Dear Arab World,

I imagine, what with our President announcing a planned withdrawal of American forces from Iraq and Afghanistan, that you must be absolutely beside yourselves. There must be a part of you, however, that nags the back of your mind, a part that wonders if it could really be possible, if it could really be over.

Image by drinksmachine

Silly Arab World, do you really think we became the Great Satan by giving up? What, do you think we’re like the Russians, carting in truckloads of expendable soldiers from our oppressed satellite states just to pull out because we ran out of money? We don’t have expendable soldiers or oppressed satellite states, and we don’t run out of money.

I have in my possession a token, a talisman of your undoing. It is a dark portent from the sands of ancient Babylon itself, acquired in the fertile crescent between the Tigris and Euphrates rivers and brought here, to my American home, at great personal risk and expense to be gloated over, chortled at and mocked. It is a blue baseball hat bearing the embroidered words: “Burger King Iraq”.

Indeed. You have already lost. There are Burger King franchises in Iraq, likewise Seattle’s Best, Subway Sandwiches, smoothie parlors, ice cream chains…

Image by eesti

It’s only a matter of time now before Arab children are asking their mothers why dinner is never as good as a Happy Meal.

Double cheeseburgers. Khakis. Marlboro Reds. Coca Cola. Summer action blockbusters. Iced lattes. Nike. Hip Hop. Xbox. Simpsons reruns.

Your souls, so well girded against sin, are completely defenseless against convenience and affordable quality.

French fries. Poker nights. Red Bull. Reebok. Abercrombie. Drive-Thru everything.

Your ancient culture, so stalwart against invasion, has already been unalterably infiltrated by the juggernaut of mass appeal. Just like Japan to McDonald’s and the French to Disney, you too shall fall to the free market. We have already accomplished all we came to do.

by Alan Cordova

Your spirits remain Allah’s, your dinars shall belong to us.

Still rockin’ in the Free World,

Brian

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In Parts I-III (available for viewing) I offered to dispose of the Humane Society’s unadoptable pets by feeding them to my python. After prolonged negotiations, we have agreed not to pursue the option for now. Here are our final communications:

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Dear Ms. XXXXXX,

It is very clear through our conversations that you treat the animals under your care with the utmost regard and consideration, even after their passing, and I hope the community realizes what a wonderful institution they have in the San Diego Humane Society.

I notice from your last email that you often have pet owners with specific wishes concerning their pet’s remains. Perhaps were you to inform them of my snake and me, and the service we provide, they might be interested. It would be like a little piece of their beloved companion lived on in my python, and people could find that comforting. They might also be interested in paying just to witness the spectacle, as it can be quite an arresting and graphic display of adaptive physiology.

What do you think? More options available to the bereaved can’t be a bad thing…

Sincerely,
Brian

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Image via Wikipedia

Dr. Doug says that the earth is naturally heating up regardless of mankind and this will inevitably lead to an Ice Age where we all die in a nifty 10,000-foot high block of Ice.

Image via Wikipedia

So I said to the good doctors, “Look Docs, I have been told by a very reliable source that burning to death is extremely painful… actually… come to think of it how many times could Carl have possibly been burned to death? Once at most… but then he’d be dead. It is possible that my source is completely un-reliable. So… please disregard what I just said and replace it with, burning to death seems like it might possibly be very painful, though I have no evidence of this fact aside from what I have seen in movies with witches, stakes and angry flaming mobs.”

by Robert Couse-Baker

The doctors then spent twenty minutes getting me to elaborate on what I meant by flaming mobs. That’s what it’s like with scholarly types; you have to really be specific with your words. Eventually they let me continue, “…and have any of you ever had to put Ice on a swollen groin? It shrinks the Jesus from your Jimmy. My point here is, you have given the world only two options, possibly painful death, or worse, a society plagued with frosted mini peckers and unsatisfied women. What we need is not arguments, but solutions!”

After icing each other’s groins and screaming in panicked realization, the doctors said:

1. Protect the ice caps
2. Use less fuel
3. Encourage nature
4. …and most importantly, stop volcanoes

Let’s all do what we can to help the environment by doing one of the above!

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So in Part I (available for viewing), I offered to help the Humane Society dispose of unadopted animals by feeding them to my python. Here in Part II, I post their response and address their reservations:

Dear Mr. Henley,

Thank you for contacting the San Diego Humane Society &SPCA.  Your concern regarding unadoptable pets and the stress of our staff is truly commendable and I appreciate your thought.  We strive to offer all of the animals we work with as much dignity as possible, in life and after. Therefore, any deceased animals we have are transferred to an animal memorial park.  The remains are then treated as the pet owner has requested, or they are cremated and buried at sea.   Please also understand that sodium pentobarbital may have been give to some of these animals to hasten their passing, and this drug would not be safe for your snake to consume.

Thank you again for your care and concern.

Sincerely,

XXXXXXXX, RVT

Animal Receiving Manager

San Diego Humane Society & SPCA

Dear XXXX,

I applaud your efforts in treating your animals with as much dignity as possible. I would argue, however, that there can be no more dignified an end than perpetuating the grand circle of life; giving the energy and nutrition of your very body to sustain another fellow being. And as for the sodium pentobarbital, I have coincidentally been building my snake’s resistance to it for quite some time.

Please consider,

Brian Henley

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Top Ten: Weirdest Poorly Translated Fortune Cookies:

1: “May you have ice cream in your pocket always”

2: “Quiet moments end in nosebleed”

3: “Wisdom falls upon you like whore urine”

4: “Never stop putting children within you”

5: “Strangers are just guests in your garage”

6: “Happiness is buried at the center of the sun”

7: “Calm lakes hide a dirty bottom”

8 “Chairman Mao stole my kidneys”

9 “The willow bows to the wind and the gas passes quietly”

10 “Fried Hamster Birthday!”

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LETTER SENT TO VARIOUS HUMANE SOCIETY OFFICES

Dear Humane Society;

I know that despite your best efforts, some companion animals are not adopted and need to be put down. I imagine the process must be very difficult for staff, and is probably quite expensive.

I own a large python. I have been feeding it feeder rats from a local pet store, but it occurs to me that I could spare your staff the trauma and expense (and save a few dollars myself) were we to work out a symbiotic arrangement. Please let me know what you think.

Sincerely,

Brian

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Herblein Steinsteen, his self-given name, called Herblein by friends he held close,
Of which he had none, for it seems everyone who got near him lay dead as a post.
He carried a deep dark secret did he, for ne’er did he once wish to harm.
And kind though he was he stayed hidden in fear, using owls as a howling alarm.

T’was this very secret consuming his thoughts on a dank and windy Halloween,
When our hero, Herblein, heard a knock at his door made of tin, retractable, clean.
“Hello?” whispered Herblein toward the sound of the knock, speaking nervous as penguins in sand.
“I’ve come with good news,” said the voice from the door it was deep, it was cold, it was bland.

“Leave, oh please leave!” Cried our tales leading man, “If we meet you’ll be sure to find doom.”
“It is doom that I seek, from a man they call Herblein, the one with the bucket and broom.”
“Then check somewhere else for though Herblein I be, I carry a bucket with towels.”
“Let me in silly friend you’re the one I that seek, I know, for I followed your owls.”

Then silently, patiently, carefully still, with regret in each step of his stride,
He opened the door and gazed upon death as a man clad in tweed stepped inside.
“I know your true name, and I’ve come for my prize, for surely your time is now through,
You’ve hidden and cleaned while I searched floor to beam, through factories, buildings and stew.”

“You shall never have me,” then Herblein declared, though the reaper in tweed merely laughed,
“Have you really forgotten the deal that you made when you handed our father your staff?”
“The time I was given, ten years, was too short, for I loved and I married and more,
But the curse of my hands and the skill of my blood made my love pass in death to the floor.”

“I’ve brought her, you know,” said the image of Death, “She searches her father despite,
All the years disappeared and the heartache and fear can you hear her call out through the night?”
And he could, in the distance a voice pure as dawn, like a song through the sickening wind,
“Send her away!” Shouted Herblein in plead, “she’ll be killed if we let her get in!”

“Oh Herblein, you cow, you buffoon, you galoot! You insufferable sack of toupees!
Our father will not let a daughter of either of us live on earth to be raised.”
Then Herblein decided and suddenly deep in his brow one could notice a shift,
“It seems my dear brother an impasse has passed an un-breaking, unchangeable rift.”

‘If you must you can have me, my duties I’ll take and I’ll kill and I’ll reap once again,
My brother, I’ll do this but only if promised that age, not your hand make her end.
“I promise your daughter shall rise up to heaven as all other normal ones would,
Embrace me my brother and gather your scythe have a night with the Hallows you should.”

Then after their grip and a thunderous drip from the rain through the roof overhead,
Herblein and tweed changed to cowls with a bleed of bone white and the reek of the dead.
Not a moment had passed when a scream from a girl scarcely twelve came from out of the shed,
With the door opened wide all the child could but see was two faces of death and of dread.

Then much to the shock of our hero and also the girl standing cold in the rain,
The reaper in black, the brother, the killer, the other sliced blade toward pain.
A scream left her lips as the blade blistered down, but from fear as it turns was the wail,
For the reaper in white, the father, the carer, the savior blocked blade from impale.

A battle then raged between darkness and light, such a battle your eyes could but wonder,
For the speed of the movements, the sound of the clash would seem to be nothing but thunder.
And oh how it raged as the girl shivered low, when her grandfather entered the scene,
“My child it is time to be free of this place of the bonds of the Earth, of this dream.”

With the slash of a scythe, she fell to the floor though to heaven or hell we’ll not know,
And her grandfather laughed with a sickening chuckle, but his slash, from above, heard below.
With knowledge and purpose and pain on his side, the white reaper pushes to win,
The dark reaper howling in pain and in pieces a defeated and now useless twin.

Their father arrived with a look on his face that could only be measured as shock,
And Herblein, the reaper looked down at his father his bleached bones as biting as rock.
“A child from me you have taken, my father, and so that cruel favor’s returned.
Now know as you reap, as you hunt, as you sleep, an opponent has risen in turn.”

And off like a shot the white reaper flew free, his mission as clear as the air,
A battle he’d fight, between reaper and reaper, over deaths far too young to be fair,
While all are not won, he’s been known to win most of the wars to let each of them live,
The stubborn white reaper defending the children, a gift from his daughter to give.

So now as you sleep little children take heart, if you hear a dull creak or a whine,
A father protects you, a father like yours, her father, the reaper, Herblein.

By kadaj2127

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by kor.toni.

Top Ten: Hoaxes Richard Heene Considered before going with the Balloon Idea

10: “My boy has been carried away by flying monkeys!”

9: “My boy was a puppet brought to life, then almost turned into a donkey, and is now in the belly of a whale!”

8: “Maybe if I hid the kid in the attic with a microphone and threw a speaker down a well…”

7: “I have a rare disease for which the only cure is national attention.”

6: “I could just go around the country yelling ‘Fire!’ in crowded theatres. But how would that exploit my children?”

5:“I’m the real Jaycee Dugard!”

4: “Maybe if I told everybody Mayumi was having eight kids at once…”

3: “My boy has been turned into a giant blueberry by a maniacal candy manufacturer!”

2: “Perhaps I could work towards accomplishing something that’s actually worthy of media coverage! Oh no wait, I forgot, I’m a goddamn joke of a man.”

1: “The KKK took my baby away.”

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It’s been a while since Poon and I have fired up the modem and dialed into CompuServe, but we have a good reason why.

Steel yourselves, good friends, because this is a chilling tale of love, adventure, and the petting zoo at the Kansas State Fair. My Agoraphobics Anonymous arranged a group outing to the fair as a kind of “hazard drill”. After all, if we could make it in that environment, he mused, we could make it anywhere. I told him I wasn’t comfortable with that and he said “get in the Astrovan you nutty-ass douche!” (we have fun nicknames for each other – I call him “Sir”!) So I jumped in and away we went.

The state fair is like Rock Music: a scary devil’s buffet of overpowering sights, sounds and smells. I’m hazy about this next part. There were clowns. A guy with really greasy hair wanted me to throw darts at something. A rubenesque woman was waving a corn-dog at me, and a lot of people were pointing at me. I don’t know what the big deal was: hadn’t they seen a full grown man reduced to snotty tears running through a midway screaming “protect me Jesus” at the top of his lungs before?

It was by accident that I strayed into the livestock area, and that’s where I saw him: Blaze, the World’s Most Serious Horse.

Image Courtesy of soylentgreen23

Our eyes met, and I instantly knew what it meant to have the devil punch you in the naughty bits. A fire raged within him, the kind that grabs you by the short hairs. I screamed, “What do you want from me, Devil?!”

He said nothing. What a cool customer. Every terrible experience I’d ever had came rushing to the front of mind, and I knew he was up to one of his horse mind tricks. But I’m not fooled so easily, friends. I did the only thing I could – I passed out and woke up a week later in the hospital.

Guess that’ll teach me to leave the house ever again for any reason what so ever!

Regards,

Richard

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