Giving numerous jail house interviews until his death in 2017, Manson was a narcissist basking for fame and glory. Most of his responses were nothing more than rambling rants derived from his twisted perspective. Using word play and contradictions, Manson’s diatribes always made him sound like a burnt-out enigma who did too much acid. Sounding street smart and at times intellectual, this little man was able to articulate the problems of mainstream society and appealed to a wider audience. Some say he was a loose cannon, others say he was a fixture in a broader psyop, but Manson ultimately put the death kneel on the flower children and the innocence of the flower power movement. It was thought that all of Manson’s recordings had been declassified and released to the public. Through my research, I was able to find a long-lost transcript of him being interviewed by Geraldo Rivera in 2014. The contents are shocking and may not be suitable to all. But for all people that are infatuated with this case, it’s well worth a read.

Geraldo: It’s been a long time Charles, how are things in prison?

Manson: Ya know man, I spend a lot of time in the hole, but as a whole I am the Father, the Son, and the Holy moley. Since I’m a Manson, Son of Man, call me Jesus man.

Geraldo: Now Charles, you’ve been in lockup for 40 years. It’s thought that your case has been completely divulged to the public, but only recently have alternative narratives arisen to what happened those fateful nights in the late summer of 69. Care to respond?

Manson: Whatcha fuckin’ crazy man?!? You know I ain’t gonna unload a load of BS on ya Geraldo. Ya know why they call me Charles? Cuz I’m in in charge! I am the lord, the devil, the creator, and destroyer all in one man. Check this out, ya ever heard of the Three Little Pigs?

Geraldo: Of course.

Manson: Well, I’m the big bad wolf man. I’ll huff and puff and blow your house down! Check this out, I’d be the one knockin’, sayin’ “little pig, little pig let me in”. And they’d respond "not by the hair of my chinny chin”. That’s when me, Tex, and the girls force our way in at night to slice and dice those piglets up, bleeding them out and writing the word pig all over the walls in their own blood. That’d be the catalyst for the race war and we’ll be bringing the ruckus to the Black Panthers, challenging black supremacy, and bringing about post-apocalyptic black on black violence. That’s all according to the Beatles White Album Gerryaldo!

Geraldo: Yes Charles, I’ve spoken to John Lennon and Paul Macnartey about their connection to this tragedy and never forget, I’m a proud Puerto Rican Jewish man and you have a swastika carved into your forehead.

Manson: That’s what I’m sayin’ man. Here me out Gerry, you posin’ as the chosen, but I the lord sayeth the pork eaters and their ritualistic pig slaughters please me the most. The era of Judeo-Islamic prohibition of pork consumption is no more. Me and my followers be makin’ bacon any chance we get. We gonna track down those piggies in their straw, sticks and bricks domiciles and we gonna make pigs fly! Ain’t nothing the piggies in law enforcement can do neither. We gonna bring the ruckus and rise up bringing death to the pigs wherever we go. We gonna flay and splay Porky Pig, ya dig? We gonna have a pig roast of Miss Piggy. Kermit used to be my father, son, brother from another wife, sister, and mother but he done left the family! Then we gonna creepy crawl at night and find Babe, Peppa, and Napoleon holed up Topanga Canyon and we gonna blow they house down! We’ll trim the excessive fat, season and brine, stuff apples in their mouths, then have a Hawaiian luau with the Beach Boys.

Geraldo: Charles don’t lecture me on religion and dietary abstinence. I’m in my 80s now, I’ve been married five times, and my current wife is 30 years my junior. Don’t forget, I’m a Latino-Levite and I find it offensive that you have a swastika carved into your forehead.

Manson: This ain’t no Nazi swastika brother, this represents the culmination of the teachings of Buddhism, Hinduism, Jainism, and Scientology. L Ron ain’t the prophet I am! I am the wolf, the sheep, and the sheep dog. The pig’s houses are a metaphor for the system man! Social stability, physical safety, emotional security. The system done fucked me ever since I was 10 and had to become a cult leader with a harem of God’s children, children that society pushed out into the streets left to fend for themselves. Through a steady diet of sunshine acid and breakfast sausage I have readied my foot soldiers for the coming race war. You don’t want to see how the sausage is made. We all trained at Spahn Ranch and Death Valley preparing ourselves for Helter Skelter. I be taking Squeaky, and Sadie Ladie, out for knife training for we can protect ourselves from the blackbirds and rise up to kill the piggies. Then we’d go down and live in the underground caves, make love, and repopulate the earth in Charlie’s image. I am the wolf, I am the predator and prey, I am chaos and the consequences. Little pig, little pig, let me in, since I’m born of and grinnin’ of original sin.

Geraldo: Yes Charles, but I covered the war at Tora Bora, head to toe in a Canadian tuxedo. I took a selfie, showing off my six pack at age 70, and have made love to Kurt Vonnegut’s daughter. As you can see me and my mustache are bigger deal than you ever were.

Manson: If I had my shank I’d plug you right about now. Your ego is not your amigo Geraldo!!! We are all God’s children heaped into a blob of humanity man. Just listen to the lyrics of Black Sabbath’s War Pigs, those who make war and not love are the ultimate pigs man. My main man Ozzy, Wizard of Oz, was letting the people know that the war is coming man. Nam was just a dry run. Charlie’s in the bushes, Charlie got claymores strung up in the trees, Charlie’s naked cuz he can’t find his black pajamas. Once the Black Panther folks rise up and take over Los Angeles once and for all they gonna enslave the white man and make chocolate love to the white hippy chicks. It gonna be full on Helter Skelter, so take shelter at the 3 Little Piggies houses. I am the big bad wolf and I’m gonna huff and puff and blow your house down. Wee Wee, squeal like a pig boy! This little piggie went to market. This little piggie had roast beef. This little piggie dosed unsuspecting girls with high amounts of LSD in a mind control experiment. And this little piggie decided to go ham when the race war starts up and the foot soldiers of Wakanda gonna kill whitey!

Charles Manson. A complicated and chaotic figure. His ranting and raving in his interviews are legendary. Regardless of what narrative you believe about the Tate-LaBianca murders and the involvement of the Manson Family, Charlie’s a sick weirdo who inspired a cult following then, now, and well into the future since time is relative. Discrediting the hippie movement and scaring the hell out of Hollywood and the music industry, Charles was definitely in charge of giving orders. Whether you choose to follow the Vincent Bugliosi narrative or Tom O’Neil’s take in Chaos, just know Mr. Manson is honest and forthcoming about his world view on the Three Little Pigs. Once the pigs rise up and bring about the great race war Charlie prophesized, Helter Skelter will ultimately bring about 1000 years of peace with nothing but acid trips and van trips with loose hippy chicks.

Brian Ss

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Fuck the naysayers, college is awesome. As long as it’s semi-affordable it is the best time of your life. Young people are usually DFW and love to get creative when having a good time. If you can find a way to blend a decent education with a good social life then you’ll have a blast. The biggest problem is deciding where to go. With thousands of public and private options to choose from it can be tough to land on the one school that is right for you. From in state institutions to private legacy colleges you definitely have options on where to attend in the fall. Academic excellence, subject focus, along with good athletic programs are all factors that figure in where an impressionable mind will want to focus their mental energy and leisure time. Parents have a say in this matter and love to scrutinize all of the pros and cons of a potential school for their child. Everybody wants their kid to be close to home and take school seriously and above all not contract an STD while away at college.

Campuses throughout the United States are massive incubators of STI incidence. Forcing young people to live in the dorms, that are engaging in risky behavior, it’s only a matter of time that there’s a massive gonorrhea outbreak. Not everyone spends endless hours in the library, most of the time they’re getting loaded on shitty malt liquor and bumping uglies. There’s an annual list generated every year of which large public universities are churning out chlamydia faster than degrees. Parents take note! Your little Annie may be getting exposed to some new and interesting ideologies, but she also may be getting exposed to the herpes virus.

ASU. Arizona State University in Tempe. A large public university full of beautiful people where the student body studies hard, parties hard, and urination always seems to have a burning sensation. The homecoming events and Sun Devil football games always brings out blonde bombshells rocking their shocker gang signs in the student section. With everybody looking to get some liquor in their belly and legs up in the air, the coochie cooties runs rampant with the persistent hookup culture. Warm weather and hot bodies pair well when people are sizing up the opposite sex. Once hard seltzers get consumed and lowered inhibitions take shape, you may be having to go to the student medical center on Monday for a strong dosage of antibiotics. A large in state school consisting of nothing but hot idiots, ASU churns out pointless business degrees and now offers a degree in content creation for hot babes can become influencers. Once the infected students graduate they can then relocate to other urban centers and spread disease across the land after that one fateful hookup with Brock. When in Tempe heed the words of Dr. Dre, “Always pack a vest for your jimmy in the city of sex.”

The University of Iowa. A good school for writing, research, health sciences, and getting a case of the herpes after getting black out drunk at the Hawkeye football game. Since there’s nothing else to do in Iowa on the weekends most undergrads at Big 10 schools get blotto, get pantless, and transfrom frat houses into a modern day Sodom and Gomorah. What the fuck else are you going to do, go to a corn maze and sip pumpkin spice lattes?!? No, you’re going to spike the fruity punch with Everclear and watch everyone around you make bad decisions. You don’t need to try that hard in college, since Cs and Ds get degrees, and you may come down with a case of the HPV. The University of Iowa is reknowned for its wrestling program, and I guarantee the coeds are engaging in casual bedroom wrestling with the winner being awarded Trichomoniasis. Don’t be a fool, wrap your tool.

Florida State University. Usually rated the number one party school in the U.S., Tallahassee is the land of the Seminoles and semen. Where one night stands occur every night of the week it’s not uncommon to whoop it up on a Tuesday night, shack up with floozie, and experience open sores by gameday. Considered a hotbed for new strains, after every FSU football game, young drunkards find a partner, smash genitals and create more toxic diseases than Anthony Fauci could ever dream of creating. Florida State has a wonderful law school, broadcast journalism school, and public policy affairs program. However education takes a backseat when there’s beer bonging and wet t-shirt contests. This place makes Girls Gone Wild look like a convent. The football team may not have a good offense this year but their D is solid, and after a big win, the D is dished out all over town. Tallahassee is nothing but Noles and infected holes. No glove, no love.

The University of Alabama. Home of the greatest college football program to ever exist and syphilis. The war cry may be Roll Tide but it really should be roll out that penicillin. Situated in Tuscaloosa, U of A has great Greek traditions, nursing and business programs, and a wonderful place to contract vaginal and anal STIs. Nick Saban may have restored Crimson Tide back to college football prominence but the student body, getting loaded and going body on body, puts their university in the powerhouse rankings of STDs. Not be outdone, Auburn also has a high incidence of campus STDs. At the annual Iron Bowl, the state rivalry football game, people get hammered off of Yellow Hammer cocktails. Once their socially lubricated they have a tendency to get naked and tackle each other engaging in their time honored tradition of cousin fucking. After your cousin Jolene gave you a dose of the clap, you won’t be clapping next time you see her at the family reunion in Birmingham. Always wrap it before you tap it.

Texas Tech. Where grades go down, guns go up, and Raider rash runs rampant. Lubbock, Texas may be the hometown of Comancheria and the Red Raiders but it is also reknowned for hosting pubic lice. Whether bacterial, viral, or parasitic, STIs outnumber cows in this West Texas city. Texas Tech’s motto: From here, it’s possible should be Leaving here, it’s impossible to rid of that burning sensation. In academia Texas Tech has a good reputation for engineering and business but since there’s nothing to do in Lubbock, college kids are going to get loaded and sniff out a lover for casual sex. There’s only so many football games and rodeos you can go to. Large crowd events usually lose their luster and you’d rather be getting whiskey drunk and satisfying your carnal appetite. Job prospects are high for TT graduates, especially in petroleum services and agriculture but so are the chlamydia statistics. If you’re going to check her oil, make sure to cover it in foil.

College is the best time of your life! Smack dab in your messianic phase it’s awesome living in the now, not worrying about tomorrow. Culturally, college is marketed as place to party hardy with the possibility of multiple sexual partners. Keg stands and beer pong are the primary focus with PolySci 101 taking a backseat. Since most people are too immature to take college seriously, most people fall into the trap of getting smashed and smashing fatties on Friday nights. Who gives a flying fuck about academic excellence when the large in state university you are attending is a nonstop fuck fest. Eventually you should come out of this institution with a degree but you may also be coming out of it with Hepatitis B. Parents talk to your kids about the dangers of college. Student debt and ideological subversion are one thing but coming out of college with diseased genitals is even worse. And remember kids, don’t be silly, wrap your willy.

Brian Ss

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The issue with AF is that it’s a full-blown homonym. When phrases have dual meanings in usage, hilarity always ensues. I don’t know about you but I’m full-on homo for this -nym. When I hear or see AF out in the world, one must utilize their critical thinking skills to decipher the hidden meaning of the terminology. When I see AF, Air Force is usually what comes to mind. The military makes good use of acronyms and abbreviations, and I feel that Air Force is the OG of AF. Currently with our most recent holy war, the (Ch)Air Force is bombing the living fuck out of the Ayatollahs’ facilities and needlessly bombing girls’ schools since the AF is incompetent AF when it comes to updating its target tracking lists. WTF people!?! The bureaucratic ineptitude of the Air Force needs to be thoroughly scrutinized AF to the utmost degree.

Then you have A&F. You weren’t preppy enough or cool unless you were rocking Abercrombie and Fitch in the late 90s, with your frosted tips on the way to a boy band concert. A&F was cool AF up until it’s advertising was hypersexualized and only catered to beautiful white people. A&F might have been Caucasian as fuck, but it was the ultimate fashion for sexy beach buoys and gulls strutting their stuff on the Carolina Coast. The T-shirts, cargo shorts and other forms of outerwear were sexy AF, and the quarterly catalog was sexualizing AF. Back in high school, I was never cool AF enough to sport these threads and quite frankly didn’t give a fuck about A&F.

AF can also be used as an informal abbreviation for Afghanistan. Having never been over there, I can say that country is backwards AF and illiterate AF. The opium exports over there flooding American cities are scary AF and sad AF. Operation Enduring Freedom was a massive cluster fuck and wasteful AF. Spending 20 years to replace the Taliban with the Taliban 2.0 was stupid AF. We weren’t there to protect girls going to school, the land of the Ghan is a petro state (Trans-Caspian pipeline), an electro state (rich lithium deposits), and a narco state (opium), anyone telling you otherwise is untruthful AF. And if you find yourself ever riding a Jinga truck over the Khyber Pass on the way to play a game of Buzkashi always make sure to get insured with Aflac while in the AfPak. Insured AF.

Air France is the nation’s flagship carrier and transports Yankees to Paris. The American travelers can be rude AF on their way over to Parisian cafes where the waiters are ruder AF. Since they’re absolutely French and air fabulous their adventure flights will always whisk you away to Après Frances. AF can take you across France, show you the authentic French culture, and will always assist you in arriving fancy. AF is professional AF and once you get settled into your French adventure the mimes are funnier AF.

The Anarchist Federation is yet another extension of AF wordplay. The term is used to describe anarchist political organizations in the UK and other European nations. AF is a network of anarchists that advocate for the complete absence of a centralized government and institutional hierarchies. Their ideas are stupid as fuck and would never work. Anything treading along anarcho-communist ideals are subversive as fuck and these fucks shouldn’t be given any sort of platform. How can you have an organization dedicated to anarchist ideals when your whole belief system is dedicated to overthrowing all order and organizations?!? The AF as a whole is foolish as fuck and knuckleheaded AF.

Anthony Fauci is controversial AF and will go down in history as the evilest bureaucrat in American history. He is the biggest liar, deceiver, manipulator, media whore and perpetrator of crimes against humanity. He tops the list on all these categories since he’s crooked AF. Fauci’s ouchies, along with his lineup of journalist and actress groupies, is sickening AF since he’s sicker than fuck. From AIDS to COVID this absolute fuck stain was an arrogant fool and set back society’s trust in public health for decades. Not only was he an absolute failure but he’s a compulsive liar and an absolute fraud. Manufacturing artificial fear through television interviews, his policy recommendations shut down schools ensuring young children of an awful future. Tony’s abusive force has led to an adverse fallout in touting that being vaxxed and waxed is somehow hip. Him and his cronies were in violation of the Nuremburg Code consistently AF. This arrogant fuck needs to be taken out back, have his head shaved and coerced into intravenous drug use.

I don’t know about you but I’m sick AF when it comes to getting my references mixed up. Spell it out when you’re making your point. Instead of saying AF (as fuck) use it fucks (IF) instead. Take Intermittent Fasting, it’s all the rage in the dietary trend universe and by golly IF. The Institute of Food IF to the max! The International Forestry Foundation (IFF)? It fucks to the IFth degree. In fact, it’s impact factor infinitely fucks harder and longer than anything to do with International Finance. Enough with the intermediate frequency of lazy jargon in text exchanges. It’s annoying AF and doesn’t meet the threshold of IF. If you want to be a spelling bee champ your vocabulary needs to be tight as fuck. Spell it out and use it in a sentence. As if wordsmith masterminds need any more attention since they effing get it from the get-go.

Brian Ss

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According to criminologists, arsonists’ occupational backgrounds are usually the trades, mechanical work, the security field, or sometimes homeless vagrants. But that profiling is outdated and so 20th century. Thanks to social media platforms glamorizing structural fires, now everyone could be a possible suspect. It doesn’t have to be a teenager with a zippo or a meth head’s auditory hallucinations telling him he needs to start a warming fire for some demon named Zeth, no pretty much any millennial personality has the potential to be an arson suspect. Some of these people you come in contact with, others you interact with on a daily basis. Let’s take a deep delve into these sick fucks who are always on a mission for ignition.

Here we have Cole. A 29-year-old physician’s assistant from Milwaukee, this young man doesn’t have a criminal conviction to his name. Classified as a bit of a straight-edger, Cole only socially drinks and loves cooking fine Italian food for his girlfriend. Come Friday night’s Cole doesn’t head to the bars or mindlessly sports gamble on his phone, instead he’s scouting out his next target for his traditional fire fetish. After procuring some petrol and a Bic lighter he decides to burn down a few old houses in the Walker’s Point neighborhood. Setting it off and admiring his own handiwork Cole can be seen smirking with satisfaction and having an internal dialogue. The world is a woodpile and it’s up to me burn it. The only way to purify my neighborhood is by burning it to the ground to trigger a new birth cycle. I must prevent the ghosts and ghouls from seeking safe haven in the old historic homes, this is the only way to get rid of the demon spirits. Fire, fire, fire, scorch the wickedness from my community. After a satisfying night out to include talking to the first responders, Cole decides to head to the local diner, treating himself to chocolate chip pancakes for a job well done.

Nancy Schultz is a prominent local attorney and fixture of her community. Raising 3 fine sons and performing pro bono work for people who have been wrongly convicted, most of Mrs. Schultz’s neighbors have nothing but good things to say about her. Attending weekly mass and volunteering at a soup kitchen twice a week, some would say Nancy is a heroic personality. With no known vices, she blows off steam twice a week by taking stolen cars for a joyride then setting them afire to coverup for her crimes. Getting her jollies off by hotwiring cars, driving them like their stolen, she finishes off this night’s sesh by dousing the inside of a car with paint thinner and igniting it with a flicked cigarette. Proud of her artwork her inner dialogue spills out of her consciousness. Burn you bitch burn. She thinks watching a 2024 BMW X5 lighting up the night sky. After stealing you from your owner and immolating you as a sacrifice to the pagan god Pan, I have swallowed your soul and have made payment to the spiritual entities as predicted by my game of Tarot cards. Burn you bitch burn. I’ll see you on the other side. After another successful outing of stealing and burning German automobiles, Nancy heads home and decides to bake chocolate chip cookies for her high school son and his friends.

Ezra Andersen is your neighborhood Mormon dentist that everyone in the ward adores. Coming back from his mission in Nicaragua, Ezra married his high school sweetheart and fathered six children. His work ethic is second to none and he heeds the calling of the LDS Church by tithing 15% of his income. Serving the community as both a soccer coach and scoutmaster, Ezra is the picture-perfect Mormon dad who never give into temptation on the devil’s playground. His only escape from his goody two shoe existence is going prowling on Saturday nights and lighting spot fires on National Forest Land in Northern Utah and Southern Idaho. Intertwining fundamental theocratic beliefs with fantasy fiction, Ezra’s arsonist modus operandi is unconventional. It is up to me and only me to release the tree ferries from their wooden prisons in the forests. Without fire, fire, fuck yeah fire, the tree ferries would be restricted to the magical gumdrop forest for a period of millennia if it wasn’t up to me. Too many people knock wood but until that deadfall goes up in flames, the ferries can’t be released into the atmosphere for the coming apocalypse. If not for Elder Ezra, then who will take on this tedious task? Successfully starting another forest fire, the anti-hero then retires home for the evening, baking chocolate chip banana bread with his wife and four daughters.

Kimberley Gustafson is a straight A student and head cheerleader in her small Texas town. Gearing up to go to UT next year, this do-gooder is active in her church choir and reads to blind children. Keeping her daily life busy for she doesn’t stray away from the righteous path; Kim doesn’t touch drugs or alcohol and has publicly vowed not to have sex before marriage. The only way she gets high or gets off is by going to the edge of town with the trench coat mafia kids and setting fields ablaze with a flamethrower they purchased on Amazon. But when Kimberley launches the fiery napalm from the cannon it’s in fact her doppelganger Yolanda dictating her thought process. Let’s torch this bitch! We gotta burn the cicadas out to protect the town from the scourge. Then we’ll burn the rival school down along with their mascot Tony T-Rex. Until his costume is engulfed in the flames of the hellfire, Paris, Texas will never win state. 2-4-6-8 who do we appreciate? Accelerants, accelerants, accelerants! I may be the biggest jersey chaser in this shit town but I’m also the biggest arsonist! Burn it, burn it to the ground motherfucker! After snapping out of her arsonist alter ego, Kimberley always heads to her grandmother’s house baking chocolate chip muffins for the church committee.

Derek Download is an exemplary IT professional working in cybersecurity at a firm in San Francisco. Receiving high remarks from his superiors and fellow coworkers, Derek busts his ass Monday-Friday, then loves to unload on the weekends. Getting high on methamphetamine and binge-watching gay porn, Derek stays up for 60 hours straight after smoking crystal meth and entertaining himself watching Grindr til ya Rewindr. Once he hits hour 54 of no sleep, Derek always gets the itch to start small fires around the streets of San Francisco. Starting dumpster fires, burning down encampments, and burning piles of garbage on the sidewalk is how Derek blows off steam when he’s not at work. Meth heads love starting fires and the public domain is their playground. Fuck yeah, fuck yeah, burn, burn, kill, burn, burn, Derek thinks while self-reflecting on his latest pyro creation. Trying to keep his demons at bay, Derek hopes to attend this year’s Burning Man where pyrotechnics are legal and where he’ll be accepted as a gay porn binge watcher/fire freak. Until that day comes all he can do is head back to work and bring in some freshly baked chocolate chip cookies to his fellow coworkers.

Fire is considered the fourth classical element after earth, water, and air. Cultivated hundreds of thousands of years ago, when harnessed correctly the heat can cook our food and provide us light at night. In ancient traditions the symbolism of fire represented power, creation, destruction, and even transformation. It is a beautiful sight to behold whenever human beings gather around the campfire staring at its awesome potential. Nowadays there’s an emoji that captures the essence of fire and the word itself is widely used as a positive superlative. Unfortunately, in modern society, there is a distinct subset of these people who harness fi-ya for their own sick amusement. Your everyday arsonist walks amongst us baking chocolate chip cookies and waiting to set the next fire in Los Angeles or Spokane, Washington. All they want to do is burn something in a display of creative destruction. That or they’re hired mercenaries brought in to destroy a neighborhood in order to turn it into a smart city or AI data center.

Brian Ss

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Boomers, AKA the baby boomers, are the tip of the spear of the Me Generation. Self-absorption and narcissism came about at the exact time when the hippies metamorphosized into yuppies. Snorting copious amounts of cocaine in the 1980s this generation brought us items such as neon spandex, the Walkman, and Miami Vice. Inheriting power in the 1990s they will mostly be remembered for consumerism, materialism, environmental damage, AIDS, partisan polarization, greed, the Iraq War, Jeffrey Epstein, economic inequality, the last generation to get pensions, sacrificing the working man on the altar of free trade, repeal of Glass-Steagall, tax cuts for the wealthy, making higher education and housing unaffordable, triggering the 2008 depression, making boomerang generations mainstream, mismanaging the pandemic, having faith in the 24 hour news cycle, devaluing the dollar, and bankrupting the country. The boomers shouldn’t be remembered for being born lucky into favorable economic and political cycles but instead for blowing up the country. The boomers need to ingest copious amounts of psylocibin shroomers, AKA boomers, and engage into a personal moment of self-reflection. Going on the carnival ride, narrated by Boomer Esiason, they will see the error in their ways and hopefully relinquish power once and for all. A successful American empire was supposed to last three saeculum not one.

Groomers, contextually a confusing label. The mainstream version you commonly hear are the people who manipulate vulnerable teens by gaining their trust and cross over to sexual exploitation. These types can be found in Hollywood, recording studios, the halls of Congress, and members of the Epstein class. Essentially anyone in a position of power who takes advantage of a young person and abusing them in the end. It can happen online or when hot horny female teachers take advantage of unsuspecting high school boys. These creeps shouldn’t be confused with pet groomers who provide an invaluable service to your little dog nicknamed Mr. Muffins. These groomers give your domesticated dog a buff and fluff and can also clean his teeth and ears along with trimming his nails. They’ll make your pet smell wonderful even after your dog’s been rolling around in shit in the backyard. Dog groomers are wonderful people and are the sort of adults you’d let around your teenagers. Then there’s the kind of groomers who drive snow cats and groom the snow. Laying perfect corduroy after an overnight snowfall, these groomers manicure the mountain and only hang out with snow bunny groupies aged 21 or older. These men and women work the graveyard shift grooming snow and would never model their lives after R. Kelly.

Doomers are a collective of television and online personalities who hold a negative outlook on just about every topic at large. From the economy to the fabric of America, to the future of humanity, these speculators hedge on cynical perspectives just to draw attention to themselves. This is a form of click bait that is divisive with where the majority of these douchebag doomsayers are usually wrong. Fear and division are the name of the game and it’s really just one big psyop. From Wall Street speculators to political pundits, to negative Nancies, these discouraging sorry asses thrive on the gloom and doom. You wouldn’t want to be around these people in real life since they are the equivalent of a Karen with a massive yeast infection. These pessimistic and hopeless humans for some reason thrive online, but for the optimists amongst us I say doom on these people and don’t let them affect your mood.

Broomers are witches who go commando because it provides a better grip on the broom handle. Popularized in the Wizard of Oz, the Wicked Witch of the West, decided not to wear witch’s britches, deciding to be free and flowy. Broomers love to spread eagle while riding the broom handle to a housekeeping gig then taking that broom stick to sweep up the dust bunnies.

Zoomers are members of Gen Z whose entire existence has revolved around smart phones and social media. Their emotional growth was greatly stunted during the pandemic when they were placed on house arrest with their parents fielding Zoom calls for remote work. Typically, the grandchildren of boomers, the zoomers got screwed by the boomers, and their deferred adulthood will make all of them late bloomers. The members of this generation were assumers of massive amounts of student debt and the presumers say they won’t get jobs thanks to AI and our Boomer in Chief Donald J. Trump.

Roomers are people who rent rooms in shared housing or apartment scenarios. Since the American dream of owning a home is out of reach for the Zoomers, Larry Fink wants to force all young people to rent rooms from BlackRock and subjugate them as a permanent class of roomer consumers. These living arrangements aren’t necessarily for gamer bros who just want to play video games, slumlords everywhere are making a killing by renting out rooms to Zoomers on Airbnb and VRBO. Rumor has it that the Zoomer Roomers will rise up to remove the tumor that is Wall Street infiltrating housing on Main Street.

Lara Loomer(s) are MAGA whores who are political activists, spouting out controversial political commentary. They can usually be found wearing a red ball cap and having sexual fantasies involving POTUS. Making Islamophobia great again, they vow to end Islamic immigration, prevent Sharia law from taking place, and to apply chemotherapy to the cancer of Islam. They’ll also challenge Illan Omar to a celebrity boxing match with the proceeds benefitting Wounded Warrior Project. This isn’t’ just a singular personality, the cult of Lara Loomer is a popular way for hot young conservative women to gain traction on social media and spread awareness that Barak Obama once gave a member of the Muslim Brotherhood a high five on the basketball court.

-Oomers. Mostly abhorrent people with a few decent folks in their respective ranks. If you are classified in one of these sub-groups, chances are that you’re a vampire, feasting on the blood of the young people that you’re taking advantage of. Zoomers, roomers, and broomers get a pass, but I say doom on the doomer boomer groomers. America deserves better leadership than the -Oomericans. We all need to back off of our consumer and perfumer tendencies and gravitate ourselves towards Vroomer culture. If we can all find an affinity as muscle car enthusiasts, driving fast and taking chances while vrooming along in the carpool lane of life, our ultimate outcome will be better. Only that big vroomer energy will bring us together for we can have a circle jerk while binge watching the Fast and Furious Franchise. Vroom, Vroom, and let the vroomers be the guiding light as we propel ourselves into the future at 130 mph.

From the womb(er) to the tomb(er)

Brian Ss

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According to various studies, 80-90% of fires are started by human activity. Natural causes, such as lighting only account for a small percentage of forest fires. Unattended campfires, discarded cigarettes, fireworks, downed powerlines, vehicles emitting sparks, and arsonist influencers on Instagram are the major causations of forest fires. Ignorant and criminal behavior by bad actors is usually what causes fires to take off and raise your homeowner’s insurance towards preposterous premiums. Unfortunately, human nature and bad behaviors continue to persist from the campground to the roadway. Most law enforcement agencies can only deter risky fire behavior. Citations can be issued, rangers can step up patrols, but in the end all it takes is one stupidass to burn hundreds of thousands of acres to the ground. Fortunately, heaven has sent us an enforcer to prevent more forest fires from starting and spreading. A man with the physique of a god who can dole out justice at a moment’s notice. Women want him and men want to be him. Born in 1944 and succeeding in his trial by fire in the 60s, Smoky Bear is here to prevent any would-be forest fires and will kick some fucking ass in the process.

Summit County, Colorado. Shirking the no campfire signs posted all over the campground, 5 fuckfaces from Denver decide they’re going to have an outdoor fire, and nobody is going to tell them otherwise. Thinking that they are above the law, the stage 2 restrictions don’t apply to them and that they can do whatever they want. Drinking beer and smoking marijuana around the campfire the Denver 5 continues to flout society’s conventions. Wandering in from the tree line taking decisive action, Smoky unzips his jeans, proceeding to take a gigantic piss over the embers until the fire is completely snuffed out. “Hey what do you think you’re doing,” the one they call Mason says protesting to Smoky. “Only you can prevent forest fires,” Smoky says cocking his head in a retort. “Fuck you bear,” Mason says taunting Smoky. With his jeans still unzipped Smoky lunges towards the REI hipster, bending him over on the hood of his own Subaru Outback and raping him in front of his friends. Ravaging the disrespectful little brat Smoky puts an end to the possible fire danger and sends a message to all of the shocked campers. “Tell your friends what happens when you have unauthorized campfires. Remember………. Only you can prevent forest fires and getting anally raped by a bear. Take care now.”

Smoky may be an octogenarian but he can still kick ass. He’s all natural and is way scarier than that senior citizen Sylvester Stallone. For decades he’s dealt street justice to those that start unnecessary wildfires. When the Forest Service isn’t present and game wardens are away on another call, that’s when you call in Smoky and the big guns. His methods may be unconventional but by golly he gets the job done. When citations don’t serve as a deterrent to stupid human behavior, Smoky will manhandle any dipshit camper or arsonist. When the word gets out, everyone looking to light off fireworks has to look over their shoulder to make sure they don’t summon Smoky and get a paw up their ass. He is humble and fair. After a long day of dealing with fire starters, Smoky heads home to his lover(s) Yogi and Boo-Boo. Being a proud Bear gay, Smoky’s throuple is conveniently nicknamed Two and a Half Bears.

San Bernadino, California. At a gender reveal party up against U.S. Forest Service land a married couple of knuckleheads decides it would be a good idea to shoot off pink industrial sparklers in celebrating the announcement that they will be having a little girl in September. Starting a small wild grass fire, the activity has the potential to jump into the forestland. Once again Southern California is a tinder box and no one wants a repeat of the L.A. Fires of 2025. Despite this, people think the rules don’t apply to them and without law enforcement society turns into Lord of the Flies. LAPD is currently preoccupied with multiple homicides and can’t answer the call. Jumping in with the smoke jumpers out of a C-130, Smoky and his crew leap into action. Peeing on the fire and snuffing it out Smoky lets the hot shots put out the remaining hot spots. Assessing the situation and finding out who started the fire, Smoky pounces on the expecting father to be, raping him in front of all the party goers. The sexual assault is so violent it makes Leonardo Di Caprio’s bear mauling scene in The Revenant look like a Sunday picnic. Finishing himself off, Smoky scans the audience reminding them, “Only you can prevent forest fires. Remember……….FAWFAGRBAB.” (Fuck Around with Fire and Get Raped by A Bear).

Spokane, Washington. After finding out some miscreant purposefully burned down a forested neighborhood to pave the way for an AI data center, Smoky is furious. Besides burning down hundreds of structures and destroying the livelihoods of thousands, the forest fire emits toxic smoke and ruins the Air Quality Index for millions of people downwind. This aggression will not stand especially when it was the work of an arsonist. Paying a visit to the accused suspect’s jail cell the guards look the other way as Smoky punishes this evil doer by violently raping him for hours. Dressed as the Gimp, Boo-Boo is watching in glee as he is dressed up as a BDSM Leatherman. Streaming the event live, Smoky hopes to send a message to all aspiring arsonists out there that you can run but your tight virgin butthole can’t hide. The wrath of the bear is real, and your bare ass is no match for Smokey.

Missoula, Montana. With two dipshit Californians driving their H2 Hummer westbound on I-90, they’re smoking and joking without a care in the world. Since smokers make for the worst offenders in the littering department, a cigarette butt gets casually tossed from the passenger side window starting a grassfire on the side of the highway. With the action being recorded by U.S. Forest Service spy satellites Smoky is dispatched to dish out some pain. Snuffing out the fire with his magnificent urine stream, Smoky then jumps on a chopper in hot pursuit of the two suspects. Catching up to them near the Montana-Idaho border, Smoky rips the passenger from the SUV and proceeds to penetrate him in every orifice off the side of the highway. “Mommy, what’s that bear doing to that man,” a curious young child asks.” “Oh, he’s punishing that man. It’s like getting spanked but only worse. That’s why you never play with fire Daniel. If you do, Smoky Bear will have his way with you, six ways from Sunday.” After finishing the session of cruel and unusual punishment, Smoky rewards himself with a honey mead and huckleberry pie. His work is done for the day, but he’s always on call.

The next time you see posted signs warning of extreme fire danger, whether they’re along a highway or campsite, heed the ominous warning. The fire danger thermometer with Smokey Bear posing alongside the current restrictions is there for a reason. Forest fires suck and errant human behavior is almost always the likely culprit. A bad fire season can ruin everyone’s summer, not to mention people’s private property. Most people are responsible and abide by the restrictions. But for the few that don’t, just remember, Smokey will find you and when he does, he’ll violate you in every way imaginable. The only way people learn from irresponsible fire activity is when Smokey arrives on the scene and lights a fire up and under your ass. Enjoy the great outdoors this summer and be safe when it comes to outdoor fires. There are consequences to your actions. Remember…………Only you can prevent forest fires.

Brian Ss

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The problem with these people is that they’re not everyday heroes. They’re not somebody you should aspire to look up to and model your life after. Instead, you should be influenced by Bill, the guy who runs a hardware store and volunteers his spare time to coaching his little league baseball team. Or Brenda, the woman from church who spends her free time helping out the homeless at the soup kitchen. But instead, we now enamor ourselves with the Paul Brothers, the Tate Brothers, the Liver King, and every one of the Kardashian Sisters. These people sell you a false reality and shamelessly advertise their energy drinks, manhood programs, supplements, and cosmetic products. Everybody nowadays is so overinfluenced that they now lose touch with reality, and it impairs their judgement. When one is so influenced by influencers it’s tough to navigate through life and drive an automobile. People nowadays are getting pulled over left and right and being harshly punished when they’re driving under the influencer.

Here we have Cheryl. After a night out with girlfriends, sipping mocktails since she refuses to drink alcohol, Cheryl and company have been chatting it up at a local bistro. Talking about everything from Timothy Chalamet’s bulge to which body lotion works best, the conversation turns to social media influencer and podcaster Alix Earle. Since Cheryl and her fellow girlfriends constantly consume the content of Alix, mostly regarding relationships and dating, celebrity interviews, and embarrassing personal stories, all five gals have been dumbed down by this hot young influencer. Becoming intoxicated and drunk off this false idol, Cheryl decides to go home hopping in her Tesla. After getting pulled over by the highway patrol, Cheryl fails the roadside sobriety test since she can’t walk a straight line after being overserved on gossip from Alix Earle. Having blown a 0.00 she is arrested anyway since her eyes are bloodshot from watching too many TikTok videos of Alix talking about her favorite move in the bedroom. The arresting officer informs Cheryl that she is being arrested for suspicion of D.U.I aka Driving Under the Influencer.

Having just finished his finals, and set to graduate in May, Tony goes out to celebrate with his boys. Since he’s Gen Z and has sworn off alcohol, this LDS stud muffin decides to head on down to a root beer kegger with his fellow jack Mormons. Getting hyped up on sugar and tutorials on the looksmaxxing influencer Clavicular, Tony unfortunately has become obsessed and hypnotized by the manosphere streamer. With his eyes glazed over from Clav engaging in jaw smashing, Tony then decides to get behind the wheel of his 1989 Ford Bronco. Swerving all over the road from being brainwashed by an influencer, this straight edger has developed a non-homosexual crush on the one they call Clavicular. After being stopped by a local sheriff and being falsely accused of consuming both drugs and alcohol, young Tony is then cuffed and stuffed in the back of a patrol car since he’s being charged with a DWI. Though he’s never touched the bottle or a drug, the state is charging this upstanding young man with Driving While Intoxicated (on douchebag male influencers). Tony was looking forward to the next chapter in his life but now he has to spend the night in jail and perform 24 hours of community service.

Clarence is a local town pastor who’s a devoted husband and father to five wonderful children. This Christian DILF hasn’t had a drink in nearly 20 years and plays softball once a week with other men from his ministry. Still wanting to socialize, Pastor Clarence limits himself to two Michelob Ultra Zero beers per game where he can sip N/A beer and still have fun. He walks the walk and could pass any walk and turn test in a roadside sobriety exercise. When in the dugout brother Clarence consumes the content of Jeffree Star, an androgynous cosmetics influencer, for he knows what makeup to buy for his twin daughters’ upcoming birthdays. Having watched this dude’s content nonstop for 40 minutes, Clarence has become influenced enough to by $200 worth of eyeliner from Jeffree Star Cosmetics. Mesmerized by Jeffree’s style and fashion choices, Clarence wraps up his game with a homerun proceeding to drive home. Being stopped at a DUI enforcement checkpoint, Clarence fails the roadside sobriety test, passes the chemical test, with the arresting officer charging him with DWAI, Driving While Absolutely Influenced (by a YouTube/Tik Tok superstar). Clarence vows to fight the charges and will present his case all the way up to the state supreme court.

Sister Mary Katherine has been a devout nun for nearly fifty years. She’s remained celibate and sworn off every vice to be in service of the Lord. The only mischief that she gets into is going down the rabbit hole on social media sites. Lately she’s been following Joel Osteen on Facebook, Instagram, X, you name it. Joel truly is a wolf in sheep’s clothing mesmerizing his flock with his bullshit self-help books and a monetized message. He’s been an influencer long before the smart phone and this Houston based “Man of God” has been hucking his bullshit for far too long. Unfortunately, the good-natured nun can’t resist this snake in the grass for he is an influential influencer to the nth degree. The devil is in the details, and Mary Katherine has become drunk off this man’s pride. After watching and listening to him on his views of tithing, this number one nun gets behind the wheel of her church’s short bus and decides to go for a joy ride. Swerving all over the road, the CHP finally pulls her over and places her in the back of a patrol car for driving dangerously from being under the influence of Joel Osteen. A quick search yields her web browser history of Brother Joel, and it’s decided that she’ll be sent to detox and undergo an exorcism. Ridding her of the demons that are the words of Joel Osteen, Sister Mary Katherine has been charged with OWI, Operating While Influenced. Being sentenced to 30 days in county lockup, the nun will have to attend TA (Televangelist Anonymous) for 12 months as part of her punishment.

You may think influencers are harmless, but in actuality they are part of a massive influence campaign. Distracting you with their little dances and speeches, they bait you in with their wanton desire for attention. Before you know it, you’re drunk off of their content and under the influence of their trendsetting gimmicks. The best thing you can do is just say no. Don’t fall prey to this distraction by design. The more time you spend scrolling and going down the rabbit hole, your BAC (Browsing Addicting Content) goes up astronomically. This puts you at potential risk for getting in trouble with the law and becoming dumber in the process. Never binge watch content on Instagram and hit the road, you may be putting yourself and others at risk.

Don’t let Silicon Valley’s enabling platforms put you under their spell. Be above the influencers, never under the influencers. Dopamine is the body’s natural cocaine and you’re much better off by quitting your phone. Instead, naturally influence yourself with things like vodka and vaping. You’re better off wasting your time and life with these gifts from the gods than doom scrolling hot young fitness influencers trying to get you buzzed on their camel toe and energy drinks they’re trying to sell you. If you do happen to find yourself too much under the influencer, never get behind the wheel of a car. Designate a driver, call Uber, or take a long walk home to sober up from all the influential influencers. For those that are too addicted to influencer culture you may be looking at a 60–90-day stint in rehab. Life is short, don’t get rizzed on some 25-year old’s yoga ass pants when time could be better spent getting fucked up on mojitos and bong hits.

Brian Ss

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As photography progressed and videography came on to the scene, the American Century was documented in real time with this magnificent technology. Coming mainstream in the 1930s, the movie industry could now tell stories to a national audience, thus developing a monoculture. The actors were mere moving parts while cameras brought everything to life. Photojournalism became more commonplace during World War II to show the American public how their boys were performing in the European theater and far-flung islands in the Pacific. Such classic images as raising of the U.S. flag on Iowa Jima or the sailor kissing the woman in Times Square, celebrating V-J Day, captured the essence of these important events in real time. By recording and focusing light on a brief scene or a continuous stream of scenes, the camera has greatly benefited mankind. However, fast forward 80 years and there has to be a fucking camera everywhere you go.

Indoors, outdoors, all around your home, somebody has to constantly be watching you everywhere you roam.

You got cameras in every store, making sure you don’t shoplift or have a slip and fall, cameras monitoring your face when you’re self-checking out at Walmart trying to purchase a pickleball.

Cameras on the street corner to monitor your speed, game cameras to monitor wild animals as they proceed.

Cameras all around your vehicle, front to back and side to side, eyes at every angle for there’s no place for danger to hide.

Apparently, everyone has to document everything in their life into small sound bites for they can make internet posts and show the world how awesome they are. Not to mention everyone is paranoid of their neighbor and random strangers in just about every nook and cranny out in public. Everyone has a camera in their pocket courtesy of their phone. Now everyone is a citizen journalist. Our narcissistic society has to put everything out there into the digital universe to trigger FOMO and parade their ass around on the world wide web. Trying to get everybody to “look at me” in a pathetic attention grab, the smartphone camera has devolved into nothing more than stimulating rage bait and showing off your camel toe to complete strangers.

Then you have body cameras. I think it’s in good taste to require law enforcement officials to have to document their every action with the public. The camera doesn’t lie, and there can’t be a coverup when a stream of digital images captures your constitutional rights being violated or a cop shooting a motorist to death. But on the flip side you have the GoPro camera, a device where bro-brahs of all shapes and sizes can document and upload their extreme adventures from a POV point of view. From shredding the gnar on the slopes, squirrel suit flying, to extreme kayaking, the audience now has an even more intimate voyeuristic view with adrenaline junkies. Once the athlete is hyped up on Red Bull and a camera is properly mounted upon their brain bucket, you the viewer get to experience the rush all courtesy of the camera.

Another misallocation in the invention of the camera would have to be its hijacking by the streaming community. Now you have live streamers on TikTok, YouTube, wherever filming themselves doing something in real time. You are essentially watching someone that is watching something else. They may be gaming, posting comments on “cultural content”, or trying to illicit a strong reaction from an Antifa pussy or a Proud Boy, the point is you are wasting your time by watching the watcher. Having your perceptions manufactured through a digital lens, interacting with someone who is doing the actual viewing, you might as well hire a local witch to teach you remote viewing skills. Why rely on an overhead view from a camera, when you could be enjoying a real time view from the eye of a raven?

Thanks to military and commercial drones, now you have a permanent eye in the sky. This invention was originally rolled out to surveil enemy positions and Islamic terrorists but once they figured how to strap hellfire missiles to this technology the camera in the stratosphere now records airstrikes in real time. Thanks to the bloated budgets of the Air Force and NSA, there’s pretty much a fucking camera angle over the entire globe. In the name of national security, all they’re doing is spying on everyone and monitoring Hooters babes on their way to work.

With the nonconsensual roll out of FLOCK cameras, all of your personal errands are tracked in real time for it can be a useful tool for local law enforcement. Cops no longer have to go on patrol and issue citations; they now can enjoy a glazed donut with sprinkles in the precinct war room. With data driven software monitoring your morning commute, your trip to purchase a firearm at Walmart, or what you thought was a private session of public urination, all of your public movements are now monitored and sent to a database. Does an American society that argues that they are the freest country on earth, really going to put up with a camera on every street corner? The good news is the local populace is fighting back by “uninstalling” this technology and pushing back at their city council meetings. The sheep have woken up and flocks of them are organizing resistance to prevent Big Brother from raping them out of their right to privacy and not have the likeness of their image sent to data collectors. Better to protect your 4th amendment rights now than having Flock Safety roll out their drones, for local police can spy on your sister putting on her bra and panties.

What would George Orwell say all about this? 1984 is alive and well here in 2026. Eric Arthur Blair was well aware of the potential for the rise of the technocratic totalitarian state. He hypothesized the overreach of government by a surveillance state through the plot of the most important novel of the 20th century. The party’s issuing of the telescreen wasn’t just an entertainment device; it broadcasted government propaganda and state issued programming. On the back end it was a surveillance device that the party monitored to watch and listen to all of its citizens in their homes. Sound familiar? Things such as Alexa, Ring, your television, and your smart household devices now have a camera and microphone on you at all times to monitor your every action. Today’s cameras are no longer looking outward to capture that perfect image, instead they monitor you in your most intimate sanctuary. When you willfully surrender your privacy, you surrender your intimacy, and when you surrender your intimacy, you surrender your own individuality. When society surrenders it’s right to free thought and opinions, humanity is reduced to a blob.

And it’s only going to get worse if we don’t keep a watchful eye on invasive cameras. In the very near future the government is requiring monitoring devices, cameras, and kill switches in the manufacture of new automobiles. In the name of public safety, Uncle Sam gets to ride with you everywhere you go. Nobody is consenting to this, and nobody wants it. And to complicate matters further, when you go in for your colonoscopy, they shove a camera up your ass during the procedure. And when ladies go in for an annual pelvic exam the doctor makes good use of a small camera looking up into their uterus. If we the people don’t stop the overuse of government sanctioned camera use, in the year 2040, every citizen of this country will be required to have a camera fitted up their ass or up their hoo-ha. Look, the camera is a marvelous invention and should only be used in capturing those memorable private moments. But if we don’t draw a line in the sand on mass surveillance right now, everyone in the future will be walking funny in the street with Big Brother knowing everyone’s menstrual cycle and what they had for dinner last night. This is a dystopian future that nobody should accept.

Self over selfies.

Brian Ss

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Years of wear and tear can also result in the need for radical knee reconstruction surgery or procedures used to address afflictions in the back or hip sockets. Decades of engaging in your favorite pastimes sometimes leads to the body needing some sort of surgical intervention. There’s no shame in it, just part of growing older. The outcomes ultimately lead to a person having more mobility and better movement. Physical therapy followed by 6-8 weeks of slowly recuperating can be expected. Sometimes medical hardware is assigned to the patient to help them accomplish life’s daily activities with more ease. Things like crutches, neck braces, slings, and a whole other variety of plastic medical instruments allows for the person to go about their life even while recovering from ACL surgery.

Where I reside in Colorado, the outdoor lifestyle is very high impact, and you’ll see a lot of weekend warriors messing themselves up on their favorite hobbies. Skiing, mountain biking, kayaking, rock climbing, etc. are for the hardcore and sometimes those folks can push it to the limit in harming themselves. It’s essentially Newtonian physics. When you’re traveling at a high speed of velocity and you hit a tree on a pair of skis or a mountain bike, your day has the potential to turn into a bodacious bummer. It’s happened to me before and it happens to plenty of diehard outdoor enthusiasts. Before you know it, you’re in a cast walking around on crutches with a sympathetic public asking you what happened. “What happened to you?” “Are you okay?” “How did you manage to injure yourself.” At first, you don’t mind giving people an explanation but after awhile it gets old. You could tell them that you got shot by cops after a high-speed pursuit but after awhile that loses its luster. I find that using an Albanian Mafia alibi is the most creative and works best. So, the next time some numb nuts ask you how you sprained your neck since you’re in a brace, politely explain to him that you were indebted forty thousand dollars to the Albanian mafia and they threw you out a third story window.

La Costra Nostra isn’t as prevalent as they were fifty years ago, the Russian Mafia is still powerful yet highly decentralized, but pound for pound the Albanian Mafia are the baddest motherfuckers on the block. Featured in such movies as Taken and The Equalizer, these Balkan bad boys are a menace to society everywhere they go. From the streets of Paris to Colorado’s mountain towns the gangsters from the Land of the Eagles protect their interests through extortion and violence. The also provide the perfect excuse in explaining how you injured your Achilles tendon. When a concerned woman asks why you are hobbling around on crutches, don’t tell her about your soccer injury, explain to her that the Agron the Albanian Capo roughed you up a bit when you failed to make delivery from the Bolivians in due time. The Bolivian marching powder was supposed to flood the streets of Aspen by Friday, and you were 12 hours late. After a beatdown from Agron in a nearby safehouse you feel his pain from the pain he just inflicted on you, and you’ll never be late again. After freaking the woman out, you can now go about your day moving at half speed.

After breaking both legs in a freak rodeo clown accident, I am now confined to a wheelchair for 3-4 weeks. After getting out of the hospital, I’m continuously overwhelmed with sympathy cards and people asking me how I incurred such a terrible mishap. Growing weary of telling the truth, I concoct a story explaining that I got caught up in an arms deal gone bad in the Mediterranean. Acting as a middleman, negotiating in good faith for a shipload of AK-47 rifles and grenades that were destined for Central Africa, I messed up on the agreed price selling the weapons to an African warlord at a significant discount. This did not please Ratko AKA the Tyrant of Tirana. After refusing to pay me my commission his goons ran me over in a car thus putting me in a wheelchair for the foreseeable future. Having a bull mess your lower body up is one thing but seeing the looks on people’s faces by explaining that I double crossed the Albanian mafia is priceless.

Dislocating my shoulder rollerblading, I’m a little hesitant to tell people how I incurred the injury. I’m now in a sling, fully embarrassed, and can’t let people know the truth of how I ended up with this painful injury. Instead, I explain to them that I got this battle scar when me and my friend Liam raided an Albanian sex trafficking ring in Paris. It was rumored that his daughter and her friend were kidnapped and taken there and he and I fought our way in and out looking for intelligence. Liam may have done most of the stabbing and shooting, but I caught a bullet during the exfil and here I am slung up. It’s a much better explanation than roller blading and blaming the Albanian Mafia for all of my woes is all the more interesting.

Having thoroughly messed myself up by tumbling down a hillside full of cacti, I’m a hurting unit from head to toe. With various bandages, skin discoloration, and gauze wrapped around my head and ear, people just can’t wait to see what the hell I did to myself. I could tell the truth and say it was a mescaline retreat gone bad or I could make it all the more interesting and explain to them that this is what happens when you get involved with the Albanian Mafia in the exchange of counterfeit Britney Spears merchandise. Shkelzen was none too pleased with the lineup of Britney Spears concert T-shirts that I brought to the flea market, so he wailed on me with a baseball bat. Senselessly beating me he is the reason for my many injuries and the shocked look on my audiences’ faces. Being referred to as the Albanian Joe Pesci, Shkelzen doesn’t tolerate shit from anyone especially when it comes to moving Britney merchandise within the black-market of Chicago. I came up short, and this short statured Albanian from the criminal syndicate put me in my place.

At one point or another, you’re going to fuck yourself up. It could be no fault of your own but eventually you’ll need some sort of medical apparatus to help you navigate in the world. Healthy people need healthcare, that is for sure. When that time comes, and every semi-concerned dipshit on the street has to ask you what happened and if you’re okay, fuck them up with an Albanian alibi. Tell them Albanian Al fucked you up for spilling the beans on a fraudulent childcare facility in Albany. It’s a way better storyline than telling someone that you are on crutches since you tripped and sprained your ankle while shopping for flowers at your local farmer’s market. Instead of shamelessly having to admit that you are in a neck brace from a freak goat yoga accident, tell someone that this is a result of Tonin Berisha AKA the Albanian Tony Soprano beating your ass and throwing you out of a helicopter from a crypto currency dealer going awry. Never give in to mediocrity when explaining your injuries, lie your ass off and point the finger at the Albanian mafia for your external afflictions.

Brian Ss

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It’s a distraction by design to keep you obedient and ignorant for you don’t end up challenging the existing structural hierarchy. Instead of your traditional 13 channels on television and five current good movies to rent from Blockbuster, you are now inundated with a matrix of choices. The buyer’s paradox if you will. Good wholesome movies from the 80s and 90s are no more, instead we have an insufferable lineup of Kevin Hart movies. We no longer have a monoculture where America identifies with an identifiable storyline that captures the national audience, instead we have a fragmented society picking and choosing from a never-ending array of bad television shows and movies. In modern times the cultural heap is a heap of shit.

If you’re anything like me, it usually takes me at least 40 minutes to settle on a show or movie that I can enjoy with my special someone. A compromise must be met when trying to find something new and original or classic and memorable. Whether finding a new show to binge watch or a movie that satisfies the psychological needs of both genders, a great amount of time is spent in settling on an evening’s entertainment. Fuck going for a sunset walk or learning how to trim a bonsai tree, no my precious leisure time is spent on scanning an endless library of televised amusement. The time it takes me to find that perfect program we could’ve been on a second episode or halfway through a movie. You’ve heard of paralysis by analysis but every time I turn on a streaming platform, I become a full-fledged quadriplegic in executing a final decision.

Whether it’s Action, Adventure, Anime, Family, Comedy, Crime, Documentary, Drama, Fantasy, History, Horror, International Intrigue, LGBTQ+, Mystery, Reality TV, Rom-Com, Science Fiction (Sci-Fi), Sports, Thriller, TV Shows, War, Western, Superhero, Psychological, Supernatural, Teen, Stand-Up Comedy, True Crime, Independent Films, Classic Movies, Cult Classics, Holiday, Food & Travel, Nature & Wildlife, Faith & Spirituality, Period Pieces, Shitty Adam Sandler Family Comedies, Martial Arts, Zombie Horror/Romance, Feel-Good Movies, Award-Winning Movies, with so many genres you could be up all night going through all the possibilities. Not to mention the user interface of Netflix and other platforms makes it easy to rapidly scan turning the user service into a carnival ride. There are far too many options and it’s way too time consuming in making a formatted decision on what too consume. By the time you watch the movie trailers and doom scroll through the reviews it’s well after midnight and you give up on your intimate watch party for the evening.

Every Friday evening, I like to sit my ass down and mindlessly watch a show or two on one of my streaming platforms. I go balls out and have Netflix, Prime Video, Disney+, Hulu, Max, Apple TV+, Paramount+, Peacock, Crunchyroll, AMC+, Starz, MGM+, BritBox, Acorn TV, Discovery+, ESPN+, Shudder, Mubi, Criterion Channel, Hallmark+, PBS Passport, BET+, ALLBLK, ViX, Tubi, Pluto TV, The Roku Channel, Freevee, Sling Freestream, Plex, Kanopy, Hoopla, YouTube, YouTube TV, Fubo, Sling TV, Philo, DirecTV Stream. Those are just a couple to choose from. Sipping on a Fresca, the difficult decision of what to watch takes shape. I’m feeling like some 80s ultra-violence or a Kubrick film while my fellow watcher is feeling more Rom-Com or something featuring Paul Rudd. Looking for common ground, it’ll take us the better part of the evening to settle on something. Suggesting Delta Force 2, paying tribute to the recent passing of Chuck Norris, the lady wants to watch Always Be My Maybe. Moving on I suggest A Clockwork Orange while she prefers Emily in Paris. Not coming to a definitive choice, we continue searching while time’s a wasting.

After an hour and a half of intense scrutiny we still haven’t made a formidable choice on what to watch. We could’ve been halfway through Braveheart by now but instead we keep jumping from platform to platform to see if Mad Max 3 is available. It comes up on Tubi, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to pay $3.99 to watch Mel and Tina Turner take center stage in the Thunderdome. Suggesting Human Centipede, I explain to my lady the concept and she decides she doesn’t need to watch that. Stumbling upon Scarface, it’s on HBO but we have to watch ads, which I’m not willing to do. What happened to Home Box Office!?! It used to be touted for having no advertisements, now when you press the pause button on your HBO original show an ad for eat at Burger King pops up. The hunt for the perfect cultural piece goes on and the clock is pushing midnight.

Not fully knowing if we should watch a documentary or a motion picture our search deepens. The lady thinks that watching a few episodes of Love is Blind Mongolia may be a winning ticket, but I refute this suggestion. Nearly 3.5 hours in, we could’ve watched the entirety of Apocalypse Now Redux by now. Instead of surfing on Netflix, we could’ve watched the scene where Martin Sheen goes to the French rubber plantation and things get all weird around the dinner party. Nope, but instead we’re flinging pud trying to lock in at that perfect cultural enigma. It may be elusive, but I feel we’re right around the corner from finding that perfect compromise.

At 1:30 am we’ve given up on the whole movie selection process. We can’t come to an agreement and we’re getting sleepy. We’ve already enjoyed the microwave popcorn and ice cream bowls without actually watching anything. Utilizing the Netflix feature “Choose Something” the algorithm selects Brokeback Mountain. This Ang Lee classic features Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhall as two cowboy lovers in Wyoming set in the 60s. With memorable acting performances, pushing cultural boundaries 20 years ago, this emotional storyline a couple of ranch hands going bareback in the tipi. Since we couldn’t come to a definitive decision, our overlords at Netflix, decide that Ennis Del Mar and Jack Twist embracing each other in a motel parking lot is the best fit for us.

How I yearn for my childhood and adolescence when it was easier to decide on what to watch. You maybe had 5-10 choices; you came to an agreement and that was that. Maybe the movie or show sucked but at least it was easier to come to a conclusion after a serious 5-minute debate. Everyone gathered around the stupid box and the experience was shared without smartphones diverting people’s attention capacity. Fast forward 30 years and there is an endless supply of old movies and shows that hint at a glimpse of nostalgia compounded with fake ass reality tv shows to bizarro docs, where a trainer falls in love with a dolphin. With so many choices, life’s precious moments are lost when deciding what to watch. So do yourself a favor and utilize the “Choose Something” feature on Netflix. It will save you endless hours and spare you frustration. Trust the algorithm when it nudges you into gay cowboy romances.

Brian Ss

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I find what’s more annoying than being encouraged that you have to go to college are the people that brag about where they went to college at. Whether a public or private school, people that have to mention their academic credentials in verbal passing always irritate me. You could be talking about Patriots Football and how Tom Brady is the GOAT and then all of a sudden, this random stranger you’ve been chatting with just has to make mention that he went to school at Harvard. He just had to let me know that he went to an Ivy League school for he can inflate his ego and engage in a dick measuring contest simultaneously. It’s the same group of people that brag about their GPA in high school or college. Once you get past that point people compare and contrast themselves to others by going the extra mile to spout out where they spent their university days. Sure, some schools are better than others, but when it comes to a run of the mill 4-year degree it doesn’t really matter. Cs and Ds get degrees and most importantly where you graduated or what your student performance was is no longer an indicator of future success. But throughout your 20s, when you’re just starting out in the professional workforce your fellow coworkers and so-called friends pass judgement on you of where you went to college and if you are worthy enough to hang out with them.

I personally went to an in-state school called the University of Montana. Thee U of M, not that godawful school in Ann Arbor. The collegiate experience was amazing, but the education was so-so. I learned a few things in certain academic arenas, but no skills were mastered. I had drunk the Kool Aid and thought that I was hot shit for getting a bachelor’s degree, but in the end, I should’ve gotten a degree in an emphasis that I liked. Fast forward several years and you may find yourself at a firm or corporate outfit where hypercompetitive Asians and douchebag Caucasians ask you where you went to college and what professional networks come with that big degree. When presented with this question I either lie or change the subject to a skillset that I have mastered and no one in the office could ever come close to this unique talent. A talent so beautiful, it’s what set me apart from the other 50 candidates and helped me land my dream job. Having ended up at the same place as my coworkers is mere coincidence, but being able to masturbate with my non dominant hand shows that I am smarter and work harder than all of those little Millennial pukes put together.

Starting out in Seattle after college graduation I was constantly bombarded with inquiries such as “where did you go to college?” “Did you attend school on the west or east coast?” “What did you study, and were you on the lacrosse team?” Flipping the script in a flash of brilliance I politely inform them that I went to a public school in the mountain west and can jack off with either my right hand or left hand. A muscle memory that was developed after hours of self-mastery in high school and college, I can now achieve orgasm in the same amount of time if I go lefty loosey or righty tighty. I’m a switch-hitter and my ambidextrous nature will take me further than getting an A in 18th century lesbian poetry. Explaining to the person that you may have gotten a better ACT score than me or may have been valedictorian, they’ve never been able to use their weak hand while beating their meat. Telling them that the college they went to sucks, I part ways by giving them a firm handshake with my non-dominant hand.

After working my way up in a mid-level firm, I found myself amongst the MBA mafia. I didn’t have an advanced degree but everyone around me did. When somebody started going off about their fancy schmancy MBA from USC, I piped up and explained that I can stroke my member with my left hand, upside down. Having had a broken hand once, and that I had to learn to milk the cows and milk my boner with my weakest link, the MBA braggadocio finally shut the fuck up about his accolades and achievements. Shocked at the conversational exchange, this jerk off finally realized that we were both on the same playing field and that I had saved a 100k by not getting some jagoff higher degree. Once you master the skill of cranking your hog with your weak hand, you tap into the cognitive reservoirs of both the left and right hemispheres of your brain. The hand eye coordination and recruited muscles needed while giving the nub a rub greatly enhances neural plasticity and makes you smarter. Making it easier to learn new tasks and getting ahead on the corporate ladder, it makes a lot more sense of spending your time and money on learning to masturbate with your weak hand than it does forking over tens of thousands of dollars to obtain an overrated degree.

Interviewing for a new job, I was constantly grilled by both the HR and hiring manager jerkoffs. Impressed with my resume, they felt that I was lacking in academic achievement and demonstrated excellence in school. Explaining to them that college is bullshit, that it’s really young adult daycare with nice amenities, I told them how I once won the fraternity row circle jerk going lefty. With a thousand-dollar pot on the line I showed up and showed off how it’s done by going toe to toe with some of the biggest alpha male jerkoffs on campus. After successfully tossing a load and chugging a beer out of a red solo cup I was crowned the winner and paraded on the shoulders of my peers. Despite the fact that I didn’t go to law school, since nowadays it’s a complete waste of pud, the hiring committee decided to take a chance with me since I demonstrated that I’m good at both administrative and manual labor. Welcoming me to the team and extending their hand, I opted to shake their hands with my non-dominant weapon.

Working the room at a Silicon Valley mixer/professional circle jerk I maneuvered my way around the perimeter of the room(s) rubbing elbows with VCs and oracles. Being amongst some of the smartest people in the world I got to hear nonstop of who went to Stanford and who went to Berkeley. This pack of jerkoffs had their tickets punched with their uber fancy degrees but never came up with original ideas. Thankfully enough the most successful tech titans in this arena dropped out of school not seeing the merit of a traditional 4-year degree. With a chip on their shoulder, they had to prove their worth to their higher ups by coming at them with an amazing business idea or illustrating that they can wank with their weak hand. Take Mark Zuckerberg. He dropped out of Harvard and successfully launched Facebook all while learning weak hand masturbation from a Tibetan monk. This path has led him to making billions and becoming a successful jujitsu student. Steve Jobs dropped out of college after one semester, mastered the art of limp wristed masturbation during an acid trip and successfully built a company called Apple. Recognizing that he was getting jerked around by paying expensive tuition at the University of Chicago, Larry Ellison focused his mental energies on engineering Oracle software and cuffing the carrot blindfolded with his weakest hand. So, you see kids, most billionaires come to the realization at a very young age that higher education has become complete masturbation and the key to professional success is demonstrating to potential investors that you can go hefty lefty while choking the chicken in a Chik Fil A bathroom.

With the potential for AI to make certain white-collar jobs obsolete, there has never been a better time to engage in self-education and self-stimulation with your weak hand. What’s the point of taking out 200k in student loans when you can’t even participate in hand to gland combat since your restrained by the golden handcuffs? No wonder so many girls are on OnlyFans strumming the pink banjo with their non-dominant hand. There’s more dignity doing that than working in corporate advertising. When you are debt free, you are truly free, free to whatever you want, including making masturbatory gestures with your left hand. The entire higher education system is a racket. From the allure of the individual student getting “educated,” to the college recruiters screwing over the nation’s youth, your typical 4-year college degree is nothing more than predatory lenders draining your dragon. And when you enter the job market, with your pointless fucking degree in hand, nobody cares where you went to school, only if you can deliver high-performance results and if you can demonstrate that you can tickle the Wookie with your left hand.

The next time you find yourself amongst your fellow peers and you’re getting sized up for where you attended college, politely tell them to go fuck themselves and that you can fuck yourself by making beef stroganoff with the weaker version of your five-knuckle shuffle. Your college degree has become nothing more than a dick measuring contest and anyone that asks where you went to school is a complete dickhead. If you want to get ahead in the workforce and in life, woo your potential employers with the only skill that matters, jerking off with your non-dominant hand. I guarantee no algorithm, or software system can mimic that behavior. To become undeniable and bulletproof in the job sector, take the time and learn the knowhow of juggling the flesh flute with both hands. You’ll go further in life than any dipshit armed with a bachelor’s degree in business.

Brian Ss

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Having watched intently the last week or so, there’s been a lot of good games and dazzling highlights. Messi Magic is back with the little maestro racking up hat trick games. Team USA looks to have its greatest roster ever and hopefully they make it to at least the quarter finals. The European heavyweights of Spain, France and the Netherlands have started off dominant with perhaps Norway being a dark horse later in the tournament. The uninterrupted play is great with less time outs and commercials. It’s good to see the flow of a match not interrupted with ads begging you to wear Adidas clothing and to drink Michelob Ultra. Soccer matches don’t always rack up high scoring games but at least they guarantee excitement with good energy emulating from the stands. The only downside that I see isn’t hooliganism, but when a team’s player has to take a dive on the field, pretending that he is hurt to draw a foul. I absolutely hate this and find that this is the most annoying aspect of international soccer. It disrupts the flow of the game. This isn’t an acting class it’s supposed to be the world’s most popular sport where incidental contact and collisions take place from time to time. Whenever some footballer passionately takes a flop, wincing in imaginary pain, it degrades the sport. If only something could be done about this.

I’m guessing when a player goes down on the pitch, 90% of the time he’s faking. Rolling around and covering his face in some sort of actor’s agony, the ref has to blow the whistle, stopping the game to see if this pansy ass is truly hurt. It robs the attacking team’s momentum and cheats the fans out of a potential goal. This has been going on for 20 years and has to stop. What I propose is that every time someone goes down, whether they’re hurt or faking it, they need to step off the field for 10 game time minutes, leaving their respective team a man short. After a quick assessment to see if the “injured” player is good to go, they can resume play after the full ten minutes. While waiting to get back into the big game they must wait in a kiddie pool filled with Vagisil until their imagined pain subsides and their little boo boos heal. If FIFA enacted this measure, there would be a whole lot less flopping, since doing so would deprive your team of a man and your manhood would be deprived when you receive a mandatory 10 ten-minute sentence in a Vagisil bath.

If a player feels the need to take a dive to illicit a yellow or red card for the defensive player countering him, then he needs to take a headfirst dive into the Vagisil pool to wash away his sins. There may have been some slight contact but there was no need to fake wincing in pain to try to get the ref to flash some color on the field. The ref may have had his back turned but at least the replay booth was paying attention. After having a second look at the Egyptian player rolling around on the ground, it has been decided no contact was made and Salah needs a 10-minute cleansing with the feminine cleaning product. Once he’s sparkling and feeling fresher than running through a Summers Eve carwash, Salah is ready to resume play and help his team on to victory.

Watching Brazil play Scotland this is sure to be a decent matchup. Scotland’s fans are legendary and Brazil’s players’ haircuts are more stylish than a fruity fashion event in Rio de Janeiro. The passion and flair are guaranteed to eventually boil up and boil over at Hard Rock Stadium in Miami. At the 26th minute Brazil’s striker Cunha takes a breakaway pass, looking like he has a good shot at scoring, the gentle breeze caressing his hair knocks him down with him rolling around in agony. Unsuccessfully trying to get a penalty kick out of the performance, the referee knows better, sending Cunha and his nappy haircut to the sideline. Cold water plunges in barrels are all the rage now, and FIFA has adapted their very own Vagisil barrel as a dunk tank to make dirty players clean again. Making the Brazilian superstar listen to the Shania Twain classic Man! I Feel Like a Woman during his soak of shame, the Vagisil molecules penetrate his black hair and skin neutralizing all foul odors and thoughts of foul play. After the designated penalty time is up, Cunha racks up a hat trick with his feminine odor energy smelling like an ovulating Swedish woman. The aroma described as “fresh coochie” has his fellow teammates and opponents alike starting to flirt with the Brazilian soccer stud.

Mexico vs. Czechia. With one of the host nations dominating in Mexico City Stadium before the hometown crowd, the Mexican squad is making this game look like a clinic. Spanking the Slavic nation every chance they get, Mexico is dazzling the audience with offensive play making and generating great goooooooooooals. At the 71st minute, deciding to be a little bitch, Romo goes down with such passion the acting is tenfold better than anything you’d see in a Telenovela. The passion, the convincing trip up, has three of the referees scratching their heads. After confirmation from the officiating booth, the replay camera determines Romo tripped over himself but tried to make it look that the Czech defender was at fault. Directing him to the Vagisil container, the French referee decides that the 20 gallons of Vagisil needs to be laced with Cholula sauce to make an example out of Romo. Stewing in the Mexican pool of spicy Vagisil, Romo’s “not so fresh feeling” starts to subside as he begins to learn his lesson. Not wanting to repeat his mistake, Romo decides to never insult the game ever again with his dirty, smelly actions. If he can’t fake his own fouls ever again, he decides to inflict them by swooning the opposition players by pulling their shorts down and embarrassing them.

Portugal vs. Columbia. With these two flamboyant teams engaging in some memorable highlights, the two hard-charging squads are vying for a chance to get to the next round. Playing neck to neck, the score is tied 1-1 entering the 90th minute. With plenty of near misses and physical play, the on-field players are starting to let their emotions get the best of them. As Christiano Ronaldo, one of the greatest players of all time, takes the ball his flamboyant dribbling helps him maneuver the ball to get him within goal scoring distance. Juking left, then juking right, readying himself for a shot on goal, Christiano is then tripped up by a Columbian defender. Being a legitimate foul, the referee then awards Portugal with a direct free kick which Ronaldo is expected to take. Heading over to the sidelines and dipping his golden boot into the reserved batch of Vagisil the magic solution gets the stank off Ronaldo’s cleat. With a fresh cleat to boot with, CR7 takes a few steps back positioning himself to take the shot. As the whistle blows with the shot curving around the man-made wall just over the fingertips of the goalie, the ball sinks into the back of the net winning Portugal the game and a guaranteed trip to the knockout round. This shot, this game, this World Cup is brought to you by Vagisil. Vagisil the intimate wash that helps neutralize football player flopping and soothes your itchy pink taco for you can enjoy Taco Tuesday with your fellow girlfriends. Make sure to check out Vagisil Wipes for relief on the go!

While soccer is indeed the world’s game, certain disciplinarian actions need to be taken to greatly reduce all the on field acting in an attempt to draw fouls. It interrupts the flow of the game and totally emasculates the sport. Every time a player decides to take a spill, they need to be sent off the field immediately for their team is at a handicap and they can marinade in the dryness-relief product. Most soccer fans such as myself are over these pussy ass athletes, taking pussy ass dives, and making soccer look like a pussy ass sport. Only after repeated Vagisil baths will the message get through for this behavior will cease and desist. Once the offending player(s) immerses himself from the baptism by Vagisil, he can once again get on the field to make a difference and be a true sportsman. On the women’s side, when a gal decides to take fall after light contact with an opponent, she shall be sentenced to a 10-minute session of soaking in a pool or barrel of Lamisil AT gel cream. Lamisil AT, advanced relief for fungal inspired jock itch.

Brian Ss

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This movement traces its first wave roots back to Jeffersonian Libertarianism. Tommy Jefferson, America’s third president who fathered several biracial children with Sally Hemings, stated that those that want more liberty need to take on more personal responsibility. Wanting limited government, championing of individual rights, states’ rights taking precedence over the federal government, a republic over an empire, no monarchy whatsoever, and a decentralization of enumerated powers. These ideals were the forerunner of modern-day libertarianism, but Jefferson argued for this system to work the citizen needed to take on more individual responsibility and civic involvement if they want to enjoy more freedom. This is a far cry away from today’s crypto bros who want to do whatever they want and don’t want to perform jack shit for their county, state, or nation. The intellectual origins of 20th century libertarianism, which dominates today’s school of thought started in the 1940s by economists Milton Friedman and Ludwig Von Mises. The economic outlooks of these two academics set the tone for second wave Libertarianism which is justification for the self-proclaimed adherents of this philosophy to be selfish assholes and not repatriate anything back to society or the state. In a nutshell its the credo of the Me Generation and to hell with the We Generation.

I myself am guilty in dabbling in this -ism at one point in my life. I probably had a libertarian streak for 3-5 years before realizing that it was nothing more than an anarchist dystopia. I read the Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged on a monthly basis and had a super-sized photo of Ayn Rand over my bed which I consistently masturbated to. She wasn’t as hot as Vanna White, but by golly her theory of objectivism and man being responsible for his own happiness was enough for me to achieve orgasm several times a week. Sure, there’s a couple of redeeming features to this ideology but in the end it will never work. It’s a major component of the wealth gap in this country where the rich get richer, the poor get poorer, and the middle class is slowly eroded. There is absolutely no justification for trickledown economics. Tax cuts for the rich make about as much sense as the pregnant man emoji. Reagan and the GOP’s fantasy economic system has hollowed out this country and gutted the social contract. Instead, you have trickle up economics best demonstrated during the pandemic where 4 trillion dollars was stolen from the bottom and made its way to the top 1%.

Most people would believe that Silicon Valley is the capitol of the world when it came to Libertarianism. I mean with such personalities as Peter Thiel, Mark Andreeson, and Mark Zuckerberg calling the shots how could it not be? Despite the anarcho- capitalist nature of the Bay Area, with zombies engaged in open air drug use within San Francisco’s city limits, you can basically do whatever you want. Both the billionaire class and the street level hobos can rewrite history and engage in public defecation because there’s no centralized authority around to tell them what they can and can’t do. But there is one place in the world that is the ultimate, ultimate Libertarian city state where there’s no centralized government to be found and you can do whatever the fuck you want. Where free will supersedes any sort of civilized outlook. Where tech titans are buying up beach front property and avoiding the 5% wealth tax proposed by Gavin Newsome. I’m not talking about Miami, the Silicon Beach of the East Coast, I’m talking about Mogadishu, Somalia.

Mogadishu, AKA the Mog, is the Galt’s Gulch of the 21st century. If Hank Reardon were alive today, he’d vacate his sanctuary from Ouray, Colorado and move it to this East African gem on the Horn of Africa. This exclusive economic zone has no taxes, no fee for entry, and you can handle your business and tribal disputes by blowing someone away with an AK-47. Despite all the potholes on the neglected roads and overall lack of economic infrastructure, because public works don’t work and everything should be privatized, America’s oligarchs are fleeing the Western Hemisphere to this sanctuary on the Indian Ocean. It’s beautiful beaches, tax-free haven, and white stucco buildings pockmarked by decades of civil war, have America’s oligarchs flocking here for they don’t have to pay taxes despite the fact that most tech innovation was created by taxpayer subsidies. These bros are no longer parking their wealth in Switzerland or Panama, instead the Federal Republic of Somalia is the global capital of libertarian tech goons in the year 2026. Because in Somalia you can do whatever you want, to include no Western government oversight, open seas piracy, and forcing your rivals to play Russian roulette until one of them blows their head off. No Sharia Law here, just good old-fashioned Libertarianism in a land where they have never known liberty.

With the “free market” alive and well in Bakaaraha Market, the billionaire technocrats and criminals from Wall Street can now engage in the free exchange of commerce unlike the overregulated markets of America. Finally, these job creators can spend their hard-earned crypto on things like anchovies, bandoliers of 7.62 rounds, khat, and forged Kenyan passports. For far too long the sensible regulations in the American experience has hamstrung these oracles from harvesting your 7 year old’s biometrics and data and obtaining lucrative government contracts that are directly financed by your taxpayer money. It didn’t matter if they turned you into a product or were massive recipients of corporate welfare, these self-made geniuses deserved every penny that they earned even though those trillions of pennies were taken out of a Walmart employee’s paycheck. Speaking of Walmart, even some of the Waltons are moving to Somalia in mass for their net worth can be $385 billion vs $380 billion. In Somaliland, Allah rewards the makers not the takers.

The great thing about Somalia is you can hire a private army. With Alex Karp’s most recent home purchase there, he now has a battalion of mercenaries at his disposal for he can roam freely and cross-country ski wherever he damn well pleases. With 300 killers outfitted with Russian fifty cals and RPGs, he’s free to skate the white sand beaches as he pleases. Then you have Mark Cuban. With the Dallas Mavericks out of the playoffs, the Cubes has been on a rampant spending spree as of late. Parking his yacht named the Fountainhead at the port, he was able to navigate his way to this Libertarian paradise by paying off the local pirates. Setting up shop and going on a lecture series circuit around Somalia, Mark loves to hear himself talk down to people who barely have enough grain for their daily sustenance. Despite the high infant mortality in the countryside this Ayn Rand disciple preaches his message through African TED talks. By grifting such talking points as the importance of private property, the unreliability of public goods, the necessity of corporate privilege, and the non-aggression principle, Mr. Cuban’s message is lost on the illiterate shepherds in his audience. After giving everyone a copy of the Fountainhead and saying this book is the holiest of the holies, Mark is chased out of dodge and forced to hire Blackwater for his personal protection detail.

Who is Mohammed Farah Aidid? A Somali warlord so powerful that he makes both John Galt and Howard Roark look like a bunch of fucking pussies. Having faked his death in the 1990s, Aidid and his powerful network of clan commanders not only run Somalia, the Gulf of Aden, and Minneapolis, but it is said he runs the world. Growing jealous of Aidid’s anti-monopoly message in the early 1990s, Bush Senior committed American troops to Somalia, not to stop a genocidal famine, but to kill or capture the father of third wave libertarianism. Despite evading capture from air mobile infidels, Mr. Aidid chose to go to the underground to preach his world view of freedom of choice and that tribalism far exceeds big government bureaucracy. Though this dimension of the story was personally omitted from Black Hawk Down, the true reason for Washington committing troops in Operation: Restore Hope was that post-Cold War libertarianism was seen as a threat to the New World Order. National governments and global governments will do all in their power to persecute their own citizens but will never succeed in squashing the free will of human individuality.

Even the Koch Brothers are getting in on the action. Inheriting their father’s business empire, Charles and Bill say no to an inheritance tax and yes to billionaires destabilizing democracy. Buying elections and throwing money at libertarian causes such as the Cato Institute, these Kochsuckers are hording swaths of land on the Somalian coast to build a castle with a moat dawning statues of Ayn Rand. This construction undertaking is projected to be more extensive than the Vatican or Versailles palace. It is a living monument to Ayn Rand that will be bigger and better than the Taj Majal. Even though Alisa Zinovyevna Rosenbaum spoke harshly of third world people in underdeveloped countries as savages, her moving monuments will be right at home just outside the promised land of Mogadishu. Despite being enrolled and receiving benefits from social security and Medicare until she died in New York City in 1982, the idol worshipping of this hypocritical cunt will go on for centuries. Somalia is now her new burial site with Mogadishu being renamed Ayn Rand City.

Let’s face it people, it’s not easy being a millionaire-billionaire-trillionaire. Once your bank account hits eight figures everyone wants a piece of you. Individual achievement in capitalist societies is what makes the world go round, even if your accrued wealth is accumulated by bribing officials and corrupting politicians in the public sector to help you make your kleptocratic nut. A select few in Silicon Valley and other industries have truly busted their ass for 18 hours a day, seven days a week to create innovations that benefit mankind. They should be rewarded handsomely and use those earnings to buy unlimited beachfront property in Somalia. Why buy up islands in Hawaii, when Ellison and Zuckerberg need to be taking their game to East Africa? Low tax business zones such as Singapore, Dubai, and Monaco invite the uber-wealthy in making those areas their own personal playgrounds, with their fancy yachts and private airplanes. But those destinations are yesterday’s Galt’s Gulches while Mogadishu is tomorrows. The next time you get some ants in your pants after reading some Ayn Rand and get motivated to make billions, do yourself a favor and buy up Somalia for pennies on the dollar. It truly is paradise for the producers where you can tell California bureaucrat moochers to suck it. Seeing Larry, Sergey, and Jensen riding stallions on the white sand beaches you’ll also run into Jeff Bezos pumping iron with Lauren Sanchez flying Katy Perry and Illan Omar around in her Blackhawk helicopter.

Brian Ss

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Having fallen out of favor with Roman Catholicism (the true chosen religion after Scientology) my life has been on a decent trajectory but find myself morally adrift from time to time. The mind, body, and soul of every one of God’s children has now become saturated with temptation through dopamine fixes and instant gratification. Social media and sinister distractions truly belong in the devil’s workshop and is a major disruptor of the Holy Trinity. Going through life now it seems that everyone has become morally confused with devious ideologies and have become spiritually empty. In the absence of God and church, whether you are a believer or not, most people will preoccupy their spiritual selves with alternative value systems that really only provide false narratives to living a good life. A centralized singular deity is a much better version of a world view than adhering to cultish groupthink and retarded doctrines. As the saeculum turns it appears that new age spiritual movements are dying out and people are starting to return to the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

Many people have described their “born again” moment when the voice of God or the collective consciousness speaks to you during a brief moment in your life. Sometimes it happens when you have hit rock bottom, or when you realize that the forces of evil have a stranglehold on humanity and Western Christian Civilization. Being force fed propaganda and mass media your whole life, it’s only when you get in touch with nature that you come to realize something is very wrong with the structure of our society. Some people will be saved but most will continue to be hypnotized by the devil’s distractions. Only recently did my eureka moment appear before me, demanding that I once again walk the righteous path through more consistent church attendance. After watching and consuming the first couple of episodes of 90 Day Fiancé Season 12, did the voice sound off in my head informing me that it was high time to go back to church and listen to the teachings of Christ.

90 Day Fiancé is a reality show on TLC and is a supreme example of decadence and decline of Western values. It’s where international couples go through the K-1 visa process and eventually have to wed at the end of the three-month grace period. With a 30-year age gap between couples, not to mention a massive cultural divide, arguments ensue making it world class trash TV. The kind that poisons your soul so much that Jesus makes an appearance in your life. When a Filipina twentysomething gets into a verbal altercation with her American sugar daddy, or when an African boy toy uses his American sugar mama for a green card, chaos ensues and it truly becomes unholy entertainment. It was said that Constantine Christianized the Byzantine Empire after witnessing the cultural rot that engulfed the Western Roman Empire. Bread and circus for the masses, with senators and generals engaging in immoral sexual practices, but it wasn’t until he watched an episode of 90 Day Fiancé where Cleopatra seduced a young Nubian man did Constantine decide to institutionalize Christianity transforming it into the Holy Roman Empire. Constantinople was named in honor of this great man, and 90 Day Fiancé was the catalyst for his implementation of monotheism on the former pagan Mediterranean coastline.

Like most unsuspecting dudes, you watch 90 Day Fiancé because your wife or girlfriend is a fan, but if you’re not careful, you’ll get sucked right into it. You think it’s okay to catch a glimpse or get a hit every now and again, but before you know it, you have a favorite couple. Becoming entranced towards this abomination after 15 minutes all of a sudden, you become a fan of Big Ed and know that he can do better than Rose. He may be short in height, but my main man Ed is a teddy bear and doesn’t take shit from no Filipina housewife. Walking with Jesus was the only way to break me away from this horrendous subplot. Or what about Gino and Jasmine? Gino being a dorky hat wearing guy from Michigan with Jasmine playing the role of Panamanian devil woman. The memorable fights and the meltdown caused by Gino’s trips to the strip club may be good entertainment, but it leads you away from the martyrdom of Christ. After an intense binge-watching session of Season 6 I need to go to go confession and confess to the priest that I have sinned by watching a TV program fit for the devil’s theater.

Becoming enamored with Danielle and Mohamed Jbali from Season 2, I knew I had a serious problem, and it was time to return to the faith. Addicted to the storyline of these two lovebirds, every time I watched them bicker, I was living in original sin. Accusing her Tunisian boy toy that is half her age of being a user and a loser, threatening to get him deported, this mother of 4 from Ohio constantly went ballistic on Mo for his social media activity. Recognizing that Mohammed was so desperate that he had to have sexual relations with Danielle in order to obtain a green card had me running to the closest cathedral and self-baptizing myself in holy water to get rid of the cultural filth I had just witnessed. Then there was Elizabeth and Andrei. Despite the fact they married, had children and remained married, Andrei’s gruff accent was always memorable when arguing with Libby’s family members. Season 5 was a wild ride, but Andrei’s blunt responses always offended Libby and especially her father. Witnessing the mail order groom business where Moldovan men are married off to American women left me confused and searching for answers. Luckily enough I was able to join a men’s scripture study every Thursday at 6 pm to wash the sin off from watching too much 90 Day Fiancé.

Born in original sin I attempted to live a virtuous and pious life for the first 22 years of my time on earth. Saying my daily prayers and attending church on a weekly basis, I felt that I was at least making an attempt to live in the image of God. The doctrine of the Vatican was the glue of Western Civilization for nearly 1500 years, so they at least had some sort of grasp of keeping the masses in line. I was an adherent all the way up until the story broke of the church’s failure to defrock a priest of molesting upwards of 200 deaf boys. Divorcing myself from this institution I unfortunately was susceptible to toxic ideologies and mass entertainment. Eventually bad habits and experimentation led to risky behavior such as drinking cheap whiskey and watching 90 Day Fiancé: Before the 90 Days. Every Friday after a long week of soulless work, I’d retire to the couch to sip Kentucky Deluxe and watch Kimberley and Usman "Sojaboy" Umar’s courtship hit rocky patches. The young Nigerian entertainer was a familiar fixture that was featured with both Babygirl Lisa and Kimbaaaaly. Consuming this crap for two consecutive years I had an epiphany in a dream where Jesus came to me and told me to come back him and ditch 90 Day Fiancé. The next morning, I went to St. John’s, got rebaptized and became born again.

Slipping up and falling victim to 90 Day Fiancé: The Other Way I became mesmerized with Kenneth and Armando. These two lovebirds with their dry humor and social commentary had no problem with PDAs whether they were in the U.S. or Mexico. Their legendary pillow talk sessions were quirky, always poking fun at their 26-year age gap. Breaking down barriers as a power gay couple this daddy and daddy chaser at least didn’t bicker as much as the fat and old American women with their rapper beaus hailing from West Africa. Despite their happiness and positive outlook on life, I eventually snapped out of the stranglehold this reality TV series had on me. Recognizing that it was all cultural rot, where producers manipulate couples to fight since manufactured drama sells, I heard the voice of God commanded me to move to an island in the Philippines. There I married into the local tribe and started my own dioceses converting the local heathens into good Catholics. Becoming a man of God AKA Brother Bishop Brian, I recognized becoming enamored in 90 Day Fiancé was the catalyst for me to run back to the Church. Reality TV and social media are tools of the devil’s broadcast and despite the sins of the Catholic Church, I feel enough time has passed for the altar boy scandal to be forgiven and only the Vatican’s new leadership can deliver us from evil.

Church attendance has been on a downhill slide since the middle part of the 20th century. Presence in the pews has been slipping since about the late 1940s. Our secularized societies don’t lead to unity instead it leads down the path of fragmented tribalism that is toxic for both local communities and nations. A certain amount of spiritual strength and nationalism are fundamentally necessary in preventing our brothers and sisters of falling victim to 90 Day Fiancé. Western Civilization has hit rock bottom and is entering the new dark ages. If we are not vigilant now, it will never come back. Temptation is real and the only thing worse than binge watching Season 12 of 90 Day Fiancé is getting off to midget porn. Heed your spiritual calling and head back to church. Once you are forgiven and are able to forgive others you truly are living in the image of Christ. All are welcome, whether in a place of worship or the Heavenly Kingdom, all you have to do is repent from violating the 11th commandment of Thou Shalt Not Watch 90 Day Fiancé or any of its spinoffs. Amen.

Brian Ss

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Birthdays can be fun but sometimes the obligation of acknowledging somebody else’s can be exhausting. There are the birthday cards, the gift shopping, and maybe even party planning. A lot of money and efforts can be squandered on deciding on a clown and bouncy castle for your child’s birthday. Weeks or entire months can go into planning for when little Jayden turns six. I prefer the quiet, low-key B-day wishes of calling someone on the phone and sending them a little bit of personal love on that big day. Celebrating B-Days has morphed into a multibillionaire dollar a year big business. The Hallmark cards company has capitalized on this immensely. When a loved one’s birthday plans are a small or larger gathering do everything in your power to keep things less complicated.

I’ve given up on birthday cards, whether traditional or digital, a long time ago. You gotta shop around, find the one with the right quirky tagline, then come up with a gift certificate to go with it. Paralysis by analysis when it comes to shopping decisions. That’s much too complicated for Bri-Guy. Over the years I have given up on this ritual of celebrating other people’s birthdays. I don’t think of it as selfish, but rather boring and unoriginal. Ten years ago, I came up with a brilliant idea on how to celebrate anyone’s birthday from here on out. The lightbulb went over my head when I was at a work birthday celebration complete with balloons, sugar, and a hired mime. If I was expected to contribute to a person’s birthday celebration, I would only hire black strippers to make that birthday boy or girl’s day all the more special. Balloons deflate, cake goes stale, and birthday hangovers are a bitch but the memory of ebony strippers grinding all over you will last a lifetime.

With my coworker Doretta celebrating her 48th birthday the other day, she didn’t seem that excited about it. Being middle aged with her youth far behind her, Doretta has come to the realization that she’s just getting older, and birthdays are becoming all the more meaningless. The last time she had a good time at her birthday was when she turned 35 and went to Cancun with girlfriends. Overdoing it on a booze cruise, she hooked up with a hotel bellman, having sexual intercourse with someone 14 years her junior, ultimately leading to a divorce from her first husband Todd. Ever since that unforgettable célèbre, nothing can even come close to comparing to when she hooked up with Enrique. The last decade’s worth of birthdays have been disappointing and last years at Dave and Buster’s was a tad lame. Doretta is craving adventure. Dialing up 1-800-BLK-NUDE I order up 2 male strippers for my fellow Amazonian for she can celebrate her 48th with a couple of black stallions that will take for a ride into the sunset. Dressed up as cops, they storm into her office and handcuff her to the desk. Telling her she’s being detained by the Black Law, Terrell and Rondell, strip down to their G-strings and start their choreographed dance moves set to the Kris Kross classic Jump. Salivating at the sight of scantily clad black dudes Doretta is having the time of her life and this beats the shit out of tacos and ice cream in the corporate cafeteria. We’ll just have to wait and see if Doretta gets bitten and smitten by black mamba when it escapes from its lair.

With Uncle Johnny turning 75 I realize this guy could use some cheering up. Having been a widower for nearly 6 years, ol’ John hasn’t jumped back into the dating pool with the passing of his wife. He still remains active in retirement through his volunteer work and hitting the gym with pickup games of pickleball. Despite the good social network, he has in West Palm Beach I feel that Uncle John is lonely and could use a special someone in his life. Killing two birds with one stone, I decided to hire a black stripper named Lakeisha. Described as “vivacious ebony” this former track and field star’s powerful booty cheeks would give any retired white boy the shout. Pretending to be a repo agent, Lakeisha tricked my uncle into letting her in the front door. Blasting the SirMixAlot anthem Baby Got Back on full volume, it was all tush push and “grind it til ya find it.” Serenading him with her badunkadunk to Cardi B’s twat rock, this black queen made my Johnny feel like a king. Lakeisha smothered my uncle’s cracker ass as if it were a fine brie on a Triscuit. Having helped my uncle snap out of his funk and melancholy Lakeisha helped him see the light through her black ass. The good news is that they are now dating, and it’s about high time that we had a black step aunt join the family.

Kids’ birthdays these days have emerged as quite the production. Back in my day they only consisted of pizza parties at the bowling alley or arcade. Nowadays junior gets an elaborate 9th birthday party with 100 people complete with a bouncy castle, people dressed up in furry costumes, and a magician. They are elaborate and quite frankly overblown. If you’re going to spend that amount of money on entertainment you might as well include black strippers to keep the grownups entertained. My gift to Colton’s birthday celebration will be hiring a black couple, a man and woman named Clarence and Shanice, with their act nicknamed Chocolate Love. With the bass bumping, these two performers show off their flexibility and athleticism set to a soundtrack of 2 Live Crew. Busting moves in G-strings these two top tiered performers offer lap dances to the adults and utilize the bubble wand to distract the children. Making their way through the adult audience they move and groove with the best of them and perform unbelievable acts on their mobile stripper pole. The paternal grandfather of the birthday boy is visibly pissed off but everyone else seems to enjoy both chocolate cake and Chocolate Love.

Grandma’s turning 90 and it’s a landmark age for any human being. Having been old enough to remember World War 2, the Roaring 50s, and Segregation, there’s not too many of these old timers around anymore. They are to be cherished and heralded since the Silent Generation did make everlasting contributions to American society. Despite her old numerical age, Grandma Edith’s biological age is that of a 75-year-old. Fit as a fiddle, she walks five miles every day and still enjoys a daily cigarette and glass of wine. Her mind is sharp and she grasps the world around her relating to her grandchildren and great grandchildren. She even has a Facebook account for fuck’s sake. Still living on her own, her special day is populated with friends and her extended family. Sharing good food and fond memories I have the highest honor of ordering her up black strippers. After opening her presents and showering her youngest descendants with hugs and kisses, Grandma Edith is in for a surprise when Jamal, Lamar, Deshawn, and Deandre enter the room in all white tear-away clothes. This quartet of black stripper hotties are named Boy Toyz to Men which is a play on words for 90s black boy band Boyz to Men. Working the crowd with sexier moves and choreography than Chippendales this soul train of African American man flesh lights up Edith’s eyes since she hasn’t seen a half-naked man in 15 years. Preferring white male strippers during her hard partying disco days fifty years ago, she now prefers black cracks. Black strippers have had to fight for decades to get the love and respect they deserve. Equality didn’t come easy but acts such as Boy Toyz to Men have broken down barriers and kicked Jim Crow right in the balls.

This country has enough holidays already and there is always a non-stop lineup of birthdays that you are expected to acknowledge. Consuming mindless calories at work, wasting brain cells on trying to think of something witty to say on the birthday card, or feeling obligated to wish someone a happy birthday you don’t much care for takes its toll. Birthdays come a dime a dozen for any zodiac sign on the calendar. Sometimes they can be fun, but the whole industry of celebrating has become quite lame. Therefore, do as I do, and spice things up by introducing black strippers to the mix. Women, men, couples, whatever, you're always a guaranteed a good time as you strive for racial equality in society. Black burlesque dancers have been in the fold for decades and are finally getting the recognition they deserve at all white birthday parties on Long Island. Blowing out candles and singing happy birthday is quite lame when instead you could be experiencing black ass jiggling all up and down the birthday party you are attending. Do yourself a favor, if there’s a birthday on the horizon get that azz on the phone and order up some black excellence in the exotic dancer department. Grandma will love it and I guarantee it will be the most memorable birthday party you’ve ever attended.

Not advised in Mississippi, Alabama, or Southern Indiana.

Brian Ss

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Being a western state, Colorado has its fair share of animal species from ungulates to apex predators. Colorado has the largest elk population in the United States. Some estimates guess that upwards of 300,000 elk graze here. If you’re a full blown elkaholic, you’ll be in heaven. The buffalo roam just outside of Denver at the Rocky Mountain Arsenal and up in Genesee Park. There are a few other private herds dotted throughout the state where the great American mammal can be enjoyed from a comfortable distance. Grizzly Bears no longer exist with the last one being killed in 1979 in the South San Juan Wilderness near New Mexico. With plenty of deer, black bears, bighorn sheep, and mountain lions, Colorado believes its animal diversity is its strength. The only problem is they keep reintroducing species that mess with the already harmonious ecosystem.

In late 2023, against all wisdom, the first wolves were reintroduced to western Colorado. Apparently, the bureaucrats and the hippies found common ground on a ballot measure and wanted to hear wolf packs howl at the moon. Advocates say it restores a predatory animal, enhances ecosystems, and it could possibly improve river flows and the surrounding vegetation. Opponents point out that it could result in losses for welfare ranchers, mess with the elk populations, and the price tag is too high. Having grown up in Montana and witnessed the reintroduction of the wolf in the early 90s, all I can say is that it’s a bad idea. Their numbers will continue to climb, and they’ll decimate the elk and wreak havoc on mountain communities. Wolves can range upwards of 90 miles a day and are built to do one thing, and that is to kill. This “experiment” may have a lower impact for the first 5-10 years but after that it’ll go sideways. In the end, the reintroduction won’t work, and everyone can point the finger towards Denver. Supporters say, “wolf pack”, but this critic says, “nut sack.”

Now to make matters worse they want to reintroduce the wolverine to Colorado. Not only is this an asinine idea but a full retard approach to responsible animal conservation in the state. I don’t give a damn if these things were around in the 19th century, it’s the only animal that can kill a grizzly bear. Those devil creatures belong in Michigan, not Colorado! My theory of why this is happening is that our governor Jared Polis’s husband, Marlon Reis, is pushing for this behind closed doors. Being the first gentleman, his work and efforts are focused on conservation advocacy and wild ass animals. After a convincing session of pillow talk, Marlon has convinced Jared that the wolf and wolverine need to be forced back into nature in Colorado. Just because the idea of possibly viewing a wolf or wolverine out in the Colorado wilderness may sound like a good idea, I guarantee long-term that this policy will be a massive fuck up. Once the wolves start probing the foothills of Denver and feasting on domesticated animals the outcry will probably reverse course.

But since we live in fantasy land already, I say, why stop at the wolverine. If we’re going to get nuts, let’s get fucking nut sack nuts. My brilliant idea is to reintroduce the great white shark to preselected lake and river locations in Colorado. Even though their natural habitat is in saltwater, I say what the hell let’s unleash the offspring of Jaws into Grand Lake and the Colorado River, fuck it. This way they’ll be returned to Colorado where they once thrived in an ancient ocean 70 million years ago and to appease Marlon. Everybody loves Shark Week, so why travel to an ocean to see them, when you could see them on a floating trip down the Arkansas?!? Since their natural food supply of seals and fish aren’t readily available, they’ll have to get creative and feast off the livestock near the river’s edge or humans enjoying a lazy river tubing sesh on the upper Colorado. We’ll try to electronically track them and give them cannabis edibles to pacify them, but in the end the shark is bound to go full on shark.

Advocates say the shark is cute and cuddly and compliments the wolf. That they’ll keep the carp population at bay. It’ll be all fun and games until an overweight family of 4 from Dallas gets swallowed whole for basic shark subsistence. Sure, the mass slaughter of humans will be a hiccup along the way, but we have to reintroduce another apex predator into the ecosystem to keep the overpopulation of humans at bay. One minute you're taking a selfie on an epic kayaking adventure and the next you’re missing an entire leg. With the shark’s popularity rising and wrongful death suits increasing they’ll eventually decided to change the NFL franchise name from the Denver Broncos to the Denver Great Whites. Not only will this be an upgrade, but it also screams diversity.

The shark is bad ass and cool, but it ain’t got shit on a velociraptor. Whadya think the shark was the end of the line for this reintroduction retardation?!? Shit, fuck no! Once the great white shark has been accepted and normalized in Colorado’s waterways, I say bring on the velociraptor. We’ll be going full on Jurassic Park here sometime in 28-29. Given the advances in DNA cloning technology, we’ll have 20 ready for release in a short time frame. This magnificent reptile may be exquisite in viewing from a helicopter above, but on land it’s terrifying. 60 million years ago, these beautiful creatures roamed the land that is now the state of Colorado. The Polis boys along with their Washington ally Senator Lindsey Graham, will do their best to earmark funds to bring these feathered killing machines to a Colorado mountain town near you.

They may look cute and cuddly but with their serrated teeth and sickled claws on their feet they are killing machines perfected by Darwinism. Given their protected status as mandated by FWP they’ll be tearing off all the flesh that they want in places such as Rocky Mountain NP and Aspen. We’ve all seen the original Jurassic Park and witnessed the destructive capacity of these prehistoric birds. Whether you’re human or animal nothing is safe from the speed and agility of this species from the Late Cretaceous period. That is unless the state decides to issue hunting permits.

Pushing the envelope once again, before the end of Jared Polis’s second term, Marlon decides he wants hundreds of clones of John Denver to be rereleased back into the wild. If he doesn’t get his way Jared will be sleeping on the couch and the power bottom will be dictating the terms to the power broker. Having been dead for nearly 30 years it’s been decided to dig up the folk singer’s grave, extracting DNA from his bones. Best known as the performer to Colorado’s official state song Rocky Mountain High, Denver was a major force in American folk rock in the 70s. Having died far too early, the wizards at the state legislature in Denver decide to resurrect John Denver in an eerie experimentation in a sci-fi horror movie.

The idea is for those who dare to venture in the backcountry would be able to see a wild John Devner in person. Whether at an upstream creek, a majestic alpine lake, or spectacular summit, one of thousands of J.D. clones would set up next to you and start strumming his guitar. His gentle crooning would be soothing and would take your Rocky Mountain experience to the next level. Some of the clones will turn out defective and instead of having a coherent voice, they’ll just mumble and live its existence as a primitive caveman. A lot of these John Denvers will die of natural causes and serve as a primary source of calories for the state’s sharks and velociraptors. But if you’re lucky to see one humming along in nature, it’ll be better than sunshine on your shoulders.

Animal reintroduction may sound like a successful conservation strategy but oftentimes turns into a catastrophic failure. Advocates bribed by dark money say it’s good for the local ecology and biodiversity gets a boost, but the benefits don’t outweigh the costs. The rerelease of the wolves in Montana and Colorado didn’t quite work out as intended and dumbass bureaucrats whether in D.C. or Denver shouldn’t be allowed to play God. Colorado is fine enough as it is and we have enough biodiversity already. We have multiple species of human beings here and we don’t need to import any more. You have the ski bum, the stoner, the raging alcoholic, the dirty hippy concert goer, the mountain town hiking chick, and the urban hipsters who dominate the Denver metro area whose pants are so tight that not enough blood flow makes it to the genitals. There’s the native, the transplant, bros in Denver and bro-brahs in mountain towns, the craft beer connoisseur, the Boulder wellness guru, gearheads, meth heads in Grand Junction, California fucktards, and REI douchebags living their weekend warrior lifestyles. Colorado has more than enough subcultures and we don’t need to drown them out with the reintroduction of the shark, the velociraptor, and John Denver in the flesh. The next time you see this issue on a ballot proposal make sure to vote against it, putting the smack down on this nonsense once and for all. Jared Polis and his mister may be on the way out at the end of this year but don’t let them sneak in a midnight appointment of unleashing the duckbilled platypus into the Colorado drainage basin.

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Brian Ss

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When pregnant women exercise, they tend to reduce back pain, improve sleep, and feel more energized after a light walk with their partner. Just because you are with child doesn’t give you an excuse to be a couch potato or a lazy ass motherfucker. Women that are in better physical shape tend to have better deliveries. Haven’t you ever seen those pregnant lady water aerobics workouts at the rec annex? The temporary relief takes the pressure off the joints and lower back for these willing sperm recipients. Modern day mamas of all shapes and sizes head to the yoga studio which helps them focus on breathwork, body awareness, and reducing prenatal stress. Pelvic floor exercises, such as kegels, come in handy before and after delivery. Most healthcare providers encourage women to avoid high impact sports while carrying. Snowboarding, MMA, and base jumping aren’t necessarily the best activities to engage in for that special 9-month period, but it varies from woman to woman. Wanting to cash in on the pregnant lady exercise trend I’ve recently decided to invest in a gym that hosts CrotchFits specifically catered to pregnant women. Pregnant lady CrotchFits is for real and is the only exercise program catered to helping women lose 20-30 lbs. during gestation.

Starting a flagship location in San Diego, I set up shop and advertise for pregnant women of all ages to check me out on the corner of 34th and Conejos Street. Using street flyers along with social media, my marketing campaign has already yielded 2 dozen new memberships in the first week. Gals with barely a baby bump to women whose water will break any day now, show up motivated to my gym wanting to lose some of the pregnancy weight and put on lean muscle. First, we start off with barbell Olympic movements. Utilizing a 45 lb. bar we develop technique first before we start adding hundreds of pounds. If these gals want to hold and handle a baby, they’ll definitely need some better upper body strength. Once the movement has been mastered, I critique the preggers as they fire off sets of clean and jerk and snatch. One of my better students, Mary, is 8.5 months pregnant with a belly the size of a beach ball. She may look helpless but last class she was able to snatch 185-pound barbell over her head for 3 reps. The bun in the oven might be getting violently tossed around but I fully believe the baby will be born an athlete.

Moving on to extreme calisthenics such as weighted pullups and bear crawls I whip these pudgy women into the best shape of their lives. Most pregnant women have excess body fat during their maternity phase (due to biology). But after 4-5 intense circuit sessions a week for several weeks, most of my clients are sporting six packs. Filtering these mamas through high intensity intervals, the goo melts off, helping them attain svelte-like physiques. The bump is still there but with hardcore deadlifting and box jumps you can barely tell. Their core muscles are incredible, but it doesn’t always give junior room to grow. Running them through super intense WODs will have these women looking like superheroes and the extreme exercise will give them the confidence to shrug off post-partum depression.

There are times when the tummy does get in the way. During hang cleans and muscle ups I find that a lot of my clients bang their ever-expanding uteruses off of the hardware. That’s alright, I give them words of encouragement to keep going and power through their mistakes. Lots of chalk seems to help keep the baby bump flexible and bulletproof during the compound movements. When women are pregnant, with the estrogen flowing, their pregnancy glow makes them look beautiful. And there’s nothing more beautiful when a pregnant woman performs 10 reps of barbell thrusters where you go to a front squat to overhead press. Running uphill sprints, with their stomachs swinging around, and doing burpees with the stomach bouncing off the ground is a beautiful sight to behold for these future mama bears.

At Pregnant Lady CrotchFits we always have the latest and greatest equipment. Our state-of-the-art apparatuses are ideal for any person, especially if their packing twins. Our colorful displays of bumper plates, beautiful hanging ropes for climbing, and heavy ass kettlebells takes exercise during pregnancy to the next level. On the walls are inspirational messages customized to motivate pregnant women. Phrases such as Pain is temporary, pride is forever, Excuses don’t burn calories, and You think this sucks now, just wait to you blast a baby’s head through your vagina are just a couple of our original quotes to light a fire under these ladies’ asses. And with a dedicated housekeeping team, we run a mop and bucket through our floors twice a day to wipe up the sweat residue and the amniotic fluid that gets spilled when one of our client’s waters breaks.

We the staff at PLCF are passionate first wave feminists and truly believe pregnant women should work just as hard, if not harder as their male colleagues. From doing bar dips to keg carries on the outside parking lot, mothers need to be the same hardened motherfuckers you see in the SEAL teams. Just because you're pregnant is no excuse for lying down. Sure, your back hurts and your always tired since the fetus is sucking the life force out of you, but I’ll be the first one to say, suck it up candy ass. This ain’t the 50s where you are a bored housewife squeezing one out every year. 21st century motherhood has multiple demands from climbing the career ladder, juggling your cubs off to daycare, and being in phenomenal physical shape for your stay-at-home husband. Only alpha females that go through my 15-week PLCF regimen deserve to have their husbands take their last name. So, when you’re breast feeding in the near future, a simple pec flex will deliver mother’s milk into your baby’s mouth in explosive fashion.

With baby on board, you're not just working out for you, you're working out for two. Research has suggested the more weight added and reps that are cranked out will have your fetus looking its sexy best. All that blood flow from brutal cardiovascular workouts and rhabdo will be leaving your unborn baby with a six pack and dense muscle to fight off any abortion procedure. Babe will already be hardened and bulletproofed by your unnecessary exercise routine that any suction device or coat hanger, that makes its way in his backyard, will be met with swift punches and kicks. Junior is determined to be born and born to be wild. Once your toddlers cross over to the terrible twos, he can start going to the gym with my other concept known as mommy and me CrotchFits. Once your precious little person has become coordinated enough to walk, he’s ready to take on the rigors of doing 5 rounds of hang snatches, kettlebell front squats, and track sprints until he pukes up blood. If we want the youth of America to be ready to fight future wars, this is where it starts.

You think pregnancy is a game!?! Where you get to slouch around and slack off! Well fuck that. There’s no such thing as taking it easy or skipping the gym for nine months! I’m tired of pregnant women using morning sickness and low energy to get out of their daily WODs. You wanna be sick, go out and vomit in the back alley of the gym after engaging in a series of brutal fireman carries up 10 flights of stairs. If the workouts aren’t enough, you need to go on a strictly keto diet to build up some masculine shoulders and traps. Look, you’ve watched What to Expect When You’re Expecting, 16 times. You constantly boss the baby daddy around to go pick you up junk food and empty calories to fulfill your imaginary cravings for pistachio ice cream and fettucine alfredo from Olive Garden. Get ahold of yourself! Show some discipline if you want to go from flab to fab! Stop by today at my Pregnant Lady CrotchFits house of pain and we’ll make damn sure that there’s no post pregnancy weight at all!

Disclaimer: Not responsible for miscarries after you’ve carried 150 total lbs in intervals of farmers carries.

Brian Ss

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These disagreements and discrepancies can fester for a long time if interoffice conflicts aren’t resolved. Most of the time it’s bad communication and toxic attitudes. Other times it could be someone who constantly misses deadlines and spreads gossip and negativity. Emotional immaturity runs rampant in any office and organization and oftentimes rivalries can lead to bad behavior. That’s when you have to sync in the HR Department and other department managers to mitigate a dispute between two women coworkers who hate each other’s guts based off of cultural indifferences. Throughout my employment history I have encountered lazy asses, whiners, pricks, dicks, assholes, wannabe authoritarians on a power trip, etc. Most people don’t even deserve to have a job, they’re largely unproductive and are simply there for a paycheck. I find that the best way to handle these types, whether to give them the proper motivation or exact a fury of vengeance, is to spike some office snacks with a strong dose of psychedelics and encourage them to take a bite out of the magical snack. Once your boss blasts off onto a mystical trip, never again will he bust your balls about pointless work assignments and won’t treat you as a subordinate puke anymore.

Microdosing is widespread in Silicon Valley. It’s believed to make you more creative and innovative. Programmers and high-powered tech CEOS do it all the time to enhance algorithms and platforms. I feel this practice needs to migrate over to every other business sector in society. Not only does it enhance GDP, but a strong dose will zap that undesirable coworker so much so, she’ll never bother you again and will never engage in rumor mongering. Most people have never experimented with psychedelics before but once the whoosh hits them unexpectedly in an office environment, they’ll either flip out, or have their ego melt into a puddle on the floor. Once they are scared straight or recognize that we are all one, perhaps they’ll finally leave you alone. They may even go on to become a better person both at work and in their everyday life. Achieving happiness for once in their lives, instead of being an irritable cunt at work, they’ll start being more cordial with people and fill their lives full of love and gratitude.

Every Thursday at my work is donut day. People love it when I bring in a dirty dozen of these sugary snacks enhancing mouth pleasure and inner office morale. My secret additive to these bad boys is injecting 50 micrograms of Grade A sunshine acid to boost my fellow coworkers’ mood, focus, and sensory perceptions. This Fadiman Protocol sharpens the id and weakens the superego. Since it’s a collective offering, coworkers that I both love and hate blast off into the cosmic consciousness becoming part and particle of God. Going into deep thought realizing that it’s up to them to become a better steward to humanity, most of my colleagues come to the realization that their material presence in the cubicle is nothing more than an illusion. After a few minutes of laughter and smiling so much it hurts, everyone comes together to figure out what’s the best path to making internal project management more efficient. Everyone lately has been thinking in dogmatic MBA speak, but with a small dose of some acid people start thinking outside of the box. Finally seeing eye to eye with a coworker I traditionally despise, he agrees with my proposal, and we spend the rest of the workday outside looking at clouds.

As of late, my boss of bosses Lucas, has been up my ass lately and hasn’t been very pleasurable to work with. I don’t hate the guy, just would never hang out with him during afterwork hours. Believing he needs a serious attitude adjustment, I do what any disgruntled employee would do, spike his daily tea with psylocibin. Delivering him a hero’s dose of 5 grams, you can tell his thought process becomes discombobulated in about 40 minutes. Automatically his existence becomes less linear and transforms itself into an eternal time loop. His workday comes to a standstill, and he believes gross domestic happiness is much more important than gross domestic product. As his ego dissolves and his emotions become amped the micro tracers he sees culminates into a future vision of himself and the organization. Being able to see the aura of every single one of his subordinates, he’s no longer a dick and decides to hug everyone telling them that he loves them. Witnessing his very soul taking the shape of an osprey and flying off into the sunset, he finally learns how to chill and give his fellow man the benefit of the doubt. Ever since his first psychedelic experience Luke is no longer to be avoided anymore, he is a seeker of his work tribe’s love and affection. So, every Monday, I abide by the same protocol, and my once pig-headed boss no longer cares about increasing quarterly gains by 3%, instead he gets in the right headspace then goes outside to pick dandelions.

Sonya is the in-house HR lady and hates my guts with a passion. Besides being a militant feminist, she hates men in general. Not knowing if her attitude was shaped by childhood trauma or if she had negative experiences when she was a stripper to pay for her tuition, I know she despises me and tries to make my life all the more difficult. The context of her emails always pisses me off and she purposefully targets me since I’m an oppressed white heterosexual male. Slipping some Chrystal DMT into her vape pen Sonya blasts off into the 11th dimension within seconds. Remembering her time in the womb and being born, Sonya relives her childhood all the way to age 10. Recognizing she had a strained relationship with an absent father, she decides to face the monster, coming to the instant realization that not all men are bad. Still hallucinating she finds herself in the Garden of Eden with her best friend Adam. Knowing that she was birthed from his rib, she showers him with love, rejecting both the apple and the forbidden knowledge. Hailing God as a man, her surreal trip delivers a breakthrough moment when she realizes the carriers of semen deserve an equal place in her narrowed worldview. Having died and being reborn in the space of 20 minutes, Sonya comes out on top as a better person, and all of a sudden wants to be friendly with me. To continue being on her good side, I make sure to dose her vape pen twice a week, for she can continue to have vivid dreams within the intergalactic Federation of Nebu.

There’s been whispers in the office that a few of my higher up managers want to see me terminated. They say I’m not tolerant and not pulling my weight, which is total bullshit. My fate depends on the decision of a panel of 3 people that will pass judgement on me. To sway their thought processes, I decide to spike their coffees with a strong dose of ecstasy. Speaking with them face to face and getting an earful from these douchebags, they begin to lighten up and start rolling. Turning off the lights in the conference room and putting on some EDM music by DJ Tiesto, the glow sticks break out with the scene turning into a dance party. With the euphoria setting in, Mike, Mindy, and Molly start to shed layers of clothes and lick my face believing that my sweat contains the love molecule sent from Venus. Tripping balls for 12 hours, they’ve never experienced anything like this and before you know it, they’re opinion of me changes. Instead of dumping me into the streets, they give me a raise and job promotion. Wanting to keep the party going, we all partake in a double dose, and head to an underground rave where we suck pacifiers and passionately dance for 3 consecutive sleepless days.

On a wonderful casual Friday afternoon, with everyone wearing hibiscus patterned shirts complimented with in office tiki torches, the CEO makes an appearance announcing that 40% of the workforce will be laid off by the end of the quarter. The enterprise needs to cut corners and up the stock price no matter what. Unfortunately 2 out of every 5 of your fellow employees are about to get shit on and will have to file for unemployment in the very near future. Fortunately, I still have some of that bad trip acid in my Subie leftover from the Nickelback concert from last month. Figuring if I can dose the CEO/Chairman of the board, perhaps he’ll have a change of heart when it comes to the dreaded layoffs. Slipping it into his empanada the Chief Executive Officer starts feeling the effects forty minutes after consumption. After staring at the sun for 15 minutes, becoming convinced he’s the reincarnate of the Aztec Sun God, things take an even worse turn for your boss of bosses. His mind convinces him that he has transformed into a pterodactyl from the Mesozoic Era of paleontology, and that he has prehistoric wings and is flight ready. Jumping out of the 37th floor, CEO William Thompson IV is attempting to learn how to fly. Unfortunately for him, he’s dead, luckily for you and your work family, the lysergic acid diethylamide made the proposed problem go away for good. Despite the fact William didn’t have a good experience with Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, he took to the skies and became street splatter. Though this wasn’t the intention of the trip, psychedelics sometimes work in mysterious ways.

Workplace relationships and rivalries. Fact of the matter is you’re not going to get along with everyone. Some of the people you love, others you simply loathe. If you want to build bridges and make inroads to coworkers that you have a problem with, sneaking psychedelics is the answer. If it doesn’t wig them out and scare them straight, at least they’ll have an internal exam with themselves and take a long hard look at their soul in the mirror. Once an ego death takes shape, the vertical hierarchy and petty problems seem to disappear into the sea of universal thought. When people experience psychedelics for the first time, the ideas of money, power, corporate culture, DEI, and continuous Disney movie fuckups seem to disappear into the ether of the brotherhood of man. You are not some random low-level employee, we are all individual human beings blended into the flavor sampling of this electric Kool Aid acid test. We are all God’s children whirling around on this blue marble in search of higher consciousness. If you’re any kind of spiritual guide, it’s up to you to show your fellow work brothers and sisters the true path to Tibetan enlightenment. Just remember, dispersing psychedelics in non-clinical settings to non-willing participants can be seen as an act of chemical warfare and you can be charged with involuntary manslaughter in some states.

Brian Ss

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Most people have their personal rituals when shitting in private or public. Some people light a candle, others pray, but most people consume some sort of content on their mobile devices. Whether reading or consuming visual content, what you see and hear can affect your overall bathroom performance. Looking at CNN.com will only constipate you and make your time in the stall unproductive. Reading the comment section on Reddit will upset your stomach leading to explosive diarrhea. One needs to find a happy medium if he wants to have a smooth and satisfying bowel movement. You can’t be stressed and experiencing angst when pushing one out, no you need to find envision yourself riding a white stallion on a Greek beach with Yanni playing in the background. This is the true path to gut health. But with the American gut biome destroyed by things like antibiotics, too much fried food, and Flaming Hot Cheetos it’s not always easy to have a harmonious shit. Lately I’ve discovered an amazing natural laxative that will put your mind at ease and get the “train out of the station.” It’s called Chinese propaganda. Whether old school from Mao’s era to modern day tributes to the dear party leader Xi, the classical songs, subliminal messages, and modern-day cartoons on YouTube helps relax my rectum and lets me unload on the commode. Going poo never felt this good and every time I hear a young Chinese woman singing a ballad to the revolution my bowels are completely empty and it’s if the act kissed my soul.

For years, I tried everything from completely changing my diet, utilizing Metamucil powder and taking a daily probiotic. Nothing seemed to work! Only until recently a friend confided in me that the key to taking the best shit of your life is turning on and tuning into the finest Chinese Communist Party propaganda displayed on just about every platform available. Curious at first, but in short order the song “Red Sun in the Sky”, a tribute to Mao Ze Dong, boosted my batting average to a 1000% a day. The dear leader didn’t have the luxury of growing up with modern day plumbing. No, he had to shit in a hole in the Chinese countryside. Only after he inspired the people and created a New China did Chairman Mao get to take a glorious shit at his palace in Beijing. I find that after a long weekend of eating Sonic Burger, consuming jalapeno burgers and drinking milkshakes, my insides weren’t running on all cylinders. Come Monday morning, if I don’t “waterboard the Huxtables” then I’m not myself, and it’s a bad way to start off the work week. Thankfully I had Lei Feng’s March of Steel playing gently in the background which showed me paradise on earth, both in in the Chinese factories and in my master bathroom.

Nowadays the Chinese Ministry of Information, nicknamed the People’s Official Organization of Persuasion, or POOP, has infiltrated the information space on platforms such as YouTube, Instagram, and TikTok to put out carefully crafted shorts to communicate the party’s messaging. These sound bites are meant to inspire worker’s revolutions around the world and facilitate your large intestine to move with a sense of purpose. With computer pixelized characters singing in beautiful Mandarin these animated music videos will have you saluting the Chinese flag. The message is so powerful, they’ll have you believing that having a centrally planned agricultural and industrial sector is the only way for the proletariat to achieve satisfaction. With people dancing and red balloons being launched into the sky, imagery of Chinese military parades, Potemkin villages, and future space domination has the potential to loosen up poop chutes. The makeshift pep talks by party leaders fires up the masses for a possible Taiwanese invasion and will have you dominating in battle shits at your boss’s private suite facilities.

With sophisticated animation hitting the airwaves, Chinese nationalism is taking centerstage. Now they have a carefully crafted cartoon named Year Hare Affair catered to people as young as 5. With little cute animals representing power struggles between great nations, this Sinocentric series will have you glued to your screen and shitting ecstasy in no time. The great nation of China is represented by a cute little bunny dressed in Maoist attire. The evil eagle symbolizing the United States as the belligerent and takes on a gangster persona when selling weapons to the world. India is represented by an elephant and Russia is a teddy bear. Episodes include total war scenarios where hare fights eagle and hare launches a demographic destabilization into bear’s den for Chinese anime characters can take over Mother Russia’s vast resources in Siberia. Once you are hypnotized by this CCP psyop you become convinced China is on the right side of history and will have you giggling so much it shows that bird is the word and will help you stir up a turd. This hybrid form of entertainment also serves as a relaxing laxative will have you shitting silk.

Be aware of the poorly made DPRK propaganda coming out of North Korea. It doesn’t live up to the hype of Chinese props and won’t help you shit excellence. The songs and music videos are okay but instead of the witty cartoons, it’s all AI deep fake videos of Kim Jong Um’s head superimposed onto Donald Trump’s body. This AI slop is nothing more than Kim Jong Um placed into erotic scenes with American girls demonstrating the superiority of North Korean society over the American system. Instead of acting as a relaxant, it’s a bowel irritant, and won’t help you unload that load of shit bricks from your tum-tum. The production value coming out of Beijing studios is far superior and guarantees consistent regularity when it comes to daily deliveries.

In Operation: Chasing the Red Dragon, an original propaganda film directed by Harry Wu, Chinese shock troops jump in behind enemy lines and set up shop in California. Eerily similar to Band of Brothers, narrated and translated by John Cena, the film contains as much action as any Michael Bay feature film. The action sequences and battle scenes are most memorable and will help you defecate as you consume the content in a handicap stall at work. This amazing cinema will have you turn on your country and be susceptible to Chinese blackmail operations concerning industrial and economic espionage. An influence campaign such as this is so powerful on a Yankee mind and will assist the round eyes in achieving glory during toilet time. China is not the enemy and if we want cordial relations for the rest of the 21st century we must give them Taiwan, Hawaii, and surrender San Francisco for their North American beach head.

Then you have brave and noble leader Xi Jinping who displays glorious revolution by singing his national anthem in a music video montage. With an entire division at parade rest in Tiananmen Square, the soothing voice and lyrics of Chairman Xi will soothe your intestines into making soothing poopy. Watching Xi swan dive off a waterfall with cheerleaders cheering him on, he is making the East red again and is the people’s great savior. He is the guide and is making the Chinese dream a reality against the imperial Yankees. It is said that great readers make great leaders, not only is Xi a voracious reader but he is greater reader to the people. Hurrah, as he marches along the Great Wall and tells the Japanese Prime Minster to go fuck himself on a live karaoke battle. This grandstanding is what my soul demands and relaxes me as I blow ass on my state-of-the-art Japanese toilet technology. Chinese propaganda set to the lyrics and song of Chen Lei and Sylvia Wen, will have you brainwashed as you entertain yourself in the bathroom having a once in a lifetime sheen. Recognizing the sound frequency of Chinese sing along songs as inspiring, I’ve now decided to take up Tai Chi and learn Mandarin, hoping to one day obtain a Chinese passport and never be constipated again.

Next time you are feeling a “little backed up,” pass on the prune juice and the dried apricots. Do yourself a favor, grab a page from Mao’s Little Red Book or bombard your fragile mind with Chinese propaganda videos off YouTube. Not only will you be entertained/indoctrinated, but your innards will also be moving and grooving so much so you’ll feel 10 lbs. lighter. Your newfound “light as a feather attitude” will lead to better gut health and you will gain a better perspective on spreading the revolution to the third world through Maoist insurgencies. Look, the western diet has too many preservatives and is pure decadence through obtaining mouth pleasure. Look to the Chinese diet of pork, bok choy, and rice as mainstays of a superior nation. The party has declared there’s no such thing as constipation in Mother China; the people achieve nature’s call through staying educated and feeling harmonious through the wisdom of Mao set to beautiful harmonious music. Regularity rituals are for stupid white man, heed the call of the fire breathing dragon, and digest premiere Chinese propaganda to fill the time in the shitter and become all shitter no quitter.

孔夫子说，听从毛和习智慧的人将会获得大量排便的‘祝福’ (Confucius say, those who listen to wisdom of Mao and Xi will be blessed with massive turd output.)

Brian Ss

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Lying itself is a sin and is the 9th commandment in Moses’ stone tablets. Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor. But somehow American Congressmen and Senators get away with sinning all day every day. Whether in the chambers of Congress, or being interviewed on Fox News, these truth-benders get up on stage and engage in a public spectacle of fabrications. They have sold their souls to their political party, are mouthpieces for their partisan beliefs, and continuously perpetuate the myths with their goddamn lies. The 24-hour news cycle does a good job of manipulating information that’s spouted out by these so-called leaders to usher in whatever hidden agenda is the objective at the moment. Between politicians, the corporate media, and whatever special interest needs to be funded at the moment, an axis of lies is being represented with its very foundation built upon distorting the truth. Our information space nowadays is filled with so much mis- and disinformation it’s a matrix of lies. We the people deserve better and must hold these no class ass monkeys accountable.

But how do we do this? Fact checkers and journalists that speak truth to power are few and far between anymore. Most of these types are on the payroll of sinister billionaires. Will near term technology be able to decipher a liar’s facial expressions and be able to call them out on their bullshit in real time? Would fining compulsive liars in government make a difference? Would upending the system itself and changing the selfish incentives make inroads into cutting down the lies of our political representation? These proposals may sound good on paper, but I doubt they’ll ever happen. My solution is to have these nit wits go on an episode of Maury, take a lie detector test, and have the results read to a live studio audience. Once these ass bags get exposed as the liars that they truly are, being booed by 200 people in real time, perhaps they’ll change their tune and be shamed into seeking the truth.

You remember Maury Povich, don’t you? Connie Chung’s husband who hosted a sleazy talk show in the 90s and 2000s. The Maury Show was cultural trash but entertaining at times. He only really had 4 recurring episodes: Out of control teens, paternity tests revealed, lifestyle confrontations, and lie detector tests revealed on stage. Making a spectacle of themselves, his outlandish guests would walk on stage, cuss at the audience, and then be interviewed by Maury himself. Simple formula, which usually led to guest humiliation and ultimately better outcomes. If we truly want to hold our elected officials’ feet to the fire, we must demand they make a monthly appearance on Maury.

“Here we have Lyin’ Ted Cruz, come on down.” Met with boos from a restless crowd, Senator Ted Cruz (R) Texas makes his presence known by saying, “Fuck you, you don’t know me, fuck you, fuck yourself.” “Have a seat Ted,” Maury says directing the irate Senator to a seat on stage. “You say you’re not a liar, but everyone in America says otherwise. Heck your nickname anointed to you by President Trump is Lyin’ Ted. How do you respond?” “Well Maurice, as you know, I’m a freedom fighter for the American people,” Ted says in his classic sinister tone. “From repealing Obamacare to taking to going on vacation during crisis situations in Texas, I’ve been a straight shooter with the good people of Texas and America.” “You lie Ted,” an irate audience member cries out. “Well Ted, we have the results from the polygraph test that you took earlier this morning. Let’s have a look,” Maury says reading from his index cards. “On the question if you have ever taken any illegal campaign contributions from Nigerian princes, you said no, according to the results of the lie detector test, that was a lie.” “Boooooooooo,” the crowd says erupting in collective disgust. “Fuck you, you don’t know me, fuck you,” Ted says responding in kind. “On the matter of having passports from both Canada and Cuba, you said no, that was a lie.” “Boooooooooooo.” Standing on stage Lyin’ Ted gives the double bird to the audience saying, “Fuck yourselves, you don’t know me!” “And on the matter of your wife, Heidi. You were asked if you thought she was a bit mannish looking. You said no, that was a lie.” “Booooooooooo.” “Well, well, Lyin’ Ted, what do you have to say for yourself?”

Another episode, another lying scum fuck politician. Since there are hardly any ethics inquiries or censuring of these lying liars, only Maury’s format can deliver us from this outlandish corruption in our political system. “Our next guest is Lil Lyin’ Lindsey Graham,” Maury says introducing the Senator (R) from South Carolina. “Now you’ve been in politics for 30 years and your critics have called you a good for nothing goddamn liar.” “Well Maury, politics can get a bit messy sometimes, and my most sacred duty is to protect the American people, as well as helping out our friends in Israel,” Senator Graham responds. “Well, we have the results back from this morning’s lie detector test, would you all like to hear them,” Maury says with the crowd’s overwhelming approval.” “On the matter of being asked if you’ve ever performed a lewd act known as the Rusty Trombone on a Lockheed Martin lobbyist for campaign contributions, you said no, that was a lie.!” "“Boooooooooooooooo,” the crowd hollers as some irate members stand up. “Ah fuck yaselves,” Lil Lyin’ Lindsey says in his South Carolina Drawl. “On the matter of giving Sheldon Adelson a lap dance at one of his casinos while he was still alive, you said no, that was a lie!” “Booooooooooooo!” “Ah fuck yaselves,” Lindsey says as expletives are bleeped out. “And on the matter of the paternity test from your alleged relationship with Sydney Sweeney, it turns out, you are the father!” “Now ya see Maury, I told you so. Let it be known that deep down Lil Lindsey is really a down to earth poon hound.”

“Next up we have Nancy Pelosi,” Maury says pivoting to the next guest. “Madame Speaker packed the gavel for decades and some experts have nicknamed her the most corrupt politician of all time. She’s not without controversy and will finally relinquish power next year when she’s in her late 80s. Now Nancy some people have accused you of being a liar’s liar. Your congressional office is nothing but a liar’s lair built on layers of lies, how do you live with yourself?” “Well first off, fuck you Maury, and fuck all you audience members,” Nancy says sounding off with arrogance. “Boooooooooo,” the crowd hisses in contempt. “My track record speaks for itself by passing the Lilly Ledbetter Fair Pay Act and impeaching Donald Trump.” “Well Nancy, we have the results back from your lie detector test you took backstage moments ago. Would you all like to hear them?” “Yeeeeeaaaaaah, fuck yeaaaaaaaaah,” the crowd says with glee.” “On the question of insider trading, have you ever passed classified knowledge to your husband Paul to make stock trades on your behalf, you said no, that was lie!” “Booooooooooooooo!” “Ah fuck you, fuck you, fuck yourself, you don’t know me bitch,” Nancy says talking back to the hostile crowd.” “On the matter of COVID compliance, you said you wore a mask at all times. Your salon trip obviously indicated that you didn’t. Despite the draconian restrictions placed in California, you said that you never went out to any 5 Star restaurants with your boy toy Gavin Newsome. Once again, that was a lie!” “Boooooooooooooo!” “Fuck you Maury, you don’t know shit,” Crazy Nancy says trying to defend herself. “In regard to the rumor, that you can’t wait to sell your entire Bay Area district to the CCP, you said yes, that came up as true!” “Boooooooooooooooooooo!” “You got me Maury,” Nancy says through her soulless eyes.

Who’s with me on being sick and tired of the liar’s convention that convenes in Washington D.C. every time Congress is in session. Their lies represent a breakdown in the social contract and show a complete disdain for the people they’re supposed to represent. Washington’s deceptions kill hundreds of thousands of people around the globe every year and tens of thousands here in the Republic. They are lies straight from the pit of hell, and these sleaze dicks need to start facing harsh punishments for their construct of lies. Every untruth told on the floors of Congress or on television should be met with stiff fines. When these “leaders” lies are used to enrich themselves and their cronies, they need to serve long prison sentences. Traditional journalism institutions no longer serve as a watchdog to this bad behavior, they enable it and cover it up. Exposing and shaming them in the public arena sometimes works, but more needs to be done. Perhaps with upcoming tech developments on the horizon these liar, liar pants on fire types will have their feet held to the fire. But in the meanwhile, we’ll have to rely on Maury and his lie detector episodes to maintain political transparency. With our great nation celebrating its semi quincentennial this summer, politicians are now more despicable than ever. Only Maury and his polygraph machine can save the republic from these fucking liars!!!

“On the matter of fathering a child with a black prostitute, the DNA results state that Bill, you are the father!”

Brian Ss

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