Hugh Hefner: Why Is Grandpa Crying?

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By Smaktakula

No, Son--Grandpa's Not Crying. He Just Gets A Little Funny When He Hasn't Had A Nap.

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.

Much Like Blood To The Legendary Vlad Dracula Or Human Souls To Greta Van Susteren, This Is The Only Thing That Keeps Hef Going.

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.

After Crystal Gave Up Smoking Opium, She Realized She Was Not The Head Archeologist At The Metropolitan Mummy Exhibit After All, But Rather, About To Make A Really Huge Mistake.

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.

Unlike The Original 'Runaway Bride,' At Least Crystal Used Hef's Money To Finance Her Flight, And Not Yours.

*Including but not limited to kangaroos & wallabies, most species of birds and Ryan Reynolds. ∞T.

This Day In History: June 18, 1815 CE

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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.

An Interesting Historical Tidbit Known Mostly To Scholars And Other Friendless Shut-Ins: The French Once Walked The Walk.*

 *It should be noted that the historical community has by no means reached consensus on this issue.  On the contrary, many scholars dispute the notion that France ever walked the walk, pointing out that the Corsican-born Bonaparte was of Italian descent. ∞T.

Helpful Hints For Everyday Life: The Riot

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By Smaktakula

The flash-riot has become a hallmark of our age of entitlement.  It can therefore be helpful to at all times be aware of your image, lest you find yourself an object of humor at the expense of your human dignity.

Perhaps Mom & Dad Will Think Twice The Next Time They Decide To Ground Harrison From Playing Farmville.

The Tuxedo

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By Smaktakula

A Testament To The Power Of The Tux: You're Looking At A Picture Of Carrot Top.

The tuxedo, the origins of which lie in the late 19th Century, is essentially a modern invention.  Worn in a variety of styles and bearing various regional names–smoking or dinner jacket; morning coat; monkey suit–the tuxedo is de rigueur for a myriad of formal occasions.

The best thing about this piece of fitted apparel is that while it may not transform Tom Arnold into Cary Grant, it goes a long way in that direction.  It’s hard to look bad in a tux.

However, it must be acknowledged that there exist a very few exceptions which prove the rule.

There's No Easy Way To Tell Him That His Seventeen Years Of Unremitting Virginity Will Not End Tonight.

Sometimes even celebrities, our natural betters, can fuck up a tux.

Considering All The Other Efforts John Cusack Has Expended Over The Years To Kickstart This Unlikable Dick's Career, He Could Have Thrown In His Stylist's Number.

Help Protest This Detestable Garment By Joining Us In Boisterously Chanting: "TAKE IT OFF!!! TAKE IT OFF!!!"

Q: How Many Ds Are Contained Within This Picture? A: Ten, If You Count The Pair Of Douchebags And The Four Double-Ds.

No Brains, But Guts To Spare

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By Smaktakula

"Sell A Vital Organ And Thereby Seriously Jeopardize My Remaining 60-Plus Years For A Couple Pieces Of Overpriced Electronic Crap, Which Are Even Now Hurtling Toward Obsolescence? Dude--You Had Me At The Open Quote."

Disproving the long-standing stereotype that Chinese children are better educated and more intelligent than their Western counterparts, one young man in China has set out to prove that Chinese youth are every bit as stupid as Western kids, if not even more stupider.*  Xiao Zheng, a 17-year-old moron from Guangdong province in China, was so horny for electronic products that it seemed a good idea to sell body parts to get them.

But Xiao was no fool; he wasn’t about to go selling critically important organs like his heart, liver or appendix–the absence of which would bring about immediate death, preventing him from playing with his blood-bought doodads.  Instead, he chose from paired organs, finally settling on a kidney.  Considered a vital–or at the very least really important– organ by most medical professionals, the kidney filters waste from the blood, as well as performing several other duties in support of a properly functioning body.

We're Told It's Pretty Important.

Xiao pushed ahead with his hard-thought plan, permitting an anonymous assembly line surgeon with questionable hygiene to rummage his innards before ripping out the healthy organ.  But the slaughterhouse docs were as good as their word, paying Xiao the kingly sum of 22,000 Yuan, or about $3,400.  Meanwhile a cancer-ridden septuagenarian billionaire was able to add a few months to his papery half-life thanks to the gift of the teenager’s kidney, paying the black marketeers enough to ensure a ridiculous profit margin–so in the end, everybody won.

Xiao didn’t waste his nearly 3.5 grand by investing it by bribing a local official for higher placement on the civil service exam or for his inevitable future dialysis treatments.  Instead, he used the money as he always intended, to buy an iPad 2 and a boss new iPhone.

Xiao is already planning his financial strategy for purchasing the next generation of those devices when they ship early next year–he’ll sell more paired organs.  The maimed lad is already gauging responses from potential buyers for one of his eyes or a lung.  Sadly, Xiao’s liquid physical resources end there–alas, he was born with just one testicle.

.Don't Look Now, But We Think A Certain Someone Is About To Completely Lose His Shit And Mow Down The Cheerleading Squad.

*While it’s true that the comparative and superlative forms of ‘stupid’ are ‘stupider’ and ‘stupidest’ respectively, Smaktakula is employing the superduperlative form.  Now you know.  ∞T.

Smaktakula Returns ‘For Love Of Promethean Times’

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By Tardsie

If You Think About It, Except For Being A Little, Bald, Dead Indian Dude, Smaktakula Is A Lot Like Gandhi.

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.

Smaktakula Was Forced To Sell Many Of His Objects d'Art To Settle A Few Outstanding Bills.

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.”

For Having Been The Recipient Of Such A Gift, Smaktakula Is Surprisingly Ungenerous To Chad: "Those People Can Rot In Hell!"

Smaktakula Is Super-Freaking Rich

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By Tardsie

No Longer Able To Enjoy The Simple Pleasures Of The Little People, Rich Dudes Like Smaktakula Do Increasingly Bizarre Things In Search Of Fulfillment.

Smaktakula announced at a press conference today that he is “Super-freaking rich” and that he is now “finally living the life I deserve.”  He punctuated this with, “Who’s laughing now, bitches?”,  which he followed up with “Nobody, that’s who.”  He then took a long draught from his pimp-cup and sprayed the audience, who in light of the author’s newfound status, could only sit there and take it.

Smaktakula: His Mind On His Money And His Money On His Mind.

Yesterday morning, a simple electronic message changed Smaktakula’s life forever, when fate plucked him from the soul-crushing poverty that ensnares most of the people reading this article, setting him gently upon the gilded pedestal reserved for the world’s elite.  It seems that a certain African leader, whose identity has yet to be revealed, must quickly get his funds out of the country in the face of an oncoming coup.

Is This Smaktakula's Mysterious Benefactor? Maybe.

For reasons too murky for Smaktakula to follow, the strongman intends to place his vast fortune into Smaktakula’s checking account. For rendering this service, Smaktakula will be allowed to keep roughly 10% of the despot’s $25 million fortune.  “Imagine what I could do with $250,000,” the ex-writer crowed, “I could buy 250,000 lottery tickets and double or even triple my fortune!”

Smaktakula's Financial Strategies Will Make Him As Rich As Croesus.

Smaktakula dismisses as sour grapes the many, many warnings he has received from people he thought were his friends that his recent good luck is an email scam.  The blogger, who describes himself as a “super-genius–way smarter than you,” is not worried.  “I did my research, and I know about Nigerian scams,” he says.  “This email comes from N’Djamena, Chad–which is a whole different country.  I checked it out on Wikipedia.  It’s legit.”

"Chad." It Sounds Fake To Us, Too. But Nope, It's A Real Country.

Smaktakula has provided his account information as requested, and since then has been eagerly checking his balance every five minutes or so.  To his former readers at Promethean Times, the gazillionaire had this to say: “So long, paupers!  If you ever see me around here again, you can bet that I fucked up real bad!”

It IS Pretty Unbelievable!

Wife Believes Husband’s STD Came From Insect Bite

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By Smaktakula

Proper Genital Health Is Essential To A Happy Marriage.

Among the best ways to destroy your marriage, giving your wife a sexually transmitted disease has to lie near the top.  When researcher Brian Foy passed on a dose of the Zika virus to his wife, Joy, it seemed quite likely that the biologist had pissed his marriage away.

Malaria, The Plague And Now This. Can There Be Any Doubt That Mosquitoes Suck Ass?

However, it takes brains to be a scientist, and the wily Foy wasn’t going down without a fight.  Subscribing to the Hitlerian adage that the people will believe a big lie easier than a small one,  Foy decided to turn into the skid and give his wife the whopper of all-time excuses.

For Some STDs, This Is The Only Known Treatment.

Perhaps remembering the urban legend about contracting herpes from a toilet seat, Foy found himself spinning a yarn about acquiring the embarrassing ailment from infected African mosquitos during a trip to Senegal, all the while professing his steadfast fidelity.  Going the extra mile, he convinced a few of his buddies at the Centers for Disease Control to play along with the gag.

The Likely Culprit (Artist's Conception).

Amazingly, Joy bought the whole thing, and the happy couple is once more adrift on a sea of wedded bliss.  Meanwhile, across America, men are struggling mightily to think of an everyday occurrence that might occasion giving their wives a case of the clap.

Wishes He'd Heard This Story A Few Weeks Ago.

Ferret Legging

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By Smaktakula

Ferret Legging: Simultaneously A Sport And A Crime Against Nature.

Before the promulgation of worthwhile American sports such as baseball, football, basketball or hockey*, non-Americans were forced to content themselves with quasi-sports like croquet, Duck-Duck-Goose and soccer.  It’s no surprise then that these diversion-starved people began to invent their own increasingly bizarre ‘sports.’

However, the Yorkshire miners who in the 1970s invented ferret legging, also known as ferret-down-trousers, had no such excuse.  Although week after week, color television offered far safer and more athletically meritorious sports, the Yorkies designed a contest that very often results in bleeding genitals.

Why Not Try Tetherball? It's Just As Lame, But You Can Wear White Pants.

The rules of ferret legging are simple: participants trap ferrets in their pants and then see who can endure the longest as the needle-toothed weasels fight for trouser real estate.  Underwear is not permitted, and the pants must be such that the furred Slinkies can pass from leg to leg with ease.

Considered a dying sport, ferret legging has sought mightily to remain relevant in an age of much cooler sports.  Despite the hazards of a severed scrotum or perforated penis, ferret leggers take solace in the knowledge that however wretched their sport may be, it will always be a step above competitive eating.

This Is Hardly The Worst Creature You've Found Nuzzling Your Crotch.

*It’s American now, by God! ∞T.