MILFy autism activist Jenny McCarthy is growing as a person. After her five-year relationship with tiresome Canadian import Jim Carrey ended, McCarthy found a new love and a new way of looking at life.
Although She Will Miss The Glamor Of Dating A B-Lister, McCarthy Is No Doubt Relieved To Now Have Only One Mentally Disabled Child Under Her Roof.
By her own admission, McCarthy has spent most of her 37 years as something akin to a mindless automaton, a virtual slave to the whims of others. But now McCarthy is learning the assertiveness which most human beings over the age of three take for granted.
Gushes the talentless pair of boobs to People Magazine:
“If he wants Chinese [food]* and I don’t, I say it,” she says. “If he wants to go out and I want to stay in and watch Dancing with the Stars, I tell him so.
Although McCarthy is not satisfied with her progress, she intends to take it slow. “Roman wasn’t built in a day,” she says. After the hiatus–which she says will be brief–McCarthy intends to do something about her woefully inadequate sixth grade education.
"HURRRRR!"
*This helpful clarification was apparently intended to prevent People readers from taking McCarthy’s comment to be an endorsement of Sino-cannibalism. Promethean Times does not support race-based cannibalism of any kind.
But what about those individuals who desire a higher income, but are poorly suited to the grueling physical labor and fringy existence of the carnival life, and who can’t stomach the UN’s byzantine layers of bureaucracy? The only occupation that will satisfy these criteria is a fake job.
"If It Weren't For Stupid People, I'd Be A High School Civics Teacher Right Now."
Enter the pet psychologist. This phony career stands head and shoulders above other forms of legal con artistry in that it has the appearance of a real job, having gained in social acceptance during the last few decades. There are already thousands of people just like you–reasonably intelligent and charming, but too jaded to ever work for “the man”–who are converting the displaced anxieties of high-income social climbers with more money than time or brains into an otherwise insupportable lifestyle.
There are many wonderful aspects to this non-job. Chief among them is the ridiculous amount of money that an affable pet psychologist can demand from his patients’ human companions. Those with a queasy conscience can console themselves with the fact that only the obscenely wealthy would ever think to employ a pet psychologist in the first place.
I'm Afraid That Rex Has Deep-Seated Emotional Issues Dating Back To His Days In The Litter. I Can Help Him, But It Will Take Time. Time's Up For Today. That'll Be $225, Please.
After remuneration, another encouraging aspect of the pet psychology field is results–you don’t need any; the efficacy of the treatment given is a secondary issue at best. Given that animals can’t communicate, the wealthy owners don’t need to know that you spent Fifi’s entire session chatting with underage boys from São Paulo; the dog will keep your secret.
Most of the people paying for your meals won’t really be interested in results. If Casper is still suicidal after a plethora of expensive sessions and weekend doggie retreats, well, Doc–you did your best. These people can take or leave results; the important thing is that they are seen to be making an effort.
Pet Psychologists Have The Freedom To Devise Their Own Methods Of Treatment.
Although there are no hard and fast rules governing this exciting and fast-growing industry, it will help to have a degree. If you’re one of the millions of people who thinks you don’t have time to earn a four-year degree, you can relax; you’re right. You simply need a degree, not the education that comes with it. There are several fine online diploma mills from which to choose. A bachelor’s, master’s or even a doctorate degree can be yours for only a few hundred dollars and little or no tedious instruction.
Equipped with no more than an eighth-grade education and a bucketful of chutzpah, you’re sure to be a rousing success as an animal shrink. And if the pace of the industry proves too hectic for you, there’s always the exciting and even less-demanding world of plant psychology.
Mittens' Problems Are Existential, Mrs. Wellington. I Think A Five-Day Self-Esteem Retreat In The Hamptons Will Work Wonders.
"Um, Yeah . . . Guam IS Exactly Like Hawaii. You Guys Ready?"
Much like the heroic vermin in Disney’s second-tier kiddiefest, The Rescuers, mice have been asked to save the day. Their mission: Fly to Guam to combat the brown tree snake, a mildly venomous non-native invader. It seems the sinister serpent has driven several native species to the brink of extinction, and nothing but a well-timed rodent intervention will stave off disaster.
Such a novel and daring campaign can’t help but evoke comparisons to a Hollywood blockbuster. In sharing so many qualities with The Rescuers, this operation differs from the film in only two minor details: in real life the airborne Rescuers are dead and saturated with snake-killing toxins.
According to the results of a two-decade survey by researchers at the University of Indiana, men reported that their sexual partners reached orgasm much more frequently than they actually did.* 85% of men believed they had brought their last partner to orgasm, while only 64% of women agreed.
"No Man Has Ever Made Me Feel Like That. For Reals."
Curiously, when women were asked about the frequency of their male partner’s orgasm, they were much more likely to be correct. Both women and men pegged this figure at 99% (plus or minus 1% percent margin of error).
These data lead to the inescapable conclusion that men are simply better than women at achieving orgasm, with many men reporting the ability to climax within seconds of initiating coitus, and in some cases even earlier. Although there has yet been no serious effort to study this phenomenon, we attribute this disparity to the remarkable amount of rigorous self-study undertaken by most males, particularly during adolescence.
*Promethean Times does not support this conclusion–we believe the percentage of satisfied women to be much higher than reported by the Indiana survey. An in-house survey seems to support our theory. We surveyed the male Promethean Times staffers (Smaktakula, Tardsie and Arturo the Pool Boy). Our results indicate that in their combined lifetime total of seven sexual encounters, their various partners experienced orgasm 100% of the time. This flies in the face of . . . oh . . .wait.
Very little is known about Nimrod the Hunter, and much of the information available about the ancient ruler is of uncertain historical accuracy. Moreover, some texts, like the Bible and Talmud, offer differing accounts of Nimrod’s life.
Believed by some to be a wise and learned king, by others to be an incestuous despot whose hubris spawned the Tower of Babel, it’s difficult to describe the historical figure of Nimrod with any certainty. However, all sources agree on one point: Nimrod was an unparalleled badass.
"Nimrod The Hunter Demands Wenches And Ale!"
Tragically, although Nimrod’s renown has long since faded into historical silence, his name remains in common use. But instead of tough-guy machismo, the name is now associated with dudes like this:
Sorry, Chubbsy--You Didn't Make The 2010 Maxim Hot 100. Have You Thought About Modelling Mu-Mus?
In 2010, female beauty is ubiquitous. It pouts on the covers of magazines, stares down larger-than-life upon billboards visible from space, and shakes its ass on television. Braces, liposuction, hair extensions, implants and the like have created a revolution in appearance.
The standard of beauty changes over time. Raquel Welch would today be forced to work as a plus-sized model if she wanted a career in the public eye. Rather than rhapsodize about her stunning curves as they did in her day, probably the highest compliment Welch could obtain today would be, “You know, Raquel really knows how to make herself look pretty. Good for her.”
Today’s beauties are very different–toned, honed and siliconed. They dance across the public’s eye for a moment and then are gone. Another difference between old and new beauty: new beauty is disposable.
The media would have us believe that beauty is not in the eye of the beholder, but instead falls within a rather narrow scale. Beauty is no longer subjective.
To see whether that’s true, we consulted no less a source than Maxim, the snarky men’s magazine with soft-core aspirations. We present a few selections from Maxim’s 2010 Hot 100. Judge for yourself.
Although beauty itself may be subjective, perhaps we can judge it based upon its effect upon the culture as a whole. A truly beautiful woman would not be a creation, but rather a phenomenon, like Helen of Troy, whose beauty was said to have launched the Trojan War.
Based on these criteria, Jodie Foster is the world’s most beautiful woman.
"Because No One Shoots The President For Katy Perry."
Mazlan Othman heads the United Nation Office for Outer Space Affairs. Despite recently published rumors, Othman said her office will not be acting as diplomats in the event Earth is visited by extra-terrestrial life.
"Thanks UN, For Bringing Meaning To My Pathetic Existence."
Given that the UNOOSA has eliminated diplomacy from its purview, a job with this agency can be very lucrative and undemanding. In an organization already famous for its corruption and ineffectiveness, the UNOOSA offers an unequalled opportunity for both.
Fond du Lac, Wisconsin: Kool-Aid Man, the beloved commercial spokesgolem of yesteryear, was committed this week to the Edgecomb Hospital for the Freakish and Deranged. Man had been living by himself since the death of his mother in 2008.
It Will Be Years Before The Citizens Of Fond du Lac Will Feel Safe Again.
Famed for his exuberant commercial appearances, Man’s career peaked in the 70s and 80s. His star shone brightest during the so-called golden age of commercials– after Madison Avenue had perfected its art, but before television recording devices came into widespread use allowing viewers to skip commercials. During that time it was hard to watch television without seeing Man’s scarlet, bulbous form come smashing through a load-bearing wall to the delight of a gaggle of well-scrubbed–and miraculously unharmed–children.
In retrospect, it’s astonishing that Man was able to perform the stunt successfully for as many years as he did before someone got hurt. “When little Billy Wexner was crushed,” Man said in an interview years later, “It was the beginning of the end.”
It was also the end of the end. Kool-Aid quietly paid off Little Billy’s parents, and through their lawyers let Man know his services would no longer be required. Said Man, “After fourteen good years–fourteen years in which I turned down some good offers–they just let me go. Not Kool, man. Not Kool at all.”
Their Torrid Affair Would Last Three Years.
Friendless, broke and cracked, Man drifted through a variety of jobs, occasionally picking up work as an extra on cable shows like Silk Stalkings. Eventually, even those jobs became too difficult to maintain. Man developed a reputation for flakiness.
“I was in a lot of pain, and it seemed like nobody wanted to give me any work. So yeah, I drank.” The punch-filled creature’s life had spun so far out of control by that time that he was reduced to offering $5 blowjobs to rangy weirdos in the Gary, Indiana Greyhound station.
But There Would Be No Happy Ending That Day In Jonestown.
“That’s when I bottomed out.” Four days later he was back at his estranged parents’ house in Fond du Lac. Man’s father died in 2002, and after his mother died in 2008 the freakish creature lived a hermit’s life. There would be occasional reports of a large red serving container walking the streets in the late hours or in the very early morning, but Man mostly kept to himself.
Given the pains Man had taken to keep a low profile, the bloody carnage of a few days ago is puzzling. The citizens of Fond du Lac have no answers–they are still reeling from the devastation caused by the creature’s rampage. Twenty-three people, including two firefighters and a police officer were killed when Man stormed the town’s main street.
Survivor Sandy Bollier: "Words Can't Describe Those Three Hours In A Cherry Flavored Hell."
Gleeful roars of “OH YEAH!” could be heard among the screams of the dying and maimed early in the episode. Once the gas main was ruptured, the resulting conflagration forced the police and SWAT teams to act as rescuers, breaking off their efforts to take down the fire-resistant Man.
In the end capturing the raging creature proved startlingly easy. He was found in the remnants of the Old Spaghetti Factory, weeping. Most of his Kool-Aid core had boiled away, but in most other respects he was unhurt.
Kool-Aid Man's Frequent Cosmetic Surgeries Became A Grotesque Obsession.
Man’s doctors say he has so far adjusted well to a life of confinement. Privately, however, they worry that if Man decides to go on a rampage, no wall will stop him.
Promethean Times takes very seriously its responsibilities as one of America’s tertiary news sources. With this in mind, we felt it incumbent upon us to remind Americans to vote wisely in November. If you’re like most contemporary Americans, you likely feel well informed about the political landscape; you don’t need to be reminded to vote responsibly.
Yes, you do.
"The Party Wants To Make America Better For All Of Us."
In the run up to the election, the various political parties will extend every effort to paint themselves as America’s champions–seeking only to protect a vulnerable and easily swayed populace from the sinister interests which are the real backers of the other parties. This imaginary Illuminati can take any number of forms–including but not limited to corporations, the wealthy, the socialist elite, whitey, immigrants and sometimes the entire human race. These forces epitomize evil, and therefore those forces in opposition–the party–are good.
The party demands your love. But anyone who relinquishes this love to the party, without drawing money from the party coffers, is a sucker.
The party does not love you.
"Don't Forget To Vote In November To Roll Back Socialism! Now Bring Me A Sandwich."
"Vote As Many Times As You Can! It's Critical The Republicans Aren't Allowed To Tamper With Our Liberties. Oh, And Could You Get Me A Sandwich?"
"Vote Yes On A Sustainable Future, Okay? Really, It's The Least You Can Do, Considering The Tremendous Burden Your Very Existence Places Upon The Planet. Oh, And Could You Buy Me A Veggie Wrap?"
"Make Sure The Washington Elites Hear Us In November. And Is It Too Much To Ask That You Not Bring Us A Sandwich Made In Kenya? Don't Think We Won't Be Checking."
Promethean Times 