Michael Jackson Molested by Children

In a shocking twist, Michael Jackson’s lawyers counter sued the children accusing him of molestation. It was a bold move by his lawyers. They contended that Michael’s present state of disfiguration was actually precipitated by the ongoing molestation suffered by Michael from the hands of his tormentors. The children, according to Jackson’s lawyers, systematically trapped Michael on the Ferris wheel of his Never Land Ranch. In order to escape the constant groping and objectification, Michael had a plastic surgeon horribly disfigure his face, transforming himself from a black man into a white man, so that the savage children would be unable to recognize him, and, thus, unable to attack him.

It worked for all of two days – the days that he spent recovering from plastic surgery in the hospital. Within hours of release the children were molesting him again.

Jackson’s lawyers are convinced that their client will be completely vindicated in court. But whatever happens in court, it should not be lost on the public, that Jackson has been totally scarred by the incident, unable to even look at a Ferris wheel.

The Incredulum Compendium

by Guy Shmendrikson

Good day kind readers, before I formally introduce myself I’d like you to consider the enormity of some of these formative events in the history the earth and of our species:

• Sometime in the Planck Epoch the “Big Bang” purportedly takes place
• 7 million B.C. – Humans become bipedal separating us from the filthy, gorgeous apes
• 4 thousand B.C. – The birth of the first agrarian society
• 1885 A.D. – Friedrich Nietzsche’s pronouncement that “God is Dead”
• June 2009 – Guy Shmendrikson announces his column entitled “The Incredulum Compendium” in the illustrius publication “Moustache Press”

Hello, my name is Guy Shmendrikson. Before I regale you with my monthly cavalcade of toweringly profound opinions, astute answers to prickly questions and of course erotic ephemera from my personal life, I feel I must contextualize myself with some pertinant biographical details.

I was born sometime in the mid nineteen fifties to Swedish octogenarians Brent and Deborah Shmendrikson on the small island of Yupu’alota in the Tongatupa group of islands south-east of Fiji. My parents were esoteric occultists who were obsessed by a story told to my father by Swedish sage Ingeborg Ing-Giddyungedishgedoor. In the myth an albino werewolf named Yurt grants eternal life to any man who can clean the pesky fecal matter stuck to the fur around his anus; according to Ingeborg said werewolf resided on Yupu’alota. After spending 14 years on the isand attempting to communicate through crude rosetta-stone like techniques however, they discovered that the indiginous peoples had no idea what my father was talking about. Desperate now, my father attempted to develop a Kurtzian following among the tribe by perpetuating the myth of an albino werewolf that would masturbate at the windows of the villagers on every full moon. One night soon thereafter the villagers found him pleasuring himself beside a hut in a crude white faux fur coat. In a regressive move unseen for generations the tribal council decided to cook and eat my father. I am ashamed to say I partaked in the feast. You see, my youthful malaise was exacerbated by my father’s refusal to accept my imminent puberty. Preferring to treat me like an infant rather than the young man I was becoming, he would even go as far as swaddling me and carrying me around the island in my fourteenth year. My mother became hysterical with grief and the all-encompassing guilt born of her aldulturous affair with the island’s alpha monkeys. Within days my mother committed suicide by covering herself in wild honey and letting the sea scavenging birds peck her to death. At the age of 26 I realized that Yupu’alota may not be the place to chase my dreams.

For four years I jumped from merchant ship, to skiff, to schooner, to ski-doo and back to merchant ship trying to reach North America. I learned how to gut fish and I swabbed many a poop deck. I learned that a toothless second mate looking for a puckered starfish was not looking for decorative shells. Finally, I reached the port of New York. The new world! The city was my oyster, all the best the world can offer in just a few area codes. After a couple of days though I decided that New York was not for me. No, I heard a voice, and that voice said onward; onward to Markham, Ontario Canada!

So, for years I worked in relative happiness embracing my job as sales associate at a fledgling novelty enterprise you might remember; does the “It Store” ring a bell? I thought it might. After stocking and selling so many breasty nipple mugs, I began to feel an existential ennui only matched by the death and consumption of my father. What next? It was time to move on. Lost and confused and fantastically drunk one night I found myself at the edge of an icy precipice (the top of a set of parking garage stairs). I decided to end it all. I hurled myself down said stairs in a pained swan dive and landed, a pathetic crumpled pretzel on a cold November night. Within moments a beacon of hope arrived an’d a new relationship was forged. The angel’s name you ask? Harold Goldfarb injury attorney. Within two weeks I had a newly healed toe and eleven million dollars in the bank. I was an instant man of leisure, but what to do with my time? For a dark period my idleness bred bad habits. PCP for breakfast, ice for lunch, at one point I didn’t know whether I was speedballing or “chasing the golden gryphon”. I had to break free! I decided that my only chance of escape was to reach out to the people, and so it begins.

My column will be different things to different people, queries such as “Why are jackasses such dicks?”, or “When will white men have access to follicular creams that will allow us to grow “fades”?, or “What else can I do with my superfluous testicle?” will be answered. Opinions of such staggering genius such as “Pee is better than poop” will be extrapolated. Embrace me as I’ve embraced you. I may need to touch you. Prepare to be amazed; I already am.

Guy

Class Action

Move over Jessica Seinfeld. Jerry Seinfeld’s beleaguered wife and her cookbook lawsuits have nothing on the Whopper® of a lawsuit slapped on the creators of Seinfeld. It seems that the premise of their show, nothing, or specifically that it was a show about nothing, was lifted straight from Jeff Furrboot’s Grade 10 essay on ‘The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz.’

Furrboot contends that his essay, simply titled, ‘Duddy’ was about absolutely nothing. A fact he is so utterly sure of as to be unquestionable by anyone else or at least in this case, Seinfeld.

The corresponding blank page with the simple title and failing mark are proof enough to proceed with the suit.

Furrboot is feeling pretty confident that Judge Vandelay will make a fair and consistent ruling, in line with such precedent setting cases as: ‘Bobby Brown vs Turd’ and ‘Michael Buble vs Samsung’.

The Love Within

The following is a hot insert from the forthcoming bestseller ‘The Love Within’. It’s the first novel of its kind to come with an NC-17 rating. The hotness basically scorched three manuscripts, consequently the surviving hot version has been written on fire-retardant paper.

If revolutions are the hottest form of regime change, then we are in a heat wave. The city’s mercury had all but evaporated. The times were turbulently erotic. Revolution was the wind that blew hot change throughout the city. Hot winds were blowing.

The hot, hot wind blew through the office door as it opened and then closed. The heat was now a captive of the office and so was she. She went by the name of Veronica.

Veronica came in exactly as she had left… on a Segway. He had not anticipated her arrival or prepared her Segway parking space.

“How are you?” he stammered. The words hung like water droplets in a pregnant cloud. It was hot and only getting hotter. Fuck, she’s going to get a ticket.

“Am I going to get a ticket?” Is what her mouth said, but her eyes told a different story. If I had to guess what the story was, I’d gander that it would probably be Yukio Mishima’s Confessions of a Mask.

He hated her snootiness. She parked the Segway and dismounted her mechanical steed. The substitution of the Segway for walking and her newfound love of Gruyere had not done wonders for her figure. She was fat. Fatness didn’t carry a lot of weight in his books and yet he still put up
with her shit. Despite her fatness, she still came across as a hot version of Oprah – a white-hot version of Oprah. She was white.

“It’s too hot in Spain during the summer months.”

What the hell was that shit? Who the fuck cares about Spain and its weather? The Segway was hell on her figure.

“This office needs some breeze to combat the sticky hotness in the air. Look at me, I’m perspiring.”

Maybe you could lose some weight. “I’m sure we could bring that up at the next meeting, but this is an archive. It purposefully has zero windows to protect the documents from the elements… especially the hot elements – but hey, if you need a breeze, then a breeze you shall have.”

“I knew we’d see eye to eye on this.” She said this while holding my hot gaze.

That fat fuck, who the hell does she think she is? This hot, hot, hot heat is sweltering.

Suddenly the mercenaries broke in through the windows and began over-turning desks and chairs. The office just became a billion degrees hotter.

“Yiiiiii! We’re shutting down this freedom press in the name of freedom!” screamed the mustachioed guerrilla leader. He removed his cigar and butted it out on the cream coloured coffee table (purchased while antiquing).

“It looks like the end of our torrid love affair.”

“We’ll always have Spain” she replied.

“No, our freedom will become un-free, I can’t bear to see Spain fall to the freedom fighters” he muttered, staring off into the distance. “I’ve never seen so many impregnated clouds, especially in such hot times.”

“Si.” they all whispered in unison.

Chachibot Stimulus Package Is Approved

Congress approved President Obama’s Chachibot stimulus plan. Effective immediately, Chachibot will be forgiven all debts (Scott Baio) and will begin a two-year stint on “The View.”

When asked for a comment, Whoopi Goldberg, in a surprisingly verbose mood, said, “I have a good feeling that Chachibot will transform ‘The View’ into the show of the future. Much like I did with the New York Knicks in the movie ‘Eddie’. Ha. Ha. Ha. Thank God we were able to steal Chachibot away from Scott Baio. My sources, mainly, Joy Behar, alerted me that Chachibot was getting dangerously close to crunching the incredibly complex algorithms that would’ve predicted the fit of Scott Baio into Law and Order: Special Victims Unit. That show would’ve been perfect for him.”

Look for Chachibot next week on “The View”.

Chachibot Deemed Too Big To Fail

President Barack Obama decided that Chachibot was too big to fail. Despite posting record losses in the Pre-Boom Recession*, Chachibot was integral to the American psyche. As long as it was around trying to compute the odds of Scott Baio ever working again, it ensured the American public that Scott Baio would not be working, not be sleazing up the small screen. With a decommissioned Chachibot, Scott Baio might attempt a comeback on his own, maybe a Law and Order: Special Victims Unit, a show that he would be perfect for. Thus, President Obama was compelled to offer a Chachibot stimulus package, slated for congressional approval tomorrow.

*Pre-Boom Recession was a term coined by Chachibot to trick Scott Baio into thinking that the economy was both good and bad. The economy was good, therefore he had the potential to work; the economy was bad, which was why he wasn’t working. This Chachibot devised paradox kept Scott Baio and the rest of the world in perfect equilibrium**.

**The only thing not in balance would be the hit series Law and Order: Special Victims Unit. It’s a series that would be perfect for Scott Baio. Perfect.

Chachibot Sales Hit An All-Time Low

On Monday Scott Baio’s brainchild, Chachibot, became the latest casualty of the global economic meltdown. Although Chachibot had a limited production of one, it unfortunately was one too many. Chachibot was unable to weather the storm that has sunk such industry stalwarts as the Morgan Freeman Cake Mixer and the Frank Stallone.

George Karl: Modern Day Evil Super Villain

Deep in the Rocky Mountains, at a top-secret laboratory, an evil super villain is hard at work on his next devious plan. George Karl, criminal mastermind masquerading as an NBA coach, sits with a contented ear-to-ear grin. He is the same criminal mastermind behind the pimping and disposal of countless piñatas.

George Karl’s rise to fame in the criminal underworld is a story that has never been told. Abandoned at the tender age of sixteen by his two feral parents, George was left to fend for himself on the cold streets of Pittsburgh. Some say his feral parents were mistaken as piñatas and beaten in the hopes of spilling their precious candy. Some say this led to his life long hatred of piñatas. Some say that some say has been used to often to start a sentence. Either way, George was roaming the streets of Pittsburgh like a lone wolf.

Quickly he surrounded himself with other ruffians and other abandoned children of feral parents. Soon they had their hands in all aspects of the Pittsburgh criminal underworld. They were getting kick backs from the steel mills, the Steelers, and local Cotton Ginny retail outlets. Within six months all of the gang were ten thousandaires. The rest is history.