Best Political Satire I've Seen
Quotes or paraphrases that I particularly like ......
"Those that don't work, don't eat."
*** In my opinion, the best motivational speech ever made!! ***
"Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it."
"Few things are harder to put up with than the annoyance of a good example."
"The man who can smile when things go wrong has thought of someone else to blame it on."
"The problem is not what people don't know, it is what they do know that just ain't so."
"Never try to teach a pig how to sing. It wastes your time, and it annoys the pig."
... not really a quote, I'm sure, but I like it:
"Full steam ahead, stuff the icebergs." Captain of the Titanic
And saving the best for last:
"Some damn thing is always going wrong" (credit to E.A.C.)
[A short collection of swipes at both sides, because they are both getting on my last nerve.]
Republicans want people to work for no pay. Democrats want people to be paid for no work.
A glass is half full of water. The Republican thinks "Who drank half my water?". The Democrat thinks "How can I take this water, use what I want, give what's left to someone else, and get credit for being generous?".
One farmer has a cow, one does not. The Republican shrugs and says "Life is not fair". The Democrat takes the cow and says "There, now you are both equal".
How many Republicans does it take to screw in a light bulb? Trick question ... Republicans have people to do that.
How many Democrats does it take to screw in a light bulb? Just one, but the light bulb gets really screwed.
MedTronics needed to perform clinical trials for a new cardiac scanning machine. They had to eliminate Republicans because their hearts were too hard to find. They had to eliminate Democrats because they sucked all the blood out of the other participants.
What do you get when you cross a pig with a Republican? As if there's a difference.
What do you get when you cross a pig with a Democrat? Nothing. Some things even a pig won't do.
The first Republican was Genghis Khan. He was heartless, thought he should own all he surveyed, and lived well off the work of others. The first Democrat was Christopher Columbus. He did not know what he was doing to begin with, had no clue where he was even when he got there, and did it all on a government grant.
What's the difference between a porcupine and a car full of Republicans? A porcupine has the pricks on the outside.
What's the difference between a jar of leeches and a car full of Democrats? Wheels.
A Republican and a Democrat are walking down the street when they come across a homeless man. The Republican gives the man the remaining half of the cigar he is smoking and a business card with the address of a job placement agency, and tells him to get off his butt and get a job. The Democrat is horrified by this display of callousness. He immediately reaches into the purse of a woman behind him, takes out $50 and gives it to the homeless man, tells the man where the welfare office is, and calls a reporter for a photo-op of his compassion.
A tourist gets lost in the jungle in New Guinea, and wanders into the butcher shop in a cannibal village. He looks at the "Specials" board: cow brains $25/oz, sheep brains $18/oz, Republican brains $3/oz, Democrat brains $780/oz. He asks the butcher why Republican brains are so cheap, and the butcher says "Nobody wants them. They taste like crap, and if you turn up the heat they get tough and inflexible." Then he asks why Democrat brains are so expensive, and the butcher replies "Do you have any idea how many Democrats you have to kill to get an ounce of brains?"
Best Political Satire I've Seen
A great routine by Richard Jeni I saw on UTube. It's a monstrous video, so if you have dialup it's a real test of patience.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=rhw8DFSGzvg
I wrote down the audio, leaving out some of the y'knows & such:
As soon as you start talking about political things, that's when everybody weighs in. Yeah, everybody gets pissed off. Because a lot of people are very extreme, people are very sure about what they believe. They're on the far right, or they're on the far left of politics. If you're on the far right or the far left, you know what you've done now? You've gone too far. Because that's where you find the extremist whackos, right out there.
After that 9/11 I was so mad, I said "That's it, I'm becoming a hard-nosed, hard-assed right-wing Republican f***er." So you run all the way over to the far right side, and there they are. There's your right wing crew, a bunch of money grubbing, greenhouse gassing, seal clubbing, oil drilling, Bible thumping, missile firing, right-to-life-ing, lethal injecting hypocrites. There they are, people whose idea of a good time is strapping a dead panda to the front of a Lincoln Navigator and running over everybody in the Gay Parade.
Well, I can't deal with them. Get outta here. I'm going over here to the left side, to be with all these loony lefty liberal people. And there's the crew, a bunch of bong smoking, America bashing, flag burning, yoga posing, incense burning, dolphin saving, salmon eating hypocrites. There they are, there's the crew. These are the sensitive liberal people who are always yelling about everybody's freedom of speech and expression .... unless you happen to say something that pisses them off! Then they can't wait to tie your ass to the back bumper of a Toyota hybrid and drag you to the Berkeley campus and drop your carcass in front of the Fidel Castro Building for the Continuing Study of Why America Sucks. Lunatics!
The only place that makes sense to be is a little more moderate, in here, right? The centrist, the middle, like me, yeah .... bunch of flip flopping, fence sitting, half in ,half out, half-assed, non-voting so they can bitch no matter who wins. Those are your guys.
But the ones that annoy me slightly more than all the rest of us are the trillionaire bleeding heart liberals, people who are going to change the world if they have to spend every buck of your money to do it. The limousine liberal people. People living in a mansion with 20 rooms no one is in, they're air-conditioned. Got a pool that nobody goes in, it's heated. Flying across the country in a 20-person jet all by themselves because they don't want to be late for a speech about energy conservation. (various rude gestures).
Remember: Richard Jeni, on UTube.
G. D. Q. © (Copyright Reserved 2007 by crustycrank)
Carol has two dogs. Let me rephrase that, she has one dog, Dude, and a dog-like substitute creature, Scruffy. You would think a name like that would say it all, but alas, no. Scruffy is to actual dogs what 6-year old moldy Velveeta is to actual cheese. That is, if Velveeta were not a totally inert substance and thus incapable of supporting any form of life, let alone something as finicky as mold. DuPont really outdid themselves on that one. But let me be clear that Velveeta is not without its uses. In large quantities it is very effective for smothering chemical fires, which I'm sure was DuPont's original intent for the material until they discovered that firefighters tended to pass out from the smell. So they sold it to Kraft and through the magic of television advertising, Velveeta became, much like Silly Putty, an American icon. Which makes perfect sense since they are basically the same material with different coloring added. But I digress .....................
The story of Velveeta has some inspiring moments. Sadly, Scruffy is different story. When Carol saw her at the SPCA kennels she remarked "how could anyone give away such a cute little dog?". Little did she realize that Fate has a sense of humor even more twisted than mine. Scruffy turned out to be the product of some sort of CIA genetic-engineering experiment gone horribly wrong. I'm sure they were aiming to combine the cleverness of a cat with the trainability of a dog. They achieved the outward appearance of a dog, the trainability of a cat, and the intelligence of a fern. She is the first, and for all our sakes hopefully the last, Generic Domestic Quadruped: G.D.Q. Stupid, foul-tempered, breath like seagull vomit.
After 4 years she is half-housebroken ... there is a board blocking her from half the house since she can't quite get the concept that the other half is part of the first half. She barks madly at the door and rushes out when there is nothing there. She is oblivious to delivery trucks until the carrier knocks on the door. She will sit in her comfy spot on the couch and yip, shriek, and crank at the air around her if she isn't getting enough attention, yet bares her teeth at the hand (Carol) that feeds and pets her. I am sure she will live indefinitely because both the Grim Reaper and the Devil have better sense than to mess with her.
The final proof of her origin as a weapons project is that this tiny "dog" has the most overdeveloped snot glands of any land animal. Pound for pound she puts slugs to shame. The only warning of an impending attack is the brief moment when she stops cranking, the calm before the storm as it were. That is when you need to take cover, for in mere seconds this 5-pound creature will expel a minimum of 2 pounds of the most vilely sticky and elastic snot in all directions at an incredibly high velocity. You have no idea the power of this weapon. It does not merely knock over things, it flings them against the wall and temporarily glues them there. I'm certain her intended purpose was to trot innocently into a group of enemy soldiers and explode, hurling them apart and gluing them to objects and each other long enough to allow their capture. Three Scruffys bundled together could immobilize a medium tank in slippery ooze. But the designers neglected to consider that there is limited skull space, so creating monstrous snot glands completely crowded out any brains.
But don't get me wrong, she is not all bad ................... ..........................
Give me a moment to think, here .............................. ................. ..............
Do you have an appointment to get to or what? ............................ ....... .....................
................... .......................... .............................. ........ ....................
Yeah, OK, so she is completely bad. But at the end of it all, she sort of grows on you. Like ringworm.
Fall of the Roman Empire © (Copyright Reserved 2005 by crustycrank)
It was really boring plowing & disking the back garden, so I got to thinking ....
The history books got it all wrong. They are full of fancy theories about how the Roman Empire collapsed because of corruption and the attacks of barbarians. Nonsense! It was a lack of good euphemisms that doomed the Roman Empire.
Euphemisms are crucial to the smooth functioning of any society. Let's say your good friend who normally eats only things like watercress tea sandwiches throws caution to the wind at the amusement park and downs a couple of enormous extra-onion bean burritos. When the inevitable intestinal rampage hits the next day and there is a telephone call for her, you DON'T say "she's in the can peeling the paint, and I don't mean she's redecorating", you politely say "she is presently indisposed". The word indisposed comes from a Latin phrase that literally translated means, well, that whole paint-peeling thing, but since we don't know Latin it sounds sophisticated and polite. No such luck for the Romans, since they spoke Latin. The closest they could come was a phrase meaning "avoid this neighborhood for at least an hour".
We have it so easy today because many unpleasant things, especially medical conditions, have fancy names in Latin that hide the ugly truth. A couple of words in Latin make anything seem important and worthy of respectful consideration, plus no one but you and the doctor know if you suffer from "ghastly boils of the butt".
Alas, the Romans didn't have any convenient dead language to hide the ugly realities of life. To get a real appreciation for the problem, you must put yourself in their position. Picture this carefully in your mind: you are a middle-class Roman aspiring to rise into the aristocracy, and you need to talk to a doctor about this ... uhmmm ... problem without losing status. You're supposed to say "your garden is lovely" with some of the accents shifted to different syllables than normal, and the doctor should know what you really mean without everyone else in the waiting room knowing (well, not for sure).
But unknown to you, the doctor is a bit of a lazy prankster. It is late in the day, the doctor is tired and doesn't want to see smelly boils on any part of the body, least of all where yours are. So after you say your phrase he merely thanks you kindly for the compliment, slaps you with bill for 150 denarius for "office visit", then disappears down the hall. You don't dare repeat your phrase and give yourself away, so you pay the bill and leave. Roman doctors didn't abide by the Hippocratic Oath, because after all Hippocrates was Greek, and the Romans didn't think much of the Greeks ... and vice-versa. [Point of interest: the Greeks were then much as the French are today: stuffy has-beens who excelled at nothing other than thinking more of themselves than was at all warranted. Strict Roman laws forbade making fun of Greeks publicly, not out of respect, but because the Greeks were the only ones who did not know they were the joke of the ancient world, and the Romans wanted to keep the fun going as long as possible.]
Anyway, that evening you must attend a party at the country villa of a powerful government official. You hope to make a good impression and snag one of the lucrative concession stands at the Coliseum, because you have this great idea for Squid-On-A-Stick. But your, uhmm, problem is driving you crazy, so you quickly down a couple of cups of wine to dull the discomfort. When the hostess comes by to greet you, you attempt to say "your garden is lovely". Unfortunately, between the discomfort and the wine you bungle the accents & syllables stuff. More unfortunately, her brother is a doctor. She suddenly gets a horrified expression on her face and makes a couple of discreet hand signals. Two large, unsmiling gents in dark pinstriped togas grab you roughly by the arms and drag you out into the street. Your chance to make it big is gone, the huge Squid-On-A-Stick industry never materializes, the Roman economy therefore eventually falls apart, and the rest is history. All because of the lack of good euphemisms.
That's my (hi)story and I'm
sticking to it. 
Backwoods Sports © (Copyright Reserved 2006 by crustycrank)
Since I grow the major portion of my food, I must spend many long hours in the garden doing tasks that even most livestock would not find mentally challenging. Mulching, for instance. It goes like this
Yes it is always the left nostril, and I shouldn't need to explain how I know this.
Consequently there is much time available for my mind to wander. Oh heck, let's be honest, there's enough time that it can start in Peoria in the morning and be hopelessly lost in the Himalayas by lunch. And since it is a man's mind, it is not about to ask for directions. Which is actually a good thing, because as long as it is shivering in the Himalayas mumbling "I've s-s-seen this g-g-g-glacier before, s-s-so I just n-n-n-need to t-t-turn l-l-left and I'm h-h-home free ..." then the world is much better off!
Unfortunately for you, I was instant-messaging with my daughter Tuesday night. The discussion took its normal course, which is to say not normal at all (it's a shared bizarreness, so don't get the idea I'm blaming her) - things like Italian bear piss, Goth sushi chefs, and lollipoops.
Yes that spelling is correct, and no I'm not going to explain it. I embarrass myself quite enough as it is, thank you very much.
Anyway, the point is that the previous night's discussion prevented my mind from making it past the outskirts of Buffalo. Consequently you are now forced to endure the following ramblings.
Here in the backwoods, it can be somewhat difficult to engage in the better-known sports, since getting a team together for practice is a problem - the next closest person is usually miles away as the crow flies. And if you have ever tried to saddle a crow, you understand the travel problem. However, there are always lots of cows around, many more than people. This means that cows tend to be involved in most daily activities.
NO NO NO, now get your dirty little mind out of the gutter and
just listen to the story, OK? Besides, that's goats and it's perfectly
alright .... 
.....
...... but you didn't hear it from me.
So, anyway, I tried my hand at the biggest sport you never heard of: Competitive Cowpies. Oh yeah, you think it would be sooo easy don't you? Not so. It works like this: as you progress up each of the 5 levels from local to national, the judging adds another factor from the 5 S's, in this order: speed, size, shape, symmetry, and style. I once remarked to the judges that, considering the nature of the competition, it was quite appropriate that all the judging factors began with an "S" ... the look I got also began with an "S".
Half the reason I got into it was it gave me an excuse to buy one of those monster-cab pickup trucks. Y'know, the ones where you turn on the blinker and two seconds later you hear the echo from the other side of the cab? Oh she was a beaut, gun rack in the back window and everything. But I kept a shovel in my rack, not a gun, because ... well, I'd rather not get into that right now.
Since the local meets are only about speed, it's rather straightforward most of the time. But there's almost always someone trying to get an unfair advantage. It is strictly against the rules, but from time to time some good-old-boy will sneak in a plunger or bicycle pump or such. Of course, when they are caught they all swear the never knowingly used these things. If the present champion breaks the old record, he will always have an asterisk next to his name. I never even considered doing it, not just because it is cheating, but also because it is a serious safety issue. I mean, if you use artificial pressurization and your cow doesn't have quite the safety margin you thought, when you're in the ring and she lets go ... well, things can get really ugly really fast. Everyone remembers Chernobyl, right? 'Nuff said.
I got a good cow from a neighbor and easily progressed to the state level. There I hit some tough competition and barely edged out the final win. My cow had a little trouble with symmetry because she tilted a little to left. I tried sawing off one leg a tad, but it just lead to worse problems. You know how it goes: you saw off one leg a little, then she wobbles the other way, then you saw the other leg, and she tilts forward, and so on. You end up sawing off the legs a bit at time until the cow is too short to meet the height requirement. Oh yes indeed, the height is very tightly controlled. After all, the height of the exit has a big impact on the ... well, the impact.
I was forced into using those high-hoof lifts they make for short bulls with ego problems. But cows don't balance all that well under the best of circumstances, and you just know that she's going to shift her weight right in the middle of the competition. Now, since all the competitors start out lined up on the judging field side-by-side, if you have lifts on your cow you best pray you're on the outside and she falls outward. Otherwise gravity takes over and once again things can get really ugly, though not quite so fast, as the entire line of cows topples one after the other. This wins no points with the judges of course, but it's the other competitors you really have to watch out for. I tell you what, if your cow falls over at a couple of meets, they find out who you are and next meet you can bet some of them are going to do their practice runs in the cab of your truck to teach you a lesson.
Don't ask me how I know this. Let's just say it explains the shovel.
But it is the nationals that are truly brutal; everyone is very good, and mere tenths of a point spell victory or defeat. This is where style often becomes a determining factor. If you're a little weak in one of the previous S's, an extra style point can compensate. A special flair, a bit of panache, anything to catch a judge's eye ... or his nose, whatever. Now, what with my cow having that small problem with symmetry I had to go all-out for style points. That was my downfall. Not only did I lose the competition, I was banned from the sport for life. Take it from me, it is instant DEATH if the judges have to wipe ... uhmm, stuff ... off. A word to the wise: no matter how talented your cow might be, spins are a BAD idea.
'Nuff said :-).
Politics 2006 © (Copyright Reserved 2006 by crustycrank)
The Republican Party is a bunch of clods. The Democratic Party is a bunch of loonies. Between the two of them it is almost enough to make one want to join the Green Party. I especially like their slogan "It's not easy being Green" ... well, if it isn't their slogan it ought to be. It's catchy. And since there is no point believing anything a candidate says when running for office, or in office, or out of office, well then a catchy slogan is pretty much all that's left. Or is that right? I get confused. Does politics have the "other right", as in giving directions?
I could almost go with the Greens, except that they take themselves way too seriously, and seem to be always sending armies of wholesome, clean-scrubbed volunteers around to collect signatures and/or donations for one or another Very Worthy Project. Things along the line of Save The Great Putrid Swamp. Now, wholesome, clean-scrubbed people are annoying enough all by themselves, but add in the Very Worthy Project and, well, it's enough to make one want to swill beer and throw cowpies. Normally I would try to deny ever doing such a ridiculous thing, but Mrs. Snuddley saw me three Saturdays ago at 1 A.M. She got her nose all out of joint because I wouldn’t give her a beer ... or maybe it was that cowpie. Some people have no sense of humor.
Anyway, they always want to save The Great Putrid Swamp (or its equivalent) because it is the only place on earth where you can find the three-toed bladderwort (or its equivalent). Me, I would consider this fact a wonderful advantage, seeing as how all this stuff is in one small place so it’s easy to reach with a bulldozer. But, no no no, they insist that future generations will be terribly harmed if they don’t have the opportunity to wade for days waist-deep in vile black sludge for the chance to see a three-toed bladderwort grow … or slither … or ooze or whatever the frick it is that bladderworts do. If they even exist at all. Frankly I think they make all this stuff up because they have a sludge fetish but want the public to pay for it.
Why on earth do they pick these sorts of projects? As a matter of public policy, do we really need to save anything with a name like bladderwort?? I mean, say it three or four times … sounds like one of those oh-so-embarrassing personal hygiene problems. You know, the ones no one talks about by name but the drug stores carry a dozen brands of salves or creams or pads to take care of. The sort of thing that if people find out you have it they wrinkle up their noses in disgust and scream ‘Eeeewwwww … GROSS!!”. So even though it is non-prescription, the stores keep the remedies behind the counter at the pharmacy, for privacy.
Innocent-sounding petitions and things can have serious consequences that crop up when you least expect it. I can just imagine being the poor innocent victim of bladderwort syndrome. Here is how I envision it:
I’ve used my last tube of Grandma Fruella’s Wort-Away, so I must make a trip to the pharmacy down at the White Oak Mall [Point of interest: the mall was originally slated to be built over the filled-in Great Putrid Swamp, but a vigorous petition campaign by the wholesome-and-well-scrubbed forced it to be moved just east of the swamp. And there isn’t a white oak within 200 miles, but the petition to name it Great Putrid Mall inexplicably failed]. I walk to the back of the drugstore, but instead of friendly old Mr. Drazzle behind the pharmacy counter, there stands his new pimply-faced assistant. I recognize this kid! It’s Timmy Pordup, that obnoxious little brat from two doors down who used to come around year after year trying to sell me ridiculously overpriced candy for the school fundraiser. I always turned him down, and by the squint of his eyes I knew he was keeping score. Now he is all grown up … and an obnoxious big brat. I pray he doesn’t recognize me, and at first no sign of familiarity shows on his face as I approach the counter. So I feel safe and nonchalantly ask for a tube of Grandma Fruella’s. That's when the world begins to fall apart.
Timmy’s previous “My IQ is 20” expression changes to one of hideous smugness, like the cat that just cornered the mouse it has been chasing forever. His face seems to grow much bigger, and in those eyes the size of dinner plates I see flickering fire, his grin reveals rows of needle teeth, and I swear that just for a moment a red pointed tail swished out from under his white coat and immediately tucked back under. He picks up the microphone and with his forked tongue hissing announces very loudly and very slowly over the loudspeaker system “Mr. Drazzle, I have a customer at the pharmacy who needs BLADDERWORT CREAM”. That’s it, the whole store seems to be closing in around me and the floor falling out underneath. I'm certain I hear gasps of horror, and one woman’s muffled voice saying “Oh no, not here, oh my God … Henry we must sell the house IMMEDIATELY”.
In a fog of stress, I clutch the tube of Grandma’s and make my way to the register, while other patrons scuttle away with furtive glances to keep a safe distance. Sure, Mr. Drazzle put the item in a paper bag, but fat lot of good that does now. I hand my money to the cashier. She takes it with tongs and places it in a plastic bin marked with the biohazard sign. As I stagger out the door, little children point and twitter while their parents drag them quickly away. I want to hide my face by pulling up the collar on my shirt, but this doesn’t work very well because it is late August and I'm wearing a T-shirt and shorts. Shorts that are a tad too big, and I couldn’t find a belt so I used a big paper clip to hold them up to the shirt. Pulling up on the shirt has now pulled the bottom out of the paper clip, so the shorts begin to slide down as I step off the curb to cross the road and get to the parking lot on the other side. Before I realize what is happening the shorts fall to my ankles and I make a perfect half-gainer and land flat across both lanes of traffic.
So there I am on my back with my pants at my ankles, blocking all traffic at the entrance road to the biggest shopping mall in the county. I never listened to my mother, so of course my underwear is Not Clean. Well what do you know? … News Channel 11 is doing a story about the new streetlight at the mall not 100 feet away. Just as I regain my senses, the News 11 crew is all around me: live satellite feed, 3 microphones spread among the crowd with the word “bladderwort” being repeated endlessly, one camera on my face, and two on the Not Clean underwear. Right about now I'm going to think “Oh well, at least it can’t get any worse than this”. The babbling of the crowd suddenly dies down as everyone turns to face west. I'm vaguely aware of a high-pitched humming sound getting rapidly louder, so I turn to see what everyone else is looking at. Coming out of the Great Putrid Swamp is (what else?) a swarm of dirty-underwear-homing killer bees.
AND THAT'S WHY I WON'T SIGN YOUR STUPID F#%*^ING PETITIONS!!!!!!!
Governmentium II © (Copyright Reserved 2007 by crustycrank)
[this is a rework and expansion of an old chestnut, hopefully for the better]
Scientists have long been puzzled by the phenomenon of the financial black hole. In normal economic space, money tends to be attracted into businesses, which when they reach a certain capital mass spontaneously ignite and emit large quantities of goods and services, and in the process also throw off the accumulated money a process called a profit nova. The goods and services gradually cool into money as they travel away from the hot businesses. The money then drifts elsewhere and again accumulates to form new businesses. However, researchers have also identified a bizarre sort of vortex in the fabric of the economy, which they have named an "economic black hole", where huge amounts of money simply disappear without a trace. While far fewer in number, these vortices nonetheless have been found to be the major reason that money remains thinly spread across the economic universe despite its constant creation by businesses.
Economic theorists believe they have finally solved the puzzle of how this happens. A major research institution has recently announced the discovery of the densest element yet known to science. Based on its unique properties, theorists are certain that it must lie at the bottom of economic black holes. The new element has been named Governmentium. Each atom of Governmentium (Gv) has one central neutron, 25 assistant neutrons, 88 deputy neutrons, and 198 assistant deputy neutrons, giving it an atomic mass of 312. These 312 neutrons are held together by a swarm of smaller particles called morons, which are in turn surrounded by vast quantities of yet smaller particles called peons. The central neutron serves as the focal point of the atom but is otherwise inactive, while the deputy and assistant deputy neutrons appear have no function whatever other than occupying space. The clumps of morons clinging tightly to the neutrons apparently enable them to not accomplish their non-objectives. Whereas the peons in business matter flow rapidly in coordinated patterns to distribute energy, in Governmentium the peons sit in fixed positions and spin, creating an illusion of activity. If a peon remains in its position long enough, it gets converted to a moron.
Since Governmentium has no electrons, it is inert. However, it can be easily detected because it impedes or disrupts every activity with which it comes into contact. A minute amount of Governmentium can cause a reaction that would normally take less than a second to take over four days to complete. It has also been observed to slow or stop some reactions even without direct contact by means of an invisible force called Regulations.
Governmentium does not have a normal half-life. It does not appear to decay, but instead undergoes a reorganization of varying intensity every 2, 4, and 6 years in which a portion of the deputy neutrons and the assistant deputy neutrons exchange places. In fact, Governmentium's mass has been found to steadily increase over time, since each reorganization causes some morons to become neutrons, forming isodopes. Business matter has been found to slowly accumulate morons, which in time make it unstable. It then either undergoes a violent reorganization which throws off the morons, or it abruptly disintegrates. In contrast, Governmentium displays a strong affinity for morons and can absorb large numbers of them without effect, probably because it has no internal energy.
Eventually the pressure of the accumulating morons causes even a Governmentium atom to become unstable. It responds by throwing off one or more smaller versions of itself called Agencies. While these Agencies remain in a tight convoluted bond, the forces they exert are totally chaotic and mutually cancel to a great degree, despite the fact that the Agencies absorb proportionately just as much money as the original Governmentium atom. This is due to the Law of Conservation of Stupidity, and is Govermentium's most salient characteristic. While peons may be gained or lost over time, stupidity is always conserved.
The underlying property of moron promotion leads some scientists to believe that Governmentium is formed whenever morons, which have an natural attraction to each other, gather and reach a specific concentration. This hypothetical quantity is referred to as critical morass. In normal economic space, money can neither be created nor destroyed, only changed in denomination. However, once critical morass is reached, a chain reaction is set up whereby money is transformed into morons and peons at an exponentially increasing rate. The rapidly rising stupidity eventually triggers spontaneous confusion, causing morons to become neutrons and thus forming Governmentium. The conversion of morons into neutrons is accompanied by the release of a large burst of negative energy called Campaigning. Theorists believe that this process is responsible for the unique ability of Governmentium to absorb endless amounts of money without accomplishing anything other than its own growth.
When enough Governmentium accumulates, theory predicts that it will take on a rigid crystalline form called Administratium. Having half as many peons but twice as many morons, it can actually radiate stupidity over great distances, causing other pockets of Governmentium within its range to also increase their level of stupidity. Scientists have named this phenomenon Lameness Amplification by Stimulated Enhancement of Redundancy, or LASER. No one is sure how to determine when this has occurred, though most predict it will be accompanied by the sudden formation of exploratory committees, silly slogans and empty promises.
How to Bathe a Cat (an expansion of an item found on the web)
1. Thoroughly clean the toilet and bring in a concrete block or large stone.
2. Add the required amount of shampoo to the toilet water, and leave both lids lifted.
3. Put on a pair of welder's gloves or other sturdy hand and forearm protection. Obtain the cat and soothe it while you carry it towards the bathroom. Most cats are not so fashion conscious as to notice the gloves, but in case it does, quickly proffer the JC Penny catalog and explain that it is all the rage now.
4. In one smooth movement, put the cat in the toilet, close both lids and place the concrete block or large stone on top. CAUTION: Do not get any unprotected part of your body too close to the edge, as paws will be reaching out for anything they can find. The cat will self-agitate and make ample suds. Never mind the noises that come from your toilet, the cat is actually enjoying this.
5. Flush the toilet three or four times. This provides a "power wash" and "rinse" which I have found to be quite effective. Again, do not be alarmed at the great increase in noises from the toilet, as it is merely the cat's way of expressing its rapturous enjoyment of the stimulating waters.
6. Open all doors between the bathroom and the outside and ensure that there are no people or breakable objects in the path between the toilet and the outdoors.
7. Stand behind the toilet as far as you can. With one hand lift the block or stone and with the other simultaneously and quickly lift both lids. The now-clean cat will launch out of the toilet and rocket outside where it will dry itself. Your work is done
The cat may appear sullen and turn its back to you for a couple of days, but rest assured that it is very pleased at being clean and pleasant smelling, and is merely having the normal cat difficulty expressing its gratitude. After a few baths it will even begin to eagerly anticipate the upcoming event by squirming and squealing with joy as you approach the bathroom, so merely hold tighter and fulfill its heartfelt desire.
Your friend, The Dog.
The Math of Success (another expansion of a web item)
A great deal of time has been squandered and countless books have been written in the attempt to establish the secret to success in the corporate environment. It is generally accepted that success in the long run requires a high degree of dedication to the company; one must give at least 100%, preferably more to ensure a rapid rise up the corporate ladder. But what performance factors are the most valuable in achieving this goal?
The problem is actually quite simple, and easily solved analytically. First, assign numeric values to the letters of the alphabet as follows:
A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26
We can now assign a value to each of the performance attributes that might be used to achieve our goal. Let's try TALENT
T A L E N T
20 1 12 5 14 20 = 72% Not surprising, as everyone knows talent alone never assures success.
K N O W L E D G E
11 14 15 23 12 5 4 7 5 = 96% OK, so knowledge can get us closer, but not quite there.
H A R D W O R K
8 1 18 4 23 15 18 11 = 98% True, hard work is highly valued and is usually well rewarded, but doesn't always assure success.
A T T I T U D E
1 20 20 9 20 21 4 5 = 100% Ever hear the adage that attitude is everything?
It certainly stands to reason that mere talent is inadequate, knowledge and hardwork can get you close, and attitude can get you there. Further analysis is far more revealing as to the truly effective means of assuring a golden career path.
B U L L S H I T
2 21 12 12 19 8 9 20 = 103% Everyone has seen this be quite effective in meetings.
U N D E R M I N I N G
21 14 4 5 18 13 9 14 9 14 7 = 128% Yes, oftentimes getting ahead does require clearing the path of obstacles to your advancement.
However, by far the most effective technique for rapidly climbing the golden ladder is good old
B U T T K I S S I N G
2 21 20 20 11 9 19 19 9 14 7 = 151%
Of course we all knew this from the beginning, but isn't nice to have it proven with mathematical precision?
Barack Obama Snake Oil © (Copyright Reserved 2008 by crustycrank)
* Scene: a state fair or traveling carnival. Obama stands in front of a booth wearing a loud suit and a straw hat, pointing to a bottle in his hand *
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* In a nearby booth Bill & Hillary Clinton are also hawking bottles of elixir *
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[Bill] As a bonus it will remove most, though unfortunately not all, incriminating stains from clothing, and it's specially formulated for bitter white people clinging to their guns and religion.
[Hillary] You're not helping, Bill. Put a sock in it.
{Bill] Hoooweee, Hill, here's my room key.
[Hillary] What in blazes are you babbling about, Bill?
[Bill] Oh, you said sock ... sorry, heh heh, for a second I thought you said something else. My bad.
* Back to the Obama booth *
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