Category Archives: satire

Thincking Herts Yore Brane!!!

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Heer at Collidge we has Discuppered “that” Thincking “is” jist anether fourm “of” Racism,, and eevin Werse, it herts Yore Brane!!! So us at the Stodent Soviet we has past a roole that fromb Nhow on thare woont be No moar Thincking hear at collidge!!!!

And besydes,, us Interllecturals we dosnt has to Thinck at alll!! So we nevver do it!!! All we has got to Do is wattevver The Centrul Camitty thay says we got to Do!! This hear it “is” Reel Jenuwine Smartness becose “the” Party it is nevver Rong!!!!!

Our Stodent Soviet Party Bosss she toled us “how elss do yiu spose Trans Gender it got Inventid?? If peple was Thincking, it “nevver” woodve got Inventid!!! And that gose for Evvry Thing that “is”  “in” Socile Jutstus!! And” she sayed aslo “al that evver Got dun bye Thincking is jist ownly Opresstion and the Paytree Arky!!”

So we “are” goingto Ograniyze Antie Thincking Squawds to go al round “the” Campas to checke on peeple and Sea iff thay “are” Thincking and iff thay Are,, whel—whatch Out!!!!!! thay whill be sari!!

Reely this heer it Is Not teereny,, it “is” foar thare Own Good!!! Becose Settled Scyance it prooves that it dont taik That Mutch Thincking to putt Hoales in yore Brane!!! And then watt”s Lefted over it whil Fall Out!!! The good nooze is iff it All falls Out then yiu woont be Doing “no” Moar Thincking. Thiss is watt hapened to Addem Shift oncet and “he” been All Rihght evver Sincet!!!

Violet’s Fan Mail (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Rather than move on to the next chapter of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney–because she hasn’t gotten around to writing it–Violet Crepuscular has decided this week to share some of her fan mail. “I have decided, dear readers, to share some of the fan mail I’ve gotten from all over the world,” she explains. I thought I’d already said that.

From Brazzaville, Congo Republic: “You are as great a writer as Shakespeare, my dear Miss Crepuscular! I have therefor chosen you to help administer my $5 million inheritance! Please send me your credit card and social security numbers.”

From Bad Axe, Michigan: “I was going to drown myself in the bathtub, but I got so hooked on reading your epic romance that I forget to put my head under the water. I did get terribly wrinkly, but it was worth it!”

From Ongs Hat, New Jersey: “Where can I buy one of those wading pools like the vicar has? I have several neighbors that need to disappear.”

From Fimbo University: “Deer Mis Crapuckaller, Wee ‘are’ reeding yore boock in Nothing Studies and it is reely grate, axxept ‘thare’ is a lott of speling and grammer airers in it!!'”

From death row, Mount Doom State Prison: “Please keep writing! The governor says they won’t fix me up with Old Sparky until after I’ve finished reading Oy, Rodney.

From Arkham, Massachusetts: “They think they’ve got troubles in Scurveyshire? Hah! At least they haven’t got shoggoths crawling up and down the streets all night.”

From Reykjavik, Iceland: “Help! My husband has fallen madly in love with Lady Margo Cargo. I have half a mind to get an upholstered wooden leg myself, just to keep up with the competition. Meanwhile, do you have a recipe for salt cod with toothpaste?”

“Those are only a few of the fan letters I’ve received from readers all over the world,” writes Ms. Crepuscular. “And no, I don’t have a recipe for salt cod with toothpaste–but I will soon!”

A Horrabull Hait crime!!!

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Our hole Collidge “it” is in a Uprore to-day and whayt till i tel yiu Why,, yiu woont “beleave” It!!!

We has got a Statchoo of Pressadint Obamma on our campas and evry Boddy thay are sappozed to Bow down “to” it and sumtime Lasst Nihght some Biggit Hater thay putt one “of” Those MAGA hats on It!!!!!

Whell that persin thay has got “To” be burnted At “the” steak butt we didnt Know whoo didded it!! So we rote down the naimes “of” alll the Conserfatiffs and chrischins at the collidge and we has got a Girl she “looks” like Gretta Thunberg to ware a Blined Foled and pick “Out” the naime of the gillty Party and yiu can jist Immajin how axeyted we “wer” whenn we finded “out” “The” naime,, It was “Julia Child”!!!!!!

Now we doughnt know Whoo that “is” so to-nihght we “are” all goingto brake in to the Reggie-strar’s orfice and opin “up” The Fyles so we can Fined out whoo this it is and punnish her butt Good!!!

Som iddjit he sayed our Statchoo it is a Idle and a abombination butt he Stoped “saying” “that” wen we beet himb “Up” and maked himb go in to Sensertiffity Traning!!! and then we al bowded Down “to” the Statchoo and preyed!!!!

And that Julia Chiled she better run aweigh and not never Comb Back!!!

Dems Still Trying to Figure Out How to Talk to Regular People

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So simple, even Joe can do it

They were going to address this problem back in 2017, but somehow that didn’t quite get done. So now it’s 2020, with a presidential election looming, winner take all–and it really is time Democrats learned how to talk to Middle America and everybody else who didn’t vote for them in 2016.

Dr. Phyllis Mumbo, professor of Intersectional Marxist Feminism at Alger Hiss Online University, and a long-time consultant for the Socialists ‘R’ Us Society, is looking to round up Democrat presidential and senatorial candidates for a special conference.

“It’s vital to the Party that we all learn how to talk to those wretched people who don’t have sense enough to support our candidates,” she said. “We have to find a nice, winsome way of telling them, and making them understand, that they’re all deplorables, racists, haters, bigots, knuckle-draggers, and morons. They honestly don’t realize how bad they are!

“They have to be made to realize that they can instantly be redeemed from their habitual state of loathsomeness by the simple expedient of voting for Democrats! Even they ought to be able to see that!”

But how do you go about getting people to think you like them and respect them, when really you despise them? How do you get them to pony up for policies that they think are poison for them and for their country?

“We have to develop enough discipline so that we can pretend that we don’t hate them,” Dr. Mumbo said. “We have to understand that unless we can actually get our people elected, we can do nothing. Winning elections–that comes first! And if we have to hold our noses and cozy up to these deplorable racist voters, and say things we absolutely don’t believe but that these stupid Bible thumpers want to hear–well, then, we do it! And once we’re safely in office, we can stop doing it.”

And so, she added, “Just get into the habit of saying a few things that will fool them into thinking that you’re on their side. ‘America already is great.’ ‘I love Christmas.’ ‘White people really aren’t all that awful.’ ‘Gee, I sure would like a beer!’ Stuff like that. Practice in front of a mirror. We’ll have our conference and say those things together.”

She smiles mischievously. “And then,” she adds, “after we win the White House and the Senate… it’s payback time!”

The First Horseless Carriage (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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In Chapter CCCXL of Violet Crepuscular’s epic romance, Oy, Rodney, the mad genius of Scurveyshire, Lord Devius Scrumble, Baronet, has been released from custody to demonstrate his “Horseless Carriage,” which he has secretly constructed out of uneaten scraps of food and bits of wood and iron smuggled into his cell by the vicar, over whom he wields some inexplicable power. The project took all of six years to complete.

“Just let me out of here for one day,” he declares to Lord Jeremy Coldsore, “and I’ll sign over to you half the profits from my Horseless Carriage!” Desperate for money, Lord Jeremy agrees: as justice of the peace, he has the authority to furlough the not-quite-with-it baronet.

Unveiling his carriage on the village common, right next to the statue of a gigantic mouse, erected to commemorate some event in Scurveyshire’s history that nobody remembers, Lord Devius creates a sensation. What kind of sensation, we are not told.

“Well, it’s a carriage, I guess,” remarks the American adventurer Willis Twombley, “and there ain’t no horse to pull it; but I’ll be darned if I can see how it goes.” It has wheels, a frame, and a steering rudder, but not much more.

“Behold! The Twentieth Century has come to Scurveyshire!” exults the baronet. The year being 1869, no one is quite sure what he means.

He climbs into the carriage and, wonder of wonders, it takes off at high speed. The crowd oohs and aahs, but Twombley is unimpressed. “It’s only goin’ anywhere because he’s runnin’ with it,” Twombley observes. “He’s doin’ the horse’s job! What kinda stupid invention is that?” Culturally aware readers will immediately recall The Flintstones: it is, for all practical purposes, a Flintstone car.

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Powered by the driver’s own legs and feet–might as well walk! But Lord Devius Scrumble is a very fast and powerful runner, and before anyone can stop him, he makes his escape. Lord Jeremy comes in for some criticism for that.

“Imagine the whole shire’s consternation,” concludes Ms. Crepuscular, “when the Horseless Carriage attempts to pass the vicar’s backyard wading pool and is quickly pulled under by enormous tentacles, never to be seen again.”

How she can expect to win a Pulitzer Prize for this defies the imagination.


I has Seed ‘The’ Fewture!!!

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I amb so “sick” Of al this hear Chrismiss meusick it “Is” Racist!!and yiu jist cant “get” Aweigh fromb it!!!! even hear At collidge!! So i done a Pro Test,, i puntched A snoman!!! and sum boddy he Seen me and assked watts “The” mater so i Toleded him and he sayed “”Wat yiu neeed “is” to vizzit the Fewture,” becose “in” “The” “Fewture thare woont be no Chrismiss and no relijjin ether!” Whell how wil i doo “that”? i assked and he sayed Comb on, “Isle show yiu!!”

He haved this hear grate Big cradbored Bocks whith lotsa diels on it and he sayed “this hear it “is” my Time Masheen it can taik yiu intwo The Fewture and i amb lookin four sumboddy to tesst It!!” Al yiu has to do is get in-side and then he “willl” tern it On and yiu wil comb out In The Fewture!! So i got in-side and he “cloased” it and sayed “”Hear Gose!!!!!”

Affter a wile he oapinned it Agen and sayed “Now comb out,, Yiu are In the Fewture!!”

Whel i caime out and evry Thing it loocked the saime butt he sayed nevver mined that,, “My Masheen it reely works!!! Lookit my whatch! My Masheen it brung yiu fyve 5 minnits intwo The Fewture!!”” Butt that was tuff four me becose i cutt that coarse on how to tel Time on a whatch and the diels on the masheen they warnt no good ether and i sayed “Dint yiu just drawed themb On the bocks whith a Crayon or sumthing?!?” butt he sayed yiu has to draw themb ottherwhys thay whil jist “Fall Off” wile yiu are Travellling “thoruoghh” Time!!! “that is whye nun of themb otther Time Masheens thay nevver combed back!!””

I whanted to know can “this” Masheen taik me yeers and yeers intwo The Fewture whith Yewtopier and no moar Relijin and he sayed Of “corse it Can, yiu jist got to stay Inside “it” fore yeers and yeers” and i assked butt woont I “get” oaled??? Bhut “that” it is “one of” The Riskes of Time Travvle!!!!

I thinck i beter thinck this ohver fore a Wile!!!


Robot Equipped with AI Hunts Witches

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(Note: I have consulted the highest authority available before posting this. The fact that he has not gotten around to answering is immaterial and irrelevant. So there.)

Dr. Miggle Windsock is reputed to be the most able computer programmer in the world. He also believes in witches. “These evil creatures, who have supernatural powers, are responsible for most of the things that go wrong in most people’s lives,” he says. “All a witch has to do is cast a spell, and your blind date turns out to be a disaster.”

And so he has done something about it–created a robot equipped with Artificial Intelligence for identifying witches, no matter how impenetrable their various disguises might be to ordinary people. “They can run,” he says, “but they can’t hide.”

Sorting out a plethora of clues according to some 300 subtle parameters–gee, I like the sound of that! Don’t you?–Dr. Windsock’s robot has already unmasked several dozen witches disguised as Wal-Mart greeters, crossing guards, real estate agents, and even a professional baseball player.

“Just letting people know who they are takes away a lot of their power,” says Dr. Windsock. “But the really indispensable step is political: the government has to re-criminalize the practice of witchcraft. That’ll be difficult, because there are so many witches currently in Congress and state legislatures. I don’t need my robot to identify them!”

But the success of the robot, Dr. Windsock says, proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that Artificial Intelligence “is a thing,” that it doesn’t depend on the mind-set or the intelligence of the programmer, and that anyone who questions it “is probably a witch, too, and needs to be dealt with accordingly.”

The Mad Genius of Scurveyshire (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Striving mightily to get her story back on track, Violet Crepuscular plunges into Chapter CCCXXXIX of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney.

At his wit’s end, with his marriage to Lady Margo Cargo still hanging fire (“I am not sure exactly what that means,” Ms. Crepuscular admits), Lord Jeremy Coldsore is desperate for good advice. His boon companion, the American adventurer Willis Twombley, gives him some.

“What about that guy who they locked up for bein’ flat-out crazy, Germy?” Twombley says. “Betcha he can help.”

The man in question is Lord Devius Scrumble, Baronet, who has been locked up for his insane prediction that there will one day be horseless carriages that run on internal combustion engines. As a peer of the realm, he has been locked up at home and is allowed to receive visitors. Jeremy and Twombley go to see him.

Before they can present their problem to him, Lord Devius insists on telling them all about his new invention.

“Once every man in England has his own horseless carriage,” says the mad baronet, “they will all need parking space and there will never be quite enough space to go around. I have therefore invented The Parking Meter. Installed at regular intervals along the streets of all our towns and cities, these devices will ensure that no one just parks his horseless carriage in front of a shop and leaves it there. The Parking Meter, upon the deposition of a penny into this slot, will measure the time; and each horseless carriage that is parked in that space will not be allowed to exceed the time paid for. Thus there will always be spaces that are about to become available, and the towns will acquire a steady source of revenue.”

Lord Jeremy wonders, “What’s so daft about that? It sounds like a good idea.” But Twombley asks, “How much time does your penny buy you, ol’ hoss?”

Lord Devius draws himself up to his full height of three feet, seventeen inches, and proudly replies, “Four seconds, man! Four seconds! If you need another four seconds, you have to put another penny in. This will revolutionize England’s urban life!” He then breaks into uncontrollable laughter.

“The moral of the story,” adds Ms. Crepuscular, “is, ‘Shop fast!'”

Its Grate!! “My Bad’ Theollajy!!!

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So I goed to “a” Sirman tooday!! We was goingto showt and Protets and throe stufff at this Guy, some Revrind Somebody,, but he disstracked us “whith” a Puppet and he like maid the Puppit givve the Sirman and neckst thing yiu “Knew,, we was al lissining!!! And yiu know watt? It was grate!!

Things has chainged up thare in Hevven the Puppit he sayed!! Big huge chainges!!! And al becose a Lot of Collidge Prefessers thay has dyed and goed to Hevven and thay has teetched God a lot Of “new” things!! And nhow he knows he was Rong abote evry thing and he is sari for al themb Misstaiks he maid!!!

This hear it is caled My Bad Theollajy becose nhow God he is saying “My Bad!! i was rong! Nhow i has bin edducated and evry Thing “it” is goingto be Diffrint!!”” and aslo yiu mite as whel get ridd Of “the” Byble becose it is Rong tooo!!!!!!

So nhow thare woont be no moar Chrischins aloud To go to Hevven and al those things “the” Byble toled yiu was Rong, nhow thay are rihght and al themb things it toled yiu was Rihght, nhow thay are Rong!!!!! And al becose thare is so menny Interllecturals in Hevven nhow and “thay” “are” goingto Straiten Hevven Out jist like thay wil Straiten Out the hole Whorld as sooon as ordrinary dum peple thay “reelyze” how dum thay “are” and Start doing watt “us” Interrlecturals we tel themb “To” do!!!!!!

The Puppit he sayed “this hear it is watt We caul being On “the” Rihght Syde of Histry!!!!”! “and nhow God he unnerstans It tooo!!!

And then sumboddy he sayed “Whel watt abuot thare is being No Sutch Person as God?”” but the Puppit he sayed Dontchu wherry abote that,, becose nhow Hevven it is fulll of a lott of Goddisses that wasnt thare befour and aslo a lot of Prefessers and Union Bosses and Demacrats whoo becomed gods too as sooon “as” thay got Thare!!! “Whoo knows?? mayby some Of yiu, yiu wil aslo be gods!!!”

And that it is watt I “caul” Reel Relijin!!!

Constable Chumley’s Pets (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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In Chapter CCCXXXVIII of Violet Crepuscular’s epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Constable Chumley is seen walking two baboons, on leashes, up and down on Scurveyshire’s High Street.

The baboons’ names are Fritzy and Bitzy and are a gift from the constable’s long-lost millionaire cousin, Sir Henry Blithering. Sir Henry has gotten rid of them because they tend to attack people, dogs, horses, and shade trees. Constable Chumley explains, “Thim’s fair throckin’ ye timbrith.”

In no time at all Lord Jeremy Coldsore, as justice of the peace, is snowed under with frantic demands to get rid of the baboons. He is sympathetic to those demands, having been severely bitten in the leg by Fritzy and pushed into a water-trough by Bitzy.

“Really, old boy, this won’t do!” he exclaims to the now-crestfallen constable. “I don’t often get the opportunity to describe anyone as ‘crestfallen,'” Ms. Crepuscular confides to the reader. “It’s quite exhilarating! And there’s another wonderful word that’s seldom published nowadays.”

Chumley has grown quite fond of the baboons, although they have bitten him innumerable times (“You should see all the bandages!”) and he has to lock them in the pantry overnight, or they will finish him off in his sleep. “Us medderin’ gree frath,” he answers Lord Jeremy. A tear trickles from his eye.

“Can’t you donate them to the circus?” Jeremy pleads. The suggestion reduces the constable to a sobbing fit, during which the baboons tear their leashes out of his hands and race off into the sunset. For the next four years they terrorize anyone foolhardy enough to try to pass through Plaguesby Wood.

“None of this is gettin’ us hitched to Lady Margo, Germy ol’ hoss,” remarks the American adventurer, Willis Twombley. Lady Margo thinks he and Lord Jeremy are the same person.

“I will end the chapter here,” writes Ms. Crepuscular, “to heighten the suspense. But now it’s time for a cherry Coke with Frothee!”

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