Trump seen here counting the minutes before issuing his final command to kill Lindsey Graham.*

Lindsey Graham, the racist South Carolina senator who insisted the United States wasn’t racist, is now a dead racist South Carolina senator destined to spend eternity in that great Racist Southern Baptist Republican Closet In The Sky™.

Noted for selling out his principles more often than Led Zeppelin sold out concerts, the Dead Racist “Gay or Not Gay?” Senator finally answered that even more perplexing question, “What happened to Lindsey Graham?”

Graham slithered off this mortal coil on July 11. According to Axios, Graham told an aide, “I can’t die now,” before dying just hours later. So technically he was right for once.

Within minutes, rumors regarding possible causes and manners of death began to circulate around the globe, including:

1. Immediate cause: cyclosporiasis - sudden, frequent, explosive, Six Flags Magic Mountain Water-Slide of Diarrhea Death.

   Manner of death: voting to confirm RFK Jr. as Secretary of the DHHS.

2. Immediate cause: cyclosporiasis - sudden, frequent, explosive, watery diarrhea-death eruption with added screw worm action.

   Manner of death: voting to confirm Jay Bhattacharya as Director of the NIH.

3. Immediate cause: heart attack.

   Manner of death: receiving a 20 minute phone call from Mitch McConnell.

Despite the plethora of viral social-media death-speculation, the truth was much more pedestrian. “Senator Graham,” his doctors said, “died of natural causes- after he was attacked by a bison.”

At least the 71 year-old had the good southern manners not to shame his constituents by living one day past South Carolina’s male life expectancy, which unsurprisingly is perpetually seven years below the national average.

Upon confirming the news, South Carolina’s governor appointed Graham’s sister, Darline, to complete Graham’s term in office. Lawmakers on both sides of the aisle agree she’s got some mighty big panties to fill.

Central, South Carolina: Lindsey Olin Graham was born on July 9, 1955, in the town of Central, South Carolina. Central, South Carolina is south of North, South Carolina, North of South, South Carolina, East of West, South Carolina and West of East, South Carolina.

Central, South Carolina is actually located in the upper west part of the state; its name was part of a last-ditch effort to throw off Sherman’s army. All this may help explain Lindsey’s next six decades of sexual confusion and his obsessive urge to make other Americans invade foreign countries and kill people.

According to Graham’s memoir, “I’m Attracted to Women,” formerly available for free download on his web site, he was raised in the back of a segregated bar his parents owned in not-really-central Central, South Carolina. It was during this time that he acquired the nickname “Stinkball”, but not for the reasons you might think.

You see, whenever customers got up to use the restroom, young Lindsey would sneak over and drink their beer and smoke their cigarettes. Of course, this nickname makes about as much sense as his stupid town’s name.

Childhood summation:

• Born in a town whose name defies the universally accepted cartographic locational combination of longitudinal meridians and latitudinal parallels.

• Spent youth in parent’s racist bar stealing beers and cigarettes from racists.

• Given humiliating nickname even dumber than dumb town name.

In 1977, Graham graduated from the University of South Carolina with a bachelor’s in psychology, a degree that gave him all the information necessary to conceal symptoms listed in the DSM-5.

In 1982, Graham became a military lawyer based in South Carolina. He never once saw action overseas or anything oversees for that matter. Once he took public office, his life-changing service led him to describe himself in his official bio as an “Operation Desert Shield and Desert Storm veteran.”

Graham never married nor had any children. And for decades he denied rumors he was gay. He said he did once consider proposing to a woman, but decided against it because she lived too far away in West, South Carolina, just outside of Topeka. And he was gay.

Perhaps if she lived closer he might’ve proposed. But he’d still be gay and probably have to call it off. So I guess it was best for him that he never married that woman, because it would probably end miserably for them both. It’s too bad he didn’t give two shits in a can of Folgers about all the pain his long career of being a total asshole hypocrite bigot caused for lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer people. And probably Marco Rubio.

Tributes from racist authoritarians and other assorted Nazis trickled in from around the world. A tearful Benjamin Netanyahu said, “Israel has lost one of its greatest blackmail resources.”

Beside himself with the grief of having been awakened from his daily five-hour work nap, Donald Trump said of Graham, “He was like a member of the family.” By which Trump meant he had no idea who Graham was.

Other members “of the family” include this woman, who mysteriously fell down a flight of stairs and got unceremoniously dumped into a weed-covered pit near the first hole of his Jersey golf course.

Final resting place of Ivana Trump.

Stunned by the news, the President ordered flags across the country to be flown at half-mast in honor of Blueberry Muffin Day.

Aside from Graham himself, one of the most putrid things to result from his birth, subsequent decades of lie-living-death, and highly anticipated, almost universally-welcomed dropped deadedness, was the Democratic Party’s instinctive need to knee-jerk fling its pathetic self-flagellating hair-shirt adorned carcass onto a urine-soaked “We can still show some respect for this man” Civility Pyre*.

*SEE: Corporate media and the likes of Kamala Harris, Amy Klobuchar, Hakeem Jeffries, Chuck Schumer, Dick Durbin, Richard Blumenthal, and former presidents Joe and Jill Biden.

In loving tribute to his Presidential golfing buddy and Epstein Island Underage Pussy-Grabber, Lindsey Graham requested his remains be bathed in sacred Lincoln Memorial Reflecting Pool water, coated with thick layers of American Flag Blue waterproof sealant and aggressively attacked by green algae blooms so cops can arrest tourists for touching his peeling skin flaps.

In a gesture of mutual respect, President Trump arranged that Graham be periodically drained by no-bid contractors for emergency repairs and cleanups.

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And find a shovel and dig into Alan Greenspan’s legacy.

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Alan Greenspan, Wall Street’s coprolitic finance-turd from America’s Paleo-fecal Period, is now keeping his appointment deep within the swirling bowels of Hell with Milton Friedman and Ayn Rand in her “Inner Circle of Unmitigated Greed and Selfishness.”

According to the medical examiner, the deceased’s “irrational exuberance unduly escalated by lab asset values made his body subject to unexpected and prolonged contractions.” And he had Parkinson’s.

Greenspan’s corpse was already showing signs of uncontrollable inflation and over-exuberant expansion when paramedics arrived.

Death arriving on his 100th birthday came as a bittersweet landmark for many around the world, mainly because it drastically limited the amount of potential prison years he had left.

Greenspan spent years fighting against raising the minimum wage to $5.15 and led this country into the worst economic disaster since the Great Depression. Such policies made him universally revered among ruling class monetary maniacs in addition to his ability to make a lifelong career out of telling the world things were great when they were actually suck-ass terrible.

Throughout his life, the financial “maestro” never once questioned the moral nor economic feasibility of sending unlimited money and bombs to an apartheid state hellbent on bombing Palestinian kids into gut-soaked mulch.

Greenspan died with an estate of $20 million. Which is pretty pathetic considering all the damage he caused potty-training an economy into financially shitting on half the country.

He leaves behind a grieving wife while his policies leave behind millions of American children living in their parents’ cars.

Early life, NYC, Cars, and Other Boring Shit. Alan Greenspan was born on March 6, 1926 in Washington Heights, New York City. Back then, New York City was a big city with bright lights and lots of cars. There were big cars and there were little cars. And lots of in-between sized cars. He liked the clarinet.

Dad, Jazz, Hair Loss. Alan’s father worked as a stockbroker. But young Alan had bigger dreams of becoming a jazz musician so he studied clarinet at the Juilliard School from 1943 to 1944. At Juilliard he searched for his Calliope but only found the perfect combover.

Greenspan seen here demonstrating “Cost-Push Inflation” in which rising forehead skins push economists to raise hairline costs.

Horrors Of War. In 1944 Greenspan was told to report to his local draft board for potential military service in World War II, but was rejected as medically unfit. When he came home there were no parades.

The resulting trauma inspired Alan to dedicate his remaining 82 years to fictionalizing bullshit financial scenarios while spinning them into indecipherable financial gibberish in order to privatize Social Security and force old people into suffocating debt.

Ayn Rand’s Inner Circle…Eyuk. During his heartless and impressionable libertarian youth, Alan became enamored with the world’s ultimate unfeeling female-robot version of himself: Ayn Rand (alias Closet Welfare-Queen: "Ann O'Connor”).

It’s not known how close the couple became, but if this letter to the NYT regarding her weird scribblings celebrating toxic self-love married with predatory capitalism is any indication, he must have entered her inner circle many times- and with substantial penalties for early withdrawal. Oh get your minds out of the gutter.

Edumacation. Greenspan received a PhD in economics in 1977 from New York University- a predictably boring footnote except for the fact that when he became Fed Chairman in 1987, he made the university disappear his dissertation from public view.

Barron’s obtained a copy in April 2008 and revealed it contained “a discussion of soaring housing prices” which predicted an economy-destroying housing bubble. Belated thanks for the heads-up, Alan.

Ronald Reagan’s Colon. In 1987, Greenspan was nominated to the Federal Reserve by a president who had 2 feet of his colon removed. Greenspan then persuaded Reagan to cut unemployment and Social Security benefits by taxing them. Coincidence? I think not!

He Liked Big Cuts & Big Butz. Greenspan coined his famous term “irrational exuberance” during a 1996 speech at the American Enterprise Institute.

AEI was home to financial masterminds like Dick Cheney, John Bolton, Gerald Ford, Melvin Laird and Earl Butz, in addition to twenty other psychopaths hired by President George W. Bush to offer pro-tips on the best ways to bankrupt America and normalize war crimes.

Greenspan later admitted he conceived the phrase “irrational exuberance” while sitting in his bathtub aiming what he called “explosive fart-market bubbles” at a floating model of the USS Gerald R. Ford.

His advice was highly valued by weak presidents trying to navigate the treacherous wastewaters of finance. And during the Obama administration, Greenspan was integral in persuading the president to lower the prison population. How? By never prosecuting Wall Street.

Big Bulge Briefcase Indicator. Greenspan’s briefcase held special meaning for Wall Street toupee models like Lou Dobbs, a man who couldn’t predict a fart after eating two pounds of fried garlic-battered goat-curds and asparagus.

During Greenspan’s 18-year role as Federal Reserve Chairman, CNBC fixated on analyzing the thickness of the briefcase Greenspan carried into every Federal Open Market Committee meeting.

If the briefcase was thin, media guessed there’d be no change in policy. If the briefcase was thick, it supposedly meant a change in monetary policy was going to be announced. If the briefcase was bulging, it meant a change in policy and his wife packed a human head for lunch.

Final Wishes. When reached for comment in the Afterlife, Greenspan urged future dead Americans to take advantage of current low interest rates and

“consider investing in Subprime and Adjustable Rate Mortuaries that can securitize borrowers’ bones together into Mortuary-Backed Securities and repackage them as collateralized death obligations offered by Deaddie Mae or Deaddie Mac.”

Greenspan also recommended wife Andrea Mitchell set aside at least ten percent of his total body parts in his briefcase just in case his coffin portfolio gets depleted by “unexpectedly exuberant squirrels.”

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Jeff Webb, President of the International Cheer Union, owner of the monopolistic Varsity Spirit corporation and influential mentor to “the biggest piece of human garbage that can possibly exist right now,”1 is no longer President, no longer owner, no longer cheerful, no longer “now,” and no longer existing. But as was his former protege in life, Webb is now technically human garbage.

Webb reportedly died as a result of a “freak pickleball accident.” Though details are sparse, it’s speculated he suffered a traumatic brain injury while attempting to swack his balls.

Invented in Washington State, pickleball is a sport that blends tennis, ping-pong and funny-sounding deaths.

When the sport first appeared in 1965, it caught on quickly and soon became the Pacific Northwest’s most popular diversion outside of getting murdered by Ted Bundy or the Green River Strangler.

Two weeks after the “father of modern cheerleading”s freakish accident, his family huddled together in a final display of unity and teamwork, ultimately agreeing to perform a spirit kick and punt his ass off life support.

His company, Varsity Spirit, wrote of the late cheerleader:

“His impact has built a community that will continue to inspire generations to come,” adding, “Speaking of impact, Webb’s skull made an even bigger one on that pickleball court.”

Born Years Ago, Before He Died Even

Jeff Gorman Webb was born seventy-six years ago into the hardscrabble oil-company accountant lifestyle his father had carved out for himself in Texas, the state where brain-eating amoebas go to starve to death.

As a youth he attended the University of Oklahoma where he soon became head “yell leader” for the school’s cheer squad. It was in this capacity that he discovered a unique talent for shouting at women dressed in skimpy tights as they hopped around and climbed all over each other like sweaty animals.

Typical “yell” leader at Texas A&M displaying 110% yell capacity and key cannon fodder potential for the upcoming Iranian Front

Nam, Pom-Poms and the Herkie Jump

In 1971, after somehow avoiding service in the Vietnam War, Webb was groomed by cheerleading-camp tycoon Lawrence Herkimer. Herkimer persuaded him to abandon his ridiculous plans for law school and instead go work at Herkimer’s National Cheerleaders Association.

Herkimer’s claim to fame was that he patented the pom-pom and invented the “Herkie jump.” That’s where the cheer jumper, holding pom-poms, presents one leg bent flat beneath himself on the grass with the other leg lying straight in a half-straddle position, usually resulting in a subsequent avoidance of service in the Vietnam War.

As the “father of modern cheerleading,” Webb was able to transform the process of humiliating young people with pom-poms, awkward jumping and mindless chants into a billion dollar business for himself.

A National Center for Catastrophic Sports Injury Research review from 1982 to 2009 found that cheerleading accounted for 65 percent of all catastrophic injuries suffered by American female collegiate athletes. The remaining 35 percent were “basket tossed” by banks into a pile of oppressive debt and crushed underneath a collapsing pyramid of student loans.

Classic “Student Loan Debt Pyramid” taking shape

Webb Enters Charlie Kirk’s Neck of the Woods

“Adopting a woke corporate culture takes the company’s vision away from being customer experience-centric to being internal uniformity-centric.”

-Jeff Webb explaining how diversity may offend your racist customer base.

As President of International Cheer Union, the right-wing conservative cheer yell guy spent his professional life advocating for young people by doing what he did best: eliminating any possibility of joy in their future.

So it’s not surprising that Webb ended up using his immense wealth and influence to back Charlie Kirk’s cynical climb to the summit of Mt. Hatred and his ultimate pathetic plummet back down into an undisclosed burial plot suitable for your typical gaslighting cretin to hide, even in death, from the ignominious consequences of their shitty rhetoric and fucked up life. GO TEAM!

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By 2012, Webb’s companies were controlling 90 percent of the market outfitting 3.5 million of America’s cheerleaders with graduation apparel, class rings and monogrammed dumpsters for abandoned prom-night babies.

In 2018 Webb sold Varsity Brands for $2.8 billion to Bain Capital Equity because he felt the company needed that extra Creepy Mormon™ touch only these guys could provide.

And if that’s not creepy enough for you, Webb named his private jet “Cheer Force One.”

As one of Charlie Kirk’s most influential mentors, Webb predicted the Turning Point USA leader would one day become President of the United States- but only on the condition he avoid a fatal bullet wound to the neck.

Sadly, the entrepreneurial visionary was never able to predict the final score of that last pickleball game of life.

Disposal Of Remnants

Webb requested his remains be somersaulted off a funeral pyre utilizing a dynamic double-backwards flip-twist, ignited mid-air with one leg extended in rigor mortis position, and then flipped back in a sideways, corkscrew movement deep into a six-foot hole.

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Doug Lebda, CEO to one of the many internet bait-and-switch automated digital-loan comparison platforms that can feature hidden fees, unwanted calls and illegal referrals, is now paying thousands more for his life’s closing-costs than his online Death Loan Officer originally quoted.

LendingTree’s website announced October 12 that Lebda died an “unexpected death” as opposed to an expected one, which given the possibilities, could include hanging oneself after getting months of spam calls from a network of 430 loan-officer financial partners just because you filled out a dumb online form.

Lebda’s body was found on his “sprawling family estate” sprawled and pinned under his All Terrain Vehicle, which to be accurate, meant he wasn’t being “pinned” as much as acted upon by gravity to form a Lebda sandwich between 9.8 meters per second squared of force and the seemingly immovable crust of Earth, which according witnesses, is still sprawling…terrain-wise.

After emergency personnel responded to the accident they pronounced the $305 millionaire “Deadbda at the scene.”

Searchers were able to locate the body due to Lebda’s dog barking near the scenery in which the scene took place. The Polk County Sheriff’s office is currently listing the pet as a “labradoodle of interest” pending release of any accident policies he may have taken out on KillYourMaster.Com.

Investigators say Lebda purchased his riverfront ranch for $2.75 million in July, just two months before he bought the farm there.

It’s unclear if Lebda had to take out an online loan for his all terrain vehicle or the sprawling estate of terrain he and his vehicle unexpectedly collided with and became sprawled upon and pinned between.

Though details are scarce, experts speculate the collision most likely involved five variables:

1. all terrain

2. the vehicle

3. Lebda

4. some “pinning”

5. gravity

Authorities cautioned the public not jump to any conclusions regarding the odds of this kind of accident happening.

After all, it’s not like an expert in insurance with its assorted statistics would ever have at his fingertips real data regarding ATVs and their safety record.

Especially in a rural state like North Carolina.

I mean, what could possibly happen on one of these things while riding alone on a sprawling ranch estate?

There’s no way Lebda could’ve known something like this might occur. Especially given his spotless driving record.

It’s common knowledge accidents like these are an anomaly and impossible to predict.

It’s not like this kind of thing happens all the time, for god’s sake.

At least not every day.

Recently following a series of ATV deaths that could only be described as “predictably stupid,” the state of Maine Warden Service reminded all ATV riders to:

• Always operate your ATV with full command over its direction and stability in any given situation. And that’s where the gimbaled beverage holder comes in. Because if you’re gonna die under an ATV, you might as well save your Mai Tai.

• Always Ride Sober. Unless you have a gimbaled Mai Tai holder and you’re touring Pablo Escobar’s Medellin estate.

• Stay On Marked Trails. But not if they’re marked with blood and bone chunks.

• Always Wear A Helmet. That makes it easier to identify your remains when the rest of you is a tangled mess of spaghetti flesh and tree roots.

Speaking of stupid Maine accidents:

LendingTree’s super PAC supported Bruce Poliquin of Maine, who voted to repeal Obamacare and cut Medicaid in a state populated by senior citizens who tend to die quicker without things like Obamacare and Medicaid. Poliquin also hates ranked-choice voting. Why? Because he lost a big election where voters coincidentally decided to rank him as their last choice.

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Ever since the accident, the family tree of Lebda -former CEO of LendingTree- has received a barrage of unsolicited emails, texts and calls from numerous third-party mourners. Subsequently, LendingTree advised Lebda family tree members to put their phone numbers on the National Do Not Send Thoughts and Prayers registry.

Lebda leaves behind a sprawling family estate. And an ATV that’s gonna be REAL hard to find insurance for.

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Ronald Howes, inventor of Kenner’s Easy-Bake oven, finally burst an artery last week after waiting three aggravating months for a 30-watt bulb to cook his brownie.

Friends say the toy oven inventor lived a long, productive life before dying at 83- degrees.

Howes first got the idea for his invention in 1963 after realizing that any nation dumb enough to swallow the lone gunman theory would be more than willing to let their children be swindled by a cheap plastic box with a lightbulb in it.

According to his son, one of Howes’ first jobs at Kenner Toys was to remove potentially poisonous chemicals from cans of Play-Doh and inject them into the sad, withered teats of Milky The Marvelous Milking Cow.

Over the years Howes invented many toys, including Kenner’s Easy-Tan, in which kids could create their own tans simply by mixing water with packets of John Boehner’s skin flakes.

Howes also helped perfect the Spirograph. A toy that used a set of precision plastic gears, rings and triangles to geometrically depict the downward spiral of Spiro Agnew’s career.

In 2008 almost one million Easy-Bake Ovens had to be recalled for safety reasons. Apparently children were suffering serious cuts and scratches when they tried to force the family cat into the broiler.

Howes requested his body be inserted into the side of the local crematorium, pushed out a slot at the other end, and consumed by a generation of kids vainly seeking to fill the bottomless void of a loveless childhood. Happy Thanksgiving!

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Richard Bruce “Dick” Cheney, the only human capable of using another person’s heart without caring who it previously belonged to, is finally dead after years of being dead.

Historians note it was only fitting Mr. Cheney died on a day he helped steal twenty-five years ago: Election Day.

Witnesses at the scene said he died doing what he knew best: dying.

The Cheney family hasn’t decided the best way to handle his remains yet, but rumor has it they’ve already awarded Halliburton a no-bid contract for reconstruction and cleanup.

Afterwards, the former Philip Morris spokesmodel who once called the Senate report on Bush era anal-rape torture “a crock” and “hooey,” will get buried under “a rock” where gophers will find him “chewy.”

All things considered, family doctors estimate Cheney still has a 90% chance of recovery from death if left alone, 10% if treated in a Vet hospital.

Due to the Daylight Savings change on November 2, the Cheney household had to scramble to update their systems, fearing the extra hour of sun might force Cheney to encounter dangerous exposure to light before retreating to his bedroom coffin.

Still in shock and awe, his daughters are refusing to accept their father’s demise and instead refer to it as “Enhanced death.”

Throughout his life Cheney dealt with a history of “not having a heart” problems.

Cheney once revealed he had the wireless function of his defibrillator turned off due to concerns terrorists might attempt by remote to send his heart a shocking dose of empathy.

Desperate for a bump in the polls during the 2024 presidential campaign, Kamala Harris welcomed Cheney’s endorsement and thanked him for “what he has done to serve our country.”

Unfortunately she was never able to capture that coveted “fans of evil war-criminals” demographic.

When asked about his legacy and if he had any regrets, Cheney responded, “I’d do it again in a minute.” Which is a tad unrealistic since the CIA proved it takes at least three minutes to anally rape a prisoner, four minutes tops.

Over the years Dick Cheney had five heart attacks, at least seven cardiovascular procedures and bypasses involving stents, grafting and implants, and at one point he was outfitted with an artificial blood pump leaving him without a pulse for a year and a half. And after all that? Never got a dinner!

Upon hearing the sad news, former President Joe Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris reiterated their praise for Cheney’s corpse, thanking it “for his support and what he has done to serve our country,” adding, “We look forward to further elevating Dick’s daughter Liz, a venomous war-mongering racist who campaigned for Donald Trump, as someone who values ‘honesty and truth.’”

To mark Cheney’s sacred transition from the material world he helped destroy, and his subsequent welcome into the non-existent netherworld of punishment only patsies believe in, President Biden ordered two vampires be hung at half-staff from a flaming oaken scaffold outside the White House. Then his family had to remind him he wasn’t president anymore.

Biden recalled Dick Cheney as a “decent man,” adding, “And I’ll stand by those words in a confused, slowly back-and-forth rocking motion.”

When reached for comment, Dick Cheney’s first heart asked to be left alone in a Mason jar in a cool, dark, dry pantry away from direct sunlight next to Barbara Bush’s collection of strawberry fetus preserves.

As a youth growing up in Wyoming, the plucky and patriotic Cheney quickly showed his mettle by earning five military deferments and two DWIs.

He subsequently flunked out of Yale twice, inspiring his later Congressional vote against the creation of the U.S. Department of Education.

Given his inauspicious youth, flunking out of college and racking up two drunk driving arrests, who knew he’d one day turn his life around to grow up to be a war criminal?

In 2006 Cheney accidentally shot and wounded a companion during a weekend quail hunting trip in Texas. The White House later said it was the victim’s fault for blocking Cheney’s bead on a nearby bald eagle. After the accident, Cheney reportedly sprung to action and immediately billed an Iraq War vet for the medical costs.

In 2011, Cheney published his biography “In My Time: A Personal and Political Memoir” in which he described himself as “the most powerful President in American History.”

When Barack Obama became president, he refused to prosecute Cheney, saying the country needed to look forwards not backwards. Of course he never bothered to reveal, that by doing this, we’d be looking forward to two Donald Trump presidencies and Chuck Schumer backing genocide. So I guess we shouldn’t look to the present either.

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Regardless, every establishment Democrat, their underlings, and their favorite corporate news personalities, are now all joining in a massive Dick Cheney tongue bath at the expense of logic, ethics, integrity, morality, reality and sanity.

In self-tribute to his legacy, the deceased requested his body be buried next to proof of Saddam Hussein’s WMDs so nobody can ever find him.

Yeah, so the fuck what:

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Brett James, the country music artist who wrote the smash hits “Jesus, Take The Wheel” and “When the Sun Goes Down,” experienced his final smash hit this week when he went down in a field in North Carolina.

According to authorities, the song writer rose like a bullet from Nashville’s John C. Tune Airport at 12:41 PM only to crash two hours later in the key of Ee-yow!-flat Major.

President Trump’s newly refurbished non-DEI National Transportation Safety Board told news outlets they’re actively investigating whether Dionysus the god of wine may have taken control of the plane instead of Jesus.

Acting on this new evidence, FBI Director Kash Patel issued an immediate all points bulletin for this man:

In 2005, James’ co-written “Jesus, Take The Wheel” became a huge hit that launched Carrie Underwood’s career. But wait, it gets even worse.

The song described a woman surrendering control to Jesus in a moment of crisis and then nearly getting crushed like a canned ham as a result.

The country song inspired less successful spinoffs like:

• “Jesus, Take The Slauson Cutoff, Then Get Out Of The Car And Cut Off Your Slauson”

• “Jesus, Take Your Foot Off The Pedal. You’re Riding The Clutch!”

• “Jesus, Take Your Hand Off My Leg, I’m Married!”

• “Jesus, Take That Bag of Empty Schweppes Ginger Ale Bottles: You’re The Redeemer”

• “Jesus, Should I Buy This Small-Engine Airplane?”

• “Jesus, Who Cut The Cheese?”

• “Jesus, Do I Look Fat?”

• “Jesus, Jesus- - Watch The Road!”

• “Jesus, Stop This Song”

Fans are consoling themselves with the thought that James is now up in Heaven jamming with Ricky Nelson, whose fans consoled themselves with the thought that Nelson was up in Heaven jamming with Lynyrd Skynyrd, whose fans consoled themselves with the thought that they were up in Heaven jamming with Reba McEntitre’s band- aw forget it.

A funeral date hasn’t been decided yet. I guess that’s still up in the air.

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For entrancing collage art and disturbing satirical vocal interpretations of horrible politicians, subscribe to Martha Previte! This time Senator Susan Collins of Maine is FULL OF CLAMS!

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Charlie Kirk, a podcaster Republican Congressman Adam Kinzinger once called “The Biggest Piece of Human Garbage That Can Possibly Exist Right Now,” is no longer existing. Nor is he in the “now.”

But he is, technically speaking, when reduced to his basic elemental components of oxygen, carbon, hydrogen and nitrogen, now worth less than $20.

According to Oklahoma Senator Markwayne Mullin (yes, that’s his real name), The Biggest Piece of Human Garbage That Can Possibly Exist Right Now’s wife and children were in attendance at a Nazi rally Up With People Festival in Utah when Kirk was surprised by someone else’s Blessed Jesus-given 2nd Amendment remedy.

At the risk of offending a dead person and his brain-dead followers by quoting him, I shall do that now. For it was indeed The Biggest Piece of Human Garbage That Can Possibly Exist Right Now who said it’s “unfortunately” “worth it” to have “some gun deaths” every year to protect the 2nd Second Amendment and our “other God-given rights.” Like shooting people in their necks.

So naturally, an impressionable youth by the name of Tyler Robinson, raised on guns and MAGA Trumpian Ideals, took those words to heart and in turn directly to the victim’s unfortunate neck. Which kinda proved Kirk’s point. Unfortunately.

When he learned of The Biggest Piece of Human Garbage That Can Possibly Exist Right Now’s death, President Trump, a fellow Big Piece of Human Garbage, took three minutes off from thinking about French fries to monotonously express his biglyest empathy for Kirk’s young family, now suffering without their father, who incidentally got them into this mess.

This tender moment was quickly followed by a bloodlust tirade against the deceased’s detractors. But really it was just to distract anyone from the Epstein files and all the other terrible shit going on under his watch.

A clearly shaken and stirred Utah governor -whose name I won’t mention because who gives a shit, right? It’s fuckin’ Utah- urged all responsible gun owners to please refocus their trademark impotent rage against schools again and not Gummy self-appointed Jesus figures.

Springing to action, FBI director Kash Patel released photos of the suspect and told a largely amused nation to be on the lookout for a white guy with a gun in Utah.

Patel, who has even less qualifications for his job than the corpse of Efrem Zimbalist Jr., then erroneously narrowed down the description using photos that made him look like Ric Ocasek in 1981:

After a massive manhunt and some stunningly masterful investigative work, police proudly announced they caught the killer because his father called up and said he was surrendering.

Before we continue, let’s establish how The Biggest Piece of Human Garbage That Can Possibly Exist Right Now got his distinctive name, The Biggest Piece of Human Garbage That Can Possibly Exist Right Now.

In 2023, Damar Hamlin, a football person, collapsed of cardiac arrest after getting violently bumped on the storied American Field of Violent Bump Battles. That is when The Biggest Piece of Human Garbage That Can Possibly Exist Right Now, certainly not in another craven attempt to attract attention with yet another disproven anti-vaccine conspiracy theory, surmised not in accordance with the truth that the Covid vaccine caused Hamlin’s collapse.

Reacting with more courage and presence of mind than most democrats past, present and future, the then Republican Congressman Adam Kinzinger called Kirk “The Biggest Piece of Human Garbage That Can Possibly Exist Right Now.” And thus a legend was born.

And sure enough, as Rep. Adam Kinzinger - R Illinois, 16th predicted, The Biggest Piece of Human Garbage That Can Possibly Exist Right Now is literally done now.

For more insight on how some people have gotten their names over the ages, justified or not, I refer you to Sheriff John Hoxley who goes into some detail here as to how he came to be known as “Honest John.”

To better serve clarity and fairness, and to show respect for the judgement of Rep. Adam Kinzinger - R Illinois, 16th, for the remainder of this obit the deceased in question will be referred to as The Biggest Piece of Human Garbage That Can Possibly Exist Right Now.

We begin the story of The Biggest Piece of Human Garbage That Can Possibly Exist Right Now on October 14, 1993, when he was born into a wealthy real estate family in Arlington Heights, Illinois. From an early age he knew he’d grow up to become a leader in right-wing propaganda who then gets shot in the neck. Which in all probability will lead to another insane, bipartisan call for increased militarization of cops.

Classmates described the young Biggest Piece of Human Garbage That Can Possibly Exist Right Now as “rude”, “arrogant”, with “a superiority complex” who would one day “grow up to achieve great things and eventually get shot in the neck.”

In 2021 The Biggest Piece of Human Garbage That Can Possibly Exist Right Now married Miss Erika Lane Frantzve. Together they became Mr. and Mrs. “The Biggest Piece of Human Garbage That Can Possibly Exist Right Now.”

While on the 2015 presidential campaign trail, The Biggest Piece of Human Garbage That Can Possibly Exist Right Now met another luminary among the Biggest Pieces of Human Garbage That Can Possibly Exist Right Now: His name was Donald Trump Jr.

The two bonded immediately over their shared experiences growing up wealthy with disconcertingly gummy smiles, squinty eye-sockets, overly tall foreheads and crowded mid-faces.

The rest of TBPOHGTCPERN’s life is too tedious and boring to recount here as it consists mostly of invoking hatred against the vulnerable and provoking people with lies for money. Suffice it to say Republicans don’t give a shit about The Biggest Piece of Human Garbage That Can Possibly Exist Right Now or his family any more than they and the Democratic party care about the Israeli hostages, Palestinians or the people of Ukraine. TBPOHGTCPERN’s death is an opportunity for them.

Kirk’s 2nd Amendment demise couldn’t have come at a more propitious time for the Republican party desperately trying to distract the world from the Epstein legacy and its serial rapist leader in the White House. And I use the word “propitious” because I know most Republicans won’t know what it means.

By launching a Bigly Pogrom of fat-headed ignorance, hatred and violence, and cynically using TBPOHGTCPERN’s imagined martyrdom as pretext, the current authorities think they have a blank check to commit even more mayhem upon this country’s citizens with even greater prejudice than their infected noodles could’ve imagined before.

And in that vein, 16 Republican senators pathological cultists signed a letter to their head idiot, Mike Johnson, requesting a statue be erected in the Capitol’s National Statuary Hall to honor their fallen angel: The Biggest Piece of Human Garbage That Can Possibly Exist Right Now. The statue will feature state-of-the-art facial skin-tone recognition in order to demean and insult every ethnicity it encounters1, followed by five minutes of babbling in tongues and the “laying on of statue hands.”

The statue will stand next to a much larger one of his assassin.

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Public Service Message: If you or anyone you know is struggling with trauma from this colossal tragedy, don't hesitate to reach out to one of the many local mental health crisis lines Republicans are currently defunding.

Bereaved family, friends and assorted violently-enraged zombies are now consoling themselves with the thought that The Biggest Piece of Human Garbage That Can Possibly Exist Right Now is now up in Heaven trying to blame his predicable death on Damar Hamlin’s Covid shot.

The Biggest Piece of Human Garbage That Can Possibly Exist Right Now’s last wishes were that the unfortunate rendezvous between his neck and the Virgin Mary’s 2nd Amendment become a staging ground for right-wing hypocrites to unhinge their life-long revenge fantasies against anyone who has ever threatened their fragile egos. He also asked to be Raptured up to heaven to sit at the throne of Jesus and his pet mongoose Rex. Who is DEFINITELY NOT gay!

1

Well…not every ethnicity.

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Danny Evins, founder of the Cracker Barrel restaurant, is now offering up his lowest priced meal to hungry travelers, this time in a pine box.

Evins named the Cracker Barrel after the practice of customers in Tennessee who would gather at country stores to gossip and play checkers on top of wooden barrels stuffed with dead civil rights workers.

Evins’ restaurant concept hearkened back to a simpler time in America when people used to meet in old-fashioned general stores to eat 7,000 calorie meals and stock up on Uncle Sam Blow Mold lamps.

After going public in 1981, the Cracker Barrel became a stock market darling with a certain investment sector. Unfortunately that sector dealt mainly with lap-bands.

Year after year the restaurant won rave reviews in magazines like Nation’s Restaurant News and Destinations. And year after year people would not read magazines like Nation’s Restaurant News and Destinations.

In 1991, Evins ordered all his restaurants to fire employees “whose sexual preferences fail to demonstrate normal heterosexual values.” Ironically, the directive coincided with the introduction of his most popular southern confection to date, the “Lingam Pecan Log,” a fluffy, cherry-laced phallocentric nougat wrapped in fresh caramel and latex.

In May 2024, Cracker Barrel revealed that 16% of their customer base had not returned since 2020. This directly correlated to the same percentage who hadn’t returned from the toilet.

This week the company premiered its new logo and almost immediately faced a fierce backlash from FOX “News” and customers who hated it.

Additional things Cracker Barrel customers hate:

• Good food.

• Food that is good.

• Food that is not really really bad.

• Food that has an expiration date of less than ten years.

• Anything that detracts from a menacing southern white guy leaning against a cracker barrel while staring at newcomers with that foreboding, “I know something you don’t know,” look in his eyes.

Evins requested his cheesy brain-noodles be segregated from the impacted fried-okra stool remnants in his colon into “separate but equal” portions, and his kidney biscuits be inserted into old-fashioned glass jars and sold to hungry truck drivers up and down Interstate 40.

For the more heartwarming family values, here’s Martha Previte’s complete Stephen Miller Family Album!

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Stephen Miller, Weißes Haus Gruppenführer, Chief Diaper Carrier and tantrum artisan for Donald Trump’s grease-fried brain, has been deported from life after achieving a new hair-loss record in which fate forcibly removed and detained 3,000 follicles a day from his Weeble-shaped skull of unspeakable thoughts.

Paramedics on the scene tried pumping additional antifreeze into the once half-sentient vein bulge over his right-frontal cranial bone, but life stubbornly refused re-entry, choosing instead to seek shelter inside Dick Cheney’s Mason-jarred first heart.

Stephen Miller was born in 1985 to wealthy parents in Santa Monica, California, the same year Ronald Reagan lost two feet of his lower intestine to cancer and most of his brain function to the Republican party.

Due to his father’s financial troubles, namely his real estate business lawsuits, the family had to self-deport from their home in a wealthy white neighborhood and seek refuge in a smaller house in a more diverse neighborhood.

The resulting trauma for young Stephen was immeasurable. For instead of attending a private school like his brother, he found himself in a public school that included kids with darker skin shades and unfamiliar sounding names that had weird wavy lines over their “n”s and scary dots over their “u”s.

We won't go into much personal detail here. Suffice it to say his youth pretty much follows the pattern of every serial killer you’ve ever read about.

After graduating from Duke University with a degree in White Supremacy and a minor in Racist White Resentment, Miller secured a racist press secretary job with the noted racist, Michele Bachman, a halfwit U.S. representative for Minnesota’s 6th racist congressional district. This was followed by a session as Racist Communications Director for racist Senator Jeff Beauregard Sessions. Senator Jeff Beauregard Sessions, a racist, named his racist son "Jefferson (Davis) Beauregard," which is a lot like if Adolf Hitler's dad named his son "Jeff Sessions."

Stephen was destined to mature into a long tradition of balding, anthropomorphic, mean-spirited reactionary racist assholes like Joe Rogan, Tom Homan, Mr. Magoo, and every male in the Trump family. Miller’s big influences included Wayne LaPierre, whose NRA had to petition for bankruptcy during the COVID pandemic because not enough members were leaving their homes to stockpile guns and massacre people.

In true Orwellian fashion worthy of Miller’s admiration, LaPierre called the bankruptcy a “reorganization.” You know, like when an AK-47 does a “reorganization” of your kidneys.

Upon joining the racist Trump administration as the head racist advisor, Miller, a racist, was widely credited as being the biggest influence on Trump’s anti-immigrant policies since the Coolidge Immigration Act of 1924, Hitler’s “Mein Kampf,” Bill Clinton’s "Antiterrorism and Effective Death Penalty Act" of 1996, and Warner Bros’ “Slowpoke Rodriguez.”

According to the Washington Post, the Trump administration set a goal of deporting one million people without criminal convictions during his first year. Six months in and he’s still come nowhere near that, but he has managed to deport three ICE leadership personnel into unemployment.

Racist Stephen Miller, a racist, viewed immigrants as drug addicts, gangsters, rapists, and drunks. In other words: clear competition for police and Trump administration jobs.

Even though it’s widely accepted the United States would probably be better off deporting half its current citizens and replacing them with undocumented immigrants, the cruel process of family separation, detention and deportation has existed for decades, often with little regard for humanitarian concerns like asylum or “Who else would put up with America’s spoiled bullshit?”

It’s been a matter of procedure and policy for border agents to separate family members as punishment since at least 2005 under President George W. Bush, a man so dumb he once accused “illegal” Eskimos of having Anchorage babies and illegal beer drinkers of having Anchor Steam babies.

This family separation, or “deterrent” as Jeff Sessions and Barack Obama would embrace, is all part of what the DHS calls its (CDS) or Consequence Delivery System, a term Donald Trump often uses to describe call girls with Late Stage Syphilis.

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His wife Katie, a racist, played a key role in racist Elon Musk’s DOGE (Department of Gormless Eugenicists). She was a major racist force behind timing Musk’s media presence and political messaging to coincide with the billionaire’s bladder-busting ketamine binges and meth induced head-rolling. Since his extraction from DOGE in broad daylight, Elon Musk will now be working full-time in Katie Miller’s private sector.

On May 31, 2025, it was Miller who advised President Trump to reveal his theory that former President Biden had been executed and replaced by a robot. The reasoning was that if Trump could believe that charred slice of pizza on top of Miller’s head was real hair he’d fall for anything.

Miller leaves behind a world that won’t miss him save for a lot of lonely racists and a barnful of racist family members fighting over his racist belongings.

The deceased requested that the National Guard fire flash-bang grenades and tear gas up his racist ass, his racist remains be cremated in a burning Waymo, and his racist ashes be sprinkled at 7-Elevens, nail salons, restaurants, construction sites and Home Depots around the country.

For the more heartwarming family values, here’s Martha Previte’s complete Stephen Miller Family Album!

And for entrancing collage art and disturbing satirical vocal interpretations of horrible politicians, subscribe to Martha Previte! Today, Susan Collins is very concerned about the anti-ICE protests in Los Angeles!

You might also like Jim Earl’s Substack of Bile in which I spew semi-informed nonsense about current events, stupid and horrific.

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Belgian-Israeli diamond tycoon, Ehud Arye Laniado, is dead after reaching the peennacle of success sought by all entrepeeneurs dissatisfied with their small inheritance: lying on a gurney while a complete stranger injects ass-fat into their penis after slicing a ligament to double its length by three schlongimeters.

The most notable Belgian mutilator since King Leopold II, Laniado jerked himself into the afterlife at a private French sausage clinic while undergoing bonérre enlargement surgery. His diamond company described the dearly deflated as a “visionary businessman” who failed to envision getting killed by his own business.

Authorities are currently investigating Laniado’s penis as a “penis of interest” but they’re not confident anything will pop up.

The French penis clinic’s dick-surgeon, Dick Surgeon, released this disappointingly short statement to the public: “The patient is now stiffer than ever before. We guarantee results!”

Laniado and his penis had been due to appear in a Belgian Court the following week to face tax evasion charges and possible stiffy fines. While Laniado hoped to get off, his penis confided he could only afford pro boner services and would probably settle for a hung jury.

Some are saying the Belgian oligarch’s unspeakable incident echoes the central themes of power and madness within Joseph Conrad’s lesser-known novella “Hard-On of Darkness.1

Recovery time after penis enlargement surgery varies depending on the procedure. It may take several weeks to months for the penis to fully heal or admit anything was wrong.

Doctors advise the penis should get plenty of rest, drink six glasses of water a day and not operate any heavy machinery.

Doing weird shit to your salad mixer isn’t something most men want to make public. In 2023, rapper 50 Cent sued a gossip blog because they claimed he had work done on his penis so he could change his name to 50 Smackeroonies.

People with Penile Underassessment Dysmorphophobia Disorder, or PUDD, believe their penis is smaller than it actually is and other people’s penises are bigger than they actually are. PUDD can lead to depression, cause problems with erections, and more importantly, cause problems with elections.

According to a recent study published in the National Library of Medicine, the average length of a penis is 3.6 inches long when flaccid, 5.2 inches long when erect, and negative 4 inches long when within hearing distance of Marjorie Taylor Greene.

Other forms of PUDD include:

Pointless PUDD, where people believe their penis is larger than everyone else’s- but not enough to notice.

PIOTD or Penis In Our Time Disorder, in which the penis keeps waving a piece of paper signed by Hitler.

Laniado’s last wishes were that he and his penis be implanted in Israel because it’s the land of the chosen pee hole.

1

No one is saying this.

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The Democratic Party died of exhaustion Tuesday night after a long and neglected illness in which the patient presented with delusions of relevance accompanied by a chronic rash of preventable electoral losses.

The end came when The Party™ vainly attempted for the biglyest time to reach across the sacred Clintonobamabiden Aisle of Mutual Respect and Bipartisan Cooperation to embrace that mythical unicorn: the moderate republican. And like an intellectually limited Oliver Twist straining to pass a bad muffin, The Party™ once again received another steaming bowl of deserved humiliation and warmed-over pachyderm poop. The result: our Great American Lab Experiment lurched one step further into the realm of completely gutting Medicaid, Medicare, Social Security, SNAP and anything else remotely protecting human beings who don’t have multi million-dollar trust funds burning holes in their offshore bank accounts.

When reached for analysis, the last few remaining scientists willing to speak up for fear of getting burned at the stake by mobs of High Low-Density Lipid Cybertruck owners, postulated this death,

“was not an end in the traditional sense, but a metamorphosis from a poseur pretending to be something it hasn’t been since the FDR administration into dead organic brain matter absorbed by the amoeba-like food vacuole of the Republican Party- an amorphous stupid blob of pestilence and bad hair. Please read our peer reviewed study in The Lancet. We’re moving to Holland.”

This afternoon in a show of bipartisan remembrance towards the deceased, New York City Mayor Eric Adams compared himself to “Jesus on the Cross” and called his critics “negroes.”1

Pallbearers probably won’t include any of the following people because they’re all hiding right now, including former Moderate Centrist President™, Joe Biden, who famously said,

"We need a strong Republican party." “I would consider a Republican running mate.” "Welcome home!" - to the fascist he called an existential threat to Democracy.

And Kamala Harris:

“my administration will have a Republican in it.”

Her Hubby, Doug Emhoff:

"We need a strong Republican party."

And Nancy Pelosi, who for years opined the following:

"We need a strong Republican party."2

The deceased’s last wishes were that pissed off democrats, progressives, socialists and leftists take the advice of the ossified remnants of James Carville and close their eyes, lie still and think of England.

Sy Sperling, a former swimming pool dealer who proved the old adage, “If you look like an insurance salesman when you’re bald, you’re still gonna look like an insurance salesman when you have fake hair,” is no longer the Hair Club president. Nor even a client.

According to a statement from his family, Sperling succumbed to a lengthy illness, finally wigging out in Boca Raton, Florida.

Sperling’s biography says the legendary entre-hairneur1 became inspired at an early age to address baldness when a cheetah escaped from a nearby circus and over-aggressively tongue-groomed the few remaining patches of peach fuzz from his scalp.

As God was his witness, Sperling promised he’d never again suffer the embarrassment of male pattern hair loss. Nor take another nap with his head directly underneath a hot buttered popcorn stand.

Searching for new ways to help fill the void of hair loss products, Sperling began his quest by trying to sell wigs by mail. But that didn’t work out because he couldn’t afford the postiche.2

In 1968 Sperling picked up hair-weaving techniques from his stylist and was soon able to leave his job selling swimming pools. But not before he lost most of his comb-over in the filters.

Sperling eventually perfected a technique using glue to attach hair to a fitted nylon mesh. The mesh gave the scalp room to breathe with the added bonus of being able to trap sardines at the beach.

The result was an almost lifelike topping that could remain in place through showering, exercising and getting attacked by eagles.

Sperling said his ultimate goal was to remove some of the stigma around baldness and replace it with the stigma that comes from wearing a hairy oven mitt that comes loose every four days.

Success came quickly for Sperling. Within the first month of airing one of his iconic commercials his Hair Club received over 10,000 telephone calls asking if that was his real accent, and if so, why couldn’t he do anything about it?

In a 1997 interview Sperling recalled how in 1969 the business became so popular Jimi Hendrix requested an appointment to install his hair mesh system. Not out of concern for hair loss but to conceal his massive stash.

Sperling always believed Hendrix would still be alive today had he only come in for his scheduled tightening.

Sperling was also a noted philanthropist. He formed a Hair Club for Kids to help children losing their hair from chemotherapy. He provided Meals on Wheels for the homeless. He was also a “devout” vegan who fought for animal rights. All noble and wonderful causes I wasn’t aware of before writing most of this obituary. He seems to have been a genuinely good person who really wanted to help people. Which makes me feel guilty about mentioning his other charity:

The Hair Club for Wombats. A charity helping bare-nosed wombats overcome the relentless bullying inflicted by hairy-nosed wombats, dingos and Tasmanian devils.

After years of success, Sperling sold the business in 2000 for $40 million and retired. During this rewarding time he spent his winters in Boca Raton visiting his southern hair, and his summers in Vancouver visiting his northern hair.

Sperling requested his remains be dug up every two weeks so technicians can tighten the complex nylon webbing attaching his soul to the afterlife.

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It’s soon to be chock-full of Senator Susan Collins and Melania Trump video parodies we wrote together and she voiced and…and- all freshly BANNED BY Tik Tok!3

But wait, there’s more! It’s also soon to be full of her beautiful, provocative, disturbing and sometimes puzzling original collage4 art pieces often featured in my obits! And others that aren’t, like “The Goatfürher at Burning Hills, California.”

And “La Maja Bebida”.

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Bernie Marcus, the man who helped build a chain of home improvement stores out of nothing but a pocketful of gumption and all the resources and connections available to a former CEO of a previous chain of home improvement stores, is now in a little pine box made of wood you can get at a big box store.

Marcus’ visionary leadership as Home Depot’s CEO helped create a nation of doers who can tackle any project just as long as there’s enough Honduran refugees waiting in the parking lot to screw over.

Raised by poor Russian immigrants, Marcus spent his youth living in a New Jersey tenement. Little did he know he’d eventually become CEO of one of the largest suppliers of ladders and ultimately realize the American Dream of pulling them up again.

Today Home Depot has over 2,300 stores around the world including 187 in Texas, a land where companies aren’t required to subscribe to workers’ comp for their injured employees. In a related story, Home Depot’s 500,000 employees have an estimated 200,000 thumbs.

In 1981, the company created its “much-loved DIY mascot,” Homer D. Poe. Homer still remains a friendly and helpful presence at the company even though he looks just like that guy who obsessively darts his tongue back-and-forth while peering through your bathroom window.

According to the company’s website, Homer “has a wife named Daisy and a dog named Carl.” As for what’s in his Speedo, Homer just calls them, “Mr. Happy and my two brothers Darrell and Darrell.”

A trailblazer with boundless compassion, Marcus founded the Marcus Autism Center where he poured $25 million into the search for the causes and a cure for autism. Then he backed a lawsuit to overturn federal student loan forgiveness. Because what better way is there to find a cure for autism than by making sure nobody can afford to learn about it?

His generosity didn’t end there. In 2020 he donated over $27 million to republicans so Donald Trump could nominate as head of the HHS a guy who believes autism is caused by vaccines and pregnant mothers who get frightened by elephants.

But perhaps his most celebrated role in fighting autism was sending millions of dollars to Israel so they could bomb over 5,000 autistic kids in Gaza. That should do it.

In 2020 with the help of 12 million of Marcus’ Depot Dollars, Donald Trump was able to flip two houses of Congress and still have enough left over to buy the house of every Supreme Court justice’s mother. He’s currently planning to gut and rebuild the Presidential residence using refurbished pallets of entry-level granite countertops and motion activated brushed-bronze faucets.

Company executives in mourning say they’re consoling themselves with the thought Marcus is in the afterlife refusing bathroom breaks to the wandering spirits of dead employees impaled by crowbars.

Marcus’ memorial in Georgia was attended by lines of tearful spectators longing for that one last chance to return a high-priced item without a receipt.

In lieu of flowers, the family asks people to donate to causes Marcus was passionate about. Like DIY genocides, post-genocide fixer uppers and installing quality drywall between women and their rights.

Marcus requested his body be crushed by a pallet of microwave ovens, run over by a forklift, exposed to an unregulated amount of chemicals and dropped onto a defective paint shaker.

The remains will then be disassembled and divided among 90 distribution centers around the country and sent to 2,000 stores for in-store pickup.

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Brian Thompson, CEO of the insurance industry’s leader in denying medical claims, is now out of network.

Coroners listed the official cause of death as “multiple pre-existing bullets” and said the killing bore all the marks of America’s single-slayer system.

So far the motive for the killing remains unclear, but experts theorize it might have something to do with everybody in the world hating the health insurance industry.

Thompson was seen on video leaving his hotel several minutes prior to the shooting. The NYPD promised to further investigate the video as soon as they can confirm it’s included on the formulary.

DNA from the assailant’s water bottle was sent to a lab for testing with the hope authorities can find enough genetic markers to deny him treatment once he’s shot by police.

News of the shooting sent shockwaves throughout the sheltered world of insurance industry CEOs, who fear the incident will drive up their murder insurance premiums.

As a show of unity and strength, UnitedHealth Group, parent company of UnitedHealthcare, announced it will eliminate the spaces between the words “UnitedHealth,” “care” and “Group” and now be known as “UnitedHealthCareGroupCare.”

To ensure “the safety, security and well-being of our employees” the company says it will no longer be taking calls from customers they would never take calls from anyway. And any customers who manage to get through will be denied all claims in order to make it physically impossible for them to drive, lift a weapon or write a letter.

Officials say they’re checking every dispute or contested denial of service brought against the company. So at this rate they should have an answer by the time they’re all living in senior care facilities.

As it stands now, Thompson’s burial insurance will only provide a 30-day supply of cemetery space before his family has to dig him up and beg his doctor to declare him dead again.

Even though Thompson stated he was satisfied with his current burial insurance, he’ll still have to pay a large deductible before he’s fully covered by dirt.

Thompson’s burial insurance also requires the deceased first use a generic potato sack before they can approve his request for a brand-name box.

New York City Mayor Eric Adams refused to comment on the shooting until he can invent a way to blame it on Columbia University students.

Officials confirmed the killer meticulously wrote the words “delay deny defend depose” onto the casings with a Sharpie. So if he had any medical problems, it probably wasn’t with his eyes.

Other chilling, bullet-casing phrases included:

“it’s open enrollment season”

“enjoy life: eat out more often”

“coffee o’clock”

“hold my beer”

“whip inflation now”

“smile sparkle shine"

"follow your bliss”

“king of naps”

and

“embrace messy hair"

In an effort to help root out the killer, Anthem Blue Cross announced they’ll no longer cover anesthesia for the entire length of surgeries looking for misplaced forceps, sponges, drill tips, surgical gauze, clamps, needles, knife blades, safety pins, scalpels, scissors, and towels.

Thompson leaves behind millions of sick patients still waiting on the phone while pacing back and forth listening to toxic hold Muzac, in what can only be described as a brazen and targeted attack on their sanity.

Of course the deceased will be mourned by family and friends. But we mustn’t forget the bereft recipients of his company’s $100 million in lobbying money. Our thoughts and prayers go out to Vice President Kamala Harris during this difficult time.

Family and friends are now consoling themselves with the thought that Brian is now up in Heaven sitting at the throne of the Divine Algorithmic Death Panel that tells your sweet refill-seeking grandmother to fuck off and die every three months.

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Andreas Münzhuber, one of the Tip-Top Nazis of all the other Top Nazis of the utmost top Bavarian Top Nazi group, The Third Way, found a fourth way to end a hike this week when he plunged 200 feet off the tippy-top toppest peak of Untersberg, Adolf Hitler’s favorite mountain.

Rescue teams immediately rushed to the accident scene only to find the far-right radical killed instantly by a left-leaning boulder.

According to fellow top grieving Nazis, the mountain trek was literally the Rise And Fall of Münzhuber’s Third Hike.

Using MIT’s Free-Falling Idiot Calculator™, scientists estimate Germany’s Top Nazi only took 3.5 seconds to get to the bottom, setting a new “Plotz”-Krieg record.

News of his death hit the local Nazi community hard. But not half as hard as Münzhuber hit the bottom of that mountain.

Historians say Untersberg was Hitler’s favorite mountain because in the right light it looked just like his niece taking a shit on his chest.

Today the mountain is still a favorite pilgrimage site for Nazis around the globe who want their nieces to take shits on their chests.

Untersberg famously appeared during the closing scene of “The Sound of Music” just as the sound of his broken neck appeared in the closing scene of Münzhuber’s life.

Münzhuber was only 37 years-old and still had many plans in his Nazi life. Like going to Nazi picnics, doing Nazi aerobics, taking more Nazi hikes up his favorite Nazi mountains, and one day even having his niece take a shit on his chest. He also looked forward to becoming a “clear” in Scientology.

The Third Way is believed to have 600 members in Germany. Correction: 599.

According to its brochure, the party has divided its activities into three "struggles.” The "political struggle," "the cultural struggle" and the "struggle to go for a hike up Adolf Hitler’s favorite mountain without plunging 200 feet to your death.”

Though very small, the Third Way prides itself in its intense activism and can often be seen cutting ahead of non-Germans in pretzel lines.

Since The Third Way is a more moderate wing of the traditional Nazi party, Münzhuber listed his pronouns as he/Himmler.

The following are the Rules of conduct for any Top Nazis interested in hiking Untersberg:

1. Exercise caution: Always watch where you’re Goering.

2. Courtesy: Be nice to volks you meet on the way up Hitler’s favorite mountain because you might meet them again on your downfall.

3. Prepare for bad weather: Bring adequate winter clothing in case you’re pinned down by Soviet snipers.

4. Leave a plan: Tell someone where to hide your remains should you fall 200 feet off a mountain or take cyanide and shoot yourself in the head with a revolver.

5. Pack it in, pack it out: Leave the campsite as you found it so the next camper can have a clean space for his niece to shit on his chest.

6. Bring essential gear: Pack plenty of cyanide pills and a revolver. And don’t forget a can of petrol in case you need to burn your remains after hilariously falling 200 feet off a mountain.

7. Be aware of wildlife: Notify park staff of any aggressive animals who might dig up your burnt remains from a hastily dug hiding place after you fall 200 feet off a mountain or take cyanide and shoot yourself in the head with a revolver.

8. Bring snacks!

9. Be considerate: Do your part to leave the area even more devastated than when you found it.

For those who loved him for some reason, the biggest loss will be at the Münzhuber’s home dining table. For his wife now has to raise their daughter alone without a Nazi to help pass the peas.

Münzhuber requested an open-casket funeral in case any hikers come across any missing body parts before the burial.

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The United States of America’s much celebrated “Conscience Of a Nation” dropped dead this week after a long and debilitating illness characterized by chilling behavior, severe “choking-on-crow” fits, demented delusions of grandeur, and the eternal shame of having concocted the “Three-Fifths Compromise.”

Never of optimal health to begin with, the near-democracy’s Sense of Right and Wrong was found naked and alone, ethically cleansed.

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When reached for comment, current honorary Democrat and former Stolen Election™ recipient, George W. Bush, asked, “What’s a conch-ance? Can ya hear the ocean in it?”

Those close to the departed belief-system or “Moral Compass” say the end came when half the country persuaded itself the genocide they’re currently funding is much better than the genocide the other party’s candidate might probably almost certainly continue funding- but isn’t doing yet.

Though sickly throughout its life, The Conscience did manage to rally enough strength in the mid 1860s to abolish slavery. Sadly, it relapsed into a laudanum-induced coma during the Jim Crow era.

Occasionally the beleaguered Sense of Self would awaken long enough to enact a government aid program, dedicate a postage stamp to a Native American wearing a headdress, or even fight forest fires with a lovable bear mascot. But as is the case with many a chronic disorder sufferer, the deceased was no match for the relentless and deadly artery-clogging sludge of incremental change and brainless excuses.

In a recent interview, Moral Compass stressed it shouldn’t just be remembered for weekly gun massacres, 650,000 yearly medical bankruptcies, taxpayer-funded genocide, endless wars, 1.3 million pandemic deaths and a preventable global warming catastrophe, it also wanted credit for normalizing it all for the sake of the country’s corrupt donor class.

The medical examiner revealed the official cause of death as “auto-erotic asphyxiation,” or “self-strangulation by a plastic-explosive logic-pretzel” supplied by one of Mossad’s preferred Taiwanese pager companies.

Close friends of The Conscience regret not having intervened generations ago to help mitigate the Immaterial Essence’s autoimmune response to scruples. But once the Democratic party embraced Ronald Reagan, the Clintons, and both Bush administrations, it was too late.

The Inner Voice requested its remains be interned alongside countless no-fracking pledges, failed commitments to end the Covid pandemic, and all those promises for universal healthcare that were the rage just a few years ago.

In lieu of flowers, friends of the former Moral Compass ask that contributions be made to your local “Shoe and Underwear Bomber Plastic Explosives Support Fund.”

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Martha Previte

Martha is an artist, comedic voice actress, writer & performer. http://tiktok.com/@marthaprevite https://www.patreon.com/MarthaPrevite

Corey Comperatore, one of many Donald Trump devotees who think it’s okay to ram bicyclists with cars, hang environmentalists, call Ilhan Omar the “spawn of Satan,” compare a woman’s right to choose to gun massacres, slaughter Palestinians, spread religious hate against the LGBT community, and impugn the qualifications of black people with the racist dog-whistle “DEI,” is now DOA.

Comperatore met his tragic fate at a July 13 campaign rally in Butler, PA. It was there that a member of Donald Trump’s core demographic attempted some 2nd Amendment rights on the former reality-show star’s self-described “very, very very large brain.”

Seconds after a bullet hit Trump’s right ear, Secret Service agents killed the shooter, making this the harshest penalty for this kind of assault since Mike Tyson got fined $3 million by the Nevada State Athletic Commission.

Trump later described the incident, recalling how he heard a “loud whizzing sound” before reaching the harrowing conclusion that this time it wasn’t coming from his pants.

Just moments before the shots rang out, Trump was showing supporters a chart with the number of border crossings, leading local law enforcement to speculate the shooter really hated graphs and graph bystanders.

Trump said he would have stayed longer to help wounded audience members but his doctor told him it was bad for his health to let bullets enter his body.

Friends described Comperatore as a dedicated “girl dad,” who loved his family so much, he sat them directly behind a rapist who planned to make them grow up in a real-life enactment of The Handmaid’s Tale.

Trump reportedly felt so deeply about Comperatore’s death that he promptly picked up a phone five days later and told his family to “get over it.”

Friends and loved ones are now consoling themselves with the thought that the last words Comperatore heard from Trump were, “Let me get my shoes!”

On Truth Social, a reflective Trump credited “God alone” for preventing “the unthinkable happening.” So pretty much fuck everybody else who got shot, right?

Responding to suggestions that his history of violent rhetoric might have inspired the incident, Trump said, “Look. I told people to ‘take some BALLOTS,’ not ‘some BULLETS.’”

Police are still trying to determine the shooter’s exact motive. But being cops, they’ll probably just assume the guy felt his life was in immediate danger.

Taking place almost a month shy of the fifty-fifth anniversary of Woodstock, “Bumpstock” will probably go down in history as even more frightening and painful than sitting through Jerry Garcia’s 36-minute guitar solo.

So far, a Trump campaign-initiated GoFundMe campaign for the victims’ families has raised over $7 million. Though impressed by the amount, a clearly touched Trump emphasized that no amount of money could compensate for their loss. And that’s exactly what he contributed: no amount of money.

Major contributors to the fund fittingly include Elon Musk, Vivek Ramaswamy and The Heritage Foundation- all top contributors to science illiteracy, gun massacres and medical bankruptcy.

In the deceased’s memory, the Republican National Committee requested Comperatore’s remains be exploited as much as possible to help pay for Donald Trump’s mounting attorneys’ fees and penalties.

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Dietrich Mateschitz, co-founder of the Red Bull brand of anxiety, insomnia, gastrointestinal upset, and restless leg syndrome-inducing drinks in 1987, is dead at the age of 78 with an abnormally high heart rate for a corpse.

Mateschitz co-founded the company with Thai businessman Chaleo Yoovidh. Although Yoovidh died in 2012 his legacy still lives on. Mainly because his body can't stop twitching in a pro-nociceptive state of cortical hyper-excitability and fizziness.

Before Red Bull, Mateschitz was a marketing executive for Blendax, a German company known for creating shampoos that make your hair look like it’s been up all night screaming at crowds to invade Poland.

After Mateschitz joined forces with Yoovidh in 1984, it took another three years for him to perfect the original formula into what it is today. The secret? A fuckload of caffeine and sugar.

In a final tweak before the drink's premiere, the founders decided to change the name to "Red Bull" because "Mateschitz & Yoovidh's Hard Penis Elixir" just didn't have that ring to it.

The company sold its first can of Red Bull in Austria. That can is now the leader of a far-right nationalist party running for president on the Fascist ticket.

To help promote their drink, Mateschitz & Yoovidh invested heavily in marketing to make the brand synonymous with extreme feats, like downing two cans and attempting to walk ten paces before you crap your pants and your teeth fall out.

Very little is known about Mateschitz's private life probably owing to the fact that he spent most of it on the toilet.

In his later years he was criticized for anti-immigrant remarks and trivializing the Covid-19 pandemic on his personally owned far-right neo-fascist TV station in Austria. Combine that with a loyal audience of super-caffeinated psychotics with sleeping problems and the possibilities are endless.

In 2023 the annual worldwide consumption of energy drinks exceeded 25 billion liters. That’s equal to 5 trillion gallons when converting to the Diarrhea-Based Measurement System.

Today Red Bull employs more than 13,000 people around the world with an additional 26,000 just to wipe up after them.

Mateschitz requested his remains be mixed with water, sugar, caffeine, and formaldehyde in order to give his body a special zest for death.

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Antonin Scalia, the jolly, bushy eye-browed Santa-sized racist misogynist homophobe fake-intellectual Supreme Court Justice who regularly pled “no contest” to free meals, is dead after 79 years of staining his robes.

Cause of death was undetermined, but the legal consensus is that the universe had “just cause” to terminate his life.

Scalia died at a west Texas hunting ranch run by members of the International Order of St. Hubert, Patron saint of hunters, of whom Scalia was the most prominent member who could no longer find his member.

St. Hubert’s martyrdom is a particularly inspiring tale of struggle and faith. After his tormentors stuffed him with a devilishly mouthwatering selection of Pork Loin in a bed of Guava and Plum Sauce followed by Almond Mole Chicken, Viceroy’s Cake and a delicious homemade ice cream, Hubert barely had the strength to cross the spacious veranda and make it back to his complementary luxury quarters where he quickly fell onto a plush pillow-topped bed and succumbed to the demonic enticement of a gentle sleep.

St. Hubert is also the patron saint of metal workers and smelters. And right now Scalia isn’t smelting very good.

Those at the ranch remembered Scalia as a stalwart defender of their Texas way of life, as well as the guy who always rushed the buffet and hogged the toilet.

Responding quickly to the news, President Obama ordered all flags to be flown at “half caring.”

The president went on to reassure an alarmed nation that “now all we have to do is wait for half of Congress to drop dead.”

Those who knew him say Scalia was a man of varied tastes, with a fondness for poker, opera, and forcing poison through the veins of innocent people on death row.

The centerpiece of Scalia’s judicial philosophy was his commitment to the doctrine of originalism, which sought to interpret the Constitution as it was understood at a time when women were considered less important than goats.

Funeral services for his body included a ten-hour repose in the Supreme Court building not far from where Clarence Thomas has been sleeping the last twenty-six years.