Art Fenski

Ms. Cretin USA Pageant 2010 a Dead Heat!

Ms. Cretin USA Pageant 2010 a Dead Heat!
Art Fenski

Washington, DC—The committee of the Ms. Cretin USA pageant has announced three finalists for the coveted title of most obnoxious moron in America to…

  • Sarah Palin – Ms. Cretin Alaska
  • Jan Brewer – Ms. Cretin Arizona
  • Sharron Angle – Ms. Cretin Nevada.

Palin, The Bard of Wasilla, was considered a shoe-in (Palinism) for the title as recently as one month ago, but recent public statements by Brewer and Angle have narrowed the gap.

Palin’s invention of the word “refudiate” was thought to be the nail in the cake (Palinism) for the former Governor’s presumed victory, but Angle’s “second amendment solution” to the problem of democratically-elected officials not in God’s favor was an astounding move.  Perhaps out of a combination of desperation and dementia, Brewer referred to most illegal aliens as drug mules.  These events, whether intentional or not, have turned this snoozer of a pageant into a sprint to the finish.

Palin has fought back via the talent competition by asserting her bilingus (Palinism) abilities, and using the term “cajones” in a sentence.  Brewer fell behind with her measured, careful response to Judge Bolton’s ruling on SB1070, but recovered quickly by addressing further comments to the honorable, Michael Bolton (yeah, yeah, we know).

Each candidate was asked to submit a 500 word essay outlining their plans for reviving the U.S. economy.  Angle’s entry consisted of a barrage of loud bangs, a muzzle flash, and a plagiarized copy of Leviticus.

Brewer’s essay titled, Degrade Demean Deport – The Final Solution veered widely off topic but increased her lead in Arizona’s gubernatorial primary by five points. Palin has asked for an extension to accomjugate (Palinism) Lynn Vincent’s busy schedule.

The final and deciding competition of the pageant will consist of a “lightning round” of ten questions from Fox News contributor and disgraced former Speaker of the House, Newt Gingrich.

Mr. Gingrich is expected to query Palin on such topics as…

  • Appropriate situations to use the words retarded, darkie, and towel-head.
  • Special circumstances where a birth certificate does not constitute proof of citizenship (Palin feels our 49th state = rock on, but our 50th state = radicalized Polynesians).
  • The best assault rifle to use for combating the infestation of baby harp seals in the great white north. 

Brewer will face tough questioning on her proposed Arizona SB1071 which provides funding for Botox treatments to state office holders above the rank of lieutenant governor.

Gingrich is also planning a question to gauge Ms. Brewer’s moral compass by asking her to explain why it is categorically imperative to divorce a spouse once a serious illness, such as cancer or multiple sclerosis, has been diagnosed.

Ms. Angle will submit, to Gingrich, a list of questions that she is willing to answer.

“It’s absolutely necessary,” says Angle, “Newt is no friend now that he has joined the hated left-wing media.  Without my guidance, (and the Lord’s) he may forget to give me the opportunity to say, ‘send those $25 dollar donations to’”

Should Mr. Gingrich be tempted to deviate from the pre-ordained list of questions, Angle emphatically states that Newt will experience a “lightning round” of his own, blasphemer.  

Libertarians Anonymous: Breaking with the Tea Parties, Texas Tea, and All Things Lipton

Art Fenski

Hi, my name is Art and I’m a libertarian.

[Room responds “Hi Art”]

Today, I am celebrating 387 days sane and centrist!


I come before you today to share my personal 12th step in recovery – carrying the message to others.  My logical awakening was only possible through working this ideological-cleansing 12-step process.

Like many of you, I was seduced by the siren songs of personal liberty, limited, efficient government, and free market economics.  The soothing comfort of my nightly serving of libertarianism had a magical way of making the day’s problems disappear (or so it seemed).

Life under the tyranny of the Obama regime could suddenly be tolerated, if not accepted.  The IRS seemed less threatening.  Universal healthcare would probably not survive the inevitable Supreme Court challenge.

But soon I found myself needing more to cope with my anxiety.  One dose of basic libertarianism was no longer sufficient.  I needed the hard stuff and lots of it: Social Darwinism before dinner, unfettered environmental destruction with my meatloaf, target practice in public parks with my mashed potatoes…maybe even a nightcap of total anarchy!  I started circling the IRS in my Cessna…hell, I even watched the 700 Club once and caught myself saying, “You tell ‘em, Pat!”

[Nodding in empathy]

I was well on the path to ideologically-induced paranoia, or advanced IIP as it is know on certain acronym-laden websites (ALW).  Suddenly there were socialists everywhere!   Every act of compassion and fairness I witnessed was in fact a threat to the Constitution.  I even channeled Beck with a Ouija Board, until someone reminded me he wasn’t dead yet. I had to put a stop to this for the good of my country and the future of my children.  The only way out was…The second amendment.


Only by baring arms outside the halls of indoctrination could I put a stop to this red menace.  I called upon the omnipotence of our libertarian forefathers to deal with these modern threats to freedom.  The Kenyan conspiracy must be stopped!  The election was a fraud. Obama had stealthily usurped power just as his mentor Adolph Hitler had done decades earlier.  If only Kenneth Star could uncover a sexual scandal, our long national nightmare would end…

I realized far too late that libertarianism was a gateway philosophy.  It seemed like such a harmless pleasure at first, something along the lines of the Ghetto Shaman’s Barely Legal Kundalini Cruise.  And surely a touch of radicalism couldn’t hurt, right?  Then, the next thing you know you’re watching Glenn Beck in your underwear and firing live rounds into the ceiling fan.

[Nods of understanding]

I’d witnessed others espouse the virtues of property rights and free markets and they seemed able to handle them.  How could I know that, for a certain percentage of the population, libertarianism could lead to AM talk-radio dependence, subscriptions to “National Review,” and endless 24 hour Fox News cycles?

[One woman runs sobbing for the door]

I had bottomed out.  I knew that I was powerless to recover on my own.  Fortunately, an LA member was discretely handing out pamphlets at a local Birther rally.  I attended my first meeting eighteen months ago.  I admit I’ve fallen off the wagon a few times since.  A couple of times I even snuck into a bar just to catch Hannity’s America.  I told my wife I was having an affair.

[More empathetic nodding and a burp which may have been unintentional]

I am now well on my way back to the rational world.  Freely elected legislative bodies are not a sign of the apocalypse.  Adding millions of poor people to the healthcare system is not the equivalent of burning the Constitution.  Mexicans, who cross the border looking for a better life, don’t need to be flogged in order to preserve the future of a white society.

Life in the rational world is your birthright!  The iron grip of the absurd ideology can be broken…but only by first confessing that alone you are powerless to fight it.

Thank you for allowing me to share.

[Standing ovation]

Let us close with the sanity prayer:

Mind, grant me the sanity
to reject any propaganda-based paranoia I cannot swallow;
embrace the rational beliefs of the center;
and the deductive reasoning to know the difference.

Studying one issue at a time;
analyzing one solution at a time;
accepting logic as the pathway to progress;
imagining, as George Will did, this dogmatic world
as it can be, not Hannitized for our protection;
trusting that we will make all things right
if they are subdued by our votes;
that we may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with others
‘til November do us part.

Texas Twits Twist Textbook Theme

Art Fenski

Leviticus, TX – In an effort to deal with budget woes plaguing one of the nation’s largest public school systems, the Texas Board of Education has decided to combine the Department of History and the Department of Phonics to form the new Texas public schools’ Department of Histrionics.  The decision will be formally announced during the board’s annual retreat (this year held at the Bunny Ranch in Carson City, NV) by Col. Barney Bob Crossburner, Chairman of the School Board.

Before rolling it out completely, the new combined curriculum will undergo a one year test at Merton T. Hangumm High School in Leviticus. The decision to test the new system at Hangumm was based on the school’s reputation as a “cultsurely, die verse, insty too shun.”

“It had not one damned ting tuh do with dem scant-ly-clad Hangumm High cheerleaders urging me to pick their school!” added Crossburner.

When asked to elaborate on the school’s diversity policies, he explained, “That foreign lookin’ kid who goes there, you know who I’m talkin’ about.  Plus, lots of our janitors and lawn cutters are rumored to be less than pure and probly illegal…um, that’s off the record, of course.”

When a reporter at the press conference pointed out that the combination of history and phonics would actually produce history-onics, not histrionics,  Col. Crossburner countered, “Most Texans pernounces it “his’ tree” so they decided to go with a funetical interpretation.”

This decision will affect virtually every student across the United States, because most high school textbooks are written to Texas standards due to the state’s ranking as the largest purchaser of them.

In response to the announcement, Shaniqua Marxenstein, Spokeswoman for California’s board of education announced, “Oh my God!  Oh my God! Oh my God!”

She then ran into the nearest bathroom, cut her forearms with a razor, and took all of her Prozac.

Cooking for Naked People

Art Fenski

I didn’t realize at first that I would be cooking for naked people. The job ad simply referred to an upscale resort in the desert west of Tucson without any specifics regarding the type of establishment. I emailed a response to the ad and received a call later that day from the resort’s manager. After thirty-minutes of telephone conversation, mostly about my vast skills, the manager asked if I would like to come in for an interview.

“And, oh…I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but this is a clothing-optional resort,” he said.

This was an unexpected twist. Like the moment between slamming on the brakes and the collision impact itself—a slideshow of images played in my mind.  Mainly, visions of naked supermodels salivating over my food.  An explanation to my wife immediately came to mind:

“Really, honey, I’ll be too busy concentrating on my work to notice any naked supermodels,” and,  “Naaww honey, accidents involving a dangling appendage and a meat cleaver are surprisingly rare,” and the like.

“Uh…I would be wearing clothes, right?” I asked.

Laughing, “Yes, the staff is always in uniform.”

“OK, then,” I said.

And so began my brief career as a cook for this wardrobe challenged community (WCC).  I’d never seriously thought about working in such a place, but I had heard of these communities and formed some preconceptions of what life in a “nudy camp” would be like. Most of these assumptions had been formed during my adolescence, so of course the nudists were all amazingly proportioned nymphomaniacs. Sort of like living in a Robert Palmer Addicted to Love video gone wild.

My first visit to the resort immediately dispelled the notion of the Playboy Mansion transplanted in Tucson. I was glad I ditched the idea of donning a bathrobe and a pipe.  And the Robert Palmer video disappeared into the realms of Weird Al’s version, Addicted to Spuds.  If you yourself have such a misconception of the scenery at a clothing optional resort, replace that image with this one: take a stroll through your local Wal-Mart or State Fair midway. Scan the groups of people, deleting the ten most attractive. Close your eyes and mentally undress the remainder. Now you’re getting warm.

Several other assumptions also proved to be false. Sanitation and hygiene are topics that immediately spring to mind while thinking about a nudist resort. It seemed to me that the lack of clothing would present challenges to the sanitary environment one expects in a dining room. One of the useful functions of clothing is to keep the microscopic flora and fauna we all carry relatively confined to our own bodies. Usually if we are amongst a group of naked people, it is in an environment made up of easy to clean surfaces such as shower tiles or sauna benches. This was not the case in the common areas of this resort. The dining room and indoor gathering areas were furnished with plush, overstuffed, microbial friendly upholstered chairs (MFUC). The furniture was cleaned about as frequently as furniture in other venues, which is to say, rarely. Placing a towel or other covering on the furniture before sitting would draw disapproving looks from other nudists. Apparently, it violated the spirit of sharing.

I mentioned earlier that the resort was located in the Sonora Desert. Nudists are an invasive species in the desert. Rattlesnakes are not. These two species in fact seem to have a profound dislike for one another. I’m not sure why rattlesnakes are irritated by human nudists, the snakes being naked themselves, but they frequently showed up to hiss and rattle their displeasure. Several times a day the maintenance staff would get a frantic call to remove a rattlesnake from a casita or common area. Most people react with justifiable alarm to the presence of rattlesnakes—nudists react with mortal terror. Perhaps the thought of a bite to the exposed genitalia is more horrifying than a bite to the ankle.

I began working on a prank where I would mechanically imitate the sound of a rattlesnake during a busy dinner service but never figured out the logistics to my satisfaction. Probably better for all concerned. Another aspect of the subject of one’s exposed genitalia at the resort was the unwritten rule, such exposure was mandatory at all times even if other body parts were covered. I was surprised to learn that nudists “dress” for dinner. The garments, available for purchase at the gift shop, consisted of a bare minimum of fabric, such as a bowtie.

Although I eventually got used to working around naked people, I never got used to having discussions with them. I never mastered the art of not looking at someone’s privates without being uncomfortably conspicuous.  I, therefore, became known to some as “The Weatherman” for my constant attention to atmospheric conditions.   Avoiding looking was especially difficult during business meetings with the owners who were themselves nudists.  Meet the nude boss, same as the old boss. I have a habit of looking at the other person’s hand before shaking it. This is difficult to do if you are trying desperately to look the person in the eye. A missed handshake is always a faux pas, but even more so when you consider what you might shake if you miss here. I became master of the shoulder height handshake.

It’s easy to forget while recollecting this experience that my primary function there was cooking. In this area, my preconceptions included spa cuisine, miniscule portions of sprouts and baby vegetables, and a total absence of fried foods, desserts or anything else that might compromise the integrity of the beautifully tanned, perfectly proportioned bodies milling around.  Did I mention my preconceptions suck?  The menu was actually not dissimilar to that of a Burger King or the bar and grill of your local bowling alley. I was assured that this was mine to modify as I pleased and that there was great interest in going to a more imaginative offering. This turned out not to be the case.  So my tenor at Nudy Acres was brief, like my uniform. My resignation had nothing to do with the lack of naked supermodels wandering through the kitchen.

That’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.  Not stickin’ as bad as the clients to those microbial friendly upholstered chairs, thankfully.