Tags: Taint Conditioner
In 1967, a man name Geeves Dunkirk was driving along in his automobile on a hot day. Traffic was stop and go. The sun was shining down through his windshield. He had the air conditioner on and was keeping somewhat cool, but not everywhere. Between his thighs and under his manhood, his bonch was still sweaty with duck butter. Try as he might, even with the fan at maximum, he could not angle the vents in such a way as to cool the real estate before his butt and below his balls. Perhaps he could have managed it were he on the passenger side, but as the driver with the steering wheel blocking the air flow, his gouch was becoming swampy. Several solutions occurred to him. Maybe he could wear a kilt. With his skirt hiked up and nothing underneath, the trickle of air that reached his grunskin might be enough to keep him dry and refreshed. Unfortunately, the child in the bus stopped next to him who was looking down into his car got him to worrying about arrest for indecent exposure. How would he keep his bifkin at a reasonable temperature? The next day he tried using an ice pack. At first it felt good. Then he was freezing his balls off. Eventually he was sitting in a puddle. His grundle was soaked and rapidly warming. He knew there must be a better alternative. On the following day, he shoved a bunch of paper towels down his pants and packed them near his gooch. That worked until the towels began to become saturated. They also insulated his perineum from the coolness of the car, worsening matters. Finally it came to him. He could keep his nifkin dry. It was a simple invention. He just needed to fasten a hose to one of the vents and run it to his durf. The path of least resistance was into his down-zipped fly. However, looking at himself with a giant hose sticking out of his pants made him wonder how he would explain this to a cop were he ever to be pulled over. Although more circuitous, the best path to his barse was down to the floor and up the left pant leg. It worked like a charm and the taint conditioner was born. So if you’re driving along the highway sweating your balls off and the guy in the car next to you looks cool and comfortable, ask yourself why you don’t have a taint conditioner too! ––The Knave
An internet radio service similar to its namesake box (or jar) in that it unleashes evil unto the world when opened. No, Pandora, I do not want to listen to Demi Lovato. Nothing I’ve typed into you is remotely similar to Demi Lovato. I only entered the names of talented musicians, not the names of anyone who must clearly have made a pact with the devil to become famous. Why does Pandora insist on foisting evil upon the unwitting public? No one knows. Like the moon Pandora of the Na’vi, it operates in a way that makes no sense. No, Pandora, I don’t want to hear Maroon 5. I already told you I don’t like Maroon 5. I’ve skipped every Maroon 5 song that has come up. What do you mean I can’t skip this Maroon 5 song because I’ve already skipped too many songs? I need to make a new station different from the current one and then I can stop the Maroon 5 song? Okay, Pandora, fine, I’ll start a new one. In myth, Pandora was the first human woman. She was created by Zeus as humanity’s punishment for the theft of fire. Pandora internet radio also punishes humanity with its seductive gifts. They make the service free and lure you in with an initial song you want to hear, but then whammy you with something intrinsically insulting to your auditory sense. You’ve got to be kidding me, Pandora. More Demi Lovato? Play music, Pandora, not some Disney brat, rehab, karaoke contest judge hack. In 1790, the HMS Pandora was sent out to discover the fates of the mutineers of the HMS Bounty and you will be just as successful trying to discover new music on Pandora. Just as Fletcher Christion was never found, you won’t find crap on Pandora (or more accurately, you won’t find anything aside from crap) and 56 people may die in your attempt (probably suicides caused when another Demi Lovato song inevitably comes on). Really, Pandora, One Direction? No one wants to listen to that. No one at all in the world. Forget it. I’m going back to illegal file sharing before you try to play me Justing Bieber. —The Knave.
Ed. Note: also like the Pandora jewlery line, the website operates like a charm…if you like tacky, awful charms that nobody really wants or needs, yet seem like good ideas at the time.
Used for detecting light and, in more advanced eyes, identifying differences in light wave absorption and reflection by matter, eyes help you find stuff you want to find, like where your friend hid the Oreos, and avoid stuff you want to avoid, such as open manholes. Lots of critters have eyes. Fish, birds, lizards, insects, mammals and so on have eyes. In ancient times, dinosaurs and wooly mammoths both had eyes, although there is no evidence they saw their extinction coming. Every creature that exists in light has eyes and even many cave dwelling animals have some degree of sight, even if it is rarely used. Seeing is just so terribly useful in navigating a three dimensional world. It’s hard to get on in life without seeing, especially when being stalked by a puma. Sharks may be able to detect blood in water from a distance, but an eyeless shark doesn’t ever find the bloody fish and the eyeless fish doesn’t see the shark and hide in the coral and the eyeless coral is just fine, because coral aren’t exactly going to slip on a banana peel while walking down the street.
Unless you are a coral, not being able to see is a bummer. Sure there are ways for blind creatures to get around, but if echo location is so great, why is it that every species of bat can see? Try defusing that bomb by hearing the blue wire that needs to be cut. Touch, smell, and taste are somewhat useful at close range; however, eyes will let you sense that softball flying towards your head in time to duck. If you’ve touched it, it has hit you. If you’ve tasted it, it has hit you in the face. If you’ve smelled it, it has not only hit you, but knocked you down so your nose is next to where the ball came to rest. (If the ball stank so bad, that you smelled it in time to duck, what they hell did they do to that ball?) Let’s face it, the blind squirrel doesn’t ever find a nut, because a sighted squirrel saw that nut and ate it.
Depending on who you talk to, sight has evolved independently a multitude of times, because it really is so very useful. Without eyes, cats wouldn’t suddenly notice that bottle cap over there and pounce on it. Or what about that piece of string? But that bottle cap is getting away! Pounce. Pounce! Swat! …and bored again. Although dogs may find the butt they want to sniff well enough with their noses, it is their eyes they use to get their nostrils into just the right place. You never see a dog close its eyes and take a big whiff. Birds actually evolved the ability to fly so they could see more stuff than when they had been relegated to the ground, not just so they could poop on the unsuspecting. Fish love looking at stuff with their eyes so much that they never even evolved eyelids. Of course, it helps that in the water their eyes don’t have to worry about drying out. Land critters can suffer from dry eyes and have a whole disgusting system connecting their eyes to their ears to their noses to their mouths so they can pump salt water and mucous onto their balls to keep them moist, but eye boogers are a small price to pay for the ability to find out what’s on TV. –The Knave
Okay, so I finally decided to do the whole facebook thing ‘cause everyone else’s doin’ it. Basically I did the thing twice ‘cause I made a lotta’ mistakes the first time. See, I thought I should just set up my account and have all of my favorite things liked, like bands and tv and stores and brands and shit and I also spent a few days searchin’ and invitin’ anyone and everyone I could possibly think of to be my friend and I was uploadin’ pictures and joinin’ groups and addin’ games and apps and all that kinda’ stuff. I wanted to have more friends than anyone and for them to think I was so awesome for all the awesome stuff they could see I liked and I wanted to play all the games and win all the games and lead the sorority and have the best farm and all the best of everything.
Total fuckin’ disaster. Really, all I wanted was to see what people were up to and for them to say how awesome I was. Yes, I like’s me some attention, but ain’t that really the whole point of facebook? I mean, it worked for a while. I was basically droolin’ over every update and commentin’ on every post and I was showin’ up late for my shifts at work and turnin’ into one of those assholes constantly lookin’ down at my phone like some kinda’ crackhead who thought the phone was ‘bout to magically spit out some crack rocks.
Then it all got old. My phone was vibratin’ every other second to let me know some crap was happ’nin’ on my facebook. I got myself tagged in so many photos of me drunk or high or with my shirt off that I had double digit friend requests every day and the little stupid red message balloons were startin’ to look like Lindsay Lohan arrest counters. Then there were the ads and pop-ups and suggestions and crap. Some hatin’ ugly ass bitches started makin’ some trouble on my wall and sayin’ I was a slut and a whore and talkin’ trash. Sure, some girls say them things to me in person even though they ain’t true, but I can’t slap their bitch asses when they do it on the computer.
And even if I could get past all these constantly naggin’ updates and games and all kinds of distractions and haters and shit and could get the newsfeed screen to stay still for a minute and stop updatin’ and scrollin’ and jumpin’ all over the place when I didn’t want it to so I could see what was goin’ on with all these friends I had and what good things they were sayin’ ‘bout me, almost everything was total дерьмо.
I never knew how much crap there was in the world that I don’t give a shit about until I joined facebook.
It was all SOOOOO annoyin’, but my mamma didn’t raise no asshole, so I went in and deleted the whole account and started from scratch. I asked one of my fellow authors for help to do it right the second time so see below for what we got ‘cause I’m awesome like that. – Nadejda Naivenko
Rules – Every day, it becomes more and more difficult to navigate in society without sublimating your personal privacy to the corporate entity known as Facebook. When you finally give up the fight to live off the ‘book, here are some rules that will keep you moderately safe and somewhat un-annoyed for now, but things may change at any time according to Facebook’s will and there is nothing you can do about it.
The Knave’s Ten Rules for Making Facebook Tolerable Although It Will Still Annoy You and at Any Time They May Change Everything Causing Some Rules to No Longer Apply:
1. Firefox + AdBlockPlus + Fanboy’s lists (or something equivalent)
2. “Like” nothing so there is no basis for you to receive suggestions. If your friends really want to know what you like, you can tell them. Otherwise no one cares except the people sending you ads. If you really want to “like” something, be prepared to remove the “like” if you notice it generating suggestions.
3. Disable getting suggestions from what your friends decided to “like” in the Facebook Ads section of your profile settings.
4. Facebook makes you choose a location, so live in Balad, Somalia or some such place that will not generate location based suggestions.
5. Disable any kind of notification. There is really no reason to check Facebook more than once a day at an absolute maximum. If you are doing that, the notifications are pointless, because you will see everything the same day. If you are checking less than once a day, you have wisely realized that outside of the occasional event invitation, nothing important happens on Facebook.
6. Maximize all of your privacy settings and definitely don’t let anything be public.
7. Don’t play any games. They are not good anyway. There are better games elsewhere that don’t require you sharing your personal information.
8. Minimize your friends to people you’ve met in person and would actually be pleased to see again.
9. Do not upload any pictures or write any posts that you would not be okay with having posted on a billboard along the nearest highway.
10. Use an alias if you don’t have a common name and even if you do, still maybe use an alias for the sake of plausible deniability in case you post something you shouldn’t have.
There really are only the ten rules. Number eleven below should be so obvious that most people would be insulted to see it in writing, but for those who may not have realized this:
11. Don’t ever give them any actual real world money! –The Knave
Tags: Burning Bush
(not to be confused with Fire Crotch or Pediculosis Pubis) Once upon a time the all-powerful, magical, invisible Creator of all space and time needed to talk to a guy who was walking around in the desert. First, the omnipotent God, sent an angel, which is a sort of invisible quasi-magical over-human, to appear in a bramble, because the Superbeing needed this particular guy’s attention and the guy was all busy making sure his father-in-law’s flock got grazed. The bramble was on fire, but a supernatural kind of fire that burned, but didn’t hurt the bramble at all, presumably because the Deity who had wiped out all life from the planet a couple thousand years ago wanted to make sure the bramble had a good long life. Why the bush was necessary at all, since a fire burning out of nothing would probably be even more miraculous than something flammable burning, is still a mystery.
So this magical, fiery, unconsumed bush that had been the vehicle for the Angel of Yahweh, now became a sort of speakerphone for the God and Lord Creator of all that ever had or ever would exist. Out of concern for the dirt in front of the bramble, the Divinity made Jethro’s son-in-law take off his sandals, because although God is omnipresent, this patch of dirt was now holy, as He was more there than He was in all the other places He is/was/will be. The all-powerful Creator of this guy then let him know that He was the God of the Patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob and that he was Yahweh, which the God, being all-knowing, must have known would not go without saying. The sheep/goat herder was likely thinking the angel, the burning bramble that wasn’t consumed by flame, and the voice telling him to take off his sandals were just some sorts of non-mystical phenomena since the guy was a monotheist and wouldn’t have been thinking some other God was involved. As the Almighty spoke, the guy, Moses, looked away from the burning bramble miracle that God had just gone to all of the trouble of performing. The Deity said, “I am, Who am,” but then again, everyone capable of saying that would also be who is.
The omnipotent Creator of all people on Earth then explained how He felt sorry that the Egyptians He created were mistreating the Israelites He created and that He wanted His Israelites to go and mistreat the Canaanites, Hittites, Amorites, Perizzites, Hivites, and Jebusites He had also created. Then the Bush rambled on about how Moses had to ask the king of Egypt if he could perform a sacrifice, which wouldn’t be allowed and that the Israelite women should take the Egyptians’ gold and silver jewelry and their finest clothes. God then turned Moses’s walking stick into a snake transformer and gave him a magic hand that could look like it had leprosy and the ability to turn river water into blood, which the Creator of the entire universe called “miracles” that would convince the elders that he spoke for Him.
Still, Moses was having none of it. He whinged on and on about what a bad speaker he was even when God said He would give the guy the words to say. Finally, Yahweh had had enough and told Moses to just get his brother to do it. Presumably, God knew this would happen and could have just gone directly to Aaron, the brother, but Eternal Beings have a lot of time to kill. After narrowly escaping being killed by God for not chopping off part of his son’s penis (luckily his wife was there with a flint knife and a steady hand), Moses, with the help of Aaron, went on to do many great and often confusing things. The Burning Bush went back to just being the bush. –The Knave
Cathy Cataracts: An elephant is a big flat creature, taller than I could reach. I was amazed at how perfectly flat it was. As I moved along its side, I felt several large square indentations with interior sections that were smooth like porcelain. There were also some large rectangular indentations with small hard round protrusions on the right side at about waist height. Elephants have four of these broad flat sides and are about the size of a house.
No-Eyes Johnson: Elephants are sneaky. They come up behind you and feel you all over with their surprisingly human-like hands and stiff probing organ.
Glenda Glaucoma: Elephants are grabby snot tubes that occasionally snort gallons of water all over your new suede jacket. They’re jerks and thieves. One stole all of my peanuts.
Samuel Sun-Stare: Pachyderms are basically big obnoxious feather dusters that smell like shit and farts.
Susie Sockets: Elephants are loud and have very sharp teeth. I was walking around the jungle and suddenly I heard the elephant’s battle cry, a noise that sounded like foreigners screaming. Then after it bit my leg, dragged me into the water and started rolling me over with its claws. Its skin felt a little like tree bark. Luckily some people saved me from the creature.
Blind Bob: I never would have thought that an animal would feel so much like a man’s backside. Elephants are so loving and receptive no matter where or with what you pet them.
Trachoma Tracy: Don’t visit elephants! Elephant is just a polite euphemism for a giant spear that stabs you in the chest and you almost die. It’s a trick. Only an idiot would willingly expose herself to an elephant if she knew what one was. That’s why that movie was called “Dumbo”. Dummies entertaining themselves with a flying shaft of death.
Mitch Three-Mice: Proboscideans are not too impressive, just big flaps of skin. Pull hard enough on one though and it gets its big muscular friend to throw you against a tree. Wonder what kind of animal that was?
White Cane Carl: An elephant is a big round heaving thing like a giant pot sitting on a five legged stand, but one of the legs is not quite as thick as the other four. The fifth leg flops around just above the ground, but stiffens up when you touch it and you can climb on for quite a ride.
Va-va-voom is an oft misunderstood concept. Most commonly, it is confused with mere sex appeal. However, it is more than this. Most people feel perfectly comfortable describing someone as sexy, desirable, hot, DTF, etc., but it is a very specific type of woman that can cause a man to use a term as inherently ridiculous as “va-va-voom” to describe her. Men never have va-va-voom, because it is almost entirely dependent on having a great rack. The rack must be of a size that justifies referring to the bra containing it as an over-the-shoulder bolder holder. Yes, there must be some sort of foundation garment or similar structure built into a dress to lift up the big bouncy baby feeders. Gravity is not kind to such gargantuan gazongas. Va-va-voom sags out of unsupported udders. Even with proper buttressing, some women suffer from va-va-gloom and give up the fight, which leads to breast-reduction surgery or, as male surgeons call it, va-va-doom. The E-cup endowments must be natural, because there is also a self-confidence component to va-va-voom. It relies on the woman having home-grown hooters, not fake funbags or bolt-on-bazoombas that any sunken chested skirt can buy with a bit of treasure. Not all gigantic jubblies produce va-va-voom. The female the massive milk makers are mounted on should theoretically still maintain the ideal 3 to 2 boob-to-belly ratio, but truly enormous eye magnets may wean a man from such an idea. If you want to find some va-va-voom, check out your local meat market and make sure the top shelf is fully stacked.
P.S. It should go without saying, but the dame must, of course, be callipygian. –The Knave
Tags: Queen Elizabeth II
The story of Elizabeth the Second begins sometime in July of 1925 when her mother’s ovum was fertilized by her father’s sperm. The zygote thereby formed, divided into a multi-celled organism and grew into a fetus. The fetus gestated a while in its mother’s uterus and eventually opted not to squeeze its way out of a vagina, but rather to be delivered via an incision in abdomen of the Duchess of York. The trailing umbilical cord was cut on April 21st, 1926 in the city of London in the United Kingdom. Made out of skin, blood, bones, and goo like everyone else, this baby was called Her Royal Highness Princess Elizabeth of York unlike any other baby named Elizabeth born in the same country at the same time. Due to someone dying and someone else scandalously marrying a divorced woman, not through any work or accomplishment, the ten year old became Her Royal Highness The Princess Elizabeth second in line to the throne of the United Kingdom. At twenty-one, Elizabeth married both her second cousin once removed and her third cousin, who were the same person, because why not date at family reunions? Her husband was given the title His Royal Highness Duke of Edinburgh due to how good a job he did being alive, breathing, and marrying his cousin. In 1952, while on vacation from doing nothing, Elizabeth’s dad died and she found out she was the Queen. Several other British people named Elizabeth also had dads who died that year, but they did not get castles and money from taxpayers, because they hadn’t squirmed out of the right Caesarian Section in 1926. The coronation in 1953 was widely televised so people could at least see all of the stuff they had paid for on the girl who had not worked to earn any of it. Now the ruler of a long list of countries, because she was so good at being alive and attending parties, Elizabeth decided to actually visit some of them. People lined up around the world to look at a twenty-something English bird in various funny hats. That’s basically it. She was born. She went to some social gatherings. She traveled. She wore hats. She has access to billions of dollars of the United Kingdom’s money because her zygote was in a the right uterus back in the 1920s. –The Knave
CPR is short for Cardiopulmonary resuscitation. To research this subject, our diligent male staff members visited the website http://supersexycpr.com/. It seems that CPR, or Chest Pressing Rapidly, is an activity conducted by sexy blond models in lingerie. What happens is one barefoot model in pink panties and a black bra is sprawled helpless in a video studio. Apparently a cameraman, digital film editor, grip, DJ, and narrator are also present, but refuse to help. Luckily, there is a second statuesque model in high heels nearby, whose legs can be used by the cameraman to frame both the title credit and the first woman lying unconscious on the ground. This second model is wearing black panties and a pink bra, presumably there were earlier high jinks in which the two women were pillow fighting or something, which must have led to the bra mix up and possibly one of the models being injured. Anyway, the stage is set for the CPR, or Crushingly Pulchritudinous Rescuer.
First, the rescuing model gets down on all fours to check for danger. Certainly most danger comes from the ground, like in Tremors, so crawling is definitely the best way to assess the situation. She slinks up to the other model, bends over her to expose extra cleavage, gently shakes her shoulders, and speaks to her to determine if she is conscious. There is no response, so, as in all emergencies, the rescuing model uses a rotary phone, not plugged into anything to contact emergency services (presumably a retro cordless).
After calling for help, the pink-bra-clad model gets down on her knees again, delicately turns the head of the fallen black-bra-clad model to face forward, then moves her pouting lips to within an inch or so of the other woman’s mouth so she can feel if there is any breath, hear the sound of breathing, or see any indication of her ample bosom rising or falling. In this case the scantily clad vixen lying on the ground was not breathing.
According to the video, when doing CPR it is important to walk your fingers between the breasts of the victim, before placing two fingers under her chin and the other hand on her forehead, so that the head can be tilted back to open the airway. With the airway open, our model hero presses her luscious lips to the full mouth of her fallen comrade and gives two breaths of a second each.
At this point it is essential for the person administering CPR to caress the silky skin of the long smooth leg of the woman in distress. That completed, she walks her fingers up the belly and chest of the CPR recipient in order to find that sweet spot. Now the black-panties-wearing model straddles the pink-panties-wearing model, the firm thighs of one squeezing the taught stomach of the other. The video instructs that this is a good time to do a dramatic hair toss. The rescuing model places one hand flat between the other woman’s breasts and then puts her other hand on top of the first hand, intertwining the fingers so that she can use both arms to compress the chest 1 ½ to 2 inches at a rate of 100 compressions a minute.
After 30 compressions (18 seconds), the fashion model smiles seductively at the camera, dismounts the other model and bends over her to reveal the maximum amount of cleavage before pressing her lips to the casualty once again for two more breaths. She is to continue the cycle of mounting the girl, pumping her, and locking lips with her until an ambulance arrives or she shows signs of responding to what is being done to her.
Everyone can agree after seeing this video that it is important to learn about CPR. You cannot watch this educational presentation too many times. If the link above is ever removed, a Bing search (just kidding)…a Google search will surely lead you to it as such a video will certainly be preserved as long as men walk this earth.
…Also, abdominal thrusts, or the Heimlich Maneuver. You should watch the video about that too. Just good to know. Watch it alone in your room, not with parents, girlfriends, or sisters around. – The Knave
Disclaimer: Our female staffers have disavowed this entry as indicated by rolls of their eyes and shakes of their heads.
Prior to the efficient killing of the Second World War alleviating the problem, there were too many people on the planet for the technology of the day to handle. This excess of people was cramping everyone’s style and causing a rather large depression. There just weren’t enough wealth and resources to go around. Something had to be done. In 1934, the 32nd President of the United States, “Franky D” Roosevelt asked the world a simple question: “How do we stop overpopulation?” No one knew. Weeks and then months passed and not a single person had any idea. The only suggestion came from a New York fashion designer who proposed that magazines start promoting extreme thinness as “ideal” and then everyone would want to become smaller, thereby taking up less room and consuming fewer resources. Unfortunately, hamburgers had already been invented, so it was known that most people wouldn’t go along and in fact might eat even more to make themselves feel better about not being thin.
Time continued to pass unhappily until one fateful day, when a Japanese immigrant to the United States named Yoshida Kogyo Kabushikigaisha was sitting in a San Francisco café on Post Street watching a family with small children walking up Buchanan. The answer to the president’s question came to him. How do you fight overpopulation? Simple. You kill kids. He had read Jonathan Swift’s fine essay A Modest Proposal and could see the appeal of eating children, but it wouldn’t really address the problem at hand. Swift wanted parents to fatten up their children to sell to the rich as food. He was a crusader against poverty, not overpopulation. If there were profit in children, it would actually cause more to be born. Imagine a world full of obese children who just sat around on the couch all day, eating processed food, being entertained by non-athletic means. They might be more delicious than veal, but they’d be a drain on the economy.
Yoshida innovation was to just kill them. You kill kids, and you have less people. If people know their kids are going to be killed, they won’t waste resources letting the fetus gestate, come to term, and start walking around wanting playgrounds and schools and such. The Prez was delighted. Yoshida was given a million dollar grant to start killing kids and also the Congressional Gold Medal. Here, the plan hit a snag. Parents would not get on board with the program. They seemed to be “attached to” or even “fond of” their children. These traitors went beyond disapproving stares when the Youth Killing Korps came to their doors to murder their children. Some even went as far as armed resistance.
Yoshida and Franky D soon had to admit defeat and come up with another plan. They would encourage people to zip it up and just not have so much sex. Although it would take longer, preventing children from being conceived should work as well as killing them. But there had to be an incentive and nothing works so well as a threat. To remind people that there could be dire consequences if they don’t zip it up and abstain from too much procreation, the logo of the Youth Killing Korps is emblazoned even today on the zippers of most pants: YKK. – The Knave