Tag Archives: satire

06.27.16
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I cannot stress too much that the Empire is even stronger without the second Death Star – Emperor Johnson

The destruction of the second Death Star has been the most extraordinary political event in the Empire’s existence. Never in our history have so many people had such an undeniable and expensive effect on their own future.

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But I do not detect any real appetite to Rebel against my glorious rule, and it goes without saying that we are much better together in forming a new and better relationship with Alderaan. I cannot stress too much that the Empire will always trade with Alderaan, and Empire citizens will still be able to go and work in Alderaan, assuming they bring their own spacesuits, oxygen supplies, and some form of force-shielding to protect them from being pelted by rocks.

After meeting thousands of stormtroopers in the course of constructing the Death Star, I can tell you that the number one issue was control – my total and absolute control of the weak-minded. They agree that outside the job-destroying (and also life-destroying) obliteration of the Death Star, and the utterly impossible to predict yet absolutely identical destruction of the second Death Star, everything I have worked towards for as long as anyone can remember in order to cement my power through spectacular fear, we will survive and thrive as never before.

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On Endor and among the widely scattered molecules which once made the bridge of the Death Star the negative consequences are being wildly overdone, and the upside is being ignored. This is the greatest fireworks display the galaxy has ever seen. The negative differential terms of our economy are larger than anyone ever dreamed possible.

I must also explain why it took me several days to react to this event which was totally according to my plan and good actually. I was busy tracking the progress of the Imperial Credit in the wake of this spectacular success. This meant bravely plunging down a bottomless shaft filled with bolts of lightning, which later exploded. Which only goes to show how powerful our currency truly is. Now that our economy is below all others we are only better poised to strike at their soft underbellies.

The Empire is in good hands. The total silence of all the Death Star’s leaders was not because they had been obliterated by the total mismanagement and utter destruction of everything they’d thought to use to control the masses, but because they were turning their keen tactical minds to the next step. A few have even suggested a daring scheme where, after obliterating our own fully operational battle-station, then baiting Rebels into utterly destroying our second even larger fully operational battle-station, we might now turn our attentions to living on an entirely fictional world where we boldly refuse to change our stance, continuing to insist that our destructive plans and ludicrous overconfidence haven’t destroyed every single thing we ever thought to control. A world which will definitely not be destroyed in an even more titanic explosion than ever before.

Enjoy more political sci-fi with Irish Government Wiped Out By Alien Parasite, and more Star Wars with Patch Notes for C3-PO.1

02.24.16
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The Future of the Past

 

Stern Badcolonel leaned forward in his extinct leather chair, over his luxurious extinct oak desk, to activate the UltraHyperSuperTelevid 9000 Screen (the latest model, released just before the most recent atomic war), then sat back as its tubes warmed up. He swiveled the chair to insert a dollarcred into the AutoCoffeeMat (“Serving the best brew since the seventeenth atomic war!”)

The machine hummed and dispensed a line of ten identical stainless steel mugs of coffee. Stern leaned forward to examine them for a full minute, then removed the one with the most pleasing froth pattern. With an awful squealing the vending machine dropped the rest into an internal garbage disposal. He really should start ordering fives. Steel had been extinct since the nineteenth atomic war.

Research Division Chief Sciencey Expositia’s face now filled the screen. Stern stared for a moment, then spent several paragraphs physically describing her in much more detail than any other character in the story, revealing far more about his internal psychology than the future world he was meant to demonstrate. Unaware of this — otherwise she’d be working on a Fourth Wall Escape Hatch, which would be only slightly less improbable than her actual assignment — she gave her report.

“Our time machine accidentally brought someone back from the past!”

“Oh my atomic war!” cried Stern. “Has he contaminated you all with appalling past plagues while dying of harmless future diseases in turn?”

“First, she, and second, no. The hard-sci-fi-ware wasn’t engaged. The time machine was strictly in ‘plot device’ software settings.”

“Ah. That explains why it hasn’t revolutionized society. And why we treat it like a slightly fancier car.”

“Indeed.”

“Did she escape from your lab, running wild through a confusing future landscape while learning about our ways?”

“Uh, no, she couldn’t even work our door handles, and after looking out the windows she went into some sort of shock.”

“I’m assuming you’ve been filling her in on history since then. Have you told her about all the atomic wars?”

“Oh yes,” smiled Expositia, “I’ve been reading her ‘A is for Atom, B is for Bomb…”

Stern joined in to sing along happily.

“- C’s contamination and now the apples are gone!” He smiled. “That’s my favorite children’s book!”

“Yes. I always thought it was sort of nice of Zaire to start the twenty-sixth atomic war. Really considerate.”

“Oh well, better get on with today’s guest. What does she want to tell us – have we forgotten how to be human? Should we engage nature? Can she ridiculously fix technology hundreds of years ahead of her own time just by looking at it? Oh my atomic war, is she going to tell us atomic bombs are actually bad?”

This was unthinkable. Atomic bombs had been extinct for years. Stern shook his head. They didn’t know what they had! They could have conserved them! Oh well, too late now. He looked up at the screen.

“Er, no.” Expositia looked a little confused. “She’s asking if we remember something called the lottery?”

 

01.19.16
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Scientists Will Surrender To Climate-Change Deniers on Slope of Volcano

This morning scientists worldwide announced their total and unconditional surrender to climate change deniers, asking only that their capitulation take place on the slopes of Popocatépetl volcano at tomorrow morning.

“We admit it, it’s absolutely impossible for science to make any predictions of future events based on current theory and measurements,” admitted leading volcanologist Magnus Pyroklastic. “Which is why we want all climate change deniers to gather together, in one place, to accept our surrender. And that place should be in the slight depression in the south face of the volcano at 11 am plus or minus an hour tomorrow morning.”

“This will be symbolic of science’s total failure at predicting events.”

Scientists are even now working feverishly in the crater to set up cameras and television screens around the projector area. This includes a heavily reinforced VIP zone for all the denialist politicians. “It’s important that there should be protection between such politicans and the rest of the population”, explained atmospheric scientist Skye Blough. “That’s why we’re setting up these layers of chain fencing. It takes hours for people to get through, so it’s safe, but is absolutely and instantly permeable to any gases or liquids.”

The scientists explained that the televisions are so that the scientists can surrender remotely, as they feel too intimidated by the denialists iron-clad ability to point out when a day is cold and declare “So much for global warming!” to face them in person.

The scientists say the surrender could take several hours, and that the climate-change deniers should employ their special skill of absolutely sticking to their current position no matter what new evidence comes their way.

01.18.16
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Irish Government Wiped Out By Alien Parasite

Ireland has been left without government  after a xenobiological infestation exterminated a large part of the Oireachtas. Earlier today senator Paul Bradford stumbled into Leinster House, the 18th-century Ducal Palace which acts as repository for the Irish government’s physical shells and moral views, with a scaled alien parasite affixed to his face. When security guards attempted to help with the horrific biological trauma being he hissed “There’s no such thing as an alien abnormality” before collapsing.

Taoiseach Enda Kenny swiftly leapt into action, pledging to establish constitutional convention to examine the issue, and whose convention’s recommendations would then be put to an Oireachtas committee, which would then explore possibly establishing a framework for future legislation, but only if Fine Gael was re-elected, following the dissolution of the current Dáil. The last part of this statement was relayed by radio as he had side-stepped the issue so far he was now in Cork. Unfortunately his deflections didn’t divert alien parasites which leapt from Bradford’s exploding corpse to infect several more TDs.

Health Minister Leo Varadkar rushed to the bleeding and inflated deputies to apply emergency spin. He urged considered and careful debate on the alien parasite issue. He pointed out that there would never be any such thing as a perfect solution, and that the mounds of bleeding bodies and ruined lives he was standing directly on top of as Health Minister — a pile which had doubled in size during his rhetoric, leaving him standing knee-deep in blood and gore– were no evidence at all.

When one security guard suggested destroying the alien parasites before they emerged he was threatened with a fourteen year jail sentence, and told to be grateful as before it would have been life imprisonment. Another guard suggested just leaving the Dáil but was reminded that many people couldn’t afford to just leave Irish institutions behind forever no matter how many problems it would solve.

The most recent reports from the speaker of the emergency committee of surviving Dáil members said “Hssssssssssssss!” and extended a second pair of jaws from inside its regular jaws, dripping acid which burned the floor. It then announced plans to rescind the water charges and is expected to sweep the next election.

More Irish headlines:

 

 

 

08.25.15
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Court Declares That Badly Beaten Judge Was “Asking For It”

Two male defendants who violently assaulted Justice Robert Dewar in a Manitoba courtroom were cleared of all charges yesterday, when the court declared that the Justice had dressed provocatively and was “asking for it”.

“Flaunting himself in those red robes and that big wig”, said their defense lawyer. “In my clients’ experience, every man who dresses like that is out to put them in jail. He was just waving it all in their faces. What did he think was going to happen? How did he think they were going to act? He was just inviting this beating.”

The defense also specifically drew attention to how Justice Dewar was not wearing a bra.

“Maybe if he dressed more conservatively,” agreed the court bailiff, who eventually intervened in the savage and sustained beating. “I mean, it’s not like men have any decision making ability or motor control of their own. They just have a simple stimulus-response which strangely absolves them of all responsibility for their actions, but still counts as enough free will that they’re not locked up for their own protection. His robes really were like waving a red flag to a bull.”

Justice Robert Dewar’s current condition is described as “a stupid sexist asshole who shouldn’t be in charge of so much as a street crossing.”

07.28.15
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The Fleet (An Earnest Parody)

Zit Massman’s warpspeed Z-Wing Galactiprise-E soared through the exploding wreckage of the Daleklingon FataliStar (with the masterful strategy of clicking seventeen times, waiting 2.4 seconds, then clicking another five times) and there was only one celebration suitable for the new savior of mankind.
“MOOOOOOOOOM!”
She’d been taking longer and longer to bring him lunch for the last five years, sometimes forgetting altogether — or even worse, arriving when he’d started another mission and couldn’t be interrupted — so he’d started shouting earlier to compensate.

But then the president called.
“You’re the best gamer in the world, and every highly-trained NASA test pilot in the world is just too fit to properly hold a mouse! Help us, Zit Massman, you’re our only hope!”
Zit started to explain that he couldn’t leave his room, but the President understood.
“Don’t worry, we know all about your totally real self-diagnosed problems, and all those doctors have been fired. We can’t risk damaging your finely balanced nerves. We’re sending some people to pick you up for the FLEET.”
Four burly secret service agents burst into the room to lift his bed and carry him down the stairs. He noticed that all of them were popular jocks from back in high school. One accidentally knocked over his Miseinen no Kimiwaruidesu Schoolgirl Swimsuit Inspector Platinum Collector’s Edition figurine, and was docked a year’s pay. They all apologized for bullying him and said they wished they were his friends.

The limousine had a full bar of every flavor of Mountain Dew. Even the Japanese ones.

In the helicarrier every gamer had their own personalized computer rig and a full squad of cheerleaders.
“Men are just better at games, it’s a biological fact,” the medical officer had explained. “And once you consider evolutionary psychology, well, it’s just a law that girls have to like you now.”
Zit told the Zitettes how great he was at games and they listened and “oohed” at all the right bits. He read out whole pages which were nothing but lists of titles of nerdy things — not even with any story, just wikied lists of names and years — and everyone told him it was wonderful and gave him money.
He gripped his joystick. This was going to be great. But first he phoned home.
“Haha, mom, now who’s ashamed of me?”

“It’s not that we’re ashamed of him.”
The old woman fretted beside the Fantasy Ludo-Electro-Encephalo-Tube, a clear vertical cylinder filled with blue fluid around Zit’s comatose body.
“It’s just that since we retired we can barely afford rent, never mind his net subscriptions.”
Zuri tapped her Pip-girl, calibrating the amniotic protocols.
“Don’t worry about it” she said. “Under the new Population Density Act your son’ll be paying your rent and net fees from now on. Honestly, he’ll be happier in there. I’ve seen the program.”
A gaunt man with skin like wrinkled paper patted the old woman’s arm. He cleared his throat.
“He just never found a job that suited him, is all.”
By now the blue fluid had soaked through Zit’s t-shirt and jeans. Not that they could have gotten more stained. Indicator lights along the upper rim: biolink, neurolink, netlink, green, green, green, all good.
“Well, don’t worry, he’s working already. All that untapped neural potential firing for the global computational grid.”
She turned to the two worried faces. Ah, what the hell.
“And, well, look, you CAN’T tell anyone I did this, but…”
She thumbprinted open an access hatch at the base of the FLEET. Her fingers flew over small rubber keys and the cheap touchscreen flashed up “CCC”. She whistled appreciatively.
“Wow, see that? He’s part of the Collective Cancers Computation. He’s helping find new treatments!”
They gasped and clutched each other tighter. Zuri congratulated herself on reading the symptoms right. Now they might even feel proud of him, finally helping in their old age. Who knows, it might even be true, but all “CCC” on the little screen meant was that she’d typed “ECHO CCC” into the little pad.
He was probably rendering the graphics for the next issue of his own favorite game. Ever since psychomarketers had characterized the sequelon, quantum of the smallest possible change before fans would buy a whole new product, most franchises had been releasing at a rate measured in milliHertz. Zuri preferred to tell people the tech was going to the CCC. Maybe it was her own little tribute to mama, ten years gone.
Still, you had to think of other people. You couldn’t just sit around obsessing over the past.

07.03.15
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Vatican Begins Construction of Large Camel Compressor

The Vatican City State bas broken ground on a project advancing the frontiers of theological research, excavating crypts and tombs below the walled enclave to begin construction of the Large Camel Compressor.

“Matthew 19:24 tells us that Jesus said ‘It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of god‘” said Experimental Sacrament leader Monsignor Croseus. “But in the last two thousand years the Vatican has more wealth than even existed in Jesus’ time. We need to investigate if Jesusian charity still applies in this extremely high wealth regime. Leading Opulo-theological researchers from the Instituto per le Opere di Religione theorize an ultra-relativistic regime of charity, where a Pope can command billions of euros and yet live charitably if he lives in a slightly less luxurious palace than his predecessors.”

“I mean, it would be pretty silly if the Pope lived in conditions blatantly and defiantly opposed to Jesus’s teachings.”

Tunnel Boring Machine B6, once used to drill the Channel Tunnel, has been recommissioned for the project. It has also been entirely coated in gold plate so that the bones of any saints powdered by its progress might still technically reside in a reliquary expensive enough to feed an entire city block of the sick and needy, as per church tradition.

Designs for the Large Camel Compressor call for twenty-seven miles of marble hallway spiraling under the Vatican, entirely lined with priceless Renaissance art and frescos so that the camel might attain a suitably humble disposition while accelerating to threading velocity. The spiral centers on a Needle Chamber directly underneath St Peter’s dome. Work has already begun on a ten meter tall solid platinum needle.

More religious research:

06.26.15
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Terry Gilliam Apologises for Escape of Nigel Farage

Animator and member of Monty Python Terry Gilliam today apologized for the escape of Nigel Farage.

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“I was animating a satire about ridiculous political beliefs, and one day I left the studio without gluing him down.” explained an abashed Gilliam. “The next morning he was gone. I just didn’t think such a blatant parody of human behavior could do much damage.”

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Farage now has a successful career of leading UKIP and standing at precisely 90 degrees to every camera at all times. The comic basis for his existence continually shines through with ridiculous claims, satirically bad policies, and an inability to resist turning every leadership contest into a farce.

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Farage’s brother Conrad Pooh distanced himself from the political movement, explaining that he didn’t want the army of solid chunks of brainless skull-matter that danced to his tune sullied by association.

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More political news:

06.08.15
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Petition to Strip Caitlyn Jenner of Olympic Gold Solves Organ Donation Crisis

A petition to strip Caitlyn Jenner of her 1976 Decathlon Olympic gold has collected over fourteen thousand signatures, heroically solving the country’s urgent shortage of donation organs.

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“It’s everything we could ever have wished for,” said transplant surgeon Dr Reciklado. “We desperately need donor organs, but we can’t just take them from people who aren’t using them. With the invention of the internet that would cause an extinction. That’s why we’re grateful to these people for perfectly highlight themselves as involuntary organ donors.”

Not only do the petition’s signatories have nothing better to do than hatefully trawl three-decade old sporting events records, but they helpfully insult anyone who might otherwise have defended them. “I’m meant to believe these assholes just happen to be passionate about twentieth century decathlon results? They think I’m that stupid? To hell with them.” said every judge consulted on the issue.

The involuntary donors insisted that they would sue to prevent the proceedings. But records prove that each of them was once six years old at their sixth birthday party, and are therefore legally incapable of hiring lawyers because — by their own argument — human beings never change in any way.

Dr Ricklado has already been tapped for several Nobel Prizes, since the new surgeries qualify not only as recycling but as the green disposal of toxic waste. The United Nations Commission on Human Rights has cautioned transplant surgeons not to waste time, and to get on with harvesting these people as quickly as possible. “Just as excrement can fertilize new flowers” concluded the UN report, “So these people might eventually help the human race. And the sooner it happens the less we have to put up with their shit.”

More combat proctology:

05.29.15
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Irish No Voters Forbidden From Marrying

Irish people who voted No in the recent Irish marriage referendum have had their desires recognized by law, and are now forbidden from getting or being married.

Yes voters continually expressed a desire that everyone should be allowed to get married, but No voters insisted in raising the stakes, declaring that the losers of the referendum should not be allowed to wed. After being defeated 62:38, their marriages have accordingly been formally dissolved.

“The votes tell you everything you need to know,” said a government spokesperson. “The No voters declared their desire that the losers of the vote should be denied this fundamental human right, and in accordance with their wishes we’ve taken it away from them.”

All existing No voter marriages have been replaced with civil partnerships, which said voters frequently insisted were just the same. Apart from little things like lack of multiple social benefits, various legal protections, support for foreign partners, rights to shared homes in partnerships, and the absolute social segregation that comes from being told you’re not allowed to do what others can. Oh, and no longer having any legally recognized relationship with any non-biological children. But it’s generally considered the kids would be better off without them.

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