Funny But Mean

This week the Discovery Channel launches their exciting new computer simulation battle! Using state of the art medical and computer graphics, we can now determine which historical predator would have been creepier had they lived in the same era. The first matchup is between a medieval Catholic priest and a 19th century British boarding school headmaster.

Our two history creep experts, Dan Boyle and Sarah MacLean, are going to each take a side and uncover who is the worlds creepiest predator.

Sarah MacLean: I’m going to have to take the 19th century British boarding school headmaster.

British boarding school headmaster

By the 19th century, these sexual predators had their game down. They knew what they were doing from perfecting a long and creepy tradition of buggery. Not only that, but they had indoctrinated their boys from the minute they entered the school, promoting the notion that they were to comply with every filthy, degrading, perverted request or be physically punished! Not to mention 24 hour access to their sexual prey whenever they felt the urge. These weren’t just boarding schools, they were training grounds for some of history’s creepiest sexual predators.

Headmaster weapons: ruler, switch (tree branch), paddle, textbooks.

Medieval Priest

Dan Boyle: I won’t deny that your standard headmaster was a creep to contend with, but you have to give it to the medieval priest, and here’s why: he was above the law. Sure, your boarding school headmaster had 24 hour access and the boys mostly complied due to a rigorous and persistent mental coercion, but they were still restrained by the law. The medieval priest didn’t need to skulk around in doorways groping youngsters, we’re talking old school sex predator. They could come into your home and have at it with anyone in your family and you were helpless to say or do anything for fear of ecclesiastic repercussion. Not only that, but priests were the elite educated class so even if you did manage to file a complaint, their knowledge of the “legal system” would have out manuevered any threat against them. When it comes to creepy, you have to give it to the one that has the least to fear from being punished.

Medieval Priest weapons: the rack, wooden dildo, crucifix, and lots of candle wax.

Winner: Medieval Priest

Justice Clarence Thomas

If we are ever to save the American Republic from economic and moral ruin, we must repeal the 14th Amendment. I realize that it’s an unpopular view in many people’s opinion and that many Americans have come to accept certain inalienable rights as sacred, but times have changed.

No longer can I sit on the bench and watch as people stand before me to complain about their air conditioners breaking down or their children being taken away. It’s time to put childish things away and become adults.

We have come to expect life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness as a given, but I have learned from personal experience that it is not. If I want to put a pubic hair on a can of coke, I can’t do that without a congressional hearing, can I? So, tomorrow I am introducing a brief that will return us to the glorious days of ante bellum and all that entails. And to set the standard, I will put myself up for auction as an example to all African Americans who might fear their new white overlords. It is time to return to the glory of America’s golden age and I will lead the way in iron chained leg manacles if I have to.

Iowa Governor, Chet Culver

No. We don’t care if you’re gay anymore. Come here from your intolerant states such as Texas, Wyoming, and California. We will let you get married and even adopt a child. And when you’re done sodomizing each other with plastic fruit or whatever you do to one another, make sure you take in the sights!

Make sure that after you engage in acts of sexual deviance that would make Jesus weep tears of blood, you stop by Corn Alley, one of the world’s greatest monuments to agriculture. And once you’ve recovered from an all girl triple-butt plug daisy chain, rush right out to The Living History Farm in Urbandale. It’s 600 acres of open air history which tells the story of midwest farming from the seventeenth century through to today.

We don’t care what you put in one another, so long as you put in the time to see Iowa. So come visit, get your gay marriage, and see what makes people say “Ahhhh. Iowa!”

Tammy Jo Jones was abducted from her home on March 31, 2009.

STOCKTON, CA - Residents of the Stockton, California RV park where 8 year old Tammy Jo Jones went missing on March 31 do not appear to be moved by the young girl’s disappearance.

Merton Spore, an unemployed iron worker, lives in a 1989 Winnebago Family Fun Wagon parked two spaces down from where Tammy Jo once lived.  Spore, a 46 year old divorcee and self-proclaimed ‘hard core alcoholic,’ claims he never met the kidnapped girl.

“I know, I know… it’s sad and all, a kid goes missing from her own home.  But to tell you the truth I ain’t never seen the girl, and I been living here ever since my wife and kids ran off in 2007.   I got my own problems to deal with.  I ain’t seen work since last September, and my mother-in-law is now pressing charges for assault and battery after I popped my ex’s retarded brother over the head with a tire iron a few years back.  So no, I can’t say that I’m real worried about that little girl.  Sure, it would be great if they found her, but I ain’t losing sleep over it or nothing.”

Spore was not the only local to express ambivalence over the tragedy.  Leslie Button, a psychic who has assisted the San Joaquin County Sheriff’s Office in solving a number of local murder and abduction cases, came under fire in the national media for going through with a previously-scheduled ‘weekend getaway’ with her fiancee, Herbert French.

“Look, I’m well aware a girl is missing. You think I can just shut off these voices in my head?  Well, I can’t.  It’s just that me and Herbie been planning this trip for going on 3 weeks now, and I wasn’t about to let my work get in the way of spending some quality time with my honey,” Button said when she was questioned outside the “Take a Lod Off” Motel & Breakfast in nearby Lodi.

French, the 51 year old proprietor of Stockton’s top-performing used car dealership, French Motors, expressed little sympathy for the family and friends of young Tammy Jo, as he carried a bucket of ice back to the room Button and himself had checked into for the weekend, 

“I bet those two parents are really torn up over this situation. You tell them that they have a friend at French Motors.  That’s right.  Them and everyone else watching this program right now.  5% financing on any of my used Hyundai’s, 1997 and older.  That’s French Motors, corner of Sherwood & March Lane.”

Perhaps most stunning in his utter disregard for the plight of the girl and her family, was Father Jacob Whitetower, the pastor who presides over the First Methodist Church of Stockton.  Whitetower was unmistakably unshaken when interviewed by Sunny Pete, a reporter with Stockton’s Action News 4 team.  A transcript from the April 1 interview reads as follows:

Pete:  Father Jacob, what is your parish, and the broader community doing to support the Jones family throughout this harrowing ordeal?

Whitetower: There is suffering everywhere, miss… everywhere.  I am sure this young teen –

Pete: The girl is 8 years old, Father, not a teenager.

Whitetower: Of course, of course.  I am sure this 8 year old girl is suffering through a terrifying moment in her short life.  Perhaps that short life will soon be extinguished.  And perhaps that extinguishment will be seen as a blessing in the eyes of the Lord - as he does not wish suffering upon anyone, especially the young, meek, and poor.

Pete: Are you saying that God has spoken to you and warned you that the little girl is in danger?  That she is going to die?

Whitetower: The Lord works in mysterious ways…

[Whitetower pauses to take cell phone call]

Whitetower: I’m sorry, this is very important.  My wife is at the Costco and they need my signature to pick up a cake I ordered.  I’m going to have to leave now.

—-

Tammy Jo’s parents, Misti and Bo, enjoyed a free ‘Birthday Meal’ at the Hwy 5 Denny’s restaurant in downtown Stockton on Thursday night, celebrating Bo’s 38th birthday with a Smothered Brownie Sundae and two bottles of Gallo Brothers Chardonnay. 

It would seem that the only person who truly cares about the fate of Tammy Jo Jones is the young girl herself.  When reporters caught up with her early Friday morning she was trapped in a root cellar in Salinas, covered in blood and her own fecal matter.  Tammy Jo, whose arms were bound with a bike chain, and had visible cuts and bruises on her face, could not speak due to the filthy rag that was stuffed in her mouth.

Nicholas Hughes

- by Nicholas Hughes

I don’t want to sound like a jerk, but is anyone really surprised I killed myself? I know, I know, it’s a mortal sin and we should all cherish life as a precious gift. Blah, blah, blah. But do you know what it’s like growing up as the son of the woman who wrote “The Bell Jar“?

Okay, it was cool in college when all those girls who studied art and women’s studies wanted to fuck me. Sure. I was in pussy heaven. But after college, it was so depressing. And then the Iron Giant came out and that was pretty much it. Yes, it was sweet that my dad wrote it for me, but it’s really about a young boy who can only relate to a robot and that’s coming from a man who essentially drove both my mother and my step-mother to suicide!

So, I’m sorry if my death caused anyone pain, but what the fuck did you expect?

Relieved Father

- By Levi Johnston

Thank you so much Lord Jesus Christ for giving the people of the United States the wisdom to elect that black dude President. If my mother-in-law was Vice President now, I’d still be married to Bristol. I know, it’s sort of selfish of me to want some muslim taking the head office, but you have no idea what it’s like at the Palin Compound. The shit is scary!

Mama Palin told me that if they won, I’d have to stay married to Bristol because people might think that she wasn’t really a conservationist. And the thought of being in that family for four or maybe eight years wanted me to put on a moose costume and run around their backyard until I got shot. Now I get to drink, fuck other girls, and play hockey all I want! At least until Mama Palin decides to get me fired from the steak house where I work.

I guess the worst part is that I’m not even sure if it’s mine or Todd’s. Ah, who cares anyway now. Thank you, black President! Free at last! Free at last! Oh, dear Lord, I’m free at last!

You have all heard of the Mighty John Henry and his mighty dayrunner of course. He was born a full 33 pounds and grew to be a fierce and wild man who learned the dayrunner before he could walk. John could write and find anything in that faux leatherbound book faster than you could ask “what’s the number of your tax attorney”. Far and wide, folks heard tell of a man whose fingers danced through the pages of his address book and calendar with an agility that frightened a hummingbee. Such was the legend.

One day the Boss Man came in and said, “everyone needs a Blackberry if they’re going to work here.” Well, John Henry wouldn’t cater to that sort of talk and stood tall and firm and with a voice like thunder boomed, “You can take my dayrunner when my cold fingers are pried from its binder!” A crowd gathered to witness. The Boss Man just laughed and said with a snicker, “John Henry, I can do twice the work with a Blackberry than you can with that scrapbook. Don’t be a fool!”

This just made John Henry mad as a dog in the August heat. “Boss Man, I tell you what. I challenge you! I’ll bet I can find any name, write in any appointment, or reference any reminder with my dayrunner faster than you can with that box of wires! I challenge you! And if I win, I keep my planner. If you win, I’ll take your Blackberry.”

Boss Man and John Henry each took a chair at opposite ends of the table as someone called number after number, date after date and each time John Henry called out first. His fingers flying like keys on a typerwriter being used by a secretary on speed. Boss Man just pressed and clicked and typed, but couldn’t keep up with the Mighty John Henry. Finally, after a full hour, John Henry stood up victorious! And then he set his dayrunner down and fell to the ground dead of a heart attack. He had beaten Boss Man, but because of his sedantary lifestyle, his high stress, and his terrible eating habits he died at the age of 38.

I’m no fool, I can read, I been reading (and writing) for 78 years now, I’ll have you know.  It’s just that when I was at the market last weekend, looking for something nutritious to eat and I spotted the can, I guess I got carried away.  And with the money getting tighter by the moment, and no one at all to turn to, I think I made the choice any man would have.

I saw the words “Chicken” and “Rice” and “Lamb” and “Dinner”, and my mind wandered back to the early fall evenings of yesteryear, when my beloved wife Marta, God rest her soul, would make me and the boy a hearty meal of meats and grains for supper each Sunday night.  Our poor, but proud family would gather around the table, give thanks to our Creator, and partake of a great meal together.  

On those warm fall evenings I would say to my boy, “Son, I want you to remember these Sunday meals we share together and when you’re older I want you to remember that though we didn’t have much, and though your mother and I were never able to give you all the trinkets and the doo-dads the other kids had, you never went hungry in this house.  I want you to remember that you never went without a good American “square meal” of two meat dishes and one grain dish and no vegetables.  Now drink your milk and get to bed or you’ll never wake up in time to feed the chickens on the morrow.” 

Those were some of the best moments of my life, sitting there with my lovely wife and our young son.  And looking back now it is hard to believe that was ever me sitting at that table, enjoying all the blessings of hard work and sacrifice to teach my child the important lessons in life: “Never stop thanking God for everything you have, never complain that he hasn’t given you enough, and never turn away from a man in need”.

Well that was many, many years ago now.  The farm is long gone, the house leveled to make way for a strip mall, and I find myself utterly alone.  My wife is dead and my son, well he’s turned out to be different than I’d expected - much different than the hopes and dreams I had for him on those warm Sunday evenings back on the homestead.   

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I thank you for giving me this chance to speak as a character witness for him, and I hope you will take everything I’ve said to heart in your judgement of his crimes.   I sincerely hope that although the state of New York has never sentenced a man to death for a crime of this nature, you will make an exception in this case, and you will string him up from the tallest tree in Manhattan and let him hang there until his last breath escapes from his rotten soul.  Thank you.

Golden Gate Bridge

- by The Golden Gate Bridge

Look. I love that I’m one of the most photographed man-made structures on the planet. I’m not ungrateful. I also love the fact that I am the subject of songs, documentaries, and the backdrop for many famous films. I’m not complaining. But if it’s not too much to ask, can you people please end your miserable lives somewhere else for a little while?

You see what it’s like when some depressed, emotionally broken person stands on you for 45 minutes crying and pacing before taking that one final inhale and hurling themselves into oblivion. And it happens every other week for fuck’s sake! I know I’m beautiful. I realize that you can take a look at one of the most picturesque views in all of God’s creation before you shuffle off your mortal coil. If I were going to end my life, I’d want to jump off of me too. But please, people, can I just get a rest for month or two? Seriously, it’s getting depressing.

If you’re considering ending your life, why not the San Mateo Bridge which is only about a half hour away down the 101? Or the Richmond/San Rafael Bridge? You can almost see me from there on a clear day. If you don’t mind the drive, there’s also the Carcinas Bridge which is not as beautiful, granted, but you’ll still die! And isn’t that really the objective here? I would recommend the Bay Bridge, but let’s face it, you’re depressed enough. Who needs to look at Oakland as you breathe your last.

So, please, just as a favor to me, drive the extra mile for a month or two. It’s not like it’s going to matter to you anyway. Thanks.

Karen Allen

Margot Kidder

- by Kevin James, Author of The 80s Blog

When it comes to Joe Piscopo, Michael Douglas, or Elizabeth Shue, go ahead and ask me anything! But God-damn it if I can’t tell the difference between Margot Kidder and Karen Allen. The smokey voices, the earnest faces, the hint of smoldering sexuality in their innocent eyes. I know one was in Raiders of the Lost Ark and one was in Superman I, II, & III, but then my mind draws a complete blank. And then, there was that whole going crazy and showing up in someone’s back yard incident. Was that Kidder or Allen? I’m pretty sure Karen Allen was in Animal House. I think.