On Really Smart Animals June 28, 2008

I had a hamster who worked on The Manhattan Project.

He ended up flushing himself due to the guilt.

On The Voicemail From The Worst Pickup-Artist Ever June 28, 2008

(original transcription of his call, courtesy of Jezebel, for reference)

Hi Julia? It’s Paul calling again, the guy across the street in the bushes? I called you 2 years ago. I don’t like leaving second messages, but you’ve very elegant and have a long neck like a giraffe you see in the zoo and very attractive eyes, like golf balls, but, you know, I don’t play that game. I know your friends and the FBI told you not to return my calls, you’re playing games like I see in Silence of the Lambs or Along Came A Spider or Deal or No Deal. So here’s how it’s gonna work – it’s 3,40am on Wednesday morning and I’m across the street dressed as an urban ninja – I can kick my own head height if I wanted to and can jump over car hoods almost in a single bound like a beautiful black gazelle. I know you’re probably asleep at the moment, or huddled in your panic room wishing your answering machine tape was full while you hug a pillow and pray for daylight or the cops to come. But if I don’t receive a phone call back from you by 6am Wednesday morning I am no longer interested in hunting, I mean – I am no longer interested in pursuing you, I mean, pursuing a relationship with you. I’m extremely single for reasons I cannot fathom without years of psychological questioning, I’m very intelligent and can work out my own share of the cab fare while being modest. I’m great in bed – I can do almost 100 push-ups without dislodging the pillows or catching my toenails in the sheets, and I make great money at the photo-processing factory where I look at the happy faces of the families on holiday especially the wives with the long necks who look really elegant when you can see the jugular vein pressing against the exterior of the skin. I’ve only been single for 15 years – I had a long distance relationship for about 10 years with a woman who glanced at me when I was on day release from the compound, but it’s very tough to maintain that, especially when she changes her number, and address, and hair colour, and name, and when her parents have to go into hiding. There is nothing wrong with me that chemical castration cannot help. As a matter of scientific interest, I’m one of the few men in the city that has nothing wrong with him. There’s nothing wrong with me. There’s nothing wrong with me. I must repeat – there’s nothing wrong with me. My mother always said so – my pets would have died some day, anyway. So I’m giving you the 6am deadline. There’s nothing wrong with my watch. I have two watches. One is for the daytime and the other is for night only. There is nothing wrong with that. If I don’t hear any police sirens by 7am, you lose my number and forget I ever saw you passing by me in the subway and that I followed you to your place that day. My day watch timed your walk and told me you walk fast for someone with such an elegant neck. I’m erasing your number now, along with battery acid on my fingertips so I don’t leave any marks on this dumpster I’m hiding in. You won’t be hearing back from me. There is nothing wrong with me.

So that’s it. No cops by 7am (on my day watch), or you can just forget it. I don’t care about your neck because there’s nothing wrong with me.

I understand you have other issues, maybe you’re not playing games and the swat team was for real but I wasn’t home when they called well I was but I was hidden in the walls of my house trying not to giggle. Maybe you were bitten by a tiger when you were a little girl? Maybe your mother wasn’t like my mother who screamed at me every day I killed something slightly larger than the previous day. There is nothing wrong with me. Are you on medication? I used to be on medication but it made it difficult to look at all my watches at the same time and I couldn’t hear the voices coming from the basement and I felt alone. Maybe there’s another issue I’m not aware of? But nobody says “Go away”, runs down the street screaming and then doesn’t return calls. I love plastic sheeting. You should look that up – plastic sheeting, it’s really handy when you don’t want to ruin your mother’s carpets even though she can’t see the stains where she is now. You let me know, by just thinking your voice into my mind, if you’ve got issues, or if you’re on any medication for anxiety attacks while being stalked by someone you only glanced at on the subway. There’s nothing wrong with me. But if you’re psychologically normal like me – there’s nothing wrong with me – and you haven’t called me because something horrible happened in your life like all the neighbourhood cats disappearing then all the stuff that happened at the playground with Gemma, then if that’s preventing you from returning my phone calls or seeing me in the bushes across from your home, that’s fine. Don’t call me, Okay. Bye. But call me!

On Dick Cheney’s IM Conversation With An Oil-Rich Rogue State June 26, 2008

ShakySheik_77: Hi ther!
ShotgunDick128: Oh, hai! Age/size of oilfields/likes?
ShakySheik_77: 52. 600 million barrels, Xtina
ShotgunDick128: Kewl. System of government?
ShakySheik_77: Erratic, sometimes despotic, deeply religious when it suits us.
ShotgunDick128: Wow. That sounds hot.
ShakySheik_77: Thnx! My corrupt, extended family think so.
ShotgunDick128: So…whatcha wearing?
ShakySheik_77: Robes.
ShotgunDick128: Anything underneath?
ShakySheik_77: Contracts for arms suppliers, oil refineries.
ShotgunDick128: How big are they?
ShakySheik_77: They’re pretty big for my country’s age.
ShotgunDick128: mmmmmmm
ShakySheik_77: What you got there for me, big boy?
ShotgunDick128: Enormous armed forces, and a taste for oil.
ShakySheik_77: Wow. That sounds hot!
ShotgunDick128: So – you been invaded yet? Did you like it?
ShakySheik_77: Just once, years ago by some Brits. It was ok.
ShotgunDick128: Did it hurt?
ShakySheik_77: Just some of my people. No big deal.
ShotgunDick128: I’ve got a big deal here.
ShakySheik_77: Oh yeah? I like ’em big. How big is it?
ShotgunDick128: About 300 billion, uncut.
ShakySheik_77: Nice size. I prefer cut, though.
ShotgunDick128: Oh, you’ll get a real cut, believe me!
ShakySheik_77: LOL – I like the sound of that! Is it hard?
ShotgunDick128: No – me and some friends get together in secret…
ShakySheik_77: mmmmm
ShotgunDick128: We sell you billions in outdated weaponry…
ShakySheik_77: oh yes!
ShotgunDick128: Then my friends get together again, in secret..
ShakySheik_77: Hot!
ShotgunDick128: and make up some bullshit reason for invading you
ShakySheik_77: mmm – I’d love to be invaded for a whole weekend
ShotgunDick128: then roll over?
ShakySheik_77: Oh yes. Easily. I’d love you to rape my fields.
ShotgunDick128: mmmm
ShakySheik_77: Squeeze my barrels dry, drill me silly
ShotgunDick128: I’d love that!
ShakySheik_77: Pump me senseless, too. All day and night.
ShotgunDick128: I’m so up for that xoxoxoxox
ShakySheik_77: I’ve got a problem, though.
ShotgunDick128: Oh yeah? What’s that?
ShakySheik_77: My dad says we’re geopolitically unstable.
ShotgunDick128: What does he know?
ShakySheik_77: I KNOW!!!!1!!!
ShotgunDick128: Your country is old enough to make it’s own decisions.
ShakySheik_77: That’s what I keep saying to him. He’s such a dork.
ShotgunDick128: So, do you wanna meet sometime? Get a drink?
ShakySheik_77: I don’t drink. Have you got any hookers and cash?
ShotgunDick128: Got loads of them here. You got a Lear?
ShakySheik_77: Four of them.
ShotgunDick128: Kewl! Look, when we get together?
ShakySheik_77: Yes?
ShotgunDick128: Can I call you names – is that ok?
ShakySheik_77: Sure – I love kinky! Whatcha wanna call me?
ShotgunDick128: Is “part of the axis of evil” ok?
ShakySheik_77: mmmm – I like that. Makes me feel dirty.
ShotgunDick128: Me too! Love it!!!!
ShakySheik_77: Great! So, when you wanna hook up?
ShotgunDick128: How about September sometime? That ok?
ShakySheik_77: September sounds fine to me. Can I bring my family?
ShotgunDick128: Sure! I’ll bring some friends too!
ShakySheik_77: Do you like phone? Can I call you later?
ShotgunDick128: No probs. But don’t ask for Rummy. He’s out.
ShakySheik_77: Ok! Gotta go just now – beheadings, oppression stuff…
ShotgunDick128: I know! It never ends LOL – see you later xoxoxoxoxox
ShakySheik_77: Love you! xxx Bye
ShotgunDick128: Love you too x Bye

On Obtaining Actual News From Newsmedia June 23, 2008

Looking for actual news from newsmedia these days is akin to looking for allegories in toothpaste.

I have no idea what I mean by that. But it won’t stop me obtaining my geopolitical analysis from the grease stains on fast-food wrappers.

On What Michelle Obama Could Get Up To In The Whitehouse June 20, 2008

I heard that she’s going to open a salon for WOMEN ONLY in the West Wing and they’re going to wash hair and do nails in gaudy colours only fit for trailer parks and Applebees and that they’re going to dry the hair WITH THE FLAG that John McCain fought and died for back in Korea with Charlton Heston. In the BLACKHOUSE SALON they’ll laugh at WHITEY and poke fun at American heroes such as Rush Limbaugh and Sean Hannity and the air will be thick with comments about how small white d*cks are compared to black d*cks and they’ll be doing fist-jabs right after holding the fists up in the air like the Black Panthers only this time they’ll call it Black Cougars so no-one knows what they’re talking about and they’ll giggle and generally bring down the government by ignoring Nancy Pelosi when she asks them the time in the corridor and lobbyists will have to wear gold chains and sneakers and presidential limos will have to have spinning rims and 50 Cent will be seconded to the FDA to approve anything Nabisco says because Michelle’s uncle Daniel owns shares in most food companies, so tortilla chips will be banned almost immediately. And she’ll wear heels in the Oval Office and ruin the carpet that Ronald Reagan once drooled on to save America from the purple menace of Swedish interior design. And she’ll grow weed on the lawn, but super-strength weed that makes AMERICAN KIDS think about donuts in a sexual manner like they tried in Peru and look what happened there.

Hillary’s Drop-Out Email To Her Supporters June 5, 2008

“I wanted you to be one of the first to know the glaringly obvious, hence this impersonal email: on the day after Friday, more commonly known as “Saturday”, I will hold a special ceremony to thank everyone who has not supported my campaign enough. Over the course of the last 23 months, I have been touched by thousands of people, mostly around the hands and forearms, sometimes on my face or shoulders. I have witnessed the incredible dedication of my husband as he sacrificed whatever good feelings this country still had left for him for my campaign. Every minute he put into helping me win made him grow redder in the face, every dollar I gave to keep up the fight meant more to me than I can ever possibly tell you. I am privileged.

On “Saturday”, I will somehow extend my congratulations to Senator Fuckface and grudgingly support his candidacy. This has been a long, hard-fought and bitterly divisive campaign, but I have always said, my differences with Senator Fuckface are small compared to how much I wanted to win.

I have said throughout the campaign with my fingers-crossed that I would strongly support Senator Fuckface if he somehow became the Democratic Party’s nominee by some twist of fate or convoluted “more delegates” arithmetic, and I intend to have that promise dragged out of me like a kidney stone.

When I decided to run for President, I knew exactly why I was getting into this race: to work hard every day to become President.

I blame you – and everyone who supported me – I promise. I’m going to keep that promise today, tomorrow, and for the rest of my life.

I will be speaking on “Saturday” about how together we can have a rally and burn an effigy of Senator Fuckface. The stakes are quite high and the kindling too flammable to do otherwise.

I know as I continue my lifelong work for a stronger bank-balance and a better house, I will turn to you for the support, the cash, and the commitment that you have shown me in the past 37 months. And I will always keep faith with the issues and causes that are important to whatever the focus groups say.

In the past few days, you have shown that support once again with hundred of thousands of messages to the campaign all written in Terry McAuliffe’s handwriting, and again, I am touched by his thoughtfulness and kindness.

I can never possibly express my anger, so let me simply say, fuck you.”

On Rabid Hillary Fans Trash-Talking About The Obamas June 5, 2008

“i really hate it when he says america when we all know he means his own country of MUSLIM”

“michelle obamas feet look too big for her body i hate to think of those feet walking and slowly ruining the carpet in the oval office. her hell-heels will help hezbollah win mark my words”

“he keeps saying “AMERICA” all the time like he belongs here or something”

“He’s terrified of dogs I hear. He won’t last. Someone will bark during his campaign and he’ll duck and McCain will win. Hillary had a dog and maybe still has and she has him well-trained and he only barks at intruders at night!”

“Somewhere Ben and Jerry are celebrating.”

“There is a tape of Michelle Obama describing some pork as too salty. I hope it’s on CNN/CW/AMC by the weekend. Way to lose the pig-farmer vote you tasteless bitch!!!!”

“Where does this guy buy his suits? I hear he buys all his suits from an Iranian tailor named Beni Al-Hill. That tailor could be putting ANYTHING into those pockets, not to mention the seams.”