... and those stabby Finns!

But by this point John was waist-deep.

"What's a Rastafarian doing singing 'Get up, stand up' anyway? It should be 'Sit down, relax. Pass meh Pringles can.'"

T-Minus Zero threw every hip-hop-pop-n-lock in the book:

The Roger Rabbit. The Running Man. The Cabbage Patch Kids Movie. The 720 Fletch Lives. Police Academy 3. The Reverse Turner & Hooch. Gone With the Windmill. Breakin' II: Electric Boogaloo.

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Which is what what happens, I reckon, when you keep it spread wide open all the time.

you just moved the tombstones, didn't you?

"As you can see, Mr. and Mrs. Singer, it's really a lovely piece of property. You're in a great school district, a kid-friendly, secluded neighborhood, located near every modern amenity -- and the house itself will stand another hundred years."

"Well, Gordon and I do think this lot is just gorgeous. Our children will have a field day playing in those woods."

"Bears."

the start of an endless love

Fate granted him favors as he walked into the woods: A moonless night, soft earth, and a beautiful young woman likewise engaged in the hasty burial of a still-warm body.

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Big was a legend, and was thus afforded the luxuries of his uncommon status. 350 full-time government employees plied him with food other creature comforts. Duly elected public representatives mobilized whole towns to accommodate his migration. Neighborhood associations knit him a sock. And since his defense against domestic or interplanetary foul play ensured near-utopian prosperity, it was only fair, most held, to accept his inadvertent clumsiness as the cost of service.

At a size that bloated the very boundaries of human comprehension, momentum was an enemy to Big. A pendulous swipe of his Buick fists would pluck a ten-block stretch of telephone line. A single misstep could flatten a church, often Lutheran. And when situations demanded true exertion – be they threats natural-cosmological or maniacal-mechanical – the graphic aftermath of a triumphant battle was often indiscernible from defeat. Coupled with the inevitable multi-city tickertape celebration, Big was a guaranteed mess.

Acutely aware of his unintended affect on diminutive denizens, Big would for the most part travel “quietly” through rural areas, lumbering like lost goliath, spreading thinner his tornadic consequences. Patience seemed inherent to his being, and he’d readily circumnavigate whole states in order to minimize the damage underfoot (though it was far too late to preserve West Virginia).

But when he was again called into service (Gorgon, Hubble, etc.), Big was always eager to assist. Big’s emotions knew shortcuts through his gnarled, cavernous brain, and regularly bypassed cognition in favor of visceral response. Often he became overexcited, invigorated by the pride of social value. Occasionally he committed flagrant oversmashings. And still, the grateful people would celebrate his efforts, breathlessly recounting the titanic clash as they dismantled his defeated opponent’s robotronic death tentacles.

“Our Big Wuhdeski is a one-of-a-kind hero,” reassured the mayor of Topeka, “and the Lutheran church we can rebuild.”

Rectraction Pending

Blessed be the shameless sayers. All glory to the unapologetic, unabashed, barefaced and brazen. Cheers to the pooptoothed of London politics. Alas, the court of public opinion has condemned to death one tweed-laden Brit:

It said that, despite Livingstone's record in fighting racism, his remarks damaged his credibility, offended the Jewish community and probably hurt London's chances of hosting the 2012 Olympics.

It is said that, despite Livingstone's record in fighting racism, the IOC now rumbles with discontent, and may, from this Gentile's Untouchable Analogy, bend to public pressures and select a more accomodating Olympic host city.

Say, Munich.

smoking gun

::

::CLASSIFIED 7A-J

::DECRYPTED TRANSMISSION FROM ESKIMO SEPARATIST FORCES, BRAVO SECTOR

::BEGIN TRANSMISSION INTERCEPT::02.15.05::21:05:15

snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow snow

::END TRANSMISSION INTERCEPT::02.15.05::21:05:28

::

Love, American style.

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Our Most Esteemed and Majestic Leader, here demanding to surround himself with grand things and only succeeding in making himself appear smaller.

get in the game, nepal

For this did Lou Diamond Phillips pray nightly, that the picture of villainy would forever inhabit lands mocha and sand, burnt umber and brown, and churn the American imagination with coup and intifada, and into eternity manifest itself in big-budget films in which he may have a starring role, Amen.

and goose-necked.

He meant every last word of it, too.

She'd shortchanged his love right from the very start, half-hearting like a happy hour between four and six, secretly hoping he'd forget to order.

casualties

In a stunning victory in the war on humor, Middletown city officials sniped tax superintendent Linda "Chuckles" Stubbs for desecrating tax forms with (admittedly futile) attempts at fiscal humor.

"Clearly, Box 11A in Section Y of form BR is not the appropriate place for a joke," sighed city Finance Director John Lyons, "unless of course it's the result of your calculations from Section G(9). HEY-OHHHHH!"

From Atop the Rolled-Up Rag

Critics are incredibly talented at saying "no." This is often their only talent.

It's worth another look.

Let's review that smut from an alternate angle.

Look, don't enjoy.

Outraged 10 years and counting, the concernaholics at The Parents Television Council are (slowly) compiling the definitive list of network broadcast wankfodder – commercial-free and with a warning even the youngest web surfers know to ignore.

“Monitoring smut on broadcast television, drawing Drudge-worthy attention to smut, and then posting that smut online is the only way to keep people knee deep in smut,” said PTC representative Ann Barlowe, who looks forward to a passive-aggressive disciplinarian relationship with her infant daughter, Kacey.

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Inbetween heretofore unprecedented fuckchains, American high school students agreed that “the press ought to be more restricted, and … the government should approve newspaper stories before readers see them.”

Our next generation of vote-abstainers also agreed that, in addition to their skills of reason, they should abandon a primary discipline of preservation: an inherent state of resistance and a stalwart, if misinformed, suspicion of the System.

"Fonz was a faggot," said one future suit mannequin, flushing his sister's birth control pills down the toilet.