Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Ajooshi is a Korean term loosely translating to “uncle”, an honorific given to Korean gentlemen of a certain age. No one is sure why the typically polite and amicable Korean people turn into Ajooshi upon reaching the age of forty, though speculation has produced some plausible theories. Most assholeologists believe it is due to a recessive genetic trait resulting from severe inbreeding on the Korean Peninsula, giving credence to the theory that “uncle” may, in fact, be a literal and not honorific epithet. Historically, the only way Koreans have been able to stave off extinction is by refreshing their gene pool with occasional visits from Dutch sailors and Japanese soldiers. Perhaps overcompensation for this fact compels the Ajooshi’s famous jingoism and xenophobia, as even a cursory glance of Korean cultural achievements shows little cause for pride. According to Ajooshi, Korea was responsible for inventing the printing press, summer, orgasms, and that feeling you get when you put on a pair of socks just out of the drier. They typically view Caucasians as fur-clad, horned-helmed barbarian raiders from the West. Even after years of extensive interviews, no one has ever succeeded in causing an Ajooshi to admit the existence of black people. Unfortunately, few people appear ready to do anything about the Ajooshi scourge. In fact, Korean “culture” elevates them as revered elders, possibly because they are some of the few Koreans to have endured into old age without having committed suicide after an especially tough midterm. Only the wise and insightful leaders of communist North Korea have taken steps to rid themselves of these dour, cantankerous assholes by manufacturing a famine every few decades to keep the Ajooshi gene from becoming active. With any luck, their neighbors to the South will adopt such enlightened leadership, even though doing so would lead to catastrophic collapses in the fishing vest, taxi, and battered woman shelter industries.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Further evidence of the tragic decline of white America's youth, and further argument for greeting the invading hordes of swarthy Latino immigrants as liberators. Assholes to their very core, hipsters are tattooed, glassy-eyed alcoholics operating under the pretension of superiority. The insufferable narcissism of the hipsters stems from their belief that they are better than everybody else, despite not being good at anything. They perceive themselves to be the continuation of the beatniks and Bohemians, though the only art form the hipster excels at is criticism. The act of creation is largely absent in hipster communities, as an encyclopedic knowledge of pop-culture is more valued than the contribution to it. Despite being consumers, not producers, of culture, hipsters feel they are the cutting edge of Generation Y. This assertion, even if it were true, is about as impressive as claiming to be the best astrophysicist in Uganda. The hipster canon is limited to the likes of Chuck Palahniuk, Michele Gondry, and Arcade Fire, which they vainly believe to be esoteric. Works of art or activities deemed to fall under the status quo are typically looked down upon by hipsters. This elitism is the genesis of another favorite hipster past-time: not liking things. The confused, perpetually adolescent mind of the hipster has found a way to cope with this disdain for all things, however: irony. Through irony hipsters can simultaneously enjoy something like power metal or cowboy hats without the appearance of sincerity. Hipster activities include kickball, forming bands, and shopping at second-hand clothing outlets. Physically, hipsters have no asses, twig legs, and beer bellies, combining the worst aspects of middle-aged alcoholics and Auschwitz survivors, though with less worldly charm and worse tattoos, respectively. Hipster men are effeminate dandies who weep after sex and continually flip the hair out of their eyes. Hipster women are vapid hags who attach themselves, not unlike barnacles, to more creative and talented people, hoping to fill the chasm in their souls by filling the chasm between their legs.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
The Eurotrash lifestyle generally revolves around attending all night raves. Unfortunately, house music and designer drugs do not a man make. Eurotrash have never heard of whiskey and as such cannot be considered men. These man-children are pampered throughout their lives - by their mothers, with whom they live well into their 30’s, their governments, and their eventual spouses (ersatz mothers) - and as such never mature to anything above the reasoning capacity of an adolescent. This soft living has ensured that no Eurotrash can put up drywall, change a tire, throw a punch, or drink anything stronger than a mojito. It's been said they can become quite proficient at a sport involving juggling a ball with one's feet and falling down in theatrical spasms at, and even be inspired to violence because of it. If so, this may be the key to unlocking the suppressed brutality of the European genome, which has gone dormant in recent generations to the point that Eurotrash often capitulate their cities to tourists under the mistaken impression of a foreign invasion. One tourist in France on his honeymoon, Michael Long of Alabany, NY, was able to establish a fiefdom in Marseilles from 1998-2001 before local authorities realized their error. The situation has become so dire that the Moors are engaged in reconquering Europe, one dirty kebab stand at a time. This may, ultimately, be unnecessary, as Eurotrash countries all experience negative population growth due to generations of European men losing their potency from lack of bourbon, fist-fights, and legal handguns. Like adolescents everywhere, Eurotrash are willing to expound on any subject no matter how ludicrously uninformed on it they may be, and hold all manner of idealistic notions supported by the propaganda of their left-wing, socialist governments. Like all groups of people whose moniker contain the suffix "trash", Eurotrash equate consumption with class. As a result, at any given moment Eurotrash have more than $2000 of clothes, jewelry, sunglasses, and accessories on them, more money than they have spent on health-care and public transportation over the course of their lives. Eurotrash governments support this addiction by giving a monthly stipend of E2000 to Eurotrash in order to keep them from going on strike. Fortunately, if current demographic trends continue, the Eurotrash will go extinct in favor of peoples better prepared to handle life outside the womb. Within two generations, the whole of Europe will be blacker than South Chicago, and for the first time in European history the people who live there will be able to enjoy Bob Marley with some shred of legitimacy. If there is one good thing about Eurotrash, it’s that they wouldn’t lift a finger to save a drowning gypsy, that particular oppressed ethnic group being a little too close to home for them to pretend to care about.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
One might think that, upon reaching adulthood, mothers no longer have any control over their lives. This is a grave error indeed, as anyone who has ever gone to jail for blowing a .05 on a field sobriety test can attest to. Not satisfied with dominating the lives of their children, mothers seek to spread their vile blend of sanctimony and megalomania through the political process. Because of this, perfectly reasonable activities like driving while intoxicated, living next door to a sex offender, and discharging firearms within city limits have been made into risky endeavors. Mothers are avowed enemies of heavy metal, drugs, unprotected sex, violent video games, and practically anything else that can make a few fleeting moments of life seem bearable. This desire to direct and control comes from the natural egotism of the mother, who, immediately upon discharging an oily parasitic critter from her womb, believes herself wise, experienced, and on a personal mission to look out for the common good. Mothers’ hobbies include complaining to their resigned, weary spouses, instilling deep sexual neurosis in their male children, fretting irrationally, and ruining everybody’s fun. Mothers possess this protective instinct because, unlike people who forge a legacy by creating something in business, the arts, or society, a mother’s only chance for the immortality of being remembered after one’s death is their children. Not surprisingly, the number of critters a mother bears screaming into this world is directly proportional to how little she expects to accomplish over the course of her life. The only escape from this emotional albatross of an asshole is the hope that, in some enlightened future, children will be spawned in laboratories and raised by the state. Until that glorious day arrives, sensible people must continue to cope with mothers by seeing them once a year at Thanksgiving, ignoring their phone calls, and talking about them extensively in group therapy sessions.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Porcine demi-human assholes resembling people, though lacking in any human capacity for language or reason. Victims of profound genetic drift, Rednecks are inbred over so many generations that they no longer possess dominant genes, only pairings of recessive ones. An intensely religious lot, their idolatrous and ecstatic religions involve falling to the floor and speaking in tongues, a language only slightly more unintelligible than what linguists have generously termed their homespun "dialects". Rednecks believe their particular religion is the one and only true faith, because churches started in 1960's rural Arkansas by an illiterate pig-farmer surely have all the secrets of the cosmos figured out. Despite the Redneck's apparent piety, the powers that be seem to go out of their way to put an end to the Redneck menace via tornadoes, dust bowls, and Goldschlagger. Utterly unable to read or write, Rednecks can nonetheless be taught menial tasks such as agriculture or auto repair, though in twice the time it takes the average gorilla to learn sign language. The source of the Redneck's enormous assholery is his tendency to scorn anything he cannot comprehend, lest he (rightfully) feel the inferior of others. Unfortunately, so total is their ignorance that basic concepts well understood in pre-industrial times, such as the shape of the world or the heliocentric universe, are completely outside their understanding. As a result, Rednecks in years past have been witnessed challenging celestial bodies to fights. Their chief diversions include mistaking household cleaners for alcohol, torturing small animals, and watching stock cars drive in circles for hours on end.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Having plagued society for the last 40 years, hippies are a species of animal resembling man in all but his most admirable qualities. Loathsome Australopithecines, Hippies are unable to attend to basic sanitary functions or form complete sentences without collapsing into fits of giggling. Most likely, this is a result of the narcotic herb they inhale, which is said to have the ability to turn rational men into simpering mongoloids after only a few exposures. Whatever designs this sentient devil-plant has on humanity, it keeps its own council. Like their communist overlords in the former Soviet Union - the founders of the movement - Hippies are ignorant, know-nothing know-it-alls who believe they’ve figured out what’s best for everybody. This mode of thought was perilous when owned by a drunken Ukrainian behind the wheel of a T-34, but in its diluted version, known more commonly as the Hippie, it is a mere annoyance. Hippies are well-known for espousing their thoughts on any subject, no matter how far beyond their grasps, and the results are often comical. The startling naivety of statements such as “if we want people to stop fighting, man, we should just outlaw war” bear a striking resemblance to toddlers saying things like, “when I grow up, I want to be a car!” Such proclamations are precious when coming from the mouths of babes, not so much from the bearded muzzle of a 25-year-old man-child. Unable to stop screwing despite the wild-west-show quality of their women, hippies are carriers of diseases, including the greatest epidemic of them all: more hippies. Obsessed with “living natural”, Hippies seek to plunge civilization back into days of primitive barbarism. This is well in their favor, for hippies cannot work any tool more complex than the inclined plane. Hippies cannot bring themselves do any sort of work, even going as far as to slip into comas to avoid the laborious task of breathing under their own power. Because of this, Protestants burst into flames when touched by Hippies. Thus far, these repugnant itinerants have survived only on the charity of others, including their parents’ trust funds.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Nature’s C-students, cops share several traits in common with fellow assholes religious fundamentalists, mothers, and terrorists, chiefly believing themselves a betterment to human society despite all evidence to the contrary. Cops are one of the few professions of people who expect, in fact demand, respect despite the fact that the requirements for their trade consist merely of a high-school diploma, clean criminal record, and ability to restrain a crackhead until help arrives. Using that same logic, the guy who works the third shift at Burger King should henceforth be addressed as ‘sir’ and given a wide berth when seen driving on the highway. Aside from Koreans, cops are the only species of man that takes pride in enforcing ridiculous, unjust, and arbitrary rules to the letter. This, coupled with their willingness to break up families, ruin careers, and harm the weak, ensures the ranks of any police force are well-stocked with former schoolyard bullies. Unlike schoolyard bullies, however, it is nearly impossible to talk one’s way out of a confrontation with a cop; their power-mad, imbecilic minds are incapable of seeing the reason behind such arguments as “she was dead when I got here” and “I have a permit to park on the jungle-gym”. Like all power-hungry people, cops are paranoid and utterly mirthless, resulting in an inability to grasp humor. Several black teenagers with realistic-looking pellet guns could surely attest to this, were their surviving family members not prohibited from talking about it as a stipulation of the settlement with the city.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Santa Fe is the capitol of the state of New Mexico, one of the oldest continually inhabited cities in the United States, and an asshole. Santa Fe’s history is a rich, diverse tapestry of assholery. The first known assholes to inhabit this mournful, woebegotten conurbation were the Pueblo Indians, known chiefly for their invention of the building material adobe, a substance favored by many local architects for the ingenious quality of being ugly in the summer and homely in the winter. These moribund people were displaced by the Spanish Crown, that august empire in the all-time running for assholery, who greatly valued the area’s rich leather boutiques and Asian fusion bistros. During centuries of Spanish occupation, aspiring landowners needed written approval from the crown, noble blood, and a work-force of slaves in order to own property in Santa Fe, or about one-third the wealth needed to own property in Sante Fe today. Sante Fe’s transgressions are quite almost too sundry and appalling for mention. Santa Fe fashion is known for its ponchos, fringed hide-leather jackets, and turquoise jewelry, the latter of which has made many the itinerant Mexican wealthy due to tourists’ inability to tell the difference between a day-laborer from Jalisco and a Pueblo Indian from the trailer park off I-25. Santa Fe is furthermore infamous for its execrable “art” scene. The barbarous motifs found in this degenerate school of design include pastel-colored paintings of chili wreaths, Kokapeli, mountains, and Kokapeli in the mountains. For the uninitiated, Kokapeli is the pagan demiurge worshiped by the residents of Santa Fe with thrall-like ardor, appearing on such holy vessels as the sacred hotel gift shop and hallowed postcard. The chief diversions in Santa Fe are paying ten dollars for a domestic beer, simpering, and pretending there aren’t several Indian reservations with third-world living conditions just a stone’s throw down the highway.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
These shrill, gorgon-like sea-harpies can often be found lairing in college campuses and independently-owned coffee houses. Hirsute and dour, these women, excuse me, womyn are indeed assholes. Despite the tendency to think about penises more than Sigmund Freud, Femminazis are often devout lesbians, proving once and for all the Republican argument that homosexuality is indeed a choice, or at least until one finishes grad school. Educated in revisionist history and cultured by “underground” art, these Jenny-green-teeth ensure their own exile from rational humanity through an unending laundry-list of grievances against the male sex. Typical to their level of insight, the Femminazi charges leveled against men often include the rape of Leucretia in the 6th century BC and making the moon smaller than the sun. Spiritually, Femminazis have shamelessly resurrected and co-opted the religion of ancient heathen tribes, the same ones that used to sell women for cattle and run around covered in blue paint while swinging broadswords. How this ideology reflects the espoused egalitarian and pacifistic notions of the Femminazi philosophy has yet to be discussed without accusations of misogyny. Practitioners of this stygian cult worship an obscure and rotund goddess figure, and want to resume the forgotten arts of astrology, holistic healing, and fortune-telling – these being lost to people of normal means long ago when gypsies cornered the market for divesting gullible tourists of their money. With any luck, a revival in such witchcraft will also revive the traditional way of dealing with Femminazis: throwing them in the pond to see if they float, a poor proposition indeed for the average Volkswagon-sized member of this insidious Sapphic cult.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
A pyramid scheme cleverly disguised as a religion, founded by the bigamist, pederast, con-artist, thief, possible murderer, and asshole L. Ron Hubbard. As for his bad points, he was also the author of some of the most hackneyed and ludicrous science fiction stories until George Lucas’ most recent celluloid abortions. Scientology is the result of combining every single bad tendency of the major faiths of the world: Catholicism (incomprehensible Byzantine power structure); Judaism (all-consuming obsession with money); Islam (desire to destroy everything that criticizes them); and Buddhism (silly uniforms, chubby prophet). Scientology has scored its major victory with the conversion of several prominent figures in the entertainment industry, proving beyond a doubt two already foregone conclusions: 1) actors are assholes, and 2) actors are idiots. From these irrefutable facts other inferences about actors can be made, such as that a teenage runaway in need of some quick cash and a place to crash can do what they do just as well for 1/1000th the pay. Scientologists rank among some of the most reviled figures in history, including Carl Panzram, Atilla the Hun, and Tom Cruise.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Parasitic man-eating rape-bears from the forlorn mountains of a heathen oiriental land. Over the past century, these monsters are responsible for more deaths in their host country than exotic flus and parallel parking related fatalities combined. Despite this creature's penchant for dismemberment and sexual assault, gullible Westerners have championed the cause the panda bear, which unlike a real bear cannot be trained to entertain Russian children or wrestle 19th century folk-heroes. Lately, the nation of China has adopted this asshole mammal as its mascot in a bumbling attempt to soften its image from that of the standard and entirely accurate portrayal as a billion-drone hive of humanoid insects. The panda, unlike every other species of mammal, has no drive to contribute to the continuation of its species. Perhaps this can be attributed to a dim comprehension of its own monstrous nature, or perhaps to the fact that its hideous offspring resembles the baby from Eraserhead. It is no surprise, then, that panda mothers often reject their young to be raised by human slaves, though from what dark grimoires these humans have learned the art of raising the devil-spawn are unknown. Pandas eat only one type of ubiquitous plant, have no natural predators, and cannot tolerate the slightest of environmental stresses. Given these facts, coupled with the beast's own refusal to reproduce, it is obvious to even the most amateur zoologist that pandas play no role in the ecosystem, are poorly adapted, and are meant to be cleansed from this earth. Despite the glaring truth, their grotesque existence is prolonged for the mercenary interests of various shadowy organizations: zoo gift shops, wildlife photographers, and Japanese toy manufacturers. Clearly the most destructive species of animal on the planet after the Irish, it is the duty of every human being to help eradicate this menace once and for all, or remain in its cottony clutches forever.
A large and powerful tribe of Philistines who, unlike those biblical peoples, have not yet had the good grace to be exterminated by their betters. Willfully ignorant, they harry and oppress anyone displaying a modicum of intelligence above their own. Unfortunately, this includes the likes of several species of mammals, birds, and even fish, making the Bro's list of enemies long indeed. Hedonists to the very core, Bros are unable to engage in any pursuit that does not end in the death of one of their own, usually due to the effects of light beer and third story balconies. Their namesake can be traced to their peculiar habit of referring to other males as "bro", as if implying some sort of filial bond. The roots of this moniker has mysterious origins, considering it is not customary for most siblings to masturbate in front of one another. Likely, the term is some type of atavistic throwback to the language of proto-human tribes from which they are descended. Their natural habitat, the fraternity house, has never been visited by any anthropologist who returned with his sanity; the dark rituals described by those gibbering madmen fortunate enough to escape the fraternity house's dark clutches bear striking resemblance to passages from the Necronomicon. The initiation ceremonies into these bands of marauding Dionysians include sessions of communal masturbation and the rape of women who, had they not been spending time in frat houses, might not have deserved it. An intensely homophobic tribe, Bros will use the adjective "gay" to describe anyone not interested in their principle hobbies of athletics and misogyny. In an ironic contradiction made possible only by the primeval logic of the simian mind, locker room towel fights, tea-baggings, and endless viewings of The 300 somehow do not fall under the same category. In some form or another, Bros have existed in every culture during every phase of history, and can be held responsible for the fall of the Roman Empire, the burning of the Reichstag, and the inexplicable popularity of that anise and cough-syrup witch's brew known as Jagermeister.