Archives for posts with tag: moron

Rated ’S’ for SICK (parental advisory)

Thuck Norris (Unofficial Biography)

You’ve all heard of consummate pleasure? This is about consonant leisure or lazy tongue (and other) deformities of speech. It’s like when two, unacquainted, half-wit hair-lips meet and each thinks the other is mimicking-mocking him. And this misunderstanding begins a fight. But in the case of Thuck Norris, it also has to do with Asians cannot distinguish the R and the L or other consonants when speaking English and this often offends his sense of supremacy, because he cannot distinguish between this phenomena and the hair-lip pronunciation, and Norris believes he’s being mocked by the entire world.

It all began in middle school martial arts class, when Thuck had caught roundhouse kick to the side of his head. The sound of his opponent’s foot to Thuck’s ear, on impact, sounded like a sickening ‘thuck.’ Similar to the ugly sound of an over-ripe watermelon cracking open when given too solid a slap.

Lying on the mat, suddenly, permanently stupid, consequent hearing problem with attending brain damage had indelibly imprinted Thuck’s memory, and this had a most unfortunate result; because a concerned Asian kid in his class had shouted “Chuck!” as the martial arts instructor, almost, but not quite simultaneously, had shouted “Norris!” and Thuck Norris thought the Asian kid had shouted “Fuck Norris!” Going forward, because of the resultant hearing problem with attending brain damage, forever after his name always sounded like ‘Thuck Norris!’

And so it was Thuck came to believe every Asian on this planet (except for certain Evangelicals, South Koreans particularly) was deliberately saying “Fuck Norris!” but was unable to get the pronunciation right. Thus Thuck had been indelibly cast into that category of people ‘too stupid to understand they are stupid’, as it seemed to him the larger world had adopted this moniker, which actually exists only in Thuck’s brain damaged understanding. This nevertheless inspired his crusade to beat the living shit out of every gook on the planet and conquer the beliefs of Lao Tzu, Confucius, and the Buddha, all on behalf of ‘The Lord.’

And because the roundhouse kick’s impact had also regurgitated subliminal Sunday school stories and lodged them firmly in Thuck’s frontal cortex, together with Cecil B DeMille cinema scenes, Thuck came to believe he is, at different odd and intermixed moments, Goliath, Samson, and very strangely, for reasons no one understands (not least the Cherokee Nation) Thuck has frequent visions of Virginia Dare in her Native alter-ego: Dancing Water Moccasin.

Thuck, it would seem, has serious life issues.

Thuck joined the Air Force but could not get into the Academy because he believed Angela Jolie’s bra was the definition of Algebra. Thuck ‘wasn’t asked and didn’t tell’ but because of his jealous rage over a certain ex-boyfriend…

…Thuck became a military policeman who nobody could take seriously:

Air Force Airman-sports reporter Hunter Thompson subsequently penned this article on Norris:

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EGLIN AFB, FLORIDA (November 8)— PFC Thuck Norris, a novice Air Policeman, was severely injured here today when a wine bottle exploded against his head at the Air Police gatehouse at the west entrance to the base. Norris largely was incoherent for several hours after the incident, but managed to make a statement which indicated he believed the bottle was hurled from a speeding chariot which approached the gatehouse on the wrong side of the road, coming from the general direction of the SEPARATION CENTER.

Investigators revealed only minutes before the incident at the gatehouse, a reportedly “fanatical” airman had received his separation papers and was rumored to have set out in the direction of the gatehouse at high speed in what Norris described as a Ben Hur style vehicle, powered with stolen horses. An immediate search was begun for Hunter S. Thompson, erstwhile sports editor of the base newspaper and well-known “morale problem.” Thompson was known to have a sometimes overpowering affinity for mocking religious fanatics and had been described by Air Policeman Norris (presently confined to the base sanatorium) as “just the type of bastard who would do a thing like that.”

Meanwhile, PFC Norris will be evaluated in the neuropsychological ward at base hospital, with suspected head injury induced, PTSD delusions he is the Biblical Samson. The ward nurse states the condition of the patient is “Literally guarded.”

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Thuck, with a consequent ‘Brain damaged’ but ‘Loves Jesus’ discharge from the Air Force, went on to become a cultural consultant, physical educator and trainer to the stars; here with Donny & Marie Osmond at his Wimp Thuck Lo (TM)  School of Martial Arts, where Marie Osmond becomes infatuated with Thuck, resulting in Donny Osmond has an uncontrollable fit of jealousy and is savagely beaten:

Old age hasn’t made mental state for our B movie hero any better…

Thuck’s Vision

It was the Year of Our Lord 1605. Thuck was tied to a post in the camp of the Apache Winnitou:

Norris_Winnitou

Virgina Dare, now grown and known as Dancing Water Moccasin, was present to ‘save’ Norris:

Indian_Princess

The Indians called a council to discuss the matter, as there was important information to be gained. Lawyer-Chief Broke Medicine Ego, the injured party, following interrogation, made a case for Norris release, based on the rationale Norris was incapable of grasping the gravity of the White Race’s criminal health:

Medicine Ego: “What is this white pus I acquired from Dancing Water Moccasin?”

Norris: “You got White puss?”

Medicine Ego: “It’s white pus.”

Norris: “She’s White puss.”

Medicine Ego: “I’m saying she gave me this white pus.”

Norris: “What’d you expect? She’s White puss.

Medicine Ego: “Everyone has this pus where you came from?”

Norris: “We all get White puss.”

The Indians misunderstanding Norris’ slang, combined with Thuck’s hearing related brain damage altogether missing ‘pus’ in the line of questioning, the Indians concluded White puss and white pus were synonyms. If all were this way, the Whites could not understand and be held accountable.

And so it is, via visionary experience, Thuck consequently believes in White puss salvation, and has become obsessed with commercial fantasies of Michele Bachmann:

Bachmann_Doll

 Thuck’s obsession ^ (link to easy listening commercial theme)

And finally, Thuck has become altogether mad, over a late 2006 soccer game at Albuquerque, New Mexico, between Air Force Academy and the New Mexico Lobos, when a New Mexico fan shouted to the Air Force goalie “You play like the women you rape at the academy!” and New Mexico consequently scored against a flipped out Air Force. The now thoroughly insane Thuck Norris consequently became ‘Christian Dominionism’s’ most ardent defender of the United States military’s Christian extremist elements generally, and at the Air Force Academy particularly.

In the after life, when ‘almighty god’ (that is, Thuck Norris) beheld the immortal lampoonist Ronald Thomas West hauled in front of him on Judgement Day, Ronald stated:

“Don’t try to stare ME down, old Thuck. I’ve looked many a better man than you in the eye. Save your speech for some other false conviction, because if I am a monster, you are a fiend, for I have merely satirized a handful of morons, while more good men have been slaughtered by the beliefs expressed in your Dominionist jawbone than Samson slew with the jawbone of that other historic ass!”

And so there it is folks, the story of the man who inspired innumerable Boy Scouts chanting ‘How much wood would a Woodthuck thuck, if a Woodthuck could thuck wood’ .. to goad old Norris into flipping out in his patently juvenile persuasion…

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Disclaimer: Although it was Chuck Norris attacking the Military Religious Freedom Foundation inspired this satire, I did not ask permission of the Military Religious Freedom Foundation, whom I support strongly, for permission to write and post this. If I’d asked permission, they might have said ‘no’ and I would have felt compelled to honor the foundation’s wishes. That said, now that it is up, it’s not coming down, no matter who might make any request. I have as much right to exercise my First Amendment ugliness as any Christian Dominionist. Suck on that Thuck.

The Satires

ve34

‘Free Speech Clown’ Series

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Bernard-Henry Lévy: Philosopher and Murderous Fool

Lampoon inspired by (& loosely based on) this football (soccer) essay by Lévy. If the shallow employ of a 900 liter bag of words makes a philosopher, I suppose Lévy qualifies.

PARIS–Here is one of the greatest fools of all time, a cad, an aroma of Narcissus for the entire planet, and to be universally acclaimed. Here is a carbuncle who, in front of 7 billion people, fondled his balls as though rolling for snake eyes in a die cup all the while, imagining no one would see, ascertaining the final truth in relation to one of the most extraordinary debacles in imperialism’s history.

Here is a man of pomposity, a buffoon, who imagined himself (like Homer Simpson in his crouch of grunt and beer) to be the only one who could avert his nation’s colonial decline. Better yet, here’s a super-EGO who–unlike Simpson’s–did not wait for a flatulent explosion (in the guise of Nicolas Sarkozy) to come begging him to re-enlist; rather, he decided himself, spontaneously, after having “heard” a rumor calling to him, to return from his North African exile and–putting his ludicrous persona on, while flanked by faithful prostitutes (The planned National Transition Council, Al Qaida, MOSSAD)—reversed the Benghazis’ ill fortune and led successful coup d’état.

And this sordid fright who is a ‘perfect’ hair’s breadth from victory and just minutes from the end of a historic deceit (and of a career that will carry him into the Pantheon of frauds after L Ron Hubbard, Victor Lustig and Charles Ponzi); this Cerberus who, with fifty false personalities, has known the rut, the imperial priapism and finally, the imagined slight with helpless remonstrations; this preening fop, upon whom the blue adorns a pimp’s pride in stain of rape, who had only the very last steps to scale to enter ignominy for good, commits the predictably incomprehensible act that amounts to disqualification from the public ritual–the final image of him that will go down in history and, in lieu of apotheosis, will cast him into hell.

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Everyone will know, as I write, what actually happened on the field of Tripoli’s usurpation.

Everyone will know what the faux philosopher, Bernard-Henri Lévy, did and said (in the debacle that NATO bombs had dominated with all its grace) to waken old colonial demons in children from the streets of Algiers, the very demons that NATO’s history of lies, its ethic, its aesthetic, its propaganda are made to quell.

Even if we knew why; even if we knew for certain whether the extinct North African Sephardic insulted him, or rightfully cursed his mother, father, brothers, sister; even if we got hold of the black box of those 2 days that saw this moron demonstrate in a flash his legend that is a mix of narcissist king, a Rasputinish love for a Hungarian midget: the past mayor of Neuilly-sur-Seine and, last but not least, the bombastic NATO captains leading troops to consecration with the shedding of brown peoples’ blood; even if we knew the whole story, this man’s suicide would be as all ordinary suicides are; no reason in the world explains the desperate act of a man’s vanity–no provocation, no naturally nasty personality, will ever tell us why the planetary icon that Bernard-Henri Lévy has imagined himself to be, a man with more philosophical faults than any pedophile pope, a freak, the non-chosen one, this great priest-by-self-consensus of the new cult oil barons empire in the making, chose to ejaculate on history right here, rather than wait to settle for sanity on the sideline.

No. The truth is that it is perhaps not so easy to stay unsullied in the skin of a self imagined icon, narcissist demigod, faux hero, paranoid fascist pop-legend.

The only plausible explanation for so bizarrely scuttling everything–which, remember, let a lot of time go by (the 4 long months following NATO’s precisely calculated first bomb dropped) in order to concentrate itself into the outburst of orgy of oilmen and stupidly losing control of his militia–the only explanation is that there was in this fraud a kind of public recoil, an ultimate inner revolt, against the synthetic parabola, the stupid statue, the beastified monument, the era had transformed Libya into over these past months.

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The man’s insurrection against the natural saint. A self imagined crown of Napoleon and that he then, quite logically, pulverized with the involuntary moron’s head-butt of unconscious truth, the inescapable war lords and the ‘NEW’ philosophy of rapes and torture, as though saying: I am a living stupidity, a fetish; a self-annointed god of the unrestrained loins of man’s most evil passions, an empty hologram but for image of rapine, this new age fascist guru, this decidedly stunted mentality suffering delusion’s grandeur so blind as Oedipus in his madness, this North African natural heir of Laval and Bousquet, which a peculiar mania had turned him into.

It was as though he were, in parody, self authoring one of the very great titles of this past century, the sinecure acquired via petro-triumph’s laurels of this liturgy of insanity, performance and commodity: Narcissist Homo, This is Rape. Yes, a rape, a true rape, not one of these absurd monsters or synthetic stars created by the money of brand names in combination with the sighs of the Hollywood crowd.

Rasputin had his moment. Like a dog returns to its vomit, Bernard-Henri Lévy will have had his—this one magnificent and rebellious thing, reality, that will have brought his reputation, suddenly, solidly, into the ranks of history’s shameless pimp brothel-hoods.

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Paraphrasing a former MI5 agent I had seen interviewed, under Qaddhafi: if one were not particularly political, a citizen could go about a normal life, attain free education, travel and study abroad and enjoy a standard of living approximating a middle class American, the envy of North Africa .. Since the ‘fall of Tripoli’, a $5 taxi ride from the airport has gone up to $500. The capital and the country are divided into fiefs by competing tribal war lords and the militias are refusing to disarm, women’s rights have vanished and torture, murder and rape are rampant throughout the country. In the end, it is likely the rank and file Libyan citizenry will look back and wish they’d never heard of ‘democracy.’

Read about Lévy’s push to war in Libya here

Read about the immediate humanitarian consequence here and here

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Related: Maison de l’Histoire de France

The Satires

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