Once upon a time there was a man so hideous in visage that he made Nancy Pelosi look like a normal guy.
So, this ugly man walks into the bar with a big grin on his face and orders a draft beer.
"What are you so happy about?" asks the barman.
"Well, I'll tell you," replies the ugly man. "You know, I live by the railroad tracks? Well, on my way home last night, I noticed a young woman tied to the tracks--just like in the movies. Naturally, I went right over there and cut her free. Then I took her back to my place."
"Anyway," he concluded, "to make a long story short, I scored big time! We made love all night, all over the house. We did everything, in every position known to man!"
"Fantastic!" exclaimed the barman. "You lucky sonofabitch! Was she pretty?"
"Dunno.... Never found the head!"
Love At Last
Sperm Management (NASDAQ: SPRT)
The Journal's Far East Bureau Chief, David Marvin Mailer, now reports on the events leading up to the unprecedented $74.2 million bonus awarded by SPRT management to Frank Polisczeschwski, Executive VP for Sperm/Lubricant Coordination in connection with his negotiation of the six-month, fast-track, cost-plus-whatever contract for SPRT's recycling project pursuant to the following incident in New York City:
They came in their tens of thousands.
Chairman Rush was the sole attraction at the new, improved, history-free Yankee Stadium in The Bronx.
Given the tax-holiday incentivized size of the new stadium, Rush easily shattered the now-pathetic seeming attendance records set by Billy Graham during his “Jesus Knows When To Short” sermons of the early Eighties.
Haggard, recession-wracked ex-consumers gathered from all 50 states to see the famed hypnotist/pundit work his magic, ushering in a new era of unlimited credit, direct ATM-linked mortgages, Congressional tax fraud, Oval Office fellatio and early onset thanatosis.
As Limbaugh took to the stage, he held up his arms until the standing ovation had spent itself, meanwhile giving that dose of Oxycontin a chance to kick in.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I don't have to tell you that these are unusual times through which we are living. No, I don't have to tell you. And I don't have to tell you who the fucking liberals are who got us where we are today over the past eight years. I can see by your faces: you already know. So I am not going to insult your intelligence,” —and here he hesitated while stifling a particularly moist fart--“I am not going to insult your intelligence by inviting twenty or thirty of you good people up here onto this stage to be put into some trance. I already do that on the radio daily to millions. But not now. No, these are exceptional times requiring exceptional remedies. And that is precisely what I will give you tonight, ladies and gentlemen.”
“I am going to hypnotize each and every member of this audience."
The throng gasped as if a single orgasm. Excitement flowed through the vast stadium like shit through a Christmas goose. Rush would make it right...Rush was their man and he would make it all go away. Now it would be alright again, like it was before Saioclism....
Limbaugh stood solitary on the simple, flood-lit stage over second base.
Then, with no introduction, he withdrew a beautiful antique pocket watch from his vest pocket and held it up high, nearly as high as he was, turning to every corner of the stadium for all to see.
"I want each and every one of you to keep your eyes on this antique watch. This, Ladies and Gentlemen, is a very special watch indeed. It's been in my family for six generations. As you will soon see, it is quite extraordinary."
The audience fell into a profound silence, recalling the evocative qualifier that self-summarizes the prevailing culture itself: "Awesome."
Chairman Rush began to swing the watch gently back and forth.
Then he commenced quietly chanting: ”...watch the watch, watch the watch, watch the watch...."
The crowd waxed evermore mesmerized as the watch swayed back and forth, klieg lights dancing off its polished antique surface.
Thousands upon thousands of pairs of eyes followed the swaying watch, in total thrall to the swinging timepiece and its near-godlike manipulator.
Until suddenly it slipped from the Chairman's fingers.
The talisman fell to the floor of the stage and broke into uncountable, irreparable pieces. The Chairman looked down at the wreckage in sheer disbelief
"Ohhhhhhhh FUCK!" cried Limbaugh.
.
If (Manchurian Electorate Remix)
Mike Rashoff reports from the nation's capitol on the FDA's approval of Fukitol, followed by an immediate retroactive upgrade by Moody's and S&P of its manufacturer, Fuck You PLC, eleven years after its introduction.
Fuck You have since noted that the ad campaign will be amended to delete the reference to "Job Suck?".
Meanwhile, the National Arts Council has updated Rudyard Kipling's classically obsolete Victorian exhortation, "If," as follows:
If you can start the day without caffeine,
If you can get going without pep pills,
If you can always be cheerful, ignoring aches and pains,
If you can resist complaining and boring people with your troubles,
If you can eat the same food everyday and be grateful for it,
If you can understand when your loved ones are too busy to give you any time,
If you can take criticism and blame without resentment,
If you can conquer tension without medical help,
If you can relax without liquor,
If you can sleep without the aid of drugs,
Then you, my son, are the family dog.
.
Snorkeling in Canada
Mostly Big Dave, reporting from upper Manitoba, opines that demon rum may have been involved.
.
Spotting Nancy
The Editorial Waterboard is pleased to advise, in a unanimous vote, that Mike Rashoff, formerly The Journal's West Coast Parking Technology Bureau Chief, has now been appointed Senior Washington Nocturnal Incontinence Correspondent, in direct competition with the pathetic assholes at CNN, WaPo, NYT, Hot Rod, Cancer Magazine™ and "Corriere della Serra." Which in a spirit of hail-fellow-well-met lazy fairy Free Enterprise egalitarian narcolepsy, starts with this report in which his GOP contacts have understandably elected to forego a modicum of punctuation:
.
