June 18, 2023

Source: Bigstock

The Week’s Leaniest, Meaniest, and Juneteeniest Headlines

With a million multiple universes, you’d think Marvel could find one with a black supervillain.

It’s not like it’s so rare in ours.

But just as Marvel launched the franchise for black supervillain “Kang,” actor Jonathan Majors blew the deal via multiple charges of assault and strangulation of women (Majors’ attorney released a text in which one of the victims apologized for “making” Majors assault her. In Marvel terms, this is known as the “Killgrave defense”).

As Marvel searches for a less real-life villainous black actor to take over the Kang role, it should be noted that L.A. just witnessed the origin story of an actual black supervillain: “Mister Shush.”

Stefen Sutherland dreams of a world of silence. As a teen, he was the only black in the movie theater not talking to the screen, the only one turning the bass down on his boombox, the only one who preferred da funk to da noise.

In November 2020, Sutherland was rudely awakened by construction workers outside his apartment. Leaping from his window after ingesting Super-Soldier Serum (i.e., fentanyl), Sutherland slashed the throat of the first worker he encountered.

Commissioner Gascon refused to charge Sutherland with attempted murder. Rather, he was given outpatient psychiatric care to “cure” his noise aversion.

Sutherland relocated to an apartment with no construction sites nearby. When a new tenant expressed interest in the upstairs unit, the landlord told her about the central air, the wireless access, and the new carpeting; then he turned and covered his mouth and quickly said, “Oh-and-there’s-a-homicidal-maniac-below-who’ll-kill-you-if-you-make-noise.” And she was like, “What’d you say?” and he was like, “Nothing, just clearing my throat. Here’s the lease!”

Last week that tenant, Jennifer Gomez, creaked her kitchen floor and Sutherland burst into her apartment and shot her 19 times.

Held for murder at Arkham (a.k.a. L.A. County lockup), Mister Shush broods in his cell, as Commissioner Gascon looks for a way to harness his noise-liquidating superpowers for the common good, Suicide Squad-style.

“Mardi Gras was four months ago, but the White House just held its own version: Retardi Gras, a picnic for trannies.”

Perhaps letting him loose at a Cardi B concert.

In India, human feces, and human bodies, are left to rot in the street. India’s like New York City if the garbagemen never went on strike because they were never hired in the first place.

But the deadly train crash that left 288 Hindis hindead was apparently too much even for India’s familiarity with corpse piles. Many still-living victims were left to rot under the bodies of the deceased.

Fortunately, one man was on the case to clean up the mess. India’s greatest detective: Columbai.

Balasore, India. From out of the darkness, the beat-up chassis of an old Peugeot being pulled by an elephant rattles into view. Lieutenant Columbai, wrinkled Nehru jacket, half-smoked hookah, exits.

Sergeant Anilson: “We got a messy one, Lieutenant. Almost 300 corpses. But we think a few of ’em might still be alive.”

Columbai: “I’m from Microsoft Security, sir, and we’ve detected malware on your computer.”

Anilson: “Lieutenant, that doesn’t work if I can see that it’s you.”

Columbai: “Right, right. Sorry. [Pause] I’m Agent Patrick MacGruder from the IRS, and you owe back taxes.”

Anilson: “Again, sir, that doesn’t work in-person.”

Columbai: “Damn, I keep forgetting.”

Anilson: “The bottom line is, what do we do with all these mangled half-dead bodies?”

One week later, a press conference on the White House lawn.

President Biden: “And I’d like to thank Lieutenant Columbai for providing all of these amazing new H-1B visa holders who’ll do the work that American mangled half-dead bodies refuse to do. [Pause] Oh, just one more thing: Apparently there’s malware on America’s computer, so I’ll need everybody’s credit card info and Social Security number.”

Mardi Gras was four months ago, but the White House just held its own version: Retardi Gras, a picnic for trannies. Unlike the traditional White House Easter Egg Hunt, this time the guy in the rabbit suit wasn’t a paid entertainer but a furry fetishist, and the less said about the “chocolate” he dropped, the better.

There was an egg hunt, but it was held by MDs from Boston Children’s Hospital, and the eggs they hunted were from the surgically removed ovaries of young girls who once picked a fire truck toy over a doll.

As the trannies frolicked outside the iconic house wherein Lincoln once dwelled as he fought to keep the young nation from being carved up, but whose present occupant fights to carve up the nation’s young, many of the auntie maims decided to flash their “boobies” to the camera, “boobies” being in scare quotes because half the flashers were mentally ill men with implants to make them look female and the other half were mentally ill women with mastectomies to make them look male. Shirts removed, pants removed. It was like a Transgirls Gone Wild video.

And these moments of nakedness were a britch too far for the Biden administration. Using taxpayer money to mutilate children? Threatening parents with revoked custody if they don’t mutilate their kids? That’s all fine. No, the thing that “went too far” for an administration that wants to deform human bodies was when attendees showed off their deformed bodies.

Press Secretary Karine Jean-Pierre, the first ever lesbo-Caribbean anencephalic to hold the office, told reporters that the revelers who flashed won’t be invited back. Mainly because they caused confusion for the president: “President Biden goes by scent; indeed, he’s one of the most gifted olfactory stalkers who ever lived. So when he saw what he believed to be female breasts, he went in for the sniff. But he became disoriented, because he knew it wasn’t the right smell. Look, we support trannies and all, but c’mon—don’t confuse the creeper of the free world like that. It’s cruel.”

And while on the subject of our sacred LGBTQIAYABBADABBADOOOS, last week was a bad one for gay flags and the people who love them. In Hamtramck, Michigan—a formerly Polish city that traded zlotys for jihadis—the akbars turned their backbars on the “pride flag,” banning it from city property. Newspapers nationwide tried to find just one non-swarthy city councilmember to photograph, so their readers wouldn’t know the ethnicity of the “homophobes.”

Meanwhile, not only don’t Poles have their city anymore, they don’t even have their distinction as global laughingstock. That now goes to Canadians, the only people in North America to never mount a revolution against their colonial masters. When Mexicans are able to do something that’s beyond your grasp, you’re pretty screwed. When Haiti does something that’s beyond your grasp, it’s aboot time to make use of that assisted-suicide law.

To celebrate Pride Month, which is apparently an international thing now (except in Uganda, where it refers to the lions to which murdered gays are fed), the city of Waterloo, Ontario (population 12,000, cumulative IQ 12), painted its crosswalks with the “pride flag.”

And when cars left tire tracks on the crosswalks, city leaders called it a hate crime.

Now, there are many ways to ensure that something you hold sacred doesn’t get run over by a car. No. 1 on that list is, don’t put it the middle of a busy street.

This is something even a Haitian can grasp. And they haven’t even figured out forks.

So now Waterloo’s spending taxpayer money cleaning and refurbishing the gay flag crosswalks day after day after day, a true labor of sissy-fuss.

You’re a retard in the culture war.
Cleaning your crosswalks forevermore.
Couldn’t escape if we wanted to.
Knowing our fate is to be like you.
All of the West will be Waterloo.
Helping the West lower its IQ.

Speaking of Haiti, here’s a tale of two “explainers.”

Last week The Guardian ran an “explainer” about artificial human embryos. It was detailed and factual, and at the end, you totally felt “explained.” Then they ran an “explainer” titled “How Haiti Came to Be Run by Armed Gangs,” and the best the author could say was, “It’s complicated.”

Yes, the thing that is complicated, synthetic embryos, can be explained, while the thing that isn’t, why Haiti sucks, can’t. Here’s a likely re-creation of the conversation at Guardian HQ:

Ryan Baxter: “You wanted to see me, boss?”

Nigel McTwittingham-Inbredville (executive editor): “Yes. A week ago we asked you to submit a video ‘explainer’ titled ‘How Haiti Came to Be Run by Armed Gangs.’ And you gave us three seconds of you saying, ‘Because they’re Haitians.’”

Baxter: “An explainer is where you explain things, so I did.”

Reginald Recessive-Alleleton (managing editor): “But old boy, sometimes we ask questions the answers to which we can’t actually print.”

Sir Percival Habsburgjaw-Rottentooth III (copy editor and part-time glory hole): “Indeed; forget accuracy and give us something that blames whites!”

Ali-Mohammed bin Stabbin Khidds (cultural sensitivity editor): “Yes! Blame violent beastly whites or I’ll behead your family.”

And Baxter complied, with a video that starts with just two words, “It’s complicated,” and goes on to point out that nothing anyone’s ever done to improve Haiti has worked.

Great explainer there!

But the video does blame “reparations” for Haitian woes. No, not reparations they’re “owed” for having been enslaved, but reparations they’ve paid to compensate the whites they slaughtered during their revolution. Baxter makes it clear that reparations severely impoverish the people who pay them.

An “explainer” that made Gavin Newsom orgasm in his pants, as he envisioned what his once-magnificent state will look like after his reparations scheme goes into effect.


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