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Monthly Archives: June 2022

Satire Saturday: Gifts for WORMS

04 Saturday Jun 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Democracy, parody, politics, satire, truth, USA

It’s nearly Christmas! Well, not really. But before you know it, Yuletide decorations will be everywhere and it will be well past the optimal time to choose a gift for your favorite ultra-wealthy, tax-avoiding, dead-eyed, sociopath who already has everything. 

Never fear! I am here! I have catalogued those items most needed for the very neediest amongst us: the born-rich, old white males who, as we all know (because they tell us constantly) are the most unfairly treated group in all human history. They selflessly spend their own precious time prescribing what others may or may not do in their “private lives” because — let’s face it — women, and POC and Native Americans and immigrants and college kids and Hispanics and did I already mention immigrants? And females and homosexuals and lesbians and vegans and vegetarians and people who believe in science and evolution and math and facts and such can not be trusted to make decisions for themselves! Oh, my no! So, the old white guys are stepping up and stepping in whether they’re wanted or not. They don’t have time left over from this precious work of theirs to find presents for themselves. We have to … I should say, we have the privilege to do it for them. It’s a daunting task, but I have made it much easier for us all! 

Each gift chosen from this catalog will be wrapped with one ton of earth-trashing plastic! But mainly it’s the gift itself that will let you know that you did your part to show your appreciation for the tireless efforts of that under-represented under-appreciated segment of our society — the White Old Rich Male Sociopaths — WORMS for short — among us. Their vision is legendary, often extending far beyond their fingernails all the way to their bank accounts. Their courage is so awesome as to require almost no statement. Almost. But just to remind folks of one of a few of their sacrifices, imagine an eleven year old gets raped by her step-father and now she has to agonize about whether to have an abortion or have a baby to take care of. No problem! The WORMS have graciously decided to take that decision completely off the table for her. Whew! Problem solved. 

Photo by BROTE studio on Pexels.com

And, that’s not all. What about that troubled teen Todd, a child of one of the WORMS, whose teacher threw him out of the spelling bee in the first round simply for misspelling the word “treason.” Come on! One word and he’s out? What kind of bee is that? He spelled it: E-L-E-C-T-I-O-N. Pretty darned close! Right? E, T, O, and N are in both words! Anyway, free and fair elections are treasonous as everyone knows. Women shouldn’t be allowed to vote unless their owners/husbands can be sure they’ll vote as ordered like Amy Bare-it. And POC? Seriously? Who says they can vote? Anyway, the point is, terrible problems like this are solved all the time by those unspoken heroes, the WORMS. In this case, the WORMS are making sure kids like Todd have access to assault weapons so they can express their frustrations in an appropriate fashion — by honoring the Constitution and its Most Holy Second Amendment. Who but the WORMS are there to make sure that no-one actually reads the Second Amendment because that would confuse ordinary mortals since the Founding Fathers accidentally spelled “individual” as “well-ordered militia.” A typo. Obviously. Duh!

Anyway, no need to keep dwelling on how utterly fantastic and under-appreciated the WORMS are. I’ll just say one more thing and then, I promise to move on to the exciting catalog itself. Did you know that some of the non-WORMS are trying to change your habits so that the earth is viable for future generations? What nonsense, right? Who cares if future generations are flooded, or starved, or can’t get clean drinking water, or thousands of species die or humans are plunged into endless war? Trivial stuff like that can always be solved by the WORMS. But meanwhile, they’re trying to reduce plastic? Plastic? Are they nuts? In the beginning, Ben heard the word! And the word was “Plastics”! ‘Nuff said.  

As for the gifts themselves, the first thing to say is that you can rest assured that none of these gifts will be the kind of worthless trinkets that poor people buy with their money — you know — trivialities like clean water, food, clothing, shelter, health care. What fun are necessities? How crude! How rude! No sir! None of these gifts will be consist of necessities. These are gifts that show distinctiveness and fine taste.

Photo by Leonid Danilov on Pexels.com



CATALOG OF FINE GIFTS FOR WORMS

(All prices are current estimates based on current Market Conditions. All prices are subject to change without prior notice). 

US Representative  What better gift for WORMS than having their very own US Representative in their pocket? Representatives come in a variety of special flavors including, but not limited to:

Wacko Conspiracy Theorists! One of our most popular items! Whether it’s Jewish Space Lasers or Ersatz meat from a Peach Tree Jar or Vaccines with Computer Tracking Devices, your WORMS can own a US Representative who will spout ridiculous absurdities to distract everyone from their tireless work destroying US Democracy! Current Market Price: $300,000. 

Gun-Toting Incompetents! What better way to help squelch any semblance of stately debate than to have your very own Representative show up with an assault weapon, hand grenades, or even a sawed off shotgun! Is it illegal? Sure it is! That just makes it all the more fun! Can be yours to give for the low, low introductory price of only $6969.

Table Banging Blowhards! What a nice gift this makes for WORMS. Whether it’s a child rapist or merely a former wrestling coach who looks away from sexual predation right under his nose, the Table Banging Blowhard will quickly turn any substantive debate about policy into a shouting match. What a fun way to destroy the world’s oldest continuous democracy! $75,000.

Photo by Anna Tarazevich on Pexels.com

US Senator If there’s one thing WORMS like more than their own “Representative”, it’s having their own Senator! One of the advantages of owning a Senator is that they never have to show their ownership by actually voting on things. They can simply refuse to vote! You remember those movies where a Senator “stands on principle” and yacks it up till everyone loses patience and interest on a topic? Those were the bad old days. In today’s Senate, they don’t actually have to filibuster to filibuster; they just have to say they will.

The Hypocrite’s Hypocrite! Made from moldy bread and manure heaps, yet much resembling an aging turtle, these fine folks can not only speak from both sides of their mouth at the same time; they can do it with mock sincerity! They can explain on Monday why even considering thinking about nominating a Supreme Court justice with a Presidential election only a decade away is against common sense, the spirit of the Constitution, the Legend of Babe Ruth, the rules of propriety, and the bylaws of Kentucky’s largest Chicken!  On Tuesday, they will explain why it is crucial to confirm a Supreme Court justice with a Presidential election already on-going! Each Hypocrite’s Hypocrite comes with dead shark eyes and is guaranteed to have undergone a complete bilateral ethicsectomy.  Price — a mere $500,000.


The Sick Sycophant! The sick sycophant will periodically make a run for the Presidency! During this time, they will explain, with apparent sincerity, why the would-be dictator they are running against would not be good for America. They will explain that he is a failed businessman, a liar, a crook, a racist, a sexual predator (self-proclaimed) and that he has zero experience relevant to being a President, or even, come to think of it, anything else. But have no fear! Once the incompetent liar becomes Putin’s nominee, The Sick Sycophant (SS for short) will tout the would-be dick-tater as the best thing since sliced stupidity! If the would-be dick-tater lies, the SS will repeat the lie endlessly. If the would-be dick-tater tells people to drink bleach or stick UV light up their butt, the SS will demonstrate. If the would-be dick-tater tries to sell out his own country to become an actual dick-tater, the SS will vote against impeachment.  On special today for only $666, 666. 

The Kinky Kid Killer! Often referred to as the KKK, the Kinky Kid Killer will tout how we must protect the innocent life of a fertilized egg or even an egg that might be fertilized or the sacred right of a man to fertilize any egg he wants to, and meanwhile, ensure that actual living, breathing, loving kids are killed on a regular basis. He or she will explain how Americans will never be safe in schools, movie theaters, grocery stores, street corners, rock concerts, post offices, or hospitals until every man, woman, and child in America has their own personal arsenal of conventional, atomic, chemical, and biological weapons. While the favorite way for the KKK to kill kids is via shredding caliber automatic weapons, the KKK is quite versatile. They will often support rolling back food safety regulations, safe water regulations, air pollution standards, workplace safety standards and, naturally, oppose free health care, child care, after school care and lowering taxes on the poor. The KKK is one of our top line items at an even $1,000,000 but guess what? You only have to pay one half of the cost! That’s right! If you act now, the Kremlin will funnel the other half of the cost through the NRA! What a bargain! You really can’t afford not to buy one of these Senators for your favorite WORMS.

Photo by Ben Phillips on Pexels.com



Extreme Court Justice These items have only been recently added to our catalog! Act now before it’s too late! The US Extreme Court (formerly known as the US Supreme Court) is the final authority on Big Lies and Partisan Bickering. Help the WORMS completely control every aspect of American life from the proper bedroom behavior to health care options to controlling the press and the media. 

The Logician Magician The Logician Magician will cry, scream, threaten, frown, and lie on command! He will wave his hands and drink beer. Hey, he likes beer! He will show you that he cannot possibly have sexually assaulted someone because — Look here! Look here! — There’s no entry in his calendar for the alleged sexual assault! Well, if that doesn’t establish his innocence, nothing will. Also, did I mention that he likes beer? Price: $2,000,000. 

Photo by Tembela Bohle on Pexels.com

The Memory Leak The Memory Leak will answer any question you don’t ask and none of the questions you do ask. Nonetheless, he will eventually make you believe that he’s answered your actual question. For example, if asked about allegations about sexual misconduct he is accused of actually doing, he will say, “I would never do anything designed at making a woman uncomfortable!” (Translation: I only bring up the topic of pubic hairs on my can of coke to turn her on and thereby give her pleasure; not to make her uncomfortable). If pressed for more information, he will say he can’t remember.  If asked about whether he supports the decision in Roe v. Wade, he will say, “It’s settled law!” (Translation: The right wing has spent tens of millions of dollars getting conservative justices so we wouldn’t overturn it!) If asked whether he debated the issue in law school, he will say, “I don’t think it ever came up.” (Translation: Seriously? I’m not answering that.) “Should I recuse myself as judge simply because my wife is a probably defendant? My wife? I didn’t remember she was my wife.” (Translation: eff yew) Price: $1,500,000.

Photo by lascot studio on Pexels.com

The Handmaiden The Handmaiden has plausible deniability about everything because she belongs to a cult that believes women should defer to their husbands on all things. Price may seem high on this one, but remember, these are lifetime appointments and she’s barely out of her teens. Price: $3,000,000. 

The Witch-Hunter This guy’s still truly PO’d that Sally Jones wouldn’t agree to be his date for the Senior Prom. Instead, she went with Charlie Jenkins just because Charlie was the football team running back and made All-State. If the Witch-Hunter happens to run across a part of the Constitution he doesn’t like such as the Ninth Amendment (also known as the “Democracy for Dummies” Amendment which basically says just because a right isn’t explicitly listed doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist), he will find an earlier precedent from some other source such as Attila the Hun, say, or an English judge who sentenced women to be burned at the stake for being a witch like Sally who should have gone to the Prom with the judge, but instead chose Charlie Jenkins, damn him. He wants women to be property, not to be mean, of course, but because — you know — it’s nature’s way! Men are bigger and stronger and live longer and are much more likely to be rapists and killers so men are obviously superior! Even the Taliban knows that! And so what if men can’t have babies? How fair is that? How can men even know if the baby is really theirs? You have to keep them indoors and locked up. For their own good, of course. WORMS will love this gift, but this particular robot seems a bit damaged so it can be yours to gift for the bargain basement price of $1,750,000.

Join the club! Help buy American Democracy for WORMS! 

Remember our motto: “The life you ruin may be your own, but you’ll ruin lots of others as well!” 

Remember our second motto: “All sales are final. We are not responsible. For anything. If we were, we wouldn’t be selling the country to the Kremlin.” 

—————————-

Dick-Taters

Absolute is not just a vodka

Bill of Obligations: Article One

Bill of Obligations: Article Two

The Extreme Court

Clarence but not Darrow

Siren Song

The Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

The Game

The Orange Man

Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing

Fractured Friday Fables: The Sty at Seaside

03 Friday Jun 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics, psychology, story

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

fable

Matt the Pig, who called himself “Matt the Magnificent,” strolled along the hill when he heard a curious sound. It sounded a little like the roar of a lion but very distant. He turned to his companion, Marjory the Muskrat and asked, “What could be making that sound?” 

Marjory Muskrat, who secretly called herself, “Marjory the Magnificent” flung her backpack off her shoulder and searched for an idea hiding among the many assault weapons, but she couldn’t find an idea anywhere. That was not surprising because she had not really had an idea for many years. Nonetheless, she smiled at Matt the Pig and said, “I know exactly what that is!” 

Matt tilted his snout and stared at Marjory with his beady pig eyes and wiggled his pig ears and said, “Really? What?” 

Marjory Muskrat wriggled her muskrat nose and said, “What what? What are you talking about?” 

Matt sighed in a porcine manner and said, “You said you knew what made that roaring sound. What is it?”

Marjory Muskrat never felt obligated to answer a question, especially when she didn’t know the answer (which was usually) and would be caught in a lie (which was always) so instead she said, “Follow me and I’ll show you!” With that, she scurried up the side of a nearby dune.

Matt the Pig came snuffling after her. His cloven hooves spiked deep into the soft sand. Marjory, on the other hand, found that her feet allowed her to climb up the dune quite easily. She waited at the top for her more cumbersome companion to join her. Finally, he clumsily clambered up beside her. He huffed and he puffed. He wanted to ask her again, but he never got the chance. Marjory Muskrat was skittering down the other side of the dune toward the seashore. 

Matt the Pig ran a few more steps before he tripped himself up with one of his own lies and somersaulted head over hooves down the far side ending up in some wet sand. It felt good. For awhile, he forgot what he had wanted to ask Marjory. 

The roaring noise returned, much louder than before. “What is that? What’s making that noise, Marjory? You said you knew?” 

“That” began Marjory, “is the sound of a million billion trillion migrants swimming ashore on our borders!” 

Just then, a Teacher walked by. Having overheard the Misguided Muskrat, he said, “Nonsense. It’s just the roar of the ocean waves.”

Matt the Pig oinked with delight. “At least, it’s not a lion! I like the sand. I’m going to build a house here! Do you want to help, Marjory?” 

Marjory Muskrat grinned so broadly that all fifty of her little white needle teeth showed. “No, you go ahead. Since you’ll be working hard building a house with your oh-so-powerful snout and hooves, I’d better go find us something to eat. I’ll be back in a jiffy!” 

Matt muttered, “Typical. I’m left to do all the work. It’s okay. It’s easy to dig here in the soft sand. I should have a house in no time at all. Matt the Pig began shoveling with his powerful long snout.” 

No sooner had he begun, however, than the Teacher said, “Excuse me. My name is Teacher. If you build your house here, the ocean will wash it away.” 

Matt the Pig scoffed at the teacher. “What do you know? It’s easy to dig here. I’ll make the quickest house ever. I shall name it, The Sty at Seaside. 

Teacher cocked his head to one side and said, “You’ll want to rename it Bye Bye Sty, because, as I said, within a few hours, the ocean will come and wash it away.”

Matt the Pig didn’t see any reason to believe a teacher of all people. “Nonsense! You’re just jealous you didn’t think to build a house here first! What do you know, anyway?”

“I walk this beach nearly every day. Also, I look at the tide charts. Every high tide, the ocean comes in much further than where you are digging and … “

Matt the Pig grunted. “Hah! I see where the ocean is. I see where the house is. Foolish man!”

Teacher shook his head and walked off. He muttered, “Suit yourself. You’ll see.” 

Matt the Pig continued to wallow and snuffle and snuggle into the sand. He began to grow hungry and he looked up to see whether Marjory Muskrat had returned with their lunch. No sign of her. As hungry as Matt the Pig was, he realized that all the hard rooting around had made him very thirsty. He wobbled over to the ocean and began lapping up the water. 

A Doctor who was out for his morning constitutional noticed that the swine was swizzling seawater. “Hey!” Said Doctor. “That’s salt water! You can’t drink that!” 

Matt snorted. “Hah! That shows how much you know. I just did drink some. Though not enough because I am still thirsty.” 

Doctor sighed. “Yes, I mean you can drink it, but it’s bad for you. It will only make you thirstier! It’s salt water. I’m a Doctor. Believe me when I tell you that it’s bad to drink it!” 

Matt snorted. “Hah! Who cares what a Doctor thinks. Water is water! Everyone knows that! I’m plenty thirsty so I need some more so I can finish the work.”

Doctor shook his head and walked off. He muttered, “Suit yourself. You’ll see.” 

Matt realized that despite having drunk quite a bit, he was thirstier than ever. He decided he would see whether the Doctor was telling the truth so he pulled out his smart phone and googled, “Do Doctors Lie?”

Matt looked at the results page. Over 8000 results! Matt snorted. “I guess that proves it! Eight thousand results! Of course, Doctors lie!” 

Matt the Pig was getting seriously hungry as well as thirsty. He glanced at the dunes, but didn’t see any sign of Marjory Muskrat. He wondered out loud to himself, “Surely, there must be something to eat along this beach. Clams? Oysters?” 

Matt began rooting for shellfish. It wasn’t long before he dug one up. He was about to smash it on some nearby rocks, when a Wild Boar came crashing up beside him, “Whoa there, fellow! Can’t you see the Red Tide? Don’t eat shellfish now! You’ll get deathly ill!” 

Matt snorted, “And who are you, pray tell, that you should interfere with my dinner?” 

“I’m a Wild Boar. My friends call me Crashing Boar, but you can call me Mister Boar. Everyone knows that you don’t eat shellfish during the Red Tide. Why are you digging up such a large part of the beach anyway?”

Matt snorted. Again. “I’m making a new home here. I’m naming it The Sty at Seaside.”

The Wild Boar frowned. “This is not a good place for a home. You’re right near the ocean!”

Matt snorted. He seemed to be snorting a lot these days. He didn’t care. He said, “That shows how much you know! This happens to be a perfect location! It’s easy to dig. There’s plenty of water and food within easy reach!” 

Wild Boar nearly gored himself with his own tusks. “What?! Listen, Pig. The tide will come in and wash away your home. And the water is not potable. The shellfish can sometimes be eaten, but not now. You best find another place for your home.”

Matt snorted yet again. “Hah! You just want this excellent location for yourself. Leave me alone. And, no, I am not sharing my clams with you. Nor can you have any of that water which I claim for myself.”

“That’s the ocean! You can’t “claim it” for yourself! It belongs to everyone! But anyway, you can’t drink it.”

Matt snorted until his nostrils bled. “Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do! I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions! Be on your way. And let your more civilized cousin finish his house.” 

The Wild Boar galloped up a nearby hill and began crashing through some underbrush. He looked one last time back at Matt the Pig, shook his head, and sauntered off. 

Matt the Pig, meanwhile, realized that all his work and arguing had made him uncommonly thirsty so he went back to the ocean and took a few more tremendous gulps of brine. It didn’t help. “I must be very hungry. That’s the problem,” Matt muttered. So, he dug up a few more clams and smashed all of them on nearby rocks and ate them all. That satisfied his hunger but he still found himself to be extremely thirsty. He decided to take a short nap in his new seaside sty. He lay down in the nice soft sand. 

Matt lay basking in the hot sun. Matt lay in his new home and enjoyed the sound of the name of his new home, The Sty at the Seaside. The many clams he had eaten satisfied his hunger, but he still felt terribly thirsty. He closed his eyes and thought back to the sty where he used to live. He remembered the girl in the gingham dress who filled his water trough with cold clear water. He wished Marjory Muskrat could be more like the little girl. It felt to Matt as though the world was spinning around. Or, that he was spinning around. Or that everything was spinning around. Suddenly, he felt very sick. He wanted to go somewhere else. But the roar of the water. Confusion. Where was that Muskrat, he thought to himself. Why is my home so wet? I’m so smart I know everything. But I don’t know why my sand home is so muddy now. And I’m so thirsty. 

No-one knows even to this very day whether Matt died of food poisoning, or dehydration, or drowned. Marjory didn’t care. She knew he was still fresh enough to eat and that’s all that mattered to her. He went very well with the Russian dressing she had gotten at the market. He tasted okay — but way too salty. She felt oddly tired and distant as she finished off the last morsel and stared at his well gnawed bones. I’m too tired to move, she thought to herself and then mumbled, “Best to just let the waves wash over me. They make a nice wet blanket. Later, I’ll turn him over and eat the other half. Right now, I just need a long, long nap.” 

Indeed, Matt had been right about one thing. The Sty at Seaside did make a nice home.

For the crabs.  


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