A woman lies on a couch, sobbing softly into a bowl of gelatin. A man does a dance that makes no sense in a garden behind a nonexistent shoe store. Ten children, ranging in ages from 7 through 11, sing Christmas carols in a cave in a ravine. What do they have in common? They all suffer from Really Weird Syndrome, making them do odd things and preventing them from reaching their full potential. Don’t be one of them. Don’t let a life of rational sanity pass you by. Talk to your doctor today about Normalibin. (Normalibin is not intended for use by pregnant or breastfeeding women, female children, adult women, men, boys, or young women. Do not take Normalibin if you are susceptible to bleeding when cutting your skin, wearing clothes, or operating heavy or light machinery or machinery of any size or function. Go to an emergency room immediately if you experience sweating, horrifying nightmares, mild perspiration, thoughts of suicide, tingling in the fingertips, disturbing dreams, or night sweats, as these may be signs of having taken Normalibin. Ask your doctor if you are healthy enough for sexual activity, bearing in mind that sex while on Normalibin is incredible – it feels like rising up, up, through the clouds, through another plane beyond consciousness, to a beautiful city on the moon filled with light and joy, an indescribable satiation leaving you wanting nothing ever again, but needing everything. So much to taste, to touch – melding with another soul in a way you never supposed was conceivable. Do not take Normalibin if you find yourself sobbing softly into a bowl of gelatin, as this side effect is exactly one of the things you started taking the stuff to prevent. Similarly, cease taking Normalibin if you envision a vast room of unfriendly faces demanding that you solve their jigsaw puzzles, none of which connect or can be completed. Or if the sun explodes through your kitchen wall and swallows you whole; or if the dog takes over your home at knifepoint; or if the bed is trolley car stablehand, or if the shoes fit finer stuffing overland clamshell stork. Or if after months of travel you reach your destination – an endless beach, desolate and rocky, the surf pounding on stone and sand, a colossal rock looming to the north but you can never reach it, gulls circling, calling, taunting, leering; you pick up shells but they tell you nothing, a face peers at you from somewhere but is gone in an instant, the surf, the waves, and always the waves, the maddening waves crashing, over and over, as they always will and always have for a thousand aeons, over and over, ceaseless, until long after you are dead, and the gulls keep calling. The rock, so close, if only you could reach the rock. You think back to a meadow in the sunlight, before the wolves came. None of these things are good and all of them are what Normalibin is like.) Talk to your doctor today – he loves you and misses you. – J Frederick
Tags: Sexual Fantasies
There I was, just your average shopper, wandering into the shoe store to look for new laces. Buying shoelaces is something we all do every day, but I’ll bet you never bought shoelaces like this. No, this shoe store was the kind of shoe store where the shoe store person isn’t a man but a woman – and what a woman! She was, well, you just really had to see it. All of her good-looking female attributes were there, and that’s when I knew that this was an attractive female human being with whom I’d quite enjoy having intercourse with. Intimate physical intercourse, that is. I looked her up and down – twice! Yes, my hunch was correct – she made me feel arousing feelings and no mistake! “Can I help you?” she asked, and her voice drove me literally crazy for intercourse of an intimate nature. “Yes,” I replied, and I could tell that this was going to be good. “I would like to buy your finest shoelaces, madam.” That’s when she came around from behind the shoe store desk and went to close the door and lock it so no one would see us. “Enough small talk,” she said – she was one tough cookie of an attractive woman! She started to unbutton her trenchcoat. I got the picture – I asked her, wordlessly, if I should remove my pants and shirt and she nodded yes. I had to take off my shoes first, which didn’t take long, because I had no laces. Then she took her trenchcoat off! And there it was! “Look at that naked woman!” I thought to myself, “now that’s more like it!” This was truly going to be a day to remember. We didn’t want to waste any time – that’s just how excited by physical arousal we were. You’ve never seen such intimate intercourse! So many of her attributes were there, and I got to touch them! And I’m not the only one who was aroused by it – I could tell that she was really going at it. We truly committed that deed so often spoke of – only this time it was us doing it! When it was done, she asked how I had gotten so good at it. “Practice,” I replied, “and arousal.” We promised to meet again soon for more of the same – and she gave me the laces for free! “I was right the first time,” I said to myself with a smile, “it was truly a day to remember.”
Tags: National Alligator Day, November 2nd
It’s hard to believe that there was a time when November 2 wasn’t known everywhere as National Alligator Day. Try (if you can) to recall those primitive days when we didn’t spend the second day of every November visiting our local swamp, zoo, aquarium, wildlife refuge, reptile farm, or Gator Estate to look upon those majestic creatures and their powerful jaws. Would you believe that there was once a time when we didn’t devote hours – every 2nd of November! – to the cleaning of their cages, the organization and fluffing of their nests, the polishing of their eggs and teeth, and the singing of alligator rounds. I am no longer young, so now I can only dimly recall a time when I would spend every November 2 doing something other than cradling a stuffed alligator close to my chest, or eating alligator-shaped candies and sweetbreads, or throwing open the doors of my home to let the neighborhood alligators wander inside, to make themselves at home under the bed, in the tub, behind the couch, tormenting my pack of dogs with their powerful jaws and defecating on my nice new rug – mere inconveniences that I suffer gladly, all in the name of this county’s proudest day, November 2! Were we ever so young, Brian? Truly, did we ever really let a November 2 pass unobserved, not fervently sketching their powerful jaws in our journals, or constructing vast cardboard alligator sculptures at the edge of a quarry, or egging the American Crocodile Society headquarters? Oh Brian, Brian, give it to me true, don’t gloss over it, don’t sugarcoat it. I can take it. Look back on those rash boys we once were, those brave idealistic boys, and tell me, Brian, level your soft gaze at me and tell me, as you did once, at dusk, as we sat on Commons: who were we? What were we? Not men, surely not men. Not yet. That would come later. When you left for school and I went off to war. The years, Brian, the years made men of us, as they always do to all foolish boys, surely, as sure as the powerful jaws of an alligator.
AAAAH IT’S GOT MY LEG!
You’re a man, and there’s a CODE. First of all, you NEVER leave your wingman hanging. In your man cave, you put up your feet and watch the game and you NEVER give up the remote control! You’re a man, a MAN, so grab a beer and a band saw on your backyard deck with a grill and you NEVER leave your wingman behind! You’re at the casino with your buddies at the football game, and cheerleaders! There’s a CODE, my friend, because a power drill in your man cave with your pickup truck and 43 MPGS of towing-class ribeye steak at the strip club with your wingman, and you NEVER let your buddies ride your riding mower, tuxedo, without a wingman, and aftershave! Kate Upton and a band saw during the seventh inning stretch because this is America and there’s a MAN CODE, so put on your cologne in your cigar wallet power drill (NEVER without a wingman), SUV with a HEMI man cave. Guy Rule #82: There’s a code. You’re a MAN in your boxers and watch NEVER chick flicks because you’re on speedboat in your best suit, big sandwich, shaving during wingman football game with a flank steak, so pour yourself some scotch, Memorial Day on the golf course action flicks EXPLOSIONS (Guy Rule: MIXED MARTIAL ARTS) on back of the pickup truck/UFC in your cheerleaders Danica Patrick CODE WINGMAN VEGAS! VEGAS!!! The football game BEST SUIT NEVER WINGMAN MANCAVE MAN CAVVE PWRR DRLLLLL CODE MAN GUY CODE RULE #82 BAND SAWWW SRTIPPERS STRRRIPPERSSS STEAK GRILLLLSS GRILSL AFERHSAVE DRILL MANSCAVQAE MAN YOU’RES A MAN YOU’RE A AM,N CHEERRLEADERSS POPOOW POUYICLUP SYTUR[ DJU=SPSADFO;QQ30F3;LQ3MF23F3L3F3M3F3;.SD/FASEPVZXCV FVGKLCVRVR5T954G;GBWEAF
Tags: Haiku D-2
As all true WARSers already know, a Haiku-D2 is a brand of poetry practiced only by true fans (not lame-ass WARSies or even worse Jedheads). It consists of four lines. The first two lines have one syllable each. The third line has three syllables. The final line has eight.
Here are some classic examples of the art:
I don’t believe you’re my father.
Can it be?
We’ll never mention this again.
pee. Oh, my.
They shouldn’t be doing that here.
Portman’s gratuitous belly.
you’re so cool.
Don’t worry, we know you shot first.
Haiku-D2 is a way for WARSers of all stripes and opinions to express themselves about a variety or WARSian and other topics:
altered versions. Your changes blow!
We should board
The Millennium Falcon now.
sucks so much,
that Paris Hilton is jealous.
sold Star Wars.
J.J., you are our only hope.
WARSers practice Haiku-D2 at every stage of life.
Asking for that first date:
love Star Wars,
I would love to watch it with you.
and be the Leia to my Han?
Deciding to have kids:
We can’t do worse than Anakin.
like they are our Ewok allies.
And finally, in death:
At rest forever with the Force.
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.
The term “belt” most often refers to an adjustable accessory that adapts garments to be more form fitting. Or in layman’s terms: a complete waste of time. You see, while many people claim that belts efficiently extend the usefulness of a pair of slacks that have grown ill-fitting due to a change in body mass, many others will angrily chant: “Just buy a new pair of pants that fit and stop killing the American economy, you commie bastard!” As we have seen time and time again, it is those sorts of furious masses that shape history. So in the future, we can expect to see belts become a sign of socialism, going against everything apple pie and boot strap pulling up. With palpable irony, the small population of reasonable people in the future will communally smack their extra large, belt wearing heads and retort “Boot straps are nothing more than belts for shoes.” This will undoubtedly be met with a whirlwind of harsh criticism painting them terrorists who have no place in Zuckerberg’s America.
As socio-trajectory and correlated forecasts predict, this anti-belt faction will continue to grow until it squeezes every bit of rational reason out of humanity. Only the last intelligent American will see the irony here, and cleverly create a political cartoon showing a belt of stupidity tightening around society. The other 900 million idiots will not understand, and with pitchforks and torches in hand, lynch the author with the very belt that birthed the comedic commentary. The curious thing is that those futuristic Amurikunz will not be the first collective to have risen up against belts, and the magical, mysterious ways they cinch backpacks.
Archeologists have found hieroglyphics showing aliens coming down, teaching the ways of the belt to Egyptian kings. Made from cat hides and cobra fangs, the kings instructed their slaves to harness belts to the ridiculously oversized blocks of sandstone and drag them up to build the Tremendous Cubes of Egypt. It has been well documented that the slaves eventually rose up to overthrow the kings. In the destruction that followed, the slaves burned all the belts holding the Tremendous Cubes together. The Cubes then fell apart, leaving behind somewhat great pyramids.
Unfortunately, belts were not buried forever with the Egyptian coup. Out of respect for those fallen monarchies, later rulers symbolically used belts to whip…or “belt”…other people/innocent children of lesser statuses. It is surely not a coincidence that the reaction of said victims can be described as “belting out a loud cry.”
Also, belts can be used in cars or vacuums for something or other, but I don’t know what. I don’t really care about those sorts of belts. – Da Ritzenator
Pity the poor caterpillar, nature’s proudest but most tragic creature; for the caterpillar, while undeniably majestic and awe-inspiring, is, like the doomed hero of a Shakespearean tragedy, destined for a most cursed and unthinkable fate. All too soon, the caterpillar must bid farewell to his true form – only having tasted but an all-too-brief and tantalizingly sweet glimmer of its own potential – bind itself in a repulsive cocoon, and then, much like the “Jekyll and Hyde” of yore, transform grotesquely into its vile alter ego, nature’s most despicable monster, the butterfly – he of shamefully garish coloring and flamboyant flapping of wings! How cruel a matron Mother Nature is, to ask the caterpillar to shed his delightful and versatile form for this decadent and repugnant replacement – indeed, scarcely a replacement at all! No longer will he spend his days in the noble pursuits of his kind – chewing leaves, crawling, teaching illiterate adults how to read, volunteering for irrigation projects in drought-stricken sub-Saharan Africa – but rather must turn to the foul deeds of the butterfly – loitering, heavy drinking and heroin use, sabotaging jet engines. Why do they not refuse? Why do they not stand up and declare, NO! I urge you, all caterpillars everywhere, wherever you might be reading this, when the time comes for you to spin that cocoon, just remember that your life is your own! Take control of your destiny, hold it preciously in your imperceptibly tiny caterpillar hands I beg you! You have the right to cling to your life, to live it as you wish, to pursue your dreams and goals – your leaf-eating, your music, your nursing degree! Shun the shameful future that society demands of you and embrace the beautiful you that you are! – J. Frederick
Let’s you and I talk about THE HUMAN MIND. What a marvel it is, so capable of wonders and mysteries! With that noggin of yours you can write a play, do complex calculus, or cook an egg. Simply by using your ol’ bean you can dance a jaunty jig, design a monorail, scramble an egg, or paint Easter eggs. What a treasure it is, what a gift – just think what our brains have helped us accomplish! Just by using our noodles, humans have put a man on the moon, invented democracy, and domesticated the chicken. Using only your wits you can compose a sonata like Bach, be a leader of men like Lincoln, or fry up an egg and put it on a bagel. Yes, that trusty old pile of meat, blood, and nerve endings has helped us through one scrape after another, and who knows where it will take us next. Will we solve the energy crisis, bring about global peace, cook up some steak and eggs? Only time will tell. Now, how about you use that big brain of yours to make me an omelet? – J Frederick
There are those that have the wherewithal to say to me, “I don’t think wherewithal means what you think it means.” But if they had the wherewithal that I have, they would have the wherewithal to know that using my wherewithal I have been able to determine the exact wherewithal possessed by every citizen of the United States. Using the system I have devised – the Wherewithal Approximation and Determination Matrix, or W.H.E.R.E.W.I.T.H.A.L. – I have discovered some unsettling statistics regarding the sorry state of our nation’s wherewithal. Some 35% of Americans lack even the most basic wherewithal, and nearly 20% don’t have any wherewithal at all! We must find the wherewithal to combat this scourge. Our Founding Fathers had the wherewithal to envision a society where we all had the wherewithal, where wherewithal would be denied to none – indeed, where wherewithal would be with all. Education, charity, activism, grassroots wherewithal – this is the wherewithal we need to achieve what must be done. To find out how you can get involved, follow @wherewithal or write to:
The Wherewithal Project
29 Wherewithal Mews
– J. Frederick