Category Archives: satire

The Effects of Eating Food Left Over from the Third Crusade (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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As we plod wearily into Chapter CCCLXVIII of Violet Crepuscular’s epic romance, Oy, Rodney, we discover that Black Rodney, the medieval sorcerer who vexes all of Scurveyshire, has again been up to mischief.

“Dear reader,” Ms. Crepuscular begins, “you have doubtless been wondering how the aristocratic thief, Sir Robin Banks, has managed to subsist on provisions left over from the Third Crusade. Permit me to elucidate.” We love it when she does that.

Most food left over from the Third Crusade, she explains, is no longer edible some 600 years later. But sorcery can make it so–up to a point. “And we all know Black Rodney’s favorite target for his spells and hoodoos is Coldsore Hall.”

Now that he has escaped from the antique cedar chest which only has three sides, and consumed all the antique victuals  that have been stored in that room since before the Magna Carta was written, Sir Robin has begun to have thoughts that should not occur to any aristocratic thief at any time.

“I shall emerge from this, my hiding place,” Sir Robin cogitates, “and proclaim a new Crusade! Iceland must be liberated from the Saracens!” History has never been his strong suit. He is much more well-versed in gluttony and drunkenness.

He slams open the door to his hiding place and races up and down confusing corridors until at least he finds an open-air balcony overlooking Coldsore Hall’s scenic driveway and beautifully manicured front lawn. To his delight, he finds an audience already waiting for him. He does not know they have assembled to demand a lower price of ale at The Lying Tart.

“Friends, Romans, countrymen–lend me your ears!” he bellows. This succeeds in gaining the crowd’s undivided attention. In fact, there happens to be a genuine Roman in the throng, one Massimo Jidrool, who thinks the speech is meant especially for him.

“I have come to proclaim the liberation of Iceland from the Saracens! And I–” here he has just enough sanity left to remember that he is wanted for a whole cornucopia of poorly executed crimes: he needs an alias, big-time–“I, Lord Henry de Swivenham, shall lead you!”

Immediately someone down below shouts, “It’s Sir Robin Banks, the aristocratic thief! Get him!”

With a roar like fifty locomotives giving birth to sixty marching bands, the crowd streams into Coldsore Hall, brandishing pitchforks and torches–

“And here, dear reader, I must break off the chapter,” Ms. Crepuscular writes. “I tried a bowl of Mrs. Skinnard’s Baseball Innards, and it has disagreed with me.”


‘Centaur Sighting: Bunion, NJ’ (2017)

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It was three years ago that a centaur snatched a woman’s purse on the outskirts of Bunion, New Jersey.

Centaur Sighting: Bunion, NJ

They still haven’t solved the crime, although they did arrest a centaur last week for not wearing a face mask.

People are now afraid to take shortcuts through the woods around Bunion.


‘Are’ yiu Hungary For Sporets??

Image Of Old Used Baseball

Things thay “are” geting kindof harred hear At collidge becose we Are “Runing” Out “of” food!! i doughnt know whye,, thare jist Isnt no Foood combing in! it stoped groing Or sombthing!!

We aslo hasnt Got “no” sporets becose Of “the” Corny Vyris evvrything it “Is” alll shut Down. Whell!!! The Base Ball teem thay “are” “not” playing any Base Ball and so no boddy thay are Using the ballls and every boddy thay are saying “wee “Are” Hungary fore Base Ball we whant Base Ball!!!

Neckst thing We “knowed,” this hear Laydy Mrs. Skinnard she combed up “whith” Food!! She muts be “a” Jeaniuss!!!! Yiu know whatt she didded??? She maided Steuw out “of” themb Base Balls, she maided Base Ball Steuw!!! and she Evin has got “a” Slowgin,, “”Are Yiu Hungary fore Base Ball?? Trye Mrs. Skinnard’s Innards”!!” Becose it “is” The Innards of themb Base Balls that “Are” In “the” steuw fore yiu To eet!!!!!!! It is kindof Stringie becose thay are Lotts of String in a Base Ball butt iff yiu puts lotts “Of” Sault in it then It doughnt tayst So Bad!!!! She sayed she tryed to “use” “the” Base Ball Covers tooo but “thay” whir tooo Harred to choo and Swallow!!!!

Then wee tryed to ficks the Statchoo “of” Pressadint Obomma it broak wen we puled “it” daown that Was “a” Mis-Steak and then his Hed it fell offf and we coodnt Gloo “it” back so we maided a new Hed out “of” A “punkin” and that is probbly Wye “our Foood” it stoped groing!!!!! Wel, at leest nhow we “got” Mrs. Skinnard’s Innards we can eet!!!!


NFL to Play ‘Black National Anthem’: Illegals Object

NFL protest proves Americans stuck on stupid - San Antonio Express ...

You mean this league hasn’t gone backrupt yet?

The suppurating mass of culture rot that is the National Football League has announced its plan to play “the Black [suddenly it requires a capital B] national anthem” before each and every game when the season opens Sept. 10 (https://www.espn.com/nfl/story/_/id/29401000/nfl-plans-play-black-national-anthem-week-1-games). And other Minorities are already complaining.

“How come they get their own national anthem, and we don’t?” said Jose Antonio Schmo, president of Undocumented Immigrants Waiting for Free Stuff. “What’s so special about blacks? We demand they play our national anthem, too!”

“What? No Gay and Lesbian national anthem?” cried Smarty Marty Zilch, last year’s director of “Bottoms Up.” He was answered by a spokes-whatever from the Transgender Activist Coalition: “If your national anthem gets played, ours gets played, too!

Similar remarks have been made by groups representing Native Americans, fat people, vegans, convicted felons, and the dead. They all want their own national anthems played before the football game.

But the biggest minority group of all has not only not been represented, but hasn’t even asked to be represented, much less demanded it.

“We just do what we’re told,” said an unidentified spokesjellyfish for Spineless Cowardly Americans Inc. “Don’t even bother to tell us what you want–we’ve already surrendered.”


No More Columbus, Ohio

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Ms. Authentic, Makes Hiawatha Look Like a Greek

Goodbye, Columbus! No, no, not the movie–I mean, really, goodbye, Columbus, Ohio.

To appease assorted Far Left weirdos, the city of Columbus has voted to change its name to Clan Mother Elizabeth Warren Community, in recognition of the Massachusetts Senator’s fantastic claim to be a Native American. The DNA test says she’s wrong, but you know how they lie. The DNA test says world chess champ Magnus Carlsen, born and bred in Norway, has more Native American blood than Elizabeth Warren. Just goes to show you how racist those tests are.

The Columbus City Council has also voted to change the names of all the streets in the city, followed by a mandatory name change for each resident. Every new name must somehow “convey praise for Native Americans,” explained City Manager Native Americans Invented The Internet (formally Hiram Plotnick).

All monuments in the city will be removed, he added, and replaced by states of Elizabeth Warren. The City Council has hailed her as “Ms. Authentic, the Real Deal, makes Hiawatha look like a Greek.”

The Columbus Clippers Triple-A baseball team will now be the Clan Mother Elizabeth Warren Community Clippers. “It has a certain ring to it,” said third base coach Smokey Malone, just before shooting himself.


The Whole Thing Freaks Out (‘Oy, Rodney’)

Image result for images of english country houses

This is not Coldsore Hall, but it will have to do.

You will have noticed that there is no picture here. Ms. Crepuscular’s computer doesn’t work either. It must be related to mine.

Anyhow, introducing Chapter CCCLXVII–no, I have no idea what happened to Chapter CCCLXVI–of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Violet Crepuscular seems to be as confused as I am.

“What a mess those literary critics made of my front yard!” she writes. “I was all day picking up the stones and brickbats. But if they think they can stop me from producing the rest of my epic romance–well, fap! to them. Literature marches on!”

The chapter opens with Sir Robin Banks, the aristocratic thief, back on his feet in the middle of his hideout in an unused wing of Coldsore Hall. How did he get out of the cedar chest, after he’d locked himself in? “I am not going to write Chapter CCCLXVI all over again,” Ms. Crepuscular declares. “Suffice it to say there was a side missing from the chest. The fifth Earl Coldsore, Lord Pratt, acquired this chest from a shady antiques dealer in Cyprus when he went on the Third Crusade and brought it back to Scurveyshire with him when Richard the Lionheart kicked him out of the army for persistent cowardice. Lord Pratt carried the massive chest all the way across medieval Europe–only to discover, upon his return after an incredibly hazardous Channel crossing, that he had somehow lost one of the chest’s four sides. As a consequence, his health deteriorated. His last act was to stow the chest away in that room that no one ever used.”

Reader Thelma Potstock of Double Trouble, New Jersey, wants to know what Sir Robin has been eating, all this time he’s been hiding out in Coldsore Hall. This is a detail which had never crossed Ms. Crepuscular’s mind.

“The room is stocked with provisions left over from the Third Crusade,” she explains.

That will have to do for now. There is some doubt as to whether this installment of the saga can be successfully posted.


Watt Has We Did???

Barak Obama - Picture of Paseo de los Presidentes, San Juan ...

A tearrabble, tearrable Thing it has hapened Heer “at” Collidge!!!!!!!

I gess we jist “got” tooo exited aboat Taring down Stachoos becose we runned “out” “of” Stachoos and then It Was A Horrabul Missteak i doughnt know “How” to axplane it Oh man! We jist cuddnt Stop “and” Neckst thing yiu know We Tared Down The Stachoo Of Pressadint Obomma!!!!!!!

Dam it was “the” ownly Stachoo we hadded Left and we jist cuddnt “stopp” and It got tared Down!!!! Ownly then did we Reeleyes watt we done!!!! and then it “was” too Lait!!!! and wen the Deen he seen “the” Stachoo layin “On” the Growned he jist keeeled rihght Over!!!

Watt has we did??

and then One “of” The prefessers she come Over “and” Yelled At us,, “Yiu stoopid bug-branes aint yiu lernt nothing at all???? Doughnt yiu Know “Pressadint Obomma” he “is” a god???? Our hole collidge it Got a Cursse on “it” nhow!!!” boy was she madd!!! And she sayed we are “all” goingto Get “the” Corny Vyrus and Dye!!!!!!!!!! we tryed To Putt the Stachoo back but thend we droped it And the Hedd it broak off!!!!!!

Well we are Doomded,, no Queschin aboat It; yiu Can jist aboat Heer the Vyrus lickin his Lipps!! Butt thend anether Prefesser he come Along and he sayed we has got “to Do” a Hyumin Sackerfyce “It is “the” Ownly Whay!! and thend” it all got Kind Of stickky wen we tryed “to” Decyde whoo shood be “the” Sackerfyce@ we Are stilll werking “on” that and We Beter Hurry…!!!


The New Wave of Detective Shows

Top 20: Private Eye movies | Tipping My Fedora

With TV cop shows getting canceled right and left, somebody’s going to have to step in to solve fictitious crimes. With police disallowed, it’s going to be up to private eyes.

But there’s one problem. Opines Charles Ringworm, CEO of Patzer Productions, “You seen one private eye, you seen ’em all.” With dozens of new P.I. shows already lining up for next season, says Ringworm, steps must be taken to make each private eye distinctive. “They gotta stand out from the crowd!”

Three shows illustrating this principle are in the works.

*Mangum, P.I. is a detective who hears voices and is accompanied by imaginary invisible friends wherever he goes. “No way you’re gonna mix him up with no other detective,” boasts Mr. Ringworm. Mangum frequently unnerves his clients by carrying on conversations with people who aren’t there. But he always solves the crime, though–with the help of his imaginary friends.

*Godzilla Monsoon, outwardly and to all intents and purposes a bad-guy professional wrestler, is actually an investigative reporter tracking down rumors of rigged matches–and the real bad guys who have wormed their way into pro wrestling will do anything to stop him… if they can find out who he is!

*Bazooka Boyce, the Sideways Sleuth has that moniker because he’s… sideways. He never stands up. He can’t sit in a chair. He never sees anything straight up and down. Sorta like some of those videos you take with your phone. He takes up a lot of room in a taxicab, too. But his unique position enables him to see things no one else can see! “Looking at the world sideways,” he says wisely, “makes you see it sideways.” Can’t argue with that!

A few plans have been scrapped at the drawing board “because they were kinda unbelievable,” Mr. Ringworm said. “But these three are can’t-miss shows.”


Literary Critics Protest ‘Oy, Rodney’

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Introducing Chapter CCCLXV of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Violet Crepuscular shares a personal experience. Oh, boy.

“I had a most unpleasant time yesterday,” she writes. “A busload of literary critics pulled up in front of my house and at least two dozen of them poured out and started yelling and throwing things. I am not sure why. Some of them carried signs bearing lewd and unsavory messages regarding my epic romance, Oy, Rodney. A few of them demanded that I come outside so they could drown me. Several carried pitchforks.

“I called the police, but there was no one there to take my call. I don’t know what would have happened if it hadn’t started to rain. The critics in a mad panic swarmed back onto the bus and it pulled away. I’m afraid they stomped my crabgrass.”

Nothing daunted, she goes on to write the chapter.

Here we have the aristocratic thief, Sir Robin Banks, hiding out in an unused wing of Coldsore Hall, wondering whether he ought to explore the other rooms in search of something valuable to steal. He is interrupted in his meditations by a sound of footsteps in the hall. It’s only Johnno the Merry Minstrel, searching for cuss-bags planted by the medieval sorcerer, Black Rodney; but Sir Robin decides he’d better hide in case it’s the police.

The only hiding place in his room is a ratty-looking cedar chest just big enough to accommodate him. Deftly, he crawls inside and shuts the lid.

Unforeseen by him, the lid automatically locks when it is closed.

“Here I break the chapter,” writes Ms. Crepuscular, “to heighten the suspense! Will Sir Robin get out of the cedar chest, or is he doomed to die in there? How awful it will be, years from now, when someone discovers the chest and goes to see what’s in it! I feel quite faint, just thinking about it!”

A snack of toothpaste sandwich cookies, washed down by a tall glass of absinthe, restores her equanimity.


Our Collidge it Is going Banck-Rupped!!!

Who Pays For Corporate Taxes? – Marotta On Money

This it is jist Tearabble News!! Our Collidge it “is” Going Banck-Rupped!!!

It “looks” Like thare isnt no-One heer becose us Stoodints whoo “is” heer we “are” Hyding to maik “it” Look like no-boddy thay is heer!!! Al the Othirs thay gone Hoam becose “of” “the” Corny Vyris and nhow we has heered thay isnt “cumming” Back!!!! I over-hered a prefesser he sayed it “Is” becose thair famblies thay doughnt Whant “to” send themb Back becose thay think Collidge it is Turnning thair kidds into idjits!!!!! Well that “is” jist ezackly “waht” yood Expecked fromb ordrinary Dum peeple,, that Cant tel “the” Diffrints anymoar Betwean a Interllectural and a Idjit!!!!!!!!

“The” collidge Pressadint he sayed ether the collidge It whill Run Out “of” Munny and go Banck-Rupped becose of Very Lo Inrollmint oar Else “thay whill” has to Raze the Tooission to like A Hunderd Thousind Dolors A Yeer!!!!! And holy smoak it taikes yiu Five Yeers to “get” a Batchler Deegree “in” Nothing Studdies and Gender Studdies it taiks Eeven longer!!!!!

Wel whoo has “that” kyned “of” munny??? So nhow our Eddicasion it “is” At Steak!!!!!!!!!!

So we hadded a Merjintsy meting “of” “the” Stoodint Soviet and we voated that fromb Nhow On “we” whill be aloud “to” Pay whith Mannoply Munny!!!!  But eevin “that” it whill be harred becose i hasnt got no Mannoply Gaim. Luckally our Cheef Commassar she sayed she wood Give “me” somb if i wood Be “her” Slaive!!!! That sowndid like “A” goood deel to me!!! She sayed iff she Can “get” enuohgh Slaives she Can Starrt a Plan Tasion and we Can al live Thare!!!

Butt al this promble it “wil” Go Awaiy wen Jo Byden he is Electrad Pressadint becose thenn Alll Collidge Eddacasion it whill be Freee!!!!!!!!


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