Category Archives: satire

Wholy Kow Hary Pottor he Is reel!!!

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Whell our Nothing Studies prefesser she layed a Big One on “us” tooday,, she teeched us “that” Hary Pottor he “is” Reel!!!!!

And That “is” wye wee hadded a In-Classt Assininemint to rite A “letter” to Hary Pottor askin himb To come And “use” his Magickle Paowers to maik Hillery be pressadint and we al sined It tooo!!! It was “a” Masterpeece! Hear i whil shoe “it” to yiu—

Deer Hary Pottor wood yiu Pleeze come hear to Our Collidge and do yore Magickle Paowers to chainge Evvrything and maike Hillery Roadhog Clintin ore pressadint Insted “of” “that” no-goood Evel Racist donold trumpt!!! And than wee al sined Our Naimes!!!

Nhow How “do” wee Know hary Pottor “he” is reel??? The prefesser teeched it “to” us!!! She sayed if Spydor Man and aslo Aqua Men and aslo Plague Man thay “are” al Reel than lodgick it sayes than Hary Pottor “he” has aslo got To Be reel tooo!!!! “Yiu cant ague whith That!! she” sayed. Whel somb dum idjit he “did” try to argeu so she Flunckted himb and sended himb “to” Sensortivatie Traning!!!!

Now we has to weigt till Our letter it “gets To” Hary Pottor his adress it “is” a Seacrit but the prefesser she Knows somboddy whoo knows it and thenn “he” “wil” comb hear and maik a Magickle Spel and maybe aslo iff i “ask” himb reel Nice he can do a Spell to maik these “hear” Jim Sox taste better, thay alyaws dont taste so Good in summbertime.!


‘A Hero for Our Time’ (2013)

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I wrote this six years ago, and we still haven’t found anyone with the courage to protest his neighbors’ personal lives.

https://leeduigon.com/2013/06/26/a-hero-for-our-time/

Hey, it takes courage to hunker down on somebody’s front law and denounce them for eating meet, having children, and acting as if there were no such thing as Anthropowhatsis Climbit Change that can only be fixed by an all-powerful government controlling every aspect, even the most minute aspects, of everybody’s lives.

Dare to be stupid!


Build Your Own Nuclear Power Plant!

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Let’s face it, fossil fuels are like totally destroying The Planet and the world’s gonna end in ten years if we don’t stop using them.

But not to worry–now you can have your own nuclear power plant! It’ll generate all the electricity you’ll ever need, and won’t take up any more space in your back yard than that storage shed where you keep the naughty pictures.

The Great Leap Forward to Personal Nuclear Power, by Dr. Eugene Foopus, Professor of Gender Studies at Yail University, is an easy little 28-page booklet that tells you how to build and operate a nuclear reactor. Don’t worry about getting bogged down in hard-to-understand technical language! Hand-drawn diagrams do a more than adequate job of explaining it, and Dr. Foopus is very careful not to use words you might not understand.

As for fueling your reactor with costly uranium–well, by the time you get the thing built, says Dr. Foopus, there will be a new Democrat president and uranium will once more be for sale by the State Dept. Make sure you’re first in line!

Available from the Social Justice Press for $2,499.99.


An Important Message from the Author (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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In Chapter XX of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney

What? Chapter XX? I thought we had Chapter CCCV last week! Why are we suddenly on Chapter XX? Violet Crepuscular explains.

“Dear readers, I am sure I have a Chapter XX in the appropriate place, between Chapters XIX and XXI, but I cannot recall that there was that much to it. So I might as well rewrite it here, and use it to help you to understand my difficulty in proceeding to Chapter CCCVI.

“In digging up my garden, the oafs from the police turned up some oddly-shaped stones with peculiar markings on them; and as a result, my whole back yard is now being dug up by all these men in pith helmets and I am forbidden to interfere.

“They say the funny stones are the ruins of some Carthaginian thingy and thus a major archaeological discovery–and the government expects me to fund their research! I don’t understand this. They say the squiggly marks on the stones are inscriptions of some kind, but all it seems to say is things like ‘Put this stone in such and such a place’ or ‘For a good time, visit Cindy.’ Meanwhile they’ve made a pig’s breakfast of my yard! I do not propose to invite them in for sandwich cookies.”

Moving on to Chapter CCCVI, what little there is of it, we find Archibald Cruxley, ace reporter for Upholstery World, rather cast down by his failure to interview Lady Margo Cargo about her upholstered wooden leg, the only one of its kind in all of England. He has not been able to stem the flow of Willis Twombley’s reminiscences of famous gunfights in America. Nor does he like the way Mr. Twombley waves his six-shooter every which way for emphasis.

“Man, I thought Ur was a rough town, all full of Chaldees who’d shoot you just to see if their guns was loaded!” Twombley believes he is Sargon of Akkad, on the run from Babylonian usurpers. “And there was fast times in Philistia, too! But there wasn’t none of ’em could hold a candle to Dodge City. You shoulda see what happened when Murderin’ Mike McGurk came to town! Did you know he was a Ghurka?”

On and on he goes. Lady Margo listens intently, lost in fascination. Lord Jeremy Coldsore listens somewhat less intently. And Mr. Cruxley isn’t listening at all. He is thinking he made a serious error in his youth, when he decided not to be a beggar.


Hat Speach it Kills!!!

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Now it “is” more Impotant then evver to Abbolitch all Hat Speach that is “done” “by” Haters!

And yiu know wye?? Becose hat speach it kills!!! We jist herd abuot stodents At “a” Collidge in Mastachoositts thay got kilt Dedd wen thay herd Hat Speach, kilt themb rihght thare “on The” Spott!!!

It terns Out that Hat Speach it is a “new” Marital Art like Joo-doh or Carroty and wen a Hater thay do it thay Can kill yiu Whith it!!!! This hear it “is” Verry Serius!!!!!!! and the ownly whay “To” Stopit is to out-Law al Hat Speach!!!

And wood yiu Beleave it??? That same Collidge, thay are trying to Bring Back that no-good stinkin Frist Amenment and aslo “Free Speach” jist so moar Minorites thay can get kilt “By” it!!!

But hear at ore Collidge thare woont be No “Freee Speach” aloud at all!!!! We are goingto “Passs” that to-nihght at our Stodent Soviet meating!! So fromb Now On “:yiu” best be Carfull watt yiu say or yiu whill Get throne out Of collidge!!! and yiu cant get no Deegree ether!! Lyke that one Prefesser ze sayed, thay auhght to Crave it On Stone “watt” yiu can Say and “watt” yiu “cant!!!!!!””

And wee whill doo it tooo as sooon as we Fynde a big “enuhgh” Stoan!!!


‘This Just In (Some Very Hot News Flashes)’ (2015)

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When I wrote this, I was still coming to grips with the idea that it’s The Narrative that matters in Journalism, not the facts. As you will see from the following examples, I came very close to mastering The New Journalism.

https://leeduigon.com/2015/04/01/this-just-in-some-very-hot-news-flashes/

“How did you do that, Lee?”

I just made it all up!

I’ll be getting job offers from the networks any day now.


A Referendum on the Bill of Rights?

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Moving up in the polls!

An obscure candidate for the 2020 Democrat presidential nomination, children’s book publisher Kay Lastima, wants to hold a binding national referendum on the Bill of Rights. Ms. Lastima is so far back in the pack, she leads only New York Mayor “Bill DeBlasio” (not his real name) in the race for the nomination.

But her call for a referendum on the Bill of Rights already has most of the other candidates leaping aboard the bandwagon.

“Let’s face it!” she told CNN last night. “Some of those old, outmoded provisions in the Bill of Rights need to be voted off the island! One thing I’ve learned in my business–either you keep up with the times, or the times will keep up with you!”

Ms. Lastima’s publishing company, Fat-Head Books, filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy earlier this year after its most ambitious book, Babies Like Getting Aborted, failed to sell a single copy. She currently lives with her mother at the Tie-Dee-Bole Adult Community in Earwig Cove, Florida.

“Look how they’re all following my lead already!” she said. “Bernie, Beto, Liz, Kamala, Spartacus, and even boring old Uncle Joe–they all agree with me that the whole Bill of Rights should be scrapped and then replaced with something better. But I’m the only one who already has the Southern Poverty Law Center drawing up replacement rights! Who needs a right to free speech, when you’ve got a right to free cable TV? Who needs a right to bear arms, when you’ve got a right to a free college degree in Gender Studies? Out with the old, in with the new!”

Appearing on CNN last night, Ms. Lastima wore a “Your Country Sucks!” T-shirt and an Annunaki hat made from half a volleyball.


The Plankton Kid (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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“I am much distracted,” Violet Crepuscular confides in her readers, “by police officers digging up my back garden. I am sure I haven’t buried any bodies there! But I must proceed to Chapter CCCV of my epic romance, Oy, Rodney.”

It seems the editors of Upholstery World have gotten wind of Lady Margo Cargo’s handsomely upholstered wooden leg, the only one of its kind in England, and sent a reporter to interview her. He arrives at her luxurious country house just as she is about to serve tea to her two fiances, Lord Jeremy Coldsore and his friend, the American adventurer, Willis Twombley. She thinks they are the same person. When she sees them together, she think she needs new glasses.

“Madam, my name is Archibald Cruxley and I am a reporter for Upholstery World–” But Twombley interrupts him.

“Well dog my cats–a reporter! You must be here to ask me about my famous shootout with the Plankton Kid!”

“Er, really, sir, I’m only here to interview–”

“I know, I know–it’s hard to believe!” cries Twombley. He digs into his back pocket. “But here’s a picture to prove it!”

Image result for images of plankton

Everyone stares fascinatedly at the array of plankton. “All them little critters–that’s why he was called the Plankton Kid,” explains Twombley. “He had all of Dodge City eatin’ out of his hand, till I came along and plugged him.”

“What was he doing with all that plankton?” wonders Lady Margo.

“Don’tchu fret yore pretty little head about that, honey! It was sort of a callin’ card–every time he shot someone, the Plankton Kid used to stuff some plankton up his nose.”

“I say!” Lord Jeremy explains. “Wasn’t that dashed disrespectful to the dead?”

“Not the victim’s nose. His own nose–he stuffed it up his own nose,” Twombley elucidates.

Ms. Crepuscular breaks in with some harsh words for the police, who have just uprooted her begonias.


We Has got rid Of Lodgick!!!

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Our Stodent Soviet hear At collidge we “are” “reely” smoakin’ now!!

We hadded a Uneaminass Voat today “to” Abbolisch Lodgick becose “it” “is” A toole of Wyte Mail Oprestion!! Man, thay woodnt Be “abel” to thinck Of anny Thing at all iff thay didnt cheet “by” using Lodgick.

Now watt Is Lodgick?? that Is kindof hard “to” ansser wen yiu doant Know watt it is! So we skipped That part! Alll yiu knead to know Is Lodgick alyaws it leeeds to Trans Fobier and Hetro-Normbativvaty and Captalists keeeping down “the” Peeple!! It is Ownly us Interllecturals hear “at” Collidge who gives a damb four The Peeple and that “it is” whye The Peeple yiu cant allow themb “to” say and do things!!!

Fromb now On anny boddy thay gets Cawt using Lodgick thay are so Stopid,, thay whil Get put “in” Spacial Sensertibbity Traning to make thare Branes not Use Lodgick no moar… insted thay whil has To lern “the” teckneek of Think Whitout No Thinking!!! It is a spacial kit that yiu can bye from This hear Auntifa gye he is Selling it;, siure it Cost a lot butt “it” “willl” “be” Whirth It!!! He toled us “Oncet yiu use this Methhid on somboddy ze wil” Never “thinck Nothing anny moar!”

Watt cood be beter Then That???


Lady Margo Hires a Detective (‘Oy, Rodney’)

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Coldsore Hall needs a new roof, people are packing up to flee the shire, and Lord Jeremy has to find the seventh son of a seventh son (who must also be an expert morris dancer) to lift the curse off the vicar’s backyard wading pool. Does that say “Pick me up and read me!”, or what?

Welcome to Chapter CCCV of Violet Crepuscular’s epic romance, Oy, Rodney. Chapter CCCIV didn’t get written because the police came over to take samples of Ms. Crepuscular’s toothpaste. The less said about that, the better.

As the richest widow in Scurveyshire, Lady Margo summons up enough public spirit–and money–to hire Sir Ranulph Toadsome, London’s premier consulting detective (Sherlock Holmes is still a schoolboy). Sir Ranulph is only some two feet tall, but people pretend not to notice that.

“The seventh son of a seventh son, expert morris dancer, lives on an island off the coast of Scotland which only appears on a map in a church that’s not a church.” Sir Ranulph sums up the case. “And you need him as soon as possible! Is that the mission?”

“In a nutshell, Sir Ranulph,” Lady Margo replies.

“You got it, shorty,” says the American adventurer, Willis Twombley. Lord Jeremy kicks him in the shin. Sir Ranulph Toadsome glares hypnotically.

“The last man who called me that died in Broadmoor,” he declares. He is, of course, referring to the notorious high-security psychiatric hospital; but Twombley thinks he means an almost equally notorious township in New Jersey. He is about to say something about that when Lord Jeremy kicks his other shin.

“Cases like this only appear to be difficult,” Sir Ranulph says. “To the experienced deductive reasoner, they present only slight difficulty. In the meantime, why don’t your people just keep their distance from the wading pool?” To this question no one has an answer. They are not big on answers in Scurveyshire, these days.

“I must break the chapter here,” writes Ms. Crepuscular, “and clean up the mess those loutish policemen made of my bathroom. As if there could be anything wrong with my toothpaste!”


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