Tag: satire

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Hey-yo, it’s my favorite time of year, fall!

As we welcome in the crisp smell of leaves, death and decay, let’s revisit some autumn-appropriate satire from Election 2020!

(Originally published in Greener Pastures Comedy, November 2020.)

Wines that Pair Perfectly with the Fall… of Democracy

Rosé-Colored Glasses —

This lovely rosé combines elderflower and plum to help frame the collapse of civilization into something poetic. Best enjoyed by candlelight, around a campfire, or while reading the news. Pairs well with pears and puppies.

Nasty Woman —

A throaty chardonnay with a full body, this tart grape stands up against overbearing cream dishes and mansplaining when other white wines might fall flat. Despite its round, supple body, it still has great acidity, making it perfect for cutting through systemic patriarchy.

Resting Bitch Face —

The perfect pinot noir for when you get a friend request from a hot stranger just to realize that he is a Russian troll. With its impressive array of bitter cherry and singed iron, this wine will replace your bitch face with a nice rosy-red pink nose and blood-shot eyes. Side effects include a hangover that may or may not leave you even more bitch-faced than the day before.

d’Nile (de.ni.al) —

A white blend of lemon, chicken stock, salt spray, and small shards of glass, recommended for when people tell you that Covid will all “blow over” after the election. This pinot grigio pairs perfectly with chicken and mask-less hugs. Take a sip every time Trump holds a boat rally or tells the truth. Because let’s be honest, if you drink for every lie he tells, you will wake up next to a toilet with a face tattoo. Also known as weddings during a pandemic and Florida.

Sext Machine —

This titillating red wine helps you get it on safely during a pandemic when quality meat is in short supply. Its aroma of low tide can reduce the awkwardness of text message foreplay while loosening up the fingers for a smooth, lubricated sexting experience. A satisfying, buttery finish and delightful smoky aftertaste helps you forget that Mars is in retrograde for the next two months. Pairs well with stick shifts and masturbation.

Cowboy —

For those who say “I will not live my life in fear” when asked to don a mask yet continue to buy guns in preparation for the zombie apocalypse. This dense and unpretentious cabernet sauvignon with a vanilla nose is gaining popularity in the U.S. and around the world. Some crave its lack of subtlety and strong-arm, America-first tannins. This wine also has a softer side and pairs well with some cheeses, white women, and Jesus.

The “W” —

Named after George W. Bush, this merlot may have gotten flack in the past but has recently witnessed a resurgence in popularity. What once may have seemed downright unpalatable now seems quaint in comparison to the more recent Cowboy cabs.

Democratic Socialism —

This well-aged grape is very popular in Europe but about as elusive in the United States as Trump’s tax returns and the female clitoris. Sort of like a nose-pap Covid test, this wine can be painful at first, but in the long-run is more effective. Europeans claim that its acidic nose juxtaposes well with its sweet aftertaste, making it a perfect accompaniment to food, water, education, healthcare, and other staples.

Idiacryse (i.di.o.cra.cy) —

If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em. Best left in the cellar for maximum noble rot, this pungent and dense cabernet sauvignon is a perfect accompaniment to heavy red meat dishes such as the hoarding of semi-automatic weapons and random expressions like “the whites are under attack”. With its ability to diminish the part of the brain that produces critical thinking, it stands up well to spicier dishes such as science and truth. The mouthwatering finish will make certain areas of your anatomy feel longer and bolder. Now with electrolytes!

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By Amy Currul, Summer Koester and Gwen Coburn

As a lobbyist for Exxon Mobil, I understand that many of you are upset about our role in the planet’s rapid deterioration due to climate change. I get it. I, too, would be upset, if I wasn’t already guaranteed a spot on Elon’s Mars Colony and its corresponding escape pod. I’m here today with a simple request: stop yelling at us.

Listen, you’re unhappy, but so am I. This week has been really stressful: first I got punked by a bunch of no-good “activists” who tricked me into taking a fake meeting, then they tried to “cancel” me and my employer by releasing footage of the meeting. Now you’re yelling at me to do something about it, and Exxon’s yelling at me to make it look like we did something about it. It’s all very annoying and I just want to hang out at my Hamptons house while Congress does the dirty work for us.

Did we agree to support the Paris Climate Agreement? Yes. Did we cross our fingers when we did it? Maybe. We have courageously battled single-handedly against science, and science created the atomic bomb and nerve gas. So, you’re welcome.

Since the cat’s out of the bag, you might as well know that getting thirteen senators in our pocket was just the start. A baker’s dozen of senators is great, but you know what’s even more satisfying? Buying the entire bakery and turning it into a national chain of deep fried nacho pizza fast food.

You’ll just have to settle for closure in the form of knowing that we won’t rest until the entire United States government is in our pocket. Also, since when is being in the pocket of big oil such a problem? It’s been the calling card of a good legislator, on both sides of the aisle for decades now. I thought you liberal ladies all loved pockets!

You will be comforted to know that someone will probably lose their job because of your public ridicule. Who? Not me, some intern.

Really, the despair you’re feeling is your own fault. In fact, just because of your whining, we’re going to murder an extra polar bear this week. See? All this hasn’t done anything to stop humanity’s impending doom. Think about next time you try another one of your “gotcha” moments.

If you’re really so upset, maybe it’s because you haven’t come to accept your own mortality. We here at Exxon have built it into the core of our company: one day, not so far away now, everything is going to reach it’s (somewhat) natural conclusion. Until then, all we can do is sit back, relax, and become billionaires. If this is all going to literally go up in flames, I would like to face the end of the world on my private yacht or island or human hunting preserve.

You all should really find better ways to accept the harsh realities of our inevitable demise, rather than just yelling on Twitter, which btw is really harshing my summer vibes right now. For example, I spend my Wednesday nights catching up on the phone with my old poker buddy Joe Manchin. Who’s to say we’re chatting about oil and not which senators are watching Survivor, or who we should invite to our next game? Oil only comes up, like, 75% of the time. The rest is just buddies hanging out and running out the clock.

Let’s be real: sure, whole coasts are on fire, people are starving, we’re running out of clean water, and there’s a fiery pit to hell in the middle of the ocean in Mexico; regardless, time continues onward in a march towards oblivion. Read some Schopenhauer, do some coke, whatever you need to as long as it doesn’t involve me. Now if you can leave me alone, I’ll be in the Cayman Islands, protecting my assets and enjoying palm trees while they still exist. Cheers!

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Cheering parents watched as children tossed surgical masks into a fire outside the Idaho Capitol in Boise on Saturday as more than 100 people gathered to protest mask mandates as an affront to their civil liberties. — Washington Post, March 7, 2021

Citizens, we stand here today to demand that the government cease restricting our freedoms by forcing us to stop arbitrarily at stop signs. That is why I’m holding a “Burn the Stop Signs” rally here on the steps of our state capitol, despite the fact that authorities have made it very clear that open flames are not allowed on state capitol grounds.

Deaths by vehicular accidents in intersections are down, so I think that’s a pretty clear indication that it is now safe to resume driving through intersections without stopping. We need to establish a balanced government with well defined boundaries that does not force its citizens to half against their will at intersections. It’s annoying. What if I just don’t feel like stopping.

All of us, by nature, are free and equal, and have certain inalienable rights. It is the inalienable freedom of free will that makes this country so great. And yes, I know I said inalienable twice, and that was deliberate, because everyone here looks 1,000% white and inalien.

It is my free choice to decide when I wish to or don’t wish to stop. It is my free choice to call ketchup a vegetable, put dual chrome exhaust stacks in the bed of my truck, and listen to Nickelback.

The National Highway Traffic Safety Administration says that installing stop signs in intersections will keep us safe by avoiding car wrecks. What is safe, exactly? I mean, are we ever safe? I could get hit by a weather laser right here on the steps of the State Capitol. No one knows when their time is going to come.

Not to mention that stop signs are unnatural. Did God wake up on the sixth day and say, “Gee, I forgot to grow a stop sign”?

And how do we know that that’s not just a hoax that the Dems are peddling to line the pockets of George Soros? How do we even know that their so-called “data” isn’t made up, and that Nickelback is actually from Canada?

But why stop at stop signs? I mean, if signs work so well, then why do I have to wear a seatbelt? Like Ben Franklin once said: “Those who give up liberty to pursue traffic safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.”

And while we’re at it, let’s burn Wrong Way signs, fire alarms, fire extinguishers, warnings on household cleaning products, and criminal background checks for educators. This is not about safety, people. This is about social conditioning. Honestly, sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference this country and Nazi Germany!

Americans want to get back to work, quickly, without making random stops in semi-busy neighborhoods. It’s time we let our leaders know that we won’t stand idly by while they destroy our freedom to experience fatal car accidents. Because my rights to be a selfish jerk is more important than others’ rights to live.

. . .

This post originally appeared on Belladonna Comedy

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Calling all Lewis Carroll fans!

Last spring, the Idaho legislature made the news when several anti-mask lawmakers did away with all mask mandates, got COVID, then decided to recess for three weeks and return to their hometowns, bringing their COVID cooties with them.

I channeled my rage into satire as I always do, and wrote this ridiculous press release as nonsensical as the legislation itself. It was initially rejected by McSweeney’s, but Rejected Writers reached out and asked if they could publish it today. It’s not timely anymore, but still relevant.

Thanks for reading!

Fear Not the Jabberwocky that Hast Ran Rampant Throughout the Capitol Building and Is Likely Coming to Your Small Town

A COVID-19 outbreak in the Idaho Legislature has sidelined lawmakers for more than two weeks as they try to get infections under control… Top Republicans have repeatedly declined to implement basic public health measures such as a mask mandate or the requirement that members physically distance themselves from others. 

–NPR, March 19, 2021

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

Boise, Idaho —

Callooh! Callay! Rejoice, o’ citizens of Idaho! With vorpal swords in hand, your lawmakers snicker-snacked all mandates requiring face coverings! Free your faces, o’ beamish citizens! Be oppressed no more with mimsy rules that only serve to gyre and gimble in the wabe! 

We freed our state’s Capitol from frumious face coverings—and by association, head leashes, burlap bags, and cages—although we may have burbled our best defense against the bastions of wild Jabberwockies now running rampant through our halls. We did not foresee that our eliminating mask mandates would make it difficult to capture and contain the wild beasts.

We’re also not sure how the infestation of Jubjub birds appeared. Or how by flaunting their frumious tail feathers they ended up breeding with the Jabberwocks, creating an even stronger, wilder, and hornier species of Jabberwocky. Fear not! We are sure that this problem we created will solve itself, as free markets solve all problems.  

Your lawmakers voted to recess for several weeks, which will allow for them to relocate the Jabberwocks before the creatures’ eyes of flame set the Capitol’s drapes on fire. The beasts with the claws that catch will be immediately transported to smaller towns with less medical infrastructure.

Remember to thank your manxome legislator for eliminating the mask requirement when they come galumphing through your town, Jabberwock in tow. You will recognize these slithy toves by their animals who are setting fire to everything. The horny beasts with the jaws that bite will likely not be wearing a leash, as Jabberwocks are creatures of God, and all beasts born on American soil are, by nature, free, equal, and beamish. Remember, it is this freedom that makes this country so frabjous.

Some mimsy Democratic leaders will say “beware of the Jabberwock”. Rubbish! Outgrabe! So what if it likes to reproduce and multiply quickly? Deaths from Jabberwockies have dropped in the past month, which clearly indicates that it is no longer necessary to keep them on a leash. 

A balanced government with brillig boundaries does not force its citizens to cover their faces against their will. It does not stick its uffish necks in places it does not belong, like community safety.

Oh slithy liberals, whiffling like such Borogoves! Do they not tire of their constant gyre and gimble? 

Our manxome lawmakers now have several weeks to go home, sit at their favorite Tumtum tree, and think about what to do with these freerange Jabberwocks. In the meantime, of course, they will be paid per diem rates to cover their normal session-related living expenses, and our press secretary will issue public statements as nonsensical as our legislation.

Let us rejoice today! Let us galumph! Callooh! Callay!

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  1. It’s been a while since you visited the dentist.
  2. Some might say you’ve “let yourself go.”
  3. On a good day, you can engender the creation of a new life. On a bad day, your breasts swell like storm clouds. 
  4. Your most important possessions are your stove, broom, and mop.
  5. You are the keeper and releaser of children’s souls.
  6. You prefer eating off the land and have recently taken up gardening. Only what you can grown, gather, or disembowel. 
  7. You don’t know how much longer you can remain in forced hermitage with your small children before you end up eating them.
  8. People turn away in horror when they see your nose in public.
  9. You feed the whole world, but are yourself hungry.
  10. You just discovered 4,000,000,000 new gray hairs.
  11. You have no time for recipes. One-pot meals are where you’re at these days, preferably with bone broth.
  12. Your keen sense of smell allows for you to detect children, propane leaks, and shenanigans.
  13. The powers that be have imprisoned you with the beasts of your own making.
  14. You don’t know how much longer these legs can hold up before they buckle under pressure.
  15. You just want to be left alone.

Key:

Parenting small children during a pandemic: 1–15

Baba Yaga: 1–15

This piece was originally published on The Belladonna Comedy

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Woah. There are, like, a lot of people at my son’s baseball game. They look so… sporty. And there is literally no shade. Wow, it’s hot!

Do I really have to stay and cheer my son on? He won’t notice if I leave, right? No, I’m going to do this. Put on my game face. Step up to the plate. Knock it out of the park. Yeah, baseball stuff.

Oh no, now there’s even more people, and they’re firing up a grill? Does this mean they’re staying? Why can’t everyone just drop their kid off and leave?

Do I approach them? No, too desperate. I can’t let them know I’ve forgotten how to speak to humans over four feet tall.

Here comes Carla. Geez, her legs look like they could destroy me with one roundhouse! I wonder if she can smell fear? Quick, think of something natural to say!

Wow, really didn’t plan on saying, “Neat-o, a real life three dimensional human being wants to talk to me. Just please don’t hurt me!?”

She asked me how I’m doing. Do I tell her the truth, right off the bat? That I once broke my finger on a Nerf ball because I have hollow bones? That I once threw up in the dugout from nerves? That I’m currently sweating like a nun in a cucumber patch?

I just told her that I’m doing great because Another Round with Mads Mikkelsen is now free on demand, so I can keep my eye on his balls anytime. The heat may have permanently damaged my brain.

And now I’m drinking beer. I don’t even drink, but I guess that’s what people do? And now it’s what I do? Who am I?!

Yikes, that is a really fast ball! Why do they have to make the ball so hard? The pitcher’s got them crazy eyes! And my son is so little! Maybe I should go save him? How long is this game, seven hours?!

Food, I need food. Oh look, here’s a burger.  Is it weird that I keep wiping the ketchup off my mouth with the back of my hand because I forgot how to eat around people?

Oof, shouldn’t eat so fast. I have to unleash a real foul ball, but if I walk over there, then I have to pass like fourteen people.

Kevin’s here, good. People will think it was him. Wait, Kevin asked me a question right as I took a bite. How am I supposed to talk and chew at the same time? Maybe I can shove this burger into the side of my mouth.

Great, now he’s staring at the bulge in the side of my mouth. Oh no, I think I’m choking — it’s, like, super stuck. Talk about coming out of left field. Ugh, why can’t I stop thinking in baseball metaphors?!

Quick, I need something to drink! Kevin’s beer!

Yes, I can breathe again. And now I’m drinking another beer. I am so getting drunk.

Now there’s a tailgate going down. Are we tailgating? Is this what people do? Why is everyone staring at me? They’re all staring at me! Should I have not worn flannel footie pajamas? Lord, please let there be a humongous natural disaster right now!

Oh, they’re just watching the game. Right, the game! What’s the score? Who’s winning? I hope we win!

If we don’t win this game I think I’m going to lose it, right here in front of all these people. I am going to fall on my knees and scream: “I hate sports! I never win! I only won the brown and black participation ribbons, and I was always the last one picked for the team, and my son has tiny avian-esque bones that could be easily crushed by a fast hardball!”

Oh wait, did my son just steal second base? And third? Well done, my boy! Run home! Yep, just like your mama.

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Do you have a child going back to in-person school next week? Are they too young to be vaccinated? Is your city, town, or village in the red for COVID cases? Do you feel like The Weeknd from the Superbowl halftime show when he was trapped in the box with blinking lights and a bunch of zombies wearing diamond masks and couldn’t find his way out?

If you answered yes, then rest assured, our school is implementing all sorts of protocols to ensure that your child’s transition to in-person school goes seamlessly.

Prior to sending your child to school, we are asking families to answer the Daily Screening Questions:

·       Could you, would you, in a box?*

·       Would you, could you, wearing socks?

·       Could you, would you, wash your hands?

·       Would you, could you, wear some pants?

·       Could you, would you, wear a mask?

·       Would you, could you, wear a sumo wrestler suit, ten-foot yardstick hat, or a hoop skirt à la Gone with the Wind in order to ensure social distancing protocols?

*box equipped with breathing holes

Social Distancing
In order to mitigate transmission of Covid-19, students will be expected to sit passively at their desks and listen to the teacher lecture without moving, talking, singing, laughing, or expelling cooties in any way. Children who need to be constantly reminded to socially distance will be tied to their desks. We all have to do our part to flatten the curve.

Sanitization
School staff will bleach the shit out of everything twenty times a day. As I type, I am spraying Windex into the air right meow!

Hand Washing
Regular hand washing and sanitizing will occur before/after eating and will be conducted to “Please Don’t Stand So Close To Me” by the Police.

Symptom-Free Environment
If your child is feeling a little fever coming on, then we will promptly direct them to the cafeteria to sample some of our unpleasant lunch foods. If they manage to eat their meal without vomiting, then we know they have lost all sense of taste and smell and probably have Covid.

Supplies
Please leave musical instruments at home as we will not be super-spraying Covid into the stratosphere through a brass tube anymore.

Unfortunately, we cannot let students share art supplies, so we got rid of Art Class. But now we have FART Class! That’s right, farting is an essential part of encouraging mask wearing and social distancing. Flatulence flattens the curve. Windows open, six feet apart! It’s going to be GREAT! No, the bleach has NOT gotten to me.

We simply cannot wait to welcome your child back to school. It’s going to be so fun to have live, three-dimensional humans in our classroom again! So pass those farting animals this way!

Your Principal 

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No phuck without Pfizer.

Dear Lysistrata,

We must address your new campaign “No Copulation without Vaccination.” Does it please you to know that you have left the entire population of Athens as hard and thick as the columns of the Parthenon?

You have stated that if your husbands want the missionary, they must first Moderna. No phuck without Pfizer. No johnson without Johnson & Johnson.

We take issue with your “injections or erections” slogan. We still have to passive-aggressively hang our noses out of masks indoors, so what’s the point?

I mean, the odds of our dying from the vaccine are approximately .0008%. If someone gave you a bag of 130,000 condoms and said that one of those condoms was poisonous, would you still wear one? Probably not. And if someone said 129,999 of those condoms would prevent death from coronavirus, would you still wear one? Also, nope!

You cannot force us blue-blooded, blue-balled men to put something in our bodies. Clearly you have NO idea what that feels like! Nothing shall enter into our pure, sovereign bodies other than beer, ketchup, and an occasional Tucker Carlson fantasy.

We refuse to live our lives in fear. Unless it’s fear of Antifa, mistaking a drag queen for a hot chick, or sticking our whangdoodles in a large bottom that could create the illusion of our having a small penis.

Also, we hate shots. Unless it’s the kind that makes us feel brave. And we know you’re thinking it, so we’re just going to come clean on this one — nope, we cannot masturbate. The punishment for masturbation is a swift boat trip down the river Styx in Hades.

So for the love of Zeus, please creak those hinges wide! Let us flood your cisterns so that our aqueducts may run, and the phallus may reign supreme again!

Sincerely,

The Men

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Until I started digging into the poetry of Walt Whitman, I hadn’t realized that he and my son are basically the same person. Did you know that Walt ran away from school at age eleven to study typesetting and get lost in the forest?

So for Walt’s birthday a few days ago, I wrote this satire piece, and Points In Case was wise enough to publish it. Thanks, editors! Please enjoy Passages from My Nine-Year-Old’s Journal that Prove He’s Possessed by Walt Whitman’s Ghost.