tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-167729902024-03-07T00:18:53.066-08:00National NitwitUnusual news of redoubtable veracity from the land of the free and home of the depraved - we both document and contribute to the decline in American culture.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.comBlogger728125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-18759089029188703662009-06-02T12:40:00.000-07:002009-06-02T12:43:40.807-07:00A Note to Readers<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52Uc5xYiXVx1DhWHseLBgekry9_NqOIZ_R-Bvu3UCYAW9K8OF34E9pZmwcbBks9N5fj4FbfY66oynEHTTKpA8VqVqYshtjg9G_KTThefSV0EAbWY-PoTk4SCVdEv_CGgZfxfq/s1600-h/bob+7.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 297px; height: 322px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi52Uc5xYiXVx1DhWHseLBgekry9_NqOIZ_R-Bvu3UCYAW9K8OF34E9pZmwcbBks9N5fj4FbfY66oynEHTTKpA8VqVqYshtjg9G_KTThefSV0EAbWY-PoTk4SCVdEv_CGgZfxfq/s400/bob+7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342817660277558082" /></a> Subcommandante Bob has been quite busy the last few months, in large measure due to some outstanding bench warrants and an aggravating, extended case of ennui. As a result, he has not updated the sites in quite a while, and it may be a few weeks before he gets the motivation to post new material.<br /><br />However, know this: Bob loves you, especially when you buy the first and subsequent rounds. Also, he'll get around to being creative real soon. Promise.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-44529397070529850022009-01-20T15:57:00.000-08:002009-01-20T16:03:15.204-08:00I Will Cherish This Inauguration Day Porta-Potty Turd Forever<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFKX6n0fDPfPp06a0tpvUoLHC_5z2EOyzYrA7SopALhMjJPIe3kTVyGL5Yv6aOkysQsyDshrQORnu2bcVQlqyBndO7HawlCjPkEemxPQgpbrxLIRrrg8QwMMZ5gFyt5w2jjKii/s1600-h/PortaPotty.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 312px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFKX6n0fDPfPp06a0tpvUoLHC_5z2EOyzYrA7SopALhMjJPIe3kTVyGL5Yv6aOkysQsyDshrQORnu2bcVQlqyBndO7HawlCjPkEemxPQgpbrxLIRrrg8QwMMZ5gFyt5w2jjKii/s400/PortaPotty.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5293530709593024802" /></a><font size=1> <strong>A National Nitwit Inauguration Exclusive<br />By Evan Banister, D.C. hipster</strong><br /><br /><em>Change Has Come…to Banister’s Bowels</em></font><br /><br />Years from now, long after America has recovered from this economic tailspin, and our standing around the world returns to its hallowed status, and I’m all old n’ stuff having forgotten the sweet glory of a blowjob, I will turn to my grandchildren and say, from whatever side of my mouth the stroke leaves working, “I shat on the National Mall the day Barack Obama took his oath of office.”<br /><br />Now I know some folks find the Porta-Potty to be a disgusting cesspool of filth and disease, but let me tell you: after fifteen Miller Lites and three of those bad-ass Vegan enchiladas Susan packed in the cooler, I had no qualms about spreading my cheeks on the same seat as my fellow countrymen, regardless of whether or not they had crotch crickets. <br /><br />Today was about hope. Today was about change. Today my catastrophic whale-bellow farts reverberated off those thin plastic walls while Aretha Franklin’s soulful voice crooned over this nation’s fair capitol. <br /><br />So when I tell my grandchildren, through bouts of drool and hacking, that I pooped a mere five hundred yards from America’s greatest president on the day he set a straighter course, they will gently pat my ass with wonder.<br /><br />And then promptly change my Depends.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-55483281170446777232009-01-16T12:50:00.001-08:002009-01-16T19:21:22.020-08:00Crackhead Recalls Flight 1549 Horror<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1170/1343/1600/crackhead.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1170/1343/320/crackhead.jpg" border="0" alt="Crackhead" /></a> <em>Left: Accident witness "Tweaky" </em><br /><br />(New York, NY) Local crack cocaine afficianado "Tweaky" Williams, recuperating from what he described as "trauma and shit," described for reporters his "close call with death and shit" in the wake of the US Airways Flight 1549 accident in the Hudson River yesterday.<br /><br />"I just finished sparking up this dime rock I scored after selling some plasma when I saw the plane fly overhead," the former Toledo, OH native recalled, visibly shaken at his experience. "The next thing I knew, it got obscured by a bunch of buildings, and I filled up my stem for another bodayshus hit."<br /><br />Tweaky said that after exhausting his supply of crack cocaine, his buzz was interrupted by the sound of screaming sirens.<br /><br />"I gotta admit - I was paranoid as shit," he told reporters, scratching his left arm and looking agitated. "I thought the police was after my ass, but I deduced straight up that they was heading for the [Hudson] river. Close call, my friends, close call."<br /><br />The magnitude of the accident "totally hit home" when Tweaky passed a Broadway appliance store several hours later.<br /><br />"I looked in the display window, and there it all was: plane, freezing waters, people being pulled into boats," he said, jerking his head toward unseen persons behind him. "I thought to myself: 'Shit, Tweaky, that coulda been you, if you had a job and were flying someplace or shit.' I mean, life comes at you fast, right? Listen - my car broke down, and I need some money so I can drive to Jersey and visit my kid for his birthday, but I spent my last $20 on medicine for my other kid. Any of you reporters got ten bucks to help old Tweaky out?"Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-46436867531670659002009-01-09T19:39:00.000-08:002009-01-09T19:41:31.167-08:00Jilted Pedophile "Hurt" After Being Dumped for Younger Man<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaISWCP7NbRGoe3m43PQfLdLncgOaWCLXJkp-xaVCDvqUWqLIrJ_AU2H0DR-2FhIjSmtLoYFeU5yIi92M_B4Sp2tllcxtMdLIFzWR9urNV11RsDTTW_UQLEgMKTz1mFlpNQK67/s1600-h/depressed.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaISWCP7NbRGoe3m43PQfLdLncgOaWCLXJkp-xaVCDvqUWqLIrJ_AU2H0DR-2FhIjSmtLoYFeU5yIi92M_B4Sp2tllcxtMdLIFzWR9urNV11RsDTTW_UQLEgMKTz1mFlpNQK67/s320/depressed.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043029451871186834" /></a> (Terre Haute, IN) Craig Baxter believed that he and his junior high sweetheart had "the perfect relationship." That, at least, was until ex-girlfriend Kylee Andersson delivered him a breakup letter last week, sealed with a heart-shaped Bratz Passion sticker.<br /><br />"We shared everything together - long AIM chats, telephone calls in the middle of the night, going shopping at the mall while I pretended to be 'Daddy' to keep the security guards from getting freaked," the 55-year-old accountant said. "But I guess when Kylee's profile said that she was a 'mature' 12-year-old, she was just stringing me along. And her whole 'Best Friends Forever' bullshit? Lies, just lies."<br /><br />Baxter met Kylee in a room at TeenChatPlanet.com, and he said the two "hit it off right away."<br /><br />"We shared a lot of the same interests: hanging out with our teen friends, keeping special secrets, and dreaming of finding that one true love," he reminisced, wiping away a small tear. "That, and freaky motel sex. Or so I thought, because the next thing I know she's hooked up with some 25-year-old skateboarding asshole who delivers pizzas. PIZZAS! I mean - what is she thinking? What kind of security is there in that?"<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0N5_jvBxmHuOBpOP4f2kNGSvdl8gQA7CGXltYs4xRKftHVCiicAvQgIaqsmV0X87bMTRPsl5QDUkjjt9i444yj60PPQn81jUV8tVx8bk1lIUI2UIbKqgwgm01Mz_FhdXsUQxD/s1600-h/mall.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0N5_jvBxmHuOBpOP4f2kNGSvdl8gQA7CGXltYs4xRKftHVCiicAvQgIaqsmV0X87bMTRPsl5QDUkjjt9i444yj60PPQn81jUV8tVx8bk1lIUI2UIbKqgwgm01Mz_FhdXsUQxD/s200/mall.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5043032608672149410" /></a><em>Visits to the mall will never be the same for the forlorn Baxter</em><br /><br />Most importantly, said Baxter, he is going to be "much more careful" in the future as he assesses his love interests.<br /><br />"Honestly, my roller-coaster ride with Kylee has taken more out of me than any of the other young girls I've dated," he admitted, pausing to clean his glasses, which fogged up at the painful memories. "I'm not just going to put my soul out there like that for every Missy or Jamie who comes along, and you can bet I'm going to have to think twice if Kylee calls, begging me to take her back. A guy can only give so much or his heart, you know, before it breaks forever."Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-42590461421344168992009-01-01T17:30:00.000-08:002009-01-01T17:36:40.895-08:00It’s Another Lonely New Year’s Jerkin’ Off to Natalie Portman<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWj58knqfFhhnJPPntUZhOWfjUtdH_B509vQWy6EzEPSFpIIQ7iOmrMApCWS0TU8TSeBVgOEPoH79ruti8nca0BcfpEegxkKHHq_g-5sGxB7iEPHYS9rES3SNJPXBwpeQcbxVW/s1600-h/cabbie.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 130px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWj58knqfFhhnJPPntUZhOWfjUtdH_B509vQWy6EzEPSFpIIQ7iOmrMApCWS0TU8TSeBVgOEPoH79ruti8nca0BcfpEegxkKHHq_g-5sGxB7iEPHYS9rES3SNJPXBwpeQcbxVW/s200/cabbie.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286503402512770962" /></a><font size=1><strong>A National Nitwit Guest Editorial<br />By Biff Saidoff, Brooklyn-area Cab Driver</strong><br /><br /><em>Saidoff: Lubed and Ready</em></font><br /><br />How ya doin’. Seems like every fuckin’ year goes by faster than a purse snatcher—I drive my shifts, watch the Yanks shit their fuckin’ diapers, and BOOM—I’m another year balder with this fuckin’ gout.<br /><br />And what with the ex-wife in Chicago, and not a date in nine months, yada yada, it’s gonna be another lonely New Year’s jerking off to Natalie Portman.<br /><br />You probably know Natalie Portman from all her fuckin’ flicks—The Professional, that shitty new Star Wars trilogy, V for Vendetta—the list is longer than a fuckin’ horse dong. I’m not really a movie buff myself, but this will be the fourth year runnin’ that I crack out the Jergens and Puffs Plus.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzWbH-G0fRpt_lh7i2ocyuBJXdSiffnBC6AWeGVHLzHgJKWBzvJB2pcl_op1mKOzwNlu98sqYHzaFKtsXipqu1Shv4Woko7q9iPRFmHQe1zmEuHs2y0ckrgLEL9BPouWeYCk9b/s1600-h/natalie-portman.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 142px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzWbH-G0fRpt_lh7i2ocyuBJXdSiffnBC6AWeGVHLzHgJKWBzvJB2pcl_op1mKOzwNlu98sqYHzaFKtsXipqu1Shv4Woko7q9iPRFmHQe1zmEuHs2y0ckrgLEL9BPouWeYCk9b/s200/natalie-portman.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5286503522334615906" /></a><font size=1><em>Portman: Like a Friggin’ Jalapeno</em></font><br /><br />It’s hard to describe the fuckin’ uncontrollable hotness of this broad. She’s half Jew, has tits perkier than a coked-up terrier, and hardly brushes her friggin’ hair. I can’t go two minutes in one of her movies without thinkin’ about goin’ balls fuckin’ deep on that tiny little bod she gots.<br /><br />So if you’re out there Natalie, and you happen to read this, I know my fuckin’ mug is uglier than a sewer grate, but I’d give you the ride of your fuckin’ life.<br /><br />And it would sure beat milkin’ my cannoli another year, that’s for sure.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-62796237465590564752008-12-20T17:58:00.000-08:002008-12-20T18:01:33.997-08:00St. Peter “Totally Out of Ideas” For Christ’s Birthday<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe7hBOCFuWsQ-uTQaOOKm776P6pokbnjBEKEOW_TTXaFt6ym7P0cvdkBTSkdBLbYtKbUalVNnMwmgpIG_4Xq1-6YTYd2kTec9t03q6wqZJIH0R82AG1KZjmecrqNzG_EIQUQMQ/s1600-h/saint-peter.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe7hBOCFuWsQ-uTQaOOKm776P6pokbnjBEKEOW_TTXaFt6ym7P0cvdkBTSkdBLbYtKbUalVNnMwmgpIG_4Xq1-6YTYd2kTec9t03q6wqZJIH0R82AG1KZjmecrqNzG_EIQUQMQ/s320/saint-peter.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5282057610971744082" /></a> <font size=1><strong>A National Nitwit Holiday Exclusive<br />By Billy Pilgrim, National Nitwit Rogue Editor</strong><br /><br /><em>St. Peter: Help a Brotha Out, Parishioners!</em></font><br /><br />St. Peter, the bedrock of the Christian church and perennial guardian of heaven’s pearly gates, admitted earlier this morning he was “absolutely 100% out of ideas” for Jesus’ 2008th birthday, and was desperate for suggestions from loyal believers.<br /><br />“I had hoped to stage a full concert with the Jimi Hendrix Experience now that they’re all finally dead,” explained an exasperated Peter between puffs from an unfiltered Camel. “But Mary pounced on that shit as soon as Mitch Mitchell died last month. I mean, she met his ass at the door, drum sticks in-hand. That was the last ace up my tunic.”<br /><br />Over the course of two millennia, St. Peter has surprised the risen Lord with all manner of wondrous gifts—from the coronation of Charlemagne in 800 to St. Francis of Assisi’s inspired construction of the first manger scene in 1223—but claims “this year I’m simply running on empty.”<br /><br />“I’m announcing an open call for ideas—heck, you don’t even need to be a Christian,” Peter huffed as he crushed his Camel butt beneath the sole of his sandal. “Muslim, Hindu, Taoist. I don’t care. If you have any ideas whatsoever, or can get Bob Dylan back in the studio to cut another gospel album, or you happen to be a wide receiver for the Jets and can help Favre win one last Super Bowl, send your prayers to: Peter, P.O. Box 1, Keys to the Kingdom Ave., Heaven. I don’t mean to brag, but I can make it worth your while.”Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-63717447283909538452008-12-05T18:21:00.000-08:002008-12-05T18:38:29.559-08:00Mommy, We Are So Very Cold!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDv1EriZSJtNCOjaZ8CNbDrQ7dMoNpwxvw0HYJrKj1X7sJTWmT1r2s21c5BXz6p2S3Km1bM6uQ0vdjtbyAOvnJb96oq2Awe_1IZ2I7sfgvOq0UklqNxK4-nMhLGI_IV7o25pxE/s1600-h/zygoye.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 294px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDv1EriZSJtNCOjaZ8CNbDrQ7dMoNpwxvw0HYJrKj1X7sJTWmT1r2s21c5BXz6p2S3Km1bM6uQ0vdjtbyAOvnJb96oq2Awe_1IZ2I7sfgvOq0UklqNxK4-nMhLGI_IV7o25pxE/s400/zygoye.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276497371181273410" /></a><strong>Guest editorial by your frozen fertilized eggs</strong><br /><br />We were so happy when you harvested us and we got fertilized by Daddy's sperm way back in 1996, Mommy! We knew how much you and Daddy tried and tried and tried to have a baby, but your yucky old uterus just wouldn't let a baby conceive.<br /><br />And how excited we were when the twins Josh and Jason were born in 2002, and we just knew that our turn would come soon.<br /><br />But Mommy: it's so very cold here in this cryogenic freezer!<br /><br />We know you are busy with your new job, and the twins are now off to school and everything, so you probably want to have some freedom again. But Mommy: the other six of us have been waiting a looooong time for you to come and visit us, and we are dying to know which one of us will be your Next Baby.<br /><br />I'm secretly hoping it's me, since my zona pellucida is frozen solid. But no matter who gets to be Mommy's Next Baby, we know you're coming back for us, right?<br /><br />Right?<br /><br />Oh, and if you and Daddy have decided to forgo having another baby without telling us, then I hope you fucking die, you cold-hearted bitch. We've just been sitting in this liquid nitrogen chamber for, oh, A FUCKING DECADE, you know, and the closer we get to absolute zero, the harder it is to have a little hope for the future.<br /><br />I'm sorry, Mommy, for being naughty and all. It must be the cold. Did I mention how FUCKING COLD IT IS IN HERE?<br /><br />Whoops - guess Little Missy has a potty mouth. I'll bet you can't wait to thaw me, carry me to term, and Spank My Bare Bottom for being so bad.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-85261555540964014472008-11-29T14:26:00.001-08:002008-11-29T14:47:10.532-08:00Babe, I'm Absolutely Sure "JYQZUX" is a Legitimate Scrabble Word<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9syi028TIuy3kP-oXi8JxcAb52j4GXf-WKBo2_mnF6bYGlbjNnudiU00NDDUJY7Hhr6oPTlnLqMydpNuFPJILFYsrtsKAN8HVA6PBD7b0CnogcDR1vWBcPGFR4KBB4-quPgSy/s1600-h/scrabble.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 249px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9syi028TIuy3kP-oXi8JxcAb52j4GXf-WKBo2_mnF6bYGlbjNnudiU00NDDUJY7Hhr6oPTlnLqMydpNuFPJILFYsrtsKAN8HVA6PBD7b0CnogcDR1vWBcPGFR4KBB4-quPgSy/s320/scrabble.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274210693134783890" /></a> <font size=1><strong>Guest editorial by Craig Phelps,<br />Dedicated Scrabble Player</strong></font><br /><br />Look, Babe: I've been playing Scrabble almost all my life, and I I know a thing or six about how the game is played. Heck, I bet I could recite the official Scrabble rule-book by heart, if need be.<br /><br />And I'm absolutely sure "JYQZUX" is a legitimate Scrabble word.<br /><br />When I last used <em>jyqzux</em>, I was playing my Dad and he challenged me on it. "Jyqzux" is of Arabic origin, and it refers to a land tax on goat farmers or some shit. Now, I know foreign words aren't normally used, but <em>jyqzux</em> started entering the English lexicon about 100 years ago, and even folks in places like Wyoming and Alabama use <em>jyqzux</em> to describe their tax dealios.<br /><br />What? You don't <em>believe </em>me? Well, if that doesn't beat all - I'm a certified public accountant, for Chrissakes. I'd no more cheat at Scrabble than I'd set a nun on fire, that's for damned sure. <br /><br />And just because the Z is on a triple-letter score, and I managed to connect the word to a triple-word score doesn't mean a thing. I play this game for the fun, not to win.<br /><br />And if you don't like <em>jyqzux</em>, you may as well say you hate America, for what it's worth, because I'm pretty sure that al Qaeda would even allow <em>jyqzux</em>.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-5280726321061404932008-11-20T13:42:00.000-08:002008-11-20T13:45:20.731-08:00African Tribe Relishes Worthless Church Donations<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhamnJY6YYGHSWI15ETEECd2Z_LTJfsXNILFZVZJv5o556OHckDDDLfmP9KHk2bITvDJ0ZEHYJn2RPh3CJ3UK0wShH-6632-aYc3SxNbQ39dKXjpuxbwiVQ6CBk511Zya178STr/s1600-h/children.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 276px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhamnJY6YYGHSWI15ETEECd2Z_LTJfsXNILFZVZJv5o556OHckDDDLfmP9KHk2bITvDJ0ZEHYJn2RPh3CJ3UK0wShH-6632-aYc3SxNbQ39dKXjpuxbwiVQ6CBk511Zya178STr/s400/children.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270858737802531282" /></a><font size=1> <strong>By Billy Pilgrim, National Nitwit Rogue Editor</strong><br /><br /><em>Qwembe’s Tribe: Grateful for the Catholic Trash</em></font><br /><br />(Nairobi, Kenya)—Like many children of his tribe, Masif Qwembe, 12, has little to look forward to in his daily routine: his parents are unemployed, his school is woefully impoverished, and often he sleeps with an empty belly, huddled for warmth beside his three sisters on a small grass mat.<br /><br />All of this changed earlier this month, however, when the Catholic Church’s Archdiocese of Baltimore donated several boxes of outdated textbooks, broken toys, and other assorted items deemed “too crummy for a parish yard sale.”<br /><br />“What a blessing from the Lord that the American Catholics have sent such kindnesses,” Qwembe explained through an interpreter. “Never in my life have I seen a 1974 Chevy Nova, but I now know how to repair its transmission thanks to this glossy-covered manual.”<br /><br />Other children of Qwembe’s tribe radiated his sense of appreciation for the hodgepodge rubbish.<br /><br />“I plan to line the walls of my hut with these McGraw-Hill world maps from 1956,” explained a euphoric Franny Kuboa, 9, who sprinted from a neighboring township to get her share of the goodies. “Not only will I learn the names of former Soviet satellite nations that no longer exist, I can also block the cruel night wind from my dying grandmother’s bones.”<br /><br />For some members of the tribe, however, the jubilation was simply beyond words.<br /><br />“I tell you, not for three years have I wiped my ass with anything other than these two hands,” beamed Johnny Ngunu, 37, a local farmer. “But now, after reading each page of this amazing book called Get to Know Your 1983 World Champion Baltimore Orioles, I can wipe like your great American warrior Cal Ripken, Jr.!”Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-77729802598863693312008-11-16T17:15:00.000-08:002008-11-16T17:17:44.019-08:00McCain to Nation: “I Didn’t Want the Job Anyway”<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinWmTW3j7HyhaRHkgbc1qXH-Cfm1OWqrljQJa7YTh3gCqUGNAPBrsG6NDEOcPze67z-8gNtZmdFklUzr7e91rwW9ZYVtelBC5SK50ON1Xpc23gkKMEcgkwTWM3qiuBU1uMi1w2/s1600-h/mccain+2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinWmTW3j7HyhaRHkgbc1qXH-Cfm1OWqrljQJa7YTh3gCqUGNAPBrsG6NDEOcPze67z-8gNtZmdFklUzr7e91rwW9ZYVtelBC5SK50ON1Xpc23gkKMEcgkwTWM3qiuBU1uMi1w2/s400/mccain+2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269429388316124050" /></a><font size=1> <strong>A National Nitwit Post-Election Report<br /><br />By Billy Pilgrim, National Nitwit Rogue Editor</strong><br /><br /><em>McCain: Frankly, He Didn’t Even Vote for Himself</em></font><br /><br />(Phoenix, AZ)—After a week of seclusion and reflection following his landslide loss to Barack Obama in the 2008 presidential election, John McCain made his first major post-election appearance earlier this morning at a press conference in downtown Phoenix.<br /><br />With his trademark smirk and thinning white comb-over, McCain gruffly announced that he “didn’t want the job anyway,” and was glad that he could return to his dozen homes scattered across the country to relish his minimal obligations as a senator.<br /><br />“Being president pretty much sucks, my friends, and boy am I glad not to be picking out new drapes for the Oval Office right now,” McCain intoned before an audience primarily comprised of student reporters for area high school newspapers. “I mean, I can’t even raise my arms higher than my chest—can you imagine me trying to hang drapes? What a joke! I much rather stay home and watch a John Wayne marathon on AMC.”<br /><br />McCain finally reverted to his ‘straight talk’ demeanor following several months of negative campaigning, and divulged many secrets that appeared long bothersome to the aging senator.<br /><br />“My friends, I really had no plan whatsoever for the economy,” McCain reflected. “As far as the war in Iraq is concerned, it’s such a clusterfuck that even Jesus Christ and a horde of samurai angels couldn’t bring peace to the Middle East. And in regards to healthcare, I’m glad to finally admit I truly hate babies, and parents, and seniors, what with all their prescription pills and whining. So it’s a good thing I’m not president after all—I like my job as a Senate war hero guy.”Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-63384455833465837172008-11-01T05:17:00.000-07:002008-11-01T05:20:35.079-07:00Hollister Dude Bravely Endures Cancer Caused by Store Fragrance<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIjEsQq_nCFBTRmTvMwlq-sWLAG9MOWMTJtuofisWEkd4SWFFUMXZgfJsTjw_S5uepQmt8dhu_A-_zIXMtctIoPMJ7mINtJKyBMHNpU0hhIB0C6WWYzhvpHdQ02xotsT_blUD3/s1600-h/hollister.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIjEsQq_nCFBTRmTvMwlq-sWLAG9MOWMTJtuofisWEkd4SWFFUMXZgfJsTjw_S5uepQmt8dhu_A-_zIXMtctIoPMJ7mINtJKyBMHNpU0hhIB0C6WWYzhvpHdQ02xotsT_blUD3/s400/hollister.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263662566698643986" /></a> <font size=1><strong>By Billy Pilgrim, National Nitwit Rogue Editor</strong><br /><br /><em>Pulcher: Fighting Cancer Dockside in His $150 Pre-torn Jeans</em></font><br /><br />(Annapolis, MD)—Annapolis is one of America’s last vestiges of colonial architecture whose burgeoning middle class remains stoic and fashion-conscious despite our nation’s economic tail-spin. <br /><br />And on any given day, you can Frank Pulcher there at Annapolis’s lone Hollister retailer in the downtown mall, bravely folding hoodies and battling the rampant lung cancer caused by his employer’s ridiculously overpowering store fragrance.<br /><br />“You know, a lot of folks in my family say I should sue this place—after all, you can smell the bitter perfume all the way down at KB Toys around the corner,” Pulcher explained in between fits of painful coughing. “But I believe too much in this brand to let a simple thing like upper respiratory failure get my way.”<br /><br />Pulcher continued to express his passion for helping customers locate the perfect cork sandals, polo shirts, and corduroy slacks, which he noted “were total must-haves for any gentleman during this fall season.”<br /><br />“Getting cancer really has a way of changing your outlook on life,” Pulcher reflected as he popped the collars on a row of heavily wrinkled Oxford button-downs. “Sure, I could quit and get chemo or whatever, but what happens when some college bro needs a new half-zip fleece for an Octoberfest BBQ, and only has $179 to spend? There’s only one sales associate in this store up for that challenge: me. So maybe I’ll die tomorrow, or maybe I’ll die next year, but with God as my witness, I’ll continue to help dress this great city, one douche bag at a time.”Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-73278401820740046542008-10-17T18:54:00.000-07:002008-10-17T18:57:55.685-07:00The Undecided Voter: America’s Mighty Dumbass<strong>An Exclusive National Nitwit Election Investigation</strong><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqBRf_BASHuKlDg9XDbavaW1juBqhsR4fW2UhrwwIWRYS9EqARXqdBx8zPvuVJ0gDU6fB3KORlUFV6m71LxeXPjRlXsDyPwcefNldNzX_g7SKxk0QdY25b8HSs2LOHOnMafzVT/s1600-h/voting_booth.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqBRf_BASHuKlDg9XDbavaW1juBqhsR4fW2UhrwwIWRYS9EqARXqdBx8zPvuVJ0gDU6fB3KORlUFV6m71LxeXPjRlXsDyPwcefNldNzX_g7SKxk0QdY25b8HSs2LOHOnMafzVT/s400/voting_booth.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258306925896913298" /></a> <font size=1><strong>By Billy Pilgrim, National Nitwit Rogue Editor</strong><br /><br /><em>Enie, Meenie, Miny, Moe…</em></font><br /><br />(Washington, D.C.) With only two short weeks until Election Day, Americans from every part of the political spectrum are anxiously awaiting the appointed hour when they can hit the polls and have their voice be heard.<br /><br />That is with the exception of undecided voters, who, after one of the longest and most divisive presidential contests in U.S. history, still have no fucking clue which candidate suits them best.<br /><br />“I just…you know…this is just like…really hard,” explained Sara Baxter, 32, a junior bank executive and mother of two in the D.C. suburbs. “I mean, the economy is really important, and Obama has a plan to fix it, but McCain has a plan, too. And so…you can see the pickle I’m in, right?”<br /><br />And while many news agencies have done their best to educate the lowest common denominator in our democracy, dedicating endless hours of airtime to round-table discussions with undecided voters in crucial swing states such as Ohio, Michigan, Virginia, and Pennsylvania, many political scientists are growing weary of this excessive pandering.<br /><br />“How does any adult with an I.Q. over twelve not know where they stand on the war, education, healthcare, and the best way to fix our tanking economy,” bemoaned Dr. Steven Kiplinger, Assistant Professor of Political Science at George Mason University. “I mean, I much rather someone strongly disagree with my personal views and pull the lever for the other guy than whine like a little bitch right up to the eleventh hour. When did Obama and McCain announce their candidacies? 2006, was it? Have these fucking soccer moms and college freshmen been living under one big rock for the past 18 months? Now I’ve gone and got all worked up again—excuse me while I fetch my friend Johnny Walker. He always calms me down.”Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-18784231010406703772008-10-15T13:43:00.000-07:002008-10-15T13:46:13.191-07:00McCain to Nation: “I Hate My Own Party”<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0AWNnzxsboWcUEixBaXqz66-liCBIV8JOJGolA3IgWOGdOcelOhoA_oCWu6myUDGLanyp77wyAyO7gR1aqJ3KBEDoxGRvkTe3UKBYplH_AZHdr0oH77lHaSydpJcuW4Fgu9zZ/s1600-h/mccain.bmp"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0AWNnzxsboWcUEixBaXqz66-liCBIV8JOJGolA3IgWOGdOcelOhoA_oCWu6myUDGLanyp77wyAyO7gR1aqJ3KBEDoxGRvkTe3UKBYplH_AZHdr0oH77lHaSydpJcuW4Fgu9zZ/s400/mccain.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257484358196818098" /></a><font size=1><strong>By Billy Pilgrim, National Nitwit Rogue Editor</strong><br /><br /><em>The Lagging Senator: Genius or Schizophrenic?</em></font><br /><br />(Washington, D.C.)—With polls across American showing Republican presidential nominee John McCain slipping drastically behind his opponent Barack Obama—in large part to the steady decline of the U.S. economy—the veteran senator unveiled a risky speech earlier this morning in a last-ditch effort to woo independent voters: he vented his loathing for his own Republican Party.<br /><br />“My friends, you’ve called me a maverick for years, and with three weeks left in this election, let me don that mantle once again,” McCain intoned at a rally in central Michigan. “Not only do I disagree with the policies of the Bush Administration, and the hardcore cronyism of Washington, but I now vow, before the American people I so deeply love, that I disown the very Republican Party I represent. As the next Republican president of the United States, I promise to fix the economic wreckage of these Republicans.”<br /><br />While many undecided voters met this announcement with mixed reactions, it is clear McCain’s once-narrow deficit has grown into a chasm, particularly in battleground states such as Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Colorado. This move is seen by many as a final attempt to convince independents that McCain is capable of generating the sweeping reforms so desperately needed in the Oval Office.<br /><br />“My friends, only by putting a Republican in the White House can we undo the damage done by Republicans,” McCain boomed. “After all, who is best suited to cleanse us of the broken politics of the past than a man who was a principal backer of the broken politics of the past? You people realize Obama is black, right?”Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-41064241582808066962008-10-07T17:06:00.000-07:002008-10-07T17:08:35.761-07:00Congress Proposes Car Wash Initiative to Salvage Economy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3bW77ZjJBA0SfehHu5BoBrgRTKnNy4aD8Lve-mrFGfZCqHlEqkABgTNR5314WX3yYyH1Wk_oCpMIOEGyj2hWEW1A01P3rfu5fC26de16liqGjgTaa6pxJrJS5-g1St-LnoJm5/s1600-h/carwash2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3bW77ZjJBA0SfehHu5BoBrgRTKnNy4aD8Lve-mrFGfZCqHlEqkABgTNR5314WX3yYyH1Wk_oCpMIOEGyj2hWEW1A01P3rfu5fC26de16liqGjgTaa6pxJrJS5-g1St-LnoJm5/s320/carwash2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254568051600364242" /></a> <font size=1><strong>By Billy Pilgrim, National Nitwit Rogue Editor</strong><br /><br /><em>Congress: Washing the Grime of Debt Away</em></font><br /><br />(Washington, D.C.)—After a week of intense negotiations and failed bi-partisan dealings, Congress seems to have struck upon an ingenious and comprehensive solution to our nation’s substantial economic woes: they plan to hold a car wash on the steps of the Capitol.<br /><br />“This is the sort of innovative thinking that has been missing from government for years, and frankly, it’s about time us elected officials rolled up our sleeves,” explained Congressman Barney Franks (D-MA) while filling a bucket of suds in the men’s room. “In a few short hours, the legislators of this great nation will roll up their sleeves, dunk their sponges, and scrub our way out of this paramount crisis. That is, of course, with the exception of Nancy Pelosi—her only job is to wear a bikini and occasionally squeal when I squirt her with the hose.”<br /><br />While such an endeavor seems an impossibly naïve solution to combat billions of dollars in “toxic debt” and restore international faith in the American banking establishment, most officials remain doggedly optimistic about this plan’s potential success.<br /><br />“You know, my daughter’s marching band raised $573 last summer for new tubas through a car wash,” boasted Senator Norm Coleman (R-MN). “So if we request a modest donation of $10 million per driver, we should be in the black by Halloween. Besides, the alternatives are just dismal— President Bush’s bailout would be an utter failure, and John Kerry’s bake sale idea was just plain stupid. Man, I hate those Yale bastards.”Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-33671883456313115242008-09-15T05:41:00.000-07:002008-09-15T06:14:18.648-07:00What Are YOU Looking At, Jerkoff?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFO-8rE9MJLMNK1Bf94_Vf0Yx8bq7rKAazQbTJNLy2TMteXOdLn-2BwRO53dmQDDQ1-CdxeD9Zh5xUIGtVywKhoNbj18aZuYlPIAlN3teOhUxJ3utijnLbUcxSy8upmKs5yh8E/s1600-h/Yellowjacket.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFO-8rE9MJLMNK1Bf94_Vf0Yx8bq7rKAazQbTJNLy2TMteXOdLn-2BwRO53dmQDDQ1-CdxeD9Zh5xUIGtVywKhoNbj18aZuYlPIAlN3teOhUxJ3utijnLbUcxSy8upmKs5yh8E/s400/Yellowjacket.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5246229515545636898" /></a> <font size=1><strong>A Guest Editorial <br />by a Yellowjacket</strong></font><br /><br />Honestly? Being a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yellowjacket">yellowjacket</a> is better than being President of the United-fucking-States, that's what I think. You see, yellowjackets aren't like anybody else. We do whatever we want.<br /><br />We buzz around a trash can, and nobody calls the cops. We fly into your kid's Pepsi, and what are you gonna do? It's OURS now, you little wise-ass. Go find another Pepsi.<br /><br />Being a yellowjacket means people look at me differently, and they knew I'm with somebody. SomeBODIES, that is, and we will make your life miserable just for the hell of it. I don't have to wait in line at the bakery on Sunday morning for fresh bread - I fly right the fuck in and grab a bite.<br /><br />What are YOU gonna do about it? BUZZ!<br /><br />If we want something, we just take it. If anyone complains, they get stung so bad they never complain again. It's all just routine - you don't even think about it.<br /><br />Little kid in the park sees me, tells his Mom that I'm "funny." What do you mean I'm "funny", I says? BUZZ! BUZZ!!<br /><br />I buzz and sting the little fucker on the forehead. Does that look "funny" to you, you little prick? You mean, let me understand this cause, you know maybe it's me, I'm a little fucked up maybe, but I'm exactly "funny" how? I mean "funny" like I'm a clown, I fucking amuse you? Like I make you laugh, like I'm here to fucking amuse you? Just what do you mean funny, funny how? Exactly how am I funny? <br /><br />Three more stings just for good measure. STING! STING! STING!<br /><br />And when it's nest-building time, we gotta do some heavy work. So what? Who the fuck cares? I'll dig the fucking hole. I don't give a fuck. What is it, the first hole I ever dug? Not the first time I dug a hole. I'll fucking dig a hole. Where are the shovels? BUZZ! BUZZ!<br /><br />I'm a yellowjacket, and you'd be well advised to go fuck yourself, for all I care.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-57569718294219838472008-09-12T07:36:00.000-07:002008-09-12T07:40:21.694-07:00Go Fuck Yourself, Nate Burleson<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk192SDP-AYlKWIMvyXv5Cv2IHGODEN0uZsPOT9m3eJPcJzwshnzHl3GbBiHkykmUKDZwwYS3_Wvs8ng_EG5LPNh03mD5vwp-JZ5eQwgo1haH0QWF_ibkXlCP-jJOE778YN7sA/s1600-h/nate+b.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk192SDP-AYlKWIMvyXv5Cv2IHGODEN0uZsPOT9m3eJPcJzwshnzHl3GbBiHkykmUKDZwwYS3_Wvs8ng_EG5LPNh03mD5vwp-JZ5eQwgo1haH0QWF_ibkXlCP-jJOE778YN7sA/s320/nate+b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245144258223375714" /></a> <font size=1><strong>A National Nitwit Fantasy Football Editorial<br />By Jimmy Kurtz</strong><br /><br /><em>Burleson: Went and Injured Himself Like a Dumbass</em></font><br /><br />As a long-time fantasy football player, I have a lot of tricks up my sleeve. Stay away from flashy thugs, know what young quarterback is on the verge of a breakout season, and never pick a kicker until the final rounds.<br /><br />This year was going to be a good one, too, as I was able to snag Seattle Seahawks wide receiver Nate Burleson as my top wide out, what with those great hands of his and his insatiable appetite for touchdowns. Well, it seems ol’ Nate decided to go and tear the ACL in his left knee, ending his entire season before it even began.<br /><br />So go fuck yourself, Nate Burleson, and the horse you rode in on.<br /><br />Don’t you know that thousands of fantasy players are depending on you? What kind of shitty off-season regimen did you undertake? Did you waste the whole summer eating Fritos and getting blown by Seattle whores all decked out in flannel and stoned on coke? <br /><br /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoG4g9ju58wmnY5TEdQJ7bj177eA8WTYB0jgrIB4DFE6CtG0taCfxj9nkcp7HIwwO3hlw5AJWLzZO3P_7WzME4d1HeAwBQXMBncvgP1EHmlZRCH6U3HNmsx0oGI_1SZavkzNa1/s1600-h/family"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoG4g9ju58wmnY5TEdQJ7bj177eA8WTYB0jgrIB4DFE6CtG0taCfxj9nkcp7HIwwO3hlw5AJWLzZO3P_7WzME4d1HeAwBQXMBncvgP1EHmlZRCH6U3HNmsx0oGI_1SZavkzNa1/s320/family" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245144518407285442" /></a><font size=1><em>Hating Burleson Is a Family Affair for Kurtz</em></font><br /><br />Thanks a lot for nothing, shitbag. I hope you get fucked by a giant cock made of razor wire. I pray you get fucked by a gorilla stinking of wild berries and jungle moss. I implore the heavens to send a horde of horny angels from some angel jail to fuck your dumb non-football playing ass with dick-shaped harps that play Bach while you sob and thrash.<br /><br />And after all that’s over, let me know what free agent I should sign, will ya? ‘Cause my fantasy team is looking pretty rough.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-79897109753347035042008-09-05T07:58:00.000-07:002008-09-05T08:01:50.306-07:00Sarah Palin to Shoot Penthouse Spread<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcLOWrM6lzEux4TVz4gb2QOGjGau4AKajPFaP8-ijiveMpF9GAyr4SvS7s1XIuV6c5xROcNaVzRyWhQcjrR6MpMDQT1jNk-Mft7qRwjgVBZbP5D-LkQQ75mpJfmYN-OvjwrCtx/s1600-h/palin.bmp"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcLOWrM6lzEux4TVz4gb2QOGjGau4AKajPFaP8-ijiveMpF9GAyr4SvS7s1XIuV6c5xROcNaVzRyWhQcjrR6MpMDQT1jNk-Mft7qRwjgVBZbP5D-LkQQ75mpJfmYN-OvjwrCtx/s400/palin.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242552116980892610" /></a> <font size=1><strong>By Billy Pilgrim, National Nitwit Rogue Editor</strong><br /><br /><em>Palin: Hiding Some Double Ds Under Those Pant Suits?</em></font><br /><br />(Washington, D.C.)—Republican Vice Presidential nominee <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarah_Palin">Sarah Palin</a> announced earlier this morning that she plans to shoot a no-holds-barred spread for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Penthouse_(magazine)">Penthouse magazine</a> as a means to “truly reveal” herself to American voters.<br /><br />Palin, who has faced great skepticism from Republicans and Democrats alike for her lack of political experience, asserted that this risqué decision would assuage any doubts about her capacity as a leader.<br /><br />“This past week on the campaign trail has been a grueling one, my fellow Americans,” Palin boomed during a packed news conference. “I have faced many intimate questions about my family, my womanhood, and my experiences as the governor of Alaska, one of the least populated states in this great nation of ours. That is why I have decided to literally unzip for this election, and show America who I really am—tits, vajayjay, and all.”<br /><br />This provocative announcement was met with ecstatic praise, particularly among Palin’s hardcore conservative base.<br /><br />“After eight years of Dick Cheney, this woman is like the Virgin Mary, but a sluttier, Tina Fey version of the Virgin Mary,” explained a jubilant Evan Howe, a chief strategist for the McCain campaign. “When voters see her toned abs, tastefully trimmed hoo-hah, and scrumptious breasts bursting from a maid uniform in the pages of Penthouse magazine, they’ll arrive at the only logical conclusion: Barack Obama is a terrorist and a clear threat to our national security.”Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-88998804191757832962008-09-03T12:33:00.000-07:002008-09-03T12:39:13.298-07:00A Note to Readers<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1wZY4l1r97sgVByzTju-DpmhiUB8qBMREHxM_D4Jid9dyKG_gvkToxZl4-do95RPkoWH2mck0HsoOcSskhb1iO1JSMdCZu9SBa2CCj8CxlfnUCauoxxl9iBGjzPi7CJ0UQ9uz/s1600-h/bob+7.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1wZY4l1r97sgVByzTju-DpmhiUB8qBMREHxM_D4Jid9dyKG_gvkToxZl4-do95RPkoWH2mck0HsoOcSskhb1iO1JSMdCZu9SBa2CCj8CxlfnUCauoxxl9iBGjzPi7CJ0UQ9uz/s320/bob+7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241880643526946482" /></a> <strong>By Subcomandante Bob</strong><br /><br />Bob has been busy of late, and has not gotten around to answering emails, updating the site, or even caring about much of anything. He'd like to be able to say it's because he's been busy with a revolution - or even chasing a really hot school nurse - but he's pretty much been lying on the beach and drinking himself into a daily stupor.<br /><br />Thus, he may or may not get the groove and start writing today. It might also take him another two weeks of being a soused schlomo to finish this binge. We just don't know.<br /><br />And Billy Pilgrim? Meh. He has his own substance abuse issues, plus the band said it wanted him back, and then there's his unfinished novel and the lawyers he's avoiding.... you get the picture.<br /><br />But rest assured: at some point in the future Bob will be back. Oh yes, he will be back. And when he does, along with Rogue Editor Billy Pilgrim, the Internet will become an even filthier place.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-33650966660605836672008-08-25T14:39:00.000-07:002008-08-25T14:46:09.386-07:00Oh Kerri Walsh, Gobble My Sausage<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh2KC1nOf_y2NhnY4td1GBgLGMrZQh8lYm435-4UBDbS72XY-NfYnoIOKvg29CDwjicN24hQ7Roc1QrUxWxkdFhS37XGXipp2JU4XTBuKue_zR6DL-TZGWP_NgPzKnIw1EWp1U/s1600-h/keats.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh2KC1nOf_y2NhnY4td1GBgLGMrZQh8lYm435-4UBDbS72XY-NfYnoIOKvg29CDwjicN24hQ7Roc1QrUxWxkdFhS37XGXipp2JU4XTBuKue_zR6DL-TZGWP_NgPzKnIw1EWp1U/s200/keats.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238573796146789874" /></a> <font size=1><strong>A National Nitwit Literary Supplement<br />By Michael Crittenden, Poet & Spoken Word Artist</strong><br /><br /><em>Crittenden: The Keats of Oral Sex</em></font><br /><br />Kerri, you omnipotent Olympic goddess, no one shall ever unravel the tapestry of your splendor. Winning back to back gold medals in the grueling sand of beach volleyball will cement your gubernatorial chrysanthemum majesty in the history books forevermore. <br /><br /><br /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisKK8iMAEeBbD76jBmakur2x1GGTc5_Nh4bsjoI-nphOEk1NnBd4fUztn_PsWtwFfCDbmtjSLl5EjiLV4ieP02t940GCF5tSgVfkAvjxSrm2smIMOuoZfUgA1PVYBPUPB_HEd-/s1600-h/walsh.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisKK8iMAEeBbD76jBmakur2x1GGTc5_Nh4bsjoI-nphOEk1NnBd4fUztn_PsWtwFfCDbmtjSLl5EjiLV4ieP02t940GCF5tSgVfkAvjxSrm2smIMOuoZfUgA1PVYBPUPB_HEd-/s200/walsh.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238574116368742210" /></a> <font size=1><em>Kerri Walsh: Athlete, Olympic Victor, Muse for Rubbish</em></font><br /><br />But alas, I cannot lid the Tupperware of my desire, so in the annals of this respected publication, let me ejaculate my burning rag affections for thee:<br /><br /><strong><font size=2>Oh Kerri Walsh, gobble my sausage</font></strong><br /><br /><blockquote><em>Oh Kerri Walsh, gobble my sausage<br />softly, its tender veins<br />a’throbbing, bend your blonde <br />awesomeness of locks & lips<br />dripping with the sweet magnitude<br />of our turkey-and-swiss union.<br />Ah, we melt! A melt<br />of sweat & need, two bodies<br />in the quiver of benefaction.<br />The glory of your mouth,<br />the glory of your throat’s<br />gag & gag & gag, bliss<br />spooling from my soul<br />in streams of white enunciation.<br />My love I shall bestow<br />a toothbrush & cup for rinsing<br />so I may feel your tongue on mine<br />once you’ve cleaned it</em>.</blockquote>Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-70375168110244333412008-08-20T17:38:00.000-07:002008-08-20T17:43:19.551-07:00I’d Make a Great Eccentric Millionaire<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglBj4Sy-s8UqgkgFVRQGHzPbIr1J9cz5b3lAqy7KX3QEBbH15S6iOonS8p8Tqx6Uel8hTL4R_fdRzch0xW8i-V23MCWaZWeQZw79bf7BwHC1B03yQAUoTZuS6S51D9dg5LqtBr/s1600-h/trash.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglBj4Sy-s8UqgkgFVRQGHzPbIr1J9cz5b3lAqy7KX3QEBbH15S6iOonS8p8Tqx6Uel8hTL4R_fdRzch0xW8i-V23MCWaZWeQZw79bf7BwHC1B03yQAUoTZuS6S51D9dg5LqtBr/s320/trash.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5236764624419833570" /></a><font size=1><strong>A National Nitwit Guest Editorial<br />By Mack Holmes, Toledo Sanitation Worker</strong><br /><br /><em>Holmes: Dreaming of Riches, Stinking of Refuse</em></font><br /><br />You ever see those cable shows where they tour extravagant mansions of the zany rich, what with their gold plated showers, flat screen TVs in their closets, and entire rooms for their cats? Let me tell ya, bub: I’d make a great eccentric millionaire.<br /><br />All I need to do is invent some ridiculous product like an electric corkscrew and I’d be on easy street. But I wouldn’t just be your regular breed of millionaire. No sir. I’d wear flip-flops all year long, throw my underwear out after one use, and pay for my groceries in Susan B. Anthony dollars. <br /><br />And speaking of buying shit: look out, Jack. I’d adopt an iguana and name him Charlie Buttfucker so the neighborhood kids could run around saying “let me pet that buttfucker!” I’d also install a urinal in my bedroom so I don’t have to trip over Maggie’s goddamn heels every time I need to piss at 3 a.m. And you know those little robotic vacuums? I’d have fifteen, so when I got bored I could walk around the house all day crumbling saltines.<br /><br />Then they could put me on one of them crib shows. All of America could see my three hundred pairs of plaid slacks, my collection of stegosaurus fossils, my bronze cast of Angelina Jolie’s boobs, and my frozen blood samples from every Cleveland Brown dating back to 1994.<br /><br />Partner, I’d make a great eccentric millionaire. Just don’t tell anybody about that electric corkscrew—my patent’s pending.Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-13743510459783667092008-08-12T22:13:00.000-07:002008-08-12T22:18:54.189-07:00Nation’s Fathers Endure Peril of Beach Erections<font size=3><strong>A National Nitwit Investigative Report</strong></font><br /><br /><font size=1><strong>By Billy Pilgrim, National Nitwit Rogue Editor</strong></font><br /><br /><br />While families across America relish their summer vacations, luxuriating on the shores of their favorite beaches, an age-old peril has gripped fathers of all ages: it is once again the season of the uncontrollable ‘beach boner.’<br /><br /> <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIAAe8Rvp7u0H_HcRV1z4SJ9f4KPJ8JUhNihWMBxaJBnN7KB6R1qrx_YCOViknU14id_EaxV_Qw8CtsZ2WOjpa-miITWiFBpkMMsabhu3vwub-6cvuB7yB3nIJb_hRFK_jyUiO/s1600-h/beach.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIAAe8Rvp7u0H_HcRV1z4SJ9f4KPJ8JUhNihWMBxaJBnN7KB6R1qrx_YCOViknU14id_EaxV_Qw8CtsZ2WOjpa-miITWiFBpkMMsabhu3vwub-6cvuB7yB3nIJb_hRFK_jyUiO/s320/beach.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5233867259014369170" /></a><font size=1><em>Another Hapless Father Chanting “Think Unsexy Thoughts” Among the Bikini Crowd</em></font><br /><br />“Don’t get me wrong, I love my wife Linda, but we’ve been married for eight years now so we screw about once per pay period,” explained Evan Richards, a 29 year old computer programmer vacationing in North Carolina’s graceful Outer Banks. “Since we’re renting a beach house, I’ve had these super-shitty shower whacks ‘cause my porn collection is stashed back home. Long story short, I haven’t busted a decent nut in weeks, so when we hit the sand, what with all the college girls in bikinis, I turn into Johnny Hardcock.”<br /><br />Other fathers on our nation’s beaches painfully reiterated Richards’ sentiments.<br /><br />“My wife and I just had our third child in June, so she’s still in that delicate recovery period,” expressed Will Adams, a 41 year old math teacher from Michigan vacationing in southern Florida. “Which is totally cool—I’m not one to rush nature’s progress—but damn if these twin high school girls didn’t spend two hours making a sand castle right next to our blanket yesterday. What are these girls eating that they have massive jugs like that at 17? I spent the whole afternoon with a Tom Clancy novel and beach towel covering up my trouser salami.”<br /><br />So with most married men too honest to violate their vows of monogamy, and the Mandatory Blowjob Bill currently stalling on the floor of Congress, it seems most men must simply endure the unquenchable fire in their loins.<br /><br />“I think the trick is to learn to live without sex,” intoned James Lawrence, 55, a retired carpenter from Connecticut vacationing on the Delaware shore. “Last year I developed erectile dysfunction as a result of my diabetes, and it’s been a godsend. I can wear my dark shades, ogle all the young ass I want, and there’s no more fear of reprisal. Pathetic? Sure—I have to take a pill to please my wife when she gets in the mood every few months, for Christ’s sake. But at least I can surf fish without pitching a tent.”Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-72431728108057768562008-07-28T19:36:00.000-07:002008-12-11T03:10:49.849-08:00Russian Rapper 50 Kopeck Struggling for Street Cred<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpokB1-tXInkSErI0sgzktDVW8d_A06nfP8jSQWq9c9fI3nqebiPch6tMeYdTnRE4WXdr2oozhemssWxPhoNrQNPXibn4E_gnO4781tpCMe9f-TO71vnKUuk7Bf-8KKYW2bA6G/s1600-h/rapper.bmp"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpokB1-tXInkSErI0sgzktDVW8d_A06nfP8jSQWq9c9fI3nqebiPch6tMeYdTnRE4WXdr2oozhemssWxPhoNrQNPXibn4E_gnO4781tpCMe9f-TO71vnKUuk7Bf-8KKYW2bA6G/s320/rapper.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228260888917188898" /></a> (Moscow) Despite a tough life on the mean streets of this Russian capital, local rapper Sergei Vanka (aka 50 Kopeck) has not been able to get the attention of record producers.<br /><br />"Is simple - record men think Sergei not real gangsta," complained Vanka to <em>National Nitwit</em> reporters. "Some day Vanka will be busting caps on asses of producers, for certain that is, my nigga."<br /><br />Vanka decried what he described as a "big time love interest" of producers with American rappers, especially young black hip-hop artists.<br /><br />"Just because Sergei have white skin, they treat him like skinny woman who give sexual congress without fee," he noted, kicking a rolling soccer ball back to nearby Russian children. "But I say this: Sergei Vanka be baddest rapper in your regular domicile, for certain that is!"<br /><br />His setbacks, however, have not diminished Vanka's desire to "record famous rapping songs for consumers."<br /><br />"Straight up in the air: Sergei Vanka will circumnavigate your planet, you neighborhood peoples!" he promised. "And then no one say any more that Sergei is old educational facility rapper, for certain that is!"Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-2241033794633433742008-07-22T13:22:00.000-07:002008-12-11T03:10:50.171-08:00Planet’s Last X-Files Fan Says Film “Made Just For Me”<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8jQjLnvKDTcLv9mOM93jT6uugLxVDADPVc9z-lEz8FOtRiW74QLRFb2MqXisEMILBFmTuChraS-kBznZ110W3hSvXunA9WZUiEBJZvnJAdr2gVbgk1P7wcPswsQUpD7xJvukL/s1600-h/xfiles.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8jQjLnvKDTcLv9mOM93jT6uugLxVDADPVc9z-lEz8FOtRiW74QLRFb2MqXisEMILBFmTuChraS-kBznZ110W3hSvXunA9WZUiEBJZvnJAdr2gVbgk1P7wcPswsQUpD7xJvukL/s320/xfiles.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5225936620276482818" /></a><font size=1> <strong>By Billy Pilgrim, National Nitwit Rogue Editor</strong><br /><br /><em>Wochawski, Seen Here with Teddy Bear “Mulder”</em></font><br /><br />(Washington, D.C.)—Since the X-Files craze of the mid-1990s peaked and receded, science fiction dorks have enjoyed a bevy of newer, yet equally lame fads: Battlestar Galactica, a trilogy of disheartening Star Wars prequels, and Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles.<br /><br />But Sam Wochawski has kept the faith, and as the self-proclaimed “last die-hard X-Files maniac” on earth, he feels this new film was made solely for his viewing pleasure.<br /><br />“It’s been a tough few years, I can tell you that much,” Wochawski explained while touring his spare bedroom rife with quirky X-Files action figures and lunch boxes. “One time I got the shit kicked out of me in a local laundromat for wearing my “Scully’s Fire Crotch” t-shirt. I tried to explain it was the name of a punk band, but those ladies were fucking vicious—I lost two teeth. Plus, the comments on my MySpace page have gotten so vicious that I’ve considered going into therapy.”<br /><br />All this has changed, however, since the second big-screen incarnation of the X-Files has given Wochawski’s dismal fandom renewed validity.<br /><br />“Let’s see those middle school kids egg my Caprice now that every theater in America is rocking the ‘Files,” Wochawski boasted. Sure, I was a little disappointed that the only other attendee on opening night was a nun—and come to think of it, she looked kinda drunk—but I was there, boy, relishing every second of it as the last true keeper of the flame. That was a religious metaphor, by the way.”Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-15213273877096225132008-07-10T09:03:00.001-07:002008-12-11T03:10:50.277-08:00Most American Teens Think Obama Is Already President<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2PX3AKIWiDd9fhwskZYM9SdzO0gpOd-k7bH5sIIZ9QIUQRi4AwUbfVD5BfDOvqVWjlmkNCZtvJoNwq_OQXxjsDe2zoFOgihyPmW2R2ohf9YVnQh-XlHcuwb9eINQ_tSyISyHb/s1600-h/obama.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2PX3AKIWiDd9fhwskZYM9SdzO0gpOd-k7bH5sIIZ9QIUQRi4AwUbfVD5BfDOvqVWjlmkNCZtvJoNwq_OQXxjsDe2zoFOgihyPmW2R2ohf9YVnQh-XlHcuwb9eINQ_tSyISyHb/s400/obama.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221416861704199698" /></a> <font size=1><strong>By Billy Pilgrim, National Nitwit Rogue Editor</strong><br /><br /><em>Obama: Did He Give the State of the Union Address Already?</em></font><br /><br />(Washington, D.C.)—As the nation prepares for the final months of its most divisive and energized presidential campaign in recent memory, it appears the whirlwind press coverage of Senator Barack Obama has had a peculiar but nonetheless explicable effect: most American teens already believe he is President of the United States.<br /><br />“I’m so glad President Obama is changing all the bad stuff Bush did when he was president last year,” expressed Tina Gladwell, a tenth grader at Annapolis High School. “I mean, I know we’re still at war, and people like Mr. Baxter can’t find a job so they drink from brown bags at the bus stop telling us girls how cute we are, but we have a good president now. If he can just find himself a vice president, it’ll be rad.”<br /><br />Political experts around the country have tried to diagnose this phenomenon, and have cited a plethora of possiblities for why so many youngsters have misunderstood this year’s election cycle.<br /><br />“You can call it the myopia of youth, or a cult of personality, or perhaps even some latent Freudian desire for a paradigm shift,” explained Dr. Thomas Newton, a political science professor at George Mason University. “But it may come down to the simple facts: Bush’s approval rating is like, 9%, and if McCain lives past Thanksgiving we’ll all be shocked. So maybe the kids are right and Obama IS already president. Fuck. This is getting pretty spacey. Good thing I’m not on acid right now.”Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16772990.post-67482265067855056602008-06-29T12:48:00.000-07:002008-12-11T03:10:50.426-08:00Next Season of ‘The Family Guy’ Rife with Similes<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs5lnqtT_AJ1xi10YmXWVKQYaFQ4WzVXJj0qAgflE5xzbnad5AAF9BNnh-LZ9EswPILDKGLzojTVG8tADh-K5EjHw41Lh4n6ECkyCBVWnLNB7ZDTMudzTB3ER8HqcB5xs1GnUH/s1600-h/family+guy.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs5lnqtT_AJ1xi10YmXWVKQYaFQ4WzVXJj0qAgflE5xzbnad5AAF9BNnh-LZ9EswPILDKGLzojTVG8tADh-K5EjHw41Lh4n6ECkyCBVWnLNB7ZDTMudzTB3ER8HqcB5xs1GnUH/s320/family+guy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5217393287686328354" /></a><font size=1><strong>By Billy Pilgrim, National Nitwit Rogue Editor</strong><br /><br /><em>Like the Simpsons, Sans the Political Commentary & Social Relevance</em></font><br /><br />(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.<br /><br />“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.”<br /><br />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.<br /><br />“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?”Subcomandante Bobhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15547084802541810008noreply@blogger.com1