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Prevents spotting on Mets’ uniforms. (Image by Shattonbury.)

Many people were surprised when embattled New York Mets owner Fred Wilpon mocked and ridiculed the star players on his self-described “shitty team” in a recent New Yorker article, but the formerly wealthy idiot is just getting started. In order to send an even sterner message to his loser club, Fred Wilpon has decided to install a tampon machine in the Mets clubhouse, letting his players know that he doesn’t believe that they truly are men and that, perhaps, they are able to menstruate. This is poor behavior for two reasons. First of all, it is sexist as many women are great athletes and being compared to a woman is not an insult. Secondly, cash-strapped Fred Wilpon is charging $3,000 per tampon in order to raise money for his Madoff legal defense fund.

Fred Wilpon, a rich, dumb man who is no longer so rich but is as dumb as ever, is filled with rage for his ballplayers. Of course, he should be angry with himself for horribly mismanaging his baseball team and investing heavily in Bernie Madoff’s Ponzi scheme. But that’s not Fred Wilpon’s way.

To show his disdain, Fred Wilpon has taken to using outfielder Carlos Beltran’s locker as a urinal. The well-dressed dummy sits in the owner’s box at games, pointing at his players and laughing derisively. When Mets players are about to catch the ball, Fred Wilpon blows a vuvuzela and calls their mothers “whores,” hoping to distract them so that they will make an error. When he sees players’ wives in the stands, Fred Wilpon gestures putting his index finger down his throat, suggesting that they are homely and make him want to vomit.

Fred Wilpon decided to make an example of beloved team mascot, Mr. Met. Calling the bulbous-headed figure a “disgusting bag of shit,” Fred Wilpon took away Mr. Met’s uniform and underwear, forcing him to parade around in the parking lot with his genitals exposed. Mr. Met has been ordered to squeegee for change and turn tricks in cars. He has developed Hep-C and a serious drinking problem.

In a recent Sports Illustrated article, Fred Wilpon said the Mets may lose $70 million this year, that they are bleeding money. And there is no tampon big enough to stop that.

Mr. Met: Will use his mouth on you. (Image by Richiek.)


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Donald Trump: Using the Republican Party the same way he used Marla Maples. (Image by Michele Sandberg.)

That orange-headed fuckface Donald Trump upped the ante early today in his fake run for the Presidency, bringing his ridiculous unilateral feud with President Obama directly to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Trump sneaked onto the lawn and took an electric razor to First Dog Bo, shaving profanities into his coat, and set fire to the White House, burning to the ground what the homely narcissist dubbed “that old, unclassy dump.”

“I can’t prove that Obama wasn’t born in America if I don’t desecrate his Portuguese Water Dog,” said Trump, as he stood near the charred remains of the Lincoln bedroom. “I’m a very smart man. I went to the best schools. I got very good grades. I know what I’m doing.”

Because President Obama is aloof the way many Kenyans are, he ignored the fire and refused to confront his make-believe rival. That won’t stop Trump, though. He is going forward with a round of debates without Obama, hiring the homeless man with the golden voice Ted Williams as a suitable stand-in for the incumbent. The debate will be moderated by Trump’s fellow NBC celebrity, Guy Fieri, who is both stupid and useful.

Tracking polls are showing that Trump is already drawing strong support from gigantic assholes across the country. Now he can probably add to his constituency arsonists and people who own dogs with the word “cocksucker” etched into their back. Still, it won’t be easy to win the Republican nomination with strong competition from Sarah Palin, the other lady who’s even crazier than Sarah Palin, Mitt Romney, Haley Barbour and Brett Favre’s penis. They’re all equally qualified to run the country. But Republicans are just happy to have a candidate who makes Newt Gingrich look morally upstanding by comparison, even though Trump is actually more liberal than Obama on almost every issue.

For their part, NBC executives love the free publicity that Trump brought the network by burning down the White House, and are only disappointed that he didn’t also defecate into the lap of the Lincoln Memorial.

Apprentice has nearly doubled its ratings from last season and is now averaging almost 8 million viewers an episode,” said one network exec, pulling his head out of his ass long enough to speak. “It’s one of the very few shows we have that is in the zeitgeist and gets those kinds of numbers. So, we certainly want him back. And we’d also like to develop a sitcom for that cocksucker dog.”

Trump is either using his fake Presidential run to boost his ratings and fame by being an even a bigger whore than usual, or perhaps he’s having a complete mental breakdown as the result of suddenly realizing that he’s spent his life renting wives and somehow losing money on casinos.

Whatever the reason, Trump has vowed that when he becomes President he will build a new White House, which won’t be white but gold, and he will install in each bedroom a slot machine and an Eastern European model who swallows. The new building, it can be sure, will look like a huge bag of shit.•

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Back to the stable for more lovin’. (Image by Sebastian Pacquet.)

A firestorm of controversy raged throughout the blogosphere this week because the “Vows” column in Sunday’s New York Times focused on the wedding of a TV news reporter and a business executive who left their spouses to marry one another. Instead of quietly dealing with the painful fallout, the newlyweds decided for some bizarre, narcissistic reason that announcing the sordid details to the world would be good for their ex-spouses and school-age children.

Many people thought the newspaper erred in providing a platform for this taboo-busting twosome, but you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. The Times is pushing the envelope but hard this weekend when they run a “Vows” column about another couple who left their spouses to get married and are now engaged in a three-way with a horse. Part Scarlet Letter and part Mr. Ed, the story is certainly complicated. The couple met Mr. Marbles when he caught the tossed bouquet at the wedding between his teeth. The bride was immediately struck by Mr. Marbles’ exuberance.

“He doesn’t walk in to a room,” she said. “He gallops in.”

When they realized they wanted to have a three-way with a horse, the newlyweds said they remembered crying together. “Why are we being punished?” they wondered. “Why did someone throw him into our path when we can’t have him?” But then they immediately started fucking the horse anyway. This made them cry even more because horse cock is gigantic and can be painful when inserted into human orifices.

“I didn’t believe in the word ‘soulmate’ before, but now I do,” said the groom, as he sat gingerly, polishing his favorite saddle.

“My kids are going to look at me and know that I am flawed and not perfect, but also deeply in love,” said the blushing, limping bride. “We’re going to have a big, noisy, rich life, and there will be hay everywhere.”

When asked why they felt it was important to tell the world of their relations with a horse, the couple said they wanted an honest account of how they entered into bestiality for their sake and their kids’ sakes.

If you don’t like it, I suggest you read some other paper. This isn’t your parents’ New York Times. Unless your parents are fucking a horse.

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Uses guns to compensate for small penis. (Image by Therealbs.)

Just a couple of weeks after clubbing a fish to death on her reality TV show, Sarah Palin attempted to demonstrate her superiority over yet another species when she shot and murdered a caribou. If you’ve followed Sarah Palin closely, you can tell that she’s very insecure because the average member of the reindeer family is brighter than she is and more qualified to be President of the United States. In order to mask her fears, Sarah Palin uses firearms to demonstrate that she is a member of the superior race.

After needing just 43 shots to kill the caribou, Sarah Palin opened its chest with a bowie knife and drank some of its blood. She smeared the rest of the blood on her chest and face like war paint. Then she lowered her trousers and straddled the dead reindeer and violated it repeatedly.

In addition to her utter stupidity, another thing that bothers Sarah Palin is that she has a pretty small penis. I mean, it’s big for a woman, but it’s still not very big. While her ding-dong may be tiny, it’s still functional and worked fine as she humped the newly murdered deer. Bristol stood by and watched proudly as her mom penetrated the slaughtered animal, but she did not participate for fear that she would become pregnant with the child of a dead caribou.

Fuck you, Snowflake Jr. You’re next.

For her part, Sarah Palin tried to preempt any criticism she would receive about the episode with a post on her blog. “Unless you’ve never worn leather shoes, sat upon a leather couch or eaten a piece of meat, save your condemnation of tonight’s episode,” she wrote. “I remain proudly intolerant of the hypocrisy of those who would oppose the fucking of dead livestock.”

After she was done doing the deed with the dead deer, Sarah Palin strutted around bottomless for a while and ordered her lackeys to tell her that her cock is very gigantic. Then she waved her johnson all around and took a leak in a pond to remind nature that it is her bitch. Sarah Palin hasn’t decided what kind of animal she wants to kill and fuck next, but it will probably be a lamb. Their meat tastes good and they’re kind of plush and sexy.

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Pope Benedict XVI: Works blue. (Image by Rvin88.)

Many people were stunned to learn that Pope Benedict XVI justified condom use for male prostitutes with AIDS in a recent interview. It’s the first time the Vatican has ever acknowledged that there’s a circumstance when condoms are acceptable. Some pundits think this may be a sign that the Catholic Church is showing progress when it comes to sexuality, but based on some other statements he made, it seems that the Pope may have just been effed up like Charles Barkley during the Q&A. Here are some more comments from the Pope about other times it’s okay to use condoms:

When Boning Sarah Or Bristol:
“These two get pregnant if you sneeze on them. Even Octomom snickers. You might even want to double-bag it, or you could find yourself on the Levi Johnston Election Committee. And now that she’s constantly prancing around in the great outdoors pretending to like nature for the reality show cameras, Governor Snooki is especially horned up.”

When Fisting A Porn Star Outside Of Marriage:
“This is an instance where you need latex gloves instead of condoms, but we’re still talking rubber. Listen, if you marry the porn star, you can go raw fist. But if this is, say, a one-off thing at a Halloween party, you need to wrap that hand. I recommend Rubbermaid, but anything with a latex base will suffice.”

When Having Butt Sex With A Midget:
“If we’re talking, like, under four feet tall or something like that, then you need to use a lubed-up sack for comfort’s sake. I’m not suggesting that butthole size is completely determined by height, but let’s err on the side of caution in this matter.”

When Watching Tiger Woods Golf:
“You can’t be too careful. He’s like Caligula with a 3-iron.”

When Being Counseled By A Catholic Priest:
“Do you not read the papers?”

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Yet to lose a patient.

Charlie Sheen held a press conference this weekend not to announce that he’s entering rehab but to reveal that he’s been attending a Los Angeles medical school, hoping to become one of America’s foremost pussy doctors.

“I’m not entirely abandoning show business,” announced an earnest, pantless and clearly inebriated Charlie Sheen, “but I can’t stress how important it is to me that I dedicate most of my time to treating pussy and pussy-related illnesses.”

When a member of the press pointed out to Charlie Sheen that the term for a doctor who treats women’s reproductive organs is actually “gynecologist,” the actor stared blankly for a moment and then returned to discussing pussy.

Most people are shocked that Charlie Sheen is still alive let alone attending medical school, but he’s clearly impressed his fellow students. He’s an unorthodox rebel who rails against the rigid, uncaring traditions of the medical establishment and has set up a free clinic for unwed mothers in a Malibu condo. He’s pretty much become the Patch Adams of pussy.

Armed with only a speculum, a video camera and a bowl of cocaine, Sheen treats women as they gyrate around the stripper pole he’s installed in his examining room. He even throws in a free breast exam, though he hasn’t yet formally studied tit medicine.

Charlie Sheen’s rebellious streak isn’t only directed at the powers that be in the medical world but also at the gender politics that oppress women. He decries the inequality that females face in society.

“Because of the sick, misogynistic world we live in,” Charlie Sheen said, “all women are forced to become either porn stars or prostitutes. And those professions can be particularly tough on the pussy.”

When a member of the press pointed out to Charlie Sheen that all women are not in fact either porn stars or prostitutes, the actor stared blankly for a moment and then returned to discussing pussy.

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Bonnie Hunt just brought me a Chicken Marsala. (Image by Chad J. McNeeley.)

He was once one of the most highly paid and ill-prepared hosts on television, but these days Larry King is known as that creepy old guy at the Olive Garden who keeps trying to interview people with a breadstick. When a group from the office is trying to celebrate someone’s birthday, Larry King plops himself down and tells them that they are on the air with Ryan Secrest, even though they’re not.

The manager at the Olive Garden was sort of thrilled the first time Larry King walked into the restaurant. You don’t see too many celebrities there. He took a photo with Larry King and hung it on the wall. But now he pretty much calls the police as soon as Larry King pulls into the parking lot.

Hot, tasty microphones.

Larry King thinks his waitress is Lady Gaga. Yeah, his waitress is blond, but she’s also a 48-year-old mother of five. He probably should realize the difference. Larry just asked his waitress if she wrote “Poker Face” because she likes playing poker. She just wants to take his order and finish her shift, but Larry King finds her “entrancing, one of her generation’s most exciting performers.”

Larry King thinks the kitchen is his dressing room, and he hangs out in his underpants and regales the cooks with stories of his days running around Miami with Jackie Gleason. Most of them are trying to put poison in his Lasagna Classico. They long for his death.

Larry King really needs this Olive Garden gig to work out, even though it’s not really a gig. He stares out of the window in fear that Anderson Cooper or Piers Morgan is arriving. But it’s just the police, so he quickly pulls on his trousers.


    Glenn Beck: It's Murray Sunshine who threatens our very way of life. (Image by Gage Skidmore.)

    He may be controversial, but you have to give that fat-necked scumbag Glenn Beck some credit. While the necrophiliacs in our so-called government are busy spending tax dollars on flag-burning fluid and members of the liberal media are having gay orgies on gunboats, Beck has singlehandedly uncovered one of the most dastardly socialist threats our country has seen in decades. And the most stunning news of all is that menace is present on our own land.

    After tireless research on the computer in his office during a coffee break, Beck spent half of a recent episode of his Fox News show outing 92-year-old New York City resident Murray Sunshine as a dangerous radical on par with Osama bin Laden and the Taliban. Sunshine, a retired upholsterer who for decades did volunteer work as a community organizer, is apparently determined to destroy our sacred ideals.

    “This Murray guy is a one-man Al-Qaeda, but the liberal elite doesn’t report it.” Beck said. “He’s the kind of dangerous operative leading the Obama Administration around on a leash. He is now infiltrating the government as he has previously infiltrated the education and legal systems. He is a threat to our once-great nation, which already needed to have its honor restored.”

    Murray Sunshine: I met Gus Hall once. He wasn't as tall as you might think.

    For his part, Sunshine isn’t denying the charges that he’s a card-carrying member of the Socialist Party, even taking out his wallet and showing the card to representatives of the media who gathered outside his Bensonhurst apartment.

    “Oh sure, I’m a socialist,” Sunshine said with a smile, an evil socialist smile. “I have been forever. I still like to sit in the diner and read my Weekly Worker. And I have several buttons with slogans about laborers uniting.”

    For many years, Sunshine registered voters in poor communities, trying to allow them a representative voice in their government, probably pleasing Castro to no end. He also worked in soup kitchens, gave out free turkeys at Thanksgiving and was active in maintaining a neighborhood public garden. Sometimes he would attempt to converse with recent Dominican immigrants in Spanish Harlem about Karl Marx and they would look at him funny.

    It began to rain and as the reporters dispersed, Sunshine offered them an umbrella and bus fare, just the way Stalin taught him to.

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    Snooki: Judge threw the book at her. She didn't read it. (Image by Amy Nicole Waltney.)

    That fucking idiot Snooki received a surprisingly harsh sentence today in her disorderly conduct case when the Judge ordered that she be executed by drowning on the beach at Seaside Heights on Christmas Day. It’s going to be really freezing when she sinks into the ocean and the life drains from her body.

    The moron has no idea what the sentence means. When she heard the verdict, she was piss drunk and had just hit her head on the ceiling of a tanning bed. She thinks it may have something to do with drowning as many cocktails as she can. The one positive is that she probably won’t even know what is happening as the executioner leads her into the water in front of a large crowd of gawking slobs.

    Local Seaside Heights merchants are thrilled about the forthcoming holy day execution because they thought Labor Day would be the last time this year they’d profit from the disgusting behavior displayed on Jersey Shore. Originally, they were angered that their town was depicted in such a disgraceful way, but once everyone starting making money, the moral outrage quickly subsided.

    Executioner's hood is no protection from Bon Jovi music. (Image by Piotrus.)

    But no one is more thrilled about the drowning than MTV and its parent company Viacom. They’re going to broadcast the killing live and think they can sell ads at several times the usual price–maybe even at Super Bowl rates! A colorful assortment of derelicts will be on hand to drink gasoline during the pre-game show. And Bon Jovi is going to perform at halftime. They’ll do that song they do about the working-class couple with the dreams.

    After Snooki sinks and dies, a crane is going to lift her bloated corpse from the water so that her body can be stuffed by a taxidermist. If you want to have a look at the stuffed Snooki, it’s going to cost you a quarter. But having sex with her remains will run you fifty cents. In a heartwarming twist, Viacom has promised that part of the proceeds from the necrophilia will go toward rebuilding the town dump.

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    Mr. Trump: Paint those tits green, ASAP. (Image by Michele Sandberg.)

    I think we can all agree that gorgeous women in skimpy bikinis and high heels is neither sexy enough nor classy enough in this advanced day and age. They need to whip out their breasts and slap some paint on those hooters.

    Thankfully, a first-class individual like Mr. Trump has remedied this problem. Mr. Trump and NBC own the Miss Universe pageant, and they recently released a series of photos and videos that have contestants posed topless with their bare breasts painted a variety of colors, which is a blatant rip-off of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue. It caused an uproar, but it really is tough to tell which woman is the most beautiful unless you’ve seen her funbags when they’re maroon.

    A lot of people thought the stunt was just more of the same crass, stupid, egotistical hoopla that Mr. Trump engages in, which allows him to create faux controversies and get publicity for his mediocre entertainments and garish buildings and casinos. But they don’t understand how classy Mr. Trump is.

    Anyhow, breast-painting is just the start of the changes that will make the Miss Universe pageant even classier. Contestants will also be required to hump a stripper pole, have their beavers shaved on live television and go down on a cucumber. “The contestants who compete at Miss Universe are diverse and they represent more than 82 countries around the globe,” said a representative for Mr. Trump and NBC, defending the contest’s changes. “Many of their cultures embrace the idea of nasty ho’s with bald pussies. We have to be culturally sensitive and respect that.” To this point, fisting and genital mutilation have been discussed, but no final decision has been made.

    Miss Chloe needs to get her hoo-haa vajazzled. (Image by Pleple2000.)

    Improvements instituted in this year’s Miss Universe pageant may even make it to the world of show dogs if a rumored sale of the Westminster Kennel Club is finalized, and Mr. Trump and NBC gain control of the canine contest. The deal is apparently very close to fruition and everyone is hoping for the best. Westminster is a fierce competition held each year at Madison Square Garden, but it lacks the sizzle and sex appeal it needs if it is going to be the kind of first-rate contest that someone like Mr. Trump demands. Preliminary reports say that from now on beagles will be forced to have their nutsacs pierced and that cockapoos will be dressed in bondage gear. It will be very classy indeed.

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    Campaign slogan: Wanna fuck? (Image by Amy Nicole Waltney.)

    Because every antisocial, opportunistic cretin contributing nothing to society feels compelled to run for Mayor of Wasilla, Snooki has just announced she’s throwing her snatch into the ring.

    Snooki has an unusual platform that has nothing to do with improving Wasilla’s primary school education or eldercare services. She plans to woo voters by giving a blowjob in public to a giraffe shipped in from the Alaska Zoo. It might sound strange, but there’s a method to her madness. Wasilla is a hardscrabble town that could use a great mayor to help it cope with the many social problems it’s facing, but short of that the locals need someone to make them feel better about themselves. Snooki blowing a giraffe will achieve that latter goal because it will enable the citizens of Wasilla to feel superior, since they won’t be the ones who’ll have giraffe semen in their mouths. Even though no one asked her to, Snooki has even volunteered to swallow the quadruped ejaculate. People are willing to give her handkerchiefs to spit into, but she won’t hear of it.

    For his part, Levi isn’t giving up without a battle. He’s agreed to finger the house pets (dogs, cats, ferrets, etc.) of any MILF who is willing to throw her vote his way. He has, however, asserted that he will not use his tongue on them. That could hurt him with swing voters, but no one will know for sure until Election Day. The one thing we do know for certain is the people who are considering creating a reality show that has Levi running a sham campaign for mayor of Wasilla are college graduates who should definitely know better. But they care nothing for the welfare of the people in the small Alaskan town.

    There'll also be assplay. (Image by Hans Hillewaert.)

    MTV and its parent company Viacom are being very supportive of Snooki’s mayoral aspirations, because they’re not multi-billion dollar corporations just using the Jersey Shore cast members to make large sums of money before discarding them like trash. People might think that’s what’s happening, but it’s totally not. For instance, if one of the Jersey Shore kids should contract HIV from one of the drunken hook-ups that MTV and its parent company Viacom enables and encourages, the network will no doubt be there for them.

    And MTV and and its parent company Viacom have a sense of responsibility that goes far beyond just the cast, extending to the millions of young viewers who may emulate the disgusting behavior displayed on the show. The program is popular with a very young demographic, and let’s face it, not all of those tweens and young teens who watch have great parental guidance. Should the show inspire some of them to behave promiscuously and get an STD, maybe even AIDS, the corporations will definitely intercede and help them emotionally and financially, especially if they need expensive hospice care. Anything less would be incredibly negligent.

    It’s not easy for executives at MTV and Viacom these days because they all keep having the same recurring nightmare. It goes something like this: After cashing their paychecks for Season 3, the Jersey Shore cast members realize they’re going to be replaced by cheaper dummies the following year anyhow, so they decide to not put their health at risk for what is actually a small amount of money. They all conspire to give up drinking and behaving like pigs and instead go to libraries and do charity work for people in need. MTV and Viacom execs all wake up in a panic just as the kids become good citizens.

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    NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell: I was just really tired of suspending everyone. (Image by Bradley Lail.)

    The NFL Rules Committee recently met and have made some changes to modernize America’s favorite sport and make it even more reprehensible. Commissioner Roger Goodell was tired of reprimanding everyone in football anyhow, so he decided to say fuck the rules to reduce the number of player suspensions and fan arrests. Dogfighting, gun and drug possession, beating up strippers, ticket holders behaving like boxcar hobos and players experiencing brain damage is just the beginning. Shit’s gonna get effed up, people!

    For one thing, kidnapping is now legal. If the other team has a player who’s really making it difficult for your team to win the game, your guys can get some guns and rope and kidnap that player from the opposing sidelines. Then they can have that player beg for mercy before the cameras to psyche out the other team. Fans will not only be able to bet money they don’t have on game outcomes but also on which players will emerge from their kidnappings alive.

    Players will no longer wear helmets. They’re getting brain damaged already anyhow, but it’s happening in a way that’s subtle, gradual and not entertaining. Now they’ll be a chance to literally see some of the damaged brains, should they ooze from a player’s gashed, bloody head. CT scans of the injured skulls will be taken as soon as players are carted off the field, and the head X-rays will be displayed on the scoreboard along with other stats.

    Who wants to pistol-whip the free safety? (Image by Belinda Hankins Miller.)

    Officials will be required to carry firearms, though they will only be able to use them to murder players at non-skill positions. If an official accidentally kills a quarterback or running back, he in turn will also be murdered. These executions will occur at mid-field via lethal injection, which will be administered by the referee the condemned official was least friendly with. Announcers will be encouraged to use profanities and talk trash about former announcers who have recently passed away. Those losers were weak and cowardly and their grieving families should know.

    Only fans have been able to get disgustingly drunk during games in the past, but players will now be permitted to drink booze and smoke weed on the sidelines. The liquor they drink will, however, have to be made by an NFL sponsor. It’s a great way to raise revenue through product placement. Cheerleaders are being replaced by prostitutes, who will provide players and coaches with blowjobs and quickies at halftime. Fans will likewise be permitted to have sex in the stands between halves, but they will have to bring their own prostitutes or purchase prostitutes from the concession stand. Fans who have grown too obese to perform sexually will be able to watch a porno on the Jumbotron so that they can remember what arousal felt like.

    The NFL will be much more interactive since fans will help determine when games are over. The 60-minute playing time will no longer be observed. Games will continue until 100 players and/or spectators have died from cardiac arrest or alcohol poisoning. The team with the most points at that juncture will win, and the deceased will be buried in a mass grave beneath the 30-yard line before carrion can have at them.

    Are you ready for some football?

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    Gen. Petraeus: You sing like Cher after she's been to a Taliban dentist.

    The news is everywhere that a shakeup has gone down behind the scenes at American Idol. With ratings starting to decline and Simon leaving the program, producers knew that they had to take some drastic measures.

    So, judges Ellen and Kara are out and replacing them will be J-Lo and Steven Tyler. What hasn’t been reported is that General Petraeus will also be joining the show as a judge. Already assigned with the twin burdens of successfully completing wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, Petraeus will be expected to rescue the disaster that Idol has become.

    Ali Saleh Kahlah al-Marri: Your pants are on the ground, infidel.

    Some people think Petraeus is too nice like Ellen, but this is a four-star general who is used to talking tough with some of the most evil terrorists in the world. If you sing a song and you sound like a bunch of cats murdering a bird, Petraeus isn’t going to lie to you.

    He’s also up for the ratings challenge. “We will pursue Dancing with the Stars relentlessly,” Petraeus said at a press conference. “We will target them and their leaders. We will fight hard and with discipline until we reach our achievable goals.”

    In order to further liven things up, Ryan Seacrest has been let go to make room for new host, Al-Qaeda member Ali Saleh Kahlah al-Marri. Unlike Ellen, this enemy combatant is definitely not too nice. In fact, he’s a terrorist hellbent on destroying Western culture. The banter between Al-Marri and Petraeus will no doubt be deliciously bitchy. Fox has its fingers crossed.

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    Snooki: The turlet was all the way over there. (Image by Amy Nicole Waltney.)

    Something really bad was happening to the environment recently, but then Snooki crapped her pants. She’s the best! It happened either on a boardwalk or in a parking garage–there are conflicting reports. It wasn’t an accident if that’s what you’re thinking. Snooki can control her bowel movements; she just chose not to. Having been rewarded handsomely for sub-literate, antisocial behavior, she feels like she needs to constantly up the ante. And anyhow the bathroom was about 40 feet away, so why not just use her clothes as a toilet and do something to entertain her many fans.

    According to eyewitness accounts, Snooki had downed some booze and a veal parm a few hours earlier and felt she needed to evacuate her intestines, so that she could be light on her feet during a planned broken beer bottle fight with another woman. Despite her diminutive size, Snooki craps like a herd of alpacas. Her thong couldn’t catch the poop, and it oozed out onto the ground. The Smithsonian has called about it; they’d like to acquire the stool and permanently keep it floating in one of the museum’s toilets. It’s just like when they acquired Fonzie’s leather jacket if Fonzie’s leather jacket had been made of feces.

    Only losers use them. (Image by Downtowngal.)

    Everyone has been tweeting about Snooki dropping a deuce in her pants and fans are making a pilgrimage to the Jersey Shore to see it for themselves. The dung has been roped off to protect it from being stolen, but the masses can get close enough so that they can take photos in front of it.

    People who watch her TV show claim to like Snooki, but it’s unlikely they would ever want to trade places with her. It seems they just enjoy laughing at someone who makes them feel superior. But what kind of message does that send to children who might think they can thrive by acting like pigs rather than developing their minds. Democracy can’t survive without an informed citizenry and …oh wait, The Situation just pissed himself! There are conflicting reports, but it happened either on a bar stool or in a bowling alley. He’s the best!

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    Lindsay: I'd like a window seat.

    Lindsay doesn’t know she’s in jail, so you probably shouldn’t mention it to her if you happen to wind up in the cell next to hers. She just thinks she’s in a very bad airport, like, the worst one she’s ever been in. Her lawyers didn’t want to bum her out, so they didn’t really tell her the whole truth and stuff. Maybe they should have.

    Lindsay thinks the plane must be very delayed. Perhaps there was a bad storm or something. And to make matters worse, this crappy airport has no magazine stand where she can buy an Us Weekly and a Red Bull. It’s odd that all the Passenger Service Agents have guns and handcuffs and the Ground Crew gives her strip searches, but in this age of terrorism, you can’t be too careful.

    The plane will be here soon, pumpkin. (Image by Glenn Francis.)

    Lindsay thinks it’s good of the airline to give her free food and a place to sleep while she waits for her plane, but the meals and accommodations are pretty subpar. She hopes the plane will get here soon because waiting around is such a drag. Lindsay isn’t sure where the plane she’s waiting for is going, but she hopes it’s someplace really cool. Maybe she’ll be making a movie there or hosting a party or something.

    Sometimes Lindsay wishes she could fly without an airplane. Then she wouldn’t have to wait around for anyone. She would just flap her arms and soar into the sky where everything is quiet and peaceful and blue. There would be birds to talk to and she could get close enough to the rainbows to touch them. And it would be just completely great and make her really happy if all the clouds she flew into were made of marshmallows and vanilla ice cream and crystal meth.


    The fans respond. (Image by Landii.)

    That Dick Cheney sex tape that’s been rumored to be out there for a while has finally emerged on the Internet. It’s not great quality video footage–kind of grainy–but you can clearly see it’s the former Vice President.

    Some people think that Cheney’s political enemies have released the tape to embarrass him, but others believe that Cheney himself has leaked the video to boost his popularity. Nobody has any sympathy for him even though he has a ferret heart and arteries fashioned from a vacuum cleaner bag. Maybe having a sex tape in circulation will improve his standing with the public like it did for that Kardashian woman.

    I’ve already had a look at the footage and it’s as graphic as you might expect. It’s certainly not for the squeamish, as there’s no pixelation. Cheney likes using his mouth a lot on the private parts and he’s really into doing it doggy style. He seems unduly proud of his blotchy skin and tiny wang. There’s a tattoo of a scorpion on his ass. He sneers throughout.

    Cheney: Fuck me harder.

    You have to give the former Veep credit for being pretty athletic considering he lacks a pulse and a heartbeat and shit. During the climactic scene, Cheney appears to ejaculate bat blood instead of semen. It’s possible it’s snake venom, but it really looks to have the texture and consistency of bat blood. I don’t know for sure; I’m not a bat scientist.

    If the video goes viral, then perhaps Cheney will get to be a contestant on Dancing with the Stars or maybe decide to run for the Presidency in 2012. Massachusetts Senator Scott Brown, who’s done soft-core photo spreads and videos, can be his running mate. Obama only does tasteful topless shots, so they’d have that advantage over him.

    More Entertainment and Sports News:


    Blood everywhere. (Image by Greg Hernandez.)

    It’s been reported elsewhere that the Michael Scott character is exiting from The Office at the end of this season, but we’ve learned exclusively that his departure will be as the result of a particularly brutal murder. The shocking crime is to occur at the hands of Meredith, Dunder-Mifflin’s troubled Supplier Relations representative, whose deeply rooted personal problems have long been a source of mirth.

    In the episode, Michael will be collecting his personal effects at approximately five in the afternoon, preparing to head home to his condo after another day at the Scranton branch when he is accosted by a knife-wielding Meredith, who is no longer able to cover up her pain with alcoholism and promiscuity. Having felt the sting once too often of Michael’s cruel taunts about her physical unattractiveness, Meredith lunges at him and can’t stop stabbing until her mania subsides minutes later. The warehouse guys have their hands full trying to clean up the mess.

    No man will harm me again. (Image by Angela George.)

    Although Pennsylvania maintains the death penalty, very few murderers are executed, so it’s possible Meredith will escape lethal injection. She had displayed the type of aberrant behavior in regards to alcohol and sex that people engage in to try to mollify acute suffering. This pattern of behavior most likely resulted from some trauma or abuse that occurred in childhood, and no one should have been making light of it.

    In a subplot, smirking prankster Jim decides to use the situation to irk thick-headed rival Dwight, placing Michael’s decapitated head on his desk and challenging his co-worker to defeat it in a staring contest. “Fact,” says Dwight, “If you put pennies on my eyes, I will simply blink and knock them off whereas a disembodied head will not be able to do so.” Dwight eventually takes the bait, but office tight-ass Angela becomes irritated with Jim, telling him that “it’s hard enough working here after the slaying and you keep making it harder.” That’s what she said.

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    Lebron James: South Beach has much better pecker weather than Cleveland.

    Coming off the ratings bonanza of Lebron James’ The Decision show, in which he revealed which NBA team he would play for next, ESPN has greenlighted the latest program idea from Camp Lebron, a show that has the newest member of the Miami Heat discussing his pecker. While James’ ego was somewhat satisfied by the non-stop attention from journalists and billionaire team owners and his ability to talk about his “talents” in front of millions of people, there was precious little time left for him to discuss his pecker. James is hoping the new show will remedy that oversight and help his pecker build a global brand.

    ESPN President George Bodenheimer quickly cleared the programming slate when he found out Lebron and his pecker were available, especially since King James agreed to donate proceeds from the ad sales of his program to charity. “Not only will this be groundbreaking programming,” Bodenheimer said from ESPN headquarters in Bristol, Connecticut, “but just think of the good Greenpeace can do with all that pecker money.”

    Host Jim Gray will be on hand to ask Lebron tough questions about his pecker’s life on and off the court. The program will be immediately followed by Charles Barkley’s Vampire Disco Bullfight Execution Hour, in which the former forward will get effed up and just wing it.


    Charles Barkley: I decide which matadors get to live. 

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    These cancer researchers will soon have Bachelor Jake and Vienna back in the fold. (Image by Quintote.)

    Despite seeming to be two of the more useless sacks of shit on the planet, Bachelor Jake and Vienna have been secretly using their well-hidden intelligence for several years to try to find a cure for cancer. Many in the medical-research field were worried that the pair’s bitter public breakup might cause them to abruptly halt their joint research, but that appears to not be the case. Even though Bachelor Jake has accused Vienna of trying to undermine and embarrass him and Vienna has insinuated that her former boyfriend is a fame whore who gets all woo-hoo in the underpants whenever a handsome guy walks by, the duo knows that they must continue their work for the good of humanity.

    Assume the position, Mr. Beano.

    “I’m so disgusted with Vienna,” acknowledges Jake. “She sold me out to a tabloid. But those bald, unattractive people really need us. I don’t feel like loving on Vienna anymore, but I will cure cancer with her.”

    Once the duo has licked this scourge of an illness, they plan on getting more attention any way they can, perhaps by fucking a horse in public.

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    Sally Field: Limping around like Barbaro. (Image by Kristin Dos Santos.)

    I know you’re busy with your own lives, but it’s important that you be aware that Sally Field is still having really bad problems with her bones. Boniva, a fine product with the active ingredient, Ibandronic acid, is helping somewhat, but her bones are still all fucked up and hurt her like a bastard most of the time. It isn’t really surprising since for most of her life Field lived on a remote island where calcium was unavailable. Now she’s got shit-bone disease. Her bones don’t have any density and she recently had to give up riding a moped. Her ankles are like potato chips.

    Field is even suffering from bone loss. The other day her femur fell out of her left pant leg. It just popped the fuck out and now her ass is lopsided. If you come across Sally Field’s femur lying on the sidewalk, could you do me a big favor and pick it up? Make sure you don’t step on it or use it to play fetch with your dog. It’s really brittle and you’ll crack the motherfucker into tiny pieces. Just throw it in a bag and mail it to California. Those dipshits will get it back to her. Otherwise, she’ll have to continue to cope with slanted-ass syndrome.

    Femur: Remember to slap a stamp on it.


    Lady Gaga: There was a line at the restroom. (Image by Daniel Åhs Karlsson.)

    Worried that someone somewhere in the world wasn’t paying attention only to her, Lady Gaga climbed down from the stands at Sunday’s Yankee game and urinated on home plate just before the start of the sixth inning. Taking off her clothes, grabbing her private parts and making obscene gestures in the luxury boxes for the game’s first two hours helped her make a spectacle of herself, but it wasn’t until she had downed a few large beers that Gaga was ready to unleash the piece de resistance. Imitating the squatting style of the late catcher Elston Howard, the New York-born singer gave the capacity crowd an amazing show.

    “Wow, she’s a great entertainer,” said Yankee fan Phil Vacco, 21, of Bay Ridge. “That’s why I live in New York. To see big stars behave like filthy hobos.”

    Yogi Berra: I'm sure glad I retired. Home plate smells like pee-pee.

    Lady Gaga has enjoyed a meteoric rise over the past year, going from completely unknown to completely boring in record time. Now totally overexposed, she’s burned through Madonna’s whole tired act in a matter of months.

    “My fans are everything to me, and I would die for them,” Gaga said, pulling up her torn underwear after she was finished taking a leak.

    Then she headed to Monument Park where she set fire to a statue of Lou Gehrig and performed public sex acts with old timer Joe Pepitone.

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