunication from the Catholic Church until 1966 when the Church learned that by murdering their parents, Papa Doc had created a whole gaggle of orphans in need of “priestly guidance.”  Gross.

We come for your black dogs and lame British hard rock!

When Papa Doc suffered a heart attack in 1959, Clément Barbot, chief of the Tonton Macoutes, acted in his stead.  Upon his return, Duvalier accused Barbot of attempting to seize the presidency and imprisoned him.  Released in 1963, Barbot launched a failed plot, known as the “Pied Piper Plot,” to remove Duvalier from office by kidnapping his children.  During the ensuing manhunt, when the ultra-competent “Boogeymen,” who modeled their investigatory techniques after Inspector Clouseau, told Papa Doc that Barbot had transformed himself into a black dog, Duvalier ordered all black dogs in Haiti put to death, and in a rare act of compassion, all Led Zeppelin IV albums destroyed, thus saving Haitians from the Tolkienesque mewlings of those British plagiarizers.  No Stairway?  Denied!

Papa Doc’s tumultuous relationship with the U.S., caused by his engineering a number of fraudulent constitutional changes to maintain his grip on power, misappropriation of millions in U.S. aid money, and other corrupt and despotic practices led to the U.S. terminating aid in 1962.  After the JFK assassination, however, which Duvalier claimed as a result of his placing a curse on the King of Camelot (he fucking loved that musical), a subject about which Oliver Stone will surely make a film, the U.S. eased diplomatic pressure, predictably accepting Duvalier as a bulwark against communism.  That is so America, supporting ruthless dictators provided they resist communism/Islāmic fundamentalism/generic anti-capitalismism.  Stick with what you know.

GRACE! I WANT THEM ALL DEAD! No one can save you now Ferris. Sloan dear, do you have a kiss for daddy? AHAHAHAHA!

Papa Doc’s regime of terror used murder and expulsion to maintain power and quell political dissent, killing nearly 30,000.  In 1967, after a failed bomb plot on the Presidential Palace, Papa Doc ordered 19 Presidential Guard officers shot.  During a speech a few days later, he read out an “attendance sheet” of the officers’ names, marking each “absent” before blithely noting, “all were shot,” a scene recreated in the alternate ending for “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,” in which Ferris, Sloan, Cameron, and Charlie Sheen as Teenage Boy in Police Station are shot for making phony phone calls to Dean of Students Edward Rooney and besmirching his reputation as a crack truancy sleuth.  Papa Doc, who needed to shore up support from the U.S. as a bulwark against communist Cuba, particularly oppressed commies.  In 1969, he instituted a campaign to rid Haiti of the red menace, Rick Astley, as well as commies generally, declaring that Rickrolling and other communist activities be punishable by death.  Blacklisting is for pussies.

We have ways of making you "say goodbye" Comrade Asstley.

By employing intimidation, repression, and patronage to create a new élite, Papa Doc supplanted the old mulatto elites, and corruption, through government rake-offs of industries, subornation, extortion of domestic business and stolen government funds, perpetuated the kleptocracy and enriched Papa Doc’s closest supporters .  This oppressive atmosphere fueled a brain drain, in which educated professionals fled the country because yuppies hate being poor and oppressed, from which Haiti has never recovered.  To pay the Tonton Macoutes, who had no official salary and like the Girls Scouts, made their money through crime and extortion, the government confiscated peasant land holdings and gave them to members of the militia.  What is it with Haitian dictators and taking people’s land?  At least this time they targeted brown people!  Sheesh!  The resulting mass exodus of dispossessed peasants to the Port-au-Prince slums created endemic malnutrition and famine.  Aid money targeted to the suffering masses was appropriately misappropriated.

Let's talk about face-fucking dead dudes.

Like any good dictator, Papa Doc fostered a sweet personality cult, claiming to be the semi-divine embodiment of Haiti, which probably made him semi-nauseous.  Modeling himself after Baron Samedi (a spirit of the voodoo religion or lao), Papa Doc sported sunglasses to hide his soulless eyes and spoke with the strong nasal tone associated with the Baron and Fran Drescher, although he chose not to adopt the cross-dressing, bisexual tendencies of the promiscuous spirit of the dead.  In other voodoo happenings, he ordered the head of former opponent and would-be coupist Blucher Philogenes brought to him so Papa Doc could commune with the dead man’s spirit, “commune” meaning to engage in necrophilial mouth sex.   Balls on your chin Mr. Philogenes; balls on your chin.  Unless you believe the ridiculous “Pat” rumors, Papa Doc died in 1971, which brings us to…

Jean-Claude “Bébé Doc” Duvalier

What's colder than cold? Ice cold! Play on playa.

Reared in a privileged and isolated environment,  Bébé Doc attended prestigious private schools and even studied law briefly before devoting himself entirely to the family business of eating Haiti’s collective soul.  In April 1971, after the death of his Papa Doc, Bébé Doc ascended to the presidency, becoming the youngest “president” in the world, though presidents are usually elected democratically and not through nepotism and sperm roulette.  Content to leave substantive and administrative matters in the hands of his mother, Simone, and her warthog friend Pumbaa, while he attended ceremonial functions and lived as a playboy, the pudgy Bébé Doc not only closely resembles a bébé, but acts like one as well (letting your mother and her warthog friend manage your affairs = Simba bébé).

Nants ingonyama bagithi baba, Sithi uhhmm ingonyama

At first it appeared that Bébé Doc might be a more enlightened, as well as lighter-skinned despot.  While he promised to end repression and jumpstart an economic revolution, the ersatz Duvalier actually made few substantive improvements, and the regime maintained its basic character of suck.  While he executed political opponents less often, Bébé Doc imitated his Papa Doc in using the army and dreaded Tonton Macoutes to brutalize the population (imitating your father to brutalize the population = cruel bébé).  Although foreign officials and observers were more tolerant toward Bébé Doc and the U.S. restored its aid program in 1971, by neglecting his role in government, Bébé Doc, like George W. after him,  squandered considerable domestic and foreign goodwill.

The non-abstemious autocrat, who possessed a penchant for whips and aquawhips, flaunted an opulent lifestyle, squandering millions and embezzling millions more in foreign banks in the midst of crushing poverty.  The majority of the Duvaliers’ wealth came from the Regime du Tabac, a tobacco monopoly used as a slush fund and later expanded to include the proceeds from other government enterprises.  The rich, tropical farmland produced coffee and mangoes for export while widespread hunger plagued the country and the desperate, having never seen FernGully: The Last Rainforest, flattened the once thriving hardwood forests for fuel.  Where will curious fairy girl Crysta and mentally unstable yet comical fruit bat Batty Koda live now?  Is heat really that important you selfish carbon thieves?  For Christ’s sake, you live in fucking Haiti!

Doogie Howser, Bébé Doc

Bébé Doc’s 1980 wedding to hated Haitian divorcee and gold-digging mulattess Michelle Benet, which cost $3 million, further alienated him from the black majority, who had ridiculously considered his Papa Doc their champion against the mulatto élite.  While Benet at first endeared herself to the people by helping the needy and opening medical clinics, her avarice quickly outpaced her husband’s and she became one of the world’s richest women,  jet-setting to the U.S. and Europe on shopping sprees to buy designer clothes, bling, objets d’art and fur coats to shield her from the chilly Hatian clime.  Government officials feared Benet because her power rivaled, or perhaps exceeded, that of her husband, and similar to the protocol central to the Reagan White House, while the infantile president adorably napped through cabinet meetings, the First Lady scolded ministers (napping through cabinet meetings = Reaganite bébé).

Come to Haiti pretty lady. (This dude has AIDS).

Against all odds, conditions in Haiti gradually worsened.  In 1978, after an outbreak of African swine fever, the U.S. demanded total eradication of Haiti’s pig population, causing widespread hardship among the peasant population who bred pigs as an investment.  Tourism, in the form of “At Least You Don’t Live Here!!!” packages, upon which Haiti relied for foreign currency, dramatically declined in the early 80′s as AIDS and AIDS-related jheri curls became a major problem.  Pope John Paul II’s 1983 visit, during which he called for widespread government and societal restructuring, led to increased mobilization both within and without the church.  By the mid-1980′s, as economic conditions worsened and rampant hunger and malnutrition spread, most Haitians felt helpless.  Following a sham referendum in 1985, in which 99.98% of voters reaffirmed Bébé Doc as President-for-Life, the nation erupted into popular revolt (needing validation through sham referendums = autocrat bébé).

Mr. Bébé Doc, Nair down this hog! (He was senile folks)

Attempts to squash the rebellion failed, and the Reag began pressuring the Béb to step down. After an embarrassing faux pas by the Reagan Administration, which announced that Bébé Doc had fled Haiti on January 30th, only to have him reappear in Port-au-Prince declaring, though neither firm nor strong, “I am here, strong and firm as a monkey’s tail,” and “I’m the baby, gotta love me,” he finally departed for France on February 7th, 1986, aboard a U.S. Air Force plane.  At first, the Duvaliers enjoyed a luxurious lifestyle in France, but Bébé Doc’s 1993 divorce from that succubus Benet stripped the portly past president from most of his ill-gotten wealth.  He should’ve never married that broad.  He now lives modestly in Paris and occasionally cries out for attention, but nobody cares (crying out for attention = cry bébé).

Of Political Instability and Earthquakes

Why, 24 years after the Duvalier regime ended, does Haiti still suck more than a cum drunk nymph at a bukakke party?  After all, the U.S. quickly recovered from its own dark period under “President Malaise,” Jimmy Carter (thank you Ronnie, you sexy bitch).  Jesus fucking Christ!  How long does it take to get your shit together?  Unfortunately, or fortunately if you are Godless anarchist scum, after Duvalier’s ouster, a new factor worked itself into this pitiful milieu: political instability.

Aristide sold a different kind of indulgence.

In 1991, former Salisian priest and alleged corrupt narco-trafficker, Jean-Bertrand Aristide, won Haiti’s first democratic presidential election.  Deposed by a military coup seven months later, after which tens of thousands of Haitians attempted to flee to the U.S. aboard assorted flotsam and jetsam in the hope of becoming cabbies, Aristide returned from exile and resumed the presidency in 1994 after the military government stepped down.  His henchman René Préval replaced him in 1995, and in 2000 Aristide reclaimed the presidency, only to be driven from office and country in 2004 as economic and political instability continued to ravage Haiti.  Like a well-lubed coed at a fraternity jello wrestling party, Aristide is a slippery little bastard to pin down, and the extent of his crimes is unknown.  After Aristide’s ouster, a U.S. and U.N. led international stabilization mission installed and supported an interim government until 2006, when Préval won re-election as president.  Préval’s government proved completely ineffective, political instability and violence continued, and things were going really, really badly; then the earthquake struck and because there are no building codes in Haiti, 200,000+ people died and everything was destroyed.  Mostly lean-twos.

Currently battling Andy Rooney for the title: "Craziest Dude Ever."

And that, dear friends, is why Haiti sucks.  As the world attempts to rebuild Haiti after the devastating earthquake caused, according to the Right Reverend Pat Robertson, by Haitians making “a pact with the devil,”  which makes sense when you consider that abortion caused Hurricane Katrina and is responsible for terrorism, one thing is clear, without a complete overhaul of the government, Haiti will always suck.

I'll fucking murder you Roberston. Have you ever noticed that people breathe a lot of air these days? What's up with that? In my youth, we breathed kerosene and...

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Tales from the Old Testament: Simpleminded Biblical Characters

Posted on January 12, 2010 by

For pure, unbridled insanity, the Old Testament cannot be beat.  Fratricide, filicide, incest, rape, glorified murder, not to mention all the disgusting begatting (oh Christ the begatting!), the list is long and distinguished, much like Rick “Slider” Rossovich’s “johnson,” which is what Top Gun pilots call their meat-sticks (penises).  Dick jokes momentarily aside, God put his children through some horrible shit in the Old Testament, often for insane reasons, but some of them had it coming.  Learn these life lessons well kiddies.  Avoid God’s wrath.

Mom always was salty.

The Wife of Lot

Then the Lord rained on Sodom and Gomorrah sulphur and fire from the Lord out of heaven; and he overthrew those cities, and all the Plain, and all the inhabitants of the cities, and what grew on the ground.  But Lot’s wife, behind him, looked back, and she became a pillar of salt. – Genesis 19:24-26.

With her husband offering the depraved Sodomites his virginal daughters as an angel-rape substitute, being turned into a pillar of salt and damned for all eternity, and watching said Canaanite ratsnakes seduce their drunk father into an incestuous ménage from the comfort of hell, it is easy to sympathize with Lot’s wife.  But ol’ girl fucked up biblically, and that is unforgivable.  Lot’s wife is the red shirt-wearing crewman #6 in this story.  Not given a name, doomed from the outset and mentioned only briefly, her death demonstrates the gravity of the situation and Kirk doesn’t give a space shit when she dies.

The Lots weren't the only Sodomites to escape, televangelist meth-boi Ted Haggard also made it out.

Before God destroyed the cities of the plain (Sodom, Gomorrah, Admah, and Zeboim) along with their turdburglarizing citizenry, he sent angels down to Sodom to check out the scene and see if there were any Sodomites worth saving.  While any red-blooded  Religious Right dickweed knows that finding a sodomite worth saving is a fruit-filled endeavor,  the angels miraculously stumbled upon Lot loitering by the Sodomite gate.  After Lot protects the angels (appearing in male form no less) from being gang-cornholed by the men of Sodom, they decided to deliver him and his fam, saying, “Save yourselves with all haste. Look not behind you. Get as fast as you are able to the mountain, unless you be involved in the calamity of the city.”  What does Lot’s wife do as her family flees Sodom?  She fucking looks back.

Given the option of: (1) not looking back and going to heaven, or (2) looking back and becoming a hell-bound pillar of salt, she chose the latter.  If Lot’s wife participated in Walter Mischel’s “marshmallow experiment,” testing children’s ability to delay instant gratification in order to obtain a larger reward later, she would probably be put in the sociopathic drug-addled monkey-rapist category, which means that she ate everyone’s marshmallow and then farted in their mouths.  The lesson in all of this?  If God sends angels to save you, do  what they say.  There is no leeway and failure means that you get turned into a pillar of salt and your family starts boning each other.  Just do it.

The Philistine Captors of Samson

Ooh, Samson, your hair is to die for.

She let him fall asleep on her lap; and she called a man, and had him shave off the seven locks of his head. He began to weaken, – and his strength left him…So the Philistines seized him and gouged out his eyes. They brought him down to Gaza and bound him with bronze shackles; and he ground at the mill in the prison.  But the hair of his head began to grow again after it had been shaved. – Judges 16:19-22.

God gave Samson Herculean strength of the Jew to deliver the Israelites from the Philistines and perform heroic feats such as wrestling a lion, slaying an army of 1,000 with a donkey jawbone (slaying meaning killing, not in the traditional love-making sense), and destroying a temple.  When some dickless Philistine nancy boy refused to let Samson marry his daughter, he attached torches to the tails of 300 foxes and turned the terrified, adorable forest critters loose, burning the cockblocker’s fields to the ground.  Also really awesome at riddles, Samson was probably the coolest dude ever.

As the coolest dude ever, Samson fucking loved the box, regularly laying with harlot’s and smearing his thick, creamy Jew load all over those Judean Hills.  One day while traveling through the Valley of Sorek, riding Battle Cat and contemplating an attack against Skeletor and the Snake Men, Samson fell in love with fair Delilah.  The Philistines, seizing an opportunity to capture their arch-nemesis using the oldest trick in the book, sweet Sorekian gash, approached Delilah and offered her coins silver to discover the secret of Samson’s strength.  After nagging the shit out of him and delivering a devastating combination of fierce HJs, Delilah learned that as a Nazirite, Samson was forbidden from cutting his hair, and once cut, God would desert him and steal his strength like the all-knowing succubus that he is.

Samson during his blonde mullet phase.

His head shaved, the Philistines jumped Samson, stabbed out his eyeballs, put him to work at the prison mill and trotted him out to be ridiculed by the unholy masses during religious celebrations.  Not a bad PR move really, except that they forgot to cut his fucking hair.  Below is an actual question from the Philistine Prison Guard Exam.

Question: You have successfully captured your mortal enemy, strongest man in the world Samson, sans bloodshed by cutting his hair.  The secret to Samson’s strength is his sweet, kinky heebfro.  Samson will remain powerless as long as you cut his fucking hair.  What do you do?

(a) Kill him.

(b) Cut his hair regularly.

(c) Scalp him.  Remove hair follicles.

(d) Stab out his eyes and let his hair grow.  Make snarky comments.

If you are a Philistine, the correct answer is (d).  If you’re not an asshat-wearing moron, the correct answer is (a)-(c).  Actually, anything other than (d) is the correct answer.  Predictably, Samson, with a full head of hair, is able to destroy the temple, killing himself and scores of those Philistine bastards.  The lesson?  Kill your enemy while he is bald and powerless. Also prison reform.

Noah, I said one of each sex.

The Hecklers of Noah

Then the Lord said to Noah, “Go into the ark, you and all your household, for I have seen that you alone are righteous before me in this generation.  Take with you seven pairs of all clean animals, the male and its mate…For in seven days I will send rain on the earth for forty days and forty nights; and every living thing that I have made I will blot out from the face of the ground.” – Genesis 7:1-4.

The story is well-known.  God decided to save Noah and his family from the Flood, even the in-laws, commanding him to build a giant wooden ark and place a pair of each animal in it, thus preserving the fauna (but not that sinful flora), and assuring the inbrededness of all living creatures.  God doesn’t respect how essential a large, diverse gene pool is and thinks tards are illarious, which they are.  Also freakishly strong.  Not only did hexacentenarian Noah have to build the Ark while wearing sandals and a mu’umu’u, but did so while an unruly, drunken sinner crowd berated him mercilessly, thus teaching Christian tots that staying on the righteous path is more important than having friends or self-esteem even.

But what is the lesson here really?  If a 600 year-old man is building a 300 by 50 by 30 cubit (1 cubit = 1.5 feet) wooden ship and claiming that the end of the world is nigh, it is probably a good idea to lend a hand, or at least befriend him.  Dude had three sons of different races when he was 500 years old, named his red son Shem, after his favorite Stooge, his white son Japheth, after some ancient Japanese ethnic slur, and his black son Ham, after fucking ham.  You don’t mock a man like that, you help him build his insanity ship and pray he drops some knowledge loads on your filthy, upturned, hooplehead face.

Lies, all lies.

Shockingly, there is no mention of these federlines in the Bible and it is becoming increasingly clear that the gutterstrumpets over at Hanna Barbera will stop at nothing to disseminate their responsibility-preaching propaganda filth.  Fuck you “Greatest Adventure Stories From the Bible,” fuck you.  Did you make up time-traveling teen adventurers Derek, Margo, and their nomad friend Moki as well?  Is nothing sacred?  Here is Snagglepuss to comment: “Heavens to Murgatroid!  Those Barbera nogoodniks turned me into a  homo even.  For shame even.  Exit, stage left!”  Thank you, Snagglepuss, for that nonsensical exclamation.  You would exit stage left.

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A Postmodern Guide to Commitment: Rings of Desire

Posted on December 1, 2009 by
Do you recall dear, when we first met, and you wore that silver purity ring?
What fun we had, pretending twas rad, doing that silver purity ring thing!

And then that night, when silver tarnished, you traded purity for a vaginal ring?
How glorious it was, our bodies entwined, making that new safe pussy sing!

Then a bit later, do you remember, when I gave you that pre-engagement ring?
It was simple and plain, and oh super lame, but thats the pre-engagement bling!

After the courting, wasn’t it sporting, to wear that diamond engagement ring?
You nearly cried, and I swelled with pride, knowing how much ass it would bring!

Were we nervous, in that moment, trading those vows and gold wedding rings?
Plans were well laid, an abortion was stayed, after our golden wedding ring thing!

And after all those years, you turned queer, donning that thick ivory thumb ring?
Twas a bit awkward, but you came back cockward, trying a lipstick lesbian fling!

Vada was in the mood for child actor blood. Run, Macaulay! Run! Oh, no! The bees got him. The bees got him.

Wasn’t that a toothsome ring poem?  Ahh, rings.  They mean so many things to so many people.  Except mood rings.  Mood rings only represent one thing, the exact emotional-spiritual state of their wearer with fantastically precise precision.  The average white lady will go through many rings in her lifetime, each ring representing a phase  along her relationship journey, a thread in her own uniquely special story quilt.  But where did they all come from?  And more importantly, how can they be ridiculed?  These questions demand answering.

Purity Rings

Also called chastity, promise, or abstinence rings, purity rings originated in the U.S. during the  ecstasy-fueled 90′s among Christian-affiliated sexual abstinence groups, not to be confused with Christian-affiliated swinger groups, of which there are none.  The rings are “sold” to parents and then given to their adolescent children as evidence of their great parenting.  Accompanied by a religious vow to remain abstinent, the rings are worn with the implication that the wearer will abstain from sex until replaced with a wedding ring, which is why mall jewelry stores in the South rent out wedding bands by the hour.

We fucking LOVE anal.

In a typical clownish, let’s-face-fuck-the-constitution move, the Bush! Part Deux administration gave federal grants to pro-abstinence religious organizations.  The Silver Ring Thing, a subsidiary of the Pennsylvania Evangelical Church, received over a million dollars from the feds to promote abstinence and peddle its rings in the U.S. and abroad.  People were upset, not when they realized that the feds was subsidizing Christian fundamentalism, but when it turned out to be an elaborate Skull-and-Bones wager, in which Georgey Orgy Cocaine Pie bet John “Swift Boat” Kerry that he could convince the nation’s guttersnipes to wear his heh-heh “weapons of mast destruction.”  Afterward, they did a sweet secret handshake and giggled. Balls.

...for vaginal intercourse.

Wearing a purity ring lets the world know that you are impressionable enough to get talked into anything.  It is a statistical fact that of the girls who believe getting sodomized by their high school boyfriend doesn’t count as sex, 97% of them wear purity rings.  Whether of their own invention, or the product of outside influence, believing that an act named after a city destroyed by the Almighty for being too sinful is a God-approved substitute for gina sex borders on Nixon crazy.  And that dude was batfucked,  “I don’t know karate, but I know ka-razy,” crazy.  To be honest, Reason and Religion haven’t spoken since Reason stole Religion’s college girlfriend, and a reconciliation is not imminent.  This is how every first date with a purity ring vestal goes:

Purity: Where did you come from?  Where did you go?  Where did you come from, Catamite Joe?

Catamite Joe: Uhh…alright?  Hey Purity, it’s real swell you allowing me to be your Jesus Prom escort, it’s going to be so tubular and chaste not having intercourse!

Purity: Well that’s mighty fine CJ, did you bring me poppers and anal lube?

Catamite Joe: What in tarnation! I thought you were saving yourself for marriage!

Purity: I said I was pure CJ, not dead, member what Youth Minister Matthew always says, “in the ass = Heaven pass”!

Catamite Joe: Best.  Jesus Prom. Ever.  Wait, who is the lube for?

(End scene with fade out while playing prog rock titan Asia’s “Heat of the Moment”)

Pre-engagement Rings

I fucking LOVE you male rain forest.

Pre-engagement rings (aka promise aka friendship) are given to a romantic partner to signify a commitment to a monogamous relationship, often as a precursor to an engagement ring.  They are worn on any finger, but those symbolizing pre-engagement are generally worn on the left ring finger because playing dress-up is fun and exciting.  Many pre-engagement ring designs contain the heart symbol, which is symbolic in that the lovers dedicate their hearts to each other and to helping the other Planeteers defeat Captain Pollution and Zarm.  The power is yours young Ma-Tis, the power is yours.

Pre-engagement rings date back to the 16th century.  The rings were traditionally given by younger couples, and since it was normal for the young couple not to have the wealth and position that would allow for marriage and children, the man would give his intended bride a promise ring as a placeholder until marriage became possible.  This was a simpler time, a time of morality, a time when commitments meant something, a time before minorities invented absentee fatherhood and out-of-wedlock baby-making.  Mr. Cosby tell ‘em.

Pre-engagement rings came back into fashion during 2000 and have become a traditional gift during relationships between the younger generation of Americouples (Generation Y?), earning them the moniker “The Waffler Generation.”  To be fair, 2000 was a crazy year.  Napster crushed Metallica’s metal soul, Scootermania ruled the streets, the Elián “El Bastardito Cubano” Gonzalez affair captivated the nation and Survivor debuted.  It’s hard to be certain in such uncertain times, and nobody wants to die a virgin, except Gary Coleman.  When a man gives his almost-almost-wife a pre-engagement ring, it is the female equivalent of receiving an upside-down reverse handjob.  Yeah, it’s somewhat exciting and impressive, but it’s still just an awkward, mildly depressing handsky.  WTF, put your mouth on that dong already!  Come to where the flavor is.  Come to mouthsky country.

We fucking LOVE pussy.

Engagement Rings

Welcome to mouthsky country.  Simply put, a woman wears an engagement ring to indicate her engagement to be married.  Traditionally, a man presents the ring as a betrothal gift to his prospective spouse while he proposes marriage or directly after she accepts his marriage proposal. It represents a formal agreement to future marriage and is usually worn on the left ring finger.

In the United States and Canada, it is becoming more common, but still rare, that a woman will also purchase an engagement ring for her man. These are called male engagement rings or man-gaygement rings, which is a portmanteau of “man” and “gay engagement ring”. Interestingly, when man-gaygement rings become popular, it is an indication, according to polymath Ibn Khaldun, that a once great society has become decadent and depraved and will soon be conquered by barbarians, probably Philly fans.  Is that the kind of herpes-ridden dystopian future you want ladies?  You want equality?  Well everyone’s equal in the Thunderdome.  Equally fucked that is.  Only you can prevent societal collapse.

Some U.S. jurisdictions consider engagement rings “conditional gifts” under the property laws. This is an exception to the general rule that gifts, once properly given, cannot be revoked.  Unless of course, you’re an Indian and it is your ancestral right to take that shit back whenever you damn well please.  Indian giving is both tight and fiscally responsible.  Tradition generally holds that if the betrothal fails because the man breaks off the engagement, the woman is not obliged to return the ring. However, a no-fault man-law is emerging in some jurisdictions, under which the fiancé is always entitled to the return of the ring, regardless of any intervening jackassery.  Move there immediately boys, and Ellen.

Wedding Rings

We fucking LOVE drugs and penises.

A wedding ring or band consists of a simple precious metal ring, usually worn on the left ring finger.  At the wedding, the best man has a traditional duty to keep track of the couple’s wedding rings and to produce them at the symbolic moment of the giving and receiving of the rings.  He also has the traditional duty of leading the rest of the groomsmen in bridesmaid bagging.  In more elaborate weddings, a ring bearer (usually a sexually-confused hobbit named Frodo) may assist in the ceremonial parading of the rings into the ceremony, often on a special cushion or pillow while committing some sort of adorable faux pas.

The ring symbolizes marriage, and a spouse wears it to indicate a marital commitment to fidelity.  Unless, of course, the spouse is Senator John Edwards, who wears it to indicate a marital commitment to going balls deep in campaign worker Reille Hunter while his wife has incurable breast cancer.  In his defense, Elizabeth Edwards is apparently a raving lunatic of a bitch who once tore open her blouse in an airport parking lot and staggered around demanding that he “look at her” while singing, “bitches lookin’ at me strange, but you know I don’t care, step up in this motherfucker just a-swangin my cancer-ridden sweater puppets.”  These are horrible people.

Before medical science discovered how the circulatory system functioned, people adorably believed that a vein ran directly from the fourth finger on the left hand to the heart.  Because of the hand-heart connection, people named the imaginary vein vena amori, Latin for ‘the vein of love’, which is also what Bret Michaels calls his dick vein.  By wearing rings on this finger, a married couple symbolically declares their eternal love for each other. This has now become a matter of tradition and etiquette, although Krauts use their right hand because they use the left for sub-lederhosen masturbation and the ring would get horribly snagged in their schamhaar, which is precisely what George Washington meant when he spoke of avoiding “foreign entanglements.”  Germans have huge bushes and tear out their goose-stepping eyeballs when Harrison “No Ticket” Ford approaches.

"Nazis. I hate these guys." We know Dr. Jones. We know.

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The Death of Fun: Former Olympic Sports

Posted on November 10, 2009 by

Finswimming, Dancesport, Bridge.  The event schedule of a fabulously exciting senior’s weekend at the local Y?  Try sports officially recognized by the International Olympic Committee asswipe.  While these “sports” are totally lame, though not as lame as those goddamn Canadians and their curling (real Canadians, not black people), there are other sports, some awesome, some  awful, some imaginary, that tragically are no longer contested at the Olympics.  Here are the easiest ones to make fun of.

Tug-of-War

1904_tug_of_war

Ughhh! Who's better than us? Fucking no one.

Also the name of a popular gang-handjob site, which isn’t even real, tug-of-war is an ancient sport that pits two teams against each other in a test of strength.   Originally entered into by “tug-clubs,” groups of men united not by patriotism, but by their love of tugging, tug-of-war featured at every Summer Olympics from 1900 to 1920.  The tug-club system allowed countries to win several medals, with the U.S. sweeping in 1904 and the Limeys following suit in 1908.  This falling off by the Americans is not surprising, as by 1904 they were over the whole “tugging” thing and had started dating fine ass dime pieces on the reg.  Discontinued after 1920, tug-of-war is still recognized by the International Olympic Committee (IOC), and once tug-of-war enthusiasts, or “tuggers” as they hate being called, have amassed a large enough bribe, this ancient pastime may once again become an Olympic event, which would be fucking incredible.

Polo

Polo is a team sport traditionally played on horseback (or segwayback if you are Steve Wozniak, Star Dancer) in which the objective is to score goals against the opposing team by driving a small, white ball into the opposing goal using a wooden mallet. Mallet!  A team consists of 4 riders, and at the annual Biblical Games, Heaven’s Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, Genghis ”Black Death” Khan (pestilence), George “Bitch Slap” Patton (war), Mao “Great Leap Forward” Zedong (famine) and Joseph “Great Purge” Stalin (death) always defeat Hell’s Knights of the Liberal Agenda, John “The Artful Draft Dodger” Wayne (interracial marriage), Christopher “Crazy Legs” Reeve (stem cell research), Harvey “Party Boy” Milk (gay rights) and Buford “Mad Dog” Tannen (health care reform, as evidenced by his shooting of Doc Brown in the back over a matter of 80 dollars), ensuring that humanity escapes the eternal fire for another year.  Goddamn liberals and their agenda.

Four Horsemen

I don't care what Croce says, if Reeve wears that faggy cape again, I'm tugging on it.

Introduced at the 1900 games, polo featured at the  1908, 1920, 1924, and 1936 Summer Olympics, but not in 1904, 1928 or 1932.  What terrible calamity befell those dark years, making them polo-lesser than an emoteens wardrobe?  Well slice open your Fontanelle because it’s about to get infantile in here (warning: the following portion will probably be made up).  The 1904 St. Louis Olympics sucked and nobody showed.  The 1928 Amsterdam Games found everyone thigh deep in K-Y Jelly and hash.  The 1932 Great Depression Games held in Los Angeles saw all horses being used as eatin’ food or sniffin’ glue (disclaimer: do not huff horse glue)(undisclaimer: check that, it is impossible to huff horse glue).  The mixed-team format allowed nations to win more than one medal, and the British Redcoats won three gold, the Argentine Gauchos two, and the U.S. Rhinestone Cowboys one.  Polo is still recognized by the IOC, which consequently wants nothing to do with horses after watching the infamous “Mr. Hands” video, featuring the equine sodomy of Boeing engineer Kenneth Pinyan, not to be confused with the Herbie Hancock album of the same name.

Roque

Game of the century, hands down.

Roque

Popular in the first half of the 20th century and billed as “the game of the century” by its enthusiasts, which is fucktarded, roque is an American variant of croquet played on a hard, smooth surface.  The game features heavily in Stephen King’s novel, “The Shining,” though not in Stanley Kurbick’s film version because using a make-believe game as a major plot device is  stupid and pretentious (j.k., Rowling, j.k.).  In the book, the character Jack Torrance actually wields a roque mallet, not an axe, which seems highly unrealistic to anyone who has played croquet, although roque mallets look more like Nordic war hammers than wood chips stuck together with saliva and asparagus urine.  Played only once at the 1904 St. Louis Olympics, where the U.S. was the sole nation represented because U.S. Americans only enjoy playing sports they invented and are awesome at (ex. any legit sport except soccer), roque is not recognized by the IOC or anyone else for that matter and may not exist in real life.

Water Motorsports

Water motorsports

Je suis sur un bateau! Je suis sur un bateau! Tout le monde me regarde, je suis sur un bateau fucking mère!

Water motorsports, or “motorboating” in the parlance of our times, debuted as a demonstration sport at the 1900 Paris Summer Olympics, and in a fuck-up that can only be described as colossal, featured neither Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman nor Owen “Safety Razor” Wilson.  At the 1908 Summer Olympics in London, three motorboating events were contested, each less successful than the first.  The races consisted of 5 laps around an 8 nautical mile course for a total of 40 nautical miles or 70 kilometers, which is equal to approximately 46 real miles.  In each event, multiple boats started but only one finished, due primarily to the stiff Parisian gale that was blowing and secondarily to a Parisian named Gayle that was blowing stiffies that day, “stiffy” being a vulgar term for a man’s erect penis, and “penis” being a vulgar term for a man’s pussy hammer.  The results were: Class A (Open), France (Camille); Class B (Under 60 feet), Great Britain (Gyrinus); Class C (6.5-8 meters), Great Britain (Gyrinus).  Water motorsports is still recognized by the IOC, but probably won’t make it back on the programme because boat racing has absolutely nothing to do with athletic prowess and is stupid.  Suck it boating enthusiasts.

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The Ascetic Life: Historical Prudery

Posted on August 28, 2009 by
Prepubescent teen pledges her virginity to a Republican in a novelty carriage.

Prepubescent teen pledges her virginity to a Republican in a novelty carriage.

Purity balls, virginity pledges, irony-free government-funded abstinence-only sex education in AIDS-ravaged Africa and Stephen Baldwin’s brand of x-treme Christianity. Clearly, the average sane today person is under constant attack from the forces of prudery.  These are not new ideas.  The purloined progeny of previously prudish plots, they too shall fade into the historic mist like the browned-out memories from a quasi-consensual acquaintance rape.  A look through the who’s who of historical prudery will expose these modern-day hucksters as the bush league amateurs that they are.  There is nothing to fear, and if a slightly shaky Christian Hosoi-toting Stephen Baldwin ever grinds up and asks if you’d like a yogurt enema with your castration, you’ll be prepared. (Say no)

Yogurt enemas...They're great!

Yogurt enemas...They're great!

John Harvey Kellogg (1852 – 1943) Doctor, vegetarian, and enemaist, John Harvey Kellogg lived to be 91, casting serious doubt on Billy Joel’s theory of mortality.  He invented Corn Flakes with his little brother, William “Kool Keith” Kellogg, who would later form cult hip-hop group Ultramagnetic MCs.  John Harvey ran Battle Creek Sanitarium, a health spa frequented by the rich and infamous, including iconic battle-axe Mary Todd Lincoln and grammatist Sojourner “Ain’t I A Woman?” Truth.  While there, his favorite device was a machine that would rapidly force several gallons of water into the bowels in a series of enemas, followed by a yogurt enema to ensure a clean colon.  The man would have loved Activia.

Through his series of “Plain Facts” books, Kellogg advocated total sexual abstinence, which he believed could be achieved through a vegetarian diet and a strict yet delightful program of water and yogurt enemas.  Ultra-legit, or at least too legit to quit, he reportedly never had sex with his wife of 40 years, preferring the company and feel of rubbery butt-hoses to that of the fairer sex.  Most people, when faced with the prospect of never having sex, would turn to self-love to avoid becoming complete, jabbering assholes.  Not. J.H.!   In “Plain Facts,” he suggested a number of incredibly brutal anti-masturbatory methods aimed at snuffing youngsters onanistic urgings, including: male circumcision without anaesthetic, pouring carbolic acid (of Nazi extermination camp fame) on the clitoris (female), covering genitals with his own patented cages, sewing the foreskin shut, and finally, electric shock.  Oddly enough, he left out yogurt enemas, a proven anti-masturbatory technique even then.  In his defense, he did believe that masturbation was more damaging to the human condition than war, leading to “cancer of the womb” and death, so he was really just looking out.  Not in his defense, he was a respected doctor who died in 1941.

Anthony Comstock (1844 – 1915) The undisputed king of irrational, misplaced prudery, power-drunk U.S. postal inspector and Victorian morality politician Anthony Comstock waged an unrelenting war on obscenity of such ferocity that even today his name is synonymous with indecent decency.  Born in Funtowne, Connecticut, Comstock fought in the Civil War, where, appalled by his fellow soldiers use of profanity, he earned the nickname “a Connecticut homo in Abe Lincoln’s corps.”

Mortified by childhood nickname "Cumsock," became giant, floppy weiner.

Mortified by childhood nickname "Cumsock," became giant, floppy weiner.

After the North ended their aggression, Comstock joined the YMCA.  Finding their mission milquetoast and costumes garish, he created the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice, which would later become the inspiration for the Don Johnson-helmed “Miami Vice,” albeit not for Johnson’s love of underage Hollywood trim.  As a U.S. postal inspector, Comstock influenced Congress to pass the Comstock Laws, named after his favorite prospector, Henry Tompkins Paige Comstock, who discovered the Comstock Lode (the fattest lode of them all).  The Laws made it illegal to send obscene materials, including birth control information and even anatomy textbooks, through the U.S. Mail.  Not realizing that children who aren’t Doogie Howser, M.D., don’t use birth control or read anatomy textbooks, Comstock bragged that he drove 15 people to suicide and made 4,000 arrests in his “fight for the young.”

A man is measured by the company he keeps, and the awesomeness of Comstock’s enemies is only surpassed by the lameness of his admirer.  Among the people whom he labeled “obscene” were: George Bernard Shaw, Irish playwright who coined the term “comstockery”; Margaret Sanger, founder of Unplanned Parenthood; Emma Goldman, joo anarchist; and Victoria Woodhull, woman’s suffragist.  On the other side of the ledger is cross-dressing toad-man J. Edgar Hoover, who ran the U.S. intelligence community for 27 years and reportedly greatly admired Comstock’s investigatory and prosecutorial techniques, although he probably just wanted to bang him, which Comstock and gal pal Clyde Tolson were reportedly NOT cool with.

Mother Ann Lee (1736 – 1784) Not to be confused with the Rockabilly Revival band of the same name, Mother Ann Lee and the Shakers practiced total sexual abstinence as well as shaking out the devil.  As a gnar gnar British verago, Ann Lee had a healthy repulsion towards sexual activity from childhood, and after a forced marriage, four still births, and four children that died before the age of 6, she began advocating for celibacy and the abandonment of marriage.  In pursuit of this pipe-less dream, she founded the Shakers, better known by their nickname, the United Society of Believers in Christ’s Second Appearance, because the Quakers, with their quaking and delicious oatmeal, were just too hip.

Shake for me girl, I want to be your backdoor ma...asexual furniture-making companion.

Shake for me girl, I want to be your backdoor ma...asexual furniture-making companion.

No one, not even the British, like being told that sexing is evil, so Ann Lee and her gaggle of spinsters shook on over to the United States.  It was a homely time, and the Shakers believed that Mother Al embodied all the perfections of God in female form, much like Jesus embodied all the perfections of God in hippie form.  As Jesus’ female counterpart, she taught her followers that perfect holiness could only be obtained by giving up sexual relations, and that men and women, while equal, must be kept separate to avoid temptation.  Idle hands, other than providing the basis for horrible teen comedies, are also the devil’s tools, so the Shakers spent their time apart making austere furniture, furniture which would later be coveted by yuppies so that they could appear interesting and idly handle other yuppies.  Fate is a cruel mistress indeed!

Secret Christian sect founded by Russian peasant proves to be less fun than it sounds.

Secret Christian sect founded by Russian peasant proves to be less fun than it sounds.

The Skoptsy Movement (18th cen. – 20th cen.) Like all great ideas, the Taiping Rebellion notwithstanding, the Skoptsy began as a peasant movement.  Founded by Kondratii Selivanov, or K-Sel as celeb-watchers  called him back then, the Skoptsy are best known for their castration of men, mastectomy of women, and adorable mascot, Chikan, the sexually repressed Cockatiel.  In spite of these major selling points and persecution by both the Imperial and Soviet governments, the Skoptsy movement enjoyed substantial growth, their ranks swelling to as many as 100,000 followers before petering out in the mid-20th century with the advent of sanity.

The Skoptsy believed that after their expulsion from the Garden of Eden, a wonderful place invented by psychedelic band Iron Butterfly, Adam and Eve had the halves of the forbidden fruit grafted to their Marylin Manson bodies, forming testicles and breasts.  This reverses the “women owe men a rib” joke and means that there was either really strange fruit in Imperial Russia or they had really strange genitals.  In either case, in any fucking case, the Skoptsy believed that by removing these organs, they would return to the pristine state enjoyed before Original Sin, a feat achieved by most Christians through baptism, which is incredipuss.  Traditionally, castration is achieved by mere removal of the testicles, and the formerly hard Skoptsy could opt for “greater” castration and salvation by removing the penis as well.  In an unrelated phenomena, the number of micro-penis sporting immigrants to the Russian hinterland greatly increased during this time, resulting in the maxim, “In the land of no-penises, the micro-penis man is Dirk Diggler.”

Chikan, the Sexually-Repressed Cockateil.

Chikan, the Sexually-Repressed Cockateil.

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