How can I be out of my time?
My watch still works.
Notices watch is no longer functional.
Oh . . . well, to tell you the truth . . . I only wore it for fashion's sake.
I can't even tell the time by it, since it's just numbers.
I shoulda got one with the hands, you know, so I could tell the time precisely, as opposed to habitual guesstimations on my part.
Too late, now!
Ah, well.
Spontaneously combusts.
WHITE SUPREMACIST TRUMP ECLIPSES WHITE SUPREMACIST DESANTIS IN LATEST POLLING OF LIKELY REPUBLICAN VOTERS.
Did you ever read those George Smiley novels? The British spy books? Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy; The Honourable Schoolboy; Smiley's People?
I was just thinking . . . if they were written today . . . the big twist would be that Karla-Smiley's elusive nemesis-is actually hiding inside that London fatberg they cleared out a couple of years ago-I mean it all fits.
If I were trying to hide from fancy British spies I would definitely try to hide in the least fancy place of all-and do it on the enemy's turf, too, just to rub that shit in.
You gotta rub it in.
So . . . it all fits.
You could have a full listening post.
Right inside that legendary London fatberg.
IN A BID TO WIN YOUTH VOTE, REPUBLICAN PRESIDENTIAL HOPEFULS AGREE TO HOLD NEXT DEBATE IN A NEW LANGUAGE CONSISTING ENTIRELY OF FLOP SWEAT ACCENTED NIGHTCORE-STYLE CHUNKY SHARTS.
NEW HISTORICAL DATA IMPLICATES ALEISTER CROWLEY AS SPIRITUAL FORERUNNER OF SAM THE SHAM AND THE PHARAOHS.
Remember when Rudy Giuliani was known as "America's Mayor?"
I'm not being a smartass!
Swear to fuckin' christ!
It was a whole thing.
America's Mayor.
Look it up.
Personally, I'll always think of Rudy as "the Man Who Made His Own Snack." That's what that mystery goo dribbling down his head was all about. Dude was making his own snack. That kinda thing impresses me. Self-sufficiency, and all that.
Sound of long, rippling shart.
Lots of impressive things in this world.
Reprise of long, rippling shart.
Everybody got so lathered over the Butthole Cut of Cats . . . but you don't hear anyone talking about the Avian Anus Cut of the Birdemic Trilogy, do you?
Something to keep in mind as we journey into this terrifying future we got goin' on lately . . .
We got the New Merch in the store.
Because the coffee mug with my face on it did so well.
Now, as a compliment to the previous offering, we are pleased to present . . . my face with a coffee mug on it.
It's a limited run but with an option for re-pressings.
It all depends on the engagement.
It all depends on you.
This is not something you can purchase with paper currency or Crypto or Monopoly money or gift tickets or golds or Euros or even Good Ol' Cash American.
You will have to spend your time, your thought calories, your essence of being if you wish to manifest the New Merch. It's not something you can actually purchase. If you attempt to purchase the New Merch, you will become all too aware of a freezing, implacable presence right behind you. In your home. Who's there? That's right. The purchase will not, under any circumstances of any Reality Regime, go through.
Like I said, it's my face but with a coffee mug on it.
If the engagement is good enough, I'll even offer a deluxe Logistical Straw that will allow you to efficiently sip the coffee while wearing my face.
But time is short.
And just look at that rising tide.
Act now.
If I put on a robe and scribble right wing sentiments on pieces of paper that no person of conscience would ever obey could I get in on some of that slimy Supreme Court bribe money, too?
Admittedly, I'm a bit of a late bloomer in the corruption department. I never went to law school because all the people on the law school path in college were just a little too overtly psychopathic for my tastes-
-but, hey. It's never too late to pursue a dream, is it?
That's America.
A land of second chances for scummy, greedy creepers who like getting their tentacles into women's bodies.
Where do I sign up?
Can we do direct deposit for all the bribes?
I don't think the electronic trail is anything to worry about. There's never been any oversight of the Supreme Court up 'til now. Doesn't seem likely to start any time soon.
Just tell me the check's in the mail.
That'll work, too.
Just so long as I get paid for my skeezy fake job of imposing far right ideology on a population that neither voted for me nor agrees with my extremism-it'll be fine.
Oh, let me dream a little bit.
Yeah, I should've been a Supreme Court bribe accepting person. With the robes and the corruption and the kowtowing to corporations and Christian Nationalists-the whole bit. It would've been the easiest gig. Projecting phony righteousness justified by fake logic and underwritten by wealthy business criminals.
I coulda been gorgeous!
I coulda been a scummy contender!
Comedy Boss Fight Theme: Rasputin by Boney M.
This is the music that plays when you have to fight a non-serious enemy in a non-serious fashion.
Think of a knight in intimidating armor who refuses to yield even though all his limbs have been hacked from his torso.
Think of a chatty, googly eyed purple octopus that shows up at regular intervals to harass your party and ultimately decides to give up villainy for light clerical duties at a combat sports facility. Sometimes, a true friend kicks your ass right onto a new career path.
A comedy boss can also be an unlikely war machine, the pricey output of some bloated military-industrial complex, all heavy guns and precision targeting robo-vision . . . until it tries to walk down the stairs. Watch it go ass over radome. Anticlimax gives rise to laughter.
Rasputin is a prank song by a prank band, which makes it a perfect fit for a prank battle.
"It's how it goes. My cousin manifested the Whisper Dick. Hasn't had a night of peace ever since. But his balls are way calmer. And he'll be the first to admit that him and his nuts have never had the greatest communication. It's sobering, right? When we realize how little we communicate with those closest to us, but that's the quintessential postmodern condition of capitalist alienation, and we're all going through it, right? So, you know, plus and minus. The Whisper Dick helps those strong silent balls process, but the constant chatter interferes with healthy sleep patterns. Plus and minus. One time my cousin went on one of those touristy nude camping deals, and sure enough a hungry tick burrowed into his ballbag. He was just about ready to apply the Zippo lighter despite the risk of collateral damage to his own wrinkly meats when the Whisper Dick swung into action, resembling a highly verbal cartoon Brontosaurus neck and head in miniature, thus gently persuading the tick to disengage, and even pay for the damages. Of course, this generated no end of resentment in the other campers who lacked the power of the Whisper Dick and were therefore consigned to fend for themselves with lighters, tweezers, Swiss Army Knives, and what have you. Even the Whisper Dick could not sway their hardened hearts, and thus my cousin carried their scorn like a cross. Plus and minus. Everything's got those tradeoffs, those attached costs, those counterintuitive if not outright hidden fees. Communication is satisfying but necessarily entails a degree of discontent. What will be said next? What new truth shall be revealed? One cannot help but be edgy with anticipation. What wonders shall be aborning within the breathy expositions of the Whisper Dick?"
If you eat rocky road ice cream before you go out driving you are guaranteed to suffer no vehicular damage as you drive across potholes and chunk holes big enough to swallow an armored personnel carrier. With the power of rocky road you just glide above all obstacles as easy as you please!
EDITORIAL NOTE: The power of rocky road ice cream does not obtain within the benighted state of Florida wherein the metaphysical power of Dysfunction rules over all from the Governor's office on down-it's why they can't have nice things down there. Every centimeter is an embarrassment, frankly. Best just to let it sink beneath the global warming induced rising tides, relieve the Continental US of the burden, you know?
DEEP SPACE/TIME TELESCOPE REVEALS ORIGIN OF UNIVERSE TO BE A COSMIC ASSHOLE TAKING A FOREVER SHIT.
EXCLUSIVE: "IN THE END, THE REAL BATTLE HAPPENS INSIDE MYSELF." JRPG PROTAGONIST OPENS UP ABOUT GRINDING, KILLING GOD, POPPING HIS LEVEL CAP, BECOMING GOD, AND HOW HE THINKS ANYONE CAN BECOME THEIR OWN FINAL BOSS.
LONGITUDINAL STUDY BY KINSEY INSTITUTE CONFIRMS THAT RABID CONSPIRACY THEORISTS TEND TO BE DEEPLY CLOSETED ILLUMINATI.
FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS/DEBBIE DOES DALLAS CROSSOVER DOMINATES SUPER BOWL WEEKEND BOX OFFICE.
"Shit, this marginally talented showbiz hack is going into a midlife crisis! Get this man a backwards ballcap, a twenty-five year old girlfriend, phony-ass tribal tattoos, and a multi-million dollar podgrift deal, stat!"
SELF-AWARE GASOLINE MAKES EYE-ROLLING INSINCERE YET WITTILY IRONIC CONTRIBUTIONS TO WARMING CLIMATE.
COURT OF PUBLIC OPINION ARENA, TSAR BOMBA EVENT, AND IRON MAN SKIN FOR STRAUSS MAINS DLC SET TO RELEASE FOR OPPENHEIMER TEAM SHOOTER.
COMMON EVOLUTIONARY ANCESTOR OF JESUS AND DARWIN BUMPER FISH NOW BELIEVED TO BE FOREIGN SWEATSHOP.
NEIL BREEN SLATED TO DIRECT ADAM RUINS EVERYTHING FEATURE FILM; BAVARIAN ILLUMINATI ALLEGEDLY TREMBLING WITH EXISTENTIAL FEAR.
ARMADILLO ELECTED OFFICIAL STATE BIRD OF FLORIDA; MOSQUITOS SWARM CAPITOL IN COUP ATTEMPT.
. . . when they're hallucinating, and then they get mad when they're not hallucinating.
People get mad.