http://thedailysatire.com Funny Spoof News, Social Satire, And Political Cartoons Tue, 07 Feb 2012 05:14:12 CST en http://thedailysatire.com/social/big-bang-theory-redefines-comedy-comedy-no-longer-means-funny/
In a move that's sure to rock Hollywood’s creative community, the producers of the CBS sitcom The Big Bang Theory have successfully petitioned Webster's Dictionary to change the definition of the word "comedy." The move comes as networks are encouraging studios to be more accurate in the descriptions of their programming.

"For the longest time we've billed our show as a comedy," said Big Bang Executive Producer Chuck Lorre. "The problem is, under the old definition, comedies are supposed to be humorous, and that just wasn't the case. So we had two choices; either start writing scripts are neither unamusing nor predictable, or reinvent the meaning of the word. It was really a simple decision."

Previously, "comedy" was defined as "entertainment which invokes laughter." But under the new classification -- which is effective immediately -- "comedy" is listed as "bland and stereotypical entertainment which lacks creativity and is devoid of humor." The change allows Big Bang producers to retain the show's current comedic status without having to undergo a massive overhaul.

"For the longest time, I thought people who criticized the show didn't understand its humor," said Big Bang fan Fletcher Randolph. "But then one day I looked up the word 'humor' in the dictionary and I was like 'whoa! Humor means funny?' Then I felt kind of cheated because I don't remember ever actually laughing."

The program -- which revolves around a group of socially awkward scientists and their attractive female friend – has generated laughter in the past, despite its overall lack of funniness. Despite claims from producers that they don’t use a laugh track to “sweeten” the responses from the studio audience, the crowd seems to laugh at every line – even those that aren’t designed as jokes.

“I remember this one time,” recalled Big Bang fan Eugene Feldspar, “where Sheldon walked into the room and said his mom sent him his old Nintendo system and the crowd just went crazy, like it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. Then he said something about drinking Red Bull and ‘rocking Mario old school’ and the audience was just beside itself. Personally, I didn’t see what was so funny about that, but the crowd was in hysterics so I went ahead and laughed too. Oh man, talk about bustin’ a gut!”

The change in comedy’s definition is being hailed by others in the entertainment industry as well. Producers of such shows as Two and a Half Men, How I met Your Mother and Whitney, praised the decision, which allows their shows to still be considered comedic without having to make any major script or character changes. However, those in charge of shows that are truly funny, such as Community, 30 Rock and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia are now scrambling to figure out just what genre they now fit into.

“We can’t call ourselves a comedy anymore because we actually make people laugh” said Tina Fey, the creator and star of NBC’s 30 Rock. “I suppose we could dumb down our scripts, make them appeal to mass audiences and maybe even pick up a dozen or so ratings points in the process. Or maybe we could just shout at each other all at once, flip over a table or two and call ourselves a reality show. We could also make people feel that their life has meaning by allowing them text in and vote.”

“What’s Paula Abdul doing these days?” Fey added. “Maybe we could have her get drunk and judge us or something.”

Regardless, Big Bang fans are happy that they no longer have to fake their mirth.

“I told all my friends they had to watch that show because it’s hilarious.” Said Big Bang fan Johnny Fortz. “But did you know that ‘hilarious’ means ‘outrageously funny?’ Wow! Talk about egg on my face. I mean, that’s the opposite of what I thought it meant. This new ruling makes it easier to watch the show without having to worry about why it’s not making me laugh.”
]]> Tue, 07 Feb 2012 05:14:12 CST RabidDawgClassic Social Satire 2 http://thedailysatire.com/social/big-bang-theory-redefines-comedy-comedy-no-longer-means-funny/ http://thedailysatire.com/social/the-futon-phenomenon/
The first time a student felt dissatisfaction with his bedroom furniture was when he discovered, on getting lucky, that he was sleeping with another person on a single bed narrower than one single person and that a wet patch needed to be avoided. That situation remained the norm right up to the 1980s when one undergraduate suddenly decided that they wanted a lot more out of their bed. One of the conditions was that it should be a cheap bed by night, a sofa you can keep slipping off while you’re sitting on it during the day. The idea took off and the UK found itself the biggest importer of futons outside the Orient. And so it continues.

So perhaps now is a good time for the UK to export to Japan, in exchange, some of our culture that centres around our old futon-substitutes, our beds.

The ‘Futon and Breakfast’ could be adopted as a Japanese version of the cheaper end of the hotel market. And it would be a lot more flexible in its function than the English Bed and Breakfast. Guests wouldn’t necessarily have to stay overnight. They could just come for breakfast when the futon has been made up into a slippy off sofa (after the sleeping tenants have woken up, of course). In Japan, you would also be able to offer a special English custom treat: knock on the bedroom door and chime, ‘Happy Birthday, darling. No, don’t get up, I’ve brought you breakfast in futon…. before we make it up into a sofa, that is.’ And that’s the same partner we were attracted to in the first place because we fell for their ‘come-to-futon’ eyes. On the other hand, though, we could be first up in the morning, returning to our partner in the bedroom for a fierce rebuke: ‘You were last to come in last night. You left the door wide open. We could have been murdered in our futons!’

On the downside there is the problem of the odd cultural misunderstanding cropping up. Take that old chestnut where an elderly Japanese grandparent decides to go study in the UK. Alarm becomes terror when the family rings up his digs to discover from a fellow-student that he’s on his death futon. He was getting on, they fret. We should never have let him go. The family automatically buys tickets en bloc on the next outward flight to discover when they arrive that grandad’s mate was only stating the obvious after another student night out on the sake.

]]> Fri, 03 Feb 2012 20:18:11 CST paulangliss Social Satire 2 http://thedailysatire.com/social/the-futon-phenomenon/ http://thedailysatire.com/social/celebrity-cultured/ by Lee Bullen

A scruffy young mum, opens the gate to a modest council house on a Hounslow estate. She wheels a pram past a mock baroque fountain to the front of the house where a gold plaque boasts: 'CELEBRITY MANOR'. Alongside, a commemorative blue plate reads:
2009-
ORLANDO SANTA CRUZ
& LANCE OGDEN
Celebrities
Underneath, ‘twats’ has been scrawled in chalk. The ‘a’ and the ‘t’ tastefully weathered by Father Time. Chanelle rings the bell. Irene Cara - Fame booms out. Mounted above her head, a security camera fixes on her.

Failing to add a hint of intended showbiz sophistication, the eclectic living room houses an odd array of old and new materialistic statements. A large, wall-mounted TV resides beneath showy chandeliers. An ornate interior fountain sits opposite a cross-eyed polar bear rug.
Preened Orlando Santa Cruz, toned beneath a silk dressing gown, races down the stairs to see who’s outside, a leather belt tied around his blistered neck.
Mousey Lance Ogden jostles alongside, wearing headache-inducing pyjamas. Orlando edges in front and Lance yanks him back by the belt. Orlando skims down the last steps on his rear.
At the foot of the stairs they see the glum girl on the TV and both groan in disappointment. Lance turns to Orlando, massaging his throat.
'What’s with the belt?'
Orlando scans the room. 'Was just ‘avin a near-death wank' he replies. Lance shrugs quizzically. 'Auto-erotic asphyxiation' Orlando explains. Lance grimaces.
'I’m trying out this new wild-man image, right? Well, they’re all at it, the A-list bad boys' says Orlando. Lance ponders and nods.
'Any good?', he asks.
Orlando gestures to the TV. 'Dunno. Didn’t get to ‘see the light’ thanks to your stalker'.
Lance looks at the TV just as Chanelle glares into the camera. He nervously ducks down. 'Can she see me through that?'
Frumpy Lucy Mass, appears from under a sleeping-bag.
'Since when did you lot care about privacy?'
Wearing sweatpants and Greenpeace T-shirt, she sits up, yawning. A poster of Karl Marx high-fiving Che Guevara reigns over her corner of revolutionary regalia. Her pink sleeping-bag is emblazoned with Disney Princesses.
Orlando turns angrily, 'Hey! Sleep in your own room!'
Lucy gestures to the living room. 'That would mean crossing the sea of tasteless tat... This corner is my Tibet!'
A section of chandelier falls from the ceiling, narrowly missing her. 'The rest is very much ‘Made in China’!'
Orlando steps forward, 'Well, I still want my pillar back!'
Orlando points to the toppled-over polystyrene pillar which resides in Lucy’s self-declared corner of the room. Covered in cobwebs, with bullet-holes and blood stains, a carved inscription reads: ‘symbol of my struggle’
'Never!' Lucy hisses.
The doorbells plays The Stone Roses – I Wanna Be Adored. Orlando turns excitedly to Lance, 'Quick, flick the fountain on...'
'No, it leaks.' replies Lance.
Orlando eagerly leans across and starts the fountain. 'Your one and only fan deserves the same treatment as all of mine!'
Orlando turns him to face the door. Lance starts to prepare himself.
Orlando carefully unbuckles the belt around his neck. The leather sticks to his blistered skin and dangles. He toys at it as Lucy approaches. She swiftly rips the belt from his skin and yanks the door open, leaving Lance grooming in front of the deadpan young mum.
'Aaaarrrggghhhhh!' screams Orlando.
'Oh. Hi Chanelle!' stutters Lance.
Chanelle thrusts a CD single under Lance’s nose. The cover displays a pretentious photo of Lance, with the title ‘Parachuting Love-Aid To Your Heart’.
'Can I have my £2.99 back?' she asks.
'This again!
'But it’s pish.' she says.
'It was three years ago!'
The young mum looks stumped. She picks up a baby doll from the pram and thrusts it into Lance’s face. 'It’s yours!'
Lance calmly places it back in the pram. Orlando appears at the door sporting a ruff. He puts on a Mediterranean accent. 'Hi. Orlando Santa Cruz...'
Lucy shouts from inside the house, 'Your name’s Mass - Same as mine!'
Orlando smiles and offers his hand. Chanelle picks up the doll and thrusts it at Orlando. 'It’s yours!'
Orlando looks surprised. He cradles the doll, a tear wells.
Struggling agent, Des'ree O'hara, approaches the group carrying a set of newspapers. Jewellery-clad and overly made-up, Des’ree grabs the doll from Orlando and tosses it into the garden fountain. She
pulls Orlando close.
'For God’s sake, you’re supposed to be a ‘wild man’, remember? - and here you are in public, wearing a ruff and carrying on like an ole fanny... you...' she softens, '...beautiful man!'
Des’ree grabs Orlando’s face and kisses his lips. She releases him and swans past Lance, glaring at him disapprovingly.

Des’ree marches into the house, hits the wet spot by the leaking interior fountain, and flies through the air, landing face-down on the polar bear rug. She looks up, shaken. Lance casually gestures to the rug, 'Oh, yeh. S’why that’s there.'
Des’ree dusts herself down. She barks at Lance, 'Papers!'
Lance scrambles to collect the fallen newspapers.
'How’d I get on, Des’ree?' Lance asks.
She grabs the stack from his hands, 'Erm... best we start with Orlando... Page 7, angel cheeks! - You’re back!' She hands Orlando a red top and points to a photo of him drunkenly falling out of a nightclub with a young starlet.
The photo shows the girl on the pavement, knickers on show, as a white-suited Orlando vomits beside her. The headline and lead paragraph read:
LOVE SICK
Former Big Brother star,
Orlando Santa Cruz, and X-Factor
sensation, Rose Monroe, painted the
pavement red last night...
Orlando beams, 'Great photo! We only met and ran through that five minutes before. That’s Sunny Delight I’m spewing there.'
'And it worked a treat! - Great exposure for you and Super-Lungs Monroe.' says Des'ree.
Orlando suggestively nudges Lance, 'A name that applies to more than just her singing!'
Lucy jumps in, 'Like you’d know - You were pleasuring yourself with a belt first thing this morning!'
Lance laughs. Lucy turns to him, 'Her father drinks with ours. He had his hit single the same year that Dad won the snooker title. It was arranged between them last month during a 4-day drinking session.'
'I thought your dad was in rehab?' asks Des'ree.
'Yeh... well... he dug a tunnel...' Lucy nervously answers.
Des’ree looks stumped. She turns to Orlando, 'We’ve got to build on this with a more famous love interest. Really crank up th new wild-man profile.'
Lucy scoffs. Des’ree steps towards Orlando. 'Orlando, babe... for our next love-match, we’re going to need...'
'No Des’ree. No... Me and Lucy don’t speak to her.' barks Orlando.
'But in her showbiz heyday...'
'She was a page 3 girl!' Lucy interrupts.
Des’ree looks intently at Orlando. He scratches his head.
'I dunno...'
Des'ree butts in, 'Look! - She used to know the father of the holy grail we now seek...'
Orlando looks up. 'Holy Grail?'
Des’ree nods emphatically. 'An Emmerdale starlet!'
Orlando whoops and high-fives Des’ree. Lance looks gutted while Lucy walks off in disgust.
'Where are you going, Lucy? Don’t you want to know what I’ve got for you?' asks Des'ree.
Lucy replies curtly, 'No! You’re not my agent.'
'You’re my agent. What you got for me?' demands Lance.
Des’ree ignores him. She continues to press Lucy. 'So you’re not interested in a writing commission in Tibet?'
Lucy’s ears prick up. Des’ree hands her an envelope. 'A hypnotist on my books is married to the editor of a travel guide...'
Lucy sarcastically interjects, 'Suppose they met when he cured her fear of flying?'
'That’s right!' says Des'ree, 'Ironically he tried the same on the last writer, but she now thinks she’s a barnacle goose... so, they need a replacement to travel tomorrow.'
Lucy looks stunned. Des’ree coolly turns away and gathers the newspapers. She turns to Lance who looks at her expectantly. 'Door!' she shouts to him.
Des’ree makes for the front door. Lance scrambles to get there before her, slipping at the fountain.
'Anything about my story there?' he asks.
Des’ree swans out. Lance watches after her and notices broken shards of blue porcelain on the garden path. He takes out a new commemorative blue plate and proudly hangs it on the vacated hook on the outside wall.

Des’ree’s modest office contains a scruffy sofa and TV at one end, opposite a large desk, where rests a half-empty bottle of Martini, a half-eaten apple and a photo of an overweight cat.
Black & white photos of unknown clients dot the walls. A lifesize cardboard cutout of Simon Cowell stands at the side of her throne-like chair.
Lance paces in front of Des’ree, who is sat at her desk, staring intently at the remaining Martini.
'What about my celebrity hero story?'
Des’ree remains fixed on the bottle.
'Des’ree!'
She startles and tosses a folded newspaper towards Lance. 'Alright. Alright - You made page 29.'
Lance looks relieved. 'Well that’s not bad, I thought I hadn’t made the papers at all the way you’ve...'
'In the Hounslow Gazette.' Des'ree bluntly states.
Lance’s face drops. He despondently tries to sit on the desk.
'Don’t sit! I’m prolly gonna cock a leg up there.' says Des'ree. Lost in thought, he stands again. Unsure what to do, Des’ree hoists a leg on the table.
'But I dragged a cat out of the town canal in front of loads of people.' whines Lance.
Des’ree points to the newspaper. 'Says here that it mauled you to pieces. Nothing about a rescue.'
'Well, yes, it mauled me - it probably knew it was me that pushed it in - but everyone saw me go in the canal for it.'
Des'ree ponders a moment. 'And whose idea was this setup?' she asks.
'Yours!'
'Well, there y’are, see? People just aren’t interested anymore...'
Lance looks at Des'ree in disbelief as tall, shaven-headed Rusty Turner enters the office in trendy, casual clothing.
Des’ree gets to her feet with open arms. 'Fair-turn’ Turner!'
'He does a fair turn!', they both say together.
Des'ree grins. 'You never did go in for the grandiose prefixes of other magicians, did ya?'
'Hypnotist!' Rusty corrects. 'Besides, it’s just Rusty now. I’m a record producer these days.'
Des'ree confusedly stares at him. He shrugs.
'Well, it’s all got so easy now no one uses emotive musicians anymore.'
Des’ree nods.
'I’m here about some numpty on your books... Lance Ogden?'
Lance eagerly steps forward. 'I am said ‘numpty’!'
Rusty eyes him disdainfully. 'I wanna speak to you about a video appearance for my new track.'
Lance looks excited. Rusty continues, 'Me and the rap-artist, Bullethole, sampled your pish song from a few years back.'
Lance nods along, pretending to not be offended.
'We needed a parachute hook and, obviously - otherwise we would never have touched that trite - we couldn’t find anything better.'
Lance forces a smile.
'So we sampled the ‘Parachuting Love’ bit from ‘Parachuting Love-Aid To Your Heart’, and cleverly repeated it continuously over a drum sequencer.' explains Rusty.
Des’ree excitedly mimes a hand-clap.
Rusty continues, 'We’re marketing it with an ‘underground edge’ by getting my annoying nephew to rap and snarl a bit - Radio play and advance sales are brutal.'
'Fantastic!' says Des'ree.
'And do I get royalties for this?' asks Lance.
'No. We checked. Your former management team get the lot - and a kidney when required, apparently.'
Lance nods.
'You’ll get a fee for a day filming the video - I presume by your current state of affairs you’re available now?' asks Rusty bluntly.
Lance reluctantly concurs.
'You’ll also have a ‘featuring’ credit as well as a bit of exposure.' says Rusty.
Lance nods contentedly. He smooths an eyebrow. 'And am I the star in the video?'
'No.' Rusty says coldly.
Lance nobly nods. 'Ok. And will lunch be incl...'
'No.'
Silence falls. Des’ree shrugs at Rusty.
'Don’t worry... I’ll parachute-pack a lunch!' jokes Lance.
Rusty turns to leave, 'I’ll wait in the van.'

George and Gloria Mass, impeccably dressed in black waistcoats and trousers, sit in the light, tastefully decorated living room of their manor home. Exhibits of George’s illustrious snooker career occupy the space behind Orlando; sat opposite his parents, looking uncomfortable.
George is distractedly edgy. Gloria peers at Orlando disapprovingly.
'So you’re still a childless man-spinster?'
Orlando looks up, affronted.
'...and what about Lucy? asks Gloria.
'No man could take that level of mental abuse, mum...' He mutters under his breath, '...God knows where she gets it from!'
George dryly interjects, 'Your dopey friend Lance could.'
Orlando laughs. He suddenly stops to ponder this. George walks to a small bar area, where a row of vodka optics hang at head height. He sets up shot glasses on the bar-top.
Gloria leans forward and whispers to Orlando. 'He’s been a week off the booze. Docs scared the crap out of him this time.'
Gloria lowers her voice, 'Those bottles are filled with water – He thinks they still have a hint of flavour!'
She lovingly crinkles her nose at George as he knocks back the shots. Orlando changes the subject.
'So how are you both?'
Gloria excitedly claps her hands. 'We’re doing fantastically well - as is anyone with a few bob during this crisis!'
George and Gloria guffaw. He sits down next to Gloria. They take each others' hand.
'Well, as you can see, your dad and I are back together again... We’re thinking we might even get married this time.'
They kiss. Orlando rudely scoffs.
George takes a cube of blue cue-chalk from his waistcoat pocket and hurls it Orlando’s head.
Orlando scowls as he rubs his forehead.
Gloria slips on a headset-mic. 'Right, gotta go. I’m actually working right now.'
Orlando looks up. 'Yeh? What’re you up to?'
'Catty Consulting.'
Orlando looks confused. 'But you don’t know anything about cats...'
'No. ‘Catty’ - as in malevolent bitch.' George says dryly.
Gloria proudly smiles. 'And a rather gifted one! - People pay a fortune for my consort.'
'Really?' says Orlando surprisedly.
'Yeh. Take socialite, Plums & Cream O'Ryan. She wants to get at her dad for buying her an ugly yacht, so I suggest a fake, highprofile engagement to a pointless celebrity... that’s what I’m organising.'
Orlando's eyes widen. 'Plums & Cream is getting engaged here? Now?'
'Yes, but it’s just a ruse, dear. They’re gonna make a fortune from all the break-up scandals I’ve got organised! Says Gloria, rubbing her hands.
Orlando sits up. 'So who’s the celebrity gonna be? Coz, y’know...'
'Your Dad.' says Gloria.
Orlando chokes on air. 'What!'

Lance, dressed in a red jumpsuit, jumps excitedly beside a small aeroplane on an airfield. Alongside, Rusty and his rapper nephew stand with the cameraman. Rusty hands Lance a backpack.
'Right. So you’re going up with Brian here, the cameraman who’s gonna film your tandem jump. Your instructor’s on his way.'
Lance stops dead. 'Sorry. What’s going on?'
Rusty tuts. 'For the video. We’re filming you mime the line ‘Parachuting love’ as you free-fall
from 12,000 feet - Was that not clear?'
'No, it wasn’t! - Look, I’m like, really scared of heights. The highest I’ve ever been was getting in a car with George Michael.'
Rusty sighs impatiently. 'Well, the frickin’ song’s called ‘Parachuting Love’ and you’re standing on
an airstrip wearing a jumpsuit, I thought it was pretty obvious.'
Bullethole scoffs. Rusty composes himself. An idea comes. He grabs Lance's shoulders and looks at him assuredly.
'I’m a hypnotist... I can put you under.'
Lance shakes his head. 'Oh... I dunno...'
'Look, you’ll go up there, do the jump, mime the line, land safely and won’t know a thing.'
Lance looks skeptical. 'Does it hurt?'
'No... you’ll be in a trance and when you hear ‘un-dos-tres’ you’ll come round again.'
Lance looks confused. 'But I don’t speak Spanish.'
Rusty sighs.
'Ooh, did you just teach me it then?' asks Lance.

Orlando jumps to his feet. 'But why Dad? Why not me?'
Gloria sighs. 'Look, since retiring, your Dad’s done nothing but drink! Now he’s teetotal he needs
something to do.
George picks up a box of chocolate liqueurs and desperately shakes the contents into his mouth.
'A big story like this and he’ll be on the next series of ‘Dancing on Ice’. After that, the path opens up.' says Gloria.
'Yeh... MY path!' Orlando says incredulously.
'Anyway, the media will be here soon... Must get on...' says Gloria, turning to leave.
'Wait! I need to speak to you abo...' Orlando stops short. Gloria glares and walks out.
Orlando grins to himself. 'Media!'
A devilish look crosses his face. He spies several crates of champagne sitting in the hall.
He peers over at his father, now licking a bowl clean.
George shouts out to Gloria, 'Did you put any sherry in this trifle, dear?'

Lucy, smiling and resplendent in Tibetan robes, sits at her workstation at home and calls Lance’s number from her mobile phone.
Lance, expressionless, sits calmly as wind noisily rushes in from the open door of the plane in flight. Robot-like, he removes his phone. 'Lance Ogden.'
'Hey, you. Wot ‘cha doin?' asks Lucy breezily.
'Being a confident individual, unafraid of heights and completely open to the practice of skydiving.'
'Riiight' says Lucy, confused. 'Anyway... guess where I’m flying to tomorrow?'
'Concluding from your jaunty demeanour I confidently surmise Tibet. And that the travel editor has offered you the writing commission. I offer my Congratulations.'
'Are you okay?' Lucy asks suspiciously.
'No. I am promptly melancholic that the woman I’ve admired since secondary education is to discover a far-off destiny void of my loving participation,' says Lance without emotion.
The instructor taps Lance on the shoulder. 'I must now terminate the call. It appears my instructor is ready to mount me.'
The dark, moustached Spanish instructor places his hands on Lance’s shoulders and shouts above the wind din.
'Buenos días... Estás preparado?'
'Lance replies, 'Si, colega. Completamente.'

An overly-photogenic Plums & Cream O'Ryan is seated at the head table in a small dining hall in George and Gloria's manor. An empty chair beside her.
Gloria, standing behind, addresses the small group of guests and media. Talking through her headset-mic, her voice booms. 'Ladies and gentlemen. Members of the press. In just a moment, we’ll proudly present Plums & Cream’s fiancée...'

From within the dimly lit living room, Gloria's muffled announcement echos around the walls. '...but first, allow me to give you a clue! - He’s a highly accomplished, much-admired genius in his field, and someone who I personally know and love dearly...'
Antsy, Orlando hastily fastens the buttons on a black waistcoat. His phone rings. He clumsily handles it.
'What?' he barks.
'Where are you?' asks Lucy.
'Mum & Dads’.'
'Turncoat!'
Orlando tuts. 'Not now.' He starts to groom himself, shouldering the phone.
'Guess what? - I’m going to Tibet!' Lucy announces excitedly. Orlando murmurs along, pretending to listen.
'Why is no one excited about this?' Lucy asks herself. She puts the phone back to her ear. 'Listen, I’m leaving first thing and need to pack. Go find Lance, it sounds like he’s in some trouble.'
Orlando snaps back to the conversation.
'What? - No... I can’t...' His face turns white, 'I think I’m about to get engaged!'
He hangs up. At his feet, amidst several empty champagne bottles, lies George in his underwear, drunkenly moaning!
Wearing George’s fineries, Orlando takes a deep breath and walks towards the dining hall. Gloria voice beckons the mystery man. '...so allow me to now welcome to the head table, Plum & Cream’s best-kept secret.'
The guests’ applause rings through the walls. A cunning smile crosses Orlando’s face.

Lance, strapped to the front of the Spanish instructor and seated by the open door, stares serenely ahead. The instructor gives Brian the cameraman the thumbs up and he exits. He then taps Lance on the shoulder.
'Okay? - Vamos.' Cradling Lance, the instructor rocks back and forth. He counts aloud, 'Un... dos... tres!'
The pair roll out of the plane.
Lance jolts to consciousness in free-fall. The scene in front of him sinks in.
'Aaaaarrrrrggggghhhhhhh!'

Orlando confidently struts into the hall. The applause dies down and disappointed groans fill the air.
Cameras sporadically flash.
'Genius in his field?' a reporter sarcastically shouts.
Orlando sits next to Plums & Cream, who turns quizzically to Gloria, looking stunned. She speaks into her mic.
'Er... Ladies and gentlemen. Chris Ma...'
Orlando springs up and speaks into Gloria’s mic. '...Orlando Santa Cruz!'
Light hand-clapping ensues. Orlando looks round at Plums & Cream who seductively eyes him. He returns the look.
Under the table, she places a hand on his thigh.
'Play this right and I may take you away this weekend!'

Des’ree, sat at her desk watching TV, an apple core on the table, drinks the last of the Martini from the bottle. 'Lunch over!'
On the news channel, she sees a live feed with the banner:
PLUMS & CREAM AND ORLANDO SANTA CRUZ TO MARRY
Live from their engagement at Bluechalk Manor.
She stares open-eyed. 'Oh, this is big!' She grabs her jacket and scrambles out of the office.
'You beautiful man!'

The dining hall is in good spirits with Orlando, next to Plums & Cream, impressively batting questions from the press.
'Are you two ‘soul-mates’?' asks one smiling reporter.
'I don’t know about soul-mates... but we definitely mate with all our soul!'
The room erupts. Photos flash. Plums & Cream spontaneously kisses Orlando. Gloria jumps in.
'Okay. That’s all for now, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you very much for coming.'
Guests start to pack-up. Des’ree rushes in, greeting anyone ‘important-looking’ as she makes her way to the head table.
'Hi. Des’ree O’Hara. Orlando’s Fame Guru... Hi. Des’ree. Fame Guru...'
At the head table, Gloria angrily barks into Orlando’s ear, 'What happened to your father?'
'Oh, think he may ‘ave fallen-off the wagon,' says Orlando with innocent eyes. 'I had to step in, mother.'
Gloria glares at him before hurrying off to find George.
Des’ree greets Orlando with open arms. He gets up, grinning.
'Emmerdale starlets? - Pah! - You’ve hit the jackpot, son!'
Plums & Cream jokingly interrupts. 'This one’s mine!'
She looks Orlando deep in the eye. She leans in seductively.
'Pack a bag. You’re coming away with me tonight!' She gyrates against him. Two members of her security entourage tap her on the shoulder to leave. She looks longingly at Orlando, grabs his groin and departs.
Des'ree turns excitedly to Orlando. 'The phone is gonna ring off the hook!'
Orlando distractedly watches Plums & Cream leave. Aroused, he shifts his groin and turns to Des’ree. 'Sorry, Des’ree... but I... need the loo...'
Orlando rushes off. Des’ree turns to the nearest ‘suit’. 'Hi. Des’ree O’Hara. Fame Guru...'

Aroused, Orlando stands in front of a large mirror in the downstairs bathroom, and excitedly whips off his clothes. Standing semi-naked, making sex faces at his reflexion, he carries away.
After a moment he notices a belt hanging on the door. He pauses. A devilish look creases his face. He takes the belt off the hook...

Des’ree stands next to a TV Reporter as he hangs up a call.
'They tell me there’s nothing bigger to lead with, so the engagement will be the main showbiz story tonight.' he tells Des'ree, who grins excitedly.
'Barring some humiliating catastrophe!' he jokes.
Des’ree playfully wags a finger. She kisses his cheek. 'Fantastic! - Orlando’s gonna be huge...' She pauses for effect. '...barring some humiliating catastrophe!'
The pair laugh.

Outside on George and Gloria's driveway, an ambulance speeds off, sirens blaring. Des’ree stands in utter disbelief, shaking her head.
George wobbles alongside Gloria, looking weary and still halfnaked. They smirk smugly as the ambulance disappears.
The reporter finishes a phone call and looks over at Des’ree. He sympathetically shrugs, rubs his hands and hurries off.

Lucy, in Tibetan attire, stands by her cleared corner of the living room. A Disney Princesses bag sits by her feet. She looks around. 'Guess I’m packed then.'
Her phone rings. 'Oh. Hi, Liz! - Yeh, all set to go...' She scoffs loudly, 'Lance? He’s fine. Tell Rusty it’s a small fracture - Although he thinks he’s dying!' She laughs, 'Yeh! - I know he is...'
Lucy looks serious. 'No, no, no. I’m not gonna be his wet nurse! - He’s got Orlando to look after
him... nothing can stop me going to...'
Lucy stops dead, eyes transfixed on the plasma screen showing a photo of Orlando with the headline graphic:
ORLANDO SANTA CRUZ IN “NEAR-DEATH W*NK” CATASTROPHE
“All the A-list bad boys are up to it” says gruff-voiced star.
The story cuts to the TV reporter beaming smugly at a hospital.
'Sources now tell us that following the scenes at Bluechalk Manor, Orlando’s father - snooker idol, George Mass – has ran off with Plums & Cream to a ‘secret, spicy, sex-haven’. His long-term glamour girlfriend, Gloria, is said to be ‘mildly peeved’...'
Stunned, Lucy drops the phone. A section of chandelier narrowly misses her. She doesn’t notice.

Lance, with his ankle in plaster, and Orlando, wearing a neck brace, sit together on the sofa watching TV.
Lucy, wearing a saucy nurse outfit and red lipstick, seductively puts her finger in Lance’s mouth. She whispers breathlessly, 'Let me take your temperature, big boy...'
Lance snaps out of his daydream. Lucy, standing grumpily in front of Lance, wearing T-shirt and sweatpants, holds a tray of medication and water. She drops it on Orlando’s lap, who dramatically yelps. She marches back to her corner.
Des’ree enters the house and casts Orlando a dirty look. Lucy immediately leaves. Des’ree calls after her.
'Don’t be like that - I couldn’t look after them - I’m cleaning up all the mess...'
Lucy points to the pair and accumulated clutter. 'Yes, you are!'
She slams the door. Des’ree walks right past Orlando and sits next to Lance. She shuffles close and ruffles his hair.
'How’s my favourite client today?' Des'ree hands him a lollypop. Surprised, Lance gleefully accepts.
'Guess who has a fresh-of-the-press copy of the ‘Parachuting Love’ video?' teases Des'ree.
Lance sits up. 'Yeh? - Wicked! Whack it on...'
Des’ree tosses it at Orlando, who begrudgingly puts it in the player.
'At last a client who’s not a total arsehole!' she aims at him.
Orlando sits down. The title graphic to the video reads:
RUSTY with BULLETHOLE feat LANCE OGDEN
Orlando and Lance look at each in shock. They read aloud, 'Rusty bullethole - Lance Ogden?'
As the naff song and video plays, the trio stare with mouths agape. They shrink in their seats.
Des’ree jumps up, unbuckles her belt and makes a noose with it. She menacingly gestures at both of them. Terrified, the pair lean close and protect their throats.
'Oh, this isn’t going round your necks...'
]]> Thu, 26 Jan 2012 06:52:46 CST leebullen Social Satire 2 http://thedailysatire.com/social/celebrity-cultured/ http://thedailysatire.com/social/the-south-yup--im-racist/
(Jackson, MS) -- After decades of rumors and denials, the truth about one of the nation’s most notorious geographical regions has finally come out. At a news conference this morning, the Southern United States of America -- known to most people as "the South" -- stunned friends and family members by confirming a long-held suspicion that it is, in fact, racist.

"I know this is going to come as a surprise to a lot of folks, but I don't like black people," the South said, clearly underestimating the level of America’s common sense. "I've hidden my true beliefs for years by pretending to support programs like Affirmative Action, No Child Left Behind, and Martin Luther King's birthday, but no more! I want the entire world to know under no uncertain terms that I... am... racist!"

The announcement comes just days after an elementary school teacher from Georgia resigned after giving students homework with racially charged math problems. In one question, students were asked to solve the following problem: "Each tree has 56 oranges. If eight slaves pick them equally, then how much would each slave pick?" Another problem posed the question "If Frederick got two beatings each day, how many beatings did he get in one week?"

"That was pretty much what did it," said Prof. Eugene Feldspar, a sociologist from Princeton University. "Over the years the South has supported slavery, opposed desegregation, offered whites-only restrooms and drinking fountains, gave birth to the KKK, lynched African-Americans, proposed 'Separate But Equal' laws, fought vigorously against the Civil Rights Movement and continually points out that Barack Obama's middle name is Hussein. And up ‘til now, we could always give it the benefit of the doubt. But yeah, after that whole slavery-math-problems thing, it's pretty hard for the South to hide it anymore."

Friends and co-workers of the South, while stunned at the actual admission, are not surprised at the confirmation of its racial leanings. Considered one of the worst kept secrets for more than 150 years, the South repeatedly been seen hanging out at so-called "racist bars" and socialized with known racists. On the political stage, the South has supported known or suspected racists such as Orval Faubus, David Duke and Haley Barbour.

"I saw the South at a Klan rally on TV one time and I was like 'Whoa, what's going on here?" said the South's neighbor, Charles Meyers. "I was like 'the South's a racist?' But then I got to thinking about the 'March on Selma' with all the violence and blood and that whole gotta-fly-the-Confederate-flag thing and then the pieces started to fall into place."

"And yeah," Meyers continued, "that whole slavery-math thing pretty much sealed the deal. If you didn't know the South was racist before that, it's pretty hard to ignore now."

"It's like I'm a free man right now," added the South, apparently unaware of the irony. "The best thing about it is I no longer have to look sheepishly over my shoulder before using 'the N-word.' In fact, why am I calling it 'the N-word' anymore? I can say the actual word now without feeling any expected remorse.

The South then went on a Michael Richards-esque rant that the publishers of this article deemed too offensive to print.

“And I’m not gonna stop there!” The South continued. “I am going to be a champion for ‘racist rights.” I won’t rest until racist marriage is recognized in all fifty states and I want all racists to have affordable healthcare available to them. We racists have been persecuted for nearly fifty years, and I won’t stop until every racist is granted the basic human dignity they deserve. We shall overcome!”

The South already has a busy schedule following the announcement. Tomorrow morning it’s expected to attend a cross burning sponsored by the Ku Klux Klan followed by a NASCAR race before speaking at a Ron Paul rally.
]]> Wed, 25 Jan 2012 23:24:01 CST RabidDawgClassic Social Satire 2 http://thedailysatire.com/social/the-south-yup--im-racist/ http://thedailysatire.com/social/kim-kardashian-is-the-paradigm-of-the-21st-century/ This is all well and good, but we all know who really deserved the honor, and it wasn't that Tunisian fruit vendor who set himself on fire in a public square. Goodness, no. The true hero of 2011 AND the 21st century is none other than that Armenian Mother Theresa- Kim Kardashian.
Forget about her all-natural beauty. Forget about how much she does for the poor and suffering. And for gods sake, people, stop going on about how much she has contributed to the quality of television! We know all of this already, dammit.
What we should really focus on is what Kim Kardashian and her 72 day marriage did for history. In a time when it takes mere seconds to contact someone on the other side of the world, when gossip takes a mere minute to travel-become abuse-and then cause suicide, good 'ole Kim's expedited marriage took instant gratification to a whole new level. Millions of dollars spent on a wedding and months of press coverage by near-salivating "news reporters", all lavished on nuptials that lasted 18 days less than the amount of time it took for Violet-yes, the one from Willy Wonka- to chew "a little piece of gum". Kim took a fair amount of heat for it, which I can't understand for the life of me. She did us all a favor, people! For years we have asked ourselves if true love can really exist in the midst of constant media coverage. Kim and her beau Kris answered that question! They shouted back at us "No! But look at all our money!"
Besides answering a long-unanswered question, Mr and Mrs. Formerly-Humphries also proved to us that the growing trend of trying something hip and then quitting when it gets a little hard (remember when Wii tried to get people to actually work out? Adorable!) is HERE TO STAY.
I really don't know what my parents are worried about. Our society will be just fine, with role models like Kim and her family. Sure, marriages will last about as long as it takes for produce to become brown and squishy, but we'll get shiny things at the wedding...and that's all that really matters. Like, am I right? ]]> Mon, 16 Jan 2012 13:51:01 CST rachelcullen Social Satire 3 http://thedailysatire.com/social/kim-kardashian-is-the-paradigm-of-the-21st-century/ http://thedailysatire.com/social/fox-tv-announcement/ Lee Harvey Oswald wannabees will take pot-shots at him from a variety of locations, though the School Book Depository has been ruled out, as according to one Secret Service source ‘there’s no fucking way you could hit him from there’. Fox also hopes the show will give today’s wacko’s the chance to compare themselves to the likes of Oswald, James Earl Ray and Charles Whitman etc. whom many historians regard as the ‘Greatest Generation’ (of psychos, delusional loners, CIA dupes) . Additionally, to give the show an authentic feel, the relatives of Abraham Zapruder have been approached to provide some grainy, inconclusive 8mm film of the event so that future conspiracy theorists will be able to endlessly argue as to who actually fired what will be called the ‘Magic bullet’. For more information visit the Fox website Foxtv/ Pinkmist.com

]]> Sun, 01 Jan 2012 06:36:57 CST herewego Social Satire 2 http://thedailysatire.com/social/fox-tv-announcement/ http://thedailysatire.com/social/extra-extra/ By David Payne
There was no doubt about it. David Colby was dead. The confirmed bachelor and infamous celebrity judge had given his final withering put down. No longer would he reduce desperate, warbling teenagers to tears on reality shows such as Sing For Your Supper and The Isle of Man’s Got Talent. His murderer stood nearby, calmly wiping fingerprints from the guilty weapon. How ironic that Colby would die in his own personal music studio, his favorite room in that extravagant mansion of his.
The six guests who had stayed in Colby’s house that fatal night were already famous. But within hours of the body being discovered, they had gained the kind of notoriety that takes A-Listers years to achieve. They were no longer just celebrities; they were suspects.
As soon as the police and forensics had completed their preliminary investigations, the paparazzi arrived and were circling the mansion like vultures. Celebs + Murder = High commissions!
The suspects had been in the game long enough to know that only one woman could be trusted to tell their stories the way they wanted; the formidable managing director and chief editor of Spectrum Magazine; Amber Gold.
Twenty minutes later an orange convertible swept onto the drive. A slim, middle aged woman emerged; her fiery red hair scraped into its trademark bun. Her stilettos clacked up to the house, the guarding constables quaking slightly as she breezed through the door. They knew from experience that Ms Gold was not a woman to be messed with. Armed with Dictaphone and notepad – she approached her subjects.
Gold took an instant dislike to Colby’s agent and celeb-in-his-own-right Simon Drake. She found him shifty and arrogant when he spoke to her. Still, a few choice misquotes from her would soon wipe the smug grin from his face. Socialite Harriet Gorman Price managed to actually squeeze out a few tears – though whether her distress was due to the tragic evening or the humiliation of her involvement in such a tawdry event as murder, was questionable.
Kassandra Chase seemed more concerned about the effect her suspect status might have on the release of her impending fitness DVD. It was clear to Ms Gold however that Kassandra’s ‘natural beauty’ and ‘flawless complexion’ was ‘more botox than detox.’
Boyband member Blake ‘B-Boy’ Brandon and former child star Alana Pilkington both seemed evasive when it came to explaining their version of events. Brandon fiddled nervously with his Blackberry (a headline if ever there was one!) while Pilkington downed vodka and tonics by the gallon. Gold peered at them over her orange rimmed spectacles. Perhaps the rumors of an affair were true...
Darren Jennings was positively thrilled just to get his name in the papers. A retired footballer, his career was on the wane and he was in imminent danger of becoming a ‘has been.’ Colby’s death had provided the publicity he so desperately craved to keep himself in the spotlight without having to accept Channel 5’s offer to appear on their brand new reality show: Celebrity Toilet Habits.
Having secured her exclusivity, Amber Gold left the mansion and drove away, abandoning the six to the mercy of the baying paparazzi. She was thrilled. The murder and subsequent aftermath would keep her magazine in juicy headlines for months... maybe even years. Sales would rocket. She dared to fantasize about the stories she could tell ... the lies, the cover ups, the accusations! Perhaps she could even set up a telephone system and invite readers to vote for the most likely murderer.
It was a shame for David Colby. Gold had enjoyed his company when she interviewed him for her planned ‘Millionaire Mansions’ article. He had been very forthcoming, revealing to her his midnight drum playing as well as the very private hidden passageways that snaked around his home. It was via these that she had entered the previous night, unseen by the party goers and laid in wait for Colby at the entrance to his music room. Midnight as usual, Colby had arrived, drumsticks in hand and that was when Amber Gold had murdered him with a single pistol shot to the temple before fleeing back the way she had come and escaping out of the old tradesmen’s entrance to the kitchen. Gold smiled to herself:

‘That’s the role of a journalist,’ she thought. ‘To make the news...’

By David Payne
8 St. Mary’s Close, Shareshill, Staffordshire, WV10 7LB
01922 412129 / 07858 187964
daveyjpayne@hotmail.co.uk

]]> Sat, 31 Dec 2011 02:57:13 CST daveyjpayne Social Satire 2 http://thedailysatire.com/social/extra-extra/ http://thedailysatire.com/social/jerry-sandusky-forced-out-as-mall-santa-1/

(State College, PA) More charges are expected to be filed against former Penn State Defensive Coordinator Jerry Sandusky, after being asked to leave his latest job at a State College mall. Authorities at University Mall claim Sandusky was caught "engaging in inappropriate behavior" with children while employed as the mall's Santa Claus. Sandusky was on the job for only his second day when management told him he couldn't come back.

"At first we thought 'this can't be right.'" Mall Spokesman John Fortz told reporters at a news conference. "But the more we looked into it, the more it became clear that Mr. Sandusky was acting inappropriately with the children, and we immediately fired him. I mean, that's what you're supposed to do, right? You don't just ignore the signs and let him continue to be around children, right? This was clearly the only sensible thing to do."

Authorities first got word that Sandusky might be acting inappropriately when a mall employee -- and fellow mall Santa -- came forward with an eyewitness account. Kevin McCleary, a graduate assistant at University Mall's "Santa School" said he walked in on Sandusky and a young child having sex in the mall's locker room.

"I went back there to return a set of jingle bells that I had accidentally walked off with when I heard a noise coming from the showers." McCleary told the Centre Daily Times of State College. "I mean, I couldn't believe my eyes. There he was wearing only his Santa hat and doing unimaginable things to that poor kid. He went from 'ho ho ho' to 'uh oh' as soon as he saw me."

When asked what he did next, McCleary said he acted fast.

"I immediately jumped in and stopped it." he explained. "Yeah, I was freaked out, but here's a ten year old boy getting raped. What else could I have done? I wrapped the kid in a towel, told him this wasn't his fault and called his parents. Then I told Sandusky to get the Hell out of there and that I never wanted to see him again. What's what any reasonable person would do, right? I mean, you don't just walk away and let the kid continue to get raped, right? Come on!"

McCleary says he then called his boss, legendary mall Santa John Fontana, who arranged an impromptu meeting with mall management.

"I'll admit, at first I was concerned about what this was going to do to the well-respected Santa Claus program we've built here at the mall," Fontana told reporters. "But when Kevin told me what he had seen, I knew right away that was a distant second compared to the safety of the children. I called a meeting with the mall president and the head of mall security and we instantly decided that Mr. Sandusky had to be fired. We then called the police."

"To Hell with the program's legacy," Fontana added. That's what I'm supposed to do, right? It's my program and I've got to make sure that each and every child that comes to visit Santa isn't getting raped, right? It's common sense, really."

From there, the story gets even more bizarre. Mall President Joseph Howard says when he told Sandusky he wasn't welcome back, the former assistant football coach presented him with a counter offer. Sandusky allegedly offered to walk away from the job and not make a scene, and in return he wanted to operate a children's charity out of one of the mall's vacant storefronts.

"I was like 'Wait... WHAT?!?'" Howard said with a look of incredulity on his face. "I was so stunned I had to repeat the question back to him. I said 'Let me get this straight. You have just been fired for raping children at our mall, and you want us to let you come back here and run a charity -- FOR CHILDREN -- on our property? Do you think that even REMOTELY makes sense?' Who does that? There was no way we could let him do that here, right? I mean, that would be a gross violation of our duties as, not only managers, but as human beings, right? It was the last thing I expected him to say."

Howard wasn't the only one claiming to be shocked by Sandusky's actions. McCleary says Sandusky made a strange offer to him, two days after the alleged shower incident.

"Sandusky came up to me like nothing had happened." McCleary said, "and he asked me if I'd like to be a part of his charity golf tournament. I was like 'WHAT?? Are you kidding me? Dude, two days ago I walked in on you raping a kid in the shower! Why on Earth would you think that I'd EVER take part in ANY event you're involved in?' I couldn't do that, right? I mean I could never explain myself if I was making nice with him on a golf course after knowing first hand what he had done, right? It was beyond unbelievable."

"And another thing," McCleary added. "Why does a mall locker room even have showers to begin with?"

When word spread that Sandusky had been fired, a brief riot broke out in the mall promenade. A large group of parents who had brought their kids to see Santa were upset that he would not be making an appearance at his scheduled time. At first, tempers flared as the children cried and their parents threatened to take their business elsewhere. But cooler heads eventually prevailed.

"Of course we were upset" said Clara Bolen, a mom from nearby Park Forest Village. "But when the manager explained what had happened and that there was child sexual abuse involved we immediately came to our senses and realized we were upset about the wrong thing. Of course he had to be fired, along with anyone else who may have known about it ahead of time. That's just basic common sense, right? I mean, we'd be fools to believe anything else, right? This was clearly the right call."

Meanwhile, Sandusky has denied the charges saying the entire incident has been -- his words, not ours -- "blown out of proportion." In a telephone interview, we asked Sandusky if he's a child sexual predator.

"Am I sexually attracted to children?" Sandusky asked rhetorically followed by an excruciatingly long pause that pretty much confirmed what we had already suspected. "I like horsing around with them. I like being naked with them in the shower. I like touching them in places where I shouldn't be touching them then looking over my shoulder to make sure no one's watching. But that doesn't mean I'm sexually attracted to them, right? I mean, I'm just giving these kids some attention they wouldn't normally get at home, right? This whole thing is a witch hunt."

Despite initial cries to shut down the Santa program for the remainder of the Christmas season, mall management says Santa's village will remain open as planned, with McCleary serving as the interim Claus.

"Why shouldn't he get the job" Howard asked when pressed about the issue. "The guy did everything he's supposed to do. He stopped the rape, he reported the rape and he told the rapist to take a hike. The guy's a hero, and heroes should be rewarded, right? I mean, how stupid would we be if we rewarded low-lifes and scum bags and told everyone they were leaders and legends? That's like the worst possible thing we could do, right? That just wasn't gonna happen."

Sandusky's expected to be in court tomorrow to formally hear the charges. Sentencing is set for right now in the Court of Public Opinion.
]]> Wed, 14 Dec 2011 23:45:40 CST RabidDawgClassic Social Satire 2 http://thedailysatire.com/social/jerry-sandusky-forced-out-as-mall-santa-1/ http://thedailysatire.com/social/gods-busy-week-ends-poorly-for-st-louis-cardinals-chicago-bears-1/
(Denver, CO) Moments before Matt Prater's 51 yard game winning field goal soared effortlessly through the uprights, the Denver Bronco's kicker couldn't believe he had just been given a chance to beat the Chicago Bears. It was, after all, Chicago's game to lose. With just a little more than two minutes to play, the Bears had a three point lead and the ball. And Denver had no time outs. Nothing, it seemed -- short of a miracle -- would send the Broncos faithful home happy.

"And just like that, Boom! It happened." said Prater, a mixture of happiness and disbelief still on his face. "It was as if all 76-thousand people in the stadium were praying for the impossible and God just happened to be listening at that time."

As it turns out, God was listening. But he had to tune out 75,999 of those pleas to make sure one person's request was written down accurately.

"It was Tim. I was listening to Tim" God said during his post game news conference, referring to much-maligned Broncos quarterback Tim Tebow. "He flat out asked for my help to win the game. It's no big deal, really. He does that every week. He also asks me to keep everybody safe and that his actions on the field would bring glory to me and my kingdom. You think I'm gonna ignore a guy who's THAT dedicated week in and week out?"

The Lord Almighty's explanation helped shed light on the final minutes of a game that otherwise seemed downright implausible. Why, Bears fans asked often and out loud, would running back Marion Barber scamper out of bounds as Chicago was trying to run out the clock? How, they pondered, could Prater possibly make a 59 yard field goal to tie the game and a 51-yarder to win it? And what could force Barber to cough up the football when the Bears themselves were driving toward their own game winning score? Without divine intervention, that script wouldn't make it off a Hollywood producer's desk. With it, this ending-with-a-twist finally makes sense.

"I'll be honest with you. I had trouble believing it myself" conceded Tebow following the game. "With all those errant passes I was throwing and after going scoreless for three quarters, I thought maybe this is the game that God wanted me to lose so that I'll be humbled and worthy of a place by his side in Heaven. But apparently he feels I'm humble enough."

But God offered a more pragmatic explanation for the Broncos' early scoring drought.

"I never watch the first three quarters of a football game" he explained. "I mean it's really unnecessary if you think about it. One team's gonna have a lead and they'll be playing great defense and everything. Then all of the sudden they play back in the fourth quarter and that's when all the scoring starts. It happens every week in every game.

" I hear Tim praying all the time throughout the game when things aren't going well," God added. "I'm like 'Dude! Chill! I'm eatin' brunch here! I'll get to ya in the fourth quarter. Patience, Grasshopper.'"

The game capped off what many consider to be God's busiest week of sports since January 1996. That's when he helped faithful follower Reggie White and the Green Bay Packers win Super Bowl XXXI, while at the same time kept chaste Los Angeles Lakers guard A.C. Green away from several ill-reputed women who wanted to have sex with him during an extended road trip. Last Sunday, God orchestrated Denver's fourth quarter comeback against the Minnesota Vikings, before heading to Dallas to oversee contract negotiations between former St. Louis Cardinals slugger Albert Pujols and the Los Angeles Angels.

"Albert asked me what I wanted him to do," God said. "And I'm like, 'hey, it's YOUR call, big fella. You can pretty much do my work in any city anywhere.' All things being equal, St. Louis is no different than Los Angeles or Miami or Cleveland."

But in his introductory news conference in Anaheim, Pujols told a different story.

"I just wanted to go where things would be, you know, pleasing to God." Pujols told a crowd of exuberant Angels fans. "Every time the Cardinals would come back with a five or six year offer, I could, you know, tell that God was not happy. He was like 'Albert, when they disrespect you with that $130 million dollar joke, they're disrespecting ME, too.' What kind of mang would play for a team that disrespects God? He just wanted to feel, you know, wanted."

The drama appeared to be settling down until Pujols' wife, feeling betrayed by Cardinals fans who had previously adored her husband, took to the airwaves. Deidre Pujols told radio station JOY-FM in St. Louis that, at one point, she blamed God for the insulting contracts the Cardinals were trying to shove down their throats.

"I hated God!" Mrs. Pujols said in the interview. "I was like 'what's THIS, Lord?' After all we've done for you, THIS is how you're treating us? $130 million? Just FIVE years? When are you gonna step in and make this right?' It was like God had forsaken us and we were alone on an island. An island that Albert had just bought, mind you, but an island none the less."

Once again, God had a simple answer

"I wasn't even aware she was in on the negotiations," God explained. "I thought this was between Albert, his agent and me. Generally speaking, once a person earns enough for food, clothing and shelter, I generally step aside and let them handle the rest. It would be a conflict of interest for me to encourage someone to push for thousands or millions of dollars and still enforce that whole 'camel through the eye of a needle' thing my son Jesus spoke about."

God also had to deflect complaints about his involvement -- or lack thereof -- in the recent Penn State and Syracuse child sex scandals. When pressed about why he allowed young children to be repeatedly raped for more than twenty years, the Lord said he was not aware the abuse was taking place. He said if he had known pedophilia was a common practice on college campuses, he would have put a stop to it much sooner.

"It appears they were really good at covering their tracks," he said of the alleged abusers. "Honestly, with the whole Pujols and Tebow things and with Josh Hamilton and Kurt Warner always yappin' in my ear and with all those damn Republicans claiming they're doing MY work while telling poor people they can't have health care, well I just haven't been able to pay attention to what's going on in Happy Valley. But I'll look into it."

Back in Denver, Broncos fans are still buzzing about the divine intervention that has them dreaming of the Super Bowl. But God's arch rival -- the Devil -- has a different take on the club's most recent success story.

"Barber and I made a deal," Satan told the New York Post. "Matt Forte went down, just as I promised. He's out for the year. Surely Barber didn't REALLY think I would wait until the end of the season to collect on his debt, did he? Next time I show up at the pregame dinner demanding his soul, he'd better give it to me."

"Oh, and by the way," the Devil added. "Tell Prater I'm coming for him, too." ]]> Tue, 13 Dec 2011 15:42:31 CST RabidDawgClassic Social Satire 2 http://thedailysatire.com/social/gods-busy-week-ends-poorly-for-st-louis-cardinals-chicago-bears-1/ http://thedailysatire.com/social/st-louis-rally-squirrel-signs-with-orioles-1/
(St. Louis, MO) The key players in the St. Louis Cardinals' surprising run to the 2011 World Championship are continuing to take their services elsewhere. After losing Manager Tony La Russa to retirement and First Baseman Albert Pujols to free agency, the Gateway City was rocked again today when the Cards' beloved mascot -- the Rally Squirrel -- accepted a lucrative offer from the Baltimore Orioles. The deal is expected to make him the highest paid rodent in Major League Baseball history.

The ten year, 1.5 million acorn deal dwarfs what the Cardinals were willing to put on the table. Recent reports had the Cards offering somewhere in the neighborhood of two years and 25-thousand assorted nuts. That's up slightly from the club's original offer of two years and 22.5-thousand cashews. The huge discrepancy paints a picture of a club that was happy with the Rally Squirrel's first year performance, but was skeptical about his ability to maintain that level over the long haul.

"We tried to reach a deal. We really tried." Said Cardinals General Manager John Mozeliak. "We had said all along that we wanted the Rally Squirrel to finish his career in St. Louis and he had expressed the same thing to us. But at the end of the day, we have to do what's best for the franchise, and the length of the contract was just something we couldn't agree upon."

The deal sent shock waves throughout Major League Baseball and had executives from every club debating the wisdom behind the signing. Most agreed the Orioles took a huge risk locking up the Rally Squirrel for ten years, considering that most squirrels have, on average, a six year life span.

"Assuming he's not lying about his age, he's basically one-sixth of the way through his life, but only one-eleventh of the way through his major league career." said one General Manger who did not wish to be identified. "When I was G.M. in St. Louis, I never would have considered such a foolish deal. And I'm the guy who traded Dan Haren for Mark Mulder and threw four millions bucks at Kip Wells."

Once it becomes official, the deal will shatter the previous payout for the services of a rodent or marsupial. In 2002, the Pirates signed a three year deal with "The Pittsburgh Possum" that allowed the creature to eat all the discarded food it could find on the ground and in the trash cans at PNC Park. That deal also allowed the Pirates to scale back on its stadium cleaning crew. In 1999, the New York Mets signed "Gerald the Gerbil" to a three year deal worth roughly 1.65-thousand ounces of protein-enriched gerbil pellets. Shortly after the signing, the gerbil vanished, having last been seen at a party hosted by Mets catcher Mike Piazza. His disappearance remains an unsolved mystery. The Los Angeles Angels currently have a long-term deal with Mickey Mouse, but that falls under the "fictional character/cartoon" category.

As a fan favorite in St. Louis, the Rally Squirrel faced a difficult decision. Could he really turn his back on the fans who adored him unconditionally over a four week period during the playoffs and World Series?

"It wasn't about the acorns." the Rally Squirrel told the Baltimore Sun. "It was about respect. And about taking care of my family. I've got like, three or four litters to feed already, and I don't plan on stopping anytime soon. Plus, it'll be nice to move from a rotten tree stump to a dee-luxe tree branch in the sky. Actually, the more I think about it, it WAS about the acorns."

Around St. Louis, fans seemed disappointed, but acknowledged that the Cardinals did the right thing in letting him go.

"It's too long of a deal" Said Wayne Cyphers of nearby Belleville, Illinois. "You're never going to replace the Rally Squirrel, but with those kind of nuts you can sign a quality groundhog, a guinea pig and even a prairie dog or two. We'll be fine. We've won the World Series before the Rally Squirrel and we'll win more without him."

Others were saddened the Rally Squirrel's legacy in St. Louis has been cut short.

"He would have been known as 'the Rodent'," said Joseph Lawson of Chesterfield, referring to Cardinals great Stan "the Man" Musial. "He was all set to have his place in Cardinals history stamped, much like the Rally Monkey in Anaheim or that Billy Goat in Chicago. He would have had his own statue next to Stan's. Now he'll have to build a new legacy in Baltimore."

Former opponents, like Philadelphia Phillies pitcher Roy Oswalt, are happy to see the Rally Squirrel pack his cheeks and move on.

"Honestly, I'm glad he's out of the National League" said Oswalt. "Let him run out in front of Justin Verlander or C.J. Wilson when they're trying to pitch. Let's see how they deal with it. You think Weaver or Sabathia could handle that? I'm convinced we would have won the Division Series if not for that damn squirrel."

The Rally Squirrel's critics point out that he's currently on a three-series decline. While being highly instrumental in the Cardinals' NLDS win over the Phillies, the squirrel's productivity was largely non-existent in the NLCS and the World Series. And while that would be a concern for any club, Orioles General Manager Dan Duquette isn't fazed.

"The Rally Squirrel on a three-series decline is still head and shoulders better than any squirrel you'll find in a park or in your yard." Duquette responded. "Look at game six of the World Series. You think that was all David Freese? He's called the RALLY Squirrel for a reason. Just because you didn't see him doesn't mean he wasn't there. We know what we're doing."

A news conference is set for tomorrow at 11am at Camden Yards. ]]> Mon, 12 Dec 2011 18:41:15 CST RabidDawgClassic Social Satire 2 http://thedailysatire.com/social/st-louis-rally-squirrel-signs-with-orioles-1/ http://thedailysatire.com/social/in-which-ted-bundy-is-humanity%E2%80%99s-poster-child-/
It is with great pain that I must inform you that this isn't always the case, and that there are in fact times when that crippling desire comes into full swing and I take a subsequent trip to A and E. For example: When Channel 4 announces another TV series in which the premise relies entirely on a small group of adolescent wankers "chillaxin'" around your television set, insulting each other's sexual incompetence, yelling tedious "down-with-the-parents" rhetoric and generally huffing and puffing their way through the narrative. At which point I have two choices: Stick on the box-set of Twin Peaks and ignore it until it goes away, or burn my eyeballs out of their sockets with a soldering iron (obviously I haven't yet chosen the latter).

The problem is, TV is so darn manipulative that it draws us in with its flashing lights and promises of realistic and relatable portrayals of contemporary humankind. And us Brits love a bit of realism, don't we? Cor. But calling the characters in these shows 'realistic' or 'relatable' is a stretch far beyond any rational sense.

There are typically two adolescent archetypes in modern television: The self-indulgent fuckwit who is so impossibly smug that you'd have to step a mile back just to get a proper look at their ego (or take a photo of it with your Blackberry and upload it to Facebook, you conformist cock), and the socially awkward 'nerd' type, who spends half of his or her screen-time killing conversations like some crazed serial conversation killer, or being used as a scapegoat for trouble and everyone's favourite emotional punching bag. Suffice to say, I struggle to find any semblance of realism in these characters, as they all have cookie-cutter personalities and are invariably laden with ridiculous stereotypes. I'm fairly convinced that getting drunk and playing darts with Ted Bundy would be less tense than having a conversation with one of these kids.

So why do we continue to absorb such vapid nonsense week-in, week-out? Well, simply put: Escapism. We need it, and there is no better way to satisfy that hunger than to watch television. Especially shows that are simple and easy to mentally digest. So we tune in for an hour or two and become half-couch potato, half-sentient sponges. Mouths wide open, anxious for the idiot box to blow its metaphorical load all over our willing faces.
You whore Britain, you whore.
]]> Sun, 27 Nov 2011 19:17:04 CST CMAmos Social Satire 3 http://thedailysatire.com/social/in-which-ted-bundy-is-humanity%E2%80%99s-poster-child-/ http://thedailysatire.com/social/snow-white-are-you-kidding/
Ladies think about it, we all have our “dwarfs” only they don’t come in the form of adorable singing midgets, and even if we did, would we really want that? I for one am 5’2 so I refuse to deal with those who are smaller than me, midget or otherwise… Sorry, I know it sounds bitchy, but I like to keep it real. Our “dwarfs” are the guys who desperately want to date us but are not deemed worthy due to whatever qualification they are lacking (many in most cases). Rather than making our shoes (thanks Christian Loubitan for taking on that role), they call us constantly and Facebook stalk the shit out of us and our friends. In place of singing, they talk, though I guess if given the choice, I would rather my rejects not sing to me. They never seem to go away. C’mon, you know you have at least one.

Next, getting kissed while you are asleep and thus unable to legally consent? We call that rape. Rather than waking up a princess, you wake up in a dark room desperately looking for your clothes and wondering what the fuck happened. Thinking about it this way, who idealizes Snow White? I for one feel bad for her because I do not need to listen to whistling while I am working. Not only is it distracting, but I can only imagine it would drive me nuts. I had a Mariachi band outside of my window last year on Cinco De Mayo and I was ready to commit a homicide after 20 minutes. Whistling? Enough, Shhhh. No one likes hammering wood that much.
]]> Mon, 21 Nov 2011 06:16:44 CST jdubbs Social Satire 2 http://thedailysatire.com/social/snow-white-are-you-kidding/ http://thedailysatire.com/social/jessie-j-a-fool-for-our-times/ "is about Jessie J trying to make the world dance by forgetting about how much money we have."

It's a call to arms for the entire world to stop concentrating on material goods and just simply to let the love in. Then we'd all feel better, and everything would be fine. Essentially it's a Disney version of 'Imagine' by John Lennon, where someone who has more money than us tells us we should probably give up all our possessions.

John Lennon, incidentally, wasn't a very nice man. He wrote some very, very good songs ('Imagine' wasn't one of them), but he was also a bell-end who got shot at precisely the right point in his life to maintain his legacy. If he'd released any more solo albums he'd probably have been so bereft of critical acclaim that he'd probably be in Beady Eye instead of Andy Bell. It doesn't help that all that was truly great about the man has been diluted through a series of over-adulating pricks who revere all things at the Church of Lennon while simultaneously missing most of the points he made and misrepresenting him horribly.

Jessie J, meanwhile, is no John Lennon. Not even John Lennon on a really bad day when he was recording himself shitting through a colander onto a bean bag with extra reverb. Jessie J's previous career was writing songs for smiley-Queen-of-pre-reality-check-dawning-tweenager Miley Cyrus. And Chris Brown. I don't think I've ever heard a Chris Brown song, but I do know that he and Charlie Sheen should be rohyphonoled, made up in drag, and then locked in a room together until they finish beating each other up, probably some time around 2014.

The label Jessie's album is out on is Universal Music. It's fair to say they're probably not the most relaxed label when it comes to distribution of their music. Then again, Jessie J is stating over and over again in 'Price Tag' that we shouldn't care about the money, just to get the world healed and having a good time together as one.

'Price Tag' is 79p to download on Amazon. Or you can buy the whole single package for £3.99, or the album for £7.00.

Obviously if we are to stop caring about the money and dance around for a bit, we're going to have to strut our stuff to a different song. One that is, y'know, free. Because if material possessions aren't important and the whole world needs to hear Jessie's message then logically none of her songs shouldn't be available for free upon request from either herself or her label. That or her song doesn't really mean anything and is a hollow and vacuous, if jaunty, piece of inane babble. When you listen to a song by Lady Gaga you don't generally think 'Oh, this is an interesting point about society she's making', you think, 'Hmm, this would be really good if it didn't go on for about twelve minutes and she wasn't such a massive attention whore'. But crucially her songs don't generally wear their earnestness and idealism on their sleeves. They're simply catchy, silly playground chants that you can dance to, with a hint of underlying meaning that's there if you want it.

Jessie J is claiming that she wants to make the world a better place. Oh really, Jessie? Well, let's go out to Somalia, shall we, and see how well they react to their message there. Have they heard your song? No. They don't have 79p to download it from Amazon. They don't even have an Amazon account. You could hum it for them I suppose. Yes! That's working! Look at them dance! Look at them - oh, wait, no, that was just the death throes of an infant born with HIV. Sorry. False alarm.

I suppose if we hadn't bought your album we could've given the money to charity or something, but then if we hadn't bought your album how would we know about all the bad things in the world? It's a tough decision. Really, for the good of mankind, it's essential that you download Jessie J's album right now and learn its message about the futility of capitalism even though you know for a fact that a child's internal organs have just collapsed in the Third World as a direct result of this never-ending cycle of hypocrisy. Because if you save a child's life today it'll still die in a harsh and unforgiving world where people aren't singing and dancing and having fun but instead are buying shit albums made by people detached from reality, but who appear to have written songs specifically to be played at school discos.

In Jessie J world the fact that, apart from money, we're all still human beings and that is a new and vital discovery. Presumably she was brought up in a very 'Britain for the British' household where it was forbidden to spend money on foreign aid projects while there were still problems in Britain because apparently 'Britain' is a place where we lack the most basic fucking compassion.

Or possibly Jessie J knows that her message is complete bollocks, but that it'll chime perfectly with a young un's idealistic streak about how the world is shit and stuff an' we should all totally get together and fix it.

Right after we've worked out a dance routine to the new Keisha single. We're trying very hard to incorporate the semaphore for 'Fuck you, Third World' into it somewhere.


]]> Thu, 10 Nov 2011 11:20:43 CST beano1884 Social Satire 2 http://thedailysatire.com/social/jessie-j-a-fool-for-our-times/ http://thedailysatire.com/social/bruno-mars-looks-like-a-thumb/
He has co-written for the great ('Fuck You' by Cee Lo Green, for example) and Kesha. Remember the South African World Cup song? He helped with that. The man, like a well-prepared suicide fish, obviously knows his way around a hook.

Unfortunately, he is also a bell-end.

I am basing this entirely around two things:

1. His lyrics.
2. The fact that he chose his stage name for the following reason: "I felt like I didn't have [any] pizazz, and a lot of girls say I’m out of this world, so I was like I guess I'm from Mars."

See? Bell-end. Not content with offering the smuggest of smug reasons - and looking like his smug fedora is only on his thumb-like head to contain all the smuggery - Enceladus, the sixth largest Moon of Saturn, is the most likely place in our Solar System that might support life. YOU TWAT. Imagine not knowing that.

Anyway. His lyrics.

They're utter bollocks.

Imagine a bollock, just hanging there, chilling (to the extent that a bollock can chill), minding its own business. Then imagine an entire wind tunnel full of bollocks, all contorted in such a way that the shrivelled skin forms a tiny, screaming face. In stereo.

That's how bollocks Bruno Mars lyrics are. Let's go into detail. From 'Grenade':

'Should of known you was trouble from the first kiss.'

ME AM NO GUD GRAMMUR YUH?

He follows up this illiterate mung-storm with:

'Why were they open?'

Don't snigger. This is a serious dissection of culture. And also begs the question, 'If it's such a big deal, why were yours open too Bruno?'

He continues:

'Gave you all I had/And you tossed it in the trash'

Then:

'You tossed it in the trash, you did.'

Just in case we weren't sure. Bruno appears to be haplessly devoted to someone who is not reciprocating. OH WOE.

'I’d catch a grenade for ya (yeah, yeah, yeah)/Throw my hand on a blade for ya (yeah, yeah, yeah).'

This is the chorus. It's nowhere near as catchy as I was expecting. I was promised the catchiest substance known to man when this song was described to me. I was thinking catchy like syphilis or the plague, but no. It's about as catchy as AIDS. You might find it catchy by accident, but it's also highly possible that you might have to be rather careless.

Also, I'm curious as to the veracity of Mars' statements. He's prone to hyperbole you see, and of not giving us the full picture. This grenade f'rinstance, is it live? If it's not live then catching it is no biggie, and if it is just chuck it back. You've played Call of Duty right Bruno? You should, it's well good. All sorts of limbs flying all over the place, people throwing their hands on blades, etc. Yes, you did just imply you would throw your severed hand onto a knife. Is it the knife you used to remove said hand? To give to your loved one? To ask her to plant it so lots of little You might grow? That's scary Bruno Mars, that's just plain scary. At least you wouldn't jump in front of a train for her.

'I’d jump in front of a train for ya (yeah, yeah , yeah)'.

Oh.

'You know I'd do anything for ya (yeah, yeah, yeah)'.

Bruno, are you actually mentally well? Is this song actually about a form of insanity brought on by unrequited love? Because if it is, the tune is slightly too jaunty. And do you know what Bruno, the following lyric is not romantic:

'When I see your face/There's not a thing that I would change '

That's not as good as you think it is, Bruno. Most men do not lie awake at night looking at their partner's faces and going over them with a felt tip to save time when they awake in a plastic surgeon's theatre, as you give them the thumbs up before they go under again. No-one in the history of romance has ever uttered the words 'I love you but I want to change your face'.

Still, looking forward to the Biffy Clyro cover of that song. Maybe they'll do it in the style of their early stuff. Y'know. Back when they were good. ]]> Thu, 10 Nov 2011 11:11:13 CST beano1884 Social Satire 2 http://thedailysatire.com/social/bruno-mars-looks-like-a-thumb/ http://thedailysatire.com/social/toddlers-and-tiaras-announces-pole-dancing-competition--1/ Tue, 25 Oct 2011 08:17:36 CDT pipermac Social Satire 3 http://thedailysatire.com/social/toddlers-and-tiaras-announces-pole-dancing-competition--1/ http://thedailysatire.com/social/strickly-confidential-the-old-nigerian-scam/
Your Ship Just Came In . . .

From: Chief Ekim Yalcrab, Esq., Attorney & Doctor of Proctology

Chairman, Federal Tender Board, Contract Award Committee

Lagos, Nigeria (Congo Division)

Fax: 234-1-7597002, X-Originating – IP [62.192.151.134]

Email: ekimyalcrab@vaseline.ram


Re: Request to Give You The Business

Dear: Sir/Madam,

I would like to firstly send you the best wishes of good health and success in your pursuits, particularly relevant to the fact you are known as a astute business person with a kind heart and extreme open space not so constrained by brain matter. Even as we have not had any previous correspondence before, you have been recommended by an associate in the foreign office of the Nigerian Chambers of Commerce and Industry, the Dean of Edumaction at the Nigerian University of Gold Digging, as well as, the little Icon that pops up every damn time I ask Windows for friggin help.

Now, just in case the first two words of this message, spelled out in all capital letters, didn’t register, this letter is being written to you in the STRICTEST CONFIDENCE that spam mail will allow. You are known as a personage with ability and reliability to prosecute a transaction of great magnitude involving a pending business transaction requiring said STRICTEST CONFIDENCE. If you decide that this business proposal is not up to your liking, please feel free to pass it on to anyone you know of or might bump into on the street.

When I am not doing official Chief things or have my arm up to my elbow in rectums, I am a legal practitioner and personal Attorney to the late Adam Braitman, a national of your country who died along with his wife, two sons and their beagle, “Batman,” in a ghastly motor accident along our one-lane expressway (this seems to happen a lot). His last words were, “Holy horse shit!!” and were of absolutely no help in assisting our efforts to find his relatives, or at least not ouside the ones in the car at the time.

My client was a successful crook and dedicated family man. He left a tidy sum of US$32.5 Million (and that’s a lot of pasada’s in anyone’s currency), which resulted from overcharging my government for road building contracts. It’s a good bet that he wishes that he had added another lane to that expressway, but I digress. Presently all contractors have been paid and we need to transfer the remaining funds to his next of kin or the High Potentates are going to offer it to The God of Island Retirement and we end up with diddly.

For assisting us in transferring these monies out of this country, we will remit you with 30% of said funds. Before you wear out your abacus, that’s US$10.2, US$9.9, well, way more than you got now. And, don’t worry about the taxes, the IRS will be the least of your troubles, trust us on that. We will forward you information on how to send the remaining funds to us at a later date. Now, just how more trustworthy can we get? Remember, we are attorneys, after all.

Now, this is not rocket science. The board of directors of his bank adopted a resolution and I was mandated to provide his next of kin for the proceeds. Do you have any idea how many ‘Braitman’s there are in the U.S.? No? Well I was sort of hoping you knew, because we haven’t been able to turn up the first one. However, not a single person on the banks board of directors can read a word of English, so they wouldn’t know a Braitman from a Fishburn, so anyone with eight letters in their last name has a shot.

Well, isn’t this your lucky day! You now have eight letters in your last name. I seek your consent to present you, as the next of kin to Adam since you are at an advantage as nationals from the same country and white, you are white aren’t you? My colleagues and I are willing to transfer the total amount into your bank account or any account you nominate. The official office pool here has it 10 to 1 that you nominate your own account, but stranger things have happened. Just as soon as you pony up your account number (and for God’s sake, don’t forget the PIN, it just frosts our nose rings when they forget the PIN), we will deposit the whole wad in your account.

Assuming you are not Bill Gates, this could increase your wealth. Then all you have to do is sit and wait. We promise that your financial condition will change in a matter of days. Now, if you are worried that your bank will notice a US$32.5 million deposit, you can just send us the bank account numbers (don’t forget the PIN) of your friends and other family members. This way we can spread out the deposits and change the financial condition of everyone you know. What’s not to like about that plan?

All legal documents to back up your claim, as the deceased next of kin will be provided, provided you don’t forget that little PIN thing we talked about. If you have any questions, which seems remote after this letter, please contact us using the information provided at the beginning of this letter.

Always remember the words of that famous American fighter for free enterprise, Frank Keating, who said . . . “I upped my income, up yours!”

Best Regards,

Chief Ekim Yalcrab
Lagos, Nigeria (Congo Division)


T. Michael Barclay
asylumearthtmb.blogspot.com ]]> Fri, 21 Oct 2011 15:05:21 CDT AsylumEarth Social Satire 3 http://thedailysatire.com/social/strickly-confidential-the-old-nigerian-scam/ http://thedailysatire.com/social/the-life-of-spice/
In a far more typical move than not, I was shopping at a local food store the other day when it dawned on me that I had just paid twelve dollars ($12) for the ingredients for a recipe to cook ‘Chuck Steak’. Now that in and of itself may not seem so strange except for the fact that I had only purchased the two pound hank of beef because it was on sale for two dollars ($2).

This got me to thinking about the possibility of a mass conspiracy between the makers of rare spices and the meat industry, or for that matter, the makers of spices in general and all food processors.

As I began to look back in my file of recipes I noticed that all of the lists of needed ingredients had one thing in common . . . nothing! This fact was easy to substantiate as I then looked at my spice rack, or should I say spice racks. I then looked at my spice shelf, or what might be better described as a spice cabinet. This led me to look at my spice drawer and then my spice pantry. Just how the hell did I end up with so much space dedicated to spices?

And, why was I now looking for some type of spice that I didn’t already own?

No doubt about it, the spice industries and the food processors are in serious cahoots and I’ve got the proof. The eight dollar ($8) thimble of “Ground Hangnail of Gnat” called for in my Chuck Steak recipe does not appear in any of my 600 other recipes! Nor, for that fact, do any of the other seven ingredients like; 1/16 tbsp sauce of virgin soy, 1/5 c. blue vinegar, dash of dot, 3 tbsp Bestestershire sauce, 1/10 c. packed, but not really ready to go, brownish on the yellow side, sugar, 1-1/13 tsp. ground, and 2 tbsp rerun oil of Oley.

What exactly is ‘Ajwain’ and why do I have a jar of it? Oh, that’s right, here it is, the recipe for ‘Chicken that has been frightened to death’ distinctly calls for, a pungent and bitter, spasmodic, germicidal, antiseptic, digestive, antipyretic, expectorant and an extra ordinary tonic . . . how could I have forgotten that?

Wow, a shaker of ‘Anis,’ but who really wants to go there . . .

Now surely there has to be multiple uses for ‘Asafetida,’ or why would I have a large beaker of it? What must the vegetables have smelled like that I would have wanted to add a spice nick-named, “Devils Dung”? However, that does probably explain the ‘Burro Pepper’.

‘Nigella,’ hmmm . . . not sure what it is for, but there does seem to be something growing in it rather well, best just leave well enough alone.

‘Wasabi,’ oh right, I remember now, my ex-wife put that on a dish I called, “Hey, you forgot to cook the fish,” right before I threw her and the Sushi the hell out, gotta keep that one, great memories.

‘Wormwood,’ now was that something I put on a dish or took after I discovered what it gave me?

I need to start writing these things down.

Who can live without stomped ‘Kaffir’ lime, ‘Greater Galangale,’ grated of course, or ‘West Indian goosefoot’ . . . well, apparently not me, because there they are, each missing some portion of a pinch.

‘False Cubeb’ pepper, what kind of recipe calls for False Cubeb pepper, fake Halibut with counterfeit Cucumber?

Let’s see, way in the back there, it’s a jar of something called ‘Screw Pine.’ Says it goes with With Indies rice dishes, have I ever eaten a West Indies rice dish? Oh, right, I remember, I just liked the name.

It just goes on and on . . . ‘Lemon Grass,’ ‘Javanese Turmeric’ (not of course to be confused with Japanese Turmeric), ‘Hyssop,’ and 'Fenugreek,' or 'Greek hayseed' (obviously named after the guy who bought the premise that it was different from eighty other ground up leaves of bush being sold on the street). With any luck I will run into another recipe that calls for ‘Fingerroot,’ or ‘Grains of Paradise,’ with a dollop of ‘Chinese Basil.’

Of course maybe it’s an even bigger conspiracy between the restaurant folks and the spice gang. Once you do the math and figure out that your two dollar chuck steak meal idea has turned into a twenty dollar shopping excursion, eating out begins to look more and more economical . . .


T. Michael Barclay
http://www.asylumearthtmb.blogspot.com
]]> Wed, 12 Oct 2011 16:09:39 CDT AsylumEarth Social Satire 2 http://thedailysatire.com/social/the-life-of-spice/ http://thedailysatire.com/social/the-think-tank/
1: The think tank has advised that death should be declared illegal. Their reasoning is that, since death by suicide is illegal, and death by homicide is illegal, all other deaths, especially negligence leading to accidental death, should also be declared illegal.

The group based its decision on Freud's Death Instinct, which supports their reasoning that all deaths, particularly accidental death, are simply a form of suicide, and hence should not be permitted.

2: A recent survey on the question of Advantages and Disadvantages of Being a Child has found that the majority of children would rather skip childhood and go directly to adulthood. At the same time, the survey found that the majority of adults look back nostalgically to their childhood.

The think tank has suggested that newborn children should be kept in hibernation till they are adults, so that they skip the painful childhood years. And the daycare centers which will be left unoccupied due to lack of children, should be made open to adults who wish to revisit their younger years.

3: The most pressing concern of every single human is the fear of growing old. The Gappa Institute has recommended the following solution which promises to revolutionize people's lives by giving them new hope of longevity.

The group based its thinking on the daylight savings time. Just as the time change was introduced to give extra daylight hours but is actually a false saving of time, it has been suggested that people's birthdays should only be counted every two years. This will have the immediate consequence of halving people's ages, and make them feel younger based on their half age.

4: There have been complaints that lottery winners don't deserve their winnings. The two groups that protest the loudest at the huge amounts of lottery winnings going to undeserving winners, are those who've never won anything and those who've become rich through their own efforts.

The group came to a split decision over this issue. The suggestions have been forwarded to the Human Rights Commission, whose decision is yet to be announced. The two suggestions were: One, the lottery winners should be allowed to keep the winning tickets, have their pictures and stories run in the newspapers, be allowed to celebrate their win, and then turn over the winnings to the poor countries of the world. The opposing suggestion was, the lottery winners should keep the winnings but the publicity should be given to a non-winner, combined with a free trip at the expense of the winner.

5: The subject which caused the most heated discussion was the one about defining what makes a good person. The argument ran aground on the question of who should decide the definition of a good person.

Those who said the good person should be the one to decide what makes a good person were faced with the objection of how to pick the good person who will decide on the goodness of others.

Those who suggested a bad person would be the best judge of what they lack in order to be good were opposed by the question of how to decide who is the bad person.

The good point to themselves as examples of goodness, which says nothing at all. The bad don't think they're bad, and claim that those who call them bad are the bad ones trying to hide their badness.

The argument was still raging as the bulletin went to press. At last report Swami was throwing ladoos at Vasudeva, and Dr. Lafra Dablawala was recommending moderation in the size of the ladoos. Raj was hugging his teddy bear, while Simi was hugging him. Anil and Ramana were trying to work out new definitions for humans and animals.
]]> Tue, 13 Sep 2011 08:29:08 CDT KarimJessa Social Satire 2 http://thedailysatire.com/social/the-think-tank/ http://thedailysatire.com/social/how-i-learned-to-stop-worrying-and-love-the-fame-1/
“Oh, that’s great! I’m really happy for you! Break a leg in the next round!” Another contestant had wrapped her arms around me, weeping like a pathetic child into my chest.

My left testicle was throbbing. I pushed her away and smiled awkwardly; physical comfort always made me feel uneasy. I had to sit down.

Shirt soaking and balls aching, I pulled out my phone from my right pocket and hesitated before dialing the number.

My father answered, “You know, son, regardless of today’s outcome, you’ll always be a bitter disappointment to me.”

“Hi Dad, how’s it going? Fuck you, too,” I replied. “So yeah, I got through. Just thought I’d let you know, considering I am your only son and all.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me. So you’re really going through with this? You can’t just get a real fucking job like everyone else? Jesus, your mother would be turning in her grave,” he sighed.

“Mum isn’t dead, Dad; she’s screwing your best friend. And yes, of course I am. Why would I want to turn out to be a sour old bastard like you?” I made physical adjustments to my underwear; I could’ve sworn they were swelling up.

“Why you miserable little cu-,” I hung up on him and went outside for a smoke.

The day of the second round was far worse than the first. I sat in the waiting room hoping for a plane to crash on us, or for a deadly virus to spread around at an alarming rate, causing all contestants, (myself included) to vomit blood and pus, ultimately collapsing into a state of comatose - anything to distract me from the sinking feeling in my stomach.

Unfortunately, the convulsion didn’t happen and my name was being called out to enter the audition room.

“Clayton, is it? Okay, let me just start out by saying we take this competition very seriously and we must be certain that every contestant feels the same way. What makes you think that you have what it takes?” The judge at the centre of the panel fixed on me an authoritative and stern gaze.

“Well, my home life is a shambles. My mum left my dad three years ago and now all I have is my self-loathing, porn, drugs and money. Oh, and the singing.” The throbbing was more aggressive than ever.

“You know, apathy doesn’t win these competitions. If you get through this, you’ll be interviewed afterwards. You are aware of this?” The blonde woman to the right of him interjected.

“This isn’t being filmed?” And now the headaches.

“Well, when you are, be sure to make the audience weep. It’s good for the ratings. The stage is yours.” She added nonchalantly.

I got about fifteen seconds into my audition when the judge in the middle gestured to stop.

“That’s enough. You know, it’s a good thing we weren’t filming right now, because I think the studio execs would be straight down here and cancel us on the spot. You are the most insipid, listless and untalented contestant we’ve had on our show today. You can leave.” He turned to his peers for concurrence and like automatons, they nodded in unison.

That night as I lay in bed, aching and sweating, I realised that I fucked up badly. I should’ve used my trump card, but instead I chose the honest approach.

“Yeah Dad, I made it through. Haha, I know. Shocking, isn’t it? Well, see you on the flip!” I turned on my side and watched the night sky as all the stars winked in discordance.

The paper on which I write this is as white as my skin and the walls that surround me. While the monitor beeps my life away and the bedsprings creak as I struggle for comfort, a sharp, aggressive pain grips me and I think to myself: shit, that prize money would’ve come in handy...

But it’s okay, ‘cause the ratings are through the roof! ]]> Mon, 12 Sep 2011 14:26:33 CDT CMAmos Social Satire 4 http://thedailysatire.com/social/how-i-learned-to-stop-worrying-and-love-the-fame-1/ http://thedailysatire.com/social/doctors-recommendations-1/
For the information of readers who may have missed the previous column, the presentation was given by Lafra Dablawala, PhD (Bakwas Institute, Dodogoro, LOK) who authored the article published in the prestigious "Ghanta Journal of Medicine."

After discussing the contents of the article titled "Death: Who is at Risk?" Dr. Dablawala had then opened up the session to questions from journalists representing the leading newspapers of the world.

The following are some of the questions addressed by the Doctor.

Q: Every packaged food is required to have a nutritional chart. The amounts listed on these charts are always based on RDA. How do they come up with these figures?

A: Just to elaborate, RDA stands for Recommended Dietary Allowance, sometimes referred to as Recommended Daily Allowance. The recommended amounts are based on the level sufficient to meet the requirements of the average person.

Q: How do you determine the average person? I mean, how would anyone know if the amounts mentioned are more or less than what they need?

A: That is a very good question you have raised. You see, there does not really exist any such being as "the average person." Out of the six billion people, now actually seven billion, one would be hard-pressed to find an average person. But Science has to have a yardstick on which to base its findings so....

Q: So? Where do they get the average person?

A: As I was going to say, if you hadn't cut in, Science did find an average being. We use the monkey as the average.

Q: Are you serious?

A: Perfectly so. Look at people generally. They all fall below, or exceed, expectations. Now look at the monkey. It stands at a point exactly halfway. If you were to leave a human child in the wild to fend for itself, supposedly if it could survive, it would grow up to the level of the monkey. In fact, the monkey might exceed the human in quite a few respects.

Q: So you're saying that the dietary amounts marked on food packages are sufficient for a monkey?

A: Yes. And every person is required to judge as to whether to take those amounts, or less, or more.

Q: Doctor, I have another question. We're told that sitting down all day could lead to blood clots. Also we're told that standing all day could lead to varicose veins, and less blood reaching the brain. What is the right thing to do?

A: Follow the golden mean. A little bit of this; a little bit of that. You may try doing the Headstand, as in Yoga.

Q: I would like to ask about aging. How can we turn back the clock?

A: It all depends on whether you're using an analog or a digital clock.

Q: How do we extend our life expectancy?

A: You must expect more from life.

Q: Doctor, what about depression? I read somewhere that life can leave you feeling depressed; and it is obvious that thoughts of death can leave you feeling depressed. What should we think about?

A: Think of love. That should take care of your depression.

Q: Do you have any recommendations for reversing memory loss in seniors?

A: They must try and remember more.

Q: They say we must save the environment and use reusable shopping bags. But I've heard that there are health risks in reusable bags. What do you recommend?

A: Wear gloves, and don't use the bags to cover your head when it's raining.

Q: Soy-based foods are recommended for good health. Yet, there was an article recently that soy-based foods could slowly kill you.

A: Moderation. Remember, follow the average allowance.

Q: The amount sufficient for a monkey, you mean?

A: Look how healthy the monkeys are.

Q: Can the life expectancy of monkeys be extended?

A: Well, monkeys don't expect anything. How can they have a life expectancy?

Q: But if monkeys are fed according to the RDA amounts, can they live longer?

A: Quite likely. You see, monkeys behave themselves; they don't get up to any mischief. Humans are always getting into trouble. Even if you create the perfect living conditions, humans will still manage to die. Ask Freud; he knew what he was saying.

Q: So why do some people live to be a hundred years old?

A: They must know how to turn back their clocks.

Q: In general, what would your advice be for good health?

A: Moderation; moderation. Follow the golden mean. And follow the average recommendations in all matters.

Q: You mean, learn to live like monkeys?

A: That is all the time we have for today. In closing, let me reiterate that being average is the best means for happiness and a healthy life. If you fall below the average, obviously you'll feel inferior, and if you strive to become better than average you'll suffer from stress.

There were shouts of "back to the apes" as the building was vacated.

Look for further bulletins from this distinguished authority in Medicine, Dr. Lafra Dablawala, or subscribe to the "Ghanta Journal of Medicine." To contact the Doctor, email him at Bakwas Institute, Dodogoro, LOK.
]]> Mon, 12 Sep 2011 13:00:22 CDT KarimJessa Social Satire 2 http://thedailysatire.com/social/doctors-recommendations-1/