August 27, 2023
The Week’s Most Lurkin’, Twerkin’, and Jerkin’ Headlines
MAKE THAT 86,999
As Sen. Joe Manchin—a.k.a. “the kid from Deliverance with a super PAC”—mulls his political future, which may include a third-party run under the newly formed Kallikak Caucus (which includes John Fetterman and Kari Lake. Party motto: “Make America Flurgurbleglurk”), never forget that he was the deciding vote that gave us 87,000 new IRS agents so your grandma can be jailed for not declaring her bingo winnings.
When it was announced that these new agents would be armed, leftists reassured the nation that the new taxmen would be competent in the use of their weapons.
And…last week two IRS hires were training at a firing range in Phoenix (“Halt! Your business trip dinner was not deductible!”) when one of the “competent” agents accidentally shot the other one dead.
It’s a great reassurance that the people who can put you in prison for losing an Arby’s receipt can’t even practice shooting without killing each other.
Also (and this is not a joke), the IRS geniuses who expect you to remember every last detail of your income and expenditures couldn’t recall the name of the shooting range in question, forcing the 911 dispatcher to play a guessing game regarding where to send the ambulance.
Thanks, Manchin! Good luck on that third-party run. Too bad Ned Beatty’s dead, because his “nobody makes me squeal like Joe” endorsement woulda been killer.
Further details on the shooting have yet to be released because IRS supervisors found that the paramedics improperly itemized the bullet wounds; they’re now doing 10 to 20 in the federal pen.
AMERICA’S “WHACKIEST” DOCTOR
Hindu or hand-do?
Dr. Sudipta Mohanty is a primary care physician in Massachusetts. In his native land, “Sudipta” means “lamp.” Sadly, this perverted doc wasn’t limp on a recent flight from Honolulu to Boston. Seated beside a 14-year-old girl who was traveling with her grandparents, the Punjabi ponce pulled out his pud after noticing that the girl’s family members were asleep. Handsier than Vishnu and with a trunk like Ganesha, Mohanty (of the medical firm Manny, Mohanty, and Jackoff) began furiously pleasuring himself under a blanket as he stared at the petrified child.
As Wrecks Organ MD climaxed, he tossed off the blanket so his ejaculate could splatter the surrounding seats. Dr. Spilldare then casually strolled to the bathroom to clean off, content that he’d enriched America enough for one day.
The girl took the opportunity to move to a vacant seat in another aisle, and after the plane landed, she told her grandparents about the busy hands of Dr. Nehru Jerkit, who was promptly arrested.
Sploogie Howser faces a maximum penalty of 90 days in jail and a $5,000 fine. So, a real slap off the wrist.
Fortunately for his patients, thanks to H-1B visas, Obamacare offers a number of subsidies for insane Third World medicos. Level 1 Obamacare allows you to access masturbating Brahmins. Level 2 unlocks the bride-burning bonus (get a boil lanced and have your ungrateful wife immolated at the same time). Level 3? Only doctors who defecate on the floor (this level is not recommended for patients who require a sterile environment). And the vaunted Level 4? A Yoruban tribesman’s pagan god composed of bundled sticks and dried cow dung pronounces you cured even as it gives you Ebola.
Mo’handest Gandhi is due back in court next month. He’s been placed on leave from his job at Beth Israel Medical Center; a spokesman for the hospital told the AP, “Oy, the schmuck couldn’t keep his yad off his vashem.”
Say what you will about Californians—left-wing, ditzy, in love with high taxes and low school test scores—but you gotta give ’em this:
They know how to burn to a crisp with dignity.
The 2018 Camp Fire, the deadliest wildfire in California history, took 85 lives and destroyed 18,804 structures. An unparalleled tragedy. But you know how Californians didn’t respond?
“Don’t go to Disneyland! Don’t visit Universal Studios! Don’t use our beaches or hike our mountains!”
Dim as Californians are, they didn’t self-destructively use the devastating fire to alienate tourists.
Hawaiians make Californians look smart by comparison.
The Hawaii “brain trust” (a fat guy in a skirt and a stale hunk of poi) has decided that the best response to the horrific Lahaina fire is to get angry at tourists and tell them to stop spending money in the state. Obama’s “never let a crisis go to waste” mantra has metastasized into “always let a crisis go to ‘I hate whites.’” Tourism is the largest industry in the state, yet for native Hawaiians, the pleasure derived from attacking whites for something they didn’t do is somehow worth the loss of their income.
Meanwhile, as Biden took a break from sleeping on vacation to sleeping at a memorial for the Lahaina victims, he woke briefly to point out, “Hey, grass skirts are flammable, man. No wonder y’all burned up so quick.”
The cause of the Lahaina blaze is not yet known; at least Californians, who pay the highest utility bills in the Lower 48, know that their fire was started by the power company that bankrupts them. So there’s comfort in realizing that Granny got cooked alive by the faulty power lines she paid for.
And far from discouraging tourism, Disney actually used the Camp Fire to attract more business for its “gay nights.”
“Disneyland: home of the flamin’ good time!”
“BYOF” (“bring your own faggots”).
SONG SUNG GRUE
“Cancel culture” has become so pervasive, sometimes it’s hard to know why something has landed on the verboten list. Last week it was revealed that Queen’s beloved and popular song “Fat Bottomed Girls” was removed from a new greatest-hits release on a streaming service for kids.
Was it trannies, upset that the song mentions “girls” (who of course don’t exist according to “the science”)? Was it fat-bottomed girls, furious about “body shaming”? Was it religious conservatives, enraged that the song’s raunchy lyrics might corrupt the young’uns?
Maybe it was black women, charging “cultural appropriation” for singing about big booties without directing profits toward the reparations fund for LaQuishas who get them cold-ass fries instead of them good fries.
Or maybe it was the “Zanzibarians living with HIV” community, bitter that Freddie Mercury is remembered for a song that isn’t about the fetish that killed him.
Who knows? The song was banned. At this point, does the “why” matter anymore? Everybody bans everything.
Even that new “anthem of the working-class white man,” “Rich Men North of Richmond,” is losing support on the right following revelations that lyricist/singer Oliver Anthony (a.k.a. the singing fat guy in the 1976 horror movie Dogs) posted videos claiming that “the Jews” did 9/11.
“Rich men north of Richmond”? More like Hebes north of Hampton. Christkillers north of Christiansburg. Hook-noses north of Norfolk. Kikes north of Culpeper.
Oh well…it was a fun anthem while it lasted. As was “Fat Bottomed Girls.”
Maybe now’s the time for the blandest, most inoffensive music on earth to make a comeback.
Surely nobody could find fault with Sandler & Young!
Wait, scratch that. Belgium’s too white.
TRY THAT IN A BIG CITY
The other major player in the current “noble hick, ignoble cosmopolitan” conservative song fetish, Jason Aldean, may not have had this small town in mind with his chart-topping ballad. The mess in Marion, Kansas (population Deke, Boog, and Deke’s old scent-hound Smelicue), is difficult to untangle. The town newspaper (reporters: Deke and Boog; editor: Smelicue) received a tip that a local restaurateur was a lush with multiple DUIs. The paper didn’t publish the info (only Smelicue knows how to use Word, and he was busy that day chasing coons…and no, not raccoons). The police chief—a brutish snub-nosed Injun-lookin’ thug named Gideon Cody—raided the home of the newspaper’s owner, a 98-year-old woman, ostensibly looking for info about the drunky townswoman, but his actual purpose was to confiscate evidence of his own sexual misdeeds.
The “Gestapo-style” warrant for the illegal search was issued by a local judge who’s also a lush with DUIs, and when the 98-year-old lady died from the stress of the raid (compounded by frustration over not locating the beef), the story went national and hey, welcome to small-town America, where soulless stormtroopers are willing to kill an old bat because they don’t want their nosy neighbors to know that they imbibe alcohol and screw outside of wedlock.
In a big city, nobody would give a damn. If this had been NYC, that old lady would be alive today (well, she’d have been pushed under a subway car by a schizo Ghanaian, but now we’re just splitting bluehairs).
Meanwhile, in sleepy Gilgo Beach (Babylon, N.Y.), the local police chief was arrested for soliciting sex in a public park (locals always feared that George Michael Memorial Park would attract the wrong element). And get this: The “chief” had botched the search for the Gilgo Beach serial killer—allowing a dozen women to be brutally murdered—because he was too busy tracking down his stolen stash of dildos.
Not a joke! As a serial killer was stalking his town, the chief was distracted by his search for the person who stole his box of butt wideners.
Babylon indeed. And a reminder that population count ain’t no guarantee a town will be wholesome.
Also, if you’ve seen a box of used dildos with “property of Gilgo Beach” stamped on it, you’re encouraged to contact Chief Ivan Openhole of the Babylon PD.