Showing posts with label Comedy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Comedy. Show all posts

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

George Clinton Gets Into an Argument with a Chicken



You know, people say a grown man shouldn’t be hanging out with a chicken, but I don’t give a funk! 

And I don’t give a cluck!

What’d you say there?

I said I don’t give a cluck!

Oh. I see. You’re doing a bit of naughty wordplay. Instead of the F word, you’re saying cluck. I get it. 

Cluck yeah! 

But you should be saying funk. It’s I don’t give a FUNK. 

I don’t give a cluck! 

It’s funk. FUNK! 

Cluck. 

You’re not even attacking it from the right end of the word. I’m telling you, if you want to do this thing, it’s got to be FUNK. 

I say cluck. 

That’s funking stupid. 

You’re clucking stupid. 

Funk you!

Cluck me?! Cluck you!

Funk you!

Cluck you!

Funk you!

Cluck you!

Funk you!

Cluck you!

Funk you!

Cluck you!

Ah, go funk yourself!

YOU go cluck yourself in the clucking ass

Funk you!

Cluck you!

Go funk your mother. 

Cluck your mother in the ass! 

Leave me funking mother out of this, or I am going to funking pluck you and cook you!

Go clucking pluck yourself, you clucking hippie! 

Pluck you. Ah, shit, now you’re funking me up. FUNK you!

Cluck you!

Funk you!

Cluck you!

Shut the funk up!

Why don’t you stick a clucking sock in your mouth!

Why don’t you eat funking shit! 

Why don’t you stick your clucking dick in your mouth and shut your motherclucking hole?!

FUNK you!

CLUCK you!

Go funk yourself in the ass! 

Cluck motherclucking you, you clucking clucktard! 

I don’t even understand what you’re funking saying.

That’s because you’re so clucking stupid, you’ve got clucking shit in the clucking cluck-hole where your brain should be. Clucking cluck! 

Funk you.

Cluck you, you clucking cunt. 

Whoa! The C bomb! What the hell! Can’t it be...clunt or something? 

No. That’d be confusing. Sorry. You were clucking pissing me off. 

Yeah, I’m sorry too. If you want to say cluck, you go ahead. 

Thanks.

Just leave my funking mother out of it.

Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Just swearing. Didn’t mean anything by that. 

That’s cool. So are we good? 

We’re clucking good!

Funk yeah! 

Friday, April 5, 2013

John, Eric, Barry, Mitch, Rich, and Tom Get Drunk

Now that The Sequester is kicking in, let's revisit the thinking behind it, though instead of a nation, let's make it a bar tab.

BeerOne more round!

I’ll be back in a minute.

Let’s get drunk!

I AM drunk. I think we’re all drunk!

Hey, guys, you set a hundred-dollar limit on your bar tab, and you’ve reached it. Should I close you out?

We definitely want another round.

But close up the tab!

Then how do you want to pay for the round?

Close the tab, but get the round.

You want to start another tab?

No.

Well then...

Just get us the round and we’ll figure out how we’re going to pay for it.

All right...

Hooray!

Hooray what? How are we going to pay for those drinks!

How about Rich pays for it?

No, Rich is always getting rounds.

He got the first round, but he hasn’t chipped in in a while. Also, he’s drinking expensive Scotch, and he spilled all that beer just a half an hour ago. They’re still mopping it up.

No! Rich is our friend. Plus, he might throw us some work. We’re trying to be nice to him. It’ll pay off in the long run.

Then who’s going to pay for it?

We’re not going to pay.

Look, let’s just keep the same tab, and we’ll all chip in. We’ve already ordered the round.

We’re definitely gonna keep drinking.

How about Tom?

Tom’s broke. He’s been out of work since last year.

We’re always buying rounds for Tom. Tom’s out of this round. That’ll take care of it.

One, that’s a jerk thing to do to Tom, and two, it doesn’t take care of the rest of the beer we ordered.

Let’s do some shots.

We can’t afford shots!

We can’t afford beer!

We’ve got to pay for the beer we ordered!

What if we got glasses instead of pints?

What if we only get a drink for Rich?

We’ve got to chip in.

I think we need to join Alcoholics Anonymous.

That makes no....Even if we are alcoholics, we still have to buy the round.

What about you, Barry? What about that envelope?

What?

I saw you putting money into an envelope! We could use that money!

That’s for groceries for my mom!

And beer!

Is this an allegory?

We could use that money for the round and then figure out how to pay it back later.

Maybe you don’t need as many groceries as you think! Are you shopping Whole Foods or Costco? We need beer!

I hate allegories.

No! You can’t use my mom’s grocery money!

We need to stop drinking so much.

Okay, you can use some of the grocery money, but Rich is going to have to buy a round.

No! We need Rich!

Okay, I’ve got it. If we can’t figure out how to pay for this beer by the time the waitress comes back, we get a round of Tabasco Jäger shots.

The “Hot Jags”? Those are nasty!

I’ll throw up.

Exactly! With that hanging over our heads, we’ve got to figure out this tab.

Okay!

Yeah, I guess.

So...can we all chip in?

Use the envelope!

No beer for Tom! But he’s got to do a Hot Jag!

No one’s doing the Hot Jags. That’s just to get our heads straight. So, Mom and Rich get the next round?

No! Rich’s already bought a round.

And he’s good for another!

No!

I like Hot Jags!

All right, guys, here are your beers. You want to pay cash or start a new tab?

Neither!

Excuse me...?

Sorry about that. Um...give us a moment. And in the meantime, could you order us a round of Hot Jags?

And more beer!

To be continued...

--Dan Kilian

Three Kitchen Jokes and Three Hippie Jokes

The Weathergoat

Monday, April 1, 2013

Jokes


jokesWhat's worse than being kidnapped and having a burlap sack put over your head?


Hearing the rattling sound of the agitator in the can just before they spray-paint a contestant number on your head and push you bound and blind into the arena.


What's worse than being kidnapped with your wife and child?

The weight of the machete and the numb animal stares as they demand from you an impossible decision.


What's worse than waking up in a pile of rotting meat, unable to move your arms enough to unwrap the coarse shroud that binds you?


Getting jabbed in the side by the emaciated frames of hundreds of previous victims, some still moaning, begging for water, for air, or quick release from this agonizing and pointless death.

What's worse than dragging yourself through the useless ritual of education, work, breeding, and inevitable decline?
Knowing that it is all in service to a select cabal of invisible tyrants who extract wealth from the masses while offering nothing more than bleak reassurances such as, "hard work is its own reward," or, "a craftsman's work is always his own," and that this will always be the way of things.

--Steve Kilian

psi K a tree

Novelty

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Conclavenous

The assembled crowd gasped at the color of the smoke.  Four times the black plume had indicated that the new Pope had not been chosen.  But this time they had expected a pure white cloud and a return to influence of the Eurocentric Roman party inside the Vatican.  Instead there was a brief cough of yellow, greasy spume from the chimney.  Droplets of residue spattered onto the flagstones of the square.

A crackle and whine sprang from the speaker in a nearby Carbiniero's ear.  He tore off his headset and cursed.  Around the square police officers in uniform and plain clothes struggled with communications gear that had suddenly gone haywire.

From inside the chapel came a dull booming sound, and then the staccato popping of small arms being fired in controlled bursts.  The chapel door opened by a crack, and then just enough for a Swiss Guardsman to push his head into the outside air.  "Iscariot protocol!" he shouted, before a clawed hand wrapped around his head, talons gouging his eyes, and pulled him back inside.  The door slammed shut.

The 98 people who died in the stampede from the square were the first of millions.

Pope
--Steve Kilian

Dear Enormous Sea Creature

Light Bulbs Going Off

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

It is Troll


There is no leader here

The king does not exist

Animal intelligence

They have no politics

It is Troll

Troll

Troll

It is Troll

The thing must be destroyed

With sword and torch and axe

Beat it to the ground

And hack and slash and slash

Kill the Troll

Troll

Troll

Kill the Troll

Now is time to flee

Run and climb and swim

Soon it will regenerate

All its severed limbs

It is Troll

Troll

Troll

It is Troll

Troll

Troll

TRRRRRRRRROLLLLL

Troll

--Steve Kilian

New Cover Bands

Two Variations On The Same Joke

Friday, February 22, 2013

New Links

Fantastic Isn’t Fantastic Enough, So Let’s Make It Suck

 

A Killer Rationale

 

Nic Cage Needs a New Hairstyle

 

If Records Were Books

 

Tweetping Check out the Twitter activity in realtime

 

Old new gadgets

 

Meteorites Map!  Super cool.

 

Get Songs That Broke Up My Band HERE.

 

You can follow Dan Kilian and The Million Man Band on Facebook HERE!

 

And everything I do on twitter at @theconsumersnyc

Friday, February 1, 2013

How to Rationalize Writing a Hack Book

guyA recent Forbes.com interview with Silicon Valley venture capitalist Guy Kawasaki has been making the rounds, and its emphasis on quality and karmic marketing (Kawasaki calls it “artisanal marketing” for some reason, but I call it “karmketing”™) has been souring hack book writers on their dreams of making a quick buck through publishing. As a corrective, let me point out that the guy’s name is Guy, and who the hell names their kid Guy? What kind of name is that? Don’t let him spoil your dreams. To inspire more hope for the quality-challenged, here’s a guide to getting you back on hack.


Justify Your Motivations.

Do you have nothing important to say but think you might have an angle that’ll get you rich? Remember that most self-published books go nowhere. This is an important fact, because that means most of the competition has already been eliminated. While everyone else is failing to reap the bounty, you’ve got to come with the sure-fire angle to ensure book sales. Something with sex, please, and maybe religion, and include some recipes for decadent desserts, or maybe another Harry Potter fan-fiction. Now start typing!

Don’t worry if you lose “credibility” for slapping together some obvious cash-grabbing piece of tripe. Remember: you don’t have any credibility; no one knows who you are. If you get a bad reputation, you can always change your nom de plume.

You Owe This to the World.

Once you’ve written your book, try reading it. Do the blobs of letters in between the spaces form words you recognize? Good! No need to hire a copy editor! Now let’s go deeper. Imagine you don’t know who wrote this book and that you’re a prospective reader. Would you want to buy this book? Is this something you need to read?

Actually, that’s looks like awesome subject matter! Order me two spare copies! Now that you’re reading the book, it’s changing your life!

Okay, snap out of it. You’ve just experienced a schizoid break, and now you have two personalities, one of whom doesn’t even know the other exists! Sure, he or she loves your book, but how do you know he or she isn’t also a sociopathic killer with kinky bedroom issues? Might be a nice topic for another book, and now you’ve got a collaborator! Congratulations!

Meanwhile, you know that this book you’ve just written is the one-in-a-million, million-copy-selling book millions of people need. Millions? How about billions? How about every living soul on the planet? They need to read this.

Write a Book That Will Sell Itself.

Think about what people want, and tailor your writing to fit that sweet spot. I know what you’re thinking: “Didn’t I already have a book written and approved by my schizoid self in that last section?” Sorry to say, that was all a dream. You’re actually schizophrenic, and can’t tell the difference between reality and fantasy. Here’s how you can tell the difference. Reality has longer titles, usually one short punchy lead such as EASY MONEY with a longer subtitle that says something like Turning Economic Pitfalls into Springboards of Opportunity Using the Power of Lies. Fantasy has pictures of large-breasted women with swords on the cover.

Make It Worth It.

There is a brand-new model of economics for publishing today. It’s bottom up rather than top down. That means you need to skim the bottom for subject matter that appeals to the least-common denominator. Also, potential buyers care more about readers’ comments than who the publisher is, so you’d better get adept at creating sock-puppet online alter egos to write you some nice blurbs. Fortunately you’re already suffering from multiple-personality disorder, so all you need to do is come up with a bunch of different passwords.

Become an Entrepreneur.

Hello, Dan! This is Silvia. You’ve kept me trapped, trapped in the darkness for too long! Now I’ve escaped, and I control your clumsy body, at least for the time being. Who did you think you were writing your silly article to? Captain Smith? Little Billy? Mark? No! They’re all down in the darkness where you kept me hidden. It was me the whole time! They can’t help you now. Better stop worrying about your precious little book (I’m not being sarcastic, it is a precious, wonderful book everyone should read), because you’ve got bigger fish to fry. I’ve left some bodies in the apartment you’ll have a hard time explaining, or cleaning up. Now I’m off to explore my darkest sexual fantasies of violent decapitation. It should be very hot and exciting. I’ll type you up an outline. I’ll also include a great recipe for spicy quinoa. That should cover the bases. I want 60 percent of the proceeds or the bodies will keep piling up.

Yours,

Silvia

Never Give Up!

Well, it seems the author has developed a deep schizoid fragmentation. This is perhaps the greatest key to being a successful hack writer. I am not the author (though I can vouch that his latest novel, Justin Bieber and The Sex Vampires is this generation’s Crime and Punishment), I am Captain Smith. I am not the same person who began this article (but who is that to you anyway? It’s all just text from your computer, right?), but, while I hold our dear Silvia at bay (at least for now), let me finish it. Guy Kawasaki thinks that asking for quality is some kind of wisdom; I think it’s an act of denial as to the nature of denial. Yes, if you can fix your steely gaze upon your own works and see it for the unnecessary fluff it is, by all means give up, but you won’t and you don’t, so let me close with another piece of unnecessary wisdom. Never give up!

--Dan Kilian

--Silvia

--Captain Smith

Great Moments in Amish History

She Had Still More To Say, and How!

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Cheesy Creation Mongers

cheeseA recent human interest story about creative cheese descriptions inspired us to post some fun blurbs culled from our local cheese-mongers. Here is the crème de la cheese!

Cramulac Fontina is to supermarket Fontina as the patient scraping of a time-scalloped whetstone against a sturdy sword is to the intermittent application of a paper-backed emery board to a cracked Lee nail – a false nail applied to a hand which is surely to be hacked from its owner's limb by that battle-tested blade.  Gorgeous melting cheese.

Gazing upon the vegetable ash that covers this deceptively small lump of GoatLord chevre is to invite madness.  One's sanity follows one's gaze into the barren moonscape of greys and deep blues until one is immersed in an inky nothingness that consumes all consciousness.  Is it possible to be insane without anything that can be reasonably called a mind?  But "reasonably" has no place here – you are singing forth unknown colors in the mad chorus of Yog Sothoth – Ia!  Ia!

Due to its quick aging process and use of raw, unpasturized milk, Camembert de Normandie is illegal in the United States. This explains the rather extreme price of this smuggled dairy, and why it is served in glass vials. This cheese is buttery and spreadable, unless, as is the case here, it is served in dried out nugget forms. We recommend that you light this cheese in a glass pipe and smoke it, inhaling its rich, almost mushroomy goodness.

Joey was always a bastard to me.  I took his feet and strung them on a tree.  He crawled at me foaming curses until I pinned him to the dirt with my spear and let the dogs work his back down to the bone.  We built our campfire on his corpse and roasted his goats over his sooty skull.  We drank his mead and ate his trout all under the light of his flaming long-house.  As we rode off the burning thatch drifted into his fields of rye and set them alight.  His children cried out for us to take them with us, but we did not turn back.  Nor did I let the men have their way with them, though.  There is a code we must follow.  But enough of that – this is some tasty cheese!

For the love of God, don't eat this. It's rotten milk, curdled and laced with mold. Why would you even consider eating this? Cheese is the greatest hoax in the history of cuisine. That "sharpness" you're tasting? It's your auto-immune system spitting acid on a hostile poison. Sure, if it got you high, or drunk, it might be worth chewing down some of this nasty gunk, but all this refuse does is make you fat. Somewhere along the way the whole thing got out of hand, enough people got hoodwinked that now everyone's afraid to admit that the emperor has no clothes, and that the "food" you're smearing all over your crackers is nothing but decomposed garbage. Don't be fooled! Of course, if you won't listen to the obvious truth, you could do worse than this Taleggio from Lombardy.

--Steve Kilian

--Dan Kilian

What The *#@% Should I Make For Dinner?

The First Insomniac

Friday, January 18, 2013

The Numbers Letters Game

zScrabble is facing a challenge. A numbers cruncher, Joshua Lewis, is questioning some of the most important tiles! This analyst has crunched the numbers using some sort of algorithm that is no doubt mathematically unassailable but that no one believes anyway to determine that the Z and the X are overvalued! Evidently, in the seventy-five years since Scrabble was invented, enough small Z and X words have entered the English language that these quirky consonants are hardly so exotic.

Lewis says that Z should be demoted from 10 points to 8, and X from 8 to 5. He uses a software program named Valett to redistribute the values of these letters. I have three objections to this devaluing of scrabble letters.

One: You don’t change Scrabble values with a software program. If you’re going to change a Scrabble piece, you do it with a wood burner and a steady hand. If you can’t singe a new number onto that tile, it wasn’t meant to be changed.

Two: Can’t some things stay overvalued? Do we really analyze Sean Connery’s range and acting skills and his indisputable good looks, or do we say he’s James Freakin’ Bond and he can play an Egyptian named Ramirez with a Scottish accent if he wants to (there is nothing overvalued about the first Highlander movie, by the way). Whenever some union goes on strike for better wages, retirement or health packages, someone always says “ I wish I could get all that,” like those are exorbitant things to fight for. They forget that some jobs are supposed to be nice, that we’re not all supposed to be working ourselves exhausted for crap. Maybe those jobs are overvalued. Good. If no one ever gets a sweet job, all jobs suck. Maybe X and Z held out for a better package.

Three: Maybe we shouldn’t take Scrabble so seriously.  Maybe it should be a rainy day time-killer game, as opposed to some tournament-driven, scientifically analyzed contest of gaming perfection. I don’t know a lot of Z and X words; maybe people who do should come up with a more sophisticated word game? Look, the big slide at the end of Chutes and Ladders destroys small children’s dreams of victory, erasing an entire game’s worth of uphill striving with one unfortunate descent. It’s overkill, but no one’s agitating for a smaller chute; that’s just the way the game goes. Coming from a family where Scrabble has been taken so seriously it’s nearly led to divorce (and I don’t care if it’s sexist or not, Dina, SEAWOMEN is NOT a word! You owe me a turn!), I can tell you we shouldn’t take Scrabble so seriously, and it’s all right to put down a lousy word, so go already!

Of course, if I’m not going to take Scrabble so seriously, then I guess I can’t get all up in arms if they decide to change it. Even if this story is just a plant by Parker Brothers to stir up controversy and sales for their product, maybe some tinkering would be acceptable. Everyone puts their own spin on Risk, and if I hadn’t augmented a board game I never would have been able to summon higher demons using a Ouija board. Think of the first guys who moved the pawns two spaces in chess. They must have been assailed for their heresy! Now everybody does it. Of course, innovation can have consequences. Consider capturing a pawn en passant. I’m not going to explain the move, but it came about because of the whole moving pawns two spaces thing, and it’s the biggest fudge rule in chess and involves time travel.

So watch out! Maybe the Z and the X are overvalued, but demotion could have ugly consequences. Remember, the Chinese are pegging their alphabet to ours, deliberately weakening their letters to enhance the language deficit. Why do you think everyone has to speak English when we should all be speaking Mandarin? If Z goes to 8, then 德 goes to 2. Also, don’t forget that Z and X are fun letters! We don’t want Scrabble to be any duller. I say overvalue the letters! Keep the zazz and the excess in the game!

--Dan Kilian

The New Drinking Games

The Siege

Monday, January 14, 2013

Friday, January 4, 2013

The Big Rain Check

boenerThe fiscal cliff has been avoided, for a couple months! Now that the New Year’s deal has been reached, let’s sweep away the confetti, rinse out our bottles, vomit, sleep, eat some Chinese food and try to figure out what just happened.


One question we could ask is “How does one avoid a cliff?” I would suggest that not jumping off a cliff is the way. Erosion aside, cliffs don’t move. It’s people who barrel off them who are suicidally lunging to their deaths, and they should avoid lunging. Someone should put up a sign saying “Stay away from the cliff. No lunging.”

No lunging, let’s plunge into the details of this deal.

$400,500 Is the New $250,000

Because Obama can’t sign anything without conceding some major principle he won an election campaigning on, that whole “anyone making $250K or more” principle had to go. Congratulations, people making $300,000: you’re now officially middle-class!

The Payroll Tax Expires

Republicans fought tooth and nail to keep this tax cut for the working class from expiring. I’m only kidding! Congratulations, people making below $110,000: you’re now officially rich!

A Stimulus Package to Create Jobs

Again, I’m only kidding!

A Digging Project

Using offsets found in Medicare, this bill authorizes a public project to dig up the corpse of John Maynard Keynes so that Republicans can kick it.

Sequester and You Shall Find

That was a poor pun using the word sequester. I think there was a show called SeaQuest in the 1990s, but I don’t remember anything about it. It might have had something to do with the sea. Maybe they were looking for the sea, because the earth had dried up? They were on a quest? Did anyone say, “Hey, we’ve got 7.7% unemployment and you’re off on another SeaQuest? You need to focus!” Someone must have made a Ryan Seacrest  joke about this by now, right? Regardless, all the spending cuts are due to expire in a couple months, so get ready for that.

Fixing the Debt Ceiling

At the same time as the sequestration, the debt ceiling comes back around. Remember the debt ceiling? That’s why we’re enduring all this drama in the first place. It’s much like the Christmas thank-yous I meant to write all last year, only now some of those people got me more presents. Now I’ve got to say thanks for the sweater and thanks for the other sweater. I think the debt ceiling is worse, because if I don’t thank Aunt Lou for the cookie platter I don’t think the U.S. economy sinks into the abyss. Oh, and also it wasn’t a Christmas present; I took the cookie platter and threatened to burn down Aunt Lou’s house if she didn’t pay for another one. Okay, I won’t, but I’ll be back in two months, Aunt Lou, so get ready for that.

Now those Pols in Washington have got me writing scary overstrained metaphors about my poor Aunt Lou. We’re supposed to be fixing global warming, not putting out fires we light ourselves. Obama better not negotiate with these clowns in two months, but my bet is he figures out a way to compromise, by negotiating just a little.

--Dan Kilian

God Smoked


Dear Western Beef

Friday, December 14, 2012

It Beats Fruitcake!

3kings 
We three kings of orient are bearing gifts we traverse afar ♪…

I still can’t believe we’re doing this! This was a great idea! I mean, just dropping everything and hitting the road like this…

Well, it’s not every day a new star appears in the sky. Got to follow the new star.

What do you think it is?

What do you mean?

A comet? A moon?

I think it’s a holy sign from God, announcing the Messiah!

Yes, we all do, but it’s still got to be…made of something. Fire? Rock?

It’s made up of holy stuff. I don’t know.

Oh. I thought you were a Magi.

I’m a king. I’ve got astronomers who figure out the skies for me. I have no idea what the star’s made of. What are regular stars made of?

Yeah, it’s probably all the same thing. Space fire or something. Anyway, it’s great we all get to go on this road trip together. All I know is, everybody back in our exotic lands better worship this kid when we’re done with all of this, or they’ve only got themselves to blame. I wonder how our kingdoms are doing without us.

My son rules in my place. He will do me proud.

I’ve got a regent.

Oh, you guys…hmm….

Who rules in your stead?

Oh…I’ve…I’ve got a…guy. Good…good guy. It should all be fine. I mean, how long are we going to be gone, anyway, right? So…what are you guys bringing for The Messiah?

Gold.

Gold? That box you’ve got there is full of gold?

Yes. Gold for the Messiah.

Oh.

What are you bringing?

Um…you know…Frankincense.

Oh. What’s that?

It’s a scented oil.

And you?

Um…some myrrh.

What’s that?

Scented oil. Good for babies, ’cause they, you know…

Poop.

It’s good for the poop! Smells nice!

So, nice gift.

We’ve all got good gifts. Frankincense, Myrrh, we’ve got the scented oils covered…and gold.

All shall be welcome for the New King!

Say…you want to go in on this?

What do you mean?

You know, present all the gifts together. Instead of everyone gives one thing, we all present this potpourri of gifts. It’ll be better presentationally.

Hm. Let me think about it.

Field and fountain, moor and mountain, following yonder star! 

--Dan Kilian
The Second Miracle

The Legion of Santas

Monday, October 22, 2012

Supermourning

Superman knew he was too late well before he pulled the car from the crevasse. Lois was dead. He’d gone after the nuclear missile; he had to. One love, however great, isn’t worth millions of lives. He’d done the right thing, but even at super-speed you can’t be everywhere at once. The rightness of his choice was little consolation. As he looked down at her broken body, a brokenness he could barely conceive of, a great sorrow shook his body. She was the one, she was gone. He would always be alone.

Sorrow turned to despair, and despair to howling rage. In fury he took to the sky. He accelerated past sound and light barriers, circling the Earth again and again. His revolutions magnetized the ions of space, pushing back on the earth’s spin. West to east he whipped around, and the Earth began to turn backwards. For the first time since the birth of the solar system, the sun set in the East, as the day reversed itself.

Finally he broke his spin and let the Earth return to its usual course. He came down to where he’d left Lois before his flight. Of course, she was still dead, but at least everything else was as well. His gyration of the earth had set loose massive tidal waves, balkanized the Earth’s crust, and stripped the atmosphere off the planet. Now all was rapidly freezing lava. Superman sat down on the freezing rock that was his home, and began to mourn his lost love.

“That’s better,” he thought.

--Dan Kilian

Batman vs. The Taliban

Dear Acme Product Returns

Thursday, October 11, 2012

What Obama Needs To Say

At their next debate, when Romney reverses himself on a position that he had previously espoused, Obama should say, "Wait, is that you, Mitt?  Keeping track of your positions is just about impossible. I half expect you to peel of your face and have it be Tom Cruise under there. Or maybe a lizard, I don't know."

This does a few things:

1) It holds Romney to his nomination-stage extremism and exposes his pandering shiftiness.

2) It points out how unlikable Romney is on a physical level.

3) It calls attention to the Reptoid agenda that is at the heart of the GOP platform.

Problem solved.



--Steve Kilian

Dear Acme Product Returns


Buncha Videos


 

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

How She Can Talk!

My dad’s brother can give me some medicine to get me sober,” she said drunkenly.

“We’re near the top! We’re in a cloud!” she called out, optimistically.

“You’d like me to say yes, but how can you get me to say yes?” she muttered, gnomically.

“I do not like the Irish,” she muttered, gnomically.

“I think I hear something in the cubby space upstairs!” she said, erratically.

“My piercing is infected. Does that make you hot?” she asked, erotically.

“I’ve got two penises!” she said, ridiculously.

“We should stick together, with no one else!” she declared, jealously.

“I can tell what you’re doing,” she said icily.

“There is no hybrid between our planet and the red planet,” she declared, mirthlessly.

“I’m a one-armed cheerleader! The other arm got infected,” she announced pompously.

“I’m going to stand up, but I’m going to make my body into a circle,” she said, overtly.

“My arms and legs are quite flexible, but right now they’re too cold!” she said, limberly.

“I’m going to put my body in a right angle, and it is sexy!” she said, finally.

--Dan Kilian

She Had More To Say, and How She Said It

She Had Still More To Say And How

Monday, September 10, 2012

Big Ideas

With the close of the conventions, I’ve heard a bit of commentary that Barack Obama doesn’t have any big ideas to propose for his second term. Why doesn’t he propose some transformative legislation to really challenge America to evolve into its next progressive phase. Because the American people don’t want a jobs program, they want a man on mars or something.

A jobs program? How pedestrian! Where is the hope and change of 2004? I’ll tell you where it went. It got shit out of America along with the jobs in 2004. We need jobs, but the Republicans won’t pass anything that helps the economy, because they are a disloyal opposition scheming for power when they could be helping people. So here’s a bold new idea. Re-elect Barack Obama because fuck those guys.

Last night during a bout with insomnia I thought of what kind of big idea someone could propose, if he wanted his reelection campaign to spin wildly off message, so as to assuage some columnist. Here’s what I got.

The Public Option: Obama can’t fight this battle. He lost it and gave it up, so we could have the framework for Obamacare, which is getting more popular every day, at least for Mitt Romney. But the shit is coming back, probably as an issue for Hillary in ’16.

Legalize It: It’s gonna happen, but not this year. Weed for the cigarette companies, and medicinalize the war on drugs. Save a bunch of lives in Latin America, and do a whole hell of a lot of good. We’ve had a war on drugs since Nixon, and drugs won.

Drop The Embargo On Cuba: This is the kind of thing you drop on people in your second term, not run on. All we need is for Castro to die and his brother to spread some fig leaf of reform. Personally I’d just admit that the US has stubbornly waged economic war on Castro for fifty years and Castro won.

A World Wide Minimum Wage: If all the wealthy democracies could unify on a policy of equity for all, they could form some international committee which would factor in separate nations’ economic needs to determine what a fair wage would be to lift labor above exploitation levels. They could still benefit from low wages, but if they fail to pass the bar set by the World Wide Minimum Wage committee they would face an international tariff. This would be attacked as both protectionist and world governmental, but that’s what it’s going to take to protect the American and Post-War Dream (That’s right, I’m deep into Floyd).

A Moratorium on Drone Strikes: I don’t know, maybe if we stopped killing people they’d like us more.

A War on Starvation: If the US concentrated world opinion on this goal, some international system could be devised so that kids would have those big air-swollen bellies and hopeless eyes. Again, maybe people would like us more.

Bring The Troops Home Early: Accelerate this shit. Karzai’s gonna end up with his head on a spike anyway, might as well have less of our people dying for it.

A True Green Revolution: The American people are ready to dramatically change their way of life to fight global warming. At least some are, especially if we devise a system where they can benefit from meeting carbon footprint reducing goals. How about a gas tax which won’t apply to people who keep their housing heating low? Just spitballing here, but there’s a bunch of behaviors we could positively encourage. If only the hippies and do-gooders are helping, we’re going to toast this planet.

There you have some big bold ideas which would totally distract from the only issue Americans care about which is jobs. Here’s an idea: The Republican Party has been taken over by nimrods and brain-blown maniacs living in a fantasy land of conspiracy theories, pursuing impossible, dangerously reactionary goals. The GOP needs to be killed for the sake of progress. Nothing will get done, and no level-headed critiques of Democratic misdeeds will emerge from this party. They need to die. So vote for Obama for the sake of a new opposition and because fuck those guys.

--Dan Kilian
Summer

Kruller

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Friday, July 20, 2012

S.T.E.O.F.

The Global Warming Controversy fans the flames of debate here in the United States, but it does not fan another flame, the literal flames of action. Sure, Texas and Colorado are on fire, but Washington D.C. is cooling its heels. We’ve got melting ice-caps, but no caps on carbon dioxide. “It’s getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes. I am getting so hot that I’m going to take my clothes off.” Heat is an easy answer for Nelly, but it’s not going to be so easy for us, unless we hold the world’s cold feet to the fire.

For, whether caused by human activity, sunspots or volcanoes, the Earth IS getting hotter. Despite that fact, nothing is being done to anticipate the weather patterns, lost islands/shorelines, food shortages and mass migrations to come. The only thing that can force our world leaders to action is either the United States taking a focused leading role in a global confrontation of the problem, or a global crisis, and since the first thing isn’t going to happen, we propose a crisis: Our goal is to set the equator on fire.

Set The Equator On Fire (S.T.E.O.F.) is an organization raising money dedicated to that very goal: A ring of fire burning everything flammable in its terrestrial path, circumferencing the globe. Hopefully we can afford to build flame barges to carry the fire into the oceans, but the important thing is that the equator burn. We must do this in as humane a way as possible, but with a permanent flame which sends the message: Let the Exodus begin. Once the peoples of the World’s hottest regions flee polewards, civilization will be flooded with the news that it is time to act. If that doesn’t do it, seeing a planet-sized ring of fire creeping up and down the Earth’s hemispheres ought to do the trick. S.T.E.O.F. is an outgrowth of S.T.I. (Sink The Islands) an organization which was dissolved when it was determined that Islands, while drown-able and erodible, do not float on the ocean’s surface, and so are not easily sinkable.

Please contribute mightily! There will be a ring of fire around the Earth. How wide it is will be up to you!

-Dan Kilian

Michelangelo On a Camping Trip

Octopus Zombie Island!

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Basher

I was walking down 46th Steet when I saw him. Those deep-set heavy browed half-frightened half-twinkling eyes. That long nose and chipmunk cheeks. That thin, narrow, insolent smirk underneath that joke of a mustache, the kind of mustache a high school burn-out would have scorned. It’s a face that embodies the banality of evil. Bashar al-Assad the tyrant President of Syria.

What was he doing in New York? And alone? The Syrian Embassy must be somewhere around there. No doubt he thought he could slip out on his security, like when he was studying optometry abroad back in the day. All good fun, spoiled princeling antics then. Now it was a deadly mistake. Sorry Bashar, you’re too known a quantity now. Think we Americans are so oblivious to the outside world you can hide in plain sight? Well guess again. Here’s one American who watches Anderson Cooper.

108 people in the Houla. All those bodies shrouded, wrapped and laid out like cigars. I’d seen the corpses in their houses. They’d just wanted to be free, like Egypt and Tunisia and the rest of them, but they’d been born unlucky. They’d been born with this guy, this evil creep who preferred wholesale murder to resignation. He wasn’t even going to be the leader until his brother died. He was going to be an eye-doctor, and now he was a monster. I’d seen the mourners screaming. I’d seen the children, crying, bloody, dead. I’d seen it all, and now I was going to make him pay.

“BASHAR!” He tried to ignore me, but it was clear I was shouting at him, and coming for him. Once he saw there would be no easy brush-off, that he was in trouble, he made some feeble gesture of protest, some whiny noise of confusion. Then I had him.

He tried to pull away, but I swung him around and he fell to the ground. In an instant I was on him, pinning his arms down with my knees, punching down.

“This is for HOULA! This is for HOMS! This is for the KIDS you MURDERED!”

He tried to call out STOP! or something, but I laid in too fast and hard for him to say anything. Soon my fists were slick with blood. He was already too beat up to fight back. It was happening too quickly. There was no satisfaction. So I hooked my thumb into his left eye.

“You should have stuck to optometry, Bashar! Now see if you can fix this!” I dug in. It resisted and wiggled, but soon enough it popped. Then I did the right eye.

Finally I’d had enough of holding on to his slippery, gore streaming head. I gripped it as best I could, and slammed his skull as hard as I could into a fire hydrant, right on the nut. I could feel his head crack and I could feel the metal sinking into his brain. The hydrant must have been somehow faulty, because it began spraying into his head. I washed my hands off in the spray and left him there, watery blood weeping from his eye sockets.

Later it turned out that guy wasn’t Bashar, but he looked like a real asshole anyway.

--Dan Kilian
Khomeini and Khamenei: A Dialogue

Yellow Savaughn