April 28, 2024

Source: Bigstock

The Week’s Most Fussing, Trussing, and Exodussing Headlines

The anchor of the Universal Studios Hollywood theme park is the legendary tram ride, which used to feature several “practical effect” attractions, including an animatronic King Kong that would shake a rickety bridge as the tram crossed, an animatronic Jaws that would attack the tram on a rickety bridge, and the rickety bridge attraction that was just a rickety bridge.

When the park was built, the bosses obviously got taken to the cleaners by a traveling rickety bridge salesman.

Ten years ago, the Universal powers-that-be ditched any attractions that physically jolt attendees, partly out of concern for lawsuits. So, out with animatronic King Kong, in with a “3D movie experience.” Out with animatronic Jurassic Park dinosaurs, in with a “3D movie experience.”

Because nobody can get hurt watching a movie in a tram as it crawls at 5 mph.

Unless the driver is, like, stoned, bro.

Last week, as the tram was crawling at a snail’s pace through the backlot, the driver poorly negotiated a turn, and the last car became hooked on the edge of a safety guardrail, which performed the exact opposite of its intended function. As the driver, not realizing why there was a “drag” on the tram, kept gunning it, the guardrail edge sliced through the last car, crushing some passengers and ejecting others through the air.

Thankfully, there were no deaths, but over fifteen injuries, one critical.

Studio Boss: “Who the hell was driving that tram?”

Lackey: “Our new employee, Dumbass O’Herlihy.”

Boss: “Why the hell did we hire someone named Dumbass O’Herlihy?”

Lackey: “He came highly recommended by our HR director, Idiot Boy.”

Boss: “Oh, okay. Idiot Boy does good work.”

Facing lawsuits, Universal’s lawyers are claiming that the entire thing was part of the park’s new attraction celebrating the studio’s biggest hit of 2023: Oppenheimer—The Ride. “Collide like a particle, be split like an atom!”

Sticking with Hollywood…

Last week, the town’s black impresario made a stunning admission: He’s run out of new stories to tell.

Kenya Barris, creator of Black-ish, told People that he’s focusing exclusively on remakes. “I feel like there’s really no new stories if we’re gonna be honest, know what I’m saying?” he told the magazine, displaying the dazzling wit that’s made him a billionaire.

“Are there no more “first black person to…” movies left? Nonsense!”

Barris has a point. Nearly every “black” story’s been told, especially when it comes to “the first black person to…” biopics. First black in space, first black congresswoman, first black Oscar winner, first black TV star, first black Nobel laureate, first black banker, first black judge, first black supermodel, all of these are actual biopics produced over the past year alone.

So is Barris correct? Are there no more “first black person to…” movies left?

Nonsense! Coming in 2024:

The first black dog groomer: A Dream De-Furred, starring Don Cheadle.

First black cattle rancher: Grazin’ in the Sun, starring Forest Whitaker and Don Cheadle.

First black man to eat frozen fish: Sole on Ice, starring Jeffrey Wright (with Don Cheadle as “Gorton”).

First black beekeeper: Lift Every Voice and Sting; Terrence Howard (cameo by Don Cheadle).

First black woman to make Chinese food: Long Wok to Freedom, with Viola Davis, Awkwafina, and Don Cheadle as a dumpling.

First black man to tell a nurse he has chlamydia: Misses, I Pee Burning, starring Jaden Smith, Taraji Henson, and Don Cheadle as “lymph node.”

And finally, the first black woman to cover her body in suet and run through the National Aviary asking birds for economic advice: The Maxine Waters Story, starring Octavia Spencer.

No Don Cheadle in that one, but Mayim Bialik is getting rave reviews as a toucan.

Across the nation, students at “elite” universities are protesting Israel’s Gaza war while “glamping” in designer tents with Uber-delivered food.

Sissies! The recent spate of self-immolations has raised the bar on how to protest with guts!

Charbroiled guts.

Max Azzarello, the most recent immolator, stated that his goal was to expose fraud.

And maybe he did.

For decades, Buddhists have claimed that the discipline exhibited by the monks who immolated to protest the Vietnam War was due to meditation! “Motionless and quiescence was the fundamental meaning expressed by the burning monk, the epitome of a profound behavior due to numerous hours of meditation.” (Cogent Psychology, 2019)

Bullcrap! Aaron Bushnell managed to stand perfectly still for 45 seconds while totally engulfed (standing, not sitting cross-legged like those lazy monks); Azzarello stayed upright for 30 seconds. Turns out it’s got nothing to do with “meditation.” As the L.A. Times points out in a piece explaining the phenomenon of people staying motionless after immolating, “Once the burn becomes severe, it’s burned down to the nerves so you don’t have any sensation. Then the adrenaline kicks in.”

Meditation? Buddhist frauds! It’s just nerve damage and adrenaline. And Western men would’ve figured that out earlier, except until now none of them were stupid enough to pour gasoline on themselves and light a match. But an insane blond airman and a shaggy hippie pulled back the curtain, and the free ride is over, Dalai Lame-ah.

All those begging bowls filled by gullible whites in awe of your “mystical powers.” All those adulatory films and TV shows. For nothing.

“Grasshopper”? More like “kiss-my-asshopper.”

America lost Richard Gere to your hokum.

Okay, you get points for that; please don’t give him back.

In April 1976, as the Cubs played the Dodgers in L.A., two filthy hippies ran onto the field to burn an American flag. Fielder Rick Monday charged the protesters and saved the flag, to thunderous applause. He received a congratulatory call from President Ford, and one from Truman Capote, who misheard “Rick Monday saved a flag from being burned” (he didn’t hear the “l” in “flag”).

How things have changed! These days, it’s the players, not the hippies, who need fire. Last week, a Harlem high school soccer game had to be abandoned when a group of 30 African migrants wouldn’t leave the pitch. The migrants had set up camp on the field, and when the coaches tried to explain that they’d reserved it for their game, one of the migrants told them, “We don’t have to leave; we can do whatever the fuck we want.”

That’s when you need Rick Monday with a flamethrower.

After a half hour of arguing, the teams called off the game; the coaches feared that there was too much risk that the “peaceful enrichers” would take violent revenge against the participants.

Nice going, Mayor Adams. Hard to believe that man was once a cop. One gets the impression that the side of his squad car was emblazoned not with “To Protect and Serve” but “Feets Don’t Fail Me Now.”

As destitute illegals continue to pour into NYC, giving Harlem not so much a renaissance but a lumpenaissance, Democrats fear no electoral consequences. Based on the photos in the press, many of the dispossessed soccer kids were Asian, and Asians literally have their teeth knocked out daily by blacks without ever rethinking their Democrat allegiance. A recent Daily Mail piece reported that IQs in the U.S. are falling for the first time in recorded history. Well, crush Asian skulls every day, that’s what you get.

Echoing the Rick Monday affair, President Biden called the African migrants to congratulate them on holding their ground. Reporters listening to the call said it was hard to comprehend what was said, because of the bizarre, incoherent, primitive Third World clicks and grunts.

They said the Africans were hard to understand, too.

It’s ain’t just Harlem having trouble with immigrants. North America’s endearing simpletons are finding out the hard way that opening their borders to the world’s detritus wasn’t the greatest idea. Canadians are like a retarded boy who gets a bag of candy and decides, out of sheer goodness, to share it with the neighborhood kids, who proceed to steal the entire thing and kick him in the face.

Things have gotten so bad in Canada regarding immigrant crime, a housing crisis, and a strain on the nation’s beloved cradle-to-grave social services programs, that last week anencephalic man-child Justin Trudeau confessed that he has no choice but to shut the door, at least temporarily, on the flood of Third Worlders he welcomed into his country because Australian aborigines are the only people on earth who make him look intelligent in comparison.

Over in British Columbia, aka “California but with nonstop rain, frigid beaches, and even dumber politicians,” the authorities in charge of investigating international drug trafficking (the C.I.-Eh?) have identified the immigrant kingpin responsible for importing billions of dollars’ worth of meth into B.C. (that’s billions of Canadian dollars, so roughly $1,100 USD).

Chi Lop, a Canadian-raised immigrant, has a Myanmar-to-Vancouver meth pipeline. And authorities have vowed to shut it down. In a lengthy piece in the Vancouver Sun, head constable Gordy McGordonson declared that he’s going to ask Lop very nicely to stop bringing in the meth. And if that fails, he plans to scowl at him. Severely.

BTW, the Chi-Lops are an underrated R&B vocal quartet. They have a string of catchy singles, including “Have You Seen Her (She Has My Meth),” “Oh Girl (Gimme Back My Meth),” “Give More Power to the People (to Smoke Meth),” “I Want to Pay You Back (for the Meth),” and “Homely Girl (Looks Better After Meth).”

As reported by the WaPo, Indian and African immigrants say they’re beginning to feel unwelcome in Canada.

So, no different from everywhere else.


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