“Go Pumas, Go!” by Osama bin Laden
Go Pumas, Go!
By Osama bin Laden, pwned by US Navy Seals, May 2011.
I am not liking this place. Let me tell you that from the beginning. Things are not quite as I believed that they would be in paradise. Not at all. For the first of all, things are very hot. I am sweating all of the time in my head-dress and I dare not remove it because the humidity has made my hair very, how do you say, poofy like? Only the Pumas, my beloved Pumas, are keeping me sane. But we will get to that later.
The impression that I was under was that there would be virgins waiting for me here. Only 72, which is not as many wives as I had in the last world, but still an impressive number none the less. I have yet to meet one of these ladies and I am waiting because my hair, that I have said before, is poofy like in the humidity and needs tending too.
Also, I have no fruit basket. I was expecting to be fed from the fruit basket by the 72 virgins while I lay on a cloud of pillows. This is not so. In fact my bed is not very comfortable at all. It is not made of pillows but of dirty nails, which is very unsanitary. I must speak with the manager of this place about the conditions of the rooms. I am told that he and I would get along very well by the other tenants. But there is also this snickering, which I do not understand. I must adjust to this sense of humor, because I am not understanding it at all.
Also, I cannot find myself anywhere on the television. My favorite past time has been to change channels on the satellite and find myself speaking somewhere, but I cannot find Al Jazeera or any of the other networks that might broadcast my message. In fact, I can’t even get CNN. My television does not even have basic cable. I am not liking this place at all.
In fact the only network I am able to see shows nothing but girl’s high school basketball. At first I was very upset at this, but in the way of not having any other entertainments, it has become my greatest refuge. I am enjoying very much the march that the Peterson Pumas are making into the playoffs.
I was very worried at the beginning of this season, as the team was not showing the kind of defensive efforts required to make a run deep into a tournament. However, all that has changed, thanks to Becky.
Essay: Ponyboy
It’s all his fault, really. Along with his hairy back, plump lips, short stature and fondness for procrastination, I have inherited the muscle structure of a line backer. The old man is set at a stout 5’8 and a half while my mother stands at over six feet in heals. It’s amusing to see them at formal events. Her, pale, lanky and dark haired, towering above a husky, sun drenched and balding man. Even though his wife has to bend down to kiss him, he maintains a confidence I can’t seem to find. I haven’t dated a girl taller than me since the 8th grade and she licked my teeth when we made out.
Postmortem: Vin Scully Sits Down With The Babe
Today on Post Mortem Sports we have a very special treat for you. Long-time legendary Los Angeles Dodgers’ commentator Vin Scully is here to interview Babe Ruth, who rode the good life all the way to hell in August of 1948.
Scully: Good evening. Tonight I have the pleasure of interviewing one of the greatest American sports heroes, taking time off from his busy schedule of cigars and prostitutes in the underworld, George Herman Ruth, better known as The Babe. How are you, Babe?
Ruth: *burps*
Scully: Glad to hear it. Well, I’m sure you’ve got your hands full nowadays…
Ruth: That’s right. Dames in both hands. Babe is all about the bosoms.
Scully: Yes, I’m glad to hear that some things never change. But with all this excitement do you have time to sit back and catch a baseball game ever?
Ruth: *burps* Well to be honest it’s not that easy anymore. I mean I can either watch A-Rod whiffing away in the postseason or watch Marilyn Monroe striptease on a pole made of brimstone. Which’d you do? Uh?
Scully: I understand. So no baseball at all?
Ruth: Well that’s not to say that about that. I do try to catch a game every now and then but it’s pretty damn frustrating if you want to hear the truth.
Russian Roulette: Franny and Zooey
Russian Roulette is a classic life-or-death game of chance; spin the barrel, pull the trigger, hope for the best. Our version is a little different, and significantly less fatal. Grab a book, notebook, album, movie–whatever–flip or skip to a random excerpt, and hope for a BANG. Today’s barrel is loaded with Franny and Zooey by J.D. Salinger. [...]
Postmortem Sports: Gotta Love Those Texas Rangers, and Scotch
Gotta Love Those Texas Rangers, and Scotch
By President Lyndon Baines Johnson, passed into the loving embrace of our Lord, Jan. 1973
Used to be in my day, when I was among the living, on a hot Texas afternoon the best way to pass the time was to drive around in your ranch in a pimp-ass caddie, sipping Cutty Sark from a bottle of Coke. If you ran out your White House aide would just run inside and get you a refill. It was a wonderful way to beat that dry desert heat.
A whole lot has changed since that time. Nowadays that kind of behavior would be frowned upon for a President, so he has to find other more socially acceptable paths to leisure.
35mm: Nicholas Cage Arrested For Time Travel
Is the world coming to an end? When Nicholas Cage is screaming rhetorically in your face, daring you to arrest him, you don’t do it. You go home and say a prayer of thanks for being allowed to come so close to Nicholas Cage.
But the New Orleans police were seemingly unintimidated by the fact that Nicholas cage has, in his lifetime, owned multiple castles, a pet octopus, and a fleet of Rolls Royces. They were utterly unafraid of this strange, lanky man whose filmography reads like the dazed lovechild of Philip Seymore Hoffman and Eugene Levy. And so, New Orleans finest handcuffed and took the Cage-man into custody early Saturday morning.
Luckily, old Dog the Bounty Hunter was there to bail him out…
Abandoned Masterpiece Theatre: “Cattz”
It was only in 2007, which puts me at about 24, and therefore leaves me no justification for writing a novella told completely from the first-’person’ perspective of a male cat… Reading it now the whole thing seems really sick, somewhere on the spectrum between terrible judgement and mental illness.
Abandoned Masterpiece: Weird Gnome Animation
This was a homework assignment. And not mine. Chicago-based Artist Christine Even was going to animate a dream she’d had for a class, something like New Media Studies. I had been spending all of my free-time chain smoking and teaching myself Adobe Flash, so I assured her it would be as easy as pie. [...]
#FailFriday: My Job With the U.S. Census Bureau
I was handed a flyer promising unrealistic things. Seventeen dollars an hour. Choose your own hours. For an unemployed kid, it sounded too good to be true. And I would have thrown the flyer away. Except- it was a job with the US Census Bureau, through the Federal Government. Maybe it was legitimate? I called. [...]
How to Hug a Girl
“Some hugs are like a teddy bear, others are like a fortress. Sometimes they are both. Keep that in mind.” A recent, hazy, late-night digital-junk binge led me to the door of a tutorial for teaching young boys how to hug a girl, courtesy of wikiHow. The first couple sentences were enough to draw me [...]