Christians believe that Jesus is coming back and when he does he will resurrect the dead, judge the sinners and bring the Kingdom of God to Earth.  If his recent activity is any indicator of the lord and savior’s potentially earthly behavior, maybe he’ll skip all of that rapture business and just stop at Denny’s for a Grand Slam.

A recent sighting of the “Son of God” in the frying pan of a man cooking bacon in his London flat has us questioning why our heavenly figures are always showing up in the tastiest places. Jesus and the Virgin Mary are constantly slipping themselves onto burnt slices of bread, frying pans, potato chips and pancakes.  Devout followers and the fair-weather faithful alike usually take these incidents as a sign that Jesus is trying to impart some sort of important message about having faith or that his return to the world of the living is imminent. That’s one way to look at it.

There are those of us that know better than to blindly interpret culinary apparitions as repetitive pleas to accept Christ into our hearts before it’s too late. If Jesus wanted to tell us to repent so badly, he could just show up on TV channels other than Fox News on a regular basis or make the subway pamphlet people that much more aggressive. One has to think there’s a more practical explanation for greasy repast renderings of the King of Kings.

Did you ever stop to think that maybe Jesus is just hungry?  Perhaps the food in heaven isn’t what it’s cracked up to be or just plain sucks?  Maybe there is no food in heaven and Jesus has been trying to break through in an attempt to get even the slightest nip of your French toast.  Maybe pigs go to their own pig heaven and everyone on Cloud 9 really misses bacon. What Jesus wouldn’t do for your tasty breakfast links and some flapjacks. Jesus could be showing up on your toast in order to tell you to cherish the food you have, because there’s no pork past St Peter’s gate.

Despite all indications that “heaven” is the place you want to be, there’s a reason Belinda Carlisle sang about it being a place on earth.  For one thing, Earth has bacon, pancakes, potato chips, and omelets.  Just because food can be described as heavenly, doesn’t mean the best foods on earth are available there.

The food in prison isn’t exactly of the gourmet variety.  Gruel, bread and that nail file swallowed in the yard for later use often lines the stomachs of those serving hard time in the joint.  It would make sense that upon release ex-cons would yearn for the hearty appeal a Wendy’s Bacon Double with a loaded baked potato from the 99-cent menu.  Unfortunately for Anna Ayala, post-prison gastronomic gratification ain’t so simple. Wendy’s has banned the felonious mom from its premises and with good reason; Ayala was in the clink for trying to finagle $21 Million from the venerable fast-food chain after claiming she found a finger in her chili. Normally we’d say finding a finger in our chili would be worth at least $21 million, but in this case it was discovered that Ayala put the finger there herself.  Game. Set. Match Wendy’s!

Although Ayala won’t be dining on any of Wendy’s wonderful Garden Sensation Salads anytime soon, there are still any number of chain restaurants she can pull the wool over on.  To help her out on her journey to become a millionaire we’ve come up with a list of scams and the joints to pull them on.  Good luck Anna Ayala.  Let us know how it works out:

1. Long John Silver’s- Spend the next few months depriving yourself of Vitamin C and claim the fish sticks at Long John Silver’s gave you scurvy.

2. Jack In The Box- Kidnap TV’s Jack Wagner and cut off his head.  Go to a Jack in the Box restaurant and place Mr. Wagner’s head on top of your Chicken Teriyaki Bowl. Pretend to recoil in horror and exclaim that you didn’t expect the “Jack In The Box” name to manifest itself so literally.  Ask for your money back.

3. McDonald’s- The old coffee lap spill works every time at this establishment.  Should’ve been your first target.  3rd degree burns over your genitalia are a small price to pay for a large monetary reward.

4. Hooters- Order a burger and replace the meat patty with a silicon breast implant.  Claim one of the waitresses lost her boob on your burger. How traumatic!

5. Taco Bell- Eat three beef soft tacos.  Claim Taco Bell gave you chronic diarrhea.  It’s not stretching the truth that much.

6. T.G.I.Friday’s- Go to Friday’s on a Tuesday.  Skip work the next two days as if it were a weekend.  Claim that going to Friday’s on a Tuesday confused you as to what day it was.  Sue Friday’s for the two days of pay you missed.

7. KFC- Saw the leg off a local vagabond. Order a bucket of legs from KFC.  Return angrily brandishing the limb.  Threaten to beat the manager over the head with it if the corporation doesn’t settle.

8. Any other Fast Food location- Spend the rest of your life eating at fast food restaurants.  Either something will inevitably happen or you can just sue them for making you fat.

This weekend the stars will be out in full force as Hollywood celebrates the biggest night in the American film industry.  Some of the most famous directors, producers, actors and actresses in the business will cross their fingers in the hopes that when that envelope is peeled open Sunday night they can call themselves Oscar winners.  We could use this opportunity to help you figure out the picks in your office pool , but in all honesty, what’s the point?  We were never going to see any of that money.  We haven’t seen all of the movies anyway.

While making “Best Picture” predictions is a time honored tradition for the media and those who enjoy engaging in more socially acceptable forms of gambling; another industry uses Oscar-nominated films as a sort of creative ammunition.  Yes, the adult film industry has transformed award-winners like Forrest Gump and Million Dollar Baby into flesh-pressing masterpieces such as Forrest Hump and Million-Dollar Booty.  So while ’tis the season to give it up for astounding performances, it’s also time to birth new titles under which equally astounding sexual feats will be performed.

Luckily this year, they’ve expanded the usually generous field of five films vying for that bald statuette to ten flicks.  That means there are eight movies that have no chance going up against Avatar and The Hurt Locker.  On the bright side, at least someone will make a porno version of their film.

So without further ado…our recommendations on how the adult industry should porno-ize some of 2010 greatest picture nominees.

1. Vagitar- A sexually uptight female scientist studying the new planet of “Pan-whore-a” in search of a rare element known as “spermtanium” has a sexual awakening when she enters the world of native la’bia tribe.

2. The Hot Locker- In the midst of war, an army officer is charged with diffusing bombs.  Sex bombs.

3. District 69- In a world where sex has become outlawed with the exception of an alien colony on earth, a government official comes out in support of the aliens. Unfortunately, his exposure to the highly sexual goings on in District 69 lead him to becoming one of them.

4. A Seriously Well-Endowed Man- This adaptation of the Coen Brothers A Serious Man features a guy who has got it going on down there. You can imagine where it goes from there.

5. Getting It Up In The Air- A well-traveled businessman is unable to have sex unless he’s on an airplane.  However, after one too many romps in the sky with fellow passengers and stewardesses, he realizes there’s more to life than being a member of the mile-high club.

6. A Sexual Education- We haven’t seen An Education but its imdb page describes the film as, “a coming-of-age story about a teenage girl in 1960s suburban London, and how her life changes with the arrival of a playboy nearly twice her age.” We’re not really surely we have to change this description except to replace “1960’s suburban London” with “California’s San Fernando Valley.”  Then at the and we’d just make sure to include the fact that she totally has sex with the playboy nearly twice her age…a lot.

7. In Glory Hole Bastards- A team of sexually deviant ladies strike out in search of Europe’s elusive and well-hidden glory holes during World War II.

8. The Back Side- In this porn adaptation of The Blind Side a woman brings in a poor teenager who has never even had his own bed and lets him use hers, ultimately showing her how to protect and penetrate “The Back Side.

Letting it air out a bit.

Have you kissed your english teacher today? No? Good, because that would be totally inappropriate and probably open somebody up to some law suits. But, if you’re in college and not afraid of engaging in that kind of student-teacher relationship to ensure a passing grade, then go ahead, plant a wet one on the cunning linguist in your academic life.  It is after all, National grammar Day!

All across the land teachers, writers and people like you and me are practicing the elements of style just as E.B. White and that Strunk guy (Gary?) intended.

Once a year the elderly folk and even the youth participate in a handful of traditions associated with National Grammar Day.  Here are just a few that you should know, just in case you need a smart answer if someone working for the local news affiliate should ask what this holiday means to you:

1. Copy Editors Day Off- Newspapers, publishing houses magazines, websites and pamphleteers give they’re Copy Editors day off, ironically throwing caution into the wind for one day.  After all, shouldn’t writers be able to figure out when to use an ellipsis?

2. National Grammar Bee- Not quite as prestigious as the National Spelling Bee, the nation’s most brilliant-yet-outcast 7th graders gather in E.B. White’s hometown of Mount Vernon, New York and participate in this event not televised by ESPN as though it were a sport.  The children are read sentences, forced to memorize them and then must tell judges what punctuation (if any) is required, along with what letters must be capitalized.  Its a wonder this has yet to turn into a national phenomenon.

3. Abbreviation Ban- Twitter and Cell Phone companies band together to bar abbreviations from their text messaging services for 24 hours.  Users are not allowed to substitute the number 4 for the word “for,” the number “2″ in place of two or too or to, and instead of typing “LOL,” they must call back their friend and laugh in an audible fashion before they hang up.

4. The Grammar Day Parade- In towns all over the nation, people dress up as their favorite grammar rule, punctuation mark, writer, english teacher, or figure in grammatical history. You’ve never seen so many Strunk impersonators in your life. Most people choose writers that are famous for being drunks as it gives them a perfectly good excuse to show up soused to the festivities.  It’s like a mini-St. Patrick’s day. Let’s just say there are lots of Bukowski impersonators running around trying to get some from the Louisa May Alcott’s of the world.

5. Jay Leno’s headlines segment- Jay Leno does a “headlines” segment where he points out errors in newspapers. Really, it’s just like any other day for Jay.

So go out there, cross your t’s and dot your lowercase j’s and don’t forget to have a exclamatory blast on this National Grammar Day.  But before you do that, spot the grammar mistakes in this post.

Welcome to the National Lampoon Interview, today I’m talking to actor Christopher McDonald, his new movie ‘Splinterheads’ is on DVD now. Thanks for talking to National Lampoon today

Christopher McDonald: Well thanks; it’s nice to be here.

NL: The new movie, ‘Splinterheads’; Tell us a little bit how you got involved with this small, quirky, hilarious film.

CM: I read the script and I thought, terrific, what we need is a great lead actor, so they sent me some links to this great guy, Thomas Middleditch, and this guy was perfect, very funny, very fresh, very new…you haven’t seen this kind of acing before.  So Lea Thompson came on board, Frankie Faison, and the new big discovery was Rachael Taylor, and what a worldly beauty she is. She played a tough little cache chasing carnival girl, and that’s where the name ‘Splinterheads ‘ comes from, the Splinterheads are the carnies who separate you from your money, doing the outside things, ‘Throw the ring on the bottle!’ they are the ones who yell out  ‘Hey! Duck The Punk!’  played by Dean Winters, they raz you.

NL: Your character, Sgt Bruce Mancuso. It’s like a classic, Christopher McDonald character, you play this kind of a nut, odd, not villainous, you don’t know what happened to make him so irate, he’s got issues and definitely abuses his power as the law. It’s like they wrote the part for you, is that what happened?

Sgt. Bruce Mancuso has a lot of awards in his tiny office.

CM: In a lot of ways, they tailored it for me in rewrite. Once I showed interest. The thing that is so terrific with this part is, this character, this guy, he’s gonna pull the kid ( Justin Frost, played by Middleditch) over for anything, broken taillight, whatever, and you realize it’s because there are some issues there with how his relationship ended with the kids Mother (Lea Thompson). And he doesn’t know why it ended, but he thinks it has something to do with her son Justin (Middleditch) So Mancuso’s, he’s a not a bad guy, but he takes care of the town with white gloves, he knows everything that happens in his town, so when he doesn’t know the reason why she dumped him, it makes him a crazy man.

NL: It’s funny, in this town in the film, you are the only police officer in the entire place, and it’s you and the dispatcher on the radio who is always talking to you.

CM: Exactly, I went around with a really great Sgt in this tiny tiny town, I asked for a ride-a-long and the Sgt asked if I was a sissy Hollywood type, so he was like that, but a great guy, we became drinking buddies. These guys are great, they are really highly paid and they have literally nothing to do, there is no crime in the area.

Rachael Taylor is hot. Shes in the movie too, so you should see the movie.

NL: You are in so many films and TV shows, you play this you character, I’m not saying you are really like this character, but you play it, maybe since you were in “Grease 2″ they are wound up characters, and they also have things they always do, for example, they chew gum quickly.

CM: Yeah they are wound up; I think out of the hundreds of characters I’ve played I’ve chewed gum maybe 5 times, but yes. They are highly wound up guys. And you see this guy in real life all the time; you see them in lines and in airports.

NL: I like these characters. Some of them have mustaches; some of them do not have mustaches. I think the mustache adds to the comic villain type of character.

CM: Yeah, George Clooney has been copying me now. He’s got to be doing his comedies with the mustaches.

NL: You just wrapped up a few episodes on Stargate: Universe on SYFY.

CM: I was really impressed with the production quality on that, it was a really good show, great effects.

NL: Are you going to forever have a seat of the table at those Sci-Fi conventions? People who are super nerds are going to come and dress as you and know your lines on those episodes?

CM: I’ve been asked, I think one day I’ll go. Only the real nerds would know me. I was hoping that would happen more on a movie I did called Super Hero Movie, I play a crazy scientist and a larger than life villain.

HOURGLASS!

NL: You played a guy named Hourglass.

CM: HOURGLASS! Yes, but that movie didn’t perform as well as we wanted. You never know.

NL: I have one Christopher McDonald character that represents you to me, from a movie you did that formed my brain when I was younger. I was hoping you could match the characters name to the movie. The guys name was Frank Kelbo.

CM: WOW.

NL: Do you know the movie?

CM: Ahh, hmm…Frank Kelbo was a cop, wait no, he was the mechanic! In a Carl Reiner movie I did called ‘Fatal Instinct’!

NL: YES!

CM: That was a lot of fun that was my first taste into spoof-dom.

NL: It was great to talk to you today,

CM: My pleasure, it was a lot of fun.

NL: The film is ‘Splinterheads’ it’s on DVD now, one of the funniest films I’ve seen this year. Thanks for being here, Christopher McDonald.

CM: Thanks.

-fin-

You can listen to the extended audio of this interview here. Enjoy!

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

Let’s see what’s in the news today, Lampoon readers…Have you seen this? Have you heard about this? Jay Leno returned to late night last night, but his chin came back the night before.

So, Did anyone see the Tonight Show With Jay Leno last night? Rumor has it they’re re-airing the show tonight under the name “The Totally Annoying Jamie Foxx Variety Hour.“

In all seriousness folks, Jay Leno got a huge welcome back from his late night audience last night…and an even bigger welcome back from Jamie Foxx’s ego.

Leno’s first segment he went around knocking on people’s doors saying that he was looking for a desk. Actually, he was looking for viewers who don’t hate him.

Kevin Eubanks returned last night true to form. His fake laughter was more on cue than his band.

Kevin will be leaving the show soon, though. Presumably it’s to pursue his acting career.

Gold Medalist Lindsey Vonn stopped by the Tonight Show couch last night. Unfortunately, she finished out of medal contention in One Hour Forced Laughter dash. Kevin Eubanks got gold.  Jamie Foxx got silver. And the entire studio audience tied for bronze.

You know, they’re saying “The Tonight Show” writers room has been affectionately re-dubbed “The Bathroom,” because the show’s scribes are constantly putting crap on paper.

Word has it Conan O’Brien spent last night entertaining in his den, special guests included his wife, his children, and a musical performance from the Max Weinberg 7.

Conan may have been home doing nothing, but there was a large outpouring on Twitter on his behalf. Those people may not have been watching Leno, but they were watching precious moments of their life dwindle away by wasting it on Twitter.

Lost in the shuffle of Leno’s return is George Lopez’s late night show. Unconfirmed sources are telling us it was on again.  Unfortunately, no witnesses have verified this information.

Jay’s got a great show for you tonight.  He’ll be welcoming Sarah Palin. The two should find a lot in common since both pander to the lowest common denominator.

Thanks, you’ve been great. We’ll be back right after this commercial break.

To most of us, it may seem like Jay Leno is old hat at this late night hosting business, but several months removed from being propped up in his chair as host of “The Tonight Show” have probably left him a bit rusty in regards to his longtime gig.  Leno will most likely be leaning on a script tonight in his return to the role that made him a household name. Luckily, we here at National Lampoon had the good fortune to stumble upon a copy of the document that Jay will be using as a tutorial on how to be likable again at 11:35. Here’s an exclusive peek:

11:35- Welcome crowd. Bob head. Wiggle hair. (2x).  Remind them that this is “The Tonight Show” and not “The Jay Leno Show.” Assure all your friends in the Midwest you are back where you belong… like a Toyota sent back to the dealer…Pretty soon you’ll be good as new.

11:35-11:42 Opening monologue.  After each joke give Kevin ample time to feign hilarity. Also add in a steady diet of hair wiggling and head bobbing, maybe a few chin strokes.

11:45 Announce Kevin is leaving the show. New Bandleader will be Branford Marsalis. Turn towards Kevin with hands behind back.

11:45-11:47 Kevin will talk about what a great run it’s been but his tone will change suddenly as he goes on angry rant about how Branford wanted his old 11:35 time slot back for a half-hour every night.  Explains that he stepped down from bandleading after bitter battle with NBC.  He didn’t want to lead the band from 12:05-12:35.  Doc Severinsen and Max Weinberg before him led the band from 11:35-12:35 and that’s how it had to be if he was going to continue.

11:47-11:50: “In all seriousness” make half-hearted yet meaningful statement about really appreciating the work Conan did as the host as “The Tonight Show.”  Wish him luck with whatever he chooses to do. Bob head.  Wiggle hair.

11:50 Announce that in 7 months you’ll be taking over Conan’s new Twitter account.  Turn to Kevin and let him magnify the joke by repeating how funny it was.

11:50-11:54 Commercial break: Daydream about driving 1927 Model X Duesenberg along the PCH.

11:54-11:59 Remind target audience how stupid they are with Jaywalking segment.

12:00-12:05 First part of Pandering to Jamie Foxx (Note:Let Jamie talk about his recent role in the movie Valentine’s Day.  (Stroke chin and feign interest.) Compare his excellent performance to his Oscar Winning performance in Ray. Ask Jamie what he did on Valentine’s Day? After nearly 20 years of bland questions, no need to stop now.)

12:05-12:08 Commercial Break: Daydream about driving 1955 Packard Caribbean down the PCH while getting road head from Mavis. Mavis will be bobbing her head while you wiggle your hair and keep your eyes on the road.  Jamie Foxx may or may not be in the back seat watching.

12:07-12:12 2nd half of Jamie Foxx pandering. Ask Jamie Foxx about his daughter. Relate to his stories about his daughter as though you had a kid or two.  Remember kids are like cars who talk.  Like K.I.T.T. from “Knight Rider.”

12:12-12:15 Commercial Break: Daydream of riding 1946 Harley-Davidson WR down PC with Kevin Eubanks holding on tight.

12:15-12:25 Announce groundbreaking new segment 12 at 12 with tonight’s guest Olympic Gold-medalist Lindsey Vonn. Lob 12 softball questions:
1. Do you like Snow?
2.How old were you when you learned to Ski?
3. Do you like Skiing?
4. What was it like to win an Olympic Gold Medal?
5. Can we see your gold medal?
6. Did you enjoy your time in Vancouver?
7. What is it like being famous?
8. What are you going to do now that the Olympics is over?
9. What was it like to be in the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue?
10. People know you has someone who likes the snow, but do you like the beach?
11. When is the next time you will ski?
12. Are you going to shoot for gold in 2014?

12:25- Thank Lindsey Vonn.  Announce that Brad Paisley is coming up next after commercial break.

12:25-12:28- Commercial Break: Daydream about spending the weekend polishing your muscle cars and updating your car website.

12:28 Introduce Brad Paisley as your musical guest.

12:28-12:33 Brad Paisley performs new single (daydreaming optional).

12:33- Shake Brad Paisley’s hand while bobbing your head and saying how great the performance was.

12:33-12:34 Commercial Break: Daydream about riding sidesaddle as Brad Paisley drives your Yamaha 2009 Star VMAX.

12:34-12:35 Thank your guests and say goodnight.

12:35 –1:05 Announce that the show is now 30 minutes longer and Jimmy Fallon has been bumped to a 30- minute show. Start into one long half-hour segment about one of your favorite cars.

Conan O’Brien used to have a show, then he had another show and now he has a twitter account. Thats what his ‘bio’ section states in his new verified twitter account. He’s only posted once but I’m sure it will be a bit more active as his boredom sets in.

Welcome to the new media of hash marks and overly used @ symbols!

Online shopping, its a great tool of convenience. Saving the buyer the trouble of going to a store, searching for a item they may or may not even have in stock.

The other side of this sad, depressing, lonely coin would be the items you can buy without being seen by others. Being judged by the mean, happy masses who, most likely do not need the sad, depressing item we here at National Lampoon have deemed.

Drum roll please…

The Saddest Item You Can Purchase Online Today:

Ladies and Gentlemen, we present to you; the Hug Me Pillow

note: adding 3 or more to cart will count as orgy

Whoa there creepy hand, use the safe word.

And my Mom said I'd never find a man.

Do you constantly have the urge do paint your skin blue and have sex with the Earth and its creatures while wearing 3-D glasses? Were you disappointed on your last trip to the book store when you found out Rosetta Stone doesn’t make a Na’vi edition? Do you refer to your social skills as “Unobtainium”?  Nevermind calling your psychotherapist to see what’s plaguing you; we here at  National Lampoon have the diagnosis and it’s got nothing to do with murder.  You seem to have come down with decidedly popular affliction known as Post-Avatar Depression.

I See You...You Appear To Be Crying

You’re not alone film fanatics.  Well, okay, you’re mostly alone.  Rest assured there are several others like you; those moved to the point of obsession by a cliché plot, breathtaking CGI animation and glow-in-the-dark horses with eight legs instead of four.

Ever since James Cameron opened the Pandora’s box that  is his multi-billion dollar grossing opus Avatar, impressionable people with nothing better to do have envisioned themselves as inhabitants of a fictional planet rich in natural beauty and ten foot-tall blue people with superior physical skills to someone who just spent three hours gorging themselves on butter-slathered popcorn.

You Could Learn To Be Just Like The Na'vi!

These human specimens who possess the rare ability to care entirely too much about an alien environment while not necessarily exhibiting any sense of urgency about their own, have taken to wallowing in the mire over the fact that they will never be able find themselves in the utopia that exists mostly in the mind of the guy who directed Piranha Part Two: The Spawning. Still, they’ve grown hostile to their fellow members of the human race who would sooner destroy natural resources  than wait in line to meet Zoe Saldana at the next Comicon just to have that awkward moment when they tell her, “I see you.”

While the reality is all too disheartening, most wanNa’vis have found ways of coping with this hip film-based mental illness.  For some it’s as simple as listening to Leona Lewis’s Celine Dion-esque “I See You” theme on a loop, while others have been forced to give into the realization that Avatar is just Ferngully mixed with Dances With Wolves, and still a few brave souls have pressed on living in their thin blue skin eagerly awaiting the sequel.  Because really, what’s more popular than not admitting you have a problem in the first place.

Tiger Woods is sorry. He crashed his car and cheated on his wife (not in that order) and like so many esteemed golfers, athletes, and role models before him; he has taken it upon himself to clear this entire mess with the media. Speaking in front of a gaggle of close friends, family and approved reporters;Tiger made his first Glade Air Freshener (the new official sponsor of clearing the air) appearance in the months since the now infamous Thanksgiving wreck that blew open a Pandora’s box of illicit golfer-whore relations.

Never once delving into the knee-depths of female lady-parts and to whom they belonged, which he insisted would remain husband-wife fodder for however many weeks they have left together, the world’s greatest golfer instead focused on contrition over details. He let loose a flurry of apologizes letting heaps of children and parents who had put him up on their role model mantle know that he had wronged them just as any other famous person who suddenly realized they were the richest, most-able-to-get-tail celebrity on the planet, would. He let it be known that talent and endless sexual conquests can be mutually exclusive and in his case should have been.

To the sport of golf, he conceded exacting a toll of irreparable harm that not even after years of having an alcoholic mess like John Daly on the tour could have ever been imagined, with simple acts of testing his sexual stamina. For he had already proven the mettle of his wood on the fairways and greens, it was all too selfish and cocky of him to prove that he could make use of his skills in the arena of the bedroom. He should have known better given that he was raised a Buddhist and what is a Buddhist but someone who probably doesn’t want to have sex with a ton of women when they get super rich and famous?

Most importantly of all, Tiger made a salient point to all those who had lent their ears on this day that will be marked as a new national holiday known as Apology Day, that despite conflicting rumors stirred up in the imaginations of media outlets and general fans of speculation, his wife had never once laid her hands or his clubs on the embattled star of various awesome golf video games manufactured by EA Sports (It’s In The Game).

In spite of all of the bad press thrown in his general direction over the past few weeks, Tiger further critiqued the media (but not specifically the Jew-run media as Mel Gibson is often wont to do), putting them on blast for not respecting the fact that his family matters are not excuses for the paparazzi to endanger those he so heinously cheated on with their snappy cameras and disclosure of private facts.

Alas, Tiger ended the historic press conference by hoping that all of those who had been adversely affected by his frequent sexing and bad driving, one day find room in their heart to believe in him again as he once again becomes centered on the most important things, his marriage and his children. Boring.

R.I.P Tiger in the bedroom. Long live Tiger on the golf course!

P.S. Your divorced parents are having a press conference in 20 minutes to let you know it’s not your fault.  Your dad cheated.

Contrary to popular belief, Presidents Day isn’t just the day we celebrate 4.9%APR Financing at our local car dealerships and loveseats on sale for 30% off at Raymour & Flanagan. Believe it or not, it also celebrates the birth of two of our favorite Presidents of the United States. Good ol’ George Washington and Abraham Lincoln were both born vaguely on the 3rd Monday in February. While today was originally only named after the very first president, over time Honest Abe’s significance became recognized along with said forefather. Alas, the history of P-Day is a long and storied one that dates back to 1880 and there have been many memorable moments in the history of its celebration since. We thought it would be a great idea to take a stroll down memory lane to take a look at some of the landmark occurrences that happened in and around the White House on this historic holiday.

February 20, 1882- Despite being born on October 5th, President Chester A. Arthur declares that it is his birthday too in the hopes that one day he will be celebrated as one of the greats. His wife gets him a Fudgie The Whale cake from Carvel to celebrate his turning 53, eight months too soon.

February 21, 1910- William Howard Taft is attached to a device created special by the Otis Elevator Company to lift the massive President out of bed for the first time in weeks so that he may address the nation on this special day.

February 20, 1922- Warren G. Harding just stands there looking presidential.

February 16, 1931- In the midst of the Great Depression, Herbert Hoover reiterates his party’s “chicken in every pot, car in every back yard” campaign promise from years before. He also announces a government deal made personally with Santa Claus that every President’s day St. Nick will dress up wearing a powdered wig and wooden teeth and deliver gifts to children along the Potomac River.

February 19, 1962-John F. Kennedy celebrates the holiday now officially noticed as “Presidents Day” by having his “little President” showered with accolades…if you know what we mean.

February 15, 1982-President Ronald Reagan buys a Chrysler LeBaron personally from Lee Iacocca, calling Presidents Day “a great day for deals at your local Chrysler dealer and a great day for trickle-down Economics.”

Presidents Day 1989-1993- George W. Bush, son of then President George H.W. Bush, calls his dad to wish him a Happy Birthday on the 3rd Monday in February for four consecutive years.

February 19, 1996-First Daughter Chelsea Clinton has the day off from school.

The 2010 Vancouver Winter Olympic games are but a few hours away. This evening hundreds of athletes from scores of nations will show off the outfits they had made special, so that they have something nice to wear when they place 18^th in the Ski Jump behind 17 Scandinavians. After tonight’s fashion show and family friendly dance routine –complete with Olympic flame lighting- the games will begin. 16 Days of ice-centric competition and a whole lot of questionable events that somehow fall under the label of “sports” will capture the attention of the world and lose NBC more money than any breached contract with Conan O’Brien ever has. Not content to stay glued to the coverage watching Curling in HD, we thought we’d offer up some suggestions on how to make the Winter Games more tolerable in the future via the removal and replacement of some superfluous events.

1. No More Ice Dancing- What is Ice Dancing but Figure Skating for people who can’t jump? If Ballroom Dancing isn’t part of the Summer games why is Ice Dancing part of the Winter games? Solution: Ice Boxing. The sportsmanship in Olympic Ice Hockey is sickening. Fighting is simply part of the game. What better way to make up for the absence of pugilism in the Olympics than by inviting each nation’s top Ice enforcers to duke it out for a gold medal.

2. Change the Name of The Biathlon- Instead of making it sound like the event Lance Armstrong is most likely to do in winter let’s just call the Biathlon what it is, “The Alpine Assassin’s Escape Plan.” Why else would you combine rifle-play and Cross-Country Skiing. Plus it sounds much more exciting to say you won the gold or bronze in the latter than in the biathlon.

3. Say Goodbye To Doubles Luge- We can see where gliding down a hill and through curves at speeds in excess of 120 KM/H (after all the Olympics are in Canada this year) could be an absolute thrill, but piling on another person in a skin tight outfit to the mix, borders on sexual kink more than it does sport. If you’re going to participate in doubles luge, we suggest you just get a room for the night.

4. Cut The Curling- If we wanted to see Canadians who were good at sweeping, we’d stay after a Canucks game and cheer on the cleanup crew. However, seeing as Canadians are hosting this year’s festivities, we’ll allow this sport that places cleanliness ahead of athletic ability to slide if only you grant us permission to pursue the inclusion of Shuffleboard in the next summer games.

Over the past several days Google has created quite the Internet commotion by adding to the endless flow of minutia with the insertion of their version of Facebook into vast ocean of repeated information that is the World Wide Web. Gmail users found themselves invited to see what all of the “Buzz” was about when they logged into their accounts. Basically what they found was a bunch of status updates and the ability to comment on them. Revolutionary. Seeing as Google has gone out of its way to improve every possible web application or practical use of electronics, we thought we might suggest a few ideas for what those big silicon valley brains could work on next.

Google Street View Fighter- Google has yet to tackle anything in the realm of video games. Google Street View Fighter is their chance. This game combines Google’s Street View application with the top-secret mind control device that they’re obviously developing. The way it works is, two users look up the same street view and get to control the minds and bodies of two people in that vicinity at that exact time. Using combinations of the directional buttons and the space bar you can make those two people duke it out using moves they never realized they had.

Google Transient- Combining Google Transit, Buzz, Reader and Street View, Google notifies you when there has been a prison escape and any fugitive wanders into your residential sphere using public transportation or if they should just so happen to mention something about it on their Buzz status updates.

Porncasa- Picasa may be the Google-owned hub for user photos, but they have no place for users to share all of the images of illicit sex acts or store all of those crotch shots they need to respond to Craigslist casual encounter posts. Porn being such a huge percentage of the Internet, isn’t it about time Google dipped its third leg into that pool.

Google Date- Google already knows arguably too much about you. Screw EHarmony and Match.com, if anyone knows you well enough to fix you up on the perfect date, it’s the people who have access to all of your emails, are aware of your local travel habits, and knows what blogs you like to read.

Google Chance- For those who frown upon the idea of online dating, but are desperate to meet someone with similar interests, Google Chance notifies you when someone who fits your dating profile types in similar searches or travel plans.  The idea is to give you the courage you to confront this person who may be taking the same mode of transportation or traveling to the same venue as you at given points during the day.  This will also be available under “Google Stalk.”

Google Cans- How many times have you been in the situation where you’ve had to get to a bathroom stat? Google Cans is an offshoot of Google Maps that tells you just how close you are to the bathroom in an emergency and the plausibility of actually getting into said bathroom using a star system. 0 Stars if you’re a Nigerian on a flight from Detroit the day after an attempted underwear bombing and 5 for public restrooms not closed down due to plumbing issues.

By Eddie “Cube” Rawls

Christ.  Gotta head down to Dade County and interview a bunch of celebrities and athletes.  Red Carpet for the Super Bowl.  I was nervous.  One wrong turn and I could easily get shanked or run into a gigantic store of neon fixtures.

I paced around inside my home waiting for the cameraman.  In reality, the cameraman is a government stiff who moonlights as paparazzi.  Had to smoke as much of my lid before he arrived.  At the end of the day, he works for the government in some capacity and it wasn’t like I’d have a chance during the night to pull bong hits with the guy.  Pictures were necessary for the job.  My stash would have to wait for later, but I’d have my fill of medicines well before he got to the front door.

The Hell have I gotten myself into?  A mistake.  It’s a mistake. I should have never taken this assignment.

The camerman arrived with a whole bunch of shit.  Lenses.  Cards.  Lights.  I don’t know what this crap is.  Looks expensive and it’s obvious he knows what he’s doing, but I can’t be expected to hold some sort of… conversation about photography.

Everything’s going pretty fast at this point.  I mean, the camerman’s telling me something about film, but nothing’s registering.  My body, and brain, need to tap on the brakes a bit.  I gotta get into character.

The “Cunt Word” usually does the trick.  That word stops everything.  Besides, I needed a cigarette.  Works every time.

The cameraman followed me outside and my driver — the third man — pulls up in some maroon colored S.U.V. without a G.P.S.  I need that lady when I drive — The G.P.S. Lady.  You can’t drive to Miami without proper bearings.  What a dick.  He better do his job.

The driver is six-foot-four.  An attorney.  Soft,  but somehow, a black-belt in karate.  He’s there to protect me I guess, but scared of the interviews I had planned.  Worried about, “getting in trouble.”  Doesn’t this guy realize I have a job to do?  What the fuck?  I don’t get it.  I’m the one who might get his ass kicked.

We head down 95 South and my driver drones on about his concerns.  His reputation.  Cops.  This.  That.  Finally, he starts to loosen up once I start talking about how I was raped as a child.

Smartly, the camerman had a stiff upper-lip.  He knew the gig.  He shoots the pics, I ask the questions.  My driver, well, he’s supposed to round up the stars and get them to me.  We’ll see how he does.  I suspect he’ll sit in a corner the whole night.   He means well though, and, I’m too high to care all that much.

We get in and my crew sets up pretty fast after getting past Axe security  without incident.  I’ve got my goofy hat,  a cashmere Brioni jacket, a vintage Beatles tee-shirt, Spicolli Vans, and jeans: by Gap.  That’s what I’m wearing.

I tape up a couple of signs to the rope separating paparazzi (which I guess I’m part of now) from the rich and famous.  Time for one last cig and few belts of Jack before starting this shit.

My buzz is definitely solid at this point.  The South Beach scene makes me itch.  I know what goes on.  The plastic.  Being seen.  Ehh.   Time for comedy napalm.

“Hey!  Will Smith!”  My first big question.  You can see he’s an admirer of my cap.

Read More

Ever since the debate over reforming health care began to rage in this country, those crazy tea party people have been complaining about pretty much everything; trying to get their point across by brandishing guns and misspelled signs.  The more open-minded masses have been trying to figure out a way to sweep them under the rug, but that’s kind of hard when they have an entire news network backing them.

We think their blathering, incoherent protests could be more effective if they took a lesson from their Ukranian counterparts.  Ukrainian women none too pleased with the outcome of their most recent Presidential election have taken arms against their oppressors by exercising their right to bare breasts.

Instead of gathering in angry town hall meetings and calling people socialists, they’ve correctly surmised that the chances of their voices being heard increase greatly when their boobs are seen.

Sure they’re still waving signs that may or may not be spelled correctly and certainly brandishing weapons of differing shapes and sizes, but we’d much rather pay attention to that than anything on FOX News.  In short, we really admire the passion of these Ukrainian ladies and how they put that passion on display. Tea Partiers could stand to take a few notes. We would be passionate too if someone like Yulia Tymoshenko had lost her bid for re-election.  She’s a total PILF.

University of Florida QB Tim Tebow is the star of an ad for right wing, right-to-life organization Focus On The Family that will air during this Sunday’s Super Bowl.  The ad will tell the story of Tebow’s mother who was urged by doctors to have an abortion due to health complications, but pressed on and gave birth to one of College Football’s most successful Quarterbacks, not to mention a two-time Heisman Trophy winner.  Before settling on the idea that will air Sunday, Focus on the Family probably disposed of a few potential commercial treatments. Here are just a few they may or may not have come up with:

1. The Option- Tebow is in formation with a pregnant woman as center.  The Florida QB calls out his cadence and snaps the ball as a mother is giving birth.  The ball in this case is a baby and as Tebow cradles the baby and runs out wide he has the option of keeping the baby or pitching it to an adoptive family as a defender whose name plate reads “abortion” bears  down on him.  The screen cuts to black asking, “Which one will you choose.”  Fade up from black to see Tebow standing in the end zone with his family celebrating a touchdown.

2. The Backup- A starting QB gets sacked and injured in the final minute of the game.  On the sidelines is Tim Tebow.  His coach tells him he’s going in.  He straps on his helmet, but when he joins the huddle we see an aborted fetus in his place with a mini Tebow jersey on.  The team breaks huddle and goes into formation. The ball is snapped over the head of the aborted fetus and the defense picks it up and runs in for the touchdown.  The screen fades to black and reads…”Abortion means game over.”

3. The Draft- Tim Tebow is at the NFL Draft. The commissioner repeatedly steps up to the podium announcing other players being taken by teams in need, most of them QBs.  Through time lapse photography we see the draft wearing on and the venue becoming more empty until Tebow is alone.  He becomes translucent so that he appears to be a ghost or at least an unsigned free agent.  The screen fades to black and reads “Choose Life…and please draft Tim Tebow. He’ll do okay in a pro-style system.”

National Lampoon sat down to chat with Scottie Pippen about his experience in the new DVD, Midgets vs. Mascots. Now on sale in some sort of stores or something. It’s online someplace. Just google it. Away we go:

National Lampoon: Scottie, thanks for talking with us about Midgets vs Mascots,now out on DVD and clearly a major contender for the upcoming Oscars; What information did you get up front about “A Tribute To Big Red?”

Scottie Pippen: A friend of mine was involved with midgets vs mascots, and he sorta told me about the movie, how it was this ‘Borat’ type style thing.
I thought it sounded fun.  I needed to go to Dallas on business anyway,
so they paid the trip, put my whole family up in a suite, and agreed to
put my family in the movie…that was really the selling point, because
they wanted to be in a movie.  Oh yeah, and I got paid.  I never read
the script, I just read my 3 scenes.  They looked cool, funny. There was
nothing in the scenes about Gary Coleman cracking me over the head with
a phone.

NL: Regarding your statement released on Jan. 8, stating you were distancing
yourself from the DVD, do you regret appearing in the film?

SP: I had fun making the movie, right up until the little people
attacked me and Gary Coleman cracked me over the head with a phone.
That was crazy, but looking back at it…pretty funny too.  I knew that
video was going to leak out on you tube and blow up.  My marketing
person thought I should just put a little press release out, ya know,
cuz I just don’t want anyone to think I endorse  the controversial stuff
in the movie.

NL: Is Gary Coleman craftier than Rodman?

SP: Gary Coleman and Rodman are similar in more ways than you might
think.  Not sure that is a big compliment to either.

NL: You clearly fought many midgets in this film. After them, who’s
the next shortest person you’ve been in a fight with?

SP: How tall are you?  You might be the answer to my question if
you keep asking me about fighting midgets.

NL: What on earth was that costume you were wearing supposed to be?

SP: I’m in a gator mascot costume.  Part of the plot, can’t tell ya
why cuz I really don’t remember, or uh, I’m trying to forget.

NL: Can midgets ball?

SP: Actually, I think the little people can beat mascots in hoop.
Another smart question.

NL: If the 95-96 Bulls had the exact same starting five, except
instead of Ron Harper, there was a midget version of Ron Harper, how many of the 72 games would you have still won?

SP: 72.  Love my boy Ron though.

NL: Midgets in Arkansas: okay?

SP: Another brilliant question.  Are you a Pulitzer winner?

NL: Do you have any film aspirations aside from this one?

SP: I actually would like to act.  I want to be the bad guy. I also
have people trying to get me to do voiceover work because my deep voice.
Get me on CSI Miami..get on that.

NL: Is it true that Oden Polynice was originally slated to be in
this movie?

SP: Nobody would choose OP over me…in anything at anytime.  I’m
out…you can go back to getting drunk, I have carpool in 5 minutes.

-fin-

Check out the dvd trailer below!

A behind the scenes look at Michael Ian Black’s new children’s book, The Purple Kangaroo, with illustrator Peter Brown. MIB is most notably a professional jackass, but a jackass with heart. Should he be writing kids books, or even being around them, not sure. But this video is funny.

I am a enormous gadget nerd. If it can be wireless, get email or take a picture, I have it. So having an iPhone is pretty much a given. A delightfully fun past time is ringtones. I enjoy having the most annoying and unique ringtone. Of course, after shelling out for all these expensive gizmo’s, that last thing I will do is spend money on ringtones. Luckily, there is the internet, where I can find anything, and share it with you.

My most recent annoying ringtones.

CTU ringtone from ‘24′ -download
I enjoyed this ringtone, it made every call seem important. Eventually a guy in the store had my same ringtone, it killed it for me. Especially because he looked like a total tool.

Filet-o-Fish McDonald’s commercial song - download
This was a great ringtone. I used my phone to record it from the tv. I have a lot of time on my hands. I laughed everytime my phone rang and then ultimately became disappointed when the callers were boring. I enjoyed my ring more then the calls.

Geico ringtone, from the CEO. Ring-a-dingy ding ding de dong.  link
This ringtone is my current, I love it.

‘I Already Work Around The Clock!’ - link
This is that viral quote from Harrison Ford in the new movie ‘Extraordinary Measures’ which looks like a CBS TV movie. A video of this went viral and I wanted it as my ringtone so I made one for iPhone, after searching though, I found that the movie itself is mocking themselves and posted it!

Do you have cooler free ringtones to add? Well submit a comment below and share the joy!

Last night Conan O’Brien hosted his last ‘Tonight Show’ after only 7 short months, it was a non-typical yet funny show. Steve Carell from ‘the Office’ came out to give Conan his exit interview for NBC. It was bittersweet throughout. Conan got choked up a few times in between laughs and you could tell his dreams realized were being ripped from his heart.

Hulu wouldn’t allow embeds of last nights show, so I present a shitty clip provided from some person who video taped the screen of the TV. Classy.

By John Markus

It’s common knowledge that the combination of men and meat is a life-affirming one, with long prehistoric roots.  When a waiter sets a charred two-boned rib eye down in front of us, still sizzling and spitting off fat, we get Neanderthal flashbacks.   I mean, deep, vaguely flickering ones, but they’re there: recollections of the time we, with a gang of naked, furry other males, brought down that snarling saber tooth with our clunky weapons.  Sure, it took hours to kill the beast since we were stupid then and our spears broke a lot and we hunted timidly because we were all naked and forced to observe that most of the other guys in the pack were a lot bigger than us.  Still, we puffed up and did the job.

But what about women and meat?  No, no, dude, you’re wrong.  About everything.  I’m referring to the luminous Lee Ann Whippen of TLC’s BBQ PITMASTERS and meat.

You gotta watch her this Thursday night.  If you don’t know who she is, Lee Ann’s a BBQ legacy, daughter of a founding father of competition ‘Q.  She runs two successful BBQ restaurants in Virginia, AND, she’s one of the leading women of this totally male dominated sport.  The woman is both Danica Patrick AND Annie Oakley rolled into one.  She’s gorgeous, with impossibly blonde hair (is it natural? Who gives a crap?) She LOVES kickin’ mens’ collective asses at these contests, and does it all while looking like a vision, even blotted in pork fat.  Especially blotted in pork fat. It would be HER spear that brought down the saber tooth, and we’d all start wearing loincloths just so she’d hang with us, and civilization could begin.  Hell, it may have been a Neanderthal chick like her who motivated the wheel.

Tragically, for the first five episodes of our show, she has a hunky boyfriend cooking with her.  We don’t like him.  We want her to come to her senses and understand that her natural state in life is to be available to the rest of us. We pray for the boyfriend to screw up.  And Yes! He gets dumped prior to this upcoming contest, in an eternal, don’t let the door hit you in the ass dumping.

So, she’s coming to the Dover contest a single woman.  As I’m driving to Delaware, through this terrible weather, which would remain ungodly and punishing the whole contest (so brutal, you gotta see it), I get stuck in traffic, I start to worry about Lee Ann.  That damn boyfriend, or as we called him, “Hunky-Dumpy”, always helped her with unloading hundreds and hundreds of pounds of equipment from her cargo truck (yes, Lee Ann drives and OWNS a CARGO TRUCK!).  I want to get to Dover and help.  A rescue fantasy with Lee Ann, what a fool I am!) But even more torturous, I realize I’m not allowed to help anybody who’s on the show, because I’m a Producer.  It’s plain forbidden.  (Just asked that Producer they canned on “The Bachelor”.)  I drive through the pouring rain, suppressing my rescue urges.  Arrive on site at one in the morning, see an empty cargo truck, and there she is.  Ms. Whippen.  Sitting calmly having hot tea in her perfectly erected tent, surrounded by 1200 pounds of ceramic cookers.  Looking unruffled, every blonde curl perfectly out of place, greeting me with a big old smile.  And with that smile, you can tell that all she’s thinking about is bringing down that nasty saber tooth, and maybe, a few of those men in the pack for good measure.

BBQ PITMASTERS -Thursday 10pm / 9 c on TLC

The competition heats up in the northeast, even as temperatures fall at the Diamond State BBQ Championship in Dover, Delaware. Harry’s former teammate, Gary, competes on his own and Tuffy does Myron a favor, which could end up hurting his own chances.

The NATIONAL ENQUIRER is reporting that Tiger and his Wood entered a sex addiction clinic in Hattiesburg, Mississippi.

I’m sure the support groups offer much comfort. In fact, I cannot think of a better place to find some eager young beaver. Jesus Christ why didn’t I think of that? Here I am trying to pick up chicks in line at the coffee shop. What do I gather about a girl there? That she likes coffee? That gets me no place. Getting a chick in sex rehab clinic might be the most genius target marketing move in history. I wonder how the beds are there for doing it? Or rather the hallway closets, or rather, the hallways.

Well done Tiger, I’m sure you will be back in the game soon.

By Rachel Arbeit

It takes a pretty big bloody ego in a V-neck sweater to turn down 144 million dollars (or less millions of pounds), but Simon Cowell just said no to the big pay day. Simon Cowell announced that this season will be his last on the most popular show on TV: American Idol. Instead of sticking with the talent competition, he will be a judge on a new Fox show called The X-Factor, which is a talent competition.

Simon Cowell is repeating the same formula he used in his homeland, just with better teeth. Across the pond, he began as a judge on ‘Pop Idol’ (the show that inspired [insert any country that can afford to produce reality TV here] Idol shows all over the world) in 2001, then left three years later to judge X Factor. Since Simon Cowell was the most important part of the show, Pop Idol is no longer on the air. It is fair to assume that American Idol will suffer the same fate. It is also fair to assume that Simon made this move in order to get Ryan Seacrest (the most useless man on TV since Carson Daly) out of his face.

The X-Factor has been criticized because participants are obliged to travel at their own expense to any location the show requires them to be present at. The contestants are not paid during their participation in the show, even if participating prevents them from attending a regular day job. Luckily, this won’t be a problem in America, because 10%+ do not have the inconvenient scheduling concern of a day job. In England, the performers’ union called “Equity” refers to the fact that contestants are not paid as “cheap exploitation”. Well, it’s certainly not expensive exploitation. But the competition can be considered an elongated audition where, like with all other reality television shows, exploitation is considered exposure and is both desired and voluntary.

By Thane Economou

When compiling the top ten comedies of the decade, I took a difference approach than most bloggers. I’ve analyzed each year individually and chose its best comedy. During my analysis I’ve noted runners up and the movements and cycles that have affected the comedy world throughout the years.

When choosing a year’s best comedy, I was looking at several criteria. How funny is it? Is it rewatchable? Is it quotable? Does it hold up as a well made film? Did audiences embrace it? And in the years to come, is it one of the decade’s definitive comedies that we will be showing to our children? Additionally, I have tried my best to put aside my biases, but frankly, comedy is very subjective.

So, without further ado, I present my top ten comedies of the last decade:

2000:

The new millennium began with a weaker than usual year. Jim Carrey, the former powerhouse, gave a fun performance in the forgettable Farrelly Brothers film Me, Myself, and Irene. The Coen Brothers released one of their funniest films, O Brother, Where Art Thou? John Cusack’s High Fidelity was poignant and introduced the world to Jack Black. And Christopher Guest directed what may be his finest, and funniest, film – the improvised classic Best in Show.

But it is Meet The Parents that became one of the biggest hits of the year, as well as one of Ben Stiller’s funniest movies. It is also the movie that cemented him as a star for the rest of the decade. Forget the sequel and the edited non-stop TBS showings, and remember Meet the Parents is actually a very awkward, very funny movie.

“I have nipples Greg. Could you milk me?”

2001:

Runners up this year included two very funny chick flicks (Bridget Jones’s Diary and Legally Blonde), an animated film where the parents actually laughed (Shrek), and Wes Anderson’s funniest movie involving suicide and incest as a subplot (The Royal Tenenbaums). And in the years to come, Wet Hot American Summer may rise above cult classic status to true comedy of the year.

However, Zoolander, in its infinitely stupid genius, is the definitive comedy of 2001. In back to back years, Ben Stiller ruled the comedy world. Co-starring with Owen Wilson, this movie marked a formation of a new group of comedians – nicknamed “The Frat Pack.” This group included Will Ferrell, who as Mugatu stole the show and would eventually become the comic actor of the decade.

“It’s that damn Hansel! He’s so hot right now”

2002:

In this year, a man put a toy car up his rectum (Jackass: The Movie), a funnier than allowed indie chick flick made hundreds of millions of dollars (My Big Fat Greek Wedding), and my little company did me proud (National Lampoon’s Van Wilder).

But come on. This is the year Super Troopers came out! Actually, it premiered at Sundance the year before, but this is the first chance many people had to behold its beauty. Incredibly stupid. Very crude. But you try not quoting it.

“Why don’t you just order a large, Farva?” “I don’t want a large Farva. I want a goddamn litre o’ cola!”

2003:

This year was kinda awesome. Bad Santa. Bringing Down The House. Bruce Almighty. Love, Actually. Finding Nemo. A Mighty Wind. Even the Academy Award winning Lost In Translation had Bill Murray advertising booze for the Japanese.

But this year more than any other was Will Ferrell’s. For this year’s definitive comedy, it was a toss up. I almost went with Elf, which certainly should make any best Christmas movie list. It is unbelievably funny and re-watchable. But the year’s tour de force performance was Ferrell as Frank the Tank in Old School. The movie cemented the Frat Pack’s stay as the kinds of comedy, and was ridiculously funny.

“We’re… We’re going streaking! We’re going up the quad and to the gymnasium.”

2004:

Another freaking incredible year! Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle. Garden State. I Heart Huckabees. The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. Mean Girls. Shaun of the Dead. Napoleon Dynamite. Sideways was one of the best made comedies of the decade, and Team America: World Police was one of the funniest.

But as far as pure laughs, re-watchability, and re-quotability this year is still firmly within the grasp of the Frat Pack. And I’m not talking about the funny, yet insanely dumb, Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story (starring Frat Packers Stiller and Vince Vaughn). No, I’m talking about what may be seen in years to come as the comedy of the decade: Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy. It starred Will Ferrell, Paul Rudd and Steve Carrell with cameos by Stiller, Vaughn, Luke Wilson, and Tim Robbins. Also, this film was produced by a little guy named Judd Apatow.

“I’m very important. I have many leather-bound books and my apartment smells of rich mahogany.”

2005:

The first half of the decade was defined by PG-13 rated comedies. In 2005, this was changed by the success of two films. Two films that are not only non-stop hilarious, but represented the changing tide of comedy in Hollywood. The first is Wedding Crashers, the last epic from the Frat Pack gang.

But the second was from Judd Apatow, producer of Anchorman. The 40 Year Old Virgin is one of the funniest films ever made (and even includes a real life chest waxing!) With a crop of actors such as Carrell, Rudd, Seth Rogen, and Leslie Mann – the Apatow movement, while a slight evolution off the Frat Pack, would pick up the torch from them and define the second half of the decade.

“I’m starvin’… let’s get some f***in’ french toast!”

2006:

The great 2006 comedies ran from the incredibly stupid (Nacho Libre, Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby, Beerfest) to the award winning (Thank You For Smoking, Little Miss Sunshine.)

But alas, the best comedy of 2006 was The Wicker Man. Just kidding – but seriously that Nicholas Cage movie is f***cking hilarious. Actually, the comedy of 2006 was Borat: Cultural Learnings of America to Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan. This film redefined how many laughs could be crammed in a movie, was a huge box office hit, and the constant promotions and lawsuits kept this movie in the news for months. But more than anything, Sacha Baron Cohen gave the comedic performance of our time.

“You telling me the man who try to put a rubber fist in my anus was a homosexual?”

2007:

This year saw Will Ferrell fading but still funny (Blades of Glory), the Oscars awarding a Michael Cera movie (Juno), and comedy and violence finally merging like they do in my dreams (Hot Fuzz). Additionally, The Simpsons Movie was quite good, as was the highly underrated Hot Rod.

But the Apatow Empire hit its zenith this year. In one summer, they released two movies. Judd Apatow wrote and directed Knocked Up, both touching and hilarious (if you love beard jokes as much as I do). And he produced Superbad, not only one of the great high school movies, but also the comedy of the year. With an unbelievably funny script co-written by Seth Rogen, it made Michael Cera, Jonah Hill and the guy that played McLovin all stars.

“This guy is either gonna think ‘Here’s another kid with a fake ID’ or ‘Here’s McLovin, a 25 year-old Hawaiian organ donor.’”

2008:

Will Ferrell returned to top idiotic form with Step Brothers. In Bruges proved funnier and more entertaining than anyone was expecting. And Judd Apatow continued his reign with movies he produced (the fantastic Forgetting Sarah Marshall) and movies he had nothing to do with, but somehow got credit (Role Models, Zach and Miri Make A Porno).

But the man of the year was Danny McBride. After appearing in 2007’s Hot Rod, he took 2008 by storm by co-starring in some of its best comedies. He hilariously played a drug dealer in the Apatow produced Pineapple Express, and starred in the low budget, barely seen comedy masterpiece The Foot Fist Way. And he had a small role in Tropic Thunder, the comedy of 2008. Ben Stiller and Jack Black were hilarious once again, Robert Downey Jr., turned in my favorite black face performance, and Tom Cruise was perfection.

“Mother Nature just pissed her pantsuit!”

2009:

The decade ended strong for comedies. I Love You, Man. Observe and Report. Land of the Lost. Bruno. 500 Days of Summer. Funny People. Zombieland.

But seriously, is there any contest? The Hangover may very well be seen as one of the great comedies in the coming years. Zach Galifianakis turns in the performance anyone who’s seen his stand-up knew he was capable of delivering. The premise was simple and the jokes were plentiful. It was crude enough that young people loved it, and undeniably funny enough that my parents loved it.

“Four of us wolves, running around the desert together, in Las Vegas, looking for strippers and cocaine. So tonight, I make a toast!”

And that’s my list. Meet The Parents. Zoolander. Super Troopers. Old School. Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy. The 40 Year Old Virgin. Borat. Superbad. Tropic Thunder. The Hangover.

The top ten definitive comedies of our last decade.

By Mike Rosolio

Not with a bang, but with a whimper is the way T.S. Eliot’s world ends. A common interpretation is that civilization will cease to exist once people lose faith in it, and in all honesty, how can a rational human being be expected to maintain a solid loyalty to it during a power outage?

There are very few wakeup calls quite like a blackout. We are certain of our autonomy, our independence, our ability to exist on an island with nothing more than our wits and maybe a monkey in a pirate costume. We like to think of ourselves as intellectuals who do read, and choose intelligent stuff by authors who include their middle initials in their professional names. But the second the power goes out, we sit in the dark, wondering if it really is a full blown outage or just a prolonged flicker.

Like the stages of grief, you sit in your apartment, sometimes on the floor, because you no longer have the luxury of lights and figure you might as well go the whole way on the devolution train. You are tired, and would be asleep if the power worked, but since the lights are off without your consent, sleep becomes an impossibility. Anger is the first, and shortest, step of grief, and basically arrives in the form of a string of random obscenities indiscriminately spewed about concerning the reliability of the electric company.

Denial is the next step, as you try to act like it’s not that big a deal the power’s out. You decide to prop up a flashlight and read, like they used to back in the Gilded Age, but you can’t find the one flashlight you own and don’t have any candles. You turn on all four burners on your gas stove, wondering if the light generated is bright enough to let you see the pages if you read in the kitchen, and if that benefit outweighs the remarkable danger that a potential gas explosion presents.

Next comes depression. You’re lying on the ground now, actively considering falling asleep right there. After seeing Samara from The Ring a few hundred times in the darkness, you wander outside to the civilized world. It’s like going through a time machine, watching the life of convenience you used to take for granted pass you by in the form of busses and late night taco stands. Dejected, you go back into the crypt that used to be your building.

Then bargaining. You begin cataloging the number of things for which you are dependent on electricity, sorting out which ones are really all that necessary and which ones you could do without. After all, if you learn to live without it, you might be better adjusted for the next time this happens. Plus, this is clearly happening to you because of some sort of electronic karma, and if you cut down on the HBO, this won’t happen again.

Finally, the acceptance phase. This usually only arrives if the blackout is more widespread. You come to the conclusion that the power will never come back and you just will have to learn to live this way. Banding together a small group, you plan militaristic missions to the grocery store to feed the entire clan. Your official playbook becomes Lord of the Flies, which you re-read around hour four of the blackout. Many would call this an overreaction, but during the Hurricane Isabel situation of ‘03, the world was essentially Night of the Living Dead, and in Apt 2502 (of South Campus Commons, College Park, MD), four reasonably intelligent people sat with ties around their heads reenacting Charlie Steiner’s “Follow me! Follow me to freedom!”

Is this really the end? Are we really that dependent on electricity and artificial stimuli? Kick the Can was good enough for our parents; they’d kick that little bastard around for hours having a grand old time. Would we have to find a way to entertain ourselves like that again? Is civilization nothing more than a gigantic Las Vegas neon sign blinding us from seeing that we’re nothing more than helpless animals plugged in to a network that could fall at any time? Like that - foom! - enlightenment…sartori.

Then the lights go back on, as if the Gods of Light were waiting like Herb Brooks for the correct answer. And after all that philosophizing, the first question that runs through your mind: “I wonder if the Dexter finale is available OnDemand yet…”

By Thane Economou

In this time of heavy corporate marketing, we often lose track of the real meaning of Thanksgiving. This holiday is about more eating heavily processed foods, watching television, and shopping. Today we should take this opportunity to give thanks for what is most important in our lives.

This time of year, I often sit down my three illegitimate children. First, I must remind them who I am, since I only see them on holidays in November. Second, I turn to each of them, and tell them how much I love them. Thirdly, I ask them to remind me what their names are.

“Dad, why do we celebrate Thanksgiving?” asked Julio Menendez, my precocious youngest child. After berating him on not calling me sir, I sat him on my lap and began to tell him the story of the Pilgrims and the Indians, and the real meaning of Thanksgiving.

“You see, Julio, the Pilgrims came to America in a journey away from hard times in Europe and towards a better life here. This began the great tradition of our country accepting the rejects of the rest of the world. Just like the Mics, Krauts, Spics, Wops, Japs, Polocks and other lovable losers that came to America in search of liberty, justice, freedom, and the minimum wage.”

“When the Pilgrims arrived at the New World, there were already people there, the Indians. Now, the Indians thought they deserved the land, because they got there first. But the Indians forgot two things. Firstly, that they too were immigrants, who crossed the land bridge from India a couple of years before. And secondly, that they weren’t white. So instantly, the white people started shooting the Indians until they gave up their land.” Read More

By Mike Rosolio

(note: the author is a Bond nerd. This may not be funny at all, but it’s cathartic for the writer. Let him be.)

Looking back on the world you can often find yourself rethinking things thought before. For years, we knew Caddyshack was the greatest comedy of all time. We knew that Michael Jordan was the greatest basketball player of all time. We knew that Abraham Lincoln was probably the greatest president, even though the first and only civil war as on his watch and he had a relatively short McTerm.

And we knew that Timothy Dalton was the worst Bond. Read More

By Eddie “Cube” Rawls

Twitter’s like the powder cocaine of social networking — but, cut with too much f*cking Ex-Lax.

This bird has me firmly in its beak.

Twitter. Tweets. #Hashtags. Twitpics. Tweeps. Retweets.

Christ.

A bag of turds Twitter feature known as “Retweet” has become part of the American vernacular.

What? Retweet? A word? Are you kidding me? Not only that, but I’m writing about that c*cksucking word right this very instant. Rawls is angry!

But… I’m hooked man. Twitter has this creepy narcotic effect on me. I don’t want it, but I do. And so, I’ve taken the time to break this bird buzz down to its core psychological elements. Here’s a potential problem: I don’t care much for the “social” aspect of “social networking.”

While some might find an anti-social view of humans to be somewhat inconsistent with the concept of social networking, I’d simply tell you to eat me.

For those who agree with what is patently obvious, we’re all schmucks, you will notice Twitter has a paradoxical effect on you. You are drawn to it, but what it wants, you don’t. If there’s a cause chirped on Twitter, no matter how rational or well-served it might seem to lesser-folk, it will abhor you and cause great, warranted outrage. Regardless of the “trending topic” on Twitter, it becomes a turn-off to the very fiber of your being. Like in drug addiction, this is called a paradoxical effect.

Take for example, Girl Scouts. When Girl Scouts became some kind of viral Twitter meme — I made no apologies — my donations went down. As in zero. The very organization makes me sick now. Girl Scouts… They’re like little green vomit-stains running around selling tainted baked goods.

Their cookies? Poison. Bad for the economy. In fact, The Girl Scouts make Commie Cookies. I hear of rumors Girl Scouts keep league with Al Qaeda. Girl Scouts are succubus, evil, wrong and a threat to national security. Because of Twitter.

Twitter produces an unintended anti-social network. A “paradoxical effect” and for me, the beginning of a Utopian gathering.

Do you like Mad Men? Great show huh? Wrong. It sucks. Why? People on Twitter liked it. Therefore, the show sucks the dong.

I will never, ever, watch Mad Men. I don’t care about how many Emmy Awards it wins or critical praise it garners — people on Twitter switched over their avatars to friggin’ Mad Men characters. To be crystal, folks actually switched the pictures they use for identification to characters from a T.V. show — in mass. Why? Because other twitterers did.

This act, this obscene gesture of Groupthink, spread like an STD in an STD factory. The prevailing implication was if you didn’t use a Mad Men avatar, you couldn’t hang with the cool kids. You were in fact, uncool.

Maybe that’s so. Perhaps I’m just not the sort who gravitates towards the idol worshiping artsy-fartsy types. If being “cool” requires dry-humping Mad Men avatars, count me out. I stand up to peer pressure. I’m a man of action. This Mad Men business, I take it as a matter of life and death. Obviously, by taking the prophylactic measure of avoiding Mad Men, I won’t break out with a raunchy case of genital-warts or the AIDS… which come from Twitter.

Then you have Twitter’s retweet feature. Essentially, one is retweeting when directly quoting another’s tweets. Simply, you are re-sending out a tweet already written by someone else. Einstein invented it.

People love retweeting “Breaking News.” Maybe these birds hope to show others how advanced they are with their Super-Electronic-Twitter-SpyMatic-Surveillance equipment when they parrot breaking news from the past. I only know intense amounts of pain fill my body upon seeing such retweets. If not properly used, retweeting is known to cause bloody stools.

I use it — the retweet feature. However, I’m an admitted addict and have a gross of Mylanta bottles sitting in my pantry as I prepare for the upcoming nuclear holocaust. Anyhoo, with regard to retweets, rather than merely regurgitate the words of others, I try to add my own spice.

Today someone tweeted this: “¸.•*’ ‘* Sparkly Hugs*´`*•.¸ ¸.•*’ ‘* Sparkly Hugs*´`*•.¸ ¸.•*’ ‘* Sparkly Hugs*´`”

Take that Shakespearean wonder in.

I replied “.357 inching towards mouth” and retweeted the violent “Sparkly Hugs” tweet. Bottom line, “Sparkly Hugs” must be destroyed. Surely everyone is on board, right? Wrong! Muwahahahahaaha. “Sparkly Hugs” have a powerful alliance.

People actually retweeted the “Sparkly Hugs” gibberish to show their support. A proud, ringing endorsement for God-Damned “Sparkly Hugs?”

I’ve got something fer ya’ “Sparkly Hug:” F*ck you… “Sparkly Hug.” I don’t know what you are and I don’t like you.

And dig this… A user not only took the time to line up dashes and asterisks and other suicide-inducing symbols to form whatever the Hell “Sparkly Hugs” are, but another actually thought that important enough for others to embrace as what? Some life guiding philosophy? A doctrine requiring followers of “Sparkly Hugs” to follow the “Sparkly Hug” f*cking creed?

I have the answer. Take the “Sparkly Hug” tweet from Twitter and print it out. Paste it on a target. Line that sucker up down range about 5 yards. Find an RPG.

Fire.

***

Fire on Twitter

By: Eddie “Cube” Rawls

If you’re seeking the seminal “list” sort of “article,” filled with contemporary political jokes about the salacious details on the innards (and outards) of figures who grace the media on a routine basis, you’re in the wrong place. Really, it’s far too easy — like the combination to Bristol Palin’s lock on her chastity belt.

Here, you won’t find jokes about pin-ups of Levi Johnston’s johnson circulating underneath bathroom stalls at the Y.M.C.A. Nor will you spot a glob of Bill Love, as it’s not worth spilling more ink over. As much as I would like to, I’ll avoid my mind’s eye comparison of Sarah Palin’s vagina to the Laverne & Shirley opening sequence at the brewery. Schlemiel! Schlimazel! Hasenpfeffer Incorporated! Don’t sing that.

Instead, I’d rather present a brief, slightly nuanced, picture of biology in American political science. I mean really, the modern body politic is not the type of America I like to remember. The nanosecond political intellectual brain-jackings that drive by daily are simply not a logical way to learn from our past. That’s why you kids must learn to be a bit more “micro” and a little less “macro” when it comes to United States history. Makes perfect sense. Know what I’m sayin’? Micro yo:

#5 — Captain David Dickerson’s Posterior

Capt. Dickerson. United States Army. President Lincoln’s body guard and keeper of his Executive Branch.

I know what you’re thinking: “What else is new? We all know Lincoln liked buggering dudes and all.”

Well, for those naysayers who attempt to disprove this fact noted in books theorizing multiple gay Lincoln encounters, you’re wrong. That Honest Abe was nicknamed “Honest,” and was married to one Mary Todd Lincoln is a compelling argument — consistent with society’s firm conceptualization of wedded bliss nowadays.

Honest marriages aside, when Mrs. Lincoln wasn’t home, Abe was getting a little nookie on the DL. You see, if mega-buttinski Mary Lincoln’s prying eyes weren’t about, President Lincoln was sharing his bed (using your tax-dollars Glenn Beck fans) with the good captain:

For nearly eight months in 1862-3, Capt. David Derickson led the brigade that guarded Lincoln at the Soldiers’ Home in the District of Columbia, the Camp David of the day. Derickson, in the words of his regiment’s history, published three decades later, ”advanced so far in the president’s confidence and esteem that in Mrs. Lincoln’s absence he frequently spent the night at his cottage, sleeping in the same bed with him, and — it is said — making use of his Excellency’s night shirt!”

Off came the night shirt, out came Dickerson.

Mary Lincoln -- She Tried

#4 — Thomas Jefferson’s Man Lumps

If you’re not up on your history, you might want to look up another body part President Jefferson enjoyed using. Like, if Jefferson had a future-moving gadget or something, he would totally dig the song Black Betty.

Anyhow, President Jefferson had boils on his ass:

In the third week of taking the waters at Warm Springs (1818) Jefferson developed boils on his buttocks. (The 50+ mile ride to the spa plus possibly unsanitary conditions there may have predisposed to the illness.) As may be imagined, his homeward return ride was a trial. Once home, for several weeks he conducted his correspondence lying down. He did not ride a horse for several months. “Jefferson always believed that this experience had greatly injured his health”

Evangelicals claim the boils hailed from the wrath of God due to Jefferson’s interracial sexual proclivities. Other, more scientific Evangelicals, claim the buttocks-boil infestation sprung from God’s distaste for slavery and hypocrisy.

"Why don't you shove that hat up your ass String-Bean?"

#3 — William Howard Taft’s Shadow

President Taft was a fatty-fat. You must know this. At his peak he tipped the scales at 335-340 pounds. My man was the fattest president to ever occupy the White House. He was so fat, he got stuck in the White House bathtub and had to be removed by some fat-president-pickeruppers. In fact, the good folks over at “Fat Bastards Bathing Equipment” had to make a brand new big ass fat tub for him.

But see, his whole ginormous body simply doesn’t qualify as a “body part” for purposes of this list. Strictly speaking.

Taft’s shadow fits into this List-A-PaLooza and obviously is a body part. And you know what? The shadow knows. The shadow knows President Taft probably never saw his own adult wiener.

#2 — Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s Pigmented Lesion

FDR. One of the nation’s greatest presidents. The obvious body parts here are his legs — which were as useful to him as a life-preserver tied down with massive lead weights and thrown to a drowning monkey at sea. President Roosevelt had a bout of the hysterical polio. :(

His pelvis didn’t work either. Elanor (ER) could not be reached for comment at the time of publication.

Lemme tell you something (Mean Gene), the lesion doesn’t get enough pub:

Two independent lines of evidence suggest FDR had a malignant melanoma excised while in the White House:

1. Between 1920 and 1932 FDR developed an enlarging pigmented lesion above his left eye. This lesion vanished between 1940 and 1944, leaving a scar and a sparse lateral eyebrow.
2. During lectures in 1963 and 1965, Dr. George Pack stated that his friend, Dr. Frank Lahey of Boston, had seen FDR in consultation in 1944 and had informed the president that he had a metastatic tumor, and advised him not to run for a fourth term.

Did you see that? The lesion vanished. Gone. Why? Some theorize this was the first noted instance of cosmetic surgery and therefore, the disappearance of the fiendish pigmented lesion. Others question the veracity of such reporting, wondering why FDR would really care. Ain’t like he was goin’ dancing trying to look purty for some hottie.

#1 — Bobby Kennedy’s Finger

November 22nd, 1963. A day that will live in infamy (until September 11th had to go and ruin everything).

President John F. Kennedy was assassinated and the eyes of the world turned to his younger brother, Bobby. What most people don’t know is where Bobby’s finger went to prior to his untimely demise:

Six months after JFK’s death, during a May 1964 dinner cruise on the presidential yacht the USS Sequoia, Bobby and Jackie “exchanged poignant glances” before disappearing below deck, leaving Ethel upstairs. “When they returned, they looked as chummy and relaxed as a pair of Cheshire cats,” according to Schlesinger.

At the Kennedys’ Palm Beach estate during Christmas 1964, socialite Mary Harrington saw Jackie sunbathing topless, with Bobby kneeling at her side.

“As they began to kiss, he placed one hand on her breast and the other inside of her bikini bottom,” Harrington recalled.

“I was shocked. It was clear that Bobby was sleeping with his sister-in-law.”

For any inaccuracies here, I’m sorry. Might have been two fingers. Peace.

***

Follow me on Twitter.

George Carlin just had to get the Last Word, which is rather fitting for one of the most outspoken comics in history. His epic rants and legendary ‘Seven Words You Can’t Say on Television’ made him one of the most well known comedians in history.

In 1993 George Carlin asked his friend, and former National Lampoon editor Tony Hendra to help him write his autobiography. For almost fifteen years, in scores of conversations, many of them recorded, the two discussed Carlin’s life. When Carlin died at age seventy-one in June 2008 with the book still unpublished, Hendra set out to assemble it as his friend would have wanted. Last Words is the result. Check out the video, audio and contest. We are lucky enough to have a few copies of the book to give away, so play with us on bookface and the ever so popular twitter.

By: Eddie “Cube” Rawls

(Brevard County, FL) Are you ready to be Saved! I mean ready? Really ready? Ready for the miracle of weed?

Oh ye Brothers and Sisters of the… Temple Of Lampoon? I feel The Holy Spirit inside me. Yes. A Spirit who grows and expands deep inside my very core (in fact, it kind of burns). The blessed Lord gives me power to rise up (maybe I should sit down) and reverse a terrible injustice. I embark on this journey and implore you, my disciples, to join me on a most important mission. To free the Holy Father Of Ganga. Can I get an “Amen?”

The heathen “judicial” system of Florida has taken a Brother from our midst. A Priest. A Minister. The Holy Man of Herb from the Hawaiian Cannabis Ministries (by way of Florida and The Internet):

“Was that your cannabis?” a judge asked.

“Yes sir,” replied Swallick.

He calls himself Reverend Steven Swallick of the Hawaiian Cannabis Ministries and took the stand in clerical garb identical to that of a catholic priest. Even though he faced prison time, Swallick openly admitted to the jury that he grew more than 100 marijuana plants at his home in Palm Bay. But Swallick said he did it because he had a higher calling. [Ed. Note: What kind of schmuck would use an easy pun like that?]

“The cannabis that was growing in your converted garage, that was your cannabis that you were cultivating?” the judge asked.“Yes sir, for religious purposes,” repled Swallick.

The 53-year-old says he was ordained through the Universal Life Church, a group which will ordain just about anybody almost instantaneously on the Internet. Swallick was prevented from discussing what he claims are religious uses of marijuana in front of the jury. The judge declared there was no evidence he practiced any recognized form of religion.

It took a Florida jury a mere fourteen minutes to convict Reverend Swallick on charges he engaged in the unholy manufacturing of cannabis. What Florida calls a crime, Rev. Swallick embraces as a religion. He also inhales his religion:

“I do inhale it. I do use it as an anointing oil. I do ingest it as a food product. There are over 25,000 beneficial uses for the plant,” Swallick said.

But, because the judge excluded testimony concerning marijuana’s long-standing religious use, the Pontius Pilate lot of a Florida jury would never hear or see Father’s testimony. His incantations can only be described as the very word of God Himself: “Cannabis is the ingredient in the Holy Anointing Oil, as given to Moses, though the Lord, when he appeared in the Burning Bush.”

Let there be light! And a cough.

Cannabis, he tells us, “is a holy sacrament recognized in the Bible.” Jesus used marijuana to heal. Reverend Swallick only immersed himself in the blessed herb, “as a priest;” thereby making his humongo pot lab kosher. While Father Swallick contended his stash was protected First Amendment exercise of religion, the judge thought it was an unholy affront to the science of God.

Our good reverend now faces up to ten years in Florida State Prison as he awaits sentencing and possible crucifixion of the Hawaiian Cannabis Ministries.

I am outraged Brothers and Sisters. A minister! A priest! A saint appointed by God Himself! Ten years? It is our holy Lampoon duty to pray for his immediate release and raise the Holy Gravity Bong (in those states where it’s legal) as we join together:

Please bow your heads.

Our Father. Who art a big bag of Trainwreck. Seedless be Thy strain:

Please help our Brother in his time of need… which rhymes with “weed.”

Forgive Florida, for they know not what they do. Which is nothing really out of the ordinary.

Now, we shall inhale you. And stuff.

Amen.

***

Challenge Me To A Wrestling Match On Twitter.

By: Eddie “Cube” Rawls

(Miami, FL) We all know South Florida is a vortex for all that is unholy and will likely spell the demise of humankind and the entire galaxy… to put it mildly. Florida’s a haven for newlyweds and nearlydeads. It has endless miles of bad road filled with strip-malls; where each store seemingly runs and smells like the D.M.V. And, if you’re famous like me, Vegas has back-room odds in a Deathpool on you — with prop bets on whether you’ll get shanked in a Meth deal gone South or run over and turned into a greasespot by some random midget octogenarian wantonly driving a Caddy from the late 80’s.

I can understand folks making irrational decisions to dwell in the toe cheese of Mickey Mouse (see e.g., Florida Recount 2000), however, animals have no choice in the matter.

Horse murders are on the rise and apparently there’s a market for horsey meat in these depressed jazzy economic times:

She was a bay — a dark brown thoroughbred. She had a shiny coat and new horseshoes, all signs that someone took good care of her.

But Saturday night, the 3- or 4-year-old mare was found cut in pieces along a rural roadside in Southwest Miami-Dade, a spokesman for the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty for Animals said.

The mare was the latest horse slaughtered, possibly for her meat, in a rash of such killings this year in Miami-Dade and Broward counties. …

The number of horses killed since January now stands at 21, Couto said. …

In Florida, it is illegal to sell horse meat without proper labeling. A pound of the flesh can sell for up to $40 on the black market. A 1,400-pound horse may yield about 400 pounds of meat, Couto said.

“South Florida is probably one of the only places in the United States that a dead horse is much more valuable than a live horse,” he said.

That’s reassuring! A dead horse in Florida get’s more money on the pony market than one with a pulse. You see, in the recessed gene pool of The Sunshine State, it’s not the carnage and bags of bay organs done at the hands of some deranged lunatic roaming the streets of Miami that governs the shock value here, it’s the economic analysis on the worth of a dead horse found in the crux of this story. This makes sense – in Bizarro Florida.

What the Hell? Forty dollars a pound for horse meats? What a rip off. You’re telling me horse bits are more expensive than lobster? I didn’t even know there was a “black market” for horse meats. Who eats horse meats? Where are these people?

Florida.

Look, I’ll partake in the eating of dog at my local Chinese joint anytime (without knowledge of said dog in food). But, I draw the line in the sand of craziness with dead horses and their trending patterns on the horse-eating stock market.

by Eddie “Cube” Rawls

(Moorestown, NJ) Where to begin? Hmm… I know! Some copper from Jersey f*cked five cows and got off the hook.

Now, I gather you’re thinking this some tawdry Lampoon ploy – a catchy headline, “Moorestown, NJ” as our setting, and the super-popular bestiality/law enforcement shell game trick. I can hear it now: “Moorestown! Ha-ha! I get it! Cows go Moo!” No. This is a good, old-fashioned, veritable act of cow raping.

I couldn’t make up a pile of dung like this if I tried. Well, I could, but that’s not the point. For example, if your humble and reserved author were to conjure up a fictional town for this gripping piece of legal drama, unquestionably I’d avoid a stupid pun like “Moorestown” to represent man-bovine love – Newark makes much more sense.

Judge James J. Morley dropped animal cruelty charges against New Jersey Police Officer Robert Melia Jr. after he allegedly had sex with some baby cows. Here’s the kicker, the ruling was based on a premise that the cows may have liked and welcomed Mr. Police Officer’s dong:

[Judge] Morley ruled that oral sex with cows cannot constitute animal cruelty since the cows aren’t talking and may not have been “tormented” or “puzzled” by the experience.

In a simply amazing exchange with prosecutors, Morley went into the uncertainties of man-cow relations: “If the cow had the cognitive ability to form thought and speak, would it say, ‘Where’s the milk? I’m not getting any milk,’” …

Morley went on to explain that children are comforted by pacifiers and perhaps cows are equally pacified by police officers in these cases: “They [children] enjoy the act of suckling,” the judge said. “Cows may be of a different disposition.” …

Morley ignored that one cow head-butted Melia in the stomach and appeared far from happy. The prosecutor objected that the cows were “very upset” by Melia’s action and stated “I think any reasonable juror could infer that a man’s penis in the mouth of a calf is torment.”

You see, bestiality is not a crime in New Jersey. And to answer your question, yes, now’s a good time to buy real estate.

While the omission of bestiality from New Jersey law should really not come as any big surprise, animal cruelty prohibitions are etched in Jersey concrete. Here, there was no animal cruelty as a matter of law. It is to the law of animal cruelty, not bestiality, the judge was duty bound to follow. Clearly, Judge Morley made the right call. By the way, when I write the word “clearly,” I really mean the opposite of “clearly.”

To sum up the court’s logic, the prosecutor couldn’t offer up enough evidence to prove the cow did not dig giving Melia blow jobs. Simple. Case dismissed. Hooray for strict construction!

Here’s where I disagree. It’s not as if the cop’s from Detroit — the man’s from New Jersey. What decent cow would give a cop from New Jersey a hummer?

By Thane Economou
Images by Kris Hanson

In a stunning and surprising move, President Barack Obama signed a declaration of war against the cable news network Fox News in the Oval Office earlier today. He then announced his decision that fighting a television station is clearly a higher priority than focusing on health care reform.
“It is Fox News who is going to need health care,” said Obama, “when I’m done kicking their asses.” Obama then gestured for Fox News to “suck it,” and swaggered away from the podium.
Confrontations between the Obama Administration and Fox News have been occurring for some time now. In recent weeks, the White House had accused Fox News of not being a real news network, to which Rupert Murdoch, chairman of News Corp, replied: “then why is it called Fox News?” White House Press Secretary Robert Gibbs has yet to give a rebuttal to this argument.
Additionally, White House communications director Anita Dunn has branded Fox News as being on the payroll for the GOP. Fox News pundit Glenn Beck responded on his show yesterday saying, “We’re not on the payroll. That is offensively false. We gladly do this for free!” He then wept for four and a half solid minutes of airtime.
After signing the declaration of war, Obama instantly gathered the chiefs of staff and Keith Olbermann to the war room to begin plans of attack. Olbermann was forced to leave the meeting early when he ejaculated in his pants at the sight of Obama.
Two main criticisms of Obama’s war on Fox News have already surfaced. The first is that he did not seek a resolution of approval from a worldwide, peacekeeping organization such as the U.N. or The View. Insiders claim Obama feared a veto from Elisabeth Hasselbeck of The View’s security council. The second criticism is the White House’s alliance with liberal biased cable news network MSNBC. But Robert Gibbs claims the prayers and self-flagellations led by Keith Olbermann every morning in the MSNBC offices for their lord and savior Barack Obama in no way make them a biased news network.
The first shots of The Great Fox News War were fired by the Obama administration announcing it will not be sending officials to Fox News shows for interviews. Additionally, Robert Gibbs urged other networks to not allow Fox News into the White House press room and to defriend them on Facebook.
Verbal assaults from Gibbs and Dunn from the White House have proved the most dangerous attacks on Fox News. Dunn’s insistence that Fox News was biased so enraged Bill O’Reilly that on his show, The O’Reilly Factor, he began a rant claiming rumors of bias had been spread by “pinko, liberal, faggy pinheads!” His head then exploded, and O’Reilly became the first casualty of the Fox News War.

The bloodshed continued when Chris Matthews began a violent rampage through Fox News’s New York headquarters, tearing employees from limb from limb. Those present claim the offices fell into a Cloverfield-esque state of mass chaos. Women and children and Shepard Smith huddled in corners, crying in fear, as a bloody, growling Matthews hulked past. His ferocious attack was only stopped when Neil Cavuto’s head proved too large to eat, and he retreated back to MSNBC’s base.

One glimmer of hope between the war of the biased news left and the biased news right came when former co-hosts Sean Hannity and Alan Colmes were seen embracing one another on a fire escape, singing “Tonight” from West Side Story.
Throughout this bloody combat, the Switzerland of the cable news networks, CNN, has remained both neutral and last place in the ratings. To respond, Wolf Blitzer has added an additional two screens to his Situation Room (bringing the total to 47) and Anderson Cooper is now doing the news fully nude.
Obama claims he will not end this war until Fox News is destroyed. “I will not stop the battle against biased information until every news network agrees with me and repeats that message. And I will not stop this war to maintain our freedom of speech until this news network is destroyed. Can we destroy Fox News? Yes we can.”

Book by Zack Parsons

Review by Aaron J. Waltke

Perhaps it is a sad state of affairs when I can say that I am no longer fazed by the outlandish and disturbing extremes that human beings will go to in order to distinguish themselves as depraved outcasts in a society already overpopulated by the corrupted and insane. I don’t mean to suggest with that statement that I’ve become some hardhearted war veteran, calloused to graphic images of genocide, death, inequality and evil in its purest forms. Those are all still pretty bad, even in my eyes.

I just mean I’ve been on the Internet a lot.

The profound impact of the Internet on the human psyche, specifically the combined aspects of anonymity and the open platform for expressing oneself it provides, has summoned from the cyber-depths and given a voice to some very, very strange individuals. I’ve seen whole online communities dedicated to a sexual fetish revolving around the collecting and popping of birthday balloons. I’ve seen forums where people believe they are capable of firing Dragonball Z kamehameha energy blasts from their palms if they flail their arms and yell into their webcams. I have stared deep into the eye of the digital abyss, and I pray to whichever patron saints are in charge of Google Image Searches and browser histories that those perversions of cyberspace have not stared too deeply into me.

Zack Parsons’ new humor book entitled “Your Next Door Neighbor is a Dragon” takes the grotesque fascination of Internet voyeurism one step further than I am comfortable with— that is, meeting face-to-face with the reprobates and weirdoes of the World Wide Web and documenting his encounters with them in real life (or IRL, in internet-speak). Read More

By Colt Brechtel

Many have donned one. Many have cultivated one. I am unable to grow one. But no one has ever, EVER, in the history of mankind attempted to comb through the great encyclopedia of humanity to rank them. But why rank 100 when you can lop ten off?

Ladies and Gentlemen: the Top Ninety Mustaches of All Time!

90: Jason Giambi- Steroids, bad for the balls, good for the stache.

89: Dr. Phil- “All those things you do that make your wife angry, you need to not do those.”

88: Walter Cronkite- The most trusted mustache in America.

87: Mel Gibson- Might have been responsible for that time when he did all that stuff.

86: John Cleese- And now for a stache completely different.

85: George Orwell- Big Brother won’t let him shave it and he has no problem with that.

84: Any Barbershop Quartet- mustache… mustache … mustache … MUSTACHE…

83: Carlos Santana- The stache wanted no part of the Rob Thomas duet.

82: Biker from The Village People- Believe it or not, the stache was totally straight.

81: Danny Glover- This stache is getting too old for this sh*t.

80: Pat O’Brien- I wanna f*ckin go crazy on that mustache.

79: Phil Jackson- Perfected the art of the triangle mustache.

78: Sean Penn - “People on ‘ludes should not grow mustaches!” - Jeff Spicoli

77: Wesley Snipes- A tragically underappreciated mustache constantly being upstaged by arm pit hair.

76: Walt Disney - A true OG. What’s with the Lost clue on the tie, though?

by Colt Brechtel

Slow walkers move in packs and are devastating obstacles for city folk with things to do and places to go. They come in many forms: old people, fat people, drunk people, tourists, small dog walkers, and couples so in love they are oblivious to their surroundings. They have given me problems my entire life, mostly because walking around as a loser with no friends has made me impatient. Once, I took a two block detour because I knew it would be easier than getting around two old women with canes. Even when I’m not pressed for time, I still feel as if I have to get to the destination as early as possible. It is a curse that has forced me into more awkward situations than I’d like to admit.

Deciding whether or not to pass sidewalk snails is difficult. I am always a bit fearful that someone I pass will take offense, beat me up, or worst of all, make fun of me for being in such a hurry. If its a group of scary, thug-looking people, I usually slow down and wait for our paths to diverge. This way I can remain out of the way and avoid any chance of a violent confrontation. If its a jumpy, nervous single lady, I usually make a quick move around and trudge onward. Lurking behind a girl like Gollum increases the risk of getting undeservedly maced. Of course, the most embarrassing scenario is when I pass someone only to find that the person was only temporarily slowed and is now at my heels trying to get by. If I do not gear up into power walk mode, he will make me look like a complete ass. Read More

By Alex Moaba , read about Alex here

Mr. President: I’ve been asked to give you a briefing for your upcoming trip to Yellowstone National Park, having myself ventured there on vacation a week ago. I too traveled in a giant SUV, was accompanied by my family and tried to leave the car as rarely as possible.

Driving through Yellowstone is like taking a safari of the American West just as it was 200 years ago. You’ll see things you’ve only read about in the history books — bald eagles soaring through the sky, herds of buffalo freely roaming the plains, dead Native Americans lining the side of the road. Think Dances With Wolves meets Jurassic Park.

The beauty of the pristine landscapes is awe-inspiring. As I overheard a Hell’s Angel say to his 250 pound bearded lady of a girlfriend at a scenic overlook, “this is Church for the day.” You’ve been looking for a new church, right? Nevermind. Tell the cameras you’ve come West for a weekend of peace, solitude, and reflection that can be found here, in God’s Country — it sounds like something Lincoln might’ve said.

Yellowstone should be a nice place to get away from the toxic politics of this week’s health care debate. Then again, Montana is the home state of Sen. Max Baucus, head of the Senate Finance Committee and grand poobah of the “Blue Dog Democrats.” You may need to show up on his porch with a bottle of Roughstock Montana Whiskey, get him really sauced and refuse to leave until you’ve secured the public option. Two words — Whiskey Summit.

Another plus - for now, there are no loaded guns allowed in National Parks, unlike your recent Town Hall event in New Hampshire, where wingnuts showed up armed and yelling. Although thanks to a provision put into the Credit Card Bill you signed in May, that firearms ban will be lifted next February. Well done, sir!

Be sure to give a speech in front of the Roosevelt Arch. It’s like the Brandenburg Gate of Yellowstone, except this time Angela Merkel can’t tell you not to use national monuments for your personal political stagecraft.

As to the message of said speech, consider something like this: “National parks - a shining example of one good thing the federal government has accomplished in the last 100 years!” The National Parks Service was established in 1916, something most people can agree was a pretty decent idea, and after you trashed the Post Office a few days ago the federal bureaucracy is in dire need of a hug.

Be sure not to jump in any hot sulfur springs. While these pools may look like the awesomest of hot-tubs, Yellowstone is a live volcanic site, and the pools are fueled by superheated water and gas that could burn your skin off, leaving you with Michael Jackson Disease. Though the sulfurous stench that radiates from them does provide excellent cover should you feel the need to rip one.

Skip Old Faithful. One of the biggest geysers in the country, it’s been shooting eruptions of water over 100 feet into the air every 78 minutes for the last 10,000 years. It’s also a tourist trap packed with fat asses and mullets. You came here to be in nature, not wait on line for Splash Mountain.

Drive the Bear Tooth Highway. First commissioned by Herbert Hoover and then continued under FDR as government make-work, it’s a windy mountain highway with phenomenal views that ascends up 11,000 feet. If there was a project this cool in the Economic Recovery Act, you’d probably be there this weekend, but there isn’t, because it’s impossible.

Don’t get on a horse. Seriously dude, no. We all loved City Slickers, but there is major Dukakis on a tank/ John Kerry in hunting gear potential here. You may also want to avoid cowboy hats.

Don’t expect to be able to use a cell phone, Blackberry, or access the Internet while in the park. This will mean no checking White Sox scores or texts from Rahm, as well as the possibility of Joe Biden running the country for a few hours while you’re off the grid. In other words, this trip is a terrible, terrible idea.

by Colt Brechtel
images by Kris Hanson

Business Description

The Killin’ Nazi Business is a venture that offers Nazi eradication services to the public of France and bordering areas. The enterprise was founded by Lt. Aldo Raine, a redneck visionary known throughout German military units as Aldo the Apache. Using the latest in United States military grade weaponry, Raine along with a team of associates affectionately called basterds locate problematic Nazi battalions and neutralize their effect on the general populace. Upon capturing Nazi groups, specialists are brought in to implement creative mutilation techniques and discover new opportunities in Nazi killin’. The Nazi aint got no humanity and they need to be destroyed. The company is currently looking for investors interested in becoming a part of a business that is truly a-boomin’.

Location

The Killin’ Nazi Business is constantly on the move. Headquarters shifts across the countryside of France. There is no permanent office or mailing address.

Industry Conditions

The Nazi suppression industry is a growing field that has begun showing impressive returns. What sets us apart from other combat units is our uncommon lack of mercy and affinity for vengeance. While the market is currently flooded with organizations working in the prisoner takin’ business, there are very few that are entirely dedicated to killin’ Nazi. This gives The Killin’ Nazi Business the ability to fulfill the specific needs of a niche market on nearly exclusive terms.

Services

The Killin’ Nazi Business is capable of accommodating a wide variety of Nazi eradication needs. Services include cranial targeted baseball bat swings, close range machine gun ambushes, and oversized explosions. These methods are carried out by experienced professionals who can guarantee satisfaction.

Marketing

The primary marketing tactic for The Killin’ Nazi Business is an unconventional form of word of mouth. By simply being cruel to the German, the people will in time become more familiar with the company. The technique involves three results. The German will be sickened by the company, the German will talk about the company, and the German will fear the company. The company also promotes the brand by leaving easy to discover evidence of the aforementioned cruelty. This takes the form of the disemboweled, dismembered, and disfigured bodies of German brothers that have been left behind.

Projections

The Killin’ Nazi Business has eight employees, all of which have been assigned non-negotiable quotas requiring them to produce one hundred Nazi scalps. Ergo, the company will produce numbers of killed Nazis in excess of eight hundred.

Future Opportunities

The war will not last forever. The Killin’ Nazi Business has planned ahead and is fully prepared to extend its services to include Nazis other than those involved in the National Socialist movement. The company will continue to thrive by focusing its effort on the killing of neo-Nazis, soup and other kinds of food Nazis, and the overwhelmingly aggravating Yahtzee Nazis.

Funding

The Killin’ Nazi Business receives funding from the United States government, but is also receptive to private investment. The company needs to cover a seventy million dollar film budget… I mean collateral… or capital… or something.