It’s been 40 years since Apollo 11 and 37 years since Apollo 17, and, perhaps more importantly, 15 years since Ron Howard’s movie Apollo 13. One would think we’d have made significant advancements in spaceflight since Apollo 17, the last manned space-flight to the moon. You would also think Ron Howard would have a sequel by now. The Wright Brothers’ first flight occurred in 1903, and just about 40 years later (1947), Chuck Yeager broke the sound barrier in a rocket-powered aircraft. Why haven’t we made any advancements in super-orbital space flight in the last four decades? Because the manned moon landings never happened… And now we have proof!

There are a lot of conspiracy theories surrounding the moon landings, many perpetuated by this less than reputable e-zine. But, as the Discord’s Senior NASA Correspondent, I prefer to take a more proactive and open-minded approach to these things. I don’t just blindly follow all the hyped-garbage bandying about the internet. With the Discord, you can be sure we’ve put a lot of time and effort into researching and verifying our ideologically driven propaganda (IDP). I suppose it all depends upon what your definition of “researching and verifying” is, or what your definition of “is” is.

The image at right was obviously PhotoShopped. The Daily Discord should have checked with me before posting it. Winslow never listens. He just smells the money.

Regardless, during our research of these other conspiracy theories, I believe I have truly stumbled upon the smoking gun—a piece of irrefutable evidence that proves, beyond doubt, the manned moon landings never happened. His name is Dr. Elmer Phulacrap. Dr. Phulacrap was the head of the CIA program that created and choreographed all the manned moon missions.

Here’s our conversation from January 17^th, 2011 at Musso & Frank’s bar on Hollywood Blvd. It’s self explanatory and it profoundly changes the history of mankind:

L. Wolfe: So, Elmer, I’ll buy you another shot if you can tell me some more about the Apollo Program and how you choreographed it.

Elmer: Well, I was working in LA at a little underground film studio, as a grip, see. We were filming Amazon Fantasy—cutting edge stuff at the time. Anyway, I’m leaving late one night and this guy approaches me. He hands me a cigarette and tells me all about how the U.S. Government really needed to get to the moon before the Russians and all that. He then tells me there is no way it can be done, so he’ll pay me $6,000 if I can help build a convincing film set. The rest is history…..uh, well, you know what I mean.

L. Wolfe: Fascinating. Here, have another Mai Tai. Anything else you can tell me?

Elmer: Thanks. We were buzzing along nicely with plans for manned missions to some asteroid or another and one to the dark side of the moon, until Pink Floyd stole my idea for some rock ‘n roll album. The whole thing fell through. Next were going to be manned missions to Vegas—

L. Wolfe: Vegas?

Elmer: No, no Venus, what did I say? We had big plans. Hell, we would have been to Mars by 1977 if it weren’t for George Lucas.

L. Wolfe: George Lucas? Was he involved with this cover up?

Elmer: Vegas? No, I said Lucas. No, the higher ups at the studio decided to “re-allocate” our funding, so we ended up with Star Wars instead. Since then, my career has been in the crapper. I hate Star Wars. I always felt like one of those red-shirted guys that gets killed as soon they beam down to the planet.

L.Wolfe: That was Star Trek.

Elmer: Whatever…I’m just worried I did the wrong thing at the time. And now we may never really get to Vegas.

L.Wolfe: Lucas…

Elmer: Right, what did I say?

PETA has argued for years people should boycott meat, especially beef, because of the widespread inhumane treatment of the cattle.  These animals are allegedly caged or housed in overcrowded, dirty holding pens for their entire lives, much like Discord staffers.  I recently interviewed Angus Fleischflanker of Beef.org regarding allegations made by PETA.  The following is an actual transcript from that actual interview that actually happened sometime in the actual past:

L. Wolfe: In your recent PETA rebuttal, you have indicated that all beef cattle in the U.S. are actually free range animals, and that these allegations by are simply another in a long line of misinformation, slander, and frivolous nudity to gain publicity.

Fleischflanker: Yeah, that’s right.  We categorically deny all of these false accusations and condemn such slander in the strongest possible terms, especially the nudity part.  We here at beef.org are proud of the product we provide to the American people, and we care for our animals.  That includes the 36 million we humanely and lovingly put down each year to serve our customers, the American people. 

L. Wolfe: What’s one example of your ethical treatment of these animals?

Fleischflanker: For starters, we give each one a name, and that shows how much we care.

L. Wolfe: You give each of the 36 million cows a name?

Fleischflanker:  Yes.  For instance, that one over there is eighteen-thousand-six-hundred-forty-five.  And this little one here is two-hundred-sixty-thousand-fourteen.

L. Wolfe: Oh yes, I see, and they each have their own little ear tags with their names printed right on them.

Fleischflanker: Yes, we spared no expense.

L. Wolfe: And how about this “free-range” issue?  You indicated previously all U.S. Cattle are free range?  I’m looking over this herd behind us and their pretty tightly packed from the looks of things.

Fleischflanker:  Sure, to the casual observer.  But look, there’s plenty of room underneath and around the legs (points).

L. Wolfe:  But are they truly free range?

Fleischflanker: Yes, our animals are all free range animals.  It’s just that their ranges are very small, comparatively speaking.

L. Wolfe:  There’s always been plenty of concern about meat plants in general.  If you had to cite one thing where you feel the meat industry could improve, what would that be?

Fleischflanker: Umm, I guess the name “meat plant” is somewhat contradictory. 

L. Wolfe:  …like an oxymoron?

Fleischflanker: No, I don’t like it at all, really…but no reason to resortin’ to name calling. 

Suffice to say, the interview went downhill from there. For me, as a journalist, it was kind of like being in Egypt and I was Anderson Cooper’s face.  Of course, there were no pyramids but lots of free range humpless camels everywhere.  Winslow really doesn’t pay us enough for this manure.

I awoke earlier than any human should, scraped my scurvy ass out of bed, cleaned the pool, showered, and bulldozed through 45 minutes of Philly’s best combat traffic (in my universe Route 476+276+202=666). Then, right after resituating myself in my vexatious chair, my personal annoyance device (PAD) vibrates right next to my nads at 7:30 AM.

It’s probably the Ghetto Shaman trying to make bail again. I answer the call. Mrs. Winslow informs me that Verizon has just shut down our internet connection with a Martin Lutheresque bitch-note posted where my home page would normally appear. The account is suspended. Now there are only links provided where you can go to rectify this situation. Several links later, they all say I have to call and speak with someone (foreshadowing?).

Set the Way Back machine to about two-years ago. When I signed up, the agreement required that I enroll in automatic payment. Some time later I tried to have them switch to conventional billing—you know, where you actually get a bill instead of the leaches attaching themselves directly to your bank account like a lamprey, but they would not have it. Who could blame them? Anyway, the leach-attached account has plenty of cash. There are no new cards, or expirations, or other such obstructions. What the fuck could go wrong?

So I get on the bank’s web site: Verizon hasn’t hit the account in about three months. OK, so I’m behind, way behind. One would wonder why I never got an email, or a phone call (they are a phone company, right?), or a snail mail bitch-note, or maybe one of those Martin Lutheresque notes threatening my life from my web browser.

Time to call Verizon…

Take 1:

I call the FIOS Internet service number, as listed on that Lutheresque bitch-note. I’m greeted by a friendly, sexy sounding computer who assures me that she can help with my account, but she needs the phone number about which I am calling. Uh, this is the internet service number, right? So I hit #2. Then she wants my account #. Being at work, I don’t have it. Not that I would have had it at home either, because they have never sent me a bill, so I punch #2 again. OK, now she’ll accept my phone # as verification (even though it’s not through Verizon). I am transferred to Billing…

A real human being picks up the line. She speaks English! The agent cannot tell me why they stopped billing me. In fact, she says that I have never been on automatic billing, but if I want to sign up for their oh-so-effective automatic billing I can do so once this is all resolved. I wanted to debate the overall effectiveness of said automatic payment, but in a very effective, deflective manner, she got me off of their fuckup and onto how I can pony up three dollars on top of the amount due to use their over-the-phone payment thingie to get this problem resolved. She gives me the 14-fucking-digit account number and transfers me off to some third-party, not so sexy, phone, computer, payment thing (after giving me the “correct” FIOS Internet service number in case I need to call again (more foreshadowing?). I enter the 14-fucking-digit account number. The not so sexy system reads back the 14-fucking-digit account number. It’s correct, so I hit #1. The bitch tells me that she has no idea who I am and to go away. Lovely.

Call Verizon, Take 2:

I call the new and improved FIOS Internet service number. The same sexy computer, ironically, tells me once again, how she can help me with my account. Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice…uh, we won’t get fooled again!

Hitting the same magic numbers at the same prompts, I get to another human being who, after my recanting the whole tale, judgmentally tells me that she will conference me into the not so sexy, phone, computer, payment thingie, and she will enter the information on my behalf (because a 42-year-old, 164 IQ software engineer making about four times what she does can’t handle that). A few glip, schschsch, beep, beep, beeps later, the service agent says I’m in and I’m on my own and gets off the line. Did I mention that she gave me yet another “correct” number for FIOS Internet support?

Anyway, what’s the first question the not so sexy system asks me? “How much do you want to pay?”

After all of the hoopla, I don’t know.

I am really good with numbers. I can memorize someone’s credit card number in about 30 seconds to a minute (awesome bar trick, especially when it’s time to settle up). I also have 623 flying monkeys that I am preparing to unleash on Verizon headquarters, as we speak. Anyway, I believe that human being #1 had said that the overdue amount is ~$119, so I enter $125. The system says everything is OK so I get on with my work day. After that stress, I bulldoze back home through 45 minutes of Philly’s best combat traffic to the comfort of home.

While on the line with them, both the first and second human beings promised me that four hours after the payment went through (11:30, yeah it took that long), the service would automatically be restored. I expected that the service would be restored by the time I got back home, six hours later (fool!).

My oldest daughter greets me with a hug and a kiss, and proceeds to complain to me about the mean woman on the computer who won’t let her play any Wubzy games. The woman in question is an image, on that Lutheresque bitch note, of some anorexic blonde, standing, working on a laptop with one hand while holding it in the other (like that’s realistic).

Lovely, Verizon’s fuckup is costing my Baby Face quality Wubzy time. I release the flying monkeys…

Call Verizon, Take 3:

I call the new, new and improved FIOS Internet Service Number. The same sexy computer greets me, telling me how she can help with my account, and asks me for the phone number I’m calling about (this is the internet service number, right?). I did the keypad hokey-pokey (not the McDooris variety), and got back to billing where I proceeded to tell Winston the story of Alice’s Restaurant Massacree, in four part harmony, with full orchestration…anyway, so he gives me yet another correct FIOS support number, and I’m being transferred to…wait, I’ve been disconnected.

Call Verizon, Take 4: (they must really value my call, because they keep me calling back)…

After all of the same bullshit, again, I find out this is no longer a billing issue since the payment went through, and it is now a support issue. She’ll transfer me.

At this point I had switched to my cell phone (AT&T thank you very much). It’s much more mobile while doing dinner, bath, pre-bed, posting bail for the Ghetto Shaman, etc. I’m hearing static on the line. I don’t get static on my cell phone at home. There is a cell tower about 200 yards away. I could throw my phone at it and hit the damn thing, which I was about to do. The tower is cleverly disguised as a tree, by the way. Granted, I have never seen a Douglas Fir with branches only at the top and pumping out 80,000 μW/cm² of RF Radiation. I’m waiting for my neighbor, Cleetus, to try cutting it down for Christmas. Anyway, I’m being transferred overseas (the Kobyashi Maru has set sail for the promised land)…

I end up talking to Dipti (yeah, US-based support has shut down for the day). He asks me for the phone number…GOD, um VISHNU DAMMIT! I go through the whole thing again and the phone gets silent….for a minute or two (no exaggeration)…he asks me again about the phone number… *sigh*… He can see my account, but he can’t do anything about it (another fine product). He’s going to transfer me to FIOS Internet support (isn’t this the “correct” number?).

After being on hold for, I don’t know, forever and a week, I was greeted by the friendly, sexy sounding computer, who assures me she can help with my account. I ‘bout threw my phone through the window.

Verizon Call, Take Xanax…er, I mean 5:

Yet another new and improved support number. This time it is one intended for Verizon engineers. There is no voice or anything available here, except who I should call when I cut into a customer’s electric service (mental note…).

Verizon Call, Take 6:

Some guy asks me what state I live in.

Take 7:

Take 8:

Take 9:

TAKE FUCKING 10…

Come on, Cleetus. Grab an axe! Christmas is coming early this year…

I bailed. I had a beer, a shot, played a certain relevant George Thorogood song and got the kids bathed and to bed.

The next morning, I woke up earlier than any human should. I scraped my scurvy ass out of bed and checked the laptop. There was a DNS error: that’s actually a good sign. I bring down the entire network, bring it back up, and I’m greeted with The Daily Discord when I open the browser. Reading it made me want to go back to bed. Have you actually read some of that shit? *shudder*

So what is the lesson here? The best I can come up with is the Military Industrial Complex is trying to shut down the Daily Discord, or maybe Wubzy. I’m sure it’s one of the two. I mean, really. How stupid can these people be? They built the largest fiber-optic network on the planet as well as one of the largest wireless networks—not to mention they have one of the largest bank balances on the planet. They have more cash and power than God, Allah, Buddha, Vishnu, and the Ghetto Shaman combined. I spoke with people named Marianne, Dipti, Winston (who the hell has a name like Winston?!?!?), Caneeshwa (I’m sure I spelled that wrong), and Ming Lu (wasn’t that a dynasty?).

It’s a world-wide conspiracy! But that 15 megabit fiber is soooooo sweet. Now that it’s working, I’m almost sorry I encouraged Cleetus to try chaining that fake Douglas Fir to his pick-up truck tonight.

I think they’re fucking with my post right now. We don’t have people this beautiful.

My wife has an uncanny knack of keeping things alive way beyond their allotted time on this planet. A past pet comes to mind, not to mention a certain Stephen King Novel. My son has my living will.  He knows, when it’s my time, not to let my wife near the doctors or she’ll either have my head in a Futurama-style glass jar, or I’ll be a Cranksicle next to old Walt Disney.

Recently, her ‘97 Buick Park Avenue ‘Battlestar’ finally convinced her it had nothing left to give when the front brakes went steel on steel the same day the door lock button fell inside the door. She had the same look on her face that day at the vets—the day she finally realized old kitty needed to go to the rainbow bridge.  

At thirteen years old and 165 thou’ on the odometer, it owed us nothing.  My wife loved it so much, I was relieved that I wouldn’t have to “pry it from her cold dead hands.”  Given the fact that the new car would primarily be my wife’s car, it would be her choice entirely. With some notable exceptions: as the resident FatAss in my home, I needed to be able to: 1.) actually fit into the car, 2.) get in and out of it without the aid of any Hurst corp. hardware, and 3.) actually drive the thing. Beyond that, you go girl…

What she picked out was no surprise to me. Being both of Dom Perignon taste and Corona pocketbook, she found the most bang for our Buick.  The 2011 Sonata by Hyundai is manufactured in Alabama (Arabama in Korean).  It was more “Amelican” than my Dodge Ram made in Mexico. It impressed us as much as the new Buick Regal, and was nearly $10k less.

I will now rate each area of importance with my very own Krispy Kreme rating system (KK1 through KK5 with KK5 being the best).

STYLING: 5 KRISPY KREMES

Very easy on the eyes.  It is reminiscent of something Jules Verne would have designed if he were alive today (and living in Korea).  It looks ready to Journey to the Center of the Krispy Kreme, or some such.  It is also a much larger car than I expected. Great lines, just enough chrome, and the color she picked out rocks! Black plumb, with a two-toned black and beige interior.

INTERIOR DESIGN: 4 KRISPY KREMES

Great looking with easy to use hardware. Very futuristic design dash, ala Okuda of Star Trek fame. Lots of blue ‘mood’ lighting. Standard ‘brootoof’ connectivity, good surface feel, and optional photon torpedoes. Seats are nice, for anyone but me and Kevin Smith.  So their fatass rating drops to 2KKs. As usual in a narrow seat, my ass is up on the side bolsters with enough space under it for a box of a dozen, which only comes in handy during stakeouts. As for the back rest, ditto. Not too comfy for moi. Ease of entry and exit has a fatass rating of 3 KKs. Been in worse, been in better. Amazing legroom though, any 6-footer would be very comfy, even in the back!

ENGINE: 4 KRISPY KREMES

On the plus side, they made a 4 banger with almost as much horsepower as the 4.7 V8 in my Ram.  Totally amazing! Also a plus is the incredible fuel mileage, and a very smooth 6 speed transmission.  Minuses?  How ‘bout typical screamy 4 banger sound?  Wow, I coulda had a V8.

TRUNKSPACE/BODY COUNT

3 adults or 4 chillins. Rear seats fold down for extra long storage for when you’ve killed a basketball player. Inside-trunk safety release handle for trunk lid (better make sure they’re dead).

RIDE: 5 KRISPYKREMES

Even with myself as a passenger, smooth but not too soft. Well controlled, but not a race car.

Important: manboobs didn’t bounce once on any surface.

QUIET: 4 KRISPY KREMES

Front area real quiet, but rear noise from trunk noticeable because of the fold-down rear seats. Have your neighbor kid steal some Dynomat for you.
All in all, one great car for 21k, and with 2.9% for 5 years, with a 10 year warranty, it’s a no brainer. As we transferred our “stuff” from the Battlestar to the new car, I glanced back at the old car. She looked like an old warrior after her last stand.  Her headlights fogged and scratched like an old man’s cataracts, and some clear dings and scratches from a dozen or so Cylon battles. I will miss her. Thank you, Buick, for a car that took more abuse than it should have…and with hardly a whimper. It kept my family safe for 13 years. I can only hope the Hyundai is up to the task. 

Be warned Hyundai, I am prepared to update and drop you a Krispy Kreme when necessary.  Oh, and the five second rule applies. 

In one of the biggest news blackouts in history, we have brought to light a story that only the Daily Discord would dare to print.  Facts are slim, but how is that different from any other Discord post?

In case you were wondering, that giant blast of light that exploded across the night sky back on January 31st, wasn’t Balloon Boy flying out into space or even some of George Bush Senior’s thousand points of light. Instead, inside sources claim the infamous Bone Gang finally eliminated our solar system’s biggest threat… No, not The Crank, the planet Pluto itself! Those in the know, rightly call our 9th planet, Yuggoth, a sinister home planet (er, planetoid?) to the evil evolved fungi (er, fungtoids?), the Migo. This race, the Migo, have been a plague on mankind even longer than the Ghetto Shaman’s “barely legal spiritual retreats.” 

Treating humans no better than lab rats, the Migo have been known to conduct cruel experiments, such as removing the still living brains of humans and placing them in metal cylinders (as seen on Futurama).  They have also been known to utilize persistent telemarketing techniques to the same phone number for sinister solicitation purposes. Sometimes the Migo insert their consciousness into the voided skull. For Dave Atsals, and many of our politicians, the removing-of-the-brain part can be skipped. 

Still, you might be wondering how the Bone Gang pulled off this miraculous feat. They simply disguised their space going blimp as an asteroid and, after grabbing a few spare nukes from the Russian black market, they went all Ben Affleck at a free booze convention on their asses.

Since it is a matter of national security, we can’t tell you how Devo Devins managed to transport one nuke into the center of their fungus covered world of ice. Nor should we tell you how he dropped a second nuke on Cthulhu’s head when the Migo tried to summon this thing that should not be (other than Pierce Winslow). We can, however, tell you that Phillip Brownhurst has opened up a new chain in Cambridge Mass, which features a Cthulhu burger with a side of fungus fries.

So what is next on the Bone Gang’s agenda? This is obviously a well-kept secret. There are rumors of a Bone for President campaign, circling in certain nefarious circles. But an anarchist in the White House? It can’t be any worse than what we’ve been dealing with over the last decade. There are many that would love to see America Boned. Others have concern over my wishes to change our currency to read, ‘In Yig We Trust.’

For those confused by this sensationalistic Lovecraftian rant, all of your questions will be answered in my new book, The Chronicles of Jack Primus.  Or, maybe not.  But this cheap shameless plug is real enough. And, yes, for posting this I will buy you a beer, Zano.  You cheap bastard!

Hey, if anyone else wants to promote their work on the Daily Discord, it’s simple.  Press the Contact button on our website, CEO Pierce Winslow will promptly relay the message to Mick Zano, who will immediately lose it and then presto!  Nothing.

Jupiter before and after going on the South Belt Diet

Jupiter has recently lost its south equatorial belt after just 5 months on the new “South Belt Diet” (SBD).  Experts report that Jupiter has lost over 330,000 km of belt in just over 140 days (that’s over 5.2 billion belt holes to you and me!). When asked what inspired him to make such drastic life changes, Jupiter said, “Two words, bitches: Kevin Smith.  I don’t want something like that to happen to me.” In late 2009, after many years of self-doubt and lamenting, Jupiter stepped out of the public eye and checked into one of the Universe’s premier weight loss institutions for planets.  Earlier this week, Jupiter emerged from the clinic a new planet—a leaner and meaner planet, ready to face the world. In a press conference today, Jupiter had this to say, “I was tired of being described as the largest planet in the Solar System. I was always teased as a kid by the other planets.  They’d say things like “you’re so fat you have your own solar system,” or they’d call me “Two-piter.”  And how would you like to be categorized as the largest gas giant? Jovian planet, my ass.  Pluto was the worst.  I was glad when the little shit was downgraded to a dwarf planet.  One of these days, one of these days, Pluto…bang, zoom, to the Ort Cloud!  They even have a scientific name for me; they call me an oblate spheroid, because of the massive bulge around my equator.  Well, what are you going to call me now, you lab-coat-wearing bastards!” “Anyway, now I feel much better. I have a lot more energy.  I’m looking good and I’m ready to bear it all.  Thanks to my SBD plan, I’m not embarrassed of my shape anymore.  In fact, I may even cast off a couple smaller satellites in order to celebrate!” Jupiter does admit to being a little self conscious about the bruise where Shoemaker-Levy 9 blasted his outer atmospheric layers in 1994, and despite consistent dermatological appointments and ointments his big red spot remains, quite big and quite red. “But overall, I feel great.  Besides, I might just have my largest moon, Ganymede, hover over the thing when the next NASA probe swings by.   The bitch owes me.” When Saturn was asked if he would follow Jupiter’s lead in displaying his heavenly body, Saturn had this to say, “Are you nuts? If I lose too much weight, my great ring could slip right the fuck off!  If that fat slob of a planet wants to expose himself, that’s his business.  Me, I’m going to turn the other hemisphere.”  Venus offered to give Jupiter a free makeover in order “to take full advantage of his new look.” Uranus and Neptune both commented on Jupiter’s backside view and said, “he’s looking fine.” Mars shouted obscenities, “I kicked your ass when you were a fat slob, and I’ll kick it again now!  If it weren’t for that damned asteroid belt, I would come over there and beat the methane out of you!” Mercury was in too much of a hurry to comment, and Earth was too sick and anemic to comment beyond a couple of weak coughs, followed by the spitting up some petroleum products. Jupiter stated that he’s petitioning the Sun for a new contract deal and is seeking compensation for his 5 month absence.  The Sun responded with an angry solar flare that disrupted television signals all over Earth.  It then threatened to supernova if Jupiter didn’t shut the hell up and get back in orbit.

Caved-in-Shack, AZ—Something deeply disturbing is happening in Arizona.  No, I’m not talking about Janet Brewer, Immigration laws, or Mick Zano’s naked bar crawls….I’m talking about something reaaalllly disturbing.  Back when I was shelling out ten bucks a bag in New Orleans for mini-lobsters known as crawdads, how could I have known a few years later these same bastards would be on the verge of destroying my state’s ecosystem?

In case you are unaware, crayfish or crawdads are not native to the states west of the Rockies, like funding for education and the arts.  Over the years, scores of intrepid crawdads died trying to traverse the Rockies.  Most eventually gave up and settled in Denver to open microbreweries…very small ones, obviously, or micro-microbreweries.

In a similar manner to the republican migration, crawdads have crept into the southwest and have invaded our delicate ecosystem with their big trucks and their wild tea parties. These evil little beasts have infected the streams and lakes in every part of my home state—not to mention their racially charged immigration bills.

Similar to the red state’s pro-Christian stance, many of these crayfish were introduced through a misconception of facts. A statewide program for seventh-graders had the children studying these, nearly impossible to kill, cockroaches from hell. Then, at the end of the school year, in a truly misguided attempt at environmentalism, teachers had their students dump this destructive invasive species into every stream and pond across our fair state.  This is why eco-friendly people are often only slightly more devastating to our planet than the Sarah Palin’s of the world.  Hey, maybe Sarah can shoot crawdads from her chopper?

Once in our formally tranquil waters, these demonic (yet tasty) crayfish begin to devour everything in their path, much like laws enacted by our governor’s red pen.  Soon all aquatic life is killed off.  After this eradication comes the demise of all plant life. Without plants there is nothing to recycle to carbon dioxide other than algae—not to mention, there’s nothing to smoke. This turns clear streams and lakes into murky dark pools, where the crawfish now have no choice other than to eat each other in a dark cannibalistic frenzy, not dissimilar to Zano’s naked bar crawls.

As a follower of Yig, I find the loss of frogs and other amphibians across our state the most depressing aspect of this crustacean invasion. Even the most selfish swimmer cannot be enjoying a wade into the murk with crawfish nipping at your toes, unless they’re trying to save money on a pedicure.

So what can we do to stem the tide of evil and death that is sweeping over the west? The answer is simple. All crawfish must be boiled alive and eaten, preferably with butter sauce.  Boil that crayfish, boil that crayfish. Boil! Boil!  Devour those selfish shellfish, munch on those crusty-aceans, cook those lobster mobsters, can those crabby…I’m being told to stop.

It is only fitting that we, the species responsible for started this plague, sacrifice our time to eat as many of these delicious morsels as possible. It’s a rough job, but sometimes sacrifices must be made. And, if such sacrifices involve eating endless piles of buttery white meat that tastes like lobster, then so be it.

Leave no stone unturned!  (Literally.)

So, my fellow Americans, pick up your nets, your traps, your spears, and maybe some of those concealed handguns, and let’s go crawdadding!  Book your Coconino County Crawdad Chopper Safari with Alex Bone today!

The Earth’s North Magnetic Pole has been guiding navigation for well over a thousand years. Some of the earliest known maps depicting the approximate location of the Earth’s northern pole placed it just off modern day Murmansk. Not to be confused with singer/actress Ethel Mermansk. The exact location of the pole was first discovered by James Clark Ross in 1831 at Cape Adelaide on the Boothia Peninsula in Northern Canada (while playing hockey naked).

Magnetic North, as you probably know, has never been equivalent to the rotational North Pole.  In 1539 magnetic north was located in Mermansk, which is in Northern Russia, and in 1831 it was located in Northern Canada.  You may be asking, what the heck is going on here? Or just: “You idiots at The Daily Discord are geologically challenged!” Well, wait just a darn minute.  It’s geography, not geology for starters…and since its discovery in 1831, there have been several expeditions to verify its location. The most recent continual measurements were conducted by the Canadian government, who may or may not have been playing hockey naked (hint: you should never combine ice skate blades with an unbridled Zamboni).

Those expeditions and measurements have found that the Earth’s North Magnetic Pole is moving, and fast.  So fast, in fact, that in the 20^th Century alone it moved over 1,000 kilometers (~700 miles).  That’s about as far as Kevin Smith can fly with Southwest Airline, before being booted off his connecting flight.  Recent measurements confirm that our magnetic pole’s rate of movement is actually accelerating at an alarming rate. Does the Earth’s magnetism have anything to do with the engineers at Toyota?  Such an absurd notion may be closer than you think…

In 1970, the rate of movement of the magnetic north pole was 9 km/yr (~5 miles/yr).  Between 2001 and 2003, its average rate of movement was over 41 km/year (~25 miles/year)! No one seems to have any explanation for this anomaly….until now.  No, I’m not talking about the Ghetto Shaman’s Mayan ancestors swooping in from the center of the galaxy. The skilled scientists here at The Daily Discord do have a viable explanation. It’s a historical fact that magnetic north, when initially discovered, was located in the Eastern Hemisphere within the Arctic Circle.  Since that time, it has been slowly moving westward.  Why?  Simple: ferrous metal (not to be confused with hard rock playing weaselly rodents).

The highest concentrations of human society were located in the Eastern Hemisphere when magnetic north was first discovered.  Subsequently, the Industrial Revolution in England and Europe from the 1600s through the 1900s resulted in large quantities of ferrous metal that ultimately skewed the location of magnetic North (this time, quite by coincidence, I am talking about hard rock playing weaselly rodents). Since magnetic North wasn’t exactly located until 1831, there was no hard data available to support that indication.

Fast forward into the early 1900s. Not too fast—I was drinking last night.  In the 1900s development in the U.S. was growing at a rapid rate.  By the mid 1900s, the large amount of ferrous metals, then concentrated in the U.S., had been “pulling” magnetic North into the Western Hemisphere.

In the past several decades, China has been growing out of control. The large and increasing concentration of ferrous metals in China are now rapidly “pulling” magnetic North further westward, beyond the influence of the U.S. and its corporate lobbyists.

What’s next, you ask?  By the year 2030, all compasses on Earth will point to Beijing.  You can bet on it. And my second prediction: all blogs will be pointing toward The Discord. 

Since 1999 more than 2000 Toyota and Lexus owners have reported that their vehicles spontaneously began accelerating out of control, resulting in 19 deaths in 815 crashes, numerous injuries, and millions of dollars in property damage. The Toyota Motor Sales Company has blamed these incidents on everything from faulty floor mats to sticky gas pedals. However, the CTS Corp. of Elkhart, IN, manufacturer of the gas pedals, reports that none of the crashes have been linked to their product, a claim supported by the fact that these pedals weren’t used by Toyota until 2005. So what is going on here, aside from one of the greatest up-ass smoke-blows of all time?

Many industry experts have accused Toyota of feeding the American public a red-herring and of covering up the truth. They blame a hereto unannounced flaw in the electronic, drive-by-wire throttle systems in the modern Toyota automobile.  The Daily Discord has uncovered evidence that the not-so-recent rash of runaway Toyotas is not linked to defective floor mats, sticking accelerators, nor any bug in any software, but rather something much more demonic.

In 1983, the documentary Christine detailed the rise and fall of the possessed 1958 Plymouth Fury responsible for the deaths of many dick-headed teenaged bullies, as well as hot chicks, school personnel, and innocent bystanders (not unlike a typical Ghetto Shaman retreat). In the end, good won out when Christine was turned into a cube and crushed. However, we were all witness to foreshadowing of the return of that rampant roadster by that still-twitching piece of chrome trim. What they didn’t show us is what happened to Satan’s scrap as the cameras faded to black.

The Discord’s own Cokie McGrath followed a paper trail leading from the wrecking yard where Christine was cubed to the foundries of the Toyota Jidōsha Kabushiki-gaisha Corporation, known more commonly as Toyota. Apparently the Japanese, not to be outdone by the Chinese warm-war against the US, has devised its own plan to quietly eradicate the American citizenry. Instead of manufacturing toys with lead paint, drywall impregnated with mold, tainted vegetables, or buying our country one bond at a time, the Japanese government, in cooperation with Toyota Motor Sales USA, have devised a more devious and direct approach. They have designed their vehicles to be not just gas-electric hybrids, but paranormally engineered auto-demonic hybrids (PEADH).

Reports indicate that the still twitching block of steel, the last remnant of the now infamous Christine, was melted and diluted into thousands of tons of Japanese steel, all, coincidentally, purchased by Toyota Motor Sales, USA. This steel was slipped into production lines at Toyota’s US foundries years later, once the company had solidly established itself as the most trusted, and leader in US auto sales. The result: roads overrun with cars trying to run us over.

It is estimated that Toyota has released some 4 million of these crazed cars into the general population. Why are they doing this? Is it backlash from not removing our army bases? Are they still pissed about that whole atomic bomb, generations of birth defects thing? Have they just been driven mad by having their cities destroyed by Godzilla so many times? And how do we deal with this situation? It is thought that the only way to counter the effects of Lucifer’s low-rider is to re-dilute the possessed pig-iron with an amalgam of Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang, Herby the Love Bug, and the Partridge Family bus. However, herding together four million of Hell’s hatchbacks for a massive meltdown may prove to be problematic. In the mean time, the next time you hear “We Belong Together” from behind you, in scratchy mono and bad AM, run for the hills.

Good night and good luck.

A mysterious hand from the future has once again stymied the Large Hadron Collider at CERN, conveniently located on the border of SwitzerFrance.  Well, perhaps it’s not the hand of the future, but the large intestine of the future.  LHC scientists reported start-up of the LHC has, once again, been delayed as a result of unforeseen circumstances.  A year and a half ago it was a mysterious electrical failure, a few months ago it was a baguette-carrying bird.  Now, it seems, refried beans are the culprit.

“Vell, ve had zis celebration party ze ozer day, and zer vaz ze, how you say,  refried bean burrito?” said one obviously French person.   The next morning the control room was reportedly “a buzz wiz ze gas bubbles.” 

“It brought me back to my old Bubble Chamber days at BHL,” stated another, less obviously French person.  “Those boys could really ratchet up the methane.” 

Various sources attested that the celebration was “a real blast,” but that the atmosphere in the control room the next morning was “qvite toxic.”         

Apparently, the combination of methane and hydrogen sulfide being off-gassed by the control room operators that morning was sufficient to knock out several key sensors in the control room, which subsequently led to massive systems failures, some lightheadedness among the operators, and ultimately a complete shut down of the LHC.

Rumors are spreading the LHC will never be operational again, because it is being deliberately sabotaged from the future.  David Tennent, the star of the popular Doctor Who series has been questioned by authorities.  The first Dr. Who has also been questioned, as well as all of the surviving members of the original Doctor Who series.  Several other Time Lords are also the focus of the investigation, including Scott Bakula from Quantum Leap, the entire cast from Sliders, and the unusually intelligent dog, Mr. Peabody, from the old Rocky & Bullwinkle cartoon. 

The CERN physicists have not ruled out a divine intervention from God (him or her)self and are calling this a “negative miracle” so to speak.  The connection between a negative miracle and dark matter is only theoretical but may involve drinking several liters of warm Tab Cola on an empty stomach.  The Discord was unable to get any comment on this “negative miracle” theory from the Pope (who refuses to comment), but a lower ranking individual did indicate that the Vatican would be open to an investigation into whether or not God, or any of his archangels, did indeed have a hand in the LHC demise.  The Discord staff assumes the Vatican would level any and all appropriate charges in the event there is verified malfeasance and bring Him or Her to justice.

Dick Cheney added “If God is behind this, he is not a citizen of the United States, so He/She should face a military tribunal and then He/She should be tortured repeatedly for information.”

Cheney believes that since God is omnipotent this might take considerable time, but the operation is crucial to U.S. security for highly classified reasons.

Meanwhile, CERN officials indicate it could be months before the LHC is up and running again and it may be even longer before food is allowed in the control room.