Archive for the ‘satire’ Category


Family Guy is chock full of lessons.  But while watching a rerun, from a few years ago, last night of “Peter’s Daughter,” I remembered a really important one:

When it comes to jokes, if someone says “it’s too soon,” it’s usually not that it’s too soon; it’s just that you’re¹ not funny.

Like any episode of FG, you’d lose count trying to keep track of the groups/people/etc. that become the butts² of the jokes.  In the first 2 minutes of this episode, we get a cancer joke and two race jokes.  One of the race jokes has Cleveland escorted to Quahog Stadium during a mere rainstorm because there’s a statistical risk of flash flooding.  Cleveland — really the only prominent black character — is the only one rushed to the stadium, despite the fact that his house is dry and safe.

And yep: it was hilarious.

Let’s be clear: Hurricane Katrina = not funny.  However, an animated exaggeration pointing out the absurdity of the response to it = brilliant.

I don’t think the cliché that “it’s just jokes” works all the time.  Actually, I think some of the best jokes are really smart and purposeful.  It’s why there are people who just happened to have told jokes for a living and there are people who are comic legends.  But sometimes, damnit, we need it to just be jokes.  And I don’t mean “joke” in some deep, heady way like, say, The Comedian from The Watchmen would try to convince us we should see through the façade of daily life because it’s all just a joke, blah, blah, blah…  I mean “joke” like it made me laugh and that’s really all I wanted it to do.  I mean “joke” like history books will take us seriously enough but, right now, it’s okay to just find some humor in living every once in a while.

Tautologies are true: funny is funny.  The best find a moment and make us laugh about it and whether it’s “too soon” is a question we never even ask.

¹ No, of course not you.
² If “bunghole” means “butthole,” does “bung” mean “butt?” I ask because I wanted to write “bungs of the jokes.”


Read Full Post »

Lion Feeding Frenzy_ Midnight Snacks _ Video _ Discovery Channel 2

Underwhelmed by last night’s SYTYCD, I sorted through my go-to-channels (Discovery, NatGeo and Animal Planet).  At any given moment, there is a show on at least one of those channels featuring adventurists gone wild, seemingly begging for a no-casket-death and poking at the fragile human/wildlife balance.  I found “Lion Feeding Frenzy.”

The premise?  Well, you can go here to watch a clip that explains it all.  Basically, two morons place themselves in a prey box¹, get dropped off in the middle of lion country and then proceed to entice and tease hungry lions with actual carcasses dangling from trees, actual flesh placed on top of the box they’re in and fake, rubber “carcasses” set up around the box.

At first, I thought I’d write about just how spoiled-human it was for two guys to initiate staged feeding frenzies.  Miss Bianca was right: no one cares about the safety of the idiots.  Unlike people like me, though — who eat because food is there — lions eat almost exclusively for intertwined reasons: health and dominance.  Encouraging them to fight amongst themselves to see who could be the biggest, or wasting the time they’d otherwise be hunting actual food by planting dummies, is ridiculous.

But forget all of that.  I have a better idea.

I’d watch a show about someone putting the NYC Prep kids in a prey box and dropping them off in lion country.

credit: theinsider.com

credit: theinsider.com

Especially that kid in the center.  There would have to be a catch, though: the prey box would have to have an “accidentally overlooked” structural flaw, such that… well, you know… hilarity ensues.

I missed my chance to throw a blog-based tantrum about those My Super Sweet 16 brats — a group Common tenderly calls out at the 1:37 mark in this video for a track on Finding Forever.  But I want this show made: NYC Prey School.

The set-up: 5 derivatives-of-their-parents’-wealth, NYC prep school kids with a survival package — 2 hand mirrors, 1 cell phone and 3 cans of SPAM — a poorly manufactured prey box and a ravenous pack of male lions with something to prove.  It would be a little like I’m a Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here, except better in every single way.  Plus, since it’s my idea, I’d get paid for it and all of you would be invited to the red carpet premiere.

¹They called it a “predator shield,” but come on — who are they kidding?

Read Full Post »


For hefty compensation, I have leased this space to PepsiCo. today.  The following is a statement from its Senior VP of Marketing.


Dear customer,

By now, I’m sure you’ve seen Pepsi’s latest endeavor in the beverage-for-pleasure market.  But, to be sure, let me refresh you:

That’s right, friend: Pepsi Throwback — a softer, more real, natural kind of Pepsi.  We will sweeten it only with real sugar, like we used to, before we singlehandedly created the diabetes crisis your country now faces.

For the last 40 years, we here at PepsiCo have put everything in your Pepsi other than real, natural sugar.  We tried donkey sweat, human ear wax for coloring, dirt for the grime left on your teeth and the tears of baby chimpanzees because research shows they have a superbly addictive quality.  The high fructose corn syrup was just icing on the cake.  No, really: it’s literally Duncan Hines vanilla icing to which we added brown food coloring and real bits of panther (for that swampy aroma).

For decades, we thought we could get away with anything.  We reminded ourselves, “Hey, at least it’s not cocaine.”  And we stick by that; we do.

But it’s a new world; one where simple truths in consumption reign supreme; one where hidden ingredients, like the feces we put in all of our diet sodas, are discouraged as “unhealthy,” “dangerous” and “biologically irresponsible.”

So, for a limited time only, we offer you Pepsi Throwback.  Until June, you can enjoy the flavors we’ve been artificially creating for almost half a century.  But only until June.  We will return to our regularly scheduled shortening-your-life-span Pepsi flavoring by the fourth of July weekend.  And, actually, that reminds me: do not look directly at fireworks while drinking a Pepsi.  Something about the way light reacts with the blinding chemicals we put in each can of soda causes blindness.

Thank you for drinking,

Stan “the Man” McTexas
Senior VP of Marketing

Read Full Post »

Disclaimer: If you or someone you love has pig flu, you may not find this very funny.  And by transitive property, if you do not find this funny, you or someone you love has pig flu (I guarantee) and you might want to get that checked out.

When Alltop asked me to inform the public about pig flu (“the plu”), it took me a while to understand why.  But after minutes of deliberation, I realized it’s because it was a mistake.

Nonetheless, no take backs, Alltop!  Sometimes you get what you give¹, but you always get what you ask for.

Now, to solve the plu, I have a simple, two-step plan.  And it goes a little something like this:

1. Educate the children.

We gotta propagandize the children, starting as young as 3.  This is what this country does every time we face crisis and the plu should be no exception.

How do we do this?  Propaganda rhymes, of course.  We take a well-known nursery rhyme, strip its innocence and disseminate it irresponsibly.  For example:

“This Little Piggy”

This little piggy went to market,
with a viral disease in its blood.
They chopped it up good into bacon
and sold it real cheap to your mom.
And you, little kiddie, cried wee wee wee wee,
’til the poison rotted out your lungs.

Clearly, this would be more effective if there was a YouTube video of it being performed by an army of the kids’ favorite celebrities, produced by Quincy Jones.

2. Military preparedness.

The day when eating bacon can get you the plu — and it can, that is fact! — is also the day pigs fly. And since these pigs clearly mean business, we must be prepared to attack them where they are now most comfortable: the air.

We need to completely retool our Air Force.

No cost is too high.  All of our fighting planes need to be pig-ready.  Actually, our commercial planes should be pig-proof, too.  God forbid a flock of plu-carrying pigs invaded the air space of a Southwest Airlines flight to Michigan, or something.  Because then all the passengers would be freaking out and all the dumbass flight attendant — or is it “air server,” now? — could do would be to sing or rap about the experience.  And that’s no good for any of us.

This has been a piglet service announcement.

¹Remember the New Radicals? Anyone?

Read Full Post »

Why, hello there.  Good Monday morning, to ya.

Today is a day of firsts.  It is the first time (since almost a year ago) I walked out of my house at 8 am and it was approximately 70 degrees.  Also, I’m guest-blogging for the first time in ever.  Yep I am.

So, you should go here.  Do it.  Dooo it.  Help deflower me.  You’re just one click away.

Are you there, yet?

Read Full Post »



We don’t pump our own gas (it’s illegal).  We have the driest wit in America.  We lovingly self-deprecate more times a day than you probably say words with the letter “e” in them.  Want proof?  The governor asked the citizens to create and vote for the state slogan.  You know what won?  “New Jersey, Come See for Yourself.

And yes, we’ve heard your jokes.  The armpit of America.  The plays on the fact that we’re literally the densest state in the country.  The smells.  The irony of our Garden State moniker.  The Sopranos/mafia quips.  Once, someone asked me, “What smells and is where people go to fail at life?”  I said, “Nursing home.”  He could barely stop giggling long enough to spit out, “Nope.  Dirty Jerz.”

So yeah, we got your jokes.  But we’ve been able to brush our shoulders off and ignore them, resting on our unwavering kickassedness.

That is, until now.

Now, we’ve had our hideous underbelly exposed by five women Bravo probably MetroNorth’d in from upstate NY or imported from Long Island.¹

I’m speaking, of course, of the Real Housewives of New Jersey.


Let’s get one thing straight: this, is not Jersey.

The Jersey I know is remarkably like a Kevin Smith movie.  Though confused if you don’t, it doesn’t care that you don’t like it.  And it certainly doesn’t parade — from right to left — a lady who won’t stop publicly talking in code about how “tightly knit” her “family” is like the mob’s anthem is a version of “Go Tell it on the Mountain,” three ladies² who’d multi-fail a remedial eating course and a woman (far left) that, frankly, after watching the 22-minute sneak preview, I just don’t like, as spokespersons.

The Jersey I know wouldn’t look at a glass already half-full with stereotypes and ask these broads to piss in it ’til full.  It’s a family thing.  We can say whatever we want about ourselves.  But we keep it in the circle.  You know what I’d do drunk?  A lot.  But you know what I would never do, even drunk?  Insult Jersey in mixed company.

I’m not counting these broads as “Jersey girls.”  That phrase is for a special kind of lady that these women wouldn’t know if one walked up and stealth-punched them in the throats for speaking without being spoken to.  These “real” housewives are a charade.  Just look at them: they’re in couture posing opposite industrial fans to create a wind-blown-hair look, while on the boardwalk at the beach.

If you’re still wondering why this pains me so, the kicker: they’re based in my county, Bergen County.  And that just feels like a sandpaper ball-rub.  The promise of this show feels like someone is sandpapering my balls.  All the pre-show hype (it hasn’t aired yet) is rubbing me against the grain and I just can’t take it.

So, I’m going with the grain. *hangs head*

I’m gonna watch it; at least the first episode.  I gotta keep an eye on mine enemies so that I might trounce them when the time is right.  Maybe I’ll even host a viewing party and make something out of it.  Not to celebrate, of course.  Nubby-balls no!  But so I can teach the non-Jerseyers what is and isn’t true about the greatest state in the union.  I’ll take one for the team and sit through this madness.

If you’ve got any recommendations on a great bourbon for me to slurp straight from the bottle while I watch, the box below is open for suggestions.

Oh, and I almost forgot:

Dear prestigious legal counsel of these five delightful people,
It’s satire and jokes.  Think of it as stand-up comedy from the seated position.
Also, I have nothing.
— f.B

¹I throw you under the bus for kid, NY and LI. For kid.
²Though, in all fairness, the blonde in the pink might know what food is. Maybe.

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »