Posts Tagged ‘Congress’

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Great Lion Tamers of the Past Vol. 3

September 21, 2010
[And here it is… the last episode of the fakest family tree to ever grace WordPress. Originally published July 7, 2009.]

Time for another dive into the historic dumpster called “Great Lion Tamers of the Past.” As in previous installments (see here, and also, here) we will cast a jaded eye back at the various scoundrels, ne’er-do-wells and boy band managers that secured the Lion Tamers place in history as society’s black eye.

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Jerome Noble Lion Tamer
As the proprietor of upscale strip-mall favorite “Barnes & Noble Heavy-Ass Coffee Table Books,” J.N. gained a reputation for only stocking the most ostentatious titles, each weighing no less that 25 lbs.

He is shown here handling, with disastrous results, Vol. 14 of the U.S. Constitution, on his way to the discount table. Only mildly popular, due to the tremendous amount of revisions, amendments and missing pages, all volumes of the Constitution usually wrapped up the year collecting dust with other deeply discounted tomes.

Older versions were often found placed next to such illustrious and swiftly forgotten favorites, such as The Collected Doodles of Lance Bass, Freight Cars of America, The Collected Nude Portraits of Gertrude Stein, and Booze Broads and Bedlam, the last of which soon became the children’s cherished sketch pad due to its enormous size and completely blank pages.

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Elijah Montegarde Lion Tamer
A former sideshow performer and the 1903 winner of the “Most Ungainly Hairdo: Facial Division” award, E.M. would often “entertain” guests with various feats of daredevilry featuring his indoor cannon.

Named “Congress,” not after the hair-triggered legislative branch, but rather in a very blatant and poorly thought out attempt at subtle innuendo (the other side says “Sexual”). “Congress” was often used as a very frightening form of foreplay in his deviant rumpus room, or “War Office.” E.M. often lamented that no matter how explicit he was about his preferences in his many Craigslist personals, most “War Office Key Parties” tended to be sparsely attended “sausagefests.”

E.M. died alone from a self-inflicted headwound as did “Little Elijah,” who succumbed to a self-inflicted gunshot wound from E.M.’s pistol, “Little Congress.”

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Octavius Rockefeller Lion Tamer
The richest man of all time, O.R. amused himself as only the insanely rich can: by doing insane (and insanely expensive) things. He spent a little over $7 million ($380 billion in today’s dollars) on reconstructive surgery in order to become the largest man on the Eastern seaboard.

Once finished with this physical ordeal, O.R. found it easy to “pocket” Congressmen and Senators, forcing them to run the legislative treadmill for years at a time.

With the Capitol building converted to a rib smoker, O.R. headed east to terrorize Europe and Asia. After a minor struggle with the 300-foot Spectre of Fascism, O.R. strode, unchallenged across Asia. His comeuppance finally occurred in downtown Osaka, Japan, where he was defeated by the eight wonder of the world: Mecha-Godzilla.

Though his outsized remains were greeted by thousands of mourners stateside, astute observers of the funeral noticed a disproportionate amount of “Thank god he’s dead,” and “It couldn’t have happened to a bigger prick” comments, leading modern historians to subsequently place mourners in quotes.

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Roderick Arthur Lion Tamer
Another in a long-line of circus and sideshow performers within the Lion Tamer clan, R.A. turned his years of scamming and entertaining rural yokels into a long run as the official Jester to the President.

After various attempts at politically-charged piano tunes and scathing Letters to the Editor, R.A. soon settled on his bread-and-butter, riding around like a idiot on his handcrafted Silver Dollar Unicycle. Having never bothered to learn juggling, R.A. would simply wave his hands about in a somewhat carefree fashion, using a sort of proto-juggling mime. More often than not, his act consisted entirely of his rolling, fake-juggling antics, all set to the “Benny Hill” theme for maximum comic effect.

Universally reviled, R.A. nonetheless lived a successful life. His show ran for 34 consectutive years as government red tape constantly delayed his dismissal and his multiple appearances in tear-jerking melodramas (The Good Doctor Adams Who Made Laughter from Tears; Good Morning, French Indochina!) gained him new fans, while simultaneously alienating his old ones.

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Phillip Albertson Lion Tamer
A consummate ladies’ man and clotheshorse, P.A. was often seen gadding about town, gold watch on a chain and rohypnol in his pocket. He is seen in this etching, posing for an etching while asking the artist’s assistant if she would like to come see his etching as soon as it is finished and hanging in his bungalow.

Blessed with a smooth tongue, a full head of hair and an honorary doctorate from the University of Phoenix Online, P.A. tore through the fairer sex of Upper Illinois, leaving illegitimate children and bounced checks in his wake.

During his declining years, P.A. began to take stock of his life. As the wolves of paternity bayed mercilessly (and metaphorically) outside his window, P.A. suffered a change of heart, when it went from “ticking away normally” to “not really working at all, is it.”

On his deathbed, P.A. asked his numerous bastard offspring and former paramours to gather close, at which point he delivered his final message to the world: “My will has never been proven legal. Good luck dealing with the state of Illinois and my next of kin, whom I alienated years ago.” His body was buried in the St. Mary Hospital parking lot, after being hurled from the 23rd story window.

His legacy lives on, however, as the tougher restrictions and faster moving wage garnishments have been entitled “Phillip’s Law,” which also requires those arrested for child support non-payment to post signs in their yard stating that they steal from children and single mothers and are required to stay at least 500 feet from bars, casinos, hotels and family planning clinics.

-CLT

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Balancing the Federal Budget

September 11, 2009
Hey, asshole. Sure, the gloves get rid of the fingerprints, but the sleeves are a dead giveaway.

Hey, asshole. Sure, the gloves get rid of the fingerprints, but the sleeves are a dead giveaway.

As the nation’s deficit continues to skyrocket, politicians are scrambling to come up with solutions to counterbalance their reckless spending.

I kid, of course. The politicians could care less. They’re too busy trying to shoehorn someone’s useless airport into the back pages of our latest trillion-dollar fiasco. So while they look for more ways to sell your kids up the river, we have come up with a few suggestions on how to get the income to match the spending (or carpet to match the drapes, whichever comparison gets your attention quickest).

Fly-by-night tax collection agencies.

Check the White House sofa for any millions that may have slipped beneath the cushions.

Bake sale every Friday – first theme: “Fine. Score one for the bumper sticker-buying hippies. A bake sale to fund a bomber purchase.”

Pay wall for government websites.

Audit fucking everybody.

National “Swear Jar.”

Reorganize the government as a non-profit; accept donations from other countries.

$8 admission fee for illegal immigrants.

Buy more generics.

Effective tax rate on top earners to increase to 110%.

Federal withholding tax will now include a 35% “convenience fee” and a $10 “handling charge” (tip of the hat to Ticketmaster).

Same thing with filing a tax return.

Andrew Jackson was well known for his controversial views on slavery; love of floating pie charts.

Andrew Jackson was well known for his controversial views on slavery; love of floating pie charts.

Federal Disaster Relief packages now limited to a Sympathy card and whatever cash the people at the office chipped in ($43).

Several hundred post offices to convert to malfunctioning self-service kiosks.

Air Force One limited to one (1) “major city buzzing” per administration.

FDA Testing Department trimmed to one person: Karl “the Iron Stomach” Magnusson.

Casinos fucking everywhere.

Hell, smokers have an unlimited amount of money, right?

Americans encouraged to adopt foreign teens and immediately have them seek employment.

Increase the budget for “Alchemy R&D.”

Start accidentally knocking some zeroes off the end of the deficit total. Just until it’s down to something manageable.

Annex Central America and the rest of North America. Tax the hell out of our “new citizens.”

Take advantage of Australia’s penal colony status and stash our tax-dollar eating federal inmates “down under.”

Trim the DEA’s funding by 90%. Anti-drug operations going forward to consist of D.A.R.E. t-shirts and occasional “Won’t Somebody Think of the Children?” hysterics.

Yeah motherfucker. You may have my wallet, but I got your money-leaking hat!

Yeah motherfucker. You may have my wallet, but I got your money-leaking hat!

All national parks and wildlife preserves to be converted immediately to money-making resorts/amusement parks/petting zoos.

All retail transactions to be “rounded up” to next even dollar amount, with difference going to “Deficit Spend-Down” account.

President, Cabinet to look for second jobs.

Library of Congress to “aggressively pursue” late fees.

When buying Congressmen, lobbyists must now pay a 25% service charge.

Secret Service now off nights and weekends.

Proposed bills now must be printed using both sides of the paper.

All interstate road work to be subcontracted to KFC.

Iraq, Afghanistan operations to convert to “Operation: We Can’t Fight All Your Battles for You.”

More “sexually attractive” government employees now required to “turn tricks” 4 hours a day.

Americans encouraged to “give till it hurts.” Or be hurt.

-CLT

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RIAA, Jack Ely Team Up to Deprive Themselves of Last Remaining Promotional Tool

May 5, 2009
Jack Ely shows off guitar, false sense of entitlement

Jack Ely shows off guitar, false sense of entitlement

It must be another day ending in “y” if the RIAA is on the attack again. Once again, they’re headed after the radio stations. The same radio stations that the labels got in trouble for paying to get their records played. Apparently, their only remaining means of promotion isn’t good enough.

Things used to be great for the recording industry. They donned their sandpaper dildo and proceeded to fuck each and every artist and fan out there. Then things changed. Used CD stores opened. P2P took off. Artists defected.

Now the sandpaper is in the other anus and the RIAA is feeling the “love” that they have worked so hard to create. So they have responded the only way they know how. By pressing the “Release the Lawyers” button. Now this will all come to a head as two lobbying groups and their lawyers meet in Washington D.C., the ultimate Pyrrhic battlefield.

And who have the RIAA trotted out to tug at the heartstrings of the uninformed? None other than Jack Ely, whose claim to 15 minutes was being the frontmouth of the Kingsmen’s 1963 hit, Louie Louie. Jack’s complaining that he’s not receiving any money from repeated airplay of the hit single.

First things fucking last: He didn’t write the song. Richard Berry did and he owns the rights. By Ely’s logic, the guitarist, drummer, bassist, sound engineer, producer, internist and studio janitor should all be getting a piece of the action. After all, they all were present during the recording.

2. Jack was paid $5000 for his work on this song. I get paid hourly wages at my job, working on a patented tarp system. Just because I am an integral part of the whole assembly team doesn’t mean that I should be picking up residuals from every sale, especially 44 years after working there.

Jack, if you didn’t like what you were being paid, the time to bitch about it would have been 40+ years ago, at the time of payment. Get your fucking head out of the “I’m retired, give me free money,” mindset.

3. Jack’s bitching because he and his wife have to live on $30,000 a year and they “have a mortgage to pay off.” A mobile home mortgage, to be exact.

Fuck you, buddy. I have a family of five to support and will gross a little over $40,000 this year. I have a mortgage to pay off. On a house with no wheels. Keep in mind that I’m still working and providing you with free social security money.

Yeah, your life sucks, former Kingsmen vocalist.

4. You didn’t write the song. You. Did. Not. Write. The. Song. It’s not “your” song. You were simply a tool used to assemble a novelty hit. If you hadn’t done it, someone else would have. It couldn’t have been that tough, seeing as it is one of the most covered songs in rock history. And most cover bands aren’t looking for songs with steep learning curves.

Jack Ely (center), former Kingsmen vocalist, know for his adequate singing talent and incessant "life isn't fair" whining

Jack Ely (center), former Kingsmen vocalist, know for his adequate singing and "life isn't fair" attitude

If you’re not happy with the hired gun money you made, go fuck yourself. You had your chance. I fail to see how it’s the radio station’s fault that you have the negotiating skills of a Ritalin-addled six year old.

Sure, the RIAA is primed for a “multi-year battle,” no doubt urged on by the hourly-billing lawyers. Maybe once they’re done crippling the radio stations and further destroying their already limited future, they’ll head after any marching band who’s done a blaring, atonal rendition of “Louie, Louie.” (For those keeping score at home, that would be every single marching band ever.)

The RIAA has already proved they’re not above dragging 10-year old kids and octogenarians into court, so I’m sure they’ll have no qualms about beating up schoolkids for their lunch money. And once they’re done fucking everyone else out of their money, they’ll resume fucking every artist they represent out of their share.

Postscript: while searching for more info, I came across this interesting post from Jack Ely at mog.com. And by interesting, I mean hypocritical.

And I quote:

The solution is to give the world all the free music it wants, but to give the recording entity, whether it be a record company or a producer, or whomever, a cut of every live performance.

He’s dead on about live performances picking up the revenue slack of file-sharing, but when did he decide that a 44-year-old recording was supposed to finance his golden years?

-CLT