76 search results for "Rome"

Pope Tells Altar Boys to “Get the Flock Out of Here”

Pope Tells Altar Boys to "Get the Flock Out of Here"

Vatican, Rome—Pope Benedict, The Whatsas, astounded everyone today by announcing that altar boys will no longer be used throughout Catholicism.  From this day forward, the Vatican plans to employ only altar girls.

“Since our priests can’t seem to be trusted to keep their hands off the testaments of little boys, we had little choice,” said the Pope. “A recent internal survey found that young ladies are much safer from abuse around our current spokesmen of God.”

Pope Eggs Benedict explained his gaffe as simply an attempt at jocularity.

 “You’re supposed to start off with a joke, right?  Heh, heh.  But we certainly don’t want altar boys out of the flock entirely, especially with business as bad as it is and all.”

Alex Bone believes the serpent god,Yig, is much safer around children than Christian priests, “Besides, Yig can only swallow one child at a time.”

Republicans point out this could save the taxpayers countless therapy dollars, so they, bi and large, support the One Child’s Engulfed Behind Program.

Crank on the Super Bowl

The Crank

The guys in the white hats finally won out over the guys with the black hats. Good has triumphed over evil, yet again. No, I ain’t talking about the final score, per se. I am talking about three particular players that had a lot to do with the score. And, believe it or not, one of these players wasn’t even in the game.  

My hat is off to Aaron Rodgers, for many reasons—not the least of which was sitting around in Green Bay, Wisconsin for many years (which I’m sure has its redeeming qualities, like cold, and snow, and wet, and, boring, and, well, being so chock full of northiness). He was probably told years ago by the powers that be that he should be content to hang around for a “little bit.” You see, he was the heir to Brett Faaaaahv-re (beans and a dry Chianti).

“How long can he last?” they said.

“One more season and he’s finished,” they said.

“Any day now” they said.

Yeah, well, that picture of Brett in his basement was getting older by the second.

So he sat around with his thumb up his ass, clip board in the other hand, waiting for Brett to die, for he knew he wasn’t leaving under normal circumstances. Finally the day came. The clouds parted, a light shown upon Aaron as the angelic choir sang. He was now in charge. Little did he know that Mr. Sexting should have quit then. Aaron was sure to be LMAO and LOL and even a little OMG. We all found out that Mr. Look-up-to-me-for-I-am-holier-than-thou was just another rich boy with more money than IQ points—complete with a last name that few can pronounce.  Oh, and less respect for women than he has for his Wrangler Jeans. He was now an official member of the Should-have-quit-while-I-was-ahead Idiots Club.

After working his ass off, who does Aaron end up against in the Super Bowl? Why, Mr. Perp hisself, Big Ben Where’s-da-white-women-at’ Roethlisberger. With even mo money and less IQ than Brett, poor Aaron must have been asking “Why God?” Even ex-Steelers quarterbacks and chrome dome Terry Bradshaw have no use for him, and even said so. When Born Again ex-Cardinal’s quarterback Kurt Warner said that Ben was not Hall of Fame material, we all knew his reasoning.

He was the one chosen to beat this juggernaut called the Steelers.  And he was the one to show Mr. Sexting that he spent one too fucking many seasons as a quarterback. And “the perp” had his ass handed to him on a silver platter. For those things, I am glad.

Oh, but perhaps more importantly, the commercials all sucked. $3M for 30 seconds?  That’s more than Jolie charges (or so I’m told).  The Discord only sends me a case of Coke once a year for endless entertainment?  By the way…where’s my Coke this year, Winslow? 

These companies should have rolled the money into cigars and smoked them for all the business these commercials will bring in. Madison Avenue at its finest. They are all more interested in the Clio Awards than what happens as a result of their follies.

Which brings me to my biggest pet peeve—no it’s not Zano this time.  No cheerleaders?  Really? What Mensa member made that decision?  This is home to the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders and I gotta watch the dance of the drunken John Goodman’s?

 “Let’s just show all the fat drunk guys with their naked frozen bellies painted…yeah, that should do the trick.”  Hurp Durp.

Most watched TV show of all time?! Good. More people need to see good triumph over evil. Kinda’ like the opposite of Washington DC. I think from now on, in order to get a multimillion dollar contract, the players should have an IQ test. And we need to enforce the current clauses in these contracts with more than just a slap on the ass.

Crank

A Cranky Morning in New York

The Crank

It seems as though the powers that be in New York decided to wrongly arrest over 120 honest Italian-American businessmen for so-called organized crime connections. Thanks to the New York Village Voice here are some of those patriots:

VINCENT AULISI, also known as “The Vet” due to his love for animals.

GIOVANNI VELLA, also known as “John Vella,” “Mousey” and “Little John” named after a hero from Robin Hood.

DENNIS DELUCIA, also known as “Fat Dennis,” aka “Little Dennis” aka “the Beard”.  Church every Sunday with the kids.

LUIGI MANOCCHIO, also known as “Baby Shacks,” aka “The Old Man,” aka “the Professor.”  He loved Gilligan’s Island (perhaps too much)

ANTHONY DURSO, also known as “Baby Fat Larry” aka “BFL.”  Still a kid at heart

JOHN HARTMANN, also known as “Lumpy,” aka “Fatty” aka “Fats” with a heart as big as his stomach.

Etc and so forth.  Now, seeing as how the real criminals of this country are not honest businessmen from Canarsie Brooklyn, but reside or work in Washington D.C. The list of the top twenty nicknames are as follows:

  1. Barack “Obozo” Obama for embezzling 3 trillion dollars from his employer
  2. Joe “Joey Trenchmouth” Biden for single handedly raising healthcare costs by having to have his foot surgically removed from his mouth daily at the ER (so would it be single footedly?)
  3. Rahm “Deadfish” Emmanuel for protection rackets (also not wanted in Chicago)
  4. Nancy “Nancy Botox” Pelosi for sheer stupidity
  5. House Majority Leader John “Johnny Fake & Bake” Boehner for crying under the influence
  6. Representative Barney “Backdoor Barney” Frank for prostitution
  7. Senator John “The Cryptkeeper” McCain for talking out of both sides off his mouth
  8. Secretary Hillary “hairyleggs” aka “pant suit” Clinton
  9. Secretary Janet “The Dikenator” Napolitano for lying on her resume
  10. Attorney General Eric “Mr. Winfrey” Holder for high treason
  11. Newt “Geico” Gingrich for bad hair
  12. Senator Joe “Joey Switchhitter” Leiberman for being invariably wrong on both sides of the aisle
  13. Press Secretary Robert “Smuggy Bear” Gibbs for truth stretching
  14. Senior Advisor David “Trust Me” Axelrod for lying to his employers (us)
  15. Secretary of The Treasury Timothy “Timmy Tax Shelter” Geithner for tax evasion
  16. Secretary Of Education Arne “Short eyes” Duncan for pedophilia
  17. Representative Anthony “Tony Ticked Off” Weiner for insulting his Jewish heritage and other hate crimes
  18. Karl “Connie Chrome Dome” Rove for blinding low flying aircraft
  19. Richard “Dickey Shotgun” Cheney, the ringleader of this crime family
  20. Federal Chairman Ben “Benny Big Pockets” Bernanke (guess)

Ask The Ghetto Shaman

Ask The Ghetto Shaman

Dear Ghetto Shaman,

Dude? Malt liquor products? What up wit dat?

Jason M.

Henderson, NV

Dear Jason,

I do suffer from a serious alement, a strange affinity to shitty beer that shamans refer to as Fecal Alcohol Syndrome (FAS).

The Ghetto Shaman

A 2010 Crank-Style Recap

The Crank

In 2010, the Libertard hoard provided an un-heavenly host of issues to crank upon: religion, socialism, political correctness, all of Mikko’s favorite topics. As the year comes to a close and the hoard has been overrun and ousted from at least one branch our government, thank God, the time has come to finalize some key points we should take away from 2010.

Muslims. I do blame all Muslims for the acts of a few. Why? Well, maybe because they fail to stand up to ‘the few’, or at the very least voice their repudiation of their atrocities. When the Catholic priests’ sex scandal was unearthed, the most vocal angry voices were those of other Catholics (and their Proctologists). When you ask Muslims to make a statement condemning a suicide bombing, you get CRICKETS.

In Europe (the big smiling-wrap-our-arms-around-everyone-like-good-little-progressive-lemmings assimilation experiment gone horribly wrong), they wanted not to assimilate into the countries they entered, they wanted those countries to bend to their ways, you know, I beat my wife, I kill my daughter, and the rest of those death to fun kind of hobby/interests.  Muslims are today’s Borg, just with ugly clothing instead of form fitting skin tight leathers and chrome headgear. You will be assimilated, not them. And, resistance is not just futile, it’s fucking deadly. It’s all in the “It’s Our Way Or The Highway” section of the Koran. Oh yeah, and their idea of music (the painful squeezing of balls while chanting over loudspeakers for the whole fucking city to hear) sucks a big wet one. Just once I want to sneak in to one of those Mosques and put AC/DC’s Hells Bells on full blast. Someone needs to fund this little project…ahm rollin thundah, ahm pourin rain, Ahm comin on like a hurricane…. They might leap ahead hundreds of years in their stunted evolution…or not.  But it would still be fun. 

Socialism: Epic Fail everywhere it has ever been tried. Can’t work. Evah (snap, head bob). Just look at Europe now. Not so nice. Young people everywhere protesting the fact they may actually have to work past 50, and pay their own way (whatta concept). The Nanny is dead (no, not her. I still want to do her. Nothing like waking up to the goose like cackle of Jewish women complaining, but I digress).

“I want my free shit in perpetuity, you find a way to fund it, or I’ll burn this city down!”  What socialism ended up being was: whole countries full of live-at-home teenagers who never left mom’s basement for their whole lives, and Mom and Dad moved out years ago without telling them. A word to liberal progressive bloggers and media: catch up with reality, or go away. And give the Universities back to Professors who want to TEACH, not brainwash. Zano is what happens in the latter case.

The Constitution:  Not dead yet, as Zano and his ilk (just what IS his ilk, anyway?) would have you believe.  It’s just hiding, afraid for its life. And rightly so. It just needs to be READ. Get to know it, like the funny uncle you always liked but were afraid to admit it to your parents. Then, get your Congress persons and Senate persons to read and understand it. And FIRE the ones who won’t, or don’t, or laugh at you for bringing it up!

P.C.  I’m fat, you’re an idiot. You’re (put your ethnicity here), I’m a fucking beige gorilla.

To quote the great Don Henley “a victim of this, a victim of that, your daddy’s too thin, your momma’s too fat, GET OVER IT, GET OVER IT!!”

It’s very important that we do not lose who we are. Diversity is truly wonderful, but it only really works if you’re diverse, not so much when you’re all fucking clones.

Happy friggin New Year

Crank

Goodstock: Three Months of Jobs, Growth, and Prosperity has Died

Rick Right Pernick

The recovery summer, the love child of Barack Obama and Joseph Biden, has gone to the big government program in the sky.  Little Stimuleena was only three months old.  There will be no open casket for this one, folks.  You could lose your lunch.  Oh wait, you can’t afford lunch anymore.  Nevermind.

A proud parent, Joseph Biden, announced Stimuleena’s birth on June 10th.   He expected her to have a full and rewarding life.  In spite of six weeks of milking the teets of taxpayers, the pork-fat that was consumed by the parents before, during, and after conception was apparently too much for the fetus to handle.

While most experts were skeptical Stimuleena could survive after birth, her parents were certain Obamacare would sustain her. Since the cost of medical care would no longer be an issue, the good taxpayers of America could pay dearly to sustain her.  After all, they had no choice.

Stimuleena is survived by her parents, Barack and Joseph; several god-parents, Rahm Emanuel, Christina Romer, Timothy Giethner, Nancy Pelosi, and Harry Reid; numerous step brothers and sisters that reside in the democrat party; but no siblings…yet.

With the advice of co-god-parent Christina Romer, Barack may be planning the birth of another recovery child fund fest, Lollapelosi?  This time they were advised to increase the fat, and milk the teets less, to improve the longevity of their next love-child beyond November 2012 (when Barack will be seeking his second term as president).  We do not yet know if Hillary Clinton will be solicited to be the surrogate mother, although nine out of ten mental health professionals are discouraging this move.

Services will be held in private, with Barack Obama not yet willing to publically accept the loss.  Stimuleena’s body will however be maintained in a cryogenic state alongside Walt Disney’s head, in the minute hope Obamacare will find a cure sometime in the Futurama.

Crankin on the 2011 Hyundai Sonata, or Captain Nemo, your ride is here

The Crank

Crankin on the 2011 Hyundai Sonata, or Captain Nemo, your ride is here

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.

Crankin on the 2011 Hyundai Sonata, or Captain Nemo, your ride is here

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. 

Gibson Admits His Portrayal on South Park is “Eerily Accurate”

Gibson Admits His Portrayal on South Park is "Eerily Accurate"

Malibu, CA—Actor and director Mel Gibson has finally admitted to the press that his depiction on the popular comedy show South Park is “dead on.”  Gibson went on to explain that he really is the “crazy, ranty, racist nut job as seen on TV.”  He admits he does wear Braveheart war paint around the house and he does, in fact, shit all over cartoon characters in an “eerily similar manner to those South Park episodes.”

Dr. Sterling Hogbein, of the Hogbein Institute and Gun Shop, released this statement, “Gibson’s defecation depiction as seen on South Park may be something decidedly Freudian.” 

Meanwhile, the Rant Warrior went on to say, “You’d better not print that, Winslow, or I’ll burn your fucking house down!”

God responded by saying, “Too late, asshole.”

In God’s defense please see God Responds to Daily Discord’s “Draw Muhammad Day”.

Local animated character, Eric Cartman said several things unfit for print and then blamed his inappropriateness on a scorching case of childhood Tourette’s syndrome.

His friend Kyle Broflovski had this to say, “Oh my god, they killed Kenny!” He then added, “you bastards,” for good measure.

Kenny was unavailable for comment.  This may have been due to the fact his spine was protruding from his orange trench coat.  For the record, Mel Gibson denies killing Kenny and also denies being one of “those bastards.”

Zeus Claims Responsibility for Destroying Ohio Jesus Statue

Zeus Claims Responsibility for Destroying Ohio Jesus Statue

Athens, GR—Zeus, the supreme deity of Greek mythology, admitted to authorities today that he hurled the lightning bolt that destroyed the six-story Jesus statue off I-75 in Monroe, Ohio.

People who witnessed the incident claim, the clouds parted and then a large, partially clad Greek God yelled down, “Take that, you fucker!”

And then Jesus said unto him, “Father, why have you forsaken…oh, it’s not you this time.”

The statue then burst into flames and melted.

One witness claims Jesus said, “I’m melting, I’m melting,” but this parishioner later admitted her account may be distorted by consuming “way too much Blood of Christ and, oh, I had a little Captain in me.”

When asked why he did it, Zeus said, “It was originally Prometheus’ idea, the bloody pyro.”

Zeus also blamed his poor behavior on a childhood filled with abuse and neglect.

“My father, Cronus, was a real asshole.  The bastard ate all of my brothers, among other things.  You just don’t get over that…”

When asked if he was sorry for his actions, he said, “Jesus had it coming.  That wanker stole so much shit from, my boy, Dionysus, it ain’t funny.”

Stout and Java: the Next PB&J?

Mick Zano

Many years ago, when I saw the cast of Friends hanging out all night in some coffee shop, I thought, wow, here’s a fad that won’t last. I meant to say: Friends—an awful show—I knew coffee shops had a place in my future, in the same way that Jennifer Aniston and Courtney Cox probably did not.  I only came to appreciate coffee, and those gathering niches that serve it, after I actually owned the laptop myself.  Besides, what did we do in coffee shops before laptops?  Knit?

Back in the day, the only time I entered a coffee shop was nursing a hangover.  So, of course, my younger days of the barista were rather skewed, as I was typically nauseas, delirious, and often asked to leave.  Not too dissimilarly to the experience when frequenting bars the night before.  Heck, back then that was the usual routine to the Discord gang, when saddling up to any given establishment.  I only started getting into coffee and java joints later in life.  This transformation happened when my doctor said my liver was larger than some Greek Islands and that I might want to consider my own zip code for it.

On a business trip the other day, I drove about as far south as one can drive and still be in the U.S. and I ended up in a town called Bisbee—a little burg where Groom Lake (William Shatner, 2000) was filmed and the miserable flick was thankfully buried in a nearby mine shaft.  There are seven bars worth entering in Bisbee.  I know, because I went into all of em’. But they were mostly empty, aside from one where William Shatner was bullying tourists into booking with Price Line.  I even sent Winslow an email from the Copper Queen Hotel, where I sat outside sipping a 90 Shilling IPA.  I was writing that really awful faux article about the Polish plane crash. If Dante’s version of the afterlife is correct, then that politically incorrect yuck-yuck should drop me down a level or two.

My first thought upon rolling into town was, “Who the hell put Jerome, Arizona here?”

So, after my solo bar tour, I decided on a coffee crawl.  You see, as you get older, the headaches and hangovers don’t wait until the next morning.

The Bisbee Coffee Company did not disappoint.  A great Americano!  I don’t know if it’s Seattle’s influence or what, but the coffee out west beats the shit out of the east coast equivalent.  It’s strange, because in my NY family someone went to get the best bread, some else was sent to the best butcher, and someone else was sent to the best bakery…but then we drank watered down Maxwell House.  Why is good coffee so hard to come by in the, otherwise, land of plenty?  En route to the Bisbee Coffee Co., I was nearly run over by a biker gang.  While I hit the can, the bikers beat me to the counter, where I had to watch these leathery clad gents order a round of mocha latte crappachinos.  Real men drink espresso.

The barista asked, “leave room for cream?” and I immediately countered with “Whip cream is for burly biker types”

I got a rare laugh while I snuck a peak over my shoulder to make sure the bikers didn’t hear me.  After all, I will die for a good joke. I think there are few things people who know me would agree upon, that’s probably one of them.  Today, most people don’t get my humor.  OK, never mind, it’s always been like that.

Speaking of which, I bought a nice cigar in Prescott last week.  I always say last week.  It was probably in the seventies.  I watched the young lady behind the humidor masterfully clip off the end of my Ashton Churchill and then somehow slid that bitch right back into the thin plastic sleeve that it came in.

I said “Damn, I’ve never been able to master that maneuver.” 

She called security.

Now back in the day, Drew Carey had a show…forget the name of it.  Anyway, his beverage of choice was always some beer and java combo.  His motto was why not mix your favorite two things, or some such.  I tried that once—cost me two relationships.   The mixture of coffee and stout beer is actually growing in popularity and, at the time, I thought Drew Carey was mad.  Whatever happened to that guy anyway?  Wasn’t he kicked off a Southwest flight recently?  Anyway, about four years ago, (AKA the seventies) Otto’s Brewery in State College, PA started brewing a Sumatra stout.  Certain batches were amazing—one of the best beers I’ve ever had! My wife is not much of a beer drinker.  She prefers to hang out with whip cream toting Harley types.  But, boy, she could suck down those coffee stouts.  She could pound those puppies like Dick Cheney.  Dick doesn’t like beer much either, but he loves to pound puppies. 

As I sat in that Bisbee coffee shop, I wondered what would happen if you just mixed a stout with a coffee?  I really do think this way.  My neurologist says it’s due to head trauma and pot use, but that’s another story—a tale that ended with some chick breaking a skull bong over my head (which might explain a couple of things). I figured the best place to put this deductive gem into effect was in Prescott, as Flagstaff has a great coffee shop and a great brewery right across the street from each other.  But my experiment wouldn’t work there unless I wanted to practice my alchemy while avoiding oncoming traffic.  In Prescott there’s The Raven, which always has wonderful beer on tap and a great Sumatra coffee brewing (free refills).  So, in that same establishment, I would discover the true art of mixing a great stout with a superb cup of joe.  Fuck the brewing process.  It’s overrated anyway.  So, I will return to this article this Saturday at The Raven with a brew and a bold steamy cup in front of me.  See you at The Raven.  Never more… 

Well, here I am atop one of the greatest drinking establishments this side of the Rio Grande.  They recently opened up a roof top bar. Arggg! They don’t have any stouts on nitrous. Last time I was here, Max had more stouts on tap.  Stupid spring.  So I tried it with an imperial stout from Sierra Nevada and the Raven’s espresso.  I mixed a small sample of the concoction as not to wreck the whole drink and….here we go.

Er, I think I will try this again someday when they get the Left Hand Milk Stout back—an imperial stout just won’t cut it.  I need nitrous (who doesn’t, right?).  All right, that was not horribly inspiring…like most of my work.  Now what should I do?  I think I will mix flirting with alcohol.  Yeah, that’s the ticket.  Probably a better mix anyhow…