Archive for October, 2009

The war is won. Done and doner! Cue the ticker-tape parade.

After a bombing run late last week, the Man in The Moon has officially surrendered to its overlord, Planet Earth.

We own this sucker. In your face, moonie, you're ours!

We own this sucker. In your face, moonie, you're ours!

“Look, man,” said a contrite Moon, “I don’t know what I did to get you guys so hacked off, but I catch the drift– ‘uncle,’ I give up. You guys are boss.”

The Moon was surprised and shocked to discover that the United States of America’s NASA orchestrated the bombing mission.

“The same morning I get bombed, I hear that President Obama wins The Nobel Peace Prize. WTF?! Where’s the justice in your world anyway? He bombs me and gets a Peace Prize? I don’t get you people at all, man.”

Now that we own The Moon, who’s up for colonizing? C’mon, people!

You can run but you can't hide! Bombs away!!!

You can run but you can't hide! Bombs away!!!

At long last, we have bombed The Moon!

For years I have been proposing a full assault on The Moon. Every night it sits there smugly in the sky, taunting us with its pristine lunar arrogance and orbital confidence. This morning we finally did the deed.

We’ve allegedly stepped on it, littered it, planted flags on it, lost golf balls on it, even had cows jump over it–– now we’ve shown that stupid satellite (it’s not even a planet!) who’s boss.

Take that, you rascal, you!

Take that, you rascal, you!

I had proposed we let Slim Pickens ride the bomb down, but NASA nixed the idea because apparently he’s dead, which I don’t believe because I saw “Dr. Strangelove” recently and he looked fine.

Whatever. The job was done and we’ve bombed that baby but good. Maybe now we won’t be seeing so many werewolves and vampires.

Keep them nukes on watch and pointed up, though– The Moon may attack back. That lousy sneaky orb.

Ringo Starr has been ‘Best-ed’ out of The Beatles.

Ringo (real name “Rin Go Starkey”) replaced Pete Best as drummer of The Beatles in 1962, and for the next eight years was the backbeat of the most famous rock band in history.

On September 9, the popular video game Rock Band introduced a version for songs of The Beatles. It was an instant bestseller.

Ringo gets das boot by Jerry Mungerton. Rim shot, please.

Ringo gets das boot by Jerry Mungerton. Rim shot, please.

On October 6, a 17-year old Atlantan named Jerry Mungerton scored a perfect 100% score drumming on six straight songs, and the avatars of John Lennon, Paul McCartney and George Harrison were so impressed, they fired the avatar of Ringo Starr and replaced him with young Mr. Mungerton.

“It was awesome,” said an ecstatic Mungerton, “I mean I miss my human mom, dad, sis and girlfriend a lot– but being in The Beatles is worth it. Yeah, I love those flesh people and everything, but I mean come on, we’re talking The Beatles here!”

A dispondent Ringo avatar guzzled his third 40 of Olde English 800 and was somberly reflective. “It was a good run while it lasted,” he said, “I’ll miss me mates, but I guess I’m no Jerry Mungerton so it’s understandable they’ve moved on without me.”

With that, the ex-drummer guzzled his high octane 40 and hurled the empty bottle against a brick wall, and broke down sobbing. “Me life’s a bloody shambles,” he cried.

Meanwhile, somewhere a wolf howled, a tumbleweed tumbled and a kitten yawned.

I recently came across this shocking photo and want to alert fellow humans of the impending danger sure to destroy our fragile society.

Their privates will be public no more. The revolution's begun and we are the targets!

Their privates will be public no more. The revolution's begun!

Not to sound alarmist, but obviously monkeys want our clothes and are willing to take extreme measures to get them– even if it means attacking and killing us in their cold-blooded sadistic way.

Are they tired of being a few rungs down on the evolutionary ladder? Perhaps. Do they resent our putting their relatives behind bars and on display in zoos? Probably. Do they want revenge for Tim Burton’s weak remake of “Planet of The Apes”? Certainly. Whatever their reasons, these monkeys mean business– DEADLY MONKEY BUSINESS!!!

To avert catastrophe, I suggest we take preemptive action and become nudists. Gather your clothes, take them to the nearest zoo and present them to our soon-to-be monkey masters. If dressed, it will be more difficult for them to fling poo at us, and we will have won the war.

I’m stripping now– who’s with me? Anybody? Hello…