Category Archives: satire

The Birth of Civilization

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How did civilization start? Professors of Nothing Studies at Fimbo University think they know.

“Originally,” says department head Hugh Betcha, Ph. D., “all human beings were transgendered. That goes hand in glove with the highest levels of civilization, just as we see today. So it was that, 300 million years ago, the world’s first human civilization was populated entirely by the transgendered persons who had invented it.”

What is the evidence for this?

“Physical evidence has not survived,” says the professor, “but we can interpolate current socioeconomic trends and sort of ‘reverse-engineer’ our lost history. We also find non-physical evidence in the myths and legends of the Tasaday, the Stone Age tribe in the Philippines that has remained pure and untouched by the rest of the world for 50 million years.

“Finally, if you’re as smart as we are and you concentrate real, real hard, you will eventually intuit accurate visions of the great Transgender Age. All that ‘Male and Female’ stuff didn’t come along until much, much later–a mere 250 years ago! And it was invented by capitalists, so you know it’s bad.”

A bachelor’s degree in Nothing Studies from Fimbo University takes a mere 32 semesters to acquire, at an average cost of $30,000 per semester. “But don’t worry about the cost!” says Professor Betcha. “After all, you can always get a student loan!”


Unimaginable Peril (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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In Chapter CCXLVII of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Violet Crepuscular confesses that she has been having difficulty imagining an unimaginable peril of any kind.

“Last night,” she confides in her readers, “I had a most unsettling dream in which I was walking, with a man who worked for the gas company, over an endless field of light bulbs which burst under our feet. I woke in a cold sweat; and that very morning, the light bulb in my writing lamp expired with a loud pop! It took me half the day to put in a new one. This is why I have had so much trouble describing the unimaginable peril under the vicar’s backyard wading pool.”

Moving on to Chapter CCXLVIII, Ms. Crepuscular dodges the issue by writing a flashback of Lady Margo’s fifth birthday party. It is hoped that she remembers that she has stranded Lady Margo somewhere in another dimension–or wherever it is you go to, under the pool.

“It’s such a lovely birthday cake, Mummy!” squeals the delighted little girl.

“Don’t call me ‘Mummy,’ Margo. A mummy is a dried-up Egyptian cadaver. You must learn to speak as befits our class. ‘Mater’ is the preferred form of address.”

Margo’s father, Lord Fopwell, an amateur entomologist of some standing, gives his daughter an unexpected birthday present: a jar full of newly-hatched mantises, tiny little things prowling around in search of prey. As soon as she unwraps her present, little Margo screams and drops the jar. Tiny mantises are all over the floor. Mater screams and runs outside.

Here we are interrupted by an angry reader who demands, “What the devil is this? Where is the unimaginable peril?”

I try to soothe him. “I’m sure Ms. Crepuscular will get to it in the next chapter. Look, she even says so, right here in this footnote: ‘I promise to take up the matter of the unimaginable peril in my next chapter, once I am over my disquieting experience with the light bulbs.'” The reader’s wrath subsides.


Studdyin Femmanist Jograffy!

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Boy is Collidge hard some times!! it is “using” Up “all” my Brane Powwer!

I sined up for a coarse In Femmanist Jograffy becose i am “taking” al themb Moth Hoarmoans to make me Into A Wimmin and than i Whill Be a reel Femmanist but it is sooo “hard” becose now thay are Moving “all the plaices” aruond to Other Plaices!!!

Like Jepan for instants! Jepan it is in Ohio butt now i has to lern it is Somware Elsse!!! In Femmanist Jograffy now Jepan it is in Arrazona and Arrazona thay moved It to Affricka!! This hear it is dun becose of Femmanist Apissta-Mollajy and yiu has to be Inter-Sexional to unnerstand Waht “that” “meens”!!! My hedd it is pownding!!

The Prefesser she tolled us yiu has “got to” go Beeyond Gender and i gess i Whas Rong becose i dint Know “thare” was a Beeyond Gender ennything!!

Evin Wurst! That thare coarse in Femmanist Jograffy it “costs” a Extra $Thowsend Dolars pur Samester and yiu “know” i hasnt got that kyned of Muney!!!!! so i has got to Pay by “beeing” “the prefesser’s Serphent!! i has to Go to her Appartamint and whash disshes and vacume and duo her lawndry and ohboy i dont “Know How” to fix lawndry and her cloths thay Came Out all torn and derty whith Goofy Colores i dont know “watt” she is goingto Say wen she fines Out!!! So i had had to Hyde themb clothes Under the Bedd and hoap she dont See “themb”!! and aslo i kep getting The “whashing masheen mixed” up whith the Stoave and then there whas a reely bad Fyre!!! lucky four me she wasnt hoam!!! Wauter wauter evryware,, bye the Time i “put” it out!! Butt usully she is Hihgh on somthing so she dont “knotice” a Lot of things!!!

Anyboddy whoo thinks “being” a Interllectural it is Eazy, thay are krazy!!!!!!


An Instant Solution to Illegal Immigration Problem! (Speaking of Scams…)

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A spokesperson for the newly formed Moderate Senators for Moderate Things Caucus has revealed the Senate group’s plan for an instantaneous solution to America’s problem with illegal immigration.

Known only as “Spokesperson,” the spokesperson explained how the senators’ plan would solve the problem “overnight.”

“The president wants a border wall–right?” he (or she) said. “Well, we’ll give him one! All he’s got to do in return is promise, as soon as he gets it, to sign a bill granting full and immediate amnesty to all the undocumented migrants who are here. Presto! They’re now here legally! No more illegals!”

Spokesperson declined to identify the senators who have joined the Moderate Senators for Moderate Things Caucus, who have taken to wearing paper bags over their heads. “They don’t want the voters in their home states to overreact,” she (or he) (or xe) explained. “They understand that their constituents just aren’t smart enough to appreciate how great this will be for our country. Give them  forty or fifty years and they’ll come around.”

“For one thing,” he added, “the cost of labor will plummet, with all these former illegals added to the workforce. Our donors love that! And American workers will love it, too, once they adjust to being unemployed.

“Heck, we’re only talking about giving amnesty to, oh, ten to twenty million people. And whatever free stuff they’ll need from the government for a generation or two.

“Honest, this plan just can’t miss!”

Meanwhile, said Spokesperson, the border wall, if built, would keep another ten or twenty million from coming in and getting amnesty.

“Sure, we’ll fund the wall, just as soon as the amnesty has gone into effect. You have our word on it! We’re sure the president knows he can trust us! And America can trust us, too!”

President Donald Trump’s response has been censored by the nooze and social media.


So What Is an ‘Adult’?

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How come it’s so easy for frogs, but not for people?

Some of our great colleges and looniversities are trying to find out what an “adult” is (https://www.campusreform.org/?ID=11710). Nobody seems to know. There appears to be a lot of tension. At what point, exactly, does one become an “adult”? And how do you get out of it?

Is it when you can drink adult beverages and watch adult movies?

“You know, that’s a pretty good answer!” says Dr. Emmet Landfill, department head of Nothing Studies at Wrongful Death University. “If they sell you the booze and let you in to see the movie, you’ve made it!”

But other academics, equally learned and wise, disagree.

“At no point in life does any human person ever become an adult!” asserts Professor Gertrude Windex, dean of fuzzy puppies at East Pakistan Teachers College. “For pete’s sake, why do you think we’ve invented the term, adulting? Adulting is a process, man! Like a Monopoly board with an infinite number of squares! And anyone who says otherwise should be expelled!”

So no one agrees. In fact, the only thing the the professors all agree upon is that everyone should go to college and stay there for as long as possible.


‘Rent-a-Gay to the Rescue’ (2015)

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It’s tiresome to be called a Nazi, Hater, Biggit, White Supremacist, etc., every time you voice a conservative opinion. It’s getting to look like you’ll have to choose between preserving your integrity and preserving your sanity.

If you’re in that bind, you need Rent-a-Gay!

https://leeduigon.com/2015/04/04/rent-a-gay-to-the-rescue/

It’s wonderful the way your troubles with the PC crowd melt away if you can trot out a “gay friend.”

The fact that this doesn’t work should not deter you. A lot of the things that we pay for, don’t work.


The Search Party (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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In Chapter CCXLIV of Violet Crepuscular’s epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Lady Margo Cargo mysteriously disappears on her way to her wedding to Lord Jeremy Coldsore. In Chapter CCXLV, Ms. Crepuscular devotes 40 pages to the replacement of the light bulb that burned out while she was writing. This is high literary art, if you like that sort of thing.

In Chapter CCXLVI, the American adventurer Willis Twombley suggests forming a search party. “It ought to be pretty easy to track down an old lady with a wooden leg,” he says. Lord Jeremy does not like to hear his bride described as an old lady with a wooden leg, but he lets it slide. And Sardanapalus Tingleworth, the man with one buttock who has been blamed for all this, volunteers to lead the party. This persuades Lord Jeremy not to have him executed on the spot. Scurveyshire’s local hangman, Will Slopp, is disappointed.

Lady Margo’s trail leads from her lavish country house to the vicar’s back yard and peters out a few yards from the vicar’s wading pool. This is where Crusty the Butler found Lady Margo’s upholstered wooden leg. It is evident to all that Lady Margo has been sucked under the wading pool.

Twombley checks his revolver to make sure it’s loaded. “We gotta follow her under the pool if we want to get her back,” he says.

One by one, the members of the search party suddenly remember important errands that they have to do, make excuses, and leave. Soon it’s only Lord Jeremy, Twombley, Crusty, and Mr. Tingleworth standing in front of the pool.

“I don’t like that name, ‘Sardanapalus,'” says Twombley. “It sounds like an Assyrian name. Maybe I better just shoot this varmint.”

“Please, sir! It’s not an Assyrian name at all!” cries Tingleworth. “Besides, I volunteer to search for Lady Margo under the pool.”

No sooner does he say this than a huge, slimy, black-and-blue tentacle shoots out, lashes itself around Crusty’s legs, and whisks him under the pool.

“I am running out of patience with the vicar’s hemming and hawing about getting rid of this blasted pool!” declares Lord Jeremy. In his heart of hearts, he is reluctant to follow Lady Margo and her butler into unimaginable peril.

“And here I must end the chapter,” writes Violet Crepuscular, “or I won’t have anything to write about in Chapter CCXLVII.” We suspect she has not yet decided how to imagine an unimaginable peril.


Our New Yeer’s rezzalutoins!!

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Whell, jist in Time,, i joyned our collidge’s Pro Choyce Cacas! and thay has gived Us “alll” a liszt of New Yeer’s Rezzalutoins!! The Pro Choyce Cacas thay maded al Our “choyces” fore us,; how grate is that??? Al wee has to do Is “obay” themb!!!

And hear thay are!

We Rezolfe to whare only “the” Cloathes the Cacas says we “has” got to whare Evry Day!!

We Rezolfes to reed “The” Handmade’s Tail over and ovar agin and keap Reeding it so we know “it bye” hart!!

We rezolfes to get Inta Canfrontaycions whith christins and conserfatiffs Evry Day and keap Doingit “untill” thay Minds thay are rihght!!!

We rezolfes to go to Bed evry Nihght wen the Cacas say we shuld!

We rezolfe only “to” use themb brandnew Pro Nouns that the Cacas thay has jist maded Up,: like Gzee and Gzaa and Gzuu and Lunnabunna and a “lot of” Others,, i has not yett Bin Abel to memberyze themb alll, “thay are” for al the New Genders that has got “to be” Re-speckted!!! Al themb Old Pro Nouns thay “are” Trans Foabbick!!

Aslo we has got to say “the” F Bomb at leest Oncet in evry sentints becose this hear it Willl aleavvyate globbal Povverte and Sex Ism!! I all reddy started Doingit but that stopid lee he is “goingto” deeleet al my F Balms!! [Editor’s note: You got that right, Joe.]

And aslo tooo we Rezolfe to Hate all the hatters and biggits That are “arond” hear on the Campas and to Hate themb “until” thay jist Drop Dedd!!!!!

So thoze thay are all “The” Rezzalutoins that The Pro Choyce Cacas thay has choze for us!!


You May Have a Future as Compost!

(Thanks to Phoebe for the news tip.)

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Today, fertilizer… tomorrow… lunch?

For untold thousands of years, people have been trying to decide what to do with dead bodies. Eight thousand years ago at Catal Huyuk, they kept the dear departed under the clay floors of their homes. Today we’ve got embalming and burial, or cremation–

And the Urban Death Project. Does that name give you the creeps? It gives me the creeps. Anyway, they’re experimenting with the feasibility of turning human bodies into compost (https://www.nytimes.com/2015/04/14/science/a-project-to-turn-corpses-into-compost.html). Saving the planet, don’t you know.

Decent people in all times and places show respect for the dead. They may have many different ways of doing it, some of them radically and unnervingly different, but the motivation is the same. I’m just not sure of the motivation of this bunch of Urban Death Project characters out in Seattle.

Flash! Just In!

Inspired by the work of the Urban Death Project, and virtually overnight, Fimbo University has created a Compost Studies degree program. After a mere eight years in the program, graduates will be fully qualified to serve as compost. “They’ll be able to fertilize anything!” exclaims the first chair of the new Department of Death Studies (who really is a chair, by the way: an actual piece of furniture). “At one fell swoop, the whole looming problem of perpetual unemployment is wiped from the board!”

Higher education marches on!


The Man with One Buttock (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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In Chapter CCXLIV, or somewhere, of Violet Crepuscular’s epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Lady Margo Cargo finds herself sitting in the midst of a dense stand of bulrushes. Her upholstered wooden leg is missing. She does not know how she got there. All she can remember is taking a shortcut through the vicar’s back yard on the way to her wedding, suddenly feeling dizzy–and now she’s here, wherever here is. And somewhere in the distance, an unpleasant nasal voice is singing “It Isn’t Monday Anymore,” the same line repeated over and over again.

“I shall be late for my wedding!” she exclaims.

Meanwhile the disappointed groom, Lord Jeremy Coldsore, orders the arrest of the man with only one buttock, whose appearance at the wedding, contrary to the warning by the Wise Woman of the Woods, has brought a curse upon what should have been a festive occasion. The man with one buttock, who hadn’t meant any harm and only stopped by to see what was happening, tries to escape; but with only one buttock it is difficult to get up any speed. Constable Chumley collars him and drags him back to the scene of the unintended crime.

“Yare’s a fritten poor zeedem,” explains the constable.

Taxed beyond his powers of emotional endurance, Lord Jeremy, in his capacity as Scurveyshire’s justice of the peace, is in no mood to be merciful.

“What’s your name, villain?” he growls.

“An’ it please your honor, sir, I’m Sardanapalus Tingleworth, sir–and I didn’t mean no harm!”

“Sophistry won’t save you, rogue! I sentence you to death! Sentence to be carried out immediately!”

“Oh, I say!” interjects the vicar. “That’s a bit harsh, what?”

But here the chapter breaks off. Ms. Crepuscular’s one light bulb, she informs her readers, has unexpectedly given up the ghost. She is already having second thoughts about naming one of her characters Sardanapalus. It is bound to offend the American best man, Willis Twombley, who already has an itchy trigger finger.


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