Fresno, California is a powerfully forgettable city. Squatting like an infected zit in the center of California’s San Joaquin Valley (itself labelled a ‘New Appalachia’ by The Economist), Fresno is an embarrassing relation to California’s first-class cities: Los Angeles, San Diego, San Jose and San Francisco. Fresno is the cataclysmically retarded sibling the family keeps locked in the basement when company visits.
You Wouldn't Let Your Family Live Here, Yet This Is What Thousands Of Americans Endure Every Day.
Fresno’s abject wretchedness becomes apparent when it is understood that despite its relative obscurity, Fresno is the fifth largest city in California and 34th in the nation, making it far more populous than many other more famous and beloved cities. Moreover, the dust-blown hellhole has long been known as a crime-ridden cesspit–pungent, filthy and unlivable, where average July temperatures soar above 97 degrees.
MY L1F3 4 FR35N0. FR35N0 4 L1FE, Y0.
Neither are Fresnans known for their mental prowess. In 2009 the city wallowed dead last in a national ranking of ‘Smartest Cities in America, and boasts as its primary institution of higher learning Cal State Fresno. Fresno lacks any professional sports teams,* and for famous Fresnans can list the likes of Balco’s Victor Conte, talentless rapper-cum-baby daddy K-Fed and crazy bitch Anne Heche. Local citizens have even founded the Frebby Awards, to highlight those rare and delicate elements of Fresno life not completely saturated with suck.
So Sad.
But things may at last be looking up for the Raisin City. A recent newspaper headline has tagged Fresno with a distinction which seems to blow like an ill wind from city to blighted city throughout the American West. Tomorrow the spotlight may be upon Tacoma, Washington, Enid, Oklahoma or any one of a hundred other loser cities, but this moment belongs to Fresno, which for today anyway, has been declared the methamphetamine capital of the United States of America. Way to go, Fresno!
Everyone Is Special In His Or Her Own Way.
*Fresno does have a AAA baseball team, the Fresno Grizzlies. However, we hardly need remind readers that as the farm team for the San Francisco Giants, they don’t really count. ∞ T.
Some call it ‘The Day the Music Didn’t Die,’ and for others it is simply ‘Ononacht.’ In Germany the holiday is known as Tag der toten Hexe, and goes by Tiempo de Quietud in Mexico. In Chad it’s a complicated series of clicks. This auspicious date is known by myriad names throughout the world: regardless of what it is called, nearly everyone remembers the event through the same blood-hued image of a deranged, frozen-fish wielding John Lennon beating to death a wailing Yoko Ono.
Proof That No Matter How Powerful Or Talented, When Drugs Enter The Picture, A Man Will Fuck A Tree-Sloth.
New Yorkers will recall how the biting cold which had settled over the city on that December day in 1980 was almost magically dispelled as the happy news began to spread throughout the city: Despised succubus Yoko Ono was dead, beaten about the head and face with some kind of fish–possibly a cod or grouper, and then stabbed twenty-eight times with a glass chrysanthemum. The news that John Lennon was the sole suspect in the slaying was met with little surprise, but much empathy.
The Assault Was Vicious And Unprovoked.
Initially, authorities were reluctant to pursue charges against the legendary singer. Said a police representative, “We scoured the scene looking for any shred of evidence that Ms. Ono’s demise was simply a happy accident; we had our best men on it. I may have my own feelings on this matter, but the law is very clear: if there’s a dead body, we’re required to find a perp. And since Mr. Lennon was discovered at the scene crouched weeping over Ono’s battered carcass and bathed in her eerie greenish blood, there wasn’t much I could do.”
The Reaction To The News Of Yoko's Death Was Immediate And Unanimous.
Lennon was acquitted after a two-month trial, his legal team having mounted a spirited and successful justifiable homicide defense. Although this verdict proved only slightly controversial in 1981, it is unanimously heralded today, as Ono’s death removed the final obstacle preventing a long-awaited Beatles reunion. Sadly, the Beatles’ comeback album, Still Lettin’ It Be, proved a commercial and critical failure, the majority of which was attributed to Ringo Starr’s drum playing. Today, however, the album is remembered more fondly, particularly as only two of the Beatles remain alive–Ringo died along with Cyndi Lauper in a 1986 murder-suicide pact, and George Harrison was slain two years later by crazed fan Ross Perot.
Banging Yoko Ono When You're A Rock Star Is Like A Rich Dude Buying A Chevy Lumina. Why Would You Do It?
Yoko Ono is a relic of a horrible and best-forgotten past, who, if she is remembered at all, is known as the Delilah who nearly destroyed the greatest rock & roll group of all time. We can be grateful, however, that she did not succeed, and imagine instead a world where it was Lennon rather than Ono who was slain, and where the shrieking, talentless howler monkey lived on leech-like upon the great man’s legacy. Such a possibility is too depressingly horrible to even contemplate.
What Is College For? ~ Doing drugs, having sex with questionable people and generally putting off real life for five or six years. And maybe learning something. You know, whatever.
Santorum on the rise: I’m the electable one ~ And we think you’ll be the best darn PTA recording secretary that the Midville School District ever had. Wait. You don’t mean for President, do you? President of the United States and Leader of the Free World? Rick, what fucking drugs are you on?
Sword-Swallower Impales Himself on Stage ~ Although as yet there’s been no official confirmation on the weapon that caused the grisly accident, witnesses say that it was most likely some kind of ax or spear.
Unless you’re a friendless, housebound wretch, you’ve been to a concert, sporting match or other public gathering for which the purchase of tickets is required. If you have, you’ve no doubt fought your way through the army of malodorous transients clustered around the entrance offering to sell you tickets. These hard-working professionals are called scalpers.
Scalping: It Isn't Pretty.
The sobriquet is a reference to the grisly practice of tearing an enemy’s scalp from his head. Despite these sensitive, stigma-erasing times, which have seen prostitutes elevated to sex workers and cum-catchers to jizzmastrae, the colorful term ‘scalper’ is, in the United States at least, the nearly-exclusive term for these grey-market resellers. The term has become so entrenched that it applies to anyone who resells tickets to a venue, apparently even if it’s a dude in buckskins hawking tickets to the Right Said Fred show at the Lucky Eagle Casino.
"There Will Be A Surcharge For Your Insensitivity."
If Your Penis Were Trying To Pass Itself Off As Human, It Might Look A Little Something Like This.
If you have a penis, or know someone who does, then we don’t have to tell you that it’s a rough time to be a phallus. Not so long ago, the dangers faced by cocks were somewhat pedestrian: the clap, chafing from improper handling or the thankfully more infrequent, but blindly excruciating pain of getting the ‘lil man caught in your zipper. But 21st Century has brought with it dark days for the male reproductive organ. Readers of Promethean Times have been aware of this grisly trend for some time, having witnessed man-meat subjected to slicing, grinding and the ravenous appetites of ball-chomping ferrets. These incidents are not aberrations; the threat posed to our junk is real and persistent.
Like Cops, They’re Never Around When You Really Need Them.
Like many a fellow, Kentucky truck driver Phillip Seaton took his manhood for granted until the day he woke up without it. The detesticled driver had gone to the hospital for a routine circumcision, and was horrified to find the overzealous surgeon had taken a little too much off the top. After a quick consult with his dictionary to ensure he hadn’t made himself the punchline of an old joke, Seaton took his case to the courts, unsuccessfully suing the medical penis pirates. The hospital’s lawyers explained that while he was performing the circumcision, the surgeon discovered what he called a ‘potentially life-threatening’ tumor, and reasoned that although Seaton could not give his consent, he surely wouldn’t mind having his dick lopped off without warning.
“YOINK!!!!”
Sometimes the biggest threat to a penis the man to whom it is attached. If you were to ask any group of men throughout the world where on the body they thought was the best place for a tattoo, at least half of them would quickly answer, “The Penis!” While it may seem like a good idea to put to the needle a man’s most important and useful organ, surprisingly, it is not, as one ruined young Iranian man could haltingly tell you in the short spans between his abject, wracking sobs. No doubt hoping to impress literate young ladies, this gentleman had the Persian script borow be salaamat (‘good luck on your journeys’) inscribed on his pecker, which left him with a permanent semi-erection. A full-time semi might not seem such a terrible fate, but there is a reason that every Viagra commercial admonishes users to see a doctor for stiffies lasting more than four hours. Doctors contend that abnormally prolonged erections may deprive the tissues of oxygen-rich blood, leading to impotence, at which good luck or no, you’re not going on any journeys.
Smaktakula Was Gonna Go With This Tattoo, But Was Concerned It Would Leave Too Much Skin Uncovered.
The words ‘fatal penis injection’ can mean a lot of things, but in the case of a New Jersey homicide, they mean exactly what they sound like. Crazy lady Kasia Rivera is accused of homicide in the death of a young man and for practicing medicine without a license. The authorities say that the victim’s gruesome death from a silicone embolism was the result of Rivera jamming a needle full of silicon into his dick in a madcap enlargement procedure straight out of an I Love Lucy episode.
“Ow!”
It should be clear by now to almost everyone–but men in particular–that the world is a harsh, cruel place for penii.¹ Hopefully this will serve as a reminder to men and boys worldwide not to take their members for granted, but to love and cherish them, never knowing when they’ll be snatched away.
This Image Is On Loan To Promethean Times From The Personal Collection Of Janet Reno.
¹ We have previously explained our use of this nonstandard plural. ∞ T.
Today, almost anyone can get himself arrested. It doesn’t take style, flair or even imagination–with 1% of the US population behind bars, it’s easy to see that getting busted in America is pretty routine. It’s not surprising then, that when individuals take the extra effort to ensure that their crimes are particularly shameful, we sit up and take notice. It is with no small amount of pleasure that we present to you the following tales of delightfully dimwitted and debased douchebaggery.
Enjoy!
“Hey Jordy! I Can See Your Trailer From Here!”
Keepin’ It In The Family II: The Cousining
Like all couples, Erica Wilson and Jesse Brooks of Rogersville, Tennessee had their share of fights. But in November of 2011, the two engaged in combat so fierce and bloody that the police were forced to intervene.
In the moments before the melee, the pair had been discussing their relationship. When Brooks began to affectionately grope Wilson, cooing “I want you,” she rebuffed him, explaining she expected more from their relationship than to simply be a “booty call.” The fight erupted in earnest when Brooks expressed a desire to keep the relationship strictly sexual, explaining that, as he and Wilson were first cousins, anything more would be kind of icky.
Take Some Comfort That They’re Not Breeding With The Normals.
Bushwhacked!
Megan Barnes isn’t a wealthy woman. She will never have a huge lawn to keep tight and trim, nor any landscaped topiary to adorn her home. Despite her obvious disadvantages, the skanky Southern belle prides herself on her personal grooming.
This attention to detail is the most likely the reason that, while driving her vehicle in Cudjoe Key, Florida, Barnes plowed into the back of a pickup truck. She lost control of the vehicle when she turned over the steering chores to her ex-husband, a passenger in the vehicle. However, the fastidious floozy provided a reason for her inattention, explaining that she had been on her way to see her boyfriend, and needed her hands free for the important work of shaving her ‘bikini area.‘
It Just Makes For Easier Access.
A Horror In Blue
Galway, Ireland, the folksy tourist-trap of the Emerald Isle, is typically a friendly town. Like all Irishmen, from Rosslare Harbour to Portrush, Galwegians are a drunken, cheerful lot. But a Halloween home invasion has loosed a dark current of fear throughout the city.
One innocent citizen was sleeping off his night’s meal of Guinness and Jameson when he was awakened by an intruder in his bedroom. To the man’s horror, the assailant was a six-foot tall smurf, who, in a final ghastly indignity, turned out to be drunk and horny. Although it was revealed to be a case of mistaken identity, with Inebriate Smurf in the wrong home, this news will most likely do little to ease the long-term psychological trauma inherent in such a terrifying episode.
Sometimes Papa Just Needs A Piece Of Ass That Isn’t Blue.
We Looked Among All The Nations Of The World, And Could Find None More Deserving Of Our Praise.
We’ll admit it–we didn’t think it would come to this. We figured we’d be rich by now, or at the very least the Rapture would have freed us from our myriad woes. Since it didn’t (it didn’t, right?), we’ve picked ourselves up and resolved to make a game go of it. Moreover, we’re concentrating our hopes on the admittedly feeble chances the Mayans were right in predicting doom for 2012, and that very soon sweet nothingness will obliterate the pain that is existence.
Turns Out Somebody Made A Calculation Error When They Came Up With The 2012 Date. The Revised Figure Is 1492.
Until then, though, we’re even more delighted that, last December, we were the inaugural winner of the Promethean Times’ Person of the Year. Now, as we say goodbye to what we call ‘The Year of Promethean Times,’ it’s time to recognize a new mover and/or shaker for his/her/its contribution or impact to our world.
Having outstripped the rest of the field by light-years in the 2010 contest, Promethean Times could be forgiven for feeling like it has an edge in this year’s selection. After all, no one disputes that Promethean Times’ many, many contributions to the betterment of society rank among the more significant developments in 2011. Still, the beloved news journal remains humble. “Would we like to repeat?” asks Smaktakula, lead writer, “Absolutely–who wouldn’t? But we’ve got important events to cover, and we can’t really spend time thinking about things like that. Besides,” he adds, “Some other stuff happened.”
Among that stuff was a string of dead dicks, despots and men of low character. 2011 bid farewell to a number of those comical tyrants who, through nothing more than style, a ridiculous outfit and balls the size of grapefruit, commanded legions to do their bidding. Osama bin Laden’s cringing demise among the fluid-spattered catacombs of his porn library taught us all to laugh again, while the image of Keystone Cops stumbling after wacky sand-despot Muammar Gaddafi in a madcap chase aross the Libyan desert gave us reason to laugh even harder. The ascendance of Steve Jobs and Kim Jong-il to their respective heavenly kingdoms reminded us that Gods too can die.
Among The Many Proposed Reforms Of The 'Arab Spring' Which Began In The Winter Of 2011 Is A Calendar That's Worth A Damn.
Fortunately, the world is in no immediate danger of losing its megalomaniacal dickheads–it seems as if for every despot hanged, another sprouts from the puddle of piss at his twitching feet. The loss of ‘Lil Kim was a blow for North Korea, but made easier when Kim Jong-un waddled into his father’s shoes and accepted his mandate to drive the shitstain of a country further into the ground. Africa maintained its preeminence for venal strongmen throughout 2011, with brutal racist Robert Mugabe of Zimbabwe single-lippedly keeping alive the Hitler Mustache, while Julius Malema, an exciting new face on the South African scene, promises to continue the ruination of the one-time economic powerhouse. And throughout the world, Muslims continued to blow things up in protest of the western world’s inexplicable and persistent view of Muslims as violent and reactionary. The West countered with fiercely abject apologies.
Fidel's Still Hanging In There.
Another theme embraced wholeheartedly worldwide was indignation. Contrary to the age-old adage, “What goes up must inevitably continue to do so,” 2011 saw a further decline in the still-ridiculous standard of living enjoyed by the West. Like going out to lunch with Grandma, the belief arose that it was enough to wait it out, and somebody would eventually pick up the check. The jarring reality that Grandma died during a visit to the ladies’ room brought angry people into the streets. In America, this phenomenon took the form of “Occupy Wall Street,” a Tea Party for the under-40 crowd, who still like to break things and enjoy the novelty of humping in Liberty Park, where rank coils of human feces suffice for scented candles and complete exposure for privacy.
For Real, We Totally Would.--Only, It Smells Like Pee And There's A Ton Of Poor People Walking Around.
The year was momentous for the United States. Although ending its involvement in Iraq (kinda, not really) the US steadfastly continued interminable bank-busting conflicts in places like Afghanistan, while also embarking on other daring adventures such as temporary conflicts in Libya and a secret war¹ in the Democratic Republic of Congo. On the home front, the government turned its attention against homegrown enemies, like pot shops in California, while Operation Fast & Furious ensured that narcos and Mexican Army assassins could continue to terrorize the citizenry of the failed state and disappear the occasional American tourist.
The year began with the Arizona shooting that turned US Representative Gabby Giffords into a living martyr, and the rest of the nation into a gang of loudmouthed assholes. Throughout the year the citizenry continued the tradition of killing one another, often in new and surprising ways.
America: Where Our Unsettling Anthropomorphic Monsters Are Just A Little Bit More Patriotic.
President Obama was once again unable to deliver on his promise to make the United States a magical Care Bear land of milk & honey scented with the sweet strains of children’s choirs singing liltingly of the unifying joy of diversity, but from their bastions in college quads and Code Pink meeting-houses, the President’s dwindling cadre of true believers assured us it was Republican obstructionism. And secret racism. Republicans countered that their sole aim was to restore sanity to a beleaguered nation, and promised that only as a last resort would they burn the fucking thing to the ground.
The Bad News Is That Rome Is Burning. The Good News Is That Everyone In Our Studio Audience Will Be Going Home Tonight With Shiny New Fiddles!
Political penii² proved productive in promoting prick-principled puns, as well as gratuitous alliteration. The destructive power of the penis was ably demonstrated by Arnold Schwarzenegger, who showed us that even a wealthy Hollywood/Government powerhouse with an even richer (albeit skeletal) wife will fuck an ugly woman if given the opportunity. Late night talk-show hosts methodically shook every last droplet of humor from the Weiner situation, before putting away their pricks at the disgraced NY Rep.
For Newlyweds Lisa And Bingo Lamb, A Day At The Fair Is A Great Reason To Dress Up.
As did the death of beautiful paper-doll Diana Spencer over a decade before, the wedding of Prince William to commoner Kate Middleton proved Americans are still fascinated with the royal family from which their forefathers once strove so mightily to emancipate themselves. Although America does not have a royalty per se, the Twenty-First Century has seen the rise of a new class of publicly-owned do-nothings. Paramount among these is the vile Kardashian Klan, a bloodline and marriage-based conglomerate that may just be the strongest argument yet advanced in support of the Armenian Holocaust.³ Kim Kardashian’s sham-marriage to basketball legend somebody-or-other netted the vapid perfume-tycoon more money than you’re likely to see in a thousand lifetimes.
There were a few stars whom we were relieved to see survive 2011, not least because their delightfully destructive antics provide regular low-hanging fruit for Promethean Times.Toothless cretin Charlie Sheen managed to bring his life and career to a shattering halt, suffering the additional injury of losing his place in America’s most beloved half-hour of insipidity to a genial retard. Yet through a heroic lack of self-awareness and the public’s perverse predilection for the doomed, the former Carlos Estevez is more popular than ever. The same cannot be said for Lindsay Lohan, once hailed as ‘The Flower of American Skankhood,’ who like Sheen, is one of 2012’s most likely fatalities. Despite a loving and supportive family, worldwide adoration and impeccable personal hygiene, the only audience to prove capable of tolerating LiLo’s act for any length of time were her customers at the LA County Morgue.
It Gets A Lot Less Sexy When You Realize She'll Be Dead Soon.
Sport continued to be a necessary diversion around the world, uniting and dividing people not by races or ethnicity, but by the overpriced merchandise they wore. In American sports, Jesus, sole scion of the Jehovah Dynasty, briefly tried His hand at football before quietly retiring once again to the sidelines, much to the dismay of football fans in the Mountain States. Although a strike marred the beginning of the 2011-2012 NBA season, the 2010-2011 season ended in a thrilling contest that satisfied both haters of LeBron James and fans of Schadenfreude in general. In what was nearly universally regarded as a black year for baseball, the one bright spot was the continuing absence of a World Series trophy in the Lone Star State. And in sports outside of America’s shores, a group of Japanese ladies won some soccer thing.
A Little Bit Like Schnitzel.
With all these notable events and people, both tragic and sublime, from which to choose, our editors had an unenviable task in determining Promethean Times’ Person of the Year for 2011. It was only after a thorough and at-times grueling vetting process, at several points during which the acrimony grew both increasingly bitter and ad hominem, that the worthy candidate emerged. Promethean Times is proud to name as this year’s Promethean Times’ Person of the Year and our first two-time back-to-back recipient, Promethean Times, honoring the venerable publication for its indefatigable and often thankless dedication to fighting the barbaric practice of puppy-killing.
Bravo, Promethean Times.
NEVER AGAIN.
To The Dear Friends To Whom We Bid Farewell In 2011: May You Find Yourselves In Heaven Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead:
Amy Might Still Be Alive If She Had Filled Her Drug-Pipe With Harmless Tobacco Instead Of What She Actually Filled It With--Drugs.
The Thing We'll Miss Most? The Laughter.
CNN News Personality Anderson Cooper Was Too Beautiful To Live.
Sure, It's A Tragedy For The Ages, But We Take Some Small Consolation In The Knowledge That There's One Less Drunk On The Streets Tonight.
Quiet, Modest And Unassuming, Mr. Savage Exemplified The Qualities For Which America Is Admired Across The Globe.
Get It? We're Being Metaphorical. Trust Us, Chicks Dig Metaphors.
The Colonel's Friends All Believed It Was Gaddafi's Fascination With Thriller-Era Michael Jackson That Prevented His Promotion To General.
This Beautiful Creature Learned Too Late That If Something Lives, The Germans Will Find A Way To Kill It.
This One Time, When Smaktakula Was In Juvenile Hall On An Arson Charge, He Met A Guy Who Claimed To Be Jani Lane's Half-Brother, And Damned If The Kid Didn't Look Just Like Him. No, That's It.
Old Friend, We'll Miss You Most Of All. Circumstances Demand That We Dispense With The Childish, Insensitive Caricatures Upon Which We So Often Rely, But Rather, Respect Your Culture By Offering You A Farewell Not Only More Dignified, But In Keeping With The Proud Traditions Of Korea. In This Last Hour, Dear Leader, We Say Simply, "Sayonara."
¹ While it’s not actually a secret that 100 US ‘advisers’ have been sent to the DRC to help combat the Lord’s Resistance Army, it might as well be for all the media talks about it. ∞T.
² ‘Penises’ is the accepted plural of ‘penis,’ but Promethean Times has always been, and will forever proudly remain, a penii-loving publication. ∞T.
³ It’s a joke, Tanzr–don’t let it curdle your yogurt soda. Yes, what happened to your great-great aunt whatsername at the hands of the Turks all those years was a tragedy, but at least we provided a link to Wikipedia. That’s a hell of a lot more than the US Government ever did. ∞T.
The Whole Family Gets A Big Kick Out Of Dad's Annual Tradition Of Asking Smaktakula If This Will Be The Year He Finally Comes Out Of The Closet.
It happens every year–wherever families are gathered together for the holidays, dark forces arise to ensure that some asshole ruins Christmas for everybody. Again. This holiday-themed poltergeist may manifest as anything from your sister’s annual recrimination-swollen weep-orgy to your uncle’s unquenchable lust for the young cousins. It might simply be dad not showing up again. Just as there are a myriad of families, each with its own holiday traditions, there are also just as many traditional ways to fuck those families up for the holidays.
You Might Not Think A Guy Like This Would Amount To Much, But He Kicked Christmas' Ass In A Big Way.
But as with so many things done well–particularly with holiday-themed acrimony– it’s easy to be undone by routine. The challenge for many lies in blighting the family gathering to such a degree that it remains a painful and unshakable legacy for generations to come. The unfortunately-named Azizolah “Boba” Yazdanpanah, of Grapevine Texas, found a way to do just that.
Heretofore, All The Dudes We've Known Named 'Boba' Have Been Hella Cool.
When Christmas morning found Yazdanpanah dressed in a Santa suit at the door of his estranged wife’s home, unsuspecting relatives welcomed him in the spirit of the holiday, no doubt suspecting that Yazdanpanah’s antics would amount to no more than his annual tradition of making a complete ass of himself in front of his beleaguered and long-suffering family. A niece tweeted, ” We just got here and my uncle is here too. Dressed as Santa. Awesome.” She added, ominously, “Now he wants to be all fatherly and win father of the year.”
If You're Gonna Do It, Do It Right. That's All We're Saying.
This proved a tragic misreading of Yazdanpanah’s intentions. Rather than ‘father of the year,’ the deranged douchebag’s mad goals were to summon the demoniac specter of Christmastime abandon, and loose the blood-maddened yule-beast upon everything he had ever loved in a paroxysm of Bah-Humbug Scroogery. A perfectionist until the last, Yazdanpanah had invested too much into his ghastly scheme to singlehandedly suck the joy from Christmas to compromise his mission with haste or sloppiness. Yazdanpanah graciously joined his family in opening gifts and celebrating the birth of the Prince of Peace before slaying everyone present with a handgun he had stashed in his Santa suit.
Sometimes Just A Little Extra Touch Is All It Takes To Ruin Christmas For Generations.
Mr. Claus Is Said To Be No Fan Of The Pyongyang Regime.
In a move considered dickish even by the attenuated standards of blighted pariah nations, rogue state North Korea fired two Nodong-2 missles at Santa’s Sleigh early Sunday morning, narrowly missing the beloved quasi-diety. Santa and his reindeer are reportedly unhurt, much to the delight of good boys and girls throughout the first world.
No, You're Thinking Of Vietnam. In North Korea, Santa Says "Kim! Kim! Kim!"
Western observers are divided as to the reasons behind the military action. Some view the attack as a show of strength by newly-appointed dictator and enfant terrible, Kim Jong-un. Others disagree. Proponents of the so-called “Bad Santa” theory contend that the attack was a calculated maneuver, and was never intended to harm St. Nick. Santa would be so furious following the encounter, according to the theory, that he would leave the entire North Korean nation nothing but coal, something the wretched citizens of the failed state desperately need to heat their desolate hovels.
Promethean Times 