Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Why Obama is Hitler

Let me just start by saying that it’s about time someone made this comparison. I’ve grown sick of Obama trotting out his radical and dangerous ideologies. This is a man who we must stop before he invades Poland, or more realistically, Canada, to start what will no doubt be a war that ends with the wanton murder of millions. We can not allow ourselves to make the same mistakes that Western Europe made nearly 70 years ago.


I can’t believe how long it took for someone to realize the similarities between Obama’s evil economic policies and Hitler’s evil economic policies. Some people might claim that economics have never really been an indicator of the moral standing of a nation’s leader, but those people are fools. Obama’s socialist tendencies threaten the very fabric of our nation, just as Hitler’s policies tore the world apart during World War 2. Ignore for a moment the fact that Hitler was a stringent capitalist who detested the notion of government run industry and invaded the Soviet Union, his ally and a completely socialist nation, after realizing that the Nazi ideology would not be able to coexist with Communist ideals. If he had been a socialist, Hitler totally would have been even more evil. Just like whoever leads Sweden now.


And thank God people are finally seeing just how similar Obama’s views on race are to Hitler’s. Hitler’s contempt for Jews is just as terrible as Obama’s contempt for white people. Forget that Obama is half-white. He hates white people. You can tell by the way he supported his friend Henry Gates. How dare he doubt the Boston Police Department? I feel lucky every day that I have not been sent to one of the death camps that I am sure is being built somewhere. And for all of you who say that comparing Obama to Hitler insults the memory of the 10 million people who were humiliated, brutalized, murdered, raped, mutilated, and destroyed by the Nazi regime, I only have one question. Where do you get off?


I am just glad that there are American citizens who recognize that it is their patriotic duty to interrupt town hall meetings to bring to light the startling resemblance of Barack Obama to Adolph Hitler. So please, members of the right wing, continue to form mobs, shout your way to power, and form grassroots militias. Together, we can show America who the real Nazis are.

Monday, August 10, 2009

The Origin of Bill Brasky

This is the start of the story about this man:

His name is Bill Brasky.

------------------------------------------

Thunder rumbled in the distance and lightning scorched the air the night Bill Brasky was born. It was in a tiny cabin that Willimina Brasky gave birth to the man who would shape the Earth forever. She had been in labor for 137 hours trying to give birth to the giant of a child before Brasky finally decided to fight the indignity of coming out of his mother’s vagina by punching through her womb, instantly killing her. Bill Brasky is a merciful being, however, and he revived her as soon as he had cleaned off the afterbirth and dressed himself in a robe he made after killing and skinning a bear. He was 45 minutes old.

The legend of Bill Brasky does not end there though, not by a long shot. He grew into a strong boy, and by age 8 he was seven foot five and as strong as sixteen oxen. It was not uncommon to see Brasky beating Paul Bunyan up for fun or calling John Henry a girl while he held his hammer over his head. It was during these years that World War Two broke out, however, and it was not long before Franklin Roosevelt called on the services of America’s most important asset. He begged and pleaded with Brasky, sometimes to join the war, sometimes to give back his wheelchair. Days passed before Brasky finally consented, having tired of constantly hearing the whining of who he would later refer to as America’s most crippled President.

And so young Brasky ventured off to Nazi Germany to end a war he had finally grown sick of. He led the D-Day invasion, killing what can only be estimated to be thousands of Germans with rocks and sea turtles he found lying on the beaches of Normandy. Leaving the bunch of “pussies” (as he called them) that needed to rest, heal, and mourn after the attack, he proceeded to invade Berlin alone. After defeating Hitler’s entire guard with a spear attached to a Nazi flag (Bill Brasky enjoys the irony of murdering an ideals based group with their own symbol), he proceeded to look for the F├╝hrer himself.

It took a day for Brasky to find his scent, but he finally tracked Hitler to a bunker behind the Reichstag. He tied Hitler up before having sex with Eva Braun right in front of him. Afterwards, with Eva lying on the ground, barely able to breathe from the most amazing sexual experience of her life, Brasky untied Hitler, lifted him high above his head, and with a motion as fast as the lightning that struck the sky on his birthday, broke Hitler over his knee. As he left the bunker, his mission complete, Eva Braun called to him to stay with her, for she loved him. Brasky’s silent back was the only answer she received, and with the knowledge that she could never be with the man who had satisfied her more than she ever thought possible, committed suicide. And with that, Bill Brasky turned nine.

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Twilight, or, A Plague on Humanity

"Any 'Twilight' fan can tell you that they've been written so well, that they're real," said John Henson, a 33-year-old costume designer who collects original clothing from the film. "It was the second book, 'New Moon,' that made me a fan. It was chapter three, and it was the breakup of Bella and Edward; it hit me so hard emotionally that I had to cancel dinner with friends. At that point I was 29, 30 years old, and to make me cry? That's when I knew Stephenie Meyer was a brilliant writer."
(Taken from http://www.cnn.com/2009/SHOWBIZ/Movies/07/22/twilight.fans/index.html)

Read that. Let that quote simmer in your brain.

Simmer.

Simmer.

Feel that growing burning sensation? That feeling that maybe you've got a fever going? Good, you're on the right path.

Simmer.

Simmer.

Sim--Hopefully your brain is boiling now, overcome with the complete insanity of what John Henson, male, 33, said about the Twilight series of books. A few things:

1) The fact you're a giant pussy who cries because two fictional characters break up with each other does not make Stephenie Meyer a brilliant writer. It's makes you a pussy.

2) I changed my mind. There's just one thing.

How is this possible? How does a poorly written series of books with universally terrible reviews generate such insanity among people?

I think it's possible that Twilight is part of a global terrorist conspiracy aimed at destroying the US by making women so convinced that the only reason to go through the reproductive process is that your mate meets the qualifications of being:
  1. Incredibly attractive
  2. Devoted to your every whim
  3. A vampire
Now, most men are going to fail to meet those standards. You can see how this might affect the United States come thirty years from now when a whole Children of Men situation is going on. I don't have proof yet to back my theory, but I will report back as I find out more.

Sunday, July 19, 2009

The Plight of Orcs in Middle Earth

So I was incredibly hungover Saturday and watching The Fellowship of the Ring when I had an interesting realization. Orcs get completely shafted in this trilogy. They’re basically slaves, cannon fodder, or forced to live in dank pits. Why the hell do they let all of this happen?

I know they aren’t the smartest creatures, I mean they get outsmarted by hairy-footed midgets like 342 times, but you’d think that at least one rebellious orc would be like “Hey, fuck you dad, I’m getting an education at Middle Earth Tech.”

Take the orcs that work for Saruman, for example. They spend their time creating a race of new, better orcs for him. Why the hell would you do that? I don’t want to build Joe Jensen 2.0. I enjoy not being outdated. But they’re creating these orcs, and not only are they way sweeter, but from the time they’re born, they start murdering the old orcs, just for the hell of it. I don’t know about you, but as soon as I start working in an environment where the product starts killing my co-workers, I’m out of there.

This is why I generally don’t support the plausibility of evil minions. Like, sure, at first it might seem like a good idea, sort of like joining a company like Enron. Everything’s going well, the powerful entity is doing work on the world, but then shit hits the fan. You wouldn’t try and go back to work for Enron after they imploded, so why would these orcs go back to Sauron after he got his ass handed to him by a dude with a broken sword and allow themselves to be treated like week-old dog shit?

It just doesn’t make sense. Are there no unions in Middle Earth? Elves, men, dwarves, hobbits, eagles, ghosts, balrogs; they’ve all got their shit together. At what point did the orcs think, “Oh, hey, you know what would be sweet? Being the bitches of other people!”

Here is the best answer I came up with: orcs are the victims of an incredibly racist society. Is it okay to enslave them? Yes. Who enslaves them? Saruman, the White. Every other race despises them and considers them universally evil (apparently, stereotyping is cool in Middle Earth). Frodo has a sword that lets him know when orcs are around. You can tell me it’s just a warning that he’s about to be attacked, but I’m pretty sure it’s to let him know if he should introduce himself to the new neighbors or not.

I want to see the orcs stand up for their rights through non-violent protest and throw off the shackles of their oppressors. I would hope Aragorn could be their Abraham Lincoln, but knowing his “decapitation policy” towards most orcs he meets, I highly doubt such a thing will happen. And based upon the success they’ve had so far in liberating themselves, I can only assume that the orcish Martin Luther King Jr. will not be coming around anytime soon.

So there you have it. The Lord of the Rings isn’t a movie about inner strength or badass epic battles, but rather an endorsement of segregationist policies. If you have greenish-brownish-blackish slimy skin, jagged rotting teeth, a predisposition to murder and eat your victims, or questionable hygiene, don’t expect to be warmly welcomed by the people of Middle Earth. Or Peter Jackson.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Geoff and I converse.

This conversation seemed awesome when it happened. We'll see how well it ages.
Geoff

dogs have wheelchairs?

12:52amJoe

http://handicappedpets.com/www/images/stories/denaliSm.jpg

apparently they have whole websites dedicated to them

12:52amGeoff

that dog should just be shot

thats what happens when dogs cant walk

12:52amJoe

sort of like (person's name)?

definitely crossed a line there.

12:52amGeoff

yup

leapt over it

12:53amJoe

won the triple jump championship

12:53amGeoff

olympic jumped it

12:53amJoe

michael jordan doing the doctor j dunk in the all star game jumped over it

12:54amGeoff

i believe i can fly jumped it

12:54amJoe

you might win this one

12:54amGeoff

im trying

12:55amJoe

hmmmmmm....

i want to go with inspector gadget

but i can't make it not lame

nevermind got a better one

batman escaping the police using the rockets attached to his car to leap from the top of a goddamned building to a bridge jumped it

12:56amGeoff

i was gonna use a car jump one too

damn

evil keneival it

12:57amJoe

NO

THAT WAS MINE

damn this wavelength we're both on

12:57amGeoff

its a roommate thing

12:58amJoe

i'm serious about those pink heart tattoos

12:58amGeoff

i already got mine

12:58amJoe

knew i could count on you

justin timberlake making the leap from boy band music to soulful adult contemporary jumped it

i feel like that one was pretty clutch

12:59amGeoff

yup. done.

you take it

that was beautiful

1:00amJoe

yeah i'm pretty proud of it to be honest

i'm glad that we had an entire epic conversation about this though

1:00amGeoff

you should be

ill tell your kids about it

1:00amJoe

i'll tell your wife about it after i nail her probably

Monday, July 6, 2009

Pride

The Fourth of July got me thinking about pride in America and how it’s a really weird thing. If you’re proud of your country, you’re called a patriot. You can wave flags, blow things up, get drunk, and people will be proud of you because you’re supporting your country.

Now, suppose you’re proud of say, your race. Do any of those things fly? Fuck no. I’m pretty sure getting drunk and then blowing things up because you’re proud to be white is considered a hate crime. Weird, right?


And the contradictions don’t stop there:


Things you can be proud of:


Sexual orientation (if gay)

Faith in Jesus
Sports Teams
People who assassinate abortion doctors
Being fat
Not knowing a foreign language

Things you cannot be proud of:


Sexual orientation (if straight)
AIDS
Crystal Meth
Faith in Mohammad
Living in Mississippi
Alcoholism

It’s just odd that some of these things are okay to proud of while others are not. I feel like if people are allowed to go around waving flags about being gay, I should probably be allowed to get drunk in public on a daily basis. I’m a proud alcoholic, damnit.

And maybe I am proud of crystal meth. Harrisonburg, Virginia is the meth capital of the East Coast. That’s right, the entire east coast. Can any state besides Virginia claim that? No. But because of some arbitrary moral imperative, if I get the least bit proud that the home of crystallized methamphetamine is located in the state I was born in, people shun me.

It’s just like when I refuse to be proud of fat people. “Oh, Joe, it’s their life choice,” you might say. Fuck that! No one chooses to be fat. It’s not like those half ton people on Discovery Health wake up one morning and are like, “Hey, I’m going to do something with my life today.” I refuse to believe that being fat is something to be proud of. Unless you’re a sumo wrestler.

Monday, June 29, 2009

Why I Would Nail Emily Dickinson


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This is a piece I wrote for a contest on McSweeny's. Enjoy.
Emily Dickinson is my white whale. You might be wondering, “But Joe, she’s not that fat.” If that really is what you’re thinking, please stop reading this now, you’ll only give yourself a headache if you attempt to keep up with everything. I’ll even give you a few minutes to decide what episode of “America’s Got Talent” you’re going to watch on Hulu instead.
Is he gone?
Good. I hate that guy.
So as I was saying, Emily Dickinson is my white whale, the pinnacle of my sexual conquest. I want to harpoon her[1]. A lot of guys and lesbians probably think Emily Dickinson is an odd choice for my “Top Lay”, what with Scarlett Johansson smuggling watermelons under her shirt and Megan Fox sporting legs that could light a fire inside the Pope.
I’m not here to argue that Emily Dickinson is the hottest woman of all time, but rather that she is the equivalent of a sexual Holy Grail. More men have been on the moon than have been inside her. And it’s not as if Emily Dickinson had her sexual life derailed by her career. She spent her days walking around her house, making brownies, and writing poems. Emily Dickinson made a conscious choice not to get laid. Don’t get me wrong, there are a lot of people who are purposely celibate in the world, but that doesn’t necessarily make them the top people to nail. Mother Theresa? Hit that and you’ve bought yourself a seat next to Hitler for the rest of eternity. Jesus Christ? That’s like eight sins for those of you who even thought about how you’d make love to him.
My point is that Emily Dickinson is the perfect combination of celebrity and non-religious celibacy. It is a conquest to get to first base with her, a crusade to get to second, and a full blown war of flattery and seduction to circle all the way around to the point of love making, without eternal damnation to curse those able to succeed in their immense efforts.
Now imagine you were the first one to get down and dirty with Emily Dickinson, having spent what I estimate will be 7 months, 24 days, and 3 hours seducing her through song, humor, promises of love, and gifts of new white dresses for her to replace her old white dresses with. Many of you might think that the benefits end after the pleasure of coitus, but you would be fools for doing so.
First off, there would be the gift of a catch phrase. Your friends, amazed that you had been with such a famous and reclusive woman, would surely be hesitant to believe you pulled off such a feat.
“You,” they would say, “you nailed Emily Dickinson?”
You would take your time to build the tension, looking squarely in the eye of your most doubtful friend before saying, “I got my Dickin, son.” You should feel free to use that on any future successful sexual endeavors.
Such a glorious gift would not be the lone perk of doing the deed with Emily. As stated above, Emily Dickinson was renowned not only for her poetry, but her baking skills as well. Undoubtedly, the first man to rock Emily’s world would be immortalized with poems and showered with cakes for the rest of his life. Both of these things open up a world of sexual opportunity to the recipient. Suppose you’re at a combined birthday party for Scarlett Johansson and Megan Fox. Having so many delicious baked goods lying around your house, you decide, “Hey, why don’t I just bring a cake with me as a gift?” So you bring an amazing cake, and both Scarlett and Megan approach you, impressed with the fine baked good you’ve given them.
“Joe (or Steve, whatever your name is), where did you get such an amazing cake?” Scarlett would say.
“Oh, you know, Emily just keeps sending me these things since I nailed her so well,” you would reply.
“You’re that Joe (or Steve)?!” they would both shout, “The one who Emily wrote ‘Wood so Good’ about?”
Of course you would blush, embarrassed at the revelation that, yes, a few poems were written about you and your sexual prowess. They would fawn over you the rest of the night, amazed that such a famous romantic was at their party before inviting you back to their place to jointly “thank you” for such a wonderful present.
No one woman in history has ever had as much potential return after a sexual encounter. Investing in Emily Dickinson is like investing in IBM circa 1950. There should be no doubt in anyone's mind that the effort required to be successful in pursuing her, combined with the benefits reaped from the aforementioned nailing, make Emily Dickinson far and away the Holy Grail of sex.



[1] See, this analogy already works on two levels. That dude was way out of his league.

Sunday, June 28, 2009

The First Single

Blogging's a new thing for me. I've always thought it was a little odd that people would put their thoughts and feelings out on the web and expect people to care, but after finding out that my friend was put in contact with Junot Diaz thanks to her blog, I decided to give it a shot. First thing I've got for you guys is a little humor essay entitled "Abraham Lincoln: Gay, or Super Gay?"

Abraham Lincoln: Gay or Super Gay?

Whether one considers his victory in the Civil War, his role in the freedom of American slaves, or his spot on the five-dollar bill and the penny, it is clear that Abraham Lincoln left behind him an illustrious legacy. Remembered fondly as one of America’s greatest presidents and immortalized on Mount Rushmore, Lincoln has a firm place in the history of the United States. Still, one question has followed the former president since he had his political career cut tragically short: Just how gay was he?

In order to properly assess how gay Lincoln was in terms of modern standards, I will be employing the Henster-Weinberg Level of Gayness Chart (Figure 1-1). As illustrated, a score of Liberace is the epitome of homosexuality, while a rating of James Bond is the pinnacle of heterosexuality. Certain factors such as amount of sexual intercourse with the same sex, number of musicals watched, memorized, or participated in, and any accents deemed “gay” are used to calculate one’s total gayness score. At the most recent People of Science convention in Dallas, Texas, it was agreed upon that any and all theories on gayness should utilize this method, as it has so far proven to be the most accurate to date. Furthermore, with Gaydar rendered obsolete by the subject’s death nearly 150 years ago, Henster-Weinberg provides us with our most reliable option for determining Lincoln’s Level of Gay.

We must of course first acknowledge the so-called “evidence” that Abraham Lincoln was in fact not gay. Most detractors point to his marriage, his status as a public figure, and the line in his will stating that “I am not, and never have been, a homosexual” as enough to prove the former President’s heterosexuality. The fact that this argument has even made it into mainstream society is baffling. It is a well-known fact that any public figure often finds the need to hide his or her inner sexual feelings, especially one in as important a position as the President of the United States. Imagine if Barack Obama was both black and gay. The fear he would generate in racists and homophobes would make him unelectable. By no means is this an insinuation that President Obama is by any means gay, it is merely an example. Now, knowing how important it is that a President hides the love he feels for his fellow man, does it not make sense that he would take a wife in a cover of his true nature? Any woman would relish the opportunity to be the First Lady, especially one as homely as Mary Todd (Figure 1-2). Clearly, the notion that by simply marrying Mary Todd, Lincoln was not a homosexual is a stretch at best. Finally, those who point to his will as “evidence” of a heterosexual lifestyle are severely misguided. The most natural reaction for someone cornered with an allegation of homosexuality is a straightforward denial. A man who spent his whole life hiding his sexual desires from the world would not suddenly change his mind at the end of his life. This “fact” is obviously no more than wishful thinking on the part of crazed scholars who want to conform Abraham Lincoln to their own views of who the 16th President should be.

Furthermore, there is reliable proof that Lincoln did in fact prefer men to women when it came to territory below the Mason-Dixon line. Certain speeches, photographs, and documents provide incontrovertible evidence that Lincoln was, in fact, gay. Consider this excerpt from the diary of a young Lincoln, dated April 13th, 1834:

I saw the most fabulous theatre performance last night! The actors indulged in singing their lines instead of merely speaking them, providing an extra twist in the play’s romantic plot! I nearly died when they started dancing as well! It was the tale of a maiden confined to an impenetrable fortress by her domineering father, who was released by a strong, handsome man devoted to fulfilling her every need. Oh, if only I could find someone like that…

Elements of this entry provide clear indicators of Lincoln’s early homosexual tendencies. Notice the use of the word fabulous, the spelling of theater as –re, not –er, the excitement after discovering musical theater, and the sense of longing he ends with after discussing the male lead’s freeing of the confined princess. While none of these factors on their own would provide any sort of meaningful consensus on Lincoln’s sexual orientation, together they serve as a clear expression of Lincoln’s gay leanings.

There are few photographs in general from Lincoln’s era, but there is a small quantity of existing pictures that reveal much more than just wartime conditions and the quality of enslaved people’s living quarters. Take for example this photograph (Figure 1-3) of Lincoln at the Battle of Antietam. Fringe scholars have done their best to claim it is a display of Lincoln’s leadership during an important battle of the Civil War, but it is evident that much more than that is occurring. Take the man on the left, for example. At first glance, one might assume he is sticking his hand inside of his jacket simply to keep it warm, but neither Lincoln nor the officer to his right appear to be cold in any way. It is far more likely that this man is in fact a male prostitute accepting payment for a sexual act he has just performed. Further supporting this theory is the look of surprise on the officer’s face, as if he just recently discovered something shocking in the tent behind him, and the upright, relaxed look of President Lincoln, who gives off a distinct aura of sexual satisfaction. How this photograph could be misinterpreted to be anything other than one of the few times a President has been caught paying for gay sex is mystifying for the majority of Lincoln historians.

Given the scope of evidence disproving the notion that the former President was heterosexual in nature, the only thing that remains is to determine just how gay he was. His love of musical theater, tendency to purchase male prostitutes, and marriage to such a mannish woman certainly push him into the fiftieth percentile of the Henster-Weinberg chart, but before he is labeled a full-blown Liberace, other non-homosexual factors must also be considered. Winning a war, for instance, is not considered to be gay in Henster-Weinberg equations, and some of our straightest Presidents, such as George Washington and Dwight Eisenhower, have been renowned military leaders who steered our nation through periods of armed combat. In addition, his growth in the solitary wilderness of Illinois, while it eventually drove him to seek the company of other men, did teach him such heterosexual skills as log-cutting, fishing, and bear wrestling. After calculating all the factors together, Henster-Weinberg gives Lincoln a Level of Gay rating of 81.6, slightly above a Lance Bass but still lower than a Clay Aiken. As high as that may seem, Lincoln is still not the gayest President we have ever had, the distinction of which belongs to Rutherford B. Hayes, who, of course, was famous for his all-male orgies.

Some might say that Abraham Lincoln would not want the world to know he was gay, that he hid his true nature for fear of what it would do to his legacy, or that he simply did not want to be referred to as Gaybraham. I say to those critics, Lincoln would be proud to live in an increasingly free society where he could be open about his sexual preference, where he could be married if he lived Connecticut, Massachusetts, or Canada, and where if someone called him Gaybraham against his wishes, he could sue them for sexual harassment. Lincoln’s closeted nature was a product of the times and his office, and I only wish Lincoln had lived long enough to tell the American public who he truly was.














Figure 1-1



Figure 1-2
















Figure 1-3