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.
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.
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.
New Hampshire And Iowa Have A Lot To Say About Presidential Politics.
With a combined total of 11 (out of a nationwide total of 538) electoral votes, unimportant American States like Iowa and New Hampshire wouldn’t normally have very much say in who wins the US presidency. That would be like choosing a first-grade teacher based solely on the preferences of the weird kid who eats paste.
Iowans Determine Their Presidential Candidates Via The Caucus.
But thanks to America’s primary process, it’s not just important and worthwhile states like California or New York which determine the leader of the free world, but also cultural black holes like Wyoming, Alaska and the Deep South. This system, unique among the world’s nations, allows America to refocus its priorities, adding political clout to a state based not on its size or economic output, but on whether or not it produces corn.
It's Not Like Iowa Has NOTHING Going For It; It's The Birthplace Of Fictional Geek Icon Captain James T. Kirk.
"Live Free Or Die?" Well, We Wish We Could Say That We'll Miss You.
"Hey! This Not A Rending Ribrary! You Buy Or You Get The Herr Out!"
Kim Jong-il, the once-feared despot of blighted hellhole North Korea, is said to be transitioning easily into his new life as a Compton, California liquor store owner. Although the blue-collar life might seem like a comedown from the palatial existence previously enjoyed by the tiny madman, ‘Lil Kim claims to be very happy.
Kim's Youngest Son Is Sorry To See The Old Man Go.
“Rife is so much easier now. I got none of the probrems of running rearry big and important country,” says the diminutive ex-despot, referring to the asswipe country he inherited from his own father and ran further into the ground. He has high hopes for the prospects of his youngest son, Kim Jong-un, who has taken over the reins of state in his stead. “My boy, ‘Ril ‘Ril Kim, gonna fuck South Korea up good!”
'Lil Kim Has Been Welcomed To The Neighborhood By Such Businessmen As Terry Davis, Owner Of Sandbox Liquor.
Although ‘Lil Kim isn’t at liberty to discuss the matter, it is believed he is joined in his exile by several other former world leaders. “Yeah, I see some famiriar faces–let’s put it that way. At reast I’m not . . . so ronery any more.”
"You Better Not Be Selling Any Goddamn Falafels! I Make The Mother Of All Falafels!"
We'll Be Damned. Maybe Johnnie Cochran Was On To Something.
Los Angeles, California: New evidence released this week by the LA County Prosecutor’s office purports to show that presumed murderer Orenthal James Simpson is innocent of the allegations which have long clouded his name. A patsy in a sports-memorabilia sting, the former Hertz pitchman currently languishes in the Lovelock Correctional Center in Nevada for the crime of getting away with the murder of ex-wife Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman, the latter who might have been Brown Simpson’s lover, or possibly just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It now appears that for the last seventeen years, the authorities have been actively seeking to frame an innocent man.
By The Time You See This, It's Already Too Late.
The news of Simpson’s innocence in the Brown-Goldman slayings poses a problem, say legal scholars. Since Simpson’s most recent conviction was in large part–if not entirely–for getting away with the 1994 murder, it remains to be seen if Nevada courts will reconsider their ridiculous decision to punish the Juice for “stealing” his own memorabilia.
This Image Beautifully Captures The Juice's Humanity And Vulnerability In The Lovelock Showers.
Sadly, the news of OJ’s innocence is nothing more than a Promethean Times fiction–what those with less-charitable dispositions might call ‘lies.’ He’s guilty as hell, people. You know that, right?
It's Sometimes Difficult To Take Bad News With Good Grace.
Who’s taken all the gay from the Bay? The question has haunted the fog-shrouded streets of San Francisco since last January’s gay audit, in which the flamboyant city suffered a humiliating downgrade.
Honey, Please--Don't You Read The Papers? We've Got Real Problems.
In a nationwide survey, gay-themed magazine, the Advocate, tested the gayness quotient of several American cities. San Francisco, or ‘Frisco’ as locals lovingly call it, came in a disappointing 11th, behind such gay meccas as St. Louis, Pittsburgh and America’s #1 gay city, Minneapolis.
SF's Got Its Panties All Up In A Bunch. That's No Easy Feat With Studded Leather.
This unhappy news struck San Francisco’s hometown homos like an unlubricated fist, leaving many with feelings of betrayed resentment. Activists are quick to point out that without San Francisco’s brave example in the 1960s and 1970s, gay people might not find the top ten cities quite so hospitable today. This view fails to take into account that the public has the memory span of a syphilitic goldfish.
It's Not The First Place We'd Look To Find Gay People.
Controversy aside, the study has provided data which shatter preconceived notions about gay life. The fact that cities like Cleveland, Pittsburgh and Oakland are among the top fifteen cities in the nation that homosexuals call home effectively puts an end to the degrading stereotype that gay people only live in nice places.
Relax. No Matter What Happens To The City, You'll Always Be The World's Gayest Baseball Team.
Proving that you don’t have to be a great city to anchor the nation’s most important state, Sacramento manages to remain relevant despite an almost total lack of merit. California’s capital city squats like a persistent sore upon the confluence of the American and Sacramento Rivers at the northern end of the Central Valley, the Golden State’s bountiful backwater.
In a moment of unwarranted optimism, the city fathers attempted rather generously to imbue the flyblown stinkpit with a sense of the divine by naming it for the Eucharist. A century-and-a-half later, the dividend of this faith has been an NBA franchise and a spectacularly inept legislature.
It's Telling That The City Is Often Abbreviated As 'SAC.'
We’re not proud of this, Sacramento. But we had a need and you’re easy. ∞T.
Promethean Times 