While in my first caption contest I got over eighty entries, almost no one tried to caption my last one. I guess the picture was too scary (anyone know what type of monkey that is, BTW?). So I declare myself the winner with my title caption of:
“Buy My T-shirt, or I Won’t Kill This Monkey”
Thus I get the prize of having a song written in my honor. Actually, this is a song I wrote some time ago when I one day decided I needed a theme song.
So here it is…
Meryl Yourish from a secluded island in the Pacific writes:
I got a letter back from with one of those messages that said it failed to deliver my email to the recipient. It was my letter to you on the Hulk and Rumsfeld fight. Yet you answered the letter without having received it. Can you explain this miracle? Does it have anything to do with the shirts?
Yes, I didn’t want to mention it because it has not been confirmed by scientists, but my Nuke the Moon t-shirt gives me psychic powers. I am able to tell what a person is going to e-mail me and respond even without seeing the e-mail!
Actually, when you e-mail THISISSPAMTHISISSPAMe who thought I never received your subtitle submissions, I did receive them and summarily rejected them… if that makes you feel better.
So, until I get my mailbox cleaned out, just ignore the bounce back messages.
More Frank Answers™ later!
…if I feel like it. Actually, screw you; you write some funny posts. I’ve been writing for the whole week and I feel burnt out now.
Ah, I shouldn’t take it out on you, my readers. Didn’t get much sleep last night so I just didn’t have time or energy to think of something to post today. I should have just pulled something from my ancient archives of funny stuff and put that up… oh, I have the perfect thing! But I’m at work now, so it will have to wait until I get home about 5pm. But it will be great!
Until then, for those of you who have received your shirts by now, here is how to turn it into a cool ninja mask. Sure, you’re saying, I can do that with any black t-shirt, but only the Nuke the Moon t-shirt gives you actual ninja powers!
Oh, and I have been putting secret messages in my Links of the Day™ for like a week now; did anyone notice?
Congratulations to Mike Krempasky of Krempasky.com and Pave France for coming up with the winning entry:
“Unfair. Unbalanced. Unmedicated.”
Out of 928 votes cast, it recieved 250 (27%).
Here are the other totals:
You can have any humor you like as long as it’s black. 63 votes (7%)
…because where you work won’t let you look at porn. 144 votes (16%)
…truth, lies, and everything in between 36 votes (4%)
Let’s play Cowboys and Liberals! 85 votes (9%)
…throwing grenades, seeing what blows up 79 votes (9%)
…political satire from the mind of a clever and gifted ninja fighting, monkey hating, katana wielding engineer 44 votes (5%)
…infinite possibilities; finite intelligence 109 votes (12%)
…riding the Cycle of Violence since July 9th, 2002 83 votes (9%)
…a weapon of laugh destruction 35 votes (4%)
I voted for “…a weapon of laugh destruction” which came in last place; show you what I know.
For those who didn’t win, you don’t have to feel like a loser, because you can still buy a Nuke the Moon t-shirt, and anyone who wears one feels like a winner! As for Mike Krempasky, if he wishes to take a picture of himself triumphantly wearing his t-shirt, he’ll have a special place for him in the Peace Gallery.
Thanks to everyone who participated, either submitting entries or voting. Now we just need to slowly get used to the new banner. It will be weird at first, but soon we’ll all soon love it.
BTW, I have a longer post today because I have a big secret message
Uh… I mean a lot of links to point out.
Yay for Laurence Simon and his fame! (Wired article mentioning him)
Mr. Scrappleface takes on N.O.W. and Roe v. Roe v. Wade.
Yargh… damn you Scrappleface and your level-headed moralism!
So now I’m appearing in people’s dreams!
How that happens, I can’t say.
It’s not like I’m putting up subliminal messages or something.
Really, that would be
Too insidious for me to have done for a number of days in a row.
Only from ThoseShirts.com, the same maker of my shirt, comes a
Rare new design, available on both shirt and mug.
I get a Smarties cake because I am so smart.
That’s right; me smrat.
‘
So “nyah nyah” to you.
A day of celebration: Fry the Spy Day™.
So, tomorrow debuts the new subtitle.
Tune in nice and early to find out who takes the prize.
Really, though, a lot of people
Are deserving, but only one gets the free shirt.
Now vote if you haven’t done it yet.
Got to get record turn out!
Look for… uh…
I just can’t do this anymore…
N
G
!
Well, I just spent a full day wearing my Nuke the Moon shirt, and what a day it was! First off I was late to work, so I was speeding 90 mph down a 25 mph limit road. Unfortunately, a cop pulled me over. He looked real mad, but, as soon as he saw me and my shirt, he said, “I was going to give you ticket for speeding, but we only have those limits because most people aren’t skilled enough to control a car on these roads at higher speeds. I bet you know what you were doing, though, so continue on your way.”
And I was like, “Thanks, pig!”
He chuckled. “Normally, if someone called me a pig, I’d pull him out of his car and beat him savagely, but, from you, it’s charming.”
When I got to work and tried to head to my office, the ladies were all over me and I was like, “Hey, I need to get some work done; there’s time for that later.” So that part of the day was the same as normal, but, when I got to my office, my boss saw me and said, “For some reason I suddenly just realized we aren’t paying you enough. I’m going to look into fixing that.”
“Thanks, boss,” I said, “So what do you want me to do today?”
“Know what, you’re so exceptionally smart, I just feel silly telling you what to do; you should probably be telling me what to do.”
“Okay. Go get me a soda, bitch.”
“Yes sir!”
I think the shirt actually improved my intelligence, as I was easily able to solve all my engineering problems, and then everyone else’s. By the end of the day, I had won my company’s cherished “Actually Competent” award.
After arriving home from work, I decided to take a nice stroll. It took me near a stream where I was suddenly attacked by a Florida gator. Fortunately, his teeth were unable to get through the high quality, preshrunk cotton of my t-shirt (nor was he able to damage the awesome print job). I then grabbed the gator by the tail, and, using the super-strength my shirt imbued in me, I swung him around and around, eventually flinging him hundreds of yards in the air where he landed in some store where they sell stuff made out of hemp. The gator then proceeded to bite numerous hippies.
Quite satisfied, I began to head home, but then I was swarmed by a number of angry monkeys who had escaped from a lab. I was worried, but, as soon as the monkeys caught sight of my t-shirt, they all dropped dead from fear. That’s right, the Nuke the Moon t-shirt kills monkeys on sight. Just wear one and go to the monkey house of your local zoo to see for yourself.
I was about home when I suddenly saw none other than Jesus Himself. “Hey, Frank,” He said, “We don’t normally do this, but for some reason we just decided to tell you today that it’s a done deal and you’re getting into Heaven… and not just the regular part, but the really nice part of Heaven we usually save for just popes and star athletes.”
“Wow, thanks, G. So does this mean I’m certain to get into Heaven even if I were to go and have lots of pre-marital sex, steal stuff, and go on a killing spree.”
“Well, when We make a decision, it is final,” Jesus said, “but it’s not like you’re going to go do all those things.”
“Uh… yeah… I would never do those things.”
So I said bye to Jesus and just now sat down to tell you all about my day. Wow, what a great t-shirt! And, at the price we’re selling it at, you’d have to be criminally insane not to buy one! I mean, you’d have to be like “I voted for Clinton twice” moronic to pass up this deal.
So be like Frank, and get a Nuke the Moon shirt today!
Anyway, hopefully I’ll get pictures of me wearing it this weekend, and then the Peace Gallery will start next week.
Meryl Yourish from a secluded island in the Pacific asks:
Who do you think would win in a fight between the Hulk and Rumsfeld?
That’s a hard one. One is a boiling pot of rage that thinks of nothing more than destruction, and the other is large and green. Personally, I’d put my money on Rumsfeld– as long he took his arthritis medicine before the fight.
Vince from NS, Canada writes:
As an evil conservative, I can understand keeping women pregnant and in the kitchen. But why barefoot!? It seems kinda unsanitary. Hopefully you can
clear this up.
Giving women shoes is a big mistake. As soon as they have shoes, they might feel safe venturing outside the house. And if they’re out of the house, who will bring you your beer when you are watching football? And next thing you know, women may use the freedom of shoes to go out and vote, and that’s how people like Bill Clinton got elected. Even Dole would have won against him if men had just kept their women barefoot and in the kitchen.
And, of course, once women get one pair of shoes, they’ll want more. Me, I have one pair of worn sneakers, and, whether I’m going jogging, going to work, or going to the governor’s ball, they’re all I need. But women will want all sort of wacky shoes for reasons unconceivable to men. Soon, your whole closet will be filled with them and your wife will be saying, “We need to get rid of some of your power tools to make room for more shoes.”
Barefoot and in the kitchen; that’s the only way to go.
To women readers of IMAO: I’m just kidding!
Michael Colwell of Ucluelet, BC, Canada asks:
You seem to be an expert on monkeys. I want to know this: Why did The Man With The Yellow Hat continue to rescue Curious George from the perilous situations he created for himself? And why was he always dressed in yellow with those funny boots? Frankly, The Man looks French to me. I read Curious George stories to my young kids and I’m worried that I might be corrupting them. Should I stop?
Yes, stop immediately!
My mother read Curious George stories to me as a child, until my father heard one and correctly identified it as a subversive threat. He then burnt all the books and we were better for it.
Why is George so “curious”? Why is he sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong? Because he’s a spy, that’s why. And he relays his information back to France, the most monkey and terrorist friendly government in Europe, through the man in the yellow hat. Of course, most people don’t notice the monkey as a spy, because he and the man in the yellow hat (who we quite conspicuously never hear the name of) disguise his intelligence gathering efforts as “misadventures.”
Well, no one’s pulling the wool over my eyes. Curiosity not only kills the cat, but the monkey as well if I have anything to do about it.
Please keep the questions coming, <a href=”mailto:THISISSPAMTHISISSPAMace you’re from, I’ll randomly select one.
The poll for what should be the new IMAO subtitle is still open and will be so until Friday morning when the winner is announced. If you haven’t voted yet, go do so. If you have voted, wait in breathless anticipation for the results to appear tomorrow.
I’m wearing my t-shirt at work right now, BTW. When I get home, I’ll tell you how a day of wearing such a dynamic piece of clothing affects one’s life.
UPDATE: Bravenet seems to back to normal, so the poll is up again. Get your vote in and support democracy!
I’ve had a lot of requests to have a post on monkey pox, but I had avoided it until now because monkeys scare me. Finally, though, I’ve set my crack research staff on the topic and here is what we came up with:
FUN FACTS ABOUT MONKEY POX
* Monkey pox was either developed by evil monkey scientists or by God because of our sins. If someone sinned, please fess up.
* Poxes are all named after the animal that made them to try and overthrow humanity. Chicken pox was made in the long long ago by chickens in a failed attempt to destroy mankind, and later cows did the same thing, making cow pox, which ended up being a vaccine for the ancient and evil small pox, made by leprechauns to keep us from getting their pot of gold.
* Monkey pox is spread by prairie dogs, which are not actually dogs (or prairies) but instead are evil, stinky rodents who sold their soul to their monkey masters.
* If a monkey comes up to and offers to inject you with something he swears is not pox, don’t let him. It probably is pox.
* Monkey pox is rarely fatal, but, while it has not been proven that it allows monkeys to control the victim’s mind (or even hypothesized), it has not been disproven either. Do not trust anyone who is itchy.
* If you have monkey pox, no matter how tempting it is, don’t eat a banana; that will just inflame it. Instead eat things a monkey wouldn’t like such as chalk and suntan lotion.
* The symptoms of monkey pox are fever and itchy rashes. It’s not much fun, but, if you’re young, I’d say it’s worth it to skip a couple days of school.
* Doctors say don’t scratch the rashes as that will just make them worse. Know what; doctors say lots of damn things. Scratch those damn rashes; screw the doctors.
* If you seen prairie dogs, kill them and burn their bodies. Do not get them mixed up with Chihuahuas, though, or you will probably make someone mad.
* Monkey pox is a virus. A virus is an entity (not technically classified as a living organism – much like a monkey) that uses one of your own cells to reproduce itself. That’s just mean. You work long and hard making those cells, and they shouldn’t just be stolen like that.
* In a fight between Aquaman and monkey pox, monkey pox would probably win unless Aquaman had been taking a lot of vitamin C lately.
* A Nuke the Moon t-shirt will make you immune to monkey pox. When wearing one, you can lick all the prairie dogs you want without fear.
* The best cure for monkey pox is to eat monkey brains like in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. Ha, and you thought that was all fiction. You are so foolish I should rip your heart out of your chest.
God help us! Annika has been murdered and replaced by Franci!
One who calls herself a “raving far left-wing nut” and is a member of
The Green Party! And she says she hates America!
Yet another Carnival of the Vanities.
Oh, but this one is run by women.
U better hope they don’t screw things up (you know women).
Really, I’m just kidding.
Speaking of the Carnival of the Vanities, the founder, Silflay
Hraka has finally made the move to MT and his own URL.
If you want to succeed, you need to move from Blogspot.
Rarely does one reach success while still on
That volatile service.
?
Just got my shirts in the mail today, and Doug did an awesome job with them. The printing on them is absolutely perfect. Can’t wait to show it off at work tomorrow.
This weekend I’ll try to get some photos of me wearing the shirt while I show off pieces from my arsenal (but not all my arsenal; there is only so much space for photos on my web host). For everyone else, when you get your t-shirts, e-mail me some photos of you with your favorite “peace tools” so I can get the Peace Gallery up. More details on that soon to come.
If, for some reason, you haven’t ordered a shirt yet, do so now so you don’t miss out on all the fun!
CPT Brook A. Nelson asks:
So, uh….you know… What’s up with the whole monkey hating thing?
Many people would probably think it started when I was shot by a monkey, but I’ve had suspicion of simians well before then. You see, monkeys have always hated us and were jealous of us since we became the ruling primate. They plot and wait, looking for the best opportunity to bring on our downfall.
As a kid, I would sometimes see a monkey peering in through my bedroom window, and then swing off into the forest. My mom assured me there were no wild monkeys in New Jersey, but I knew better. They are everywhere, watching us, waiting, finding our weaknesses…
In the least, a monkey will bite you. In the worst, it will destroy all of society. The smart man would be prepared.
John from Bagdad, Arizona asks:
Why is it that I like hippy music, but can’t stand hippies?
Ah, the siren song of hippy music. It gives you the warm feeling of a life without responsibilities or logical reasoning, but it must be resisted. It’s good you still hate hippies, but I would recommend not listening to anymore hippy music for the good of your soul. Suddenly one day, you may think, “Hey, I can skip taking a shower for a day or two,” or say about some foreign conflict, “Maybe we can talk it over instead of bombing.” It will start slowly, but one day you will be too forgone for any intervention, and even a Nuke the Moon t-shirt will not be able to save you.
Wind Rider from Baja, Hungary asks:
What exactly is “the heartbreak of psoriasis”?
Well, it’s that when someone get psoriasis, it’s very heartbreaking.
I knew this guy, and he was like, “My heart is broken.”
And I asked, “Does this have to do with a girl?”
“No, psoriasis.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said with faux sympathy (I don’t actually like other people or care about their problems), “Is there anything they can do?”
“Doctor says he’ll have to cut me open and fix my heart with duct tape and twine.” The guy then rose to his feet and shook his fist in the air. “Psoriasis!”
I hope that clears things up.
Please keep the questions coming, <a href=”mailto:THISISSPAMTHISISSPAMace you’re from, I’ll randomly select one.
It was some hard work, but I’ve picked my ten favorite subtitles. There were a lot of great ones that didn’t make the cut for one reason or another, and I’ll probably do a post of all my favorites later.
Without further ado here are the finalists… right after a word from our sponsors.
Buy a Nuke the Moon t-shirt today! It will make you more intelligent, extremely attractive to the opposite sex, and may grant you super powers! Buy one before they’re all gone!
Thanks for staying tuned. Here are the finalists:
“You can have any humor you like as long as it’s black.”
submitted by Brian Noggle
“…because where you work won’t let you look at porn”
submitted by Michael DeFelice
“Unfair. Unbalanced. Unmedicated.”
submitted by Mike Krempasky
“…truth, lies, and everything in between”
submitted by condrieu
“Let’s play Cowboys and Liberals!”
submitted by John Collins
“…throwing grenades, seeing what blows up”
submitted by Chris Rowe
“…political satire from the mind of a clever and gifted ninja fighting, monkey hating, katana wielding engineer”
submitted by Serenity
“…infinite possibilities; finite intelligence”
submitted by Mike Spitzer
“…riding the Cycle of Violence since July 9th, 2002”
submitted by Jennifer
“…a weapon of laugh destruction”
submitted by Tom the Friendly Ghost
Congratulations to all the finalists. I’ve made my choice, but it’s ultimately up to you, my readers, what the new subtitle will be and who wins the t-shirt. Please, one vote per person.
THE POLL IS NOW CLOSED; RESULTS ARE HERE
The running poll results will not be visible to keep the winning subtitle a surprise. Tune in Friday morning to find out what the new subtitle is and who wins the t-shirt.
Rumsfeld didn’t know where Chomps got his copy of Living History by Hillary Clinton, but there appeared to be a couple drops of blood on it. Chomps, being the world’s angriest dog, could have easily shred the book to pieces in seconds, but instead he destroyed it slowly and methodically, seemingly enjoying the careful destruction of each and every page. Every once in a while Chomps looked up from the book to view the sidewalk that raced by and getting angry at whatever he saw, be it a man, a squirrel, or a mailbox, but then he would turn his attention back to the demolition of the book and down a bit. It looked as if he was saving the cover with the picture of Hillary for last.
“Doctor says I need to get more exercise to help control my rage,” Rumsfeld told Chomps as he drove his Buick through the streets of D.C. “So I was thinking, ‘What better way to get some exercise than vigilante justice?'” Rumsfeld petted Chomps on the head. “You up for killing some street punks?”
Chomps barked in approval. His happy expression was short lived, though, because he soon saw a trashcan that completely enraged him. “Erg-row!”
“Save it for the street punks, Chomps,” Rumsfeld told him, “We can take our anger out on inanimate objects any day.” Rumsfeld stopped his car and pulled over to the curb and started looking around. “Now all we need are some criminals. Wouldn’t think they’d be hard to find in D.C.”
“Nice car, old man,” said one carjacker, pointing a Glock at Rumsfeld.
“Here we go,” Rumsfeld smiled.
Chomps immediately leapt over and snatched the gun in his mouth. He crushed it with his mighty jaw and then swallowed the pieces.
“Now you did it!” Rumsfeld said angrily, “Chomps can’t properly digest composites, so he’s probably going to vomit all over the carpet when we get home.” Rumsfeld’s hand shot out and lifted the man up by the neck. “Rarr!”
“For the third night in a row, the Rumsfeld Strangler has struck, killing multiple criminals during in the D.C. inner-city,” Anchorwoman Jane Eyrehead announced, “We sent reporter Jack Assman to see if Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld had any reaction to this killer who has been using his name. Rumsfeld gave the cryptic response, ‘I’m the one who killed those people, you fking dipsht.’ Assman was later found dead, apparently ripped apart by an extremely angry dog.”
“He will be missed,” Anchorman Ron Goodhair commented.
“Not really, Ron,” Jane replied, “He was a bit of jerk.”
“That’s true. Anyway, these killing of criminals are threatening to bring law and order to a city where it’s unwanted. To address this issue, D.C. Mayor Xander Crackhead has called a press conference which we now go to live.”
“Citizens of D.C.,” Mayor Crackhead announced, “This city has long been a safe haven for criminals, a place where they could mug and kill without worry of injury. We’ve kept law-abiding citizens from owning handguns, carrying cudgels, and limited them to the most innocuous pepper sprays. We’ve even banned Nuke the Moon t-shirts since they might intimidate criminals. We’ve had a near perfect utopia for criminals, but now this ‘Rumsfeld Strangler’ has upset that. Criminals are fearing to mug people, thus unable to bring home the money they need to feed their drug habits. Well, I assure you this mayor won’t stand idly by while people strangle our treasured street punks. From now on, shoelaces and piano wires are banned from D.C. Plus, all citizens are required to wear mittens so they will be unable to use their hands for the purposes of strangling.”
“This is Killer Charlie from the muggers union,” spoke up one man, “Will these new laws affect the criminal community in any way.”
“No,” Mayor Crackhead answered firmly, “As always, criminals are not expected to follow any of these laws; only law-abiding citizens are expected to disarm. If any criminal finds himself being defended against by an otherwise law-abiding citizen, that criminal should immediately report such an incident to the police. The District of Columbia will not tolerate people defending themselves. The police have been instructed to crack down on law-abiding citizens carrying anything that could be used as a weapon. If any criminal is stopped by police, though, he should immediately identify himself as a law-breaker so that police know he is supposed to have weaponry and to leave him alone.”
“Will there be any extra effort to catch the Rumsfeld Strangler before he delivers street justice again?” a reporter asked.
“Yes there will be,” Mayor Crackhead asserted. “I’ll have my consultant, Drug Dealer Eddie, explain our strategy.” The mayor looked around. “Where is Drug Dealer Eddie?”
“He’s dead!” exclaimed one of the mayor’s aides.
Everyone rushed over to the body of Drug Dealer Eddie who lay still on the ground. On him was a business card with the words, “Strangled by your friendly neighborhood Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld.”
“The criminal community is my main constituency!” Mayor Crackhead exclaimed, “If I can’t keep them safe from justice, they’ll find an even more incompetent crack junkie to elect as mayor.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself; not everyone can be Marion Barry,” T-bone, Mayor Crackhead’s right hand man, assured him.
“We need to find this ‘Rumsfeld Strangler’ and stop him! Muggings is one of the foundations of our city’s economy; we can’t have this vigilante justice destroying that.”
“Maybe we could set a trap?” T-bone suggested.
“Yes, a trap,” Mayor Crackhead said, savoring the thought, “We will leave out some bait he can’t resist, and then he will be ours. Muh ha ha ha ha!”
Rumsfeld banged the teenager’s head into the lamppost one last time. “So has having your head repeatedly slammed into a metal lamppost taught you not to jaywalk anymore?” Rumsfeld asked.
“Yes, sir,” the kid said before running off.
“Where are all the real criminals?” Rumsfeld complained to Chomps, “We didn’t scare them all off, did we?”
“Grr-rah!” Chomps growled as he attacked a nearby building, ripping a brick out of its side.
“That building making you angry, boy?” Rumsfeld asked, going towards the front door for a look. Inside he spied two hippies.
“Let’s smoke pot and protest the war!” suggested one.
“Yeah, that’s a great idea!” said the other.
“I’m going to go in and strangle those two hippies,” Rumsfeld told Chomps who was continuing to attack the foundation of the building, “You stay here since I’m the one supposed to be getting the exercise.”
Rumsfeld approached the two hippies who stood at the center of a large room, his hands readying for a strangling, but as soon as he reached them, they both turned and produced shotguns. Rumsfeld then found himself completely surrounded by hoodlums and thugs, all pointing their guns at him.
“Well, I should have known,” laughed Mayor Xander Crackhead, “The Rumsfeld Strangler was Donald Rumsfeld himself all along. What made you think you could dispense justice in my city?”
“I have a doctor’s note saying I need exercise,” Rumsfeld answered, holding up a piece of paper. It was shot from his hand.
“You going to strangle us all, old man,” laughed one of the thugs.
“Only the lucky ones,” Rumsfeld answered, the rage boiling inside.
“And don’t expect your dog to help you,” Mayor Crackhead said with faux sympathy, “I have of my men putting that beast our of its misery right now.”
There was the sound of gunshot and a pain filled yelp. Rumsfeld looked in the direction of the sound with intense worry.
“Does Rumsfeld miss his little friend?” Mayor Crackhead asked in a mocking tone.
“No,” Rumsfeld answered. Suddenly the brick wall was knocked down, and there stood Chomps, a severed arm in his mouth which still clutched a Beretta. “It’s just nothing pisses Chomps off like getting shot in the head with a 9mm.”
“Stop them!” Mayor Xander yelled as he fled up some stairs.
Chomps immediately jumped at the nearest criminal and disappeared into a crimson mist. Rumsfeld used the distraction to spin around as he drew his twin .45’s, shooting a number of punks as he ran for the stairs.
“I’ll chase after Mayor Crackhead while you finish everyone off here,” Rumsfeld called to Chomps as he headed up the stairs. He soon made it to the roof where two thugs waited for him. He rolled from their shots and then returned fire, the .45 slugs knocking them both backwards off the building. Rumsfeld then glanced upward to see Mayor Crackhead escaping in a helicopter.
“We’ll meet again, Rumsfeld Strangler,” Mayor Crackhead called out.
“You can bet on it,” Rumsfeld swore as he reloaded his pistols.
Up behind him came Chomps, covered in blood. He started making some hacking noises as if he was choking on something.
“What’s the matter, boy?” Rumsfeld asked as he patted Chomps on the back.
Chomps coughed up a boot.
“That’s my dog,” Rumsfeld laughed as he petted Chomps on the head.
Chomps panted happily, but then he soon saw a star in the sky that made him angry for some reason, so he tried to jump up and bite it. Rumsfeld wasn’t sure which star it was that enraged Chomps so, but he vowed that one day future generations would destroy it.
“A dozen criminals were found dead in an abandoned building this morning,” anchorwoman Jane Eyrehead announced, “Apparently killed by the Rumsfeld Strangler. He left new signatures this time, including bloody paw prints and large bites in the walls.”
“That’s right,” anchorman Don Goodhair added, “And now police have updated the profile of the Rumsfeld Strangler to a Latino woman with the ability to turn into a werewolf.”
“A scary thought,” Jane said, “Anyway, stay tuned after the break for when are joined by famous internet personality Glenn Reynolds who will teach us how to turn a cute little puppy into a nutrtious energy drink…”
Less than fifteen minutes left to submit entries to the subtitle contest. Anyway, the ten finalists and the poll will be up early tomorrow morning along with the most violent Rumsfeld-centric In My World™ post ever.
Being that Rachel Lucas is still alive,
Understand that it’s not safe to say anything stupid.
Yet, some people still do.
A bit of commentary on bad gun statistics by lawguy.
So, now NRO is having a pledge drive.
Hey, I think they’re worth it.
I would also like to
Remind people if donating to me through Amazon
To make sure I get your e-mail address so I can send you a little gift.
Only Laurence Simon could come up with a list this wacky about the
Right brothers, but he blames inspiration on me.
Escape from the brink of death for John Hawkins.
Let’s all go wish him well.
Sometimes bad things happen to good people.
Each day is to be cherished.
!
