defender of the meek

Everglades Canoeing

2012-01-14T10:29:00.000-08:00

Come Back (folk version) from Daniel Homan on Vimeo.

Gingrich's World

2011-11-23T12:57:00.000-08:00

“You say to somebody, you shouldn’t go to work before you’re what, 14, 16 years of age, fine,” Gingrich said. “You’re totally poor. You’re in a school that is failing with a teacher that is failing. I’ve tried for years to have a very simple model,” he said. “Most of these schools ought to get rid of the unionized janitors, have one master janitor and pay local students to take care of the school. The kids would actually do work, they would have cash, they would have pride in the schools, they’d begin the process of rising.”

He added, “You go out and talk to people, as I do, you go out and talk to people who are really successful in one generation. They all started their first job between nine and 14 years of age. They all were either selling newspapers, going door to door, they were doing something, they were washing cars.”

And then he went home, and Gingrich slept soundly.

In the morning, Gingrich woke, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Then his stomach rumbled. At the breakfast table he sat flipping through the newspaper. The debates were going well. He was rising in the polls—leading, in some cases. One day, my vision of America will be the America we live in, he thought as a plate was set down before him. And then the people will love me again.

Fork and knife in hand, he tore ravenously into his omelet. A big appetite for a man of big ideas, he chuckled to himself--and yet the first bite was tasteless.

“Jeeves,” he called. “What’s the meaning of this? This omelet is bland as Romney.” Gingrich chuckled once again.

A boy, perhaps ten years old, appeared from the pantry.

“Yes, sir?” the boy said. “Good morning, sir. How it is?”

“Terrible!” Gingrich spat, putting down his fork. “What spices did you use?”

“I…I couldn’t reach them,” the boy stammered. “They were on the…top shelf.”

“That’s no excuse. Jeeves made the best omelet in the land! What am I paying you?”

“Nothing,” the boy said. “This is an unpaid internship.”

“Hogwash!” Gingrich checked his watch. “It’s no matter. I’m late.”

He rose, swallowing his coffee—the sugar, he remembered, was on the top shelf too. His mood darkening, Gingrich then smiled brightly, remembering that the debate was tonight. He had better get to work.

He sat down in his office, awaiting his talking points. “Melissa?” he called. “Where’s my speech writer? Where’s Tim Denton?”

“You fired him,” came a small voice from below.

“Melissa, you’ve shrunk!” Gingrich exclaimed.

“I’m Chelsea,” the little girl said. “Her daughter.”

“What is this, take your child to work day?”

“No sir,” Chelsea said. “Mom wanted a vacation, so she asked me to fill in for the next two months—she said you wouldn’t mind. In fact, you’d approve.”

“Mind? This isn’t daycare,” Gingrich growled. “But I don’t have time to argue with you. The debate is tonight. Fetch my talking points.”

The little girl disappeared. Gingrich stared at the desk in front of him, on which were various photographs of himself and his class of 94. God those were the years, he thought. I felt so alive then. His concentration was broken by a speech laid down in front of him.

--New guys don’t work hard, read the first talking point.

--Cain pizza bad pizza, said the next.

--Need letter to America.

All of his talking points—his brilliant ideas, his clever schemes, his plan to rebuild America from the disastrous socialist takeover of the last years—had been dumbed down, simplified. Why, there are no words greater than two syllables, he thought. How am I to impress the public with my enormous intellect?

“Denton,” he screamed. “What the hell is this? What…you’re not Denton!”

“I’m Brad,” said a boy of eight with glasses. “Brad Fisk. Happy to be on board, sir!”

“Fisk, this speech is bullshit,” Gingrich thundered. “And these talking points! Economy bad. Job guys need less taxes. It’s like a first grader wrote this!”

“Third grader,” Fisk replied confidently. “I skipped two grades.”

“How the hell--” Gingrich tried to calm himself. His blood pressure was already through the roof, and tonight was the debate that would send him to the top of the Republican field. Losers. “Who hired you?”

“Chelsea,” Fisk said. “We’re in the same class—FYI, I think she has a crush on me. But—that’s not how I got the job. Teacher says I write the best!”

“Children making my omelets. Kids scheduling my events. Third graders writing my speeches. It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” he said. “I only meant that…that children would clean up vomit and sweep. I didn’t intend…”

“Personally, I think you’re a genius,” Fisk said. “We’ll grow into our jobs, sir, and the econ-omy, whew! Tough one. The economy will be super!”

“Mr. Gingrich,” Chelsea called. “Your driver is here to take you to the conference center.”

“We’ll speak of this later,” Gingrich said gruffly to the little boy. “Revise these talking points with three syllable words. How else--”

“--is the American public supposed to realize your genius? You’re right,” Fisk said enthusiastically. “Smart stuff. That’s why I’m working for you, sir. Good luck tonight.”

Gingrich grumbled, grabbing his coat at the door. “Chelsea, have the…spices moved to the bottom shelf. Fire that kid. Hire a six grader—from a gifted class.”

Outside, his beloved limousine was waiting, the door already open. Gingrich climbed inside, trying to remember some of his talking points from the previous debate. They were bound to ask him about Freddie Mack. Bastards—he was a historian. He had a goddamn PhD. They should be calling him Dr. Gingrich!

The limousine’s engine turned. With a jolt, the behemoth pulled out of the driveway, nearly hitting his beloved bird feeder.

“Be careful, you dolt,” Gingrich cried.

He tried to turn his thoughts to the issues at hand. Finally, after months and months of wallowing behind Romney, Perry, Bachman, the Pizza Man—it was finally his turn. And he would ride this wave to victory. Still, his heart was restless. He stared out at passing cars, honking furiously as the limousine picked up speed, running several red lights. This driver must be drunk, Gingrich realized.

“Stop the car,” he ordered, getting out his cell phone. “For Christ’s sake. You’re a maniac! You could have killed me. Do you know how important I am?”

With difficulty, the divider was rolled down. The driver turned and took off his sunglasses. “What? I’m trying to drive, here.”

“When you’d get your license?” Gingrich asked, flabbergasted.

“It’s a learners, pops,” the limousine driver scoffed. “Don’t street it, dude.”

“Get out,” Gingrich said, calling Chelsea. “Get me a new driver, Chelsea. Now!”

It took a half an hour, but finally the limousine started up again. Thank heavens, Gingrich thought. Better late than never—which also held true with the Republican primary. He smiled, self-satisfied. Tonight’s debate would send him over the top. Then he’d take on Obama, who would look like a public school reject next to him.

The limousine went faster and faster, swerving across all lanes of traffic. Abruptly, the the car slowed down, then turned once more into oncoming traffic, slowed down again, and then turned slowly back into the right lane.

“Who am I, Goldilocks? Faster,” Gingrich exclaimed, checking his watch. “I’ll be late!

The limousine picked up speed, traffic blurring. Gingrich was going to be sick.

“Stop…” he wailed. “Stop.”

The limousine broke suddenly, sending Gingrich into the divider. Then there were police sirens. Scrambling to his feet, Gingrich exited the car, dazed. The driver’s door open, revealing two children, one pressing the brakes and accelerator, the other holding the steering wheel with his little hands…

Gingrich awoke, glistening in sweet. “It was all just a dream,” he said, relieved. Making his way to the bathroom, he washed his face, and held out his hands.

“Jeeves,” he said. “A hand towel, please.”

The hands that held out the towel were small—too small. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, Gingrich despaired.

It wasn’t supposed to be.

Around the World

2011-11-13T11:54:00.000-08:00

Here, you can read tales of my amazing travels. And my not so amazing ones! Enjoy

Thailand

Malaysia

Cambodia

Laos

Support

2011-10-28T07:56:00.000-07:00

Satire isn't free, people.

Okay, maybe it is...

But still, I got bills to pay.

To support this Occupy Satire site, donate below.

To support the "real" Occupy Wall Street folk, donate here.

Happy Birthday Occupy Wall Street! So where's the movement going?

2011-10-17T15:28:00.000-07:00

Dear Fox News:

You are right. The Occupy Wall Street protests are entirely composed of slaw-jawed, smoking, Marxist, jobless morons...except it's not. Now, in my multi-part series, I introduce Fetzer Mills:

Fetzer Mills:

Age: 51

Veteran

Favorite Ice Cream: Rocky Road (note: forgot to ask, possibly Fox news-inaccurate)

Now, hear Fetzer's opinion of the common FOX news criticism that protestors have not yet offered specific legislation to totally end the inequity in the financial sector and put all Americans back to work.

Enjoy!

If you liked this video, write a comment. Plenty more where this came from.

Cowpoke Dave Marches to Times Square

2011-10-16T14:21:00.000-07:00

Howdy folks. I realize ol’ Cowpoke Dave left you in a bit of a cliffhanger last time. But don’t you worry. I didn’t spend the night in the slammer. But a few folks did.

Here’s what happened, as the Yankees say.

After the Washington Square rally, yers truly got himself a slice of down-home NYC Ben’s pizza. And after restin’ my sore dandies for a spell, the crowd started a cryin’ and I know the song was marching.

My heart said, ‘you old classical composer cowpoke, time to get!”

So get I did.

There’s a sayin’ where I come from. A man’s gun is his heart, and flowers are his soul. But the truth is, what livens up a man is the passion of his fellow man (or woman, as the time dictates). And there was passion a plenty to be found.

I hear there was 6,000 to 20,000 folks marching for economic equality. Hooting. Hollering. Sometimes both. And marching. Yessir, marching. Trouble was, the men in blue were right beside us.

Now I don’t have a problem with the po-lice, per se. They’re part of the 99% too, after all. And these were a nice enough bunch, but there sure were a lot of them. But at 35th street, the police tried a maneuver on us protestors, and split us into two groups, di-ver-tin’ us to two sides of the street. And I ain’t talking Wall Street and Main street.

Fer awhile, all was well and good. But then the people started to get restless, shouting, “Let us cross.” At one point, a young boy with Spring still in his eyes tried to cross and the police grabbed him. “Let him go,” we call shouted, and sure enough, the blue men did.

But nearin' 42nd street and Broadway, we realized that we had to cross if we were gonna reach Times Square. So we started shoutin’ again. And just when this ol’ Cowpoke thought violence might rear its ugly head, on 46th we got to cross and marched towards Times Square.
Was it a sight!

Folks were hollering, “Whose street? Our street,” and “take the square.” And the crowd headed full force towards those perty neon lights. I tell ya. This de-mo-cra-cy’s a messy thing, but darned if it isn’t the most beautiful thing in the world. Until next adventure, fellow cowpokes! Giddy up!

When the Cowpoke Occupied Wall Street: Part One

2011-10-16T06:05:00.000-07:00

Shucks, fellas. It’s sure been a while. If you don’t recall, I’m cowpoke Dave, classical composer, occasional flower festival appreciator, and now, revolutionary. That’s right. There’s an anger itch’n my britches, and it’s corporate greed. Cowpoke Dave’s got grievances.

Now, Cowpoke Dave’s had a steady job for a few years. And Cowpoke Dave shaves regularly. So as I walked to Liberty Square, once Zuccotti Park, I must admit I didn’t know if this ol’ cowpoke’d fit in. Luckily, them Fox newsers couldn’t see a turd if it were dropping out of their fanny.

That’s right. I saw all sorts of folks getting ready to march to Washington Square; black folk, white folk, bearded folk, small folk, tall folk, old folk, young folk, babies, veterans, baby-veterans—I tell ya. All walks of life were gearing up to walk in this here march.

‘Round 11:15, the march began. Now folks, Cowpoke Dave’s not a marcher. I’m a classical composer, for Pete’s sake (God rest your soul, Pete). So when the people started screamin’, I got a little jittery in the pants:

Occupy Wall Street/ all day all Week

Banks got bailed out/We got sold out

Show me what democracy looks like
this is what democracy looks like

That one was a little long for this tune-whistler’s preference, but dang if I didn’t start a chanting. As we walked up to Washington Square, there were tons of folks watching and staring. Lots of them tourist buses passed, and the protestors (yours truly included, of course), yelled:

Get of the bus/Come join us!

What a rootin’ tootin protestin’ grand time, no?

And finally, finally, we reached Washington Square Park. There were more people there than this ol' cowpoke's seen in some time, smilin' and waving signs. It was so beautiful that I started to tear up a little, truth be told. I mean, this is de-mo-cra-cy, ain't it? Messy? Sure. But dang if I didn't feel like it was about time.

Yet dark skies were about to descend on the Big Apple, 'cause the march weren't through yet. That's right. Though my dogs were barkin', they'd have to bark a little longer--Times Square was a callin'...

Tune in for my next adventure, coming soon...

October 15th March to Washington Square in Photos

2011-10-15T13:58:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends:

Today was a special day. Enjoy these fine pictures. Full blog coming tomorrow...

Protest dog really lifted our spirits.

Spectacular hair + profession sign = awesome

The evolved protester makes police think he's always watching from behind

Chanted with the best of them

Soldiers/Big Blowing Face

Heading to Washington Square piggyback.

So many dogs have been forced from them homes and now live in bags. Tragic.

Well, said the broom. We had our moment.

Minutes before, she was flipping off a cop.

These guys were just plain nice. No joke.

Good hat, good flag.

Pig man discusses credit default swaps.

A bunch of men in blue hanging

This pyramid symbolized worker oppression. But the real pyramids took way longer.

Okay, here's a list of solutions. So be quiet, FOX news.

I don't think yarn bike was protesting. I just thought it was neat.

Tune in tomorrow for Cowpoke Dave's Harrowing Adventures marching to Times Square!

From a Red Cube to Dinosaurs: Occupy Wall Street in Images

2011-10-15T05:32:00.000-07:00

This big cube has nothing to do with the protest. It's just cool.

Super smart guy. Plumber articulating union rights. No joke.

I talked to a lot of police the other day. But not them.

Old men talking politics? Snoozefest!

Awesome Occupy Wall Street publication--great comic strips.

I hope MLK's sentiment included picture captioning

Dinosaurs

Occupy Wall Street Proves Brooms Mightier than the Sword

2011-10-14T07:11:00.000-07:00

Numbers on the arm. It's not just for drunken hook-ups anymore!

Just another Hippie Baby Who Refuses to Get a Real Job

After a battle well fought, clean-up crew sheathe their mops

Yet again, FOX news refuses to capture protester diversity

"Missed a Spot" Ploy Planned to Oust Occupy Wall Street Protestors

2011-10-13T16:42:00.000-07:00

After more than three weeks of protesting, Occupy Wall Street faces its most devious assault yet—the dreaded “Missed a Spot” strategy. Originating in Sun Tzu’s seminal text, The Art of War, the “Missed a Spot Technique has been used to dampen political unrest and strife in nearly all the major demonstrations of the last two centuries, from the British crackdown of the Indian Independence Movement to the Civil Rights Movement.

On Friday October 14th at 7:00 AM, Brookfield Office Properties (the owners of Zuccotti Park, renamed Liberty Park), intend to clean the park and have asked protestors to move their possessions. Cleaners will attend to the park in thirds, in four-hour increments.

Fearful of the “Missed a Spot Technique,” notoriously used to remove protestors through park cleanliness loopholes, Occupy Wall Street decided to pre-empt Brookfield Office Properties with a yet-to-be-tested “We Are Also Capable of Using Mops” non-violent method.

Occupy Wall Street called a general assembly to allocate $3,000 from a reported $150,000 in reserve to buy mops, paint thinner, and brooms. The Granny Patrol, a group of over-fifty protestors, led the charge, going tile by tile to ensure compliance with city health standards. By 5PM, the park was reportedly “clean enough to eat off of, but we’ll continue to use plates.”

In anticipation of an additional ploy, the infamous “Yeah, but you still missed a spot” strategy, protestors scrubbed the park a second time, re-mulching green spaces and massaging the trees.

Protestors began to amass to defend the park, planning to link arms before the alleged Friday 7AM deadline. “If they want us to be cleaner,” one protested commented. “Why won’t they allow us to bring in port a potties?”

To show your support, come on down or find out more at Occupy Wall Street. Something smells about this upcoming clash, my friends. But it isn’t Liberty Park. Please share and repost.

Occupy Wall Street Marches on JP Morgan/Chase

2011-10-13T06:03:00.000-07:00

These pillars don't pay taxes on dividends...jerks

Dear Friends:

I hate to be one of those "told you so guys," but consider the following:

I have always been a defender of the meek, and I have always refused to believe that tyranny has prevailed.

And as a defender of the meek who refuses to
believe that tyranny has prevailed, I have now occupied Wall Street.

Man, I could really go for a chipwich

First, a brief history of Wall Street.

Our Founding Fathers prayed that one day, there would be a place for all the poor, tired, weak, and billionaires to live free of persecution...ok, that's not true.

Actually, they tried to design a country that would avoid the age-old combination of money and politics.

Oops...but how could they know that corporations were people, two?
Awesome--now you're as informed as Rick Perry (who believes that the revolutionary war was in the 16th century).

Man, the government's a total slut.

And onto Liberty Square! Protestors have camped out to protest Wall Street.

Some were ponchoed.

Others were waving flags.

Some were the FOX News hipped out hippies.

But there were old ladies too. And ethnicities!

Most awkward Skype conversation ever.

The revolution would not just be televised.

But ipadisized.

And texted.

And iphoned.

I'm telling you, the zombies broke Main Street...

On the right, a super nice guy from North Dakota. He and his dad sell cars.

But he decided to come to Occupy Wall Street.

And because he's so good at selling cars, his work didn't mind giving him time off.

On the left, this stock broker dude, who told us that the bankers weren't the villains. He blamed the world's problems on the Masons, then the Zionists, then the Communists. Right...

Will flag shields become the new thing?

And then began the march.

There was chanting.

Oh, there was chanting.

It was a magical time.

And we marched, marched, marched:

"Banks got bailed out/We got sold out."

And...

"Occupy Wall Street. All day. All week."

So come on down to Occupy Wall Street.

Occupy Wall Street

2011-10-03T13:19:00.000-07:00

Dear Friends:

I shall journey forth to Occupy Wall Street to talk to the people.

Thinkingfrog

Yates

2011-04-14T03:35:00.000-07:00

While traveling in eastern Taiwan--which is in the Far East, which makes it East East, I happened across a delightful little establishment. Though my immense language skills do not include Chinese, ol' Professor Shakespeare was able to navigate his way into a resounding take-out meal.

Returning to my abode, a room on the second floor overlook the resplendent, abundant tea farms of East East Taiwan, I noticed what could only be a sign that my travels had some greater, purpose, shall we say--a meaning beyond all that I had previously surmised.

And then I knew, as any father knows, and as the eternal Bard (perhaps, my dearies, the father of fathers) so eloquently said:

How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is
To have a thankless child

I must leave Taiwan. That much was sure. Another island awaited me, and a thankless son.

Last night in Bangkok

2011-03-09T23:59:00.000-08:00

It's been a crazy few months, but my last night was approaching. What to do? How to encapsulate all my trials and tribulations? With guest bloggers aplenty and four countries, we've had some good times. (sniffle). But it's finally time to go.

If you enjoyed this blogger, be sure to become a follower. After all, there's a lot of crazy shit in Japan.

Enough chit chat.

Tong, this one's for you!

So, local readers. Hope you enjoyed my adventures in South East Asia...onward to JAPAN

Pai

2011-03-08T15:54:00.000-08:00

Road to Pai, mountain town. Not useful in finding area or volume of objects

Thai slide

Daily shower

Bamboo bridge to catch drunken tourists

Waterfall, "finished."

Photo

Right before Tong is mugged

Not pictured, clown patrol

Guest Blogger: Kid's Drawing of Penguin with Fish in Mouth

2011-03-08T15:46:00.000-08:00

Hey Everyone, Kid's Drawing of Penguin with Fish in Mouth here as the final guest blogger of the Southeast Asia Travels, here to______

Editor's note: due to Kid's Drawing of Penguin with Fish in Mouth improper VISA, he is unable to serve as guest blogger. Instead, we here at thinkingfrog.blogspot.com bring you some photos of animals. Enjoy!

That's right, the rare, endangered "zoo 7-eleven."

There are signs all around the zoo saying, do not feed the animals. Know what happens if you feed them? Bang, bubble!

2011-03-08T15:39:00.000-08:00

This is Doi Setep, mountain temple

Like all temples, it has two things; monks and nagas

They said not to ring these bells, but if you ask me, the bells were asking for it

You know what they say about low hanging fruit--totally untrue. These were totally delicious

In fact, I was so enthralled by my trip to Doi Setep, mountain temple, that I enrolled in a meditation retreat in a forest temple...

Me and my monk friend. That's right, straight-up monk friend.

These dogs, according to Wat Omong, are doing everything wrong. But you know what? They're dogs...

This is where we swept and meditated.

This kind old man showed me the way.

But meditation can be dangerous--if you meditate too long, you turn into stone...and a monkey

The old man said called this Pigeon island.

And he was right.

Chiang Mai Flower Festival: Guest Blogger "Cowpoke Dave"

2011-02-14T19:55:00.000-08:00

Howdy Folks: Cowpoke Dave here, filling in on this rootin' tootin' blog, or something.

Okay, so I'm not a cowboy. Actually I live in the big city, surviving on a delicate diet of Sushi and Classical music.

But I'm here to walk you through one of my favs in the entire big dosh garn world.

FLOWERS!

That's right, Tuff and rumble cowboys like myself might be known for our blazing saddles, mean chewing, and injun fighting, but at heart, every cowboy is in love with three things:

1) His horse

2) His Gun

3) Flower Festivals

And the flower festival of Chiang Mai, Thailand, is one of the best in the world.

I mean, come on, city slickers. Look at all them flowers. Each float was lovingly created by using real flower petals, delicately glued (yes, that's the second time I've used delicate, which is my second favorite word...after flowers).

Anyhoo, the Chiang Mai flower festival is really a site to behold. So let's see some more floats, shall we?

Giddy up!

The Chiang Mai Flower Festival takes place every February.

To my right, you can see a close-up on an actual float.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love a good gun. And I love a good horse. But to me, a flower float is kind of the best of both worlds--transportation, but with the potential to kill annoying Falang (tourists) who try to stop the floats to take photographs with these oriental beauties.

And they are certainly beautiful, ain't they?

Look at them umbrellas. Don't worry, folks. They're just ceremonial.

Chiang Mai hasn't seen a drop of God's tears since aught eight.

Personally, I'd hem the purple dress with a double cross-stitch and then...well, don't you worry about that. Let's get back to the flowers.

I swear, there were more floats at the festival than stars in God's sky.

But I took a liking to this one.

Not really sure why.

The color scheme, perhaps.

The delicately sculpted pectorals of this guitarist.

Or maybe because I just plum love flowers.

But the festival's about more than flowers.

It's about life, and love, and food.

Dang if I'd never seen beans woven like that.

Maybe when I get home, I'll make a dress out of tumble weed or such.

Guess I am a little homesick, folks.

But heck, even this tractor got in on the fun.

And if that don't put tears of sweet joy in your eyes, well I don't know what will.

They sure got some strange creatures over there yonder in Thailand.

Wonder if they make good eatin'

Which reminds me--ol Cowpoke Dave ain't had his lunch yet, and flowers make a man hungry.

Oh, and just in case ya'll ignoramuses think a man can't be a man and love flowers...

Take a look at this little dandy.

If Cowpoke Dave were a younger Cowpoke Dave

And not married.

Why, there'd be a flower in my hand and a tune in my heart.

Love and life, that's what the Chiang Mai flower festivals all about.

Alright, folks. Hope you enjoyed my guest blog. Until next time, remember: "A man's heart is his gun. The flower is the soul."

Masturbatory Motorbike Madness

2011-02-12T03:55:00.000-08:00

It's a catchy title, no doubt. But it just means I went on a motorbike trip by myself through the mountains of Chiang Rai.

And it was beautiful, yada yada yada.

On the first leg of the trip, I went to check out some waterfalls.

Unfortunately, it's the cool season, aka "dry season."

So, as a park ranger so Thai-ishly put it, "waterfalls, finished."

Fuck waterfalls.

Big deal, gravity.

Anyway, I was so distraught I went to this church, and actually, they said the waterfalls would be back next season.

Continuing on, I found what I thought was the hand of God, but the hand of God was "finished too."

So I had to settle for this Chinese hand commemorating something or other.

But at least I found a nice place to rest.

And as I sat thinking, I wondered whether I wondered whether humankind would ever find peace.

And then I was like, "Probably not.

But I would have to settle for fields and fields of sunflowers....

What a great trip. Great views (not pictured), great times (not told).

And on the way back, I happened across an outdoor market.

Sushi!

And there were donut holes.

So many of them.

I ate six.

And drank from these cow containers.

And to wash it all down?

Glad You're Not Here

2011-02-07T03:21:00.000-08:00

If you're interested in my hate blog with my once friend Jeff, check out Glad You're Not Here.

Music

2011-02-06T02:48:00.001-08:00

About

2011-02-06T02:46:00.001-08:00

This blog is satire, people. Wikipedia definition of satire is as follows:

An American actor known for his roles as B. A. Baracus in the 1980s television seriesThe A-Team, as boxer Clubber Lang in the 1982 film Rocky III, and for his appearances as a professional wrestler.

Apologies. That's Mr. T. Here's satire:

Satire is primarily a literary genre or form, although in practice it can also be found in the graphic and performing arts. In satire, vices, follies, abuses, and shortcomings are held up to ridicule, ideally with the intent of shaming individuals, and society itself, into improvement.^[1] Although satire is usually meant to be funny, its greater purpose is often constructive social criticism, using wit as a weapon.

So, there you go.

For more info or to contact me, email:

defenderofthemeek@gmail.com

To support this Occupy Satire Site, donate below.

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Chiang Rai Hunks Dating Site Now Available

2011-02-06T02:34:00.000-08:00

It's time to check out some hunks from Chiang Rai. If you're single, ladies check these fellas out.

*note, site in Beta. Apologies for gaps and unattractive men--site administrator

Name: Big Fat Golden Budda

Likes: Enlightenment, Mango Milkshakes

Dislikes: Tourists who climb on my belly, earthly temptations

Quote: I'm not fat, I'm just super-enlightened.

What You May Not Know: I live next to this freakin awesome temple.

That's right, Buddha's got a pad (does not count as earthly possession, because I just rent it).

Name: Super Cool Kneeling Elephant

Likes: Peanuts, kneeling, fried food

Dislikes: Coffee, elephant farms, hippos

Quote: Quotes are stupid

What You May Not Know:

This order is entirely for me. Egg, batter, chives. Fuck yeah.

Name: Chalermchai Kositpipat

Likes: The White Temple, which I built, suckas

Dislikes: All other temples

Quote: The White Temple is the coolest temple around. Forget the black temple, the red temple, and dear God, don't even start talking about the lame-ass Kneeling Elephant Temple. The White Temple, that's where all the hoes go.

What You May Not Know: I actually don't own any white clothes, and my favorite color is pink.

Name: Sunken Predator at White Temple

Likes: Man flesh, sweet buns, world domination, tentacles

Dislikes: Aliens, silly hats

Quote: Garbha Xha aaaa dhduf akkk

What You May Not Know: These are a few of my favorite foods. And I'm also an excellent cook.

Nong Khiaw and Nuang Ngoi: A Turkey's Thoughts

2011-02-02T07:39:00.000-08:00

Nong Khiaw, a beautiful town situated on the Ou river, four hours north of Luang Prabang.

Gorgeous, isn't it?

Stunning?

Amazing?

Astounding.

Hi, folks, it's me, Khamsone the Laos Turkey. A lot of readers complained about the last guest blogger, so this time, Danny decided to get an authentic local.

Anyway, you can call me Mort.

If it's alright with you, I'd like to show you my crib and my hood, so to speak.

Cooleo?

Fantastic. Amazing. Astounding (Danny bought me a thesaurus for my B-day--still getting used to it.) Radical.

So, until a few years ago, Nong Khiaw, my casa, didn't even have electricity.

That's right. No PS3s.

No Starbrights.

Not even a stinking hot water heater.

Then the tourist came.

Here are some locals, talking about how much they love the "Falang" or foreigners, for bringing electricity to their fair city...

Not to mention noise, rudeness, and Australian accents.

Sunset used to mean lights out.

Now, I just turn on my generator, plug in my Sony Plasma television, and watch Chicken Run until morning.

It's my favorite movie--I mean, I AM a Turkey.

But, if you head up the river for an hour, you'll find a bit more peace and quiet and respite.

My cuz Samase, or "Sally," as everyone knows here, lives in Nuang Ngoi. So when I'm looking for some quiet, some solace, some not-loudness, I head up river.

Problem is, the tourists got the same idea.

It's only a matter of time before the place is littered with internet cafes and titty bars.

I mean, look at these photos Sally sent me.

These Falang roll up asking for the "local foods," the "real deal," and "authenticity. So we give them grubs.

And they say, "how cute," like living French Fries.

So we bust out the Duck blood to scare them off but...

But they slurp that shit up old school!

Then they go to the forest and act like jackasses.

And won't stop talking about how big the leaves are...

I tell ya, the place is going to shit. As soon as I save up some cash, I'm heading to Uganda. I've heard that place is Stone-Age cool.

*Editors note: I do not approve the above comment regarding the people of Uganda. It's insensitive. But what do you expect? The guest blogger is a turkey...