Moonbats!

Out of my ceaseless quest to find the most ridiculous way to spend a couple hours of my life, comes this. I was playing around at xtranormal, where you can write scripts to be delivered by your choice of dorky 3-d characters with computer generated voices. The script itself was really funny but the delivery was boring and torturous to watch. Evidently not content to just write the site off as a plaything for retards, I downloaded what I'd made, edited the hell out of it and added some TV Land magic. The end result is part one of a sort of mock 1950's-style instructional film of which there likely won't be a part two.

State of the Union

The poor bastard still thinks he's President of Hydeparkberkeleycambridge and that the people, the political opposition, some members of his own party, the Supreme Court and reality are simply irritants in his imagined plotline of The Barack Obama Story. He has no instinct for survival, just a double dose of smug preening and delusional arrogance. This is not going to end well unless some old-school Japanese monsters save him from his taunting of Godzilla. Even a fellatic media won't be able to help once more people start to completely turn against him. Tick. Tock.

One and done.

I figured that for all the time I spend disparaging this jug-eared creep the least I could do is utilize my advertising skillz to help Obama get a new job come 2012. A guerilla campaign to get him a position for which he's well-suited seemed the way to go. The only question was whether that would be building shacks with Jimmy Carter or manning the deep fryer at a moderately priced restaurant with a multicultural menu. I opted for the latter because the thought of a roof collapsing on some poor unwitting family who then has to hear this guy prattle on about how it's not his fault because he inherited the wood and nails from Home Depot just makes me physically sick.

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Obama the incompetent.

It's gonna be all Obama here leading up to his teleprompter's State of the Union address. Today is more stickers with the kind of ugly-looking imagery leftard artists employ when "speaking truth to power" in their own neighborhoods. I stare and laugh at this crap every day wondering who they're speaking to exactly. One another obviously. Or me. Maybe it's a concerted effort to bug out the 10% or so of us who suffer their idiocy in silence. But, as always, I can only note that it wouldn't take a massive carpet bombing of winger responses to give such neighborhoods the vapors and set the leftosphere ablaze with hysteria. "Who are these cool people in our midst who mock and secretly hate us?" Heh.

Somebody let the devil out

Popa Chubby is a longtime fixture in the NYC blues scene, such that there is one. He wrote this song after 9/11 though I'd never heard it until stumbling upon it on Youtube the other day. A much longer live version is available here.

Fun with Youtube

Imagine you're a moonbat watching a Youtube of your favorite left-wing kook, thinking you're safe in your little leftlandia bubble and a few minutes through it changes to a message from Wingerland! No clues as to what was coming.

This mean-spirited jokesterism can be done with video of any leftard cultural marker but I chose Chomsky because, well, no particular reason aside from what a loathsome critter he is. All you have to do is download a youtube video (there are websites which enable this), put it into a cheap video editor, say what you wanna say and then upload it back to youtube with an innocent description. The more videos that get the treatment, the better. It could be reminiscent of the old Energizer commercials where you'd be watching a typically bad TV commercial and the bunny would crash into the scene. After awhile you'd be half expecting the bunny to show up every time you watched an awful commercial.

Yes it will upset lefties. And the cleverness is doubly upsetting and confusing on account of the cartoons of righties these jackholes have in their heads. There are innumerable ways to go about it. I chose to insert a second video inside the chomsky video with scrolling type. Well I didn't actually do it. I just made a few photoshops for inspiration. I'm doing my part by just putting the idea out there for you stupid wingers to follow through on.

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Now you know.

Mischief, bookstore style.

Leaving surprises in leftist books. Capitalism is just so darned unseemly. The capital. The ism. Free markets, enslaved minds. Stop me before I projectile vomit. Being stripped of the profit motive is unbelievably liberating though. What could possibly be more noble than voluntarism in the form of leaving love notes to lefty book lovers who can learn the value of money by discovering after the fact that the book they purchased is soiled by wingnuttia! And wouldn't it be cute to be a fly on the wall when Johnny Moonbat returns to voice his protest to the nose-ringed, zit-faced clerktool who quietly judged you while ringing up whatever winger tome you last bought? Then again, the great thing about mischief is that you don't need to see the result. Theater of the mind is its own reward.

If putting stickers inside a few books in a store is a tad on the nutty side for a winger's stomach, you can always do the same thing by inserting the "message" on a small sheet of paper, I suppose. It's less evil and less apt to leave a mark, but it ain't like I've stuck things of either variety in books myself. The task I've assigned myself is to simply throw out every last thing that pops into my head and makes me laugh. And the thought of a lefty happening upon something like this is nothing short of hilarious.

Simple acts to spoil a progressive's day

Bathrooms. One of the many places in the lefty cocoon where they like to leave their political proclamations. It's not unlike shitting in your own living room if you don't mind my waterboarding a metaphor. How edgy to speak truth to power where most people think exactly like you do! Or, even if they don't think the same way, they take the path of least resistance like I do by keeping quiet in the land of emotional infants. I can't count the number of times I've had to stare down "Bush lied, people died" or other such stickers while attempting to relieve myself. I used to be somewhere between numb and oblivious to it, but I increasingly react with a desire to punch the nearest vintage-sweater-wearing dipshit beta male in the junk.

What is difficult to understand unless you are encircled by leftists is the extent to which their brazenness, arrogance and even their self-confidence is a byproduct of their insularity and mutual reinforcement. And you simply cannot chip away at this without rattling their cages. That can mean, among other things, shitting where they eat. Big deal, bathroom stickers, you say. It's pissing in the ocean. It is. But it is only one silly, innocuous thing among many when the stated desire is to bleed them to death by paper cuts. And unlike plastering LA with Obama Joker posters or doing brilliant videos posing as a pimp and ho at ACORN, it takes minimal personal effort.

You could employ the litany of winger chucklehead bumpersticker sentiments and drop a sledgehammer in these environs, but guerilla marketing or using non-traditional media is more interesting - or in this case, more biting - when there's an element of randomness to the messages. I've heard David Horowitz suggest that he deliberately acts like a jackass to mimic the behavior of the left - and his own when he was one of them - but even with that qualification he just comes across as a jackass. No net gain. I mention it though because there is truth about the potency of mimicking them with regard to cultural markers and their self-identity. When you hit them while using their own sensibilities against them it confuses lefties because they are working with cartoons of the right in their heads.

What follows are some examples for your friendly neighborhood hipster bar, coffee house, vegan restaurant, indie bookstore or maybe the bathrooms near faculty offices at your college. With these particular ones I thought an amusing approach would be to play off of elements in the actual environment. Playing off the type of establishment can also be funny. But neither is necessary, obviously.

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Holiday slacking continues

I probably despise New Year's Eve in NYC precisely because I have such a fondness for consuming alcohol and an affection [waning, thank you maturity!] for bringing in the sunrise. That's the nature of the holiday, but when every tri-state retard, teetotaler and nesting homebody is compelled to clog the streets, hog cabs and fill up every stinking establishment they're pissing in my personal oatmeal. It is amateur hour.

My best memories are of playing it by ear in the college years and immediately afterward. It usually involved us ambivalently drinking in an apartment past midnight, dragging our asses to random house parties and then hitting up our staple EV dive bars like 7B and the Village Idiot. There was a [very] old blues band from Alabama we happened upon one year and proceeded to have a blast sitting with their elderly wives while they were playing. The freezing NYE some heroin-addict-looking chick came into the Idiot and announced that she'd fuck anyone for a jacket. A nutbag who came in to eat at Kiev dragging a large tree branch. You know, the kind of golden memories that annoying $400/couple forced fun New Year's events just can't deliver.

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Among the innocuous things I remember was a smallish group of us slumming at a friend's apartment playing beer pong - the pussy Dartmouth variety as opposed to the much cooler Lehigh "Beirut" - while blasting MTV's live NYE Nirvana concert. I was a total Nirvana fantard, but I've been to so many live shows that I find TV concerts to be pretty much unwatchable. This one, however, was really mesmerizing. That less than six months later Kurt Cobain put the barrel of a shotgun in his piehole probably intensified my memory too. I loved that band like very few others.

Feliz Navidad baby!

Tis' not a day for politics. Or for blogging at all for that matter. So enjoy a kooky rendition of Jingle Bells. Or download the whole album to avail yourself of the full complement of Christmas stylings by the mid-century Mexican mack daddy Juan Garcia Esquivel. The Johnny Mathis from a parallel universe.

Symbolic political Christmas gifts.

For lefties. I give you F.A. Hayek's The Road To Serfdom. I know I'd stand a better chance of convincing a Hollywood starlet to "clean" chocolate frosting off of my nut sack than I do of coaxing the average lefty to read the dang book. But there is a cartoon version of it available for easy digestion. And I turned it into 3-D so you can grab your glasses (which you probably own to be ironic) and enjoy it like the children you are. Have a vegan cookie and organic fair trade coffee in a recycled paper cup on me, too! There's no excuse for not partaking, especially since I made it even more convenient by skipping to the last page.


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For wingers. I give you Jonah Goldberg's Liberal Fascism. It's not exactly a new book at this point and I suppose the dust has to settle before it can be considered canonical, but it is the most important conservative book in recent years in my opinion. It is a bit of a tease in that it is both intellectual history and a distillation of its contemporary relevance, thus leaving you hungry for more of the former. One wishes that he could hide in the bat cave of academia and make expounding on this his life's work, spitting out volume after volume of daggers to the heart of the left's willful self-deception about their own history. But its ultimate beauty as a work of popular non-fiction is that he has changed the way innumerable people look at history as well as the present and has no doubt inspired other worthies to move the ball forward. Probably the best intro is to simply watch the speech he gave to The Heritage Foundation as he was kicking off his book tour. The link is to the first segment, finding one's way to the subsequent ones should be easy enough. It's worth a watch even if you've read the book.

Merry Christmas.

Spooky.

This piece by one of my favorite illustrators really cried out for a little bit of Obamafication. Community organizers from hell. The creepy and thuggish underbelly of progressivism. And Chicago. Too perfect to resist.

Apocalypse Gore.