Satirical Musings, Reviews and Short Fiction

Jason

In the caveman days, the entire world was full of retards walking off cliffs, eating raw meat, batting women over the head with clubs and dragging them off to be raped. The stupider ones died off, leaving us.    Jason Call. In kindergarten he pissed in a corner, mooning the entire class. We all knew then that he was fucked. That he was in for a lifetime of ridicule and torture.    Once, when we were about 11, he asked if he could use my bathroom. A neighborhood boy, Matt, had told me that he’d let Jason use his bathroom once and he’d shit all over the walls and the floor. Matt had had to clean it. Jason lived about 50 feet from each of us, the entire thing seemed ludicrous. Maybe he wanted to mark our bathrooms, to expand his territory.    “Go home and use your own bathroom, retard. And try…
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Divine Advice For Mark Twain

Dear Divine Advice, Is there any way I could commit suicide and still be allowed into heaven? Or at least cat heaven? And does suicide automatically send me to hell, or is there a chance I’d end up in purgatory? And lastly, and I don’t mean to sound suspicious, but please just tell me the truth, am I already in hell or purgatory? It seems a lot like purgatory most of the time, except I still seem to be getting older, I still need to eat, use the toilet, etc. Do you guys still use the toilet? Sincerely, Mark Twain Dear Mark Twain, I’ll be straight with you here. There was a mix-up with your paperwork and you ended up in purgatory. Unfortunately, since I am technically perfect and incapable of making mistakes, what’s done cannot be undone. Better get comfortable, because your assignment is permanent. Sorry about that. We’d…
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Lawnmower Man

My family moved from an apartment complex to a house in the suburbs when I was seven or eight years old. We had televisions, food, lawnmowers, a couple malls, enough to make it almost bearable in a monotonous way. In the fall I raked leaves, in the winter I shoveled snow, all the while going to school. In the summer I slept late and did nothing. Or at least I used to sleep late. The first summer in our new house it began, every morning at 6 AM, VROOM VROOM VROOM!, some asshole mowing their lawn, every morning at the crack of dawn some lawn mowing idiot with no reason to live who woke up day after day to mow the lawn anyway. The first few years I only vaguely noticed it. It was a small part of the day and I was young enough to accept it blindly without…
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Divine Advice For Wannabe Duck

This week’s question was submitted by one of our readers. Dear Divine Advice, I no longer want to be a human, I want to be a duck. Please allow me to turn myself into a duck so I may live my life in the swamps of Florida as a duck. I want a corkscrew penis. Sincerely, —A Wannabe Duck. Dear Wannabe Duck, Unfortunately, my Jesus powers don’t work like that. I can either turn you into a cartoon duck that wears a shirt but no pants and has no genitals at all, OR I can give you a corkscrew penis without turning you into a duck—but not both. Before making your choice, keep in mind the pros and cons of each lifestyle. Cartoon ducks are able to withstand shotgun blasts to the face that spin their beaks around to the back of their head, but they often have crippling speech…
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SSDI

   Ramsey had been sitting alone in the waiting room for 45 minutes. His appointment was scheduled to begin over half an hour ago and no one else had come or gone. A nurse behind the reception counter was yelling something in Spanish into a cell phone. Ramsey walked over to her protected counter and tapped on the glass.    “Excuse me. I’ve been here for almost an hour.”    She held a finger up to him to wait and slipped a clipboard under the glass partition.    “I already filled one of those out. Will you get off the damn phone for a second?”    She said something apologetic into the phone and put it face down against her shoulder.    “What can I do for you?”    “I’ve been waiting here for almost an hour. Is the doctor in?”    She looked at him and seemed to recognize him.    “I’m sorry sweetie, just give me a…
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Divine Advice For Divine Dreamer

Dear Divine Advice, Last night, I had a crazy dream, and I’m hoping you might help me figure out what it means. It started with me on a date with Zombie Mother Teresa. We were watching Driving Miss Daisy in the local movie house, and at some point we both reached into the popcorn bucket at the same time. Our hands touched, and suddenly we were both overcome with lust. I looked into her milky pupil-less eyes, and the next thing I know, we’re naked on the sticky floor, fucking like a couple of wild dogs. Then the guy in the row in front of us turns around, and I see that it’s Pope Francis. Embarrassed, I immediately stop thrusting and pull out of Zombie Mother Teresa. But then realize that the Pope is actually smiling at us. He stands up and I see that he, too, is naked, with…
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Divine Advice For Nancy Pelosi

Dear Divine Advice, I just started watching The Americans and I love it, but Felicity really scares me nowadays. Why is she so angry and violent? Does it have anything to do with Ben? And did that stuff really happen with Russia, was the Soviet Union an actual thing? It seems like if the Soviet Union was really like that, Ben and Felicity would have gotten really fat after moving to America, like those Eastern European hockey players who defected in the 70s.I tried to ask my husband about this and he just looked at me like I was crazy. What should I do? And why did Felicity cut her hair? Is that why she’s been away for so long? Sincerely, Nancy Pelosi Dear Nancy Pelosi, I have to be honest, you seem like a real bitch. Those Eastern European hockey players that defected in the 70’s you mentioned are…
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Divine Advice for MILF Lover

Image by Illusive Photography, www.flickr.com/photos/alanant

Dear Jesus and Satan, I’m a freshman over at Barrington High and recently I did something I’m not too proud of—I accidentally got my best friend Tommy’s mom arrested by telling all the other guys at school that she had sex with me. I know it was wrong, but Mrs. Butterfield is really hot, and you should have seen how impressed the guys were. Except for Tommy, of course. Anyway, I had many chances to come clean, but once the police got involved, it became harder and harder to tell the truth. Thankfully there’s no physical evidence to put her in jail, but now Child Protective Services is watching Tommy’s house just in case. I feel really bad about this. Mrs. Butterfield is a great mom, raising Tommy all by herself ever since Tommy’s dad was run over by that steamroller a few years. I don’t want Tommy to end…
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Review: The Garbage Pail Kids Movie

“Rats and thunder, wind and hail, send the kids back in the pail.” It was recently announced that Hollywood is planning to remake The Garbage Pail Kids Movie, so I thought I should write a review of the original. I always felt this film was underrated and under-appreciated. It was released in only three theaters across the country, and it never even made its money back in video sales. Apparently, it was recently released on Blu-ray, but the executive who pushed for this has since been fired out of a cannon towards the sun. Given that the sun is extremely hot, the guy probably died. From the start, Garbage Pail Kids was marred with production issues, not the least of which involved star McKenzie Astin (Samwise Gamgee’s half brother) and a nasty case of explosive diarrhea. In hindsight, it might have actually furthered the plot if they had kept those…
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Divine Advice For Alarming Thoughts

Image By Trevor Butcher

Dear Jesus and Satan, I’ve been married to the same man for 9 years, and for the most part, it’s been great. He always holds the door for me when I’m carrying groceries into the house, he always puts the toilet seat down, he tells me I’m beautiful at least 3 times a month—basically everything a wife could ask for in a husband. Physically, though, he’s been letting himself go. While I’ve held up my end by spending hours at the gym, getting Botox, fake tits and ab implants, he’s gained 60 lbs, lost his hair and stopped shaving regularly. Until recently, I’ve managed to be OK with this, mainly by relying on my rich imagination (I close my eyes and pretend he’s George Clooney while we’re having sex). Lately however, I’ve been having these disturbingly violent thoughts. I’ll look at Ted while he’s on the couch playing Halo (which…
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