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Checklist of the Parasites of Fishes of Latvia

Not really about Latvian fishes

Category Archives: Politics

Dont mess now

To the Gubmint of the United States:

We God-fearing people of Texas feel that four more year’s of an Obama presedincy would ruin this great county somethin awful. With Bible in one hand and flag in nother we stand firm in our desire to seceed from these United States and form our own competin country.

After the elecshon of 2012 we have sadly found that Amercia has got away from it’s goals of freedom and librety. The Obama presedincy had done shown us enough. He does not stand fer the averge American. He is a closest Socialist and wants to make every Americna on welfare and making forrin babies. We Texans do not stand bythis disgracisticity. We Texas got rifles and we aint afraid to use them, if you know what we mean.

Instead of armed rebellion, we Texans choos to peacefuly seceed from the U.S.A. by signing this here petishion. I urge all good Texans to join us in this God-given right to seceed from a tirranicle gubmint, and fer the U.S. to let us go our seprit way’s.

Yours truly,

Martha MacAllister and Chuck Boone Perkins,

Lead petishioners,

Gutfly, Texas, USA?

Good Sirs, I promise whiskey for all!

By J. Dwyer McGillicuddy, popular affairs & common pursuits reporter

Last night this reporter witnessed Democracy in action. Seven fellows of the Reflex Party vied for the ears and minds of the populace. They were asked a series of questions and given the task of answering them.

This reportage is a compendium of highlights and lowlights from last night’s events at Harken’s Barn on the outskirts of Pickaninny Pond.

On the question of Southern perfidy and the nullification crisis:

Mr. Lazarus Artemus Scipio Cain: “I am a Negro, yes, but what dem southerners wanna do I ain’t stoppin’ them no sir. I juss do the gov’mint’s business, heyap.”

Mr. Bartholomew H. Gingrich: “I am a man of History, and as I nightly involve myself with the exploits of our Founding Fathers, I garner a greater and greater appreciation of their wisdom and see that wisdom among our brothers in South Carolina. I do smile upon their great crusade, God be with you, dear countrymen.”

Mr. Brigham W. Romney: “As long as the government leaves Utah Territory alone, I’m as happy as a kitten in molasses.”

Mr. Fire-and-Brimstone Paul: “Why do we have a constarnakin’ President and his rotund potentates flaccifinadin’ in his ear-hole, dagnabbit, I’d have drug his weasel ass into the River.”

Mr. Samuel Shenandoah “Chinese” Huntsman: “I repeat the comment of the esteemed Mr. Romney.”

Mr. Aw-Shucks Perry: “Hoohaw, dem Dixie-butts done got thermselves in a right keddoofle, but they juss some good ol boys doin’ right by me.”

On the question of Chinese rail-workers and their immoral influence on the Western districts:

Mr. L.A.S. Cain: “The whoosits now? I ain’t never seen no Chinaman. Heyap.”

Mr. B.H. Gingrich: “As I draw from a wealth of knowledge aquired by many a night by the fire, I agree with those who think the Chinaman is an inferior and rather repulsive Race. Though their presence shames me considerably, I do realize their value in building our Great White Ironlines across our blessed Continent.”

Mr. B.W. Romney: “I have first-hand knowledge of these Races from my home Territory of Utah. They are indeed a scourge but as long as they are confined to their quarters and kept occupied, and sent back to Foo-Chow upon completion, I am satisfied.”

Mr. F. Paul: “You know these ching-chong varmints got these collective minds? They even shit together. I want nothin’ to do with these Orientals and their rice-sticks.”

Mr. S.S. “Chinese” Huntsman: “I spent some time in Farthest Cathay. They are indeed a queer and quizzical Species. They eat with sticks and drink leaf-water. I think their babies are born out of hillsides. They certainly need Christian guidance. Mormon guidance.”

Mr. A. Perry: “Now this Huntsman feller is scarin’ me. Mormons? Why in a dog’s anus are we carin’ about them Orientals when Mormons are crawling all over our dear Middle-West? If I were President, I’d send the Cavalry out to take care of ’em. And those Orientals too. Never cared much for those slipper-wearing catnabbers.”

On the question of photographic contraptions and other inventive mechanisms that seem to be profligating.

Mr. L.A.S. Cain: “I done seen that one thing, whatsit now…it ain’t comin’ to me. But I done saw one of those iron chariots that bellow out dat smoke, heyap, it was all up in dat shack. Dang near spooked the pigs. Heyap.”

Mr. B.H. Gingrich: “As a man of history, I do not believe that books will ever be replaced by mechanisms nor powered by something other than a gentleman’s wrist and forefinger. I do welcome the sciences, however, provided that they do not interfere with our Republic and its hallowed institutions.”

Mr. B.W. Romney: “If one ironsided-horse or lightning-powered steamboat can get Mormons that much faster to the Promised Land, then I as President am not wont to interfere with such a creation.”

Mr. F. Paul: “Gales and filarney! I knew them Sciencers were up to somethin’ when I saw them flusherin’ that indoor commode, their consarned ‘toy-let’ which sounds dagnam French to me. I ain’t seen no hole that wan’t worth my fecal issue.”

Mr. S.S. “Chinese” Huntsman: “I agree with the esteemed gentleman from Massachusetts.”

Mr. A. Perry: “Aw shucks, I once took a looksee to one of them, howsits, puffer-stacks that look like Osage horse-cocks but it didn’t move me no way. Once they find a way to refriggerate my hooch then they can call me.”

What book or tome do you consult when guidance is your desire.

Mr. L.A.S. Cain: “Hell I ain’t read no book but I like them splotches on pine trees.”

Mr. B.H. Gingrich: “I do enjoy the ruminations of Seneca and Cicero. When in a festive or hysterical mood I consult the base woodcuttings of certain European artists bearing nude images of the female form. I then whip my genitals until bloodied.”

Mr. B.W. Romney: “All wisdom and certainty begins and ends with the Book of Mormon, no matter what the esteemed Mr. Perry says. Just before retiring I like to imagine myself in the bosom of Brigham Young while he strokes my hair.”

Mr. F. Paul: “Heesh, lemme think now, I do like that Adam Smith a great deal. Them Scotchmen are enterprissin’ folk. When I’m lumberin’ I like to take off my britches and read a few chapters of Captain Stevens and his Negro Attendant.”

Mr. S.S. “Chinese” Huntsman: “I also like the Book of Mormon and, on certain nights, a golden book appears which gives me advice on male orgasm.”

Mr. A. Perry: “Woohaw I do have intercourse with my Bible, word of God and all. Also like me some ghost stories and pictures of Conquistadors. “

Back to anonymity, you betcha

An anonymous person reported the following events at Tim Pawlenty’s thank-you party for supporters of his doomed campaign. 

8:02pm: Pawlenty takes the podium. Visibly upset, wan. Minnesota smile not so warm anymore. Iowa has betrayed him and he tries his best to thank Iowans. Mumbles something about their hard work and dedication. Says that Bachmann will be a good president but scratches his ear as he does so, thus revealing his true negativity.

8:12: Pawlenty at the bar. Orders a light beer and makes small talk with Iowans about comparisons between Miller Lite and Grain Belt. After second beer he decides he wants to “get freaky”.

8:15: Pawlenty demands something “risqué” and they put Credence Clearwater Revival on the loudspeakers. Pawlenty commences to do the jitterbug and then the hully-gully, causing some middle-aged Iowan ladies to gasp in shock.

8:45: Pawlenty asks the only black guy in the room how to do the “bump and grind”. After the black guy demurs, he proceeds to “raise the roof”. Black guy exits immediately.

9:04: Pawlenty returns to the bar. This time orders a Tom Collins. Looks at a blonde woman to his left, winks. Blonde doesn’t return the wink.

9:06: Pawlenty drains a shot glass of Wild Turkey. Tells anyone who’ll listen that Wild Turkey is what made America great. His campaign manager tries to whisper something in his ear, but Pawlenty waves him off and the epithet “turkey-jerky” is heard.

9:28: Back on the dance floor. Does the oogie-woogie and an unserious attempt at the bunny hop. Then asks the only Latino in the room if he knows of the “forbidden dance”. Latino shrugs and exits the party immediately.

9:55: Pawlenty’s hair is not so combed. Scruffy visage. Shirttail untucked. Hollers several “woo-hoos” and “aw yeahs” while holding a Heineken.

10:12: Pawlenty gets touchy. I mean, he starts rubbing women on the shoulders unnecessarily. Rubs a few backs. Rubs a young activist’s back and she looks visibly uncomfortable. Winks at a group of young Iowan Republicans. Orders them drinks: strawberry martinis. They look uncomfortable also.

10:18: Pawlenty strolls up to young Iowan Republicans and begins small talk about how they are “the future” and “the foundation”. Rubs a young blonde’s shoulders while saying “foundation”. She says “ewww” and walks away. Pawlenty isn’t fazed. Touches the arm of a hostess and orders an Alexander. Erection is visible beneath his chinos.

10:32: Pawlenty is in the bathroom for an awfully long time. Exiting man heard to say, “Is someone crying in there?”

10:43: Pawlenty back at the bar and drinks what looks like a vodka-cranberry. Small and slurred talk about the Vikings’ chances this year. Campaign manager comes back looking concerned. ABC reporter lurking outside the conversation. Pawlenty looks at the reporter and shouts, “I’m sure you’re happy now, turkey-jerky!”

10:55: Pawlenty appears to have soiled himself. Big men surround him looking to get him out. Campaign manager and wife return to talk to him like he were a child. Pawlenty growls. Gives a cocky “whazzup” towards young female campaign aides. Two men grab him by the armpits. Pawlenty growls again. Mints, Archie comics, and a sharpie fall out of his jacket.

11:01: Someone on the loudspeaker announces that Pawlenty has gone home for the evening, to be with his family. Nobody reacts.

Boehner of the Apocalypse

This diary was retrieved on May 3, 2309. It appears to have been written by an operative or official of some sort from the Republican Party, one of the two main political parties in the United States of (Old) America from 1860 to 2011. In 2011, a deficit-spending bill was not passed by the U.S.O.A. Congress, resulting in a civilizational collapse not seen since the 5th century. This month-long diary is a peek into the horrors unfolding around a single building in (Old) Washington D.C. during August 2011.

August 6: Hooray! We succeeded in not lifting the debt ceiling so our government has gone into default. Finally bloated and liberal Washington will learn to live within its means, small and ineffective, just as our founding fathers intended. President Obama will surely not be re-elected in 2012. Long live the Tea Party, long live the New GOP!

August 7: Had a congratulatory fiesta at Eric Cantor’s home. Margaritas and nachos. Mr. Rush Limbaugh was grinning ear to ear, popping pills and generally being the life of the party. His bellowing bellicosity made everyone flush with pride. Our Republican Party, Party of Lincoln, Party of Personal Responsibility, has taken back the nation. Huzzah! At one point they showed a dejected Obama on the TV. Fierce, fierce boos all around. This man has had his comeuppance. History will judge him savagely.

August 8: Strange sounds of gunfire echo around Washington. Much more than usual. But I like guns. The horizon is lit up by redness, almost like a fire is blazing hundreds of miles away. Perhaps the nation is celebrating along with us? I turn on Fox News and it is still round-the-clock celebratory mutual masturbation. I also masturbate.

August 9: Got a strange call from Cantor and Boehner. They told us to lay low for a few days, don’t go out at night and refrain from publicly gloating. This, in our hour of triumph?! Nuts to that.

August 10: There is a strange mood here. Fox News has stopped right-wing erotica and is showing clips of anxious people, riots, runs on currency. Gold is now $4,000 an ounce and rising. Cantor nearly got assaulted in the street by a hooligan, probably a jealous and defeated liberal. They said he had a beard. Will bring my concealed firearm just in case.

August 11: Republican HQ was fire-bombed today. Boehner called the rank-and-file and told them the Party could no longer guarantee their safety. There is a small caucus holding up in a K-street office suite, second level. Since it is two miles away I won’t attempt the journey, yet. Scenes on TV showing massive riots and roving bands of looters and thugs. They are all angry and probably liberal. Who thought there were so many liberals in this city? I don’t know where they come from. Probably bussed in from Madison, WI. I will lay low for a few more days. I have enough peanut butter and wheat bread to last a while.

August 12: Someone had posted the names and addresses of Republicans on the net. Two hours later someone threw a brick through my window, nearly hitting my wife Portia. Now the wife is scared, I am angry. I called my friend who is holed up in that office suite. He said the group grows by the day. Still room for maybe 30 others. Limbaugh and Michelle Bachmann turned up yesterday. Limbaugh was wheezing and popping some kind of pink-colored pills. They need firearms and whiskey, and a copy of the Constitution for encouragement.

August 13: Drive-by shootings, on my street! We saw the head of Paul Ryan roll by, and its scared the bejeezus out of me. Portia and I get in our SUV and high-tail it to K Street. Brought my trusty .32 gauge and a liter of Johnny Walker Black. (Guess we’ll be slumming it for a while.) Awesome sights as we rode through town. Trash everywhere. Broken cars. Zombie-like people wandering around. Babies crying. Lawns uncut. Lots of wood nailed to doors and windows. I wonder how other cities look. How could the deficit victory cause this much chaos? Didn’t everyone invest in gold? Why can’t people just be patient?

August 14: After arriving in the office suite, welcomed by solemn nods and some hugs. Whiskey was gone in 10 minutes. Supply of hot dogs and old nachos was nearly depleted. Bachmann turning into a living skeleton; Limbaugh not the personification of excess anymore. Boehner arrived just after me, sweaty and pale; Cantor was stabbed while coming here. At 3:35am the bloodied and lifeless corpse of Reince Priebus was hurled through our bay window. They must know we’re here. I would’ve checked the internet by all commmunications are down. Ten of us got every piece of loose wood together and secured the window. Howls of anger and despair ring out everywhere on the streets below. A group of young leftist scum has gathered across the street, pointing ominously at our office. We are all worried about Mitch McConnell and John McCain, who are due to arrive soon.

August 15: Conversation ground to a halt here. Everybody looks like they got a weeks-to-live diagnosis from their personal physician who isn’t part of a Obamacare health exchange. Bachmann is getting sexually aggressive with both males and females. Limbaugh has been motionless behind an easy chair for days. Boehner’s orange sheen is wearing off; his countenance is off-putting. Tends to sit in the bathtub half the day. Turns out our natural leader is Herman Cain. He is the only one who can shout down those malicious liberals across the street.

August 15: Sarah Palin arrived. Nobody invited her though. She rolled up in an ’82 Datsun so as not to arouse suspicion from the crowd of 50 or so people outside. One of them noticed Palin’s hair, eyeglasses, and pumps (why did she come here in high heels??) and threatened to beat her; she ran in before the crowd got close. Said that Mitch McConnell was assaulted by “fucking liberal monkeys” and died by an unspeakable anal perforation. Since then objects have been thrown at our windows and walls pretty regularly. We had to store Priebus’s body in the back stairwell to give us more room, plus he was beginning to smell terrible.

(UPDATE) Palin is visibly angry and shaken; she won’t sleep and tends to rant, sometimes takes her anger out on other scared people, scaring them even more. She is not good for morale. Bachmann lunged at her and they had a very destructive catfight before we separated them.

August 16: More sophisticated projectiles are being aimed at our office. Everyone spends the day ducking and covering. Voices outside are demanding Palin, Boehner, and other leadership. The crowd says they’ll spare the rest. Boehner looked at us like, “I know you’ll won’t sell me out.”

August 17: Where are the police? We can’t get in touch with anyone.  Noise all night. Food running out. We still have running water but for how long?

August 18: A flaming shit-bag found its way into our office. Now we are hungry and it stinks like dead bodies and poo. Then, first massive assault on our office. Ten people had a large battering object and tried to get through the lobby door. Damn incompetent liberals were too high to bust down the door. Plus, we pushed a few heavy cabinets against it yesterday.  The women here now scream regularly. Limbaugh was found dead behind the easy chair – how long was he dead? We put him out back, next to Priebus. I haven’t eaten for days, but I vomited at the stench of death.

August 19: Bachmann is convinced that God will show us the way out soon. She tried to fondle Herman Cain but was slapped hard.

August 20: The water was shut off at 7am this morning. We are all near panic. There is chanting in unison outside. Bottles are frequently hurled our way. It is difficult to discuss things in private here, but I believe there is a contingent among us that will give up our leaders. I must find a way to get a private conversation started.

August 21: All our feces and urine is piling up in the toilet. This office is intolerable. I’d rather live in Canada than be here. Boehner is white with fright. He knows he’s a marked man. I meet up with a fellow “inmate” (that’s what we are calling ourselves) and we gather a few hungry and desperate men to throw our leaders to the wolves outside. I make a banner reading, “WE HAVE BOEHNER. WE GIVE YOU BOEHNER AND SPARE OUR TORMENT”. We plan to unfurl it at 5:00 in the morning, just as first light hits, and while Boehner does his usual cry in the bathtub. Our signal call? “Anywhere but here.”

August 23: I couldn’t write yesterday because of the terrible events of August 22. After a 5am scuffle a weakened Boehner was thrown out, after which the most terrible carnage was set upon him. I can scarcely explain it. His limbs were ripped, his hair pulled, his torso spiked. Then the feral crowd demanded Bachmann and Palin.  We had no choice but to let them loose. As the crowd fell upon any recognizable face, us low-level Republicans tried to run off, avoiding the blood-screams and broken bodies all around. We all made the mistake of wearing our suits to K-Street. Anyone with a suit was beaten savagely. As I got away, bloody and limping, I saw McCain hanging from a tree. So that’s what happened to him. I wouldn’t have lived to tell you this except for a kind bystander who picked me up in the hour of need. He was a hippie. Dirty clothes, unkempt beard, scruffy hat and sunglasses. I said, “Do what you want, Democrat. I died weeks ago.” He looked at me and gave the faintest smile. He then pulled down his beard slightly. It was a fake! He raised his sunglasses so I could see his eyes. My God, it was Grover Norquist. I collapsed in his arms. I was saved.

A paradise of diplomatic intrigue

Seems that the tiny South Pacific republic of Vanuatu is doing some heavy diplomacy. Trading this and that for diplomatic recognition. Whoring itself for any payouts. Yes, Vanuatu is in great demand these days, a valuable ally for those ethnic enclaves who long to be part of the community of nations. Here is a short list of those regions who are trying their best to court Vanuatu’s favor:

*Islamafrenzia: this hotbed of hot-headed Muslim youth is trying to break away from the Arabian state of Oman. They believe that their brand of Islam is the purest and angriest, and cannot tolerate being under the yoke of such a pussy sultanate. They have sent gifts of RPGs, golden hookahs, and nubile 12-year-old girls to Vanuatu in hopes that they will be recognized as the Islamic Republic of Islamafrenzia. So far Vanuatu has not made a decision.

*Khakh-Khakhistan: a lonely central Asian region of Turkmenistan, its 450 residents long to be recognized as an independent kingdom. They have already set up a monarchic family under Genghis, a long-haired mountain goat. The goat’s mate, Tabitha, is currently receiving rectal messages in the hope that she bores a male kid. Once the dynasty is solidified, the Khakhs hope to compete with Turkmenistan, Tajikistan, and Uzbekistan in terms of regional superiority. The chief export of Khakh-Khakhistan is cigarette butts, the best of which were cleaned, sorted, and mailed to Vanuatu as a sign of good will.

*South Carolina: unhappy with the United States’ gradual moves towards socialism, it has officially formed a friendship society with Vanuatu. South Carolinians have been visiting the islands making business contacts and selling batches of okra, which is a rare delicacy in the South Pacific. South Carolina may yet be a hard sell for Vanuatu, whose polytheistic residents worship strange idols and strut around half-naked. South Carolina has made promises that it will tolerate the nudity and idol-worship, and even the moral depravity, of the Vanuatuans in exchange for future recognition of the Evangelical Christian Kingdom of South Carolina.

*Inner Mongolia: while usually deferential to their Han Communist overlords, Chinese Mongols have been stepping up contacts with Vanuatu. Communist Party leaders have been aware of this, and predictably had rounded up several leaders of the so-called “Inner Mongolian-Vanuatuan Trade Delegation” and put them under house arrest. Nevertheless, a shipment of fine Mongol horsemeat made it out of the province and into the stomachs of satisfied Vanuatu officials. Vanuatu made a formal protest of the house arrests, to which Beijing simply replied, “Fuck you, tiny islands.”

*Quebec: after the Quebec assembly made a concerted push to curry Vanuatu’s favor in an ongoing effort to break free of Canadian despotism, the Vanuatu foreign minister remarked, “The Quebeckers – what the hell do you call them? – don’t interest us. If I had a rupee for every tinpot nationalist region that tried to get our attention, I’d be a millionaire. Which I am, by the way. Though a million rupees is not that much. Anyway, what does Quebec have that interests us? Some ice hockey gear? Run-of-the-mill lager beer? Where is that contract from Islamafrenzia. Let me sign it.”

Senatus Populusque Indianus

I, Publicus Commodus, of modest birth, from the hamlet of Festus, do hereby renounce my candidacy for the province of Indiania.

I must stress that this has nothing to do with the vicious rumors circulating about my plundering of the Festian treasury. I am a proud ethicist who derides illegality of all kinds. I wish no more out of life than your average Indianian: raw oysters, Parthian sex slaves, and a place to call home.

Due to various internal and external contrivances I have , after a long consultation with my family & pagan priests, decided to rescind my candidature. This decision was solidified after a particularly ominous animal sacrifice, whereby the entrails of the slaughtered beast resembled not a golden eagle’s nest but a common pigeon-roost, a bad portent indeed for a pious resident of Indiania. So the Gods have spoken, and P. Commodus must withdraw to his country estate and await his next calling.

Could it be a military campaign against those perfidious Armenians? Could it be the completion of the long-overdue Indiania Aqueduct? Or could it be a personal and vengeful campaign against those followers of Christ of Nazareth, who dare to import their levantine augury upon the proud and dutiful Indianians? A Cincinnatus such as myself will rise to the next challenge.

Until then, my fellow Indianians, I shall retire to grow my prized cabbages and raise dormice. You may even read my philippics from time to time on the local stone tablet. My next missive may be directed against one Crassus Pompus, the populist; Caesar Saladus, the local Christian apologist; and as always against the hated eastern races.

Semper Indiania,

Publicus Commodus

Turning over rocks so you don't have to

Hi, this is superstar and hero James O’Keefe, exposing the LEFT for what it IS: a shameless, depraved lot of humorless jagoffs that love MARX, hate on America, and drive HATCHBACKS. Well, hahahaha, oh, hwatchahahaha, I’ve brought you the ACORN travesty, the goons behind NPR’s fundraising, and now – what Liberals do on the TOILET!!!!! Get ready to be horrified!!!!!

12:50pm: I enter the public restroom on the 3rd floor of NPR headquarters. I take the far stall. All quiet for now.

12:58: The first post-lunch rush. I hear a couple men wander in and pee. Nothing is said. I only think one of them washed their hands.

1:04: Somebody occupies the stall next to mine to drop a deuce. There are three stalls, and instead of taking the first one, he chooses the one next to mine. Weird. Is he gay, or does he have a scat fetish? Surely he knows I’m in the far stall. I had put on orange and black shoes so I could be seen clearly. He drops a quick bomb with barely a sound. Probably eats sprouts and polenta. It takes me twenty minutes to fully defecate, but I eat roast beef sandwiches and chicken burritos like every day.

1:09: A second man walks in, this time takes the first stall. His crapping is more labored, with noticeable splashing.

1:17: A guy walks in. On his phone. Ooooh, this could be good. Seems to be talking to a producer or maybe a friend. Discusses the new accounting software and then the Redskins. No bashing of Republicans. Then moves to the urinal to pee. Good stream, a healthy urethra. Washes hands, checks for pimples, leaves.

1:26: This is what I was dreading. A guy in sneakers comes in to shit, but after he’s on the toilet, notices there’s another stall occupied. His bowels freeze up. We are in a standoff. He is obviously waiting me out. God damn it. I pretend to finish, flush, pretend to wash my hands, and walk out. I wait outside for fifteen minutes until sneakers man leaves the bathroom. While I am waiting, two other men enter and then leave. Could they be discussing Sarah Palin’s lack of intelligence? We’ll never know.

1:41: Back in the far stall. My home base. While I am waiting for someone to walk in, I suddenly feel the urge to take a dump. Now the predator becomes the prey. I surrender to the urge, but in the process of straining I drop my recording device and it breaks on the floor. Then someone comes in and begins discussing Fox News. Fuck! I have no audio evidence now, just this bathroom journal. But James O’Keefe is beyond suspicion. What I heard is the absolute truth:

Man [on the phone]: Can you believe these nitwits at Fox News? They are pure rapscallions. Never seen so many bad eggs, nor heard so much baloney. Now that Megyn Kelly, she’s a dumb dora. And Sean Hannity, he is hard boiled, but a reuben mick, and a mulligan to boot. [Farts audibly.] But don’t worry about it. Everything’s Jake.

Did you hear that? NPR employees talking about Republicans in such harsh tones! Well, I was so upset I forgot to wipe. (I only realized this on the way home, when a rough left turn chapped my ass instantly.) But I was hoping for one more scoop…

1:56: I was planning to leave the bathroom, since my defecation had rendered the workspace air impossible for further snooping. As I was pulling up my shorts, a person came in, and stepped up to the urinal. He was whistling the Chinese national anthem! I swear to God. But I couldn’t continue. My recorder was broken and I had stained the toilet bowl, even after three flushes. NPR toilets are not made to handle Republican turds. At Fox News, they have a special scraper built into every bowl.