Just When You Thought You Were Safe from Rush Limbaugh...

In addition to having a token Jew here in the Canning Ops Division at Dole(I'm talking about Rebecca Goodman, who hasn't stopped yammering about her kid's effing Jedi costume like it's the most original fucking idea in the world, which it maybe was THIRTY YEARS AGO), we also have a token black guy, who has been here all along and was not just invented for the sake of this blog post, I swear to Zod.

His name, by a freak coincidence, is Rush Limbaugh. That's right - Rush Limbaugh is a big, husky black dude who likes to make off-color jokes about having sex with Rebecca Goodman's kids - the boy and the girl - which we all tolerate because it's the only thing that shuts Rebecca Goldman up. You have NO IDEA how hard it is to fall asleep on the job while Rebecca Goodman keeps yammering on about her kid's effing Jedi costume, which I am mentioning again because that's what Rebecca Goodman does, and I want to share the misery with you. Smokey equals spite for the win!

Anywhoop, here is what I just said to Rush Limbaugh The Black a few minutes ago, during the annual Hallowe'en jokey-joke fest that will be occurring in front of the coffee machine in the break room all the livelong day today: I said, "hey, Rush - isn't that the same costume you had on last year, or is it just that all your outfits look the same to me?" Chuckle chuckle chuckle gum disease.

Human Resources - or Human Re-SNORE-ces, as I call them, ha ha ha - just called me up for a meeting. Not sure what it's about, but I'm guessing that despite the rough economic circumstances, and despite the constant calls for budget restrictions and the threat of layoffs due to a sharp decrease in the consumption of canned goods*, they're probably going to give me a raise.

Fingers crossed, everybuzzy!

P.S. I came dressed as Rachel from Friends today. Weird coincidence that it happened to be Hallowe'en.

*This is actually not true. Because of their durability and their long association with camping, fallout shelters and other forms of apocalypse survival, the canned goods industry thrives in the worst economic climates. Canned goods are like the roaches of the food world, which is why, for a brief time during the 1970s, Dole experimented with adding a roach to its logo.

Is There No Depth to Which this Year's Crop of Candidates Will Not Stoop?

Ever since I stopped running the Oscar '08 campaign (for which I was beaten soundly with the Big O's trash can lid), I've been hearing a lot more about this Irish fellow named Barack O'Bama who's running for El Presidente, and this other guy named Sarah Palin, who is starring in the upcoming JJ Abrams Star Trek movie. No, wait - that's Zachary Quinto. Sorry, I keep getting them confused. I think it's the ears.

Anyway, you won't believe what these two guys are up to! Check out this headline about the O'Bama guy:

He left a trail for his ill grandmother? Seriously? Why didn't he just go see her? What kind of a jerk makes his sick grandmother get up from her death bed - in Hawaii, no less - to do a scavenger hunt to find him? Is he so busy running for president that he can't just take a couple of days away from the campaign and go visit her? What about her needs?

I think it's pretty shameless to keep trying to grab votes while you're ailing grandmother is chasing after your bread crumbs. But it's not the most shameless vote-grabbing effort this week - not by a long shot. Because it turns out that Sarah Palin is actually not a dude, but a chick! And that's not all. Check this out:


Amazingly, the video has since been removed. Go figure.

Obama was on TV? And I missed it? Wait, is he the black dude or the white dude? He is? And I MISSED IT?

W*** T** FUCK?

Well, I can't be the only one. I bet ABC can't wait for the Nielsen dials to come in tomorrow - this is probably going to be an EASY win for Pushing Daisies. Chuckle chuckle chuckle crap my pants.

Oh, and P.S. Gary Unmarried will return next week at its regular place and time. So you can exhale now, America.

Whew!

That was a great episode of Pushing Daisies! Can you believe that thing that happened with Ned and Emerson and Charlotte where they all got dressed up to play poker? Remember how funny it was? Ha ha ha funny!

What else did I miss on tv?

What a Day!

Okay, what the hell, New York City? What's with the kamikaze plastic ramekin that came spinning down the staircase at me in the 59th Street Station today, and then veered off toward the turnstile like it was trying to cut me in line (which is offensive) before crashing, disturbingly into a wall? It was like a little trapezoidal wheel of fear and death and plastic. I was scared!

Uhh!

Wow. I need to unwind. I'm gonna put on Pushing Daisies and relax for a little while.

-Smokey

This Week in Guns

Hello, fellow patriots and residents of the Great Trailer Park that is the U S of A!

Wilkommen and bienvenue to This Week in Guns: a celebration of freedom and God and the rootin'-est, tootin'-est, shootin'-est amendment in the Bill of Rights - that's right, I'm talking about good old Number Two.

In this week's edition of TWIG, we're doing some good old fashioned Jew-blaming. So put down the Stroh's and the Beretta, and take off those safety goggles, and let's get started!

Ah, who are we kidding - you don't use safety goggles, do you? But seriously, put down the gun and the beer, just so you don't accidentally shoot yourself in the drinking hand, spilling beer and blood all over your keyboard and destroying your ability to scroll down and read the rest of the Jew-blaming.

Not that gun accidents are for realsies. They're just a device used by the liberal media coastal elites to rob of us the freedoms guaranteed in the God-stitution. Which brings us to today's item:

Boy Accidentally Kills Himself With Uzi

(AP) An 8-year-old boy died after accidentally shooting himself in the head while firing an Uzi submachine gun under adult supervision at a gun fair.

The boy lost control of the weapon while firing it Sunday at the Machine Gun Shoot and Firearms Expo at the Westfield Sportsman's Club, Police Lt. Lawrence Valliere said.

The boy was with a certified instructor and "was shooting the weapon down range when the force of the weapon made it travel up and back toward his head, where he suffered the injury," a police statement said. Police called it a "self-inflicted accidental shooting."

more...

Let me be the first one to call bullshit on this story.

Are we honestly expected to believe that an eight-year-old kid, firing an Uzi under professional supervision, would have an "accident" like this? Ridiculous! Shooting guns is like the safest thing in the world, and every professional knows exactly what they're doing. Also, there are no accidents, only cleverly disguised conspiracies, which is why it's so important to have guns in the first place.

This has "Children of Israel" written all over it. Think about this, anyone who's skeptical: who manufactures the Uzi? I'll give you a hint: it starts with an "I" and ends with "srael Miltary Industries." I am optimistic that you can do the rest of the math yourselves.

The boy's name is not being released. But I think it's clear that he was no Einstein, since Einstein was a Jew and a pacifist and probably never would have picked up the gun in the first place. Which is fine, I guess, if that's how you want to live your life, Einstein, you pussy. Personally, I'd rather die in a blaze of glory at eight years old.

It's Not Easy Being Green

Hey, everybuzzy. Hi. How are you doing. I hope you're okay.

Sigh.

So Oscar the Grouch isn't really speaking to me. We have two weeks left in the campaign, and it turns out that thanks to the work of ACORN, there are more people registered to vote under the name "Oscar the Grouch" than there are who plan to actually vote for him. All that red state-blue state-green state mumbo jumbo that we were hoping for has turned out to be nothing but a bunch of red state-blue state-green state mumbo jumbo that we were hoping for.

It's time to face the facts: this election is pretty much done for the Grouch-Piggy ticket. Maybe it was over before it started, like one of the aborted fetuses that Barack Obama loves so damn much and probably eats for breakfast before he prays to Mecca and calls up Bill Ayers and Osama bin Laden on the phone to talk about which buildings he's planning on blowing up first after he gets inaugurated.

In the end, we never had any hope of competing with Obama's far superior marketing machine. I mean, when you've got advertising like this:

and this:


What hope is there for anyone else? How can you look at these things and NOT want to vote for Barack Obama? I want some Obama Bucks! I want more abortions and same sex marriages! Sign me the hell up!

But the Oscar campaign was beset by further struggles too. Remember back when Hillary Rodman Clinton dropped out of the race, when the candidate field had been whittled all the way down to two with just a few months left before the election? This Race to the White House™ started with eighteen people and got all the way down to TWO! How much longer could it possibly be before the pool narrowed even further, to just ONE, and then ZERO! That was the centerpiece of my electoral strategy, if you recall.

There were a few problems I didn't foresee. First of all, these McCain and Obama chaps turned out to be much more persistent about becoming president than I thought. I just assumed that since every other Democrat and Republican changed their minds and decided not to run, so would John McCain and Barack Obama. I assumed wrong.

Worse than that, it seems I wasn't the only person who backed a surprise candidate with the hope of gaining some late momentum. Check out some of the competition:


Seriously, how the fuck is Oscar supposed to compete with Caligula? Talk about executive experience - dude was in charge of the Roman Empire! I'm sure in comparison, people are gonna be real impressed by a raggedy puppet in a fucking garbage can, right?

And the Nurglon thing? Folksy, family values - that's what the American electorate responds to! Plus, I have no idea how, but they lined up a major party affiliation! All I can say is wow. Good luck to you, being. I hear judge rimjob the blah* is even considering endorsing them, and who can blame him?

Worse than all that, it turns out the John McCain is actually a much bigger grouch than Oscar could ever hope to be.

Which brings us back to why Oscar isn't speaking to me. See, I was a little bit pissed off at him for not even acknowledging the lovely chopsticks set I got him for National Grouch Day last week, and so I may have accidentally referred to Oscar as "would not even be in the same grouch league as John McCain if there were an official league of grouches" on a conference call with members of the press and virtually all of our high-level donors.

Oops.

Anyway.

Two weeks left before the election, and I think it's time to call it on the Oscar '08 campaign. Time of death: still in the womb.

Oh, and to all those of you who will say they saw this coming, please feel free to fuck yourself with something large, metallic, furry, and partially green. Like, say, a garbage can with a Muppet sticking out of one end. Fuck yourself with that.

Have a Lousy Grouch Day!

You know what to-day is? It's official Grouch Day. I hope your grouch day is filled with trash and anger. Now get out of my garbage can!

Calling it off?

I had one last ace I was waiting to play. I didn't have it all together just yet, though. The God endorsement. Nothing trumps Jesus coming out for the Republicans except the God endorsement. Carries a lot of weight with the aerial hunting crowd and the "we get our news from 'The Daily Show'" crowd.

Oscar's people (meaning me) have been on the horn to God every day for the past six months. You know, praying. The way people telephone their deity when they need absolution for not remembering to DVR the season premiere of "The Office."

I guess someone else was praying a little harder though.

You, O God, have raised up Senator John McCain and Governor Sarah Palin for such a time as this. . . Help them, O God, to strengthen our economy, to keep our taxes and spending low . . . and grant them the privilege of being elected the next president and vice president."

From the Washington Post, somewhere in the middle of the article

SMOKEY: (shaking head, looking downward toward the sidewalk) Republicans. (looking upward, shaking fist at the sky) Republicans!

Oscar's plans to beat Kenny Crandell are rapidly eroding.

No, no, MY Fellow Prisoners!

Damn you, John McCain! "My Fellow Prisoners" was going to be the name of my hit Broadway musical comedy about living in a police state masquerading as a democracy. But now, all anyone will think is that I'm alluding to you.

It was also going to be the title of a chapter in my eventually forthcoming novel, The Brass Ring. Thanks for spoiling that too, you jerk.

JERK!

[SMOKEY runs off, sobbing.]

You Made Me Do This, Moviegoing Public

On my way to work this morning, I saw a woman in a battery-operated wheelchair walking a dog, and I felt compelled to laugh. I immediately regretted the compulsion, but I think it's important for me to get all defensive right now and note that what I was reacting to was not the wheelchair or the dog, but rather the comedic possibilities if she were to walk (or roll) into a bar.

If this kind of lowbrow humor offends you, you have nobody to blame but yourself. I was all prepared to make a more sophisticated joke, but I am as sensitive to my cultural surroundings as a flower is to being shat upon. Because while the nitrogen in said shit may be nourishing, on the whole, it fucking stinks.

So if you want a return to finer things, to campaign updates from Oscar '08, to tales of the Dole Fruit Plant and the Canning Ops division, to letters to Jesus, and to spotlights on my junk mail, you have a responsibility not to let fucking Beverley Hills Chihuahua finish anywhere near the top of the box office standings ever ever again.

Otherwise, my next post will start something like, "so this gay Jewish crippled woman taking her dog for a walk from her wheelchair walks into a bar," and you'll have nobody to blame but yourself for that either.

Seriously. Which of you fuckbags saw that movie this weekend? Raise your hand. Good. Now chop off your hand, pick it up, and pound yourself in the head with it as hard as you can until you pass out from the combination of concussive blows, shame, and blood loss. Then get some kind of unconventional object to replace your hand, like a desk lamp or a maraca or a rubber chicken or something, and write your story into a hilarious movie called Johnny Desk Lamp Hand and make a million dollars. It won't buy you a new hand, but at least you'll have a million dollars. You're welcome.

Things to Look For At the Vice Presidential Debate

This isn't actually so much of a post about things to look for as it is about things to NOT look for, because the people who run the debates are fascist jerks and I hate them. So instead of seeing the rambling old codger with the hearing aid and the pit bull with lipstick and the pig, um, also with lipstick, all America gets is the codger and the pit bull, because the Committee Who Selfishly Runs The Vice Presidential Debates (their official name) doesn't want the voters to have to make any actual choices. Thank Zod the CWSRTVPD doesn't also run a restaurant, or else every meal at their restaurant would probably be a choice between a hamburger and a chicken sandwich, both served with a heaping helping of their special "Who gives a crap, we want Miss Piggy in the debate too!" sauce.

Fucking politics sucks. Muppet Show film festival at my place tonight. BYO episodes of the Muppet Show.

Screw You, Mars

I can't decide who pisses me off more - the Martian lander(s) that discovered it's snowing on Mars, or the planet Mars itself for basically mocking us and our global warming problem that may not be a problem but may in fact be simply the will of God and Jesus and Alex Rodriguez.

On the one hand, there's the Martian lander(s), joyriding around another planet, taking pictures of the scenery, sending vacation slide shows back to Earth, and never ONCE asking how we're doing even though the economy is on fire like it was made out of a pile of wood that somebody lit on fire with a match or a torch or a crude fire-bearing device of some kind. Um, Earth to Martian lander(s): whose tax dollars do you think are paying for your little ski trip up there on Olympus Mons, or wherever the hell you are?

But on the other hand, I don't appreciate a whole planet making fun of the degrading conditions of our global climate either. That is Jay Leno's job, Mars. Not cool. Know your place. I hope God starts blessing you with His attention one of these days, and then you'll be sorry, just like we are. Fuck off, Mars, if that is your real name. I'm totally canceling my planned mission to you.

Oh, and happy Breast Cancer Awareness Month, everybuzzy. Stay aware.