Archive for September 27th, 2011

The Lions Sleep Tonight

The planet continues to produce non-ordinary personages.

We regard here Al-Sayed al-Essawy, a 24-year-old Egyptian man who claims title to “strongest man in the world.”

In June of this year, this man resolved to engage in a “steel-cage fight” with a lion.

After twenty minutes, there in the cage with the lion, al-Essawy declared “victory.” During the “combat,” the lion did not attempt to attack the strongman; no one was harmed.

Below, find some of al-Essawy’s wisdom, uttered pre-fight.

The lion, naturally, does not speak.

God made me, and he made the lion, and he put us both on the same planet, which means the lion is fair game. Ethically, there should be no problem.

I have a whole series of shows planned in my head. I will pull an airplane with my teeth, and I will pull an airplane with my hair. I will also be run over by an airplane.

In between each of these acts, there will be lion battles.

I’ve taught children how to chew glass and pull cars with their teeth. I can raise a generation of supersoldiers. I’ve jumped from ten-story buildings and I’ve hanged myself many times.

I think it’s time we start celebrating genuine talent.


Chips Ahoy

I am sensing a pattern here.

First, the guy who invented Pringles received special dispensation to be buried in a Pringles can.

No, I don’t make this shit up.

The man who designed the Pringles can has been buried in a can of Pringles as per his request.

Fredric J. Baur, who was originally from Cincinnati, was recently cremated and had his ashes buried in a Pringles can.

Mr. Baur made the special request because he was so proud of his design of the world famous Pringles container, a son, Lawrence Baur, of Michigan, said Monday.

Baur retired in the early 1980’s though his invention lives on, here and in the beyond.

Now the guy who invented Doritos is going to have the stuff scattered over his grave.

Famous snack creator of the Doritos corn chip Arch West has passed away at the age of 97 of natural causes. [T]he family has a rather unusual final request as they lay their loved one to rest. West’s family will bury dozens of Doritos along side of Arch West’s ashes at his funeral.

Saying their final goodbye to Arch, surviving family and friends stated that they plan to scatter his world-famous Doritos inside the open grave before placing West’s Urn containing his ashes inside the grave site and burying him.
This has got to stop. Now. What if this spreads to Science Men? And Edward Teller—if he ever does die—requests that his invention, the hydrogen bomb, be detonated upon his grave?

Fear Of A Fat Planet

Friday I clicked on The Eggman (know thy foe) and there beheld a photograph of Chris Christie, reproduced below. And the sight of this man, it unaccountably filled me with Fear.

I say “unaccountably,” because heretofore I had serenely cleaved to the wisdom of this piece, presenting the prognostications of this never-wrong wizard: that is, come 2012, no matter how battered and bruised, Destry would ride, if wearily, into a second term. None among the cretins and the clowns in that toxic, smoke-belching Christine of a car of the Republican Party, would manage to run him down.

But suddenly, looking there at Christie, I was beset with a terrible vision.

What if the American people decided to go wide?

Now, it is true that this—picking the portly—is something they have not done since Grover Cleveland, which was well over 100 years ago. And that in an age when not all that many voters knew what the presidential candidates looked like. In the many years since, hoisting into the Oval Office someone packing serious excess poundage has been something that was Just Not Done. It has been a political given, for more than a century, that an overweight man seeking the highest office in the land stood no more chance than, say, an atheist. Or, uh, a black man.

Ah, yes. That last. It, well, changed everything. Did it not?

As a wise sage recently observed: “There’s a family of Negroes living in the White House. That’s the sum-total of what’s going on.”

Yep. And that simple fact—black folk in the White House—has driven half the nation stone-mad. These people knew they weren’t going to like it from the get-go—only 43% of white people casting ballots in 2008 voted for the black family to move into the White House. But even they had no idea how badly they were not going to like it. Once it became Reality. Now they know. It’s an outrage. Not to be borne. And they want it Stopped. By any means necessary.

So, in my vision, gazing at that photo of Chris Christie, the picture goes sepia. A planter’s hat appears upon his head. His clothing reverts to that of a Southern plantation owner, circa 1850. He is transformed into one of those coarse, corpulent, antebellum plutocrats, living fat off the bondage of black folk. Because that’s what he looks like. Even in modern clothes.

And I see him, thus, as he really is, on the debate stage, next to Obama. Who, back there in 1850, looks like the underfed runt out of one of Christie’s slave families. The biracial Obama maybe sired by Christie himself. Christie’s wife suffering from a “nervous disorder,” his excuse for sneaking off nights to the slave quarters. Because that sort of thing’s okay. Like with Strom Thurmond. So long as you don’t talk about it. And I see that, through the eyes of the knock-kneed white-bread nation, “[t]here’s a family of Negroes living in the White House.” And I see the determination of the people that a fat Southern planter is just the man to send them Negroes back to from where they came. To make the White House white again. Amen.

The horror. The horror.


When I Worked

September 2011
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