On which the Chinese government uses a very public forum to reiterate its traditionally dim view of free speech.
Try not to worry; it can’t happen here. Again, we mean. ∞ T.
cannabis, community college vs real college, dope, grass, hemp, hippies, Just Say No!, keep marijuana illegal, marijuana, marijuana legalization, Oaksterdam, Pat Robertson, Pat Robertson is batshit crazy, pot, reefer, seriously--hippies are odious, that trick never works, the sweet sweet cheeba, weed
Only a few days ago, it would have been hard to blame filthy hippies for getting all giddy over the possible legalization of marijuana. Cannabis, the decriminalization of which had seemed until recently to be largely inevitable, may not be as close to reality as previously feared. Despite valiant efforts by anti-drug activists over the past decades, such as Nancy Reagan’s “Just Say No” Campaign or the hunger-inducing ‘This Is Your Brain On Drugs,” the public’s tolerance for this deadly plant seemed only to be growing. Then Pat Robertson weighed in.
Readers of Promethean Times are already familiar with the myriad threats to society posed by marijuana legalization. The pitfalls of hemp-addiction have been widely documented–some users become hooked to the reefer after simply walking into a room where someone has smoked marijuana within the past six hours.¹ Additionally, anyone who lives in an urban center or near a high school has seen the ugly effects of “Weed Rage”–the drug is known to give users the strength of ten men, and induces such fury that subduing a raging stoner requires an army of club-wielding cops and about four gallons of pepper spray. Crafty hemp-heads are reportedly contracting cancer intentionally as a ploy to get their grimy, emaciated hands on some sweet, sweet cheeba. And of course, incidents of weed-dissipated parents devouring their own children are so common as to be almost prosaic.
Despite these very real and well-publicized dangers, it has taken until now for someone to summon the courage to affect real change. By announcing his support of marijuana legalization, Pat Robertson has done just that. Overnight, people who once thought marijuana a harmless pleasure are being forced to take a second look at this invasive weed, hopefully to see it for what it is–a nation-destroying blight. Banking on his reputation as a head-up-the-ass moron who has previously offered up godlessness as a cause for national disasters and who advocates political assassination as a form of diplomacy, Robertson is gambling that his advocacy of marijuana legalization will turn the public against it. On behalf of society as a whole, but most especially the children, Promethean Times thanks Pat Robertson for his brave stance in helping America say nope to dope and ugh to drugs.
When oil-rich backwater Libya was caught up in the so-called ‘Arab Spring’ in late February, it seemed only a matter of time before unrepentant dickhead Muammar al-Gaddafi would be deposed and shortly thereafter executed, his leathery carcass cast into the Sarlacc pit while a new and equally despotic regime arose to take his place. It would appear, however, that this analysis grossly underestimates the sand-despot’s ability to cling tenaciously to power like a tick nestled against a dog’s belly. He’s still there.
creepy old perverts, Crystal Harris, D-Listers, Dracula, elder abuse, floozies, gold digger, Greta Van Susteren, Hugh Hefner, human souls, jilted, left at the alter, May-December romances, old people, Pandora's Box, Playboy, Playboy Mansion, porn empire, pornography, Ryan Reynolds, strumpets, that old person smell, that trick never works, the best laid plans of mice and men, Viagra
Cartoonish anachronism Hugh Hefner is no doubt devastated after being left at the altar. His former fiance, the twenty-five-year-old strumpet Crystal Harris, seems to have come to her senses at the last minute, announcing Tuesday that she would not wed the pornography mogul on Saturday, even if the feeble old man should manage to live until then. Although the probability that the silicate gold-digger would jilt her octogenarian sugar-grampy was obvious to just about any creature able to walk on two legs,* it appears to have come as an unwelcome surprise to Hef.
Although serving as Hef’s lover/nurse can be lucrative, the investment in both time and in hiding her personal revulsion at the sight of Hef’s sagging, bespotted body proved more responsibility than the young floozy was willing to undertake. The famed Playboy Mansion, so long ago a hipster Mecca for the swinging set, is now a dilapidated tomb whose hallways are haunted by dimly-recalled D-Listers who tread carefully around piles of dogshit left by Hef’s ill-behaved curs, their empty, overloud laughter echoing through the decayed manse like the ghosts of better days. “Plus,” Harris is reported to have told a confidante in the days before her departure, “Do you know how hard it is to get the taste of old man out of your mouth? You can’t do it!”
Adding to the poignancy of the debacle are the events planned in conjunction the now-obviated nuptials, which like the legendary evils contained in Pandora’s Box, are not so very easy to undo once set in motion. The latest issue of Hefner’s quaint pornographic periodical, Playboy, which has already gone to print, will feature the formerly-soon-to-be Mrs. Hugh Hefner on the cover, along with the now-embarrassingly cringeworthy headline: “Introducing Mrs. Crystal Hefner.
Hefner, who in his advancing years seems increasingly eager to play a caricature of himself, has responded with the maturity one would expect from a guy who’s worn the same bathrobe for the last quarter-century and can’t be assed to pick up after the dogs he’s too lazy to housebreak. Like a friendless and petulant adolescent, Hefner plans to affix each issue with a sticker bearing the sophomoric and slightly unoriginal title: Runaway Bride.
1815, ABBA, Belgium, Corsica, Duke of Wellington, famous short people, Hougomont, June 18, Napoleon Bonaparte, scholars, shut-ins, Smaktakula's decades-old vendetta against the French, Surprise!, surrender-monkeys, talking the talk, that trick never works, the French, this day in history, walking the walk, Waterloo
On which the French and English clash in Belgium, with Napoleon Bonaparte’s forces smashing into British lines at Hougoumont in what he hopes will prove the Duke of Wellington’s own personal Waterloo.
bitches, Chad, groupies, grovelling, ignorance, Mohandas Gandhi, outright lies, schadenfreude, Smaktakula's hypocrisy can sometimes be astounding, stalkers, that trick never works, Why am I so stupid?
Smaktakula’s legion of slavishly devoted fans, groupies and stalkers will be delighted to know that Promethean Times’ head writer has reconsidered his decision to retire from journalism to pursue a life of boundless hedonism and degenerate self-gratification. Regarding the change of heart, Smaktakula says, “I felt I was needed here.”
As proof of his intentions, Smaktakula announced that he has bequeathed his Chadian bonanza to several worthwhile charities: “Let’s see . . . the retarded kids, I think . . .and uh, I’m pretty sure Jerry’s Kids–there’s something wrong with them, right?–and–and kids with no heads. Look, you said you’d stick to the questions we agreed upon.” Moreover, Smaktakula has also donated the remaining funds in his checking account, including the $4,500 his Aunt Lois gave him after he finally completed a treatment program.
Knowing that his money is helping retards and kids with no heads has been a profound emotional experience for Smaktakula. “When I think about it,” he says, “I break down and cry like a little baby.” This author was treated to such a display after arriving ten minutes early for our interview; Smaktakula lay on the cold, stone floor of his apartment in his mother’s garage, fetal and twitching. After he was covered with a blanket, the pitiable wretch became calmer, at which point it was a matter of waiting out his quiet, snuffling sobs.
Smaktakula is delighted to be back in the saddle, but hopes that no one was offended by the quotations he claims were misattributed to him by Promethean Times. “I never called anyone ‘bitches,'” he argues. “I said ‘witches,’ as in evil practitioners of the occult and concubines of Satan himself.” He adds, “Which I am totally, completely and 100% against.”
Armageddon, End TImes, expiration date, Facebook, false predictions, Harold Camping, humor, predictions, prognostication, Rapture, stale humor, that trick never works, the unfunnying of America, Twitter, unfunny people, World War I, WWI
Would-be funnymen across the United States and Canada were disheartened this morning to find their Rapture jokes completely depleted of humor. Many people had come to their places of work Tuesday morning armed with hilarious Armageddon material cribbed from late night talk show hosts. Although the routines had been gut-busters the previous week and still considered moderately-funny as recently as Monday night, the cold and sobering light of Tuesday’s dawn shone revealed a tired and broken joke completely bereft of its zing.
That’s not the way it appeared last week, when Harold Camping’s prediction of the world’s demise failed to come off as planned. In the days preceding the California radio-preacher’s May 21st deadline, and in those immediately following the nonevent’s anticlimactic denouement, millions of normally unfunny individuals tugged mightily on this low-hanging fruit, clogging Twitter and Facebook with the pungent droppings.
The sudden expiration date on Rapture humor caught the public largely by surprise. There are a variety of explanations for this seemingly abrupt depletion of funny, but many experts believe the confusion stems from a fundamental misperception, arguing that the recent spate of Rapture humor overachieved beyond anyone’s expectations. By playing well above its level, the Rapture meme was able to create an illusion of sophistication and cultural resonance, which caused observers to believe it would have a longer shelf-life. However, three or four days is reportedly typical for mass-produced humor of that grade. “The fact is,” says a topical humor specialist, “Camping’s Rapture prediction got a lot more play than it deserved, and more ominously, caused every idiot with at least a sixth-grade education to think he was a comedian. I think future generations will look back on this episode with no little amount of embarrassment.”
1915, Allies, ANZAC, Anzac Day, April 25th, Australia, Australian and New Zealand Army Corps, Central Powers, Dardanelles, First Lord of the Admiralty, First World War, Gallipoli, military disasters, Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, New Zealand, Pyrrhic victories, that trick never works, the Great War, this day in history, Triple Alliance, Triple Entente, Turkey, Winston Churchill, World War One, WWI
On which Allied forces begin the assault on the Gallipoli Peninsula which First Lord of the Admiralty, Winston Churchill, believes will knock Turkey from the war and lay bare the soft underbelly of the Central Powers.
adult adoption, California politics, creepy, famous for nothing, famous Hungarians, Frédèric Prinz von Anhalt, gold digger, hot long ago, in-vitro fertilization, Kaiser Wilhelm II, old people, perverted science, pregnancy, sperm donor, that trick never works, untalented stars, Zsa Zsa Gabor
Creepy gold-digger Frédèric Prinz von Anhalt announced recently that his wife, superannuated entertainment oddity Zsa Zsa Gabor, would like to have another child at 94. Anhalt has reportedly spent $100,000 for the procedure.
Gabor, most famous for slapping a police officer, was a forerunner of today’s reality stars, who traded on her image rather than talents or actual accomplishments. Although her list of film credits is relatively meager, the Hungarian harridan has tenaciously managed to keep herself in the tabloids.
Those who are dubious about Gabor’s supposed quest for 2nd-time motherhood have derided the couple’s plan as an obscene affront against nature. The crone has had difficulty walking since a 2002 car accident, and recently had her gangrenous right leg removed. Anhalt explains that while Gabor’s desiccated body would be used as a host for the pregnancy, the couple would be soliciting the help of a donor, and would not be relying on the ancient actresses’ rotten eggs.
Anhalt, who gained his title after being adopted as an adult by the last surviving relative of Kaiser Wilhelm II, briefly considered a run for Governor of California before withdrawing to care for Gabor. Anhalt has on more than one occasion returned the favor by adopting an adult male. Now, however, the wily Kraut plans to employ perverted science to create biological children, proudly announcing that he’d already donated sperm to the cause.