Archive for December 24th, 2012

Why Men Should Be Abolished

My colleague, who is a Scientist, has determined that the brain structure in human beings differs markedly, between men and women.

Women, their brains contain many folds, storing a dazzling array of information: from how to clean lampshades, to the ways and means of compacting more matter than exists in the entire universe into one small purse.

Men, however, their brains contain but two folds: one for sports, and one for pornography.

And contained within the sports fold, may be found the Will and Desire to engage make it stopin violently loud public belching.

Down a ways from the Manor is a lube shop. Those who work there are generally pleasant people. However, they are men. And one of these men is completely possessed by the Need to recurrently burp as loud as humanly possible.

Which is pretty damn loud.

And because this is a lube shop, the big metallic door to the thing is left open at all times. Presumably so that passing motorists will, from this open door, suddenly experience a brainshower that they could use some auto-juice, and so pull into the place.

However, this open door also means that whenever Belch Boy is possessed by his deliberate ructus disability, I get to hear it.

First thing this morning, while I was out with the elves wrestling the welfare recipients into a Santa Truck, this guy was over there vibrating his esophagus at decibel levels that caused blood to spout from all nearby ears. The elves were filled with Fear. They demanded narcotics; however, there were not enough in the Manor to properly medicate us all. So we remain pretty rattled. This is not the way that any Sane being would want to start Christmas Eve.

But we are not talking Sane beings here. We are talking human males.

No human female, in the entire history of the species, would ever somehow think it “cool” or “funny” or “impressive,” or whatever impression it is that passes through the sports lobe, to burp so loud that birds fall from the sky.

As such, one would think that deliberately belching louder than ten trains would have long ago been bred out of the species.

But no. The impulse must be truly strong, and deeply embedded, somewhere there in the y-chrome.

It needs to be Removed.


Santa Claus Is Coming To Town

On Friday, even as the demented ur-human Wayne LaPierre, chief primate of the National Retrovert Association, was yammering on camera that the nation’s schools should be bedecked with guns, in order to combat the menace of guns, some nutbag ran amok in Pennsylvania, with a gun, shooting up six people, including a woman decorating a church for Christmas.

Now, Pennsylvania has enough problems. Much of the place still glows in the dark, thanks to Three Mile Meltdown. In the state’s potato-chip factories, disgruntled deep-fried crisps are plotting rebellion. And the thing is almost coming for the gunsimpossible to spell—the “y,” “l, and “v,” are constantly getting confused, bumbling about changing places.

So, I decided, the last thing Pennsylvania needs is guns. Therefore, a giant magnet should be passed over the state, which would suck up all the guns.

Recalling from the documentary film Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer that Santa Claus, generally renowned as a communistic gift-giver, as well occasionally actually snatches objects from homes—besides the well-known pilfering of milk and cookies, Santa, the Rudolph documentary informs us, also scoops up neglected toys, which he deposits on the Island Of Misfit Toys, until they can be later delivered to children who more Want them—I decided to enquire if the chronically obese ho-ho human would be interested in getting in on the gun-magnet action.

The dude was busy, as might be expected, but I managed to get him on the horn, there at the North Pole.

“Santa,” I said, “this year, as usual, I have been both naughty and nice—it’s a quantum thing—and I was wondering if, this year for Christmas, I could get you to attach a giant magnet to your sleigh, and with it suck up all the guns in Pennsylvania, as you fly by.”

Santa, a Nordic deity, and therefore wiser than I, declared that this seemed a good idea, but that it would probably be best to suck up all the guns—all over the world.

And so, that is what is to happen.

A band of elves has just departed the Manor, having pressganged into temporary service Big Buck, Billy Buck Naked, White Head, Mr. Spindly Horns, Mr. Broken Horn, No You Can’t Get Through The Hole In The Fence With Those Antlers You Big Oaf, and various assorted different-one deer who usually hang around here as welfare recipients: these people are required as additional sleigh-pullers, since the vehicle is going to get damn heavy, with all those guns.

Because all the guns are going. Not just the pistols, rifles, and assault-insanities in the clinging hands of fear-possessed people and the police. But also every death-spewer—from pea-shooter to tank to aircraft carrier—owned and controlled by the world’s perfectly useless militaries. Santa is grabbing it all. To be transported back to the workshop, there to be melted down and transformed into toys.

It’s happening. Tonight. Watch for it.

There Are Always Uncles At Christmas

When I Worked

December 2012
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