Qaddafi’s To Do List

Dude, Where's my Regime?

Qaddafi’s To Kill Do List

Update profile on Muslim dating site Mawada, changing my love handle to “BBW Miriam Jasmine Seeks Revolutionary for Killlllllllller NSA Fun”

Launch presidential exploratory committee in U.S. and see how long it takes majority of Americans to figure out I cannot constitutionally run for president

Launder rest of money stuffed between mattresses through self-righteous American pop stars

Finish application to Tea Party Evil Dictator Relocation Program and send materials to rural Pakistan P.O. Box

Revise “Cuckoo for Qaddafi” press releases to U.S., pulling pull back on previously overstated craziness so Charlie Sheen and Lindsey Lohan remain in media spotlight

Prepare for afterlife by ordering more lifetime prescriptions of hallucinogenics

Make law stripping Rebel Alliances' collective bargaining rights and sitting-on-and-posing-for-media-tank breaks

Push paperwork through promoting me from Colonel to General God

Return calls to FOX television to discuss their offer for own show filling Glenn Beck’s spot

Rebuild previously destroyed Weapons of Mass Destruction in garage

Send sympathy cards to Gov. Scott Walker, Charlie Sheen, Glenn Beck and Job

Cut off all modes of communication to outside world, order loyalist thugs to kill everyone that’s not killing everyone, stomp out anything that threatens my power, squelch any notions of civil rights, then call underground press conference to blame the United States for escalating all the misbegotten turmoil in my country

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Forgive Me iPhone, for I Have Sinned

I must confess, the main reason that I never converted to Catholicism is the same reason my t-shirt business folded: bookkeeping. I hated keeping track of every single purchase, sale, sales tax, transaction and never really knew what the hell I was supposed to report to Uncle Sam on my quarterly reports.

Given that the default mode on my moral compass points to “sin” (key word “default,” mom…) I cannot imagine trying to keep track of all my sins and accurately reporting them to the Catholic God’s taxmen, priests. Whereas a mistake on my business ledger might merit an audit from the IRS, a slip-up on my quarterly sin count may lead to being smote down in front of all my friends, eternal damnation, or God forbid, hand washing jock straps for the Notre Dame football team for the rest of my life.

Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against Catholicism or any other religion for that matter. All of my best friends, other than Jesus, have joined an organized religion. My problem with ascribing to any particular religion is all the damned rules (like using damn as a damn adjective). Nearly everything I’ve joined in my life, I’ve ended up quitting before too long — the one exception being the human race. But I’m telling you, some members in the latter group have been pushing all the wrong buttons and pulling all the wrong levers. I’m so close to falling over the edge. However, I would never kill myself; that would be suicide.

Converting (can you actually convert if you are not already in a religion?) to Catholicism presents the added burden of keeping track of all your sins, so when you climb into an outhouse-shaped confessional booth (see image below), you’ll spill ALL of your sins to the priest in the adjacent stall, receive a check list of Penance that needs to be checked off before you come back and drop your next load of burdens. Then, like Superman donning a cape and dipped in synthetic red and blue polyester, you emerge from the booth, conditionally absolved and feeling lighter, as if you can fly – or in the immortal words of Buzz Lightyear: “fall gracefully”.

No Priest on Duty: Enter at Own Risk!

Although, thoughts of converting to Catholicism just became more tempting with the new Roman Catholic App for your iPhone or iPad or iSin. The new app is designed to help penitents examine their Conscience based upon pre-programmed factors such as age, sex and vocation. Better yet, the app helps keep a running count and organize sins based on contrition. Moreover, you can add sins not listed in the standard examination of conscience such as “Third-Degree Blog Blasphemy.” The long-awaited app replaces the archaic Sin Abacus, which, with a couple of sharp turns en route to confession could shift your beaded sin count to absolution — something coined by some deceitful sinners, usually teenagers or closeted televangelists, as “The Absolution Sin Solution (ASS).”

Thank God for technology, eh? It’s only a matter of time before the Man upstairs, Steve Jobs, comes out with an ankle tracking device, the Sinulator, that monitors your sins as you commit them and simultaneously stores your history of sins in a nearby Catholic church’s mainframe and the Library of Congress. The only way you can get your Sinulator cleared is by going to confession and completely purging yourself, at which point the priest assigns Penance before entering the daily calibrated, secret code that wipes your slate free of sin. Should you keep procrastinating confession, your sins will merely accumulate until it reaches the Smite Point, explodes and smotes you down on the spot.

Kaboom!!!

I imagine God already has a Smite app on his IPad, which He plays with in between Facebooking, tweeting and playing Grand Theft Auto IV on His Xbox-360.

However irrational it may seem at this point in time, the prospect of having a Sinulator permanently strapped around my ankle is enough to deter me from signing on to the Catholic Church. I often have visions of returning home from a weekend in Vegas, still coming down from the roofies slipped in the Molotov cocktail I drank Saturday night, and walking blindly into a sin intervention, or Sinnervention. I am not one for surprise parties or being the center of attention, so the thought of being surrounded by family, friends, Therapist Bob and the neighborhood Exorcist scares the hell out of me.

“The reason we’ve gathered here, T.M., is to help you confront your conscience,” Therapist Bob would say, taking the lead. “But first you need to take the first step and tell us about this,” he continues, pulling the remains of my charred Sinulator from a cardboard box. “Your neighbor heard a loud explosion coming from your house early Sunday morning and the fire department found this among the remains.”

That said, I must confess that I won’t be converting to Catholicism or purchasing the confession app any time soon. And the only piece of advice I have for any of you contemplating either of these is the following:

During confession, if you ever feel a priest’s foot tapping against your foot underneath the adjacent stall, I suggest you take a peek and make sure he doesn’t have a Sinulator strapped around either one of his ankles…

THE END Kaboom!

Why Do Sharks Hate Our American Way of Life?

The "War on Terror"

While America’s Homeland Insecurity focused most of its attention on strip-searching potential terrorists at airport terminals in 2010, the biggest threat of terrorism managed to swim under the radar undetected and attacked 32 unsuspecting Americans in our homewaters.

By terrorist, I’m not talking about your run-of-the-mill firebrand of terrorists such as Al-Qaeda, BP Oil, or a beached Rush Limbaugh; rather, I’m talking about, Chief Martin Brody forbid, Sharks!

Dudum…

That’s right, sharks. US researchers reported 79 unprovoked shark attacks on humans last year, 32 of which were on Americans. The big question is why these amphibious terrorists are disproportionally preying on Americans when compared to our fleshy global counterparts. In essence: Why do they hate our way of life?

Dudum…

Now I’ll be the first to admit that, thanks to Steven’s Spielberg’s anti-shark propaganda attack in 1976 (i.e. “Jaws”), I hate sharks. Don’t get me wrong though; I’m not a sharkist by any means. Some of my best friends are land sharks.

But when I first saw “Jaws” on the big screen at the impressionable age of eight, sharks scared the shit out of me, thus opening a can of deep seeded, irrational fears. I refused to bathe in the bath tub for months afterward, thinking baby sharks were bred in the sewers of my landlocked habitat and would swim up through the drain and take a bite out of my budding manhood. While at summer camp at a peaceful resort, similar to the one in the “Friday the 13th” flicks (which came out later and stoked new fears of sleeping with hot, scantily-clad girls in the woods at night), I was convinced that there were fresh-water sharks circling under me, deciding whose turn it was to gnaw on my dangling legs, while I waited for the water-ski rope to return. The only things I hated more than sharks during those pre-pubescent years were Brussels sprouts and “The Lawrence Welk Show.”

Dudum…

I’m sure I’m not alone in my hatred for these dorsal-finned, man-hating killing bastards, so it’s no wonder sharks aren’t too fond of us either. Maybe that and the fact that humans kill an average of 30 to 70 million sharks a year. Besides the obvious motive of revenge, a University of Florida’s international shark attack report contends that the terrorist attack rate is going up in America due to a rise in population, coupled with a rising interest in aquatic recreation. But this simplistic “Us versus Them” analysis merely serves to drown out the truth, something SSF’s investigative journalists had no choice but to uncover, harpoon and expose to the public.

Du du du du du du…

Real Reasons Why Sharks Are Increasingly Terrorizing Americans & Threatening Our Drylander Way of Life

1. Americans are fat and juicy: Got Americans? Why settle for a lean piece of meat elsewhere when you can sink your teeth into a bobbing, buoyant, fatty slab of all-American meat. Can’t blame them, now can we.

2. It’s the economy, stupid!

3. Jaws IV sequel?: rumors have been surfacing down under that yet another Jaws sequel is in the works.

4. Recent spike in politicians jumping the shark: potential GOP Presidential wannabes are lining up to see who can best jump the shark as they ramp up their bid by channeling Ronald Reagan to see who among them is the Real Conservative candidate.

A young Mitt Romney makes his second bid to jump the shark.

5. Want bite out of 15 minutes of fame: as they audition for the Discovery Channels ever-popular “Shark Week” – the “American Idol” of the underwater shark world.

Despite the jump in shark attacks and the growing sharkist mentality in America, there have been some recent strides in building tolerance among Drylanders towards sharks.

-Card sharks, once viewed in a negative light in the Vegas desert, became less derogatory in the late ’80 thanks to the tamed game show “Card Sharks.” Moreover, the growing popularity of Texas Hold’Em made poker a televised “sport” and card sharks evolved into professional card players, who hide their beady little shark eyes behind Blue Bloc sunglasses, so other players can’t smell the blood leading to their tarnished souls.

-Loan sharks — despised by many-a-poor man down on his luck and loathed for charging exorbitant usury rates (an act condemned by “The Bible”) to its customers — are now called “Credit Lenders”.

-The success of UNLV Runnin’ Rebels basketball coach, Jerry Tarkanian (a.k.a. ‘Tark the Shark”) who gained notoriety for habitually chewing on gym towels (dipped in human blood, presumably) during stressful moments during the game.

-When the sharks’ house band Great White covered “Once Bitten, Twice Shy” in 1989 and the single drew blood at #5 on the Billboard Hot 100.

Great White: “Once Bitten, Twice Shy”

The Daily T’wit: Twitter Killed the Media Star

Daily Tweet T’wit: 15 Tweets of Fame: Jay Cutler and LeBron James remind world they’re like rest of us & one tweet away from only making six figures.

Granted, Twitter is not the first media tool to take down cultural icons and institutions, which has been documented in the following historical montage of techno-kills:

“A Brief History of Techno-Killing in America: Part I”

Television Killed the Literary Star (1950s)

Video Killed the Radio Star (1979)

Porno Killed the Porn Star (1988)

John Homes died in 1988

24-Hour Cable News Killed Free Thinking (1980s to Armageddon, which, by the way, will be covered around the clock)

Youtube Killed the Political Star (2004)

To Be Continued in a Theater Living Vegetation Room Near You…

To get your daily dose of tweets, be sure to follow Say Something Funny on Twitter.

(Warning: follow Say Something Funny on Twitter at your own risk, making sure to take a hard left just before falling into the Apocalypse…)

Aside

Daily Tweet T’wit: Rumor has it Charlie Sheen left “Two and a Half Men” over contract disputes over who will be the half man when Angus Turner Jones turns 18 in October.

To get your daily dose of tweets, be sure to follow Say Something Funny on Twitter.

(Warning: Follow Say Something Funny on Twitter at your own risk, making sure to take a hard left just before falling into the Apocalypse…)

Resurrecting Say Something Funny One Tweet at a Time

After months of neglecting this blog, Say Something, the D.I.S. (Department of Inhuman Services) finally stepped in, DIS’ed me and threatened to take my blog away unless I started producing. Truth be known, I was recently voted kicked off The Island of Misfit Blogs by that stupid King Moonracer and his Misbegotten Blogger minions.

King Moonracer poses with finalist bloggers on Island of Misfit Blogs (Not Pictured: Say Something Funny)

The Boomerang-of-Hate comes back to hit Mel Gibson upside the head, when he was added to the "no-fly" list while trying to board a flight from LA to Australia.

Therapist Bob suggested this was a tell-tale sign that I needed to resurrect Say Something Funny. He also suggested that I wait three full days, so the blog’s rebirth would be grounded in biblical allusions. Thanks, but no thanks, Therapist Bob. I’ve seen Mel “Serpent Tongue” Gibson’s “The Passion of the Christ” to know that’s not a sound piece of advice. (I still think I could make bank selling W.W.M.S? (What Would Mel Spew?) bracelets…)

For months now, Say Something Funny has been on life support and WordPress was about to pull the plug, until word-of-social media got out and made its rounds up on Corporate Hill in D.C. via Twitter. News of Say Something Funny’s imminent peril spread like wildfire and bubbling brimstone among the Right to Cyber-Lifers, who recently hijacked the House — killing Democracy in the crossfire. Rest in Peace, Democracy; you’ll be missed.

As if struck by a miracle, these folks, temporarily blinded by humanity, put their pitchforks aside and came to my rescue. Overwhelmed by their willingness to sacrifice their time obstructing bills, writing new bills that will thwart the recent spread of civil rights and taking turns washing the Tea Baggers’ soiled tea bags by hand, Say Something Funny had no other choice but to unhook the artificial breathing apparatus and begin breathing on its own.

To help facilitate the resurrection and inspire a revolution, I’ve decided to call upon Twitter, who has agreed to tweet down from the mountain and spend time away from the burning bush before the rest of its eyebrows are completely singed. Now to build a following one tweet at a time… Well, that and actually producing material that will keep the minions coming back for more…

Initial Tweet: Vive Say Something Funny! Building a satiric revolution one tweet at a time…

Be sure to follow Say Something Funny on Twitter.

And stayed tuned for the inaugural post and The Daily Tweet T’wit (To wit)…

I’m So Broke That…

Having finally paid off the first installment of this bit, I’ve finally managed to scrape together enough material for a second installment of:

I’m so broke that…

I asked the Tea Party to refund my membership dues.

I couldn’t pay full homage to the late Ronnie James Dio.

I’m STILL saving up to file for bankruptcy.

I pawned one of my kidneys.

I’ve considered emigrating to Mexico.

A Census worker counted me as .4 — which is less than half the man I used to be.

My accountant* fired me (*Turbo Tax).

My wallet, after feeling empty and unfulfilled, ran off with my neighbor’s coin purse.

I voted for change, thinking I was voting for literal change (talk about shortchanging voters, eh?).

I STILL owe myself an apology for actually posting this cents-less dribble.

Now’s your chance, Dear Reader, to say something funny by adding your two cents (no I Owe Yous, please; I’m broke enough as it is) in the COMMENTS section below.