By CHRIS PACKHAM
Asshole consumers are dragging the economy down by prioritizing their "food" and "medicine" purchases over small luxuries like blood diamonds, stairlifts for gliding easily between the floors of their houses or ride-able miniature Silver Spoons railroads for luring young children to their back yards, the bottom has totally fallen right out of the market for those, you guys. Oh, and here's a replica of King Tut's throne, which you can purchase for $895, or — if you order two — $875:
The kinda' mainstream New York Times says, "Consumers are clearly in retreat, and the economy is suffering. The year-over-year increase in real G.D.P. is 0.8 percent, the lowest for any four-quarter period since 2001." GAZE UPON KING TUT'S MAGNIFICENT THRONE, consumers, and consider that credit is getting cheap again. To quote a wise, twisted, evil man, "The American way of life is non-negotiable." But zero percent financing is available through MAY, 2009 if you act quickly. After the jump, naked photographs of Kansas City Star columnist Mike Hendricks. Click here or, because I absolutely can't think of anything else, click on Zardoz:
Set it and FORGET IT! Among the side-effects of the Mirapex I take for my restless leg syndrome, the worst is probably my tendency to collapse suddenly into deep sleep without warning. Sure, the dizziness, sweatiness and the nausea I experience when I stand up suddenly are tough to deal with, but when you drop off into a deep sleep in the middle of the work day and wake up across the street from a burning roadside motel, holding an empty gasoline can, it's time to consider reducing your dosage. All of this "hypothetically," since nobody can prove it was me across the street from a burning motor-lodge. Despite the astonishing manifestation of every single side-effect and contraindication mentioned in the literature my doctor gave me, the abatement of my symptoms was sweet, sweet relief. I thought I'd have to deal with the crawling sensations and the compulsive need to move my legs around for the rest of my life.
"You know who gets restless leg syndrome? OLD LADIES," my girlfriend said in her shriek-y girl voice after catching me shooting at passing cars with a BB gun from behind a bush in the yard — oh, I forgot to mention the impulse control disorder I developed almost immediately after swallowing the first Mirapex pill, I am very susceptible to side-effects, you guys, and old lady medical complaints, too, judging from my restless leg syndrome, hot flashes and osteoporosis.
Instead of spending the evening happily putting small metal pellets in the windshields of cars, I went inside and watched some TV, and what was on? Sen. Barack Obama's slick new infomercial, delivering the Democratic nominee's "closing argument" for the interminible campaign season that everyone will miss when it's over next Wednesday, the way you feel all wistful and nostalgic about a kidney stone once it moves painfully through your urethra and, depending on your combination of X and Y chromosomes, right on through your penis, which is a huge, tailor-made conduit for the passage of crystallized mineral aggregations, sometimes those as large as a golf ball! Here's a look at the lavish production values the richie Obama campaign was able to afford:
SI SE PUEDE go to sporting events with no clothes from now on, you guys, because if you think about it, isn't a blanket really a kind of clothing? A kind of clothing that doesn't need to be washed all that often, FELLAS AM I RIGHT? So when you go to bed at night, it's kind of like you're "wearing" a magnificent suit of racecar-themed clothes, like Manuel Uribe of Monterrey, northern Mexico, who "wore" his whole bed to his wedding on account of being the ranking world's heaviest man, according to the Guinness Book of World Records:
WACKY NEWS ITEMS, you guys, OH MY GOODNESS, what a conspicuously unconventional happenstance! It's such a weird and bewildering news story, totally outside the mainstream of regular, boring news events such as earthquakes and the surgical detachment of conjoined twins. NEXT: KRAZY HEADLINE TYPOS followed by firing both barrels of a shotgun directly into my mouth. Seriously, sorry for that, you guys; tomorrow I'll get back to writing funny jokes about public finance of sewer renovations. How did I ever think up this job I gave myself?