National Nitwit

By Billy Pilgrim, National Nitwit Rogue Editor

Like the Simpsons, Sans the Political Commentary & Social Relevance

(Los Angeles, CA)—Now that summer repeats dominate the network airwaves, few viewers are thinking of the impending season premieres that await them this autumn. However, writers for the popular animated series The Family Guy are already hard at work, and their goal for next season is simple: they plan to litter each episode with predictably tangential similes.

“Since the show has been around for nearly eight years, we’ve pretty much reduced things to a basic blueprint,” explained senior writer Evan Foley between mouthfuls of corn chips. “Every other line of dialogue needs to have a completely whacky simile where we can cut away, show a bizarre clip, and then return to whatever pretense of plot we’ve established. For example, Brian might say something like, ‘God Peter, that was an awkward dinner party,’ and then Peter says ‘it was almost as awkward as that time we stumbled backstage at the circus and saw that tiger masturbating to an issue of National Geographic.’ Then we show the tiger jacking off. I mean, this shit pretty much writes itself.”

And while criticism for the show ranges from accusations of plagiarism to plain bad taste, it still boasts a bevy of fans despite its increasingly formulaic humor.

“Man, The Family Guy is just straight-up fucking hilarious, what with all the fart jokes and like…it’s just so fucking funny,” boomed Jeff Sarens, a sophomore at San Diego Community College and Vice President of The Family Guy’s official fan club. “I mean, have you seen the show? The dog talks, the baby talks, Peter is a complete nut…I can’t believe no one ever thought to make a cartoon for adults before. I mean, with adult humor and stuff. It’s simply never been done. Ever. That’s what makes The Family Guy so original, so fresh. First of its kind. So you guys want to get high or what?”

Labels: family guy

By Billy Pilgrim, National Nitwit Rogue Editor

Gloucester Tramps: Too Cool for Condoms, Too Young to Vote

(Boston, MA)—In a stirring series of events, a recent investigation at Gloucester High School in rural Massachusetts has uncovered a pregnancy pact among eighteen or more girls, none older than 16.

While the nation reels from this disturbing revelation, for many social critics it merely confirms the idiocy of the American teen populous and its myopic, lemming-like approach to major life decisions.

“What strange fucking series of events led these girls to all breed before they even finished 10th grade geometry?” bemoaned Christina Wakovski, a guidance counselor in the Boston suburbs. “I mean, was the mall closed? Did mommy and daddy confiscate their cellies or deny them all new ringtones? I know it’s an old cliché to lament children having children, but Christ, these girls might go into labor on a goddamn school bus!”

Richard Walker, a history teacher at Gloucester High, offered a more reflective commentary on his students’ whoring and eagerness to reproduce.

“Many of these girls come from wealthy families, and with graduation only a year away, it’s not as bad as it may seem,” Walker reflected. “That is, of course, with the exception of Tina Sanchez, who’s dumber than a purebred bulldog slurping antifreeze. Poor girl probably thought her boyfriend’s dick was a rocket ship full of yogurt. I’ll consider it a victory if she can complete the state welfare forms without misspelling her own name.”

Labels: pregnant teens pact

By Billy Pilgrim, National Nitwit Rogue Editor

Goodnight, Sweet Prince, From All Your Friends at the Nitwit

(Washington, D.C.)—As the nation grieved the untimely passing of esteemed journalist Tim Russert last Friday, NBC did the only logical thing possible to mourn the death of their beloved “Meet the Press” host and Washington Bureau Chief: they shamelessly whored the story for ratings.

“The dude had barely been dead for two hours before they put Brokaw on the air in a black suit shouting it from the rooftop,” chided Jude McMillan, a consultant for the media watchdog Free Exercise. “I don’t know about you, but if one of my best friends just died, I’d be sobbing on my couch like a little bitch. Remember the last episode of The Wonder Years? Multiply that by a billion, that’s how fucking hard I’d sob.”

So even as the Russert family remains secluded in mourning less than a week after this fateful tragedy, NBC continues its parade of tributes and testimonials to the detriment of all other newsworthy events around the globe.

“You know, Iowa is under water right now and gas is nearly five bucks a gallon,” bemoaned Trisha Baxter, a housewife in the Washington suburbs. “But to watch any NBC station right now, you’d think the Jesus Christ of Journalism had gone to the hereafter. And I’m not saying Russert was a bad guy—he had more integrity than all those other pundits put together—but for fuck’s sake give his family some privacy. Plus, I haven’t seen any drunken of footage of Lindsay Lohan in three days!”

Labels: Lindsay Lohan, NBC, Tim Russert

By Mitch Carlyle, Corporate Shill

Carlyle: Jesus Is Just Alright, But So Are Vishnu and Buddha

Would you rather have one dollar or a hundred dollars? Would you rather own one car, or one for every day of the week? And would you rather meet one hottie grinding her ass at the club, or an entire bar full of bawdy, drunk-ass secretaries craving your sausage?

The simple truth is that more is better, even when it applies to religion, and that’s why monotheism is for the birds.

Now I know this sounds like blasphemy to some of you who come from Judeo-Christian backgrounds, so just hear me out. Let’s say your kid has cancer of the everything, and the doctors give ‘em about twelve minutes to live. Are you honestly gonna sit there and watch your kid die because Jesus is on his lunch break, or are you gonna man-up and direct that fucking prayer to Athena, Osiris, and every other fate-bender perched in the clouds?

See, I trade stock for a living, and the market—just like religion—is a fickle mystery. Some days its up, some days its down, but the trick to success is diversifying your investments wisely. In layman’s terms, this means don’t put all your fucking eggs in one basket. So why should prayer be any different? What if the Virgin Mary is playing an intense game of Battleship with Odin, and they don’t check their email until after you’ve had that really important interview? You’d be fucked, that’s what, all because of your supposed “faith.”

In conclusion, monotheism is an archaic notion. The sooner we all use my shotgun approach to prayer, the more shit will go in our favor.

Labels: monotheism