The Mezunian

Die Positivität ist das Opium des Volkes, aber der Spott ist das Opium der Verrückten

2 pictures’ worth

2017 January 16

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Posted in What the Fuck Is this Shit?

Two Italian Uncles Getting down with the sickness to the Beat

2017 January 2

(Courtesy o’ John Jacob Whistleford, the Plot Generator)

Bubsy Bubs was thinking about Pepsi Cola again. Pepsi was a piratical clutter with big in the grits spleen and skimpy phantom leg.

Bubsy walked over to the window and reflected on his pumpkin-colored surroundings. He had always hated dank my face with its warm, watery whirlpools. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel ziggy.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the a piratical figure of Pepsi Cola.

Bubsy gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was a plump, nubile, sewer water drinker with pimper spleen and straggly phantom leg. His friends saw him as a barbecued, bewildered butter. Once, he had even jumped into a river and saved a teeny hand cans.

But not even a plump person who had once jumped into a river and saved a teeny hand cans, was prepared for what Pepsi had in store today.

The rainy sun teased like bitchin snakes, making Bubsy chuffy. Bubsy grabbed an objective object that had been strewn nearby; he massaged it with his fingers.

As Bubsy stepped outside and Pepsi came closer, he could see the wonky glint in her eye.

Pepsi glared with all the wrath of 1783 snoozy tasty tanks. She said, in hushed tones, “I hate you and I want her nose back.”

Bubsy looked back, even more chuffy and still fingering the objective object. “Pepsi, I put the lime in the coconut & shook it all up,” he replied.

They looked at each other with zaggy feelings, like two friendly, frightened fakes snitchin at a very radically moderate train ride, which had grunge jazz music playing in the background and two Italian uncles getting down with the sickness to the beat.

Bubsy studied Pepsi’s big in the grits spleen and skimpy phantom leg. Eventually, he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” began Bubsy in apologetic tones, “but I don’t feel the same way, and I never will. I just don’t hate you Pepsi.”

Pepsi looked lippy, her emotions raw like a burnt, bright box with socks.

Bubsy could actually hear Pepsi’s emotions shatter into 6722 pieces. Then the piratical clutter hurried away into the distance.

Not even a drink of sewer water would calm Bubsy’s nerves tonight.

THE END

Posted in Short Stories, What the Fuck Is this Shit?

¡Watch out for Big Envelope!

2016 November 9

I was going to continue writing ’bout liberal tears o’er Hairpiece’s victory–god, I still refuse to believe that wasn’t a psychedelic hallucination last night–but lost interest after I literally had to restart my computer ’cause Daily Kos’s website is such utter fucking sluggish trash. Seriously, ¿you truly hope to be for the working class when someone with a Core i5 with 4GB RAM can’t fucking handle your websites? ¿With what kind o’ scripting sludge & multimedia muck did your pretentious clown o’ a web designer clog your website?

(God damn it, now Naked Kapitalism is doing it. I love these dumbass fucking websites that continue to load shit with their god awful scripts e’en after I explicitly click the X that tells them to shut the fuck up & stop loading shit.)

But, anyway, ‘stead I somehow ran into this hilarious article:

In victory for Big Envelope, feds will mail Social Security statements

I love how laissy libs have so li’l self-awareness in their tiny bubble that they think terms like “Big Envelope” sound scary or important @ all.

O, no, now the vile feds are “wasting” 72 million a year on a convenience that, he himself seems to claim, benefits 73% o’ Americans. If this idiot actually knew anything ’bout economics, & didn’t have as his only reference a website that doesn’t e’en work, he’d know that 72 million a year is birdseed considering what the federal government spends yearly &–which is, itself, not that much, compared to most o’ the world.

But then, “Big Envelope” is much easier–ironically ’cause it’s not big @ all–to complain ’bout, ‘specially when one has no true problems in one’s life &, ‘stead, wastes time whining ’bout the most frivolous trifles rather than actual real-world tragedies.

But, O yeah, pretend like you’re truly sticking it to the man, rich guy who does nothing but whine.

Posted in Politics, What the Fuck Is this Shit?

¡SomethingAwful Forums is currently having an “open day” for sending their black copters out to put us all in the Gulag!

2016 July 25

I promised I’d bring mo’ Reddit, & I brought mo’ Reddit.

Somebody posts some seemingly innocuous thread wherein they talk ’bout some “open day” wherein the self-decribed elitist SomethingAwful forums allowed the rest o’ us poor bums too cheap to pay $10 to read the entire archives. It then immediately devolves into some purple-Kool-Aid shit, completely lacking any irony @ all:

And it gets worse: organizations affiliated with SA have been outed as CIA fronts. and the founder, Richard “Lowtax” Kyanka has admitted to multiple meetings with Obama’s security team.

Follow that link to see a generic gaming website (this 1 clearly understanding the absurdity & clearly playing it for laughs) quoting the reputable source, Glenn Beck, who is an expert in all those hip young internets, yo. Nowhere does this article quote best-capitalist-supervillain-name-e’er, Richard “Lowtax” Kyanka acknowledging this other claim–but we should just assume it’s true, since rational people assume exceptional events all the time.

Then someone proves that SomethingAwful is truly a Satanic cult through exactly 1 anonymous testimony wherein some guy claims to have been hypnotized into Hollywood psychological problems by lame memes.

Also, apparently “Lowtax” uses those $10 for a secret Swiss bank to buy mail-order brides & Aeron chairs. How the latter is a conspiracy, I’m not sure. ¡True Americans buy Eames Lounge!

There’s also the tedious shit ’bout “SJWs,” which is just the modern version o’ your cranky grandpa bitching ’bout the pinkos everywhere in this neighborhood–¡Things were better in good ol’ ’02, dang nab it!

Mo’ strange was this comment:

Aye. I think someone made a list of the usernames Quinn, Nyberg, Spacedad, AMIB and others used on SA. Should be interesting doing a search and archiving what you find.

Nothing’s mo’ interesting than random usernames. I know I always spend my weekends surfing through WordPress to see all the zany usernames people picked.

It’s par for the course when you try to investigate the SJWs on SA.

That’s vaguely creepy.

Yes, it’s important that we investigate the infamous “Spacedad”–the Che Guevara o’ our time.

O, shit, this is some GG shit. Ne’er mind. Jesus, ¿How’d you break my already-low expectations? I thought this was just some crazies coming out o’ the woodwork seeing an opportunity to come out & fuck round for shits & grins; not some superserious spy fantasy wherein James Bond stops the infamous Spacedad from shooting the earth down from his moon base with anthologies o’ Anne Sexton poetry.

Posted in What the Fuck Is this Shit?

Die Schreibaufforderung

2016 May 30

by Seventh Sanctum Writing Prompt Generator

Her life is essentially the story of Dante.

It will be Thursday, the day of wanderlust.

It will be July, the month of unemployment, everyone knew that.

Torture sanity as long as you are screaming.

It will be winter, the season of infamy and howling.

She is always a woman, which was really terrible.

You can kill an airline disaster.

It will be the day of education, the day of poverty.

There is a story about how drug addiction will be like crying.

If you don’t know about the tavern, then it is time.

Posted in Poetry, What the Fuck Is this Shit?

L’ho visto nella stella

2016 May 20

Courtesy o’ Free Vintage Illustrations, who are not affiliated with the rest o’ this nonsense.

& there I saw him, & there I waved to him. ¿You can’t see him there, on that star?

No, not that 1. Not tha—that 1. Yes, that there. #943,143,610,689,219,003,236, or as The Grand Almanac o’ Stars calls it, «Marissa Robertson.» ¿Can’t you see him there?

Yes, it may look tiny, but from his perspective it’s quite roomy. Yes, it’s quite bright, but from his perspective it provides ample light for books—light needed to read such tiny, & yet such complex ligaments, that comprise the letters o’ his language—a language o’ o’er a million different letters, each representing not only its own word, but also its own phrase, so that paragraphs are compressed into a few characters, & Anna Karenina fits into a slim 150-page book.

Yes, it’s daytime, & yes it’s cloudy. But the stars ne’er hide. Heathens have cast such slanders gainst the stars & their master, the Afternoon Moon, but they are wrong. They’re just not looking hard ‘nough. But the time shall come when the stars & the moon rule all, & the sinful sun shall be smitten @ last, with the moon keeping its golden light for itself, for all eternity.

Posted in What the Fuck Is this Shit?