April’s Stupid Asshole of the Month
Every month there is exceedingly stiff competition for the coveted asshole of the month prize. Glenn Beck is always a contender. Wolf Blitzer in the past few months has really risen to prominence. Charlie Sheen, well, he is certainly always “winning” in these stakes. But one man, one unknown entity, has somehow risen from obscurity, and taken the trophy from these heavyweights.
Enter Matthew Millan, a wannabe filmmaker residing in the shithole par excellence of Los Angeles, California. So how, you ask, does a relative unknown rise to the top of the steaming pile of douchebags to win the award? Simple. This prick is going to Libya to make a film! Yes, you heard it. Libya! Home of Gaddafi, a man who recklessly invaded Chad (who still has trouble sitting on a hard surface to this day), bombed a German nightclub, plotted the Lockerbie disaster, and worst of all, purchased a nuclear warhead made from used pinball parts. And Matthew “Middle-Aged Attention Whore” Millan is going to his backyard to make a little film on god knows, or cares for that matter, what.
I lived my whole life immersed in the most brutal violence imaginable, for I was just a product of the times. But it really, really takes a dipshit of the highest order to actively seek out a conflict, particularly one centered around an even bigger tit than myself. God bless Tiny Tim.
And so I call on all of my followers, and all 10 readers, to support this idiot in this ridiculous, 64 calorie T.E Lawrence endeavor. Why, you ask? Simple. This is certainly going to end up being the 4th installment of Jackass, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Short of stapling his nutsack to Saif Gaddafi’s thigh, I can’t see how this could possibly be more hilarious. So, please my dear readers, if you are loyal to comedy, then give this asshole some money so he can not only go into the lion’s den, but stick his finger up its butthole. You can donate your money to the cause below:
Vlad Tepes Presents Best Female Celebrity Names…Violated.
1. I’d Scarlett her Johansson
2. I’d Sandra her Bullock
3. I’d consider Kieraing her Knightley
4. I’d Marcia her Gay Harden
5. I’d Mila her Kunis
6. I’d Rosario her Dawson
7. I’d Beyonce her Knowles
8. I’d Lucy her Liu
9. I’d Emily her Blunt
10. I’d Britney her Spears
11. I would under no conditions Oprah her Winfrey
Charlie Sheen’s War
Recent developments in North Africa, and within the labrythine mind of Charlie Sheen may at first glance seem completely unrelated. Yet an astute observer, like a certain 570 year-old prince for example, will pick up telling correlations between these events. As a butterfly flapping its wings in California causes a typhoon in Japan, the apparent breakdown of Mr. Sheen has in fact accelerated the wind of revolution around the world. So the real question to ask is not if these events are related, but how they are related.
Pax Wolfowitza
The acrid stench of rebellion has been so strong, so overpowering, that it has even stirred the old guard neo-cons from their slumber. Led by Paul Wolfowitz and the other chicken-hawks descended directly from complete-and-utter-prick DNA extracted from Lucy’s pimp in Ethiopia, the Pax Americana Wild Bunch have called for immediate intervention in Libya. This is of course all in the name of democracy and human rights, two themes entirely consistent with their impressive track records. Seriously, any half-witted dipshit can see through this doo doo-stained veil. But how, you ask, can this possibly relate to that quixotic guy known for his ground-breaking roles in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and Men at Work?
Narcissus Raped by Adonis
As a hilarious consequence of the costly picnics in Iraq and Afghanistan, United States foreign policy is in serious trouble. A blowback of Category-5 proportions, so to speak. The aging narcissistic autocrats who supported the powerful American military-industrial complex are being jettisoned into the Mediterranean faster than Paris Hilton can spread her frighteningly virulent strain of HPV (approximately 96% the speed of light). Alas, how things were looking so different in the early part of the century. M1 Abrams, tear gas cannisters, Poison CD’s and Barney, you name it were being shipped over to these friendly megalomaniacs for a little bit of oil money, and some friendly Rendition favors enacted on Pakistani cab drivers. Hell, even Mr. Lockerbie himself, Colonel Gaddafi threw his ridiculous Psychic Network looking hat into the ring of counter-terrorism.
Yet within these past few calamitous weeks, the whole world has been turned on its head, all thanks to Zuckerburg and his previously outlined plans for world domination. The neo-cons rightly suspect that Pharaoh Zuckerburg cannot be possibly be contained, indeed making him a serious threat to their amusingly nefarious designs. As masters of imp-provisation, they have reluctantly stepped away from their retirement glory holes to scour the land for worthy replacements to their friendly despots. But not just any old royal dick-heads can rule these treacherous nations, particularly ones divided along tribal lines. A tricky business finding Pol Pot caliber assholes to control the rabble. Yet as we know, nothing comes out of a vacuum, apart from a reckless teenager’s penis. Concurrently, rigorous scientific investigations into the very fabric of human DNA have led to a startling discovery. For years, it was widely suspected that every despotic ruler in human history has had a certain mojo, a certain je ne sais quoi, a staggering level of prickery that would even make The Situation from Jersey Shore blanch. But the smoking gun was never found. That is until the mojo was serendipitously discovered in a UCLA laboratory in 2009. The Adonis Gene. Yes, every tyrant in the history of civilization can trace his lineage to the ports of Phoenicia, and to the divine scrotal sack of Adonis himself.
Although normally loathe to accept any scientific methodology, Mr Wolfowitz and his merry band of Ring Wraiths saw a glorious opportunity. Celebrity culture in the United States is capable of staggering levels of narcissism, making it a seminally-coated petri dish of perfect candidates for all of these open dictatorial positions. So without delay, the Wolf Pack dusted off the old strip club napkins and revised the Project for a New American Century, and consequently Pax Americana. Their pretty young oil boy assistants were duly instructed to wash their mouths out, and contact the celebrity world forthwith. Auditions were then held for the still unfilled roles in North Africa. But not just any narcissistic tabloid tit could qualify. The right celebrity had to demonstrate beyond all doubt that certain je ne sais quoi. That level of self-loving douchebaggery so great that it could only be traced to the God of Douchebags himself. Adonis.
High on Sheen
And so enter the man. Enter the son of the gods. Enter…Wild Thing. Swaggering toward the mound in his algebra teacher’s spectacles, poised to hurl a 101 mph missile right at the undescended nuts of the media machine. Charlie Sheen. High on celebrity. High on life. High on…Charlie Sheen. And honestly, what better replacement for the King of Kings than a man who can overdose on himself? I mean, if he hasn’t developed a tolerance to Charlie Sheen after 45 years of hard use, then that must be some really powerful shit. So it is easy to imagine the neo-CONS concluding that six million downtrodden Libyans may well be vulnerable to 1 gram, let alone 70 kilos of Charlie Sheen. In fact, conservative jump-to-bizarre-conclusions-without-any-evidence-tank population models suggest that Libyans will be addicted within a matter of weeks, and ravenous zombies bent on their Sheen fix in only a matter of months. By 2012, what’s left of their dignity will be flushed down the toilet. Even more worryingly, these projections point to the entire Muslim World, 1.5 billion poor souls, becoming irreversibly addicted to Sheen, or some toxic variant by 2015. And once again, the Project for a New American Century will be in place. Pax Americana back on track, and firmly within the grasp of the neo-knob gobblers.
So where, you ask, does this leave Charlie Sheen? He’s too high to give a shit.
Despots of the World Unite!
In the year of your Lord 2011, a foul wind is blowing. Just months ago, it was nothing but an inconsequential breeze of discontent. Yet within a blink of my ancient eye, this breeze has grown to gale force levels. From a little back desert covering the salted ruins of Carthage to the STD ravaged-mummies of the Ptolemy line, the gale, a miasma of self-righteous freedom, has enveloped the whole of North Africa and the Middle East. The firmly entrenched autocracies of the region now suddenly find themselves completely uprooted, and floating toward the history books that no American will ever read.
But who is behind this madness? The collective will of a humiliated Arab nation? The Islamist extremist bogeymen of neo-conservative wet dreams? The “experts” on media outlets bandy about a steaming pile of explanations, it seems each one vying to be further from the truth. But listen not to those insufferable assholes, whether they be the fascist-tastic rants of Glenn Beck, the “Mubarak is a force for good. Um, what? Oh, shit! I mean the people have spoken, and Mubarak must go” one-two of Hilary Clinton, or the seemingly reasoned, but still dogshit arguments of Zakaria. All of their explanations are fucking absurd, and entrenched in their own ever flowing dogmatic diarrhea.
So who then is the source? Why are these harmless little dictators – who have never hurt anyone apart from 96% of their population and countless livestock – being ousted? After watching what some stupid pricks have called the most important film of our era, I have determined that it can be only one man behind this mess. One man and his diabolical…megalomaniacal scheme.
Zuckerburg!
Ever since this socially inept dipshit somehow stumbled upon the map of success with Facebook, he has had but one goal, and one goal only. A prize for all time. No, this prize is not in his billions, nor in his algorithms. The prize, my simple friends, lies within the abandoned ruins of Carthage. On the shores of Tripoli. Beneath the city of Alexandria. In the heart of the Holy Land. Don’t you now see it, my despotic brethren? This awkward and abrasive tit plans to trump us all, and become the great monopolizer of our sacred dictatorships. You can see it in his beady eyes.
Where, I ask you, is the level playing field? Why doesn’t anybody speak out? Where are the anti-trust laws protecting our mom and pop dictatorships from monopolization? Under these circumstances, we can’t possibly compete against him and his 13 year old cronies. I mean, how the hell can we put down a rebellion if its origin is some whining asshole’s tweet about not having a job? Or a say in the government? Or food? Or money for clothes? Well, maybe he shouldn’t have spent his money on the iphone then.
As a former middling dictator, my heart goes out to these little despots. These pioneers, these small-folk. These brave men who managed against all odds to carve out their little part of the world…with their own sweat, their own toil (and their own M1 Abrams provided by the United States). And now this half child – half douchebag comes along and takes it all away from the elder statesmen of the Middle East?
Though we be cast adrift in the sea change, do not fear. You can make a difference. Your voices shall be heard above the tumult of the unwashed. So all of you little dictators come out from your exile, whether you are stuck in a palace in Saudi Arabia, or a cozy house in Hawaii. Start tweeting. Update your facebook. Put your current employment status on linkedIn. The world shall no longer be deaf to your plight. I speak not for just a few aging autocrats, but for the multitude…the poor disenfranchised dictators who have been bullied for 6000 years by the Zuckerburgs of civilization.
Let us strike back with the pube-haired nob’s own arsenal…before it is too late. We can turn the tide, my friends, but we must act now. And so I summon forth my own little social network. Update my own status. Tweet my own revolutionary tweets. RT@ben ali gaddafi and mubarak never give up never surrender despots of the world unite lol! And then pat myself on the back for making a difference.
The Secret-ion
During the glorious, yet broken years of my fateful reigns, the population of the known world was largely dominated by stupid, illiterate peasants…peasants retarded enough to believe in the undead. Uneducated enough to believe that the earth was the center of the universe. And gullible enough to believe that fanciful bile, gushing and spewing forth from the gaping mouth of the ravenous Church. Yet really…could you blame those poor bastards? I mean, look at the times…look at the environment. After all, those filthy, wretched souls were buried neck-deep in the peanuty shit of human history. Black Death was but a recent memory. Warfare was so rife that no asshole was left un-penetrated (much like no child is left behind today). And The Inquisition. Ah, the lovely Inquisition. The Church’s chumly way of saying, “thank you for the precious gold. Now here’s a nice glowing pin for your unwashed genitals.”
And so…182,500 bowel movements on from the 15th century, I re-emerge to find an Age of Illumination, an age where the known world has grown to encompass a cloudy blue ball that orbits a mediocre sun, on the outskirts of a nondescript galaxy, in an average cluster…and expanding within the topography of spacetime. An age, I dare say, where illiteracy has mostly been eradicated from the industrialized world. So how then, in this brave new world, did some unknown Australian bimbo pull off such a brilliant stunt, one that would put even the 15th century Church to shame?
Some Things Never Change
One of the disadvantages of omniscience is that you know everything…whether you like it or not. And I say this with a heavy heart. For, in my cosmic omniscience, I have become aware of The Law of Attraction. Yes, the “law” that claims: if you really want something, and truly, truly believe it’s possible..well then , you’ll get it. Moses’ Taint, these fucking morons dare call this a law? I mean, I’m a 15th century noble who was conditioned to believe that washing my asshole with water was an ironclad death sentence, and yet I can see through the veil, and gauge how bullshit this law is?
Do You Even Know What a Law Is?
What the hell is wrong with you people? Are you really stupid enough to believe that The Universe gives a shit about what you think? That somehow if you think only positive thoughts that the Cosmos will reward you with positive energy? Suddenly, every environmental factor rendered meaningless, just because you wanted that new ipod? So let’s clear this up once and for all, Rhonda. Are you saying that every asshole in Chile prayed and prayed for a 9.0 magnitude earthquake? And all of the 250,000 people littering the Indian Ocean in the aftermath of the 2004 tsunami were just begging for a good drowning? Do you even know what a scientific law is? Where, oh where is the verifiable evidence that proves this so-called law of attraction? Hypothesis? Challenging experiment? Where is your scientific method (one of the great triumphs of The Age of Enlightenment)? It’s nowhere to be found, for you insufferable pricks are still floating around the same intellectual level as those poor peasant subjects of the distant past. 6,000 years of human civilization, and only 1% of you have made it past the veritable 3rd level of Tetris.
Vlad’s Law, a.k.a. The Rhonda Byrne is a Useless Whore Theorem
Can you not see that you are being misled by this unattractive blonde tart from Down Under? Can you not discern that she has discovered the true Secret? A law that states implicitly: If you write a book about some “secret law” of The Universe, then you will make millions off of the critical mass of intellectual vacancy.
Hell’s Titties, if she can play that game, then I have a law for all of you gormless tits as well. I call it Vlad’s Law, a noble law which eloquently states: When you think positive thoughts, and wish for certain things to come your way, then The Universe will suddenly remember that you exist. What it sees though is not a beautiful being of light and love, but instead a large, inviting pair of nuts, dangling to and fro in its cosmic domain. In response, The Universe shall proceed to summarily kick you “squaw” in those dangling nuts, and reap its justifiable vengeance for you being such a fucking retard…and a glaring insult to the priceless gift of awareness.
Vlad Tepes Presents: Top 5 Celebrity Names
1. Albert Pujols. Baseball. St Louis Cardinals
Perhaps the greatest name in sports history. I would watch Cardinals games just to hear the unintentional innuendos from the commentators. And to get me sitting through a whole baseball game takes some doing. Oh…the sheer discipline these sportscasters possess to keep from absolutely losing it every time Pujols steps up to the plate.
Favorite quote: “Pujols takes a ball.”
2. David Seaman. Soccer. Former Arsenal and England Goalkeeper
This one takes absolutely no imagination, does it? The 3rd grader in me always surfaces whenever I hear his name uttered. On its own, the name Seaman is absolutely hilarious, but when former Manchester United midfielder (and all-round crap player) Nicky Butt also graced the England colors, it became the stuff of legends.
Favorite quote: “Here’s Seaman…to Butt.”
3. Dick Trickle. Former NASCAR driver
Jesus Christ. Does this bastard have any sense? Or is he just the most self deprecating asshole in the world? For god’s sake, if your name is Richard Trickle, have your friends call you Rich!
Favorite quote: Just mention his name. That’s enough.
4. Udo Dirkschneider. Singer. ACCEPT
This man has what Sebastian Bach called the greatest name in metal, and for once, I wholeheartedly agree with that poncy piece of butt-rock residue. My word, Mr. Dirkschneider is a perfect storm of ingredients, all swirling around to form one brilliant package: a very short, chubby German guy, who wears camoulflage pajamas, and looks like a cross between a hobbit and that lecherous, child-molesting homeless man in the song “Aqualung”.
Favorite quote: “You got your balls to the wall, man.”
5. Dick Butkus. Football. Former Chicago Bears Linebacker
I have no way of verifying this, but a young Richard Butkus may well have believed that he was too much of a pussy, and consequently, made the counter-intuitive decision to employ the “Boy Named Sue” tactic on himself. I mean, let’s face it. You would need to be tough as nails to survive with a name like that. Mr Butkus would later become one of the greatest linebackers in NFL history, so who am I to argue? Well done, sir.
Favorite quote: I don’t really listen, as I get so distracted by his name
Honorable mentions: Dean Windass, Rip Torn, Jim Bob Cooter, Stefan Kuntz
Favorite quote from a commentator:
Euro 96 England-Germany semifinal. Stefan Kuntz receives a pass from Jurgen Klinsmann, and the commentator stumbles, “Matthias to Sammer, to Klinsmann…Kuntz”
Pat Robertson Overdrive
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A Call to Sever Arms by La Comtesse Erzsebet Bathory
What are we becoming?
From my black tower, I observe an evil that is swelling from the depths and threatening to engulf my society, my country, and, indeed, the entire world. Our Heritage, our Nobility, our Future are in grave peril. I shudder to think where we will be in ten, twenty, or one hundred years if this now subterranean rumbling is not stamped, burned, and beaten out. We shall be lost amongst the crude, illiterate, Godless peasantry if we do not act with the swift assurance that is our Divine Right, my most Noble Friends.
Recently, I was shocked to learn that a small, evil-minded contingent of peasants has been allowed to spread filthy, slanderous rumors about one of our own! Thus far, he has stood strong against their dark, dark characters but we must come to his aide. We must stand together and remind the evil-doers of the natural order of things–God, The King, Nobility, and the rest. And we must do this by any means necessary!
You know him, my friends. He is The Coach Mike Pointer from the Commercial Acting region of Los Angeles, California. Whilst his holdings and peasant population are small in comparison to ours, he stands as a symbol of what may come if these black-hearted rogues are not destroyed immediately.
It seemed like a usual evening.The Coach lovingly and generously opened the gates of the Hey-I-Saw-Your-Commercial Castle to the peasants for a free seminar regarding their theatrical union. Each of the attending peasants had already left a small deposit of silver with him which The Selfless Coach intended to refund. (He collects the silver in advance to ensure that his time is not wasted by non-attendees. Honestly, we all know how stupid and lazy these peasants are. If The Coach takes time out of his precious day to condescend to teach these nitwits, then he should be compensated if they don’t show up, right? Good, we all agree.) The Upright Coach decided to refund their pittances at the end of the three hour class, not at the door as advertised. He also chose to speak mostly about commercial acting instead of the advertised union information. Both of these decisions, I need not remind you, are well within his rights as a Nobleman.
Suddenly, there was an uprising!
Three rogue actors with evil on their minds dared to question The Coach’s decision to teach them commercial acting instead of the union information! The Coach, with as much patience as he could muster, reminded them that it was his right as their Leader to speak about whatever he chose. (Commercial acting is, after all, his forte.) He also told them they were free to leave if this did not suit them . . .
Leave?! My good friends, if I had been instructing those filthy liars I would have locked the doors and beaten the lot of them to death. Then I would have burned and dumped their blackened bodies into shallow graves for the castle dogs to dig up and gnaw. And they would have deserved it for questioning my actions! (Actually, I already do this once a week to keep them in check but anyway . . . .)
The horror did not stop at Coach Mike’s castle. The evil, rat actors spread their filth far and wide! They Tweeted, they Facebooked, they Spammed! They told the PayPal and American Express Authorities that the Angelic Coach had taken their silver, had falsely advertised his class, and had purposefully tried to dupe them into listening to his commercial acting sales pitch! (As if the Generous Coach needs a sales pitch! He already makes $30,000 a month and has helped 8,500 actors earn residual income!) So not only did these snakes question The Coach’s Divine Right to teach what he wanted but then they denied The Coach their silver!
Hideous! Outrageous! Unfathomable!
My noble friends, this cannot be allowed! With God as my witness, I will never suffer such upstarts in my realm. I will root them out, murder their daughters, and send a plague of ninety-nine cats to eat their hearts if they dare question me or my motives. I implore you to do the same. If not, this swelling tide of impudence will overtake us and dash us upon the rocks. Find the monsters, kill them, and remind them of who We are. Divine Right necessitates this.
FYI The Honest and intensely Humble Coach Mike Pointer is accepting sympathy donations through his PayPal account.
Everybody Loves Bathory
I, Vladimir III, son of Vladimir II of the Order of the Dragon, am pleased to present to you, my dear reader(s), my lovely guest La Comtesse Erzsebet Bathory, known as Countess Bathory, or the Blood Countess to all of you serial killer enthusiasts out there. Popularized by legendary black metal band Venom, and the growing swarm of vampire afficianados, she has once again emerged into our collective consciousness. And the awesome power of popular culture has given life to the Countess once again, centuries after her ignoble death, sealed within the walls of her castle-turned prison.
A noble woman to the very core, she has been shunned by history as a colossal sociopath, but only because her deeds have been largely misunderstood. The simple truth is that she was no serial killer by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, one might say that her deeds were precursors to reality shows like Jackass and Punk’d. You see, what the history books fail to tell you is that her 600 victims were not victims of murder, but of 600 hilarious pranks that went terribly wrong.
And now, 400 years after her death, she has been given the opportunity to vindicate herself (as a guest contributor in my blog realm). So please put your hands together (pull your left hand out of your pants, Jim), and welcome the beautiful Comtesse.
Blowing Rogues
This past week, a furor has erupted outside of bookstores nationwide. No, it’s not a new release of J.K. Rowlings lusting after young boys with broomsticks. Nor is it another ridiculous story penned by Dan Brown about the Church impaling babies to keep us from an age-old secret. So what are the long lines for? To get Americans worked up in such a frenzy over the written word, then it must be something extraordinary.
And something extraordinary it is. Yes, my reader(s), it’s the memoirs of one of the greatest thinkers in modern history. A woman so well-traveled that she can almost see Kovylunueskin, Russia from her house. A woman so well-read that she had to dictate only 25% of her memoirs to a 7th grade spelling champion. A woman so well-spoken that she can talk nonstop for nearly 15 months, and still manage to not actually say anything. A woman so well versed in just about everything, that she has been dubbed the Last Renaissannce Man – If The Last Renaissance Man Had a Big Pair of Tits.
Sarah Palin. Captain my Captain. Please spread to us your pearls of wisdom. Please share with us your world view (if the world was 11 miles in diameter). Please pick up the fallen scepter, and champion the cause of the down-trodden…of the commonfolk…of the honest citizens who regularly grace the front page of peopleofwalmart.com.
Jesus wept yet again!
This is your champion? A hockey mom who gets road rage in her SUV? A woman who could have been a principal character on “Fargo”? Are you people really that stupid? In my day, the boyars (noble pricks) tried to pull stunts like this all the time on the simple Wallachian peasant-folk (without the book signing tours, of course). In a cruel endgame of manipulation and power-flexing, they would steal from the common citizen with one hand while pointing accusingly at my family with the other. An old trick straight out of the Roman Senators’ playbook. An old trick that Mrs Palin is employing now by screaming “Death Panels” in convalescent homes, while lining her ample pockets with your hard-earned cash.
She is Not one of you
This woman is a patrician in a PTA president’s spectacles. She, like all of your so-called Democrats and Republicans, is nothing but a modern boyar. Your boyars may hide under the guise of elected officials, but trust me, I have executed enough of them in my day to know what their shit smells like. Your country was bought and sold more than 50 years ago. No one in power, let alone Mrs. Palin, will want to give it back to you.
The Piper at the Gates of Dawn
What you need is a real savior. A Champion of Change. A “Yes We Can” kind of guy. Someone who will pick up that scepter, and emancipate you all from mental slavery. Someone who will reveal to you the ugly truth hidden beneath your brown-stained noses.
What you need is none other than Rowdy Roddy Piper. Recall in ‘They Live” when he got into that epic fight with Keith David over a pair of glasses. After 175 suplexes and 62 piledrivers, he finally coerced him into put the glasses on. And David’s world came crashing down around him, for the veil was lifted from his eyes. The alien overlords were among us, and without those special glasses, who could tell who was who?
You, my halfwitted peasant friends, are living in such a world. And what you need is not what you think you need, nor is it what you particularly want either. What you really need is a certain Mr. Piper to kick the living shit out of you, and make you put on that pair of glasses. Then you will see what Sarah Palin really is.
“I Could Have Been a Contender”
Reading up on current events, I am reminded of the tumultuous century before my birth. It was in that century that a ship of panic-stricken merchants sailed into the Mediterranean, carrying a payload of plague-bearing rats, poised to rain death down upon Europe, and tear asunder the very fabric of civilization. For a time, the whole of Europe lived in absolute terror. But Medieval folk were a tough lot – and easily amused to boot. So it was only a matter of time until they all got a good laugh from a set of exploding lymph nodes. They would even go so far as sing cute little children’s songs about it, and dance in circles until they fell on their bubos-ridden asses. And by the time I was born, the Black Plague transformed into the Great Whoopie Cushion of our times. And like the whoopie cushion, it never got old. Oh, I must have punk’d the Sultan and his armies a thousand times by paying plague victims to wander into his camps along the Danube.
Those were the good old days.
500 years on, and once again the world watches in paralytic horror as it encounters a new plague on the block. A plague so frightening…so horrifying…so devastating…and so slightly inconvenient. Helplessly, we watch, eyes glued to CNN and Fox News as an alarming number of cases of moderately ill people come flooding in. And those are the lucky ones. For there have even been reports of people not recovering for nearly, almost a week. To date, over 300 adults have succumbed to this modern scourge in the United States alone. But the stricken are not the only ones who have been affected by what the experts dub H1N1 (or what laymen call Ms. Piggy’s VD). Since the beginning of fall – and concurrent with a spike in Swine Flu cases – a growing number of people have reported that social websites, such as Facebook and Twitter, have been running like shit, surely bogged down by somewhat ill assholes that have nothing better to do than tweet us about some antiviral medication they took while watching Drew Carey make an utter ass of himself on “The New Price is Right”. And so, like a horde zombies (if zombies were a bunch of pussies who went into a frenzied panic about a slight temperature), they infect us all.
Jesus Wept!
What is wrong with you people? In my day, if an infection took only 300 people to the Jaws of Hades, it was considered another day at the office. We wouldn’t even bat an eyelid. In fact, we would be nothing if not relieved that only 300 friggin’ people died in one day, let alone one year. We Medieval folk appreciated what a proper scourge of humanity was. If an infection killed over a million people in 50 years, then it would be passed on to a Death Panel for consideration. And only after several years of deliberation, would it then be voted as a scourge. But now…Now it seems that it just takes one asshole feeling slightly off for everyone to fly off the handle, and run to the hills toward stockpiles of faulty vaccines.
A Proper Plague.
The Black Plague was a proper scourge. It killed 50-70 million people, and paved the way for entirely new economic systems, such as capitalism and communism. It moulded the world in a way not possible during most of human history. And you people dare treat the swine flu as if it was in the same class of illnesses? As English footballers say, the swine flu isn’t fit to lace the Bubonic Plague’s boots.
That said, I do understand where you are all coming from. I understand that everyone loves an upstart. A challenger. An underdog. I mean, who wasn’t rooting for Frank Bruno to beat Mike Tyson in 1996? We all hoped. We all prayed. We all even bigged Bruno up as a real contender who would give that rabid madman a beating. But in truth, in the core of our very hearts, we knew that he was utter crap, and that Tyson would paint the canvas with his blood. And so this is what we have with the Swine Flu. Everyone is hoping for the next Great Black Hope. But sadly, my friends, we will have to wait a little longer, for the Swine Flu is nothing if not the Frank Bruno of pathogens.
Vlad's Principality 
