Source: Bigstock

The Week’s Most Boxing, Doxing, and Equinoxing Headlines

JET BROWN
There’s an old joke about a white man who’s flying from an impoverished African nation. On the plane with him are a bunch of illiterate villagers. As the plane nears its destination, one of the engines flames out. But the villagers don’t seem to mind; they stay calm and collected.

Then another engine flames out, and the plane nose-dives.

The white man’s panicked, but still…the villagers are unfazed.

As the pilot attempts a landing, the tires blow out. The plane’s skidding on metal. Sparks fly everywhere, the sound is deafening, and all the white man can do is pray that the fuel tank isn’t ruptured by the metal shards.

But still, the African villagers are just smiling and chattering, not bothered in the least.

The plane comes to rest and everyone’s evacuated. And the white guy sees an older white man who was also a passenger.

The white guy asks the older man, “Why didn’t the Africans panic?”

And the older man says, “Because they’ve never been on a plane before, so they assume this is how you land one. You explode the two engines, blow out the tires, and skid to a halt.”

An old joke, but relevant to last week’s incident aboard an Air India flight from Chicago to New Delhi. Several hours into the flight, the plane was forced to return after every single bathroom became clogged with “rags, clothing, and plastic bags,” forcing passengers to defecate in the aisles.

To the native Chicagoans, this was a nightmare! They’re the ones who demanded that the plane turn around. But the Indians? This is just how you fly. You shove your clothes down the toilet and poop in the aisle.

Many of the Chicagoans were heading to Delhi for a “spiritual experience.” Hopefully their “spew-it-tual experience” persuaded them to rebook for a better country.

BURNED MEMBERS ONLY
Remember Sheila Liebeck? She was the 79-year-old biddy who, in 1992, held a cup of hot McDonald’s coffee between her legs while a passenger in her grandson’s Ford Probe. Of course the coffee spilled all over her privates.

“Woo-hoo,” Liebeck exclaimed, “I haven’t been this hot and wet since Van Johnson kissed my cheek in ’42! That hunk was all man!”

In fact, Liebeck suffered severe burns (and the Probe’s leather seat needed counseling). A jury would end up awarding Liebeck $3 million in her suit against McDonald’s (Liebeck v. Grimace, 1994). The judgment sparked nationwide debate over “tort reform” (this is the term foes of frivolous lawsuits prefer over “frivolous lawsuits,” proving that they’re the dumbest a-holes to ever draw breath).

Well, if you thought $3 mil was bad…

Last week an L.A. jury awarded delivery driver Michael Garcia $50 million because he spilled scalding-hot Starbucks tea on his privates while receiving an order at a drive-through. Garcia’s attorney claims that the employees of the Starbucks failed to firmly secure the tea in the takeout tray, and the jury agreed.

The jury also awarded $1 million to the customer who was awaiting the order, who received a text from UberEats stating “We’re sorry—your order of one chamomile tea will not be arriving because it just melted a Mexican’s penis. Please accept this $5 credit.”

According to his attorney, Garcia’s beanstalk is permanently damaged and completely unusable. So that’s at least one L.A. Mexican who won’t be changing the demographics of the city.

President Trump has ordered hot Starbucks tea served to every Venezuelan who crosses the border.

As for Garcia, he says he plans to use the $50 million to stuff a mattress so he can lie in bed and weep about how now that he can finally win any woman he wants, it’s a pointless endeavor.

There’s no such thing as a “hard-boiled bean,” but in Garcia we find a soft, boiled one.

Better a wetback than a wetfront.

EGG-SELL-ENT
Trump didn’t exactly beat inflation “on day one” as promised.

And the ghost of Jerry Ford shook his head, declaring, “I told you: Without buttons, it just can’t be done.”

But by not whipping inflation now, Trump may have inadvertently scored a greater victory. Eggs are in such demand, Mexican smugglers have switched from black-market drugs to black-market eggs.

That’s not a joke. As per The Telegraph, “More eggs than fentanyl are being seized in border crackdowns. Trump wants customs officers to detect smugglers bringing in opioids—but they are more often finding poultry products.”

The border drug problem may not have gone away, but it’s certainly gone huevo.

Mexican cartels are not taking care to keep the eggs from going bad in the 100-degree-plus temps at the border. In Europe, eggs generally don’t have to be refrigerated, because the European style is to keep the natural skin, the protective coating or “cuticle,” on the egg. In the U.S., the cuticle is shorn so that the egg can be properly washed. So basically, Europeans and Americans treat their eggs as they treat their penises. Intact and slimy, or snipped but clean.

This does make American eggs more deadly if left unrefrigerated, and the influx of bad eggs is leading to food poisoning incidents nationwide. Last week comedian and SNL alumnus Tracy Morgan, sitting courtside at a Heat-Knicks game at Madison Square Garden, had a bout of food poisoning so bad, the entire game had to be paused for the court to be cleaned.

Again, not a joke.

Morgan initially had a fit of vomiting that propelled him backwards three rows, followed by explosive diarrhea that blasted him forward like the Rocketeer, shooting him onto the court, bouncing from player to player like a pinball, before smashing into the end line, a steaming pile more dung than man.

Few in the crowd cheered…except the Indians who’d been on that JetBlue flight.

AIDS-DE-CAMP
American society has progressed so far from when AIDS was everyone’s greatest fear, there’s a generation that doesn’t recall the 1980s when lispy gays were banned from parties due to concerns that the saliva spewed from their mouths when they said, “Thteven Thondheim is thtupendous with his thcore for Thweeney Todd” would kill everyone in the room.

Back then, AIDS was quite literally the worst thing you could have. The AIDS virus made cancerous tumors go, “Damn, he’s good.” It was a bad time for gays. The toll taken on Broadway alone, in terms of dead dancers and choreographers and a shortage of human performers, was so severe that the 1986 revival of A Chorus Line was just a bunch of monkeys skittering across the stage throwing feces at one another, leading to speculation that the African green monkeys that gave humans AIDS in the first place did it on purpose to win a Tony.

Yet according to British television producer Russell Davies, speaking to The Guardian last week, Donald Trump is “the greatest danger to gay society I’ve ever seen.”

Davies is best known as the showrunner for Doctor Who (that sentence could be rephrased as “Davies is least known in the U.S. as the showrunner for the cheap-ass, imbecilic, yet bafflingly iconic British television program in which a dude fights large traffic cones that scream EXTERMINATE”), and apparently he finds Trump a greater threat than the disease that turned half the world’s gay population into mummies.

Yet in the Guardian piece, Davies doesn’t provide one single example of why Trump is “the greatest danger” gay society’s ever seen. Not one. He only cites a rise in “hate speech” on X.

One wonders, if Davies could climb into Doctor Who’s TARDIS and travel back to 1985 to ask some poor gay bastard shriveled up in a hospice and dying in pain and purulent drainage if he would trade his lot for being physically healthy but having to live in a world in which there was a repulsive online forum that you could just choose to ignore, what the shrivelly, mucousy AIDS zombie would say in response.

The ultimate irony: The dude who writes about traffic cones screaming EXTERMINATE can’t differentiate actual extermination from online hurty words.

HUDDLED MESSES
One of the best rules in life is, “Whatever the French do, do the opposite.”

The French hold a revolution in which everybody slaughters everybody else when it’s over?

Don’t do that.

The French trust the British to have their backs against Hitler?

Don’t do that.

The French don’t bathe? Then you should bathe, and often.

The French worship Jerry Lewis? Then you should despise Jerry Lewis. The French decide to import the Third World? Well, then, definitely don’t do that.

Last week Raphaël Glucksmann, of the leftist French political party Place Publique, called for the return of the Statue of Liberty, claiming that the U.S. under Trump no longer deserves it.

“Raphaël Glucksmann”? Not only is the dude’s nation colonized by foreign invaders, his name is.

Funny enough, though, Glucksmann’s anger at the administration isn’t primarily about immigration or deportations, but rather Trump’s halting of aid to Ukraine and his “mistreatment” of Zelenskyy. And to be fair, the original plaque on the Statue of Liberty did read “Give me your tired, your poor, your wacky Jewish Eastern European leaders yearning to receive billions of dollars never to account for it.”

Trump responded to Glucksmann’s demand by agreeing in principle that the statue would be returned, as long as every Puerto Rican and Dominican in NYC would go with it.

To which Glucksmann excitedly replied, Mais oui!

The Week That Perished wishes Zoe Saldaña the best in her new tenement home in the Paris slums.