You might think that those pretty little numbers on your keyboard are part of your ancestry, whitey, but GUESS WHAT? They aren’t. Not by a long shot.
Meet the Roman Numerals! Why make separate symbols for numbers when you can just reuse those pesky letters that are just hanging about, being lazy. Especially that X. All it ever does is connotate naughtiness, and even that requires three of them.
But do you see this asinine bullshit? This was the way we white people counted. For years (or at least for years when we COULD count… therefore minus that whole “Dark Ages” time period). It makes no fucking sense. I mean, there’s a reason why no one ever knows what fucking number Super Bowl it is when you see all those X’s and L’s and fucking V’s flash across the screen. It is stupid.
So what did we do? We went on a little jaunt called the Crusades and picked up a new numerical system that wasn’t so ass-backwards stupid. Yes. That’s right. Your precious little numbers are ARABIC and INDIAN and OH NO YOUR DEWEY DECIMAL SYSTEM IS LOOKING PRETTY DAMN ISLAMO-FACIST TO YOU NOW, ISN’T IT?
It’s like all the 9’s are suddenly wearing turbans and trying to get on a plane with you, right? ARE YOU AFRAID OF YOUR CALCULATOR YET?
So suck on that, white people. And don’t try to go back to using the Roman numerals or else you’re going to have to start referencing an abacus and no one wants to see that.
Jazz is full of legends. Awesome, musically ingenious legends.
You know who is not one of them?
Kenny Fucking G.
Behold! The elusive Great White Douche.
Seriously, we take a music scene that’s all about expression and awesome tunes and turn out Kenny G. What the fuck is wrong with us? He plays the fucking CALRINET for fuck’s sake. THAT IS THE LARPER NERD OF INSTRUMENTS. THAT’S THE INSTRUMENT THAT ALL THE OTHER INSTRUMENTS PANTS ON A REGULAR BASIS. EVEN THE PICCOLO STUFFS THE CLARINET IN THEIR CLOSET AND PEES IN THEIR MOUNTAIN DEW.
I mean, check it out:
This video makes my eye twitch. It’s like having Wonder bread blended into a paste and then poured into your ears as Paul McCartney is sodomized before you. All with plinky-plunky piano in the background.
So fuck you, Kenny G, and fuck us all, white people. And fuck you Ben Franklin, my mom’s carpool friend, and dentists everywhere for providing this no-talent assclown with a regular listening audience.
You know who was one white son of a bitch?
Check out that pale motherfucker. He’s like if snow and paper decided to move to Germany and have a psycho-ass baby together.
Dammit, Hitler. You have made growing up white with German ancestry very difficult and conflicting. Plus there was that whole “ripping Europe apart and murdering millions of people” thing.
Now, if you’re saying, “Krista, white people weren’t responsible for Hitler! He was put in power due to a lot of factors, including social strife, monetary depression, and a leadership vacuum.”
And you know what? Sure, all that contributed. But you know what else contributed? People got on board with the whole “white is right” thing and it ended up with a lot of people dead.
God. And all because he couldn’t paint a fucking still life. How about you get a life, Hitler. Oh wait, you can’t. Because you lit yourself on fire.
Your ignorance makes Jesus cry. Good job, whitey.
The only time Jesus should ever be white is when he’s made of marble. Or white chocolate. Delicious white chocolate.*
Let’s be real – good ole Yahshua was a dude who was born, raised, and died in the Middle East. Bro was Middle Eastern. He probably looked a hell of a lot more like someone who would make white people nervous on planes than fucking Josh Groban.
The next time I go into a cathedral and see some blue-eyed, blond-haired, Aryan Jesus staring down at me like I just disappointed him at the recent HOA meeting, I’m getting a pentagram tattoo.
*Note: the author does not endorse eating Jesus
when I was a kid and we got to the portion of our curriculum about states, I would always get irrationally angry about living in maryland
because when you live in Maryland, you gotta draw Maryland
and, jesus, Maryland is a stupidly-shaped state
I mean, look at it:
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I’ve been debating whether or not to post this for a while now but figured, hey, it’s not like anyone who knows me thought I was a regular normal person anyway.
So here’s a story.
I had an interesting thing happen to me the other day – and by “interesting” I mean “kind of horrible.”
I had a panic attack.
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Note: I wrote this about 3 years ago when I was halfway through my time at the Second City training center in Chicago. My feelings have grown a bit more complex on the matter, but I like having this as a reminder of how I felt when I first started trying to be funny for realsies.
It was very tough, the first year at least, because they were fighting – particularly the woman writers for their material to get in, which only applied to women’s issues.
– Chevy Chase
I’d like to say that this sort of statement feels antiquated and like my experience thus far in Chicago has taught me that comedy has come a long way in regards to women.
And, in a sense, it has. Tina Fey has blazed a trail in recent years, as have people like Amy Poehler and Kristen Wiig.
They’re hilarious. They’re women. Their uteruses don’t impede their ability to be funny and, sometimes, it even helps drive their point of view and makes them more hilarious.
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There’s this bar we go to after class right outside of Second City called The Ale House. It’s an interesting dive bar – there are half-naked pictures of various (supposedly) famous people covering every surface of the walls, including one of Mitt Romney posing coyly in his “Mormon underwear” (note: I don’t believe this underwear is underwear that any actual Mormon would be caught dead in).
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Sometimes inspiration strikes and I’m not strong enough to ignore the muses.
Guinea Pig Knight
In 2013 my friend found an ebay listing for guinea pig armor and a star was born.
my coworker said she wanted a wallpaper featuring the heavy breathing cat, so I complied