Bill Cosby Insults My Intelligence

I don't think I can do a humorous photo caption that won't offend the non-rapists reading this blog.  (Photo is in the public domain.)

I don’t think I can do a humorous photo caption that won’t offend the non-rapists reading this blog. (Photo is in the public domain.)

By now, my U.S. readers will have heard the “news” about the numerous rape allegations against Bill Cosby.  Although celebrity news usually insults my intelligence, this story is different.  After all, our country and its media held the controversy down for decades.  The delayed timing just goes to show that the American people will forgive the most horrific of sins as long as the sinner is pushing a pudding pop down their throats.  Bill Cosby is being taken down so late in life only because he can no longer stand proudly behind a towering pudding pop on TV.

So let’s shove rape allegations to the side when they mess with our fun.  Priorities matter.

It’s such a shame because this guy was admired as “America’s Dad” because of his iconic Cosby Show.  Obviously, we must now stop calling him “America’s Dad” unless he fathered enough children to have earned that designation through other means. With that in mind, I think we should now refer to him by the job he chose for his character on that famous TV show.

That’s right.  Bill Cosby is America’s Obstetrician.

Of all the medical fields he could have chosen, he picked a vagina-gazing specialty and America didn’t blink.  Never underestimate people’s willful ignorance.

Now, unfortunately, all women will suffer for his misdeeds.  So, ladies, the next time you’re spending quality time with your OB-GYN, try not to think of Bill Cosby.

Blogger’s note: I promise that the next post will be happier.  It would kind of have to be.

Odie Insults My Intelligence

Once upon a time, an anti-drug crusader named Jim Davis decided to write a comic strip to warn children about the dangers of addictions.

Yes, I mean Garfield.

However, Mr. Davis missed the boat.  He depicted a feline lasagna addict who couldn’t resist anything edible; Davis could have easily added an illegal dependency to the character and still had him be believable.  Problem is, Garfield displays intelligence and humor and everything else you don’t want people associating with dangerous behaviors.

And then there’s Odie.

Look at those unnaturally wide eyes.  (Photo credit: Marty--McFly)

Look at those unnaturally wide eyes. (Photo credit: Marty–McFly)

“Odie” is an extended spelling of O.D., which in turn is short for overdose.  Odie was supposed to foreshadow the dangers of addiction: mental incapacity, constant drooling, hyperactivity, and the unending potential for someone to cry out O.D. if he does something really bad.  Instead, Davis characterized Odie as friendly, innocent, and often more likable than any other character in the comic strip.

That’s not how you talk people out of using drugs.

The Neverending Barrage Insults My Intelligence

I fear headaches.  (Photo Credit: Ashley Rose)

I fear headaches. (Photo Credit: Ashley Rose)

You just need to watch more TV because normal people love TV and you’ll love it eventually if I just keep talking about it and talking about it and talking about it even though I know you don’t care and then you should go out to a bar or two or three or fifteen because the only legitimate way to meet women is at a bar (because only the good women like to drink and drink and drink and drink) or at a steroid enhanced sports event or at all of those places you claim not to enjoy but you will enjoy them because I’ll make sure you do because I know what’s best for you because I have the wisdom because I live in front of the television and I go to church every Sunday, which in turn is something you ought to do because it’s good for the soul and because everybody does it and because the Bible says so and because it’s fun and I don’t want you to experience eternal damnation with the prostitutes and the murderers and the thieves and the intellectuals and the Kardashians and glory be to Jesus and glory be to Jesus again because you really can’t give Him too much glory, especially after you’ve joined me at the latest action movie with lots of sex and severed limbs and more dead bodies than a mortician sees in a lifetime plus blood spurting and spraying and flowing from the bodies across the floor, amassing into a puddle until the red liquidy goodness overflows the room and surges as a river like the Blood of Christ, which is what you ought to be thinking of in that movie theater because He is everywhere and you must do everything according to Christian beliefs and popular culture because that’s the only way you can be likeable and there’s absolutely positively no contradiction whatsoever between religion and everything I want you to do for the rest of the week and if you listen to me you can be saved both in this life and in the next and my selling of television and movies DOES NOT sound like the way I sell church and I can’t understand why you you would accuse me of trying to “sell” either one because they’re both wonderful and I don’t have to sell them and it’s completely unfounded to say that I don’t know when to take no for an answer because I do listen and I do stop talking and I do take your preferences into consideration and I am not being judgmental and I want you to be yourself and I want you to decide for yourself and I don’t want to force you into anything you’ll hate and I want you to come here and watch season six of Survivor with me but first let me give you the complete rundown on the first five seasons and then we can go to church and you will have so much fun…

Peace Insults My Intelligence

Suffering builds character.

While everyone was busy ducking and covering in the 1980’s and marveling over the guy who “did not have sexual relations with that woman” in the 1990’s, too much happiness and cheer were going on.  And then people get all nostalgic about all that “wonderful” 80’s music or 90’s music just because it was playing during all those important childhood moments.

Get over it.

Long-time followers of this blog already know how I feel about the American music industry.  They feed us domestic crap and then they import the smelliest crap (sans flies) from overseas.

And so we get Falco and Ace of Base and nothing truly worthwhile.

Do you know what’s worthwhile?

Pain.

Yes, pain.  And transforming those songs into a more explicit version of the pain that they have caused so many people.

So let’s go back to Falco and the dirty little hit job he did on Mozart.  How did that song make you feel?  Perhaps warm and fuzzy like these guys?

Those of us who always hated Falco’s music have become superior moral beings because we had to suffer through it.  Umbra Et Imago’s improved version would help the more mainstream idiots grow in character.

It’s amazing what those melodic low notes can do for a song and for a few blubbering fools.

And then there’s Ace of Base.  I will not bore you with any description because I’m sure that the band has bored you enough already.   However, I will provide you with a lovelier version of an Ace of Base song so that you might truly understand what it means to be an ace:

And once you become wise like me, you will find that the heavy discordant notes now sound normal and you’ll need something different to prevent yourself from becoming a mindless zombie follower of your new musical love.

This is why God invented duets.

Just find the best approximation of your favorite Brazilian death metal band and dummy up the most unlikely musical partner for them…

Now that’s a song that would have been worth losing your virginity to all those years ago.

“Normal” Music Insults My Intelligence

I’ve noticed quite a few bloggers around here participating in a “25 Days of Songs” challenge.  It looked interesting but it seemed rather idiotic to dedicate 25 posts to a single topic… especially since I only write 3-4 posts per week.

Fortunately, I now have an excuse to do all 25 days in a single post.    And fortunately for you, I do not intend to be completely truthful here.  I think we should have some fun with this, don’t you?

And besides, I’ve been meaning to showcase a bunch of (mostly) arcane music you’ve never heard of.  A few titles are well-known but a couple of them experienced much-deserved deaths.  Hopefully violent ones.

1- A song from my childhood

Ummm… did my childhood ever end?  I guess it must have ended because I didn’t choose to embed the official video that includes a bunch of snakes eating a guy’s flesh in super-graphic detail.  Sounds like a cheerful childhood, huh?  Anyway, this is track one on the first non-English-language CD I ever bought.

2- A song that reminds me of my most recent ex-girlfriend

Just because it would piss her off if she knew I’m the one writing this, here’s a little gem from Russia:

3- A song that reminds me of one or both of my parents:

Dad never skimped on the Jewish humor with his officially non-Jewish children.  (People who discriminate against Jews classify me as Jewish… and that makes for an especially fun job search. )  Anyway, humor:

4- A song that calms me down.

Because I love the NSA and feel most calm when I am under constant surveillance, I have to go with this largely forgotten classic:

5- A song that is often stuck in my head

A Belgian girls’ choir singing Rammstein?  Absolutely!  How could you possibly get that off your mind?

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Russian Teddy Bears Insult My Intelligence

Ever since the Olympic opening ceremony, people have been complaining about how the mascot looks drunk, how it gives children nightmares, how it destroys the Olympics’ intended spirit.

Here’s the cute little perpetrator:

Photo courtesy of the Presidential Press and Information Office via http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:2014_Winter_Olympics_opening_ceremony_%282014-02-07%29_01.jpeg   It has been cropped from its original version.

Photo courtesy of the Presidential Press and Information Office via http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:2014_Winter_Olympics_opening_ceremony_ %282014-02-07%29_01.jpeg (It has been cropped from its original version.)

I’m sorry, but this fellow doesn’t seem like a worthy opponent for Godzilla, or even for a three-year-old boy.  In fact, he kind of looks like a more adorable version of Dick Cheney… which means we should expect a couple of heart attacks if the bear continues getting all that exercise.

Heart attacks don’t scare children, especially if the victim is furry and cartoonish.

That ain’t right.  The Olympics deserve a mascot who can inspire the masses to emulate the athletes, namely in that they end up moving very very quickly.    And I will skip over the tired old jokes about Russia… you know, the ones that lampoon how everything in Russia seems drunk and belligerent.

I prefer not to pursue such cheap humor on this blog.

Instead, I would like to introduce a more suitable animal who should have been chosen as mascot.  Meet Dvar the bumblebee, a veritable VIP in Russian cultural circles and connoisseur of warm weather.

This image was slightly modified from the original on "Oramah Maalhur."  The bee is unchanged.

This image was slightly modified from the original on “Oramah Maalhur.” The bee is unchanged.

Oh, and he sings too… this entity so great that he was once rumored to be a creation of the almighty terrorizer of children, Michael Jackson.

He reveals himself in dreams to the anonymous band that adopted his name and they distribute his musical revelations to the world.  What better symbol could have emerged for an event named after the residence of ancient gods?  And the singing even sounds like it came from a children’s show.

All hail Dvar!

Elvis Insults My Intelligence

Good afternoon.  I’m thrilled to be here today.

My name is Elvis Presley and I’m originally from Tupelo, MS.  I know, I know, you think I’m dead.

As you can see, I’m not dead.  I currently live on a remote tropical island in the South Pacific where legions of servants wait on me hand and foot.

It’s good to be the King.

You need to see things from my perspective.  I was getting old and fat, so my agent decided that I needed to disappear.  The fans will forgive you for becoming a drug addict, for getting arrested multiple times, for doing almost anything under the sun except become old and fat.  My waistline bulged and my face had begun to wrinkle.  If I could have swiveled my hips like in the old days, my sagging testicles would have swung and whapped some poor gal in the audience.

Music fans clamor for a different wrecking ball.  Flying genitals are considered acceptable at 19, creepy at 40, and gross at 79.  Ageism at its finest…

But back to my story.  To keep the income flowing in, I retired to this island.  The whole hoopla around “Is Elvis dead?” kept my name in circulation far longer than it deserved to be.  Armies of performers still don my clothes and hairdo while kids who think Metallica is ancient line up to get married by me.  And every time someone imitates me, I get a royalty check.

And don’t forget the memorabilia and tickets to Graceland and everything else you can spend money on.

I’m rolling in the dough because death’s aura conquers all.

https://i2.wp.com/upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/00/Memphis_national_cemetery.jpg

This is the Memphis National Cemetery.  I ain’t here.  (Photo credit: Thomas R. Machnitzki)

Since I’m so generous, I shared my wisdom with my ex-son-in-law, Michael.  No one was buying his music and radio stations refused to play anything by him.  No one wanted to do anything that would funnel money into the hands of a child molester.  But as soon as he “died,”  people could only remember the controversy surrounding his death.  His music reemerged that week and it sells very well on iTunes.

That’s right, kiddies.  Drugs are okay.  They can get you forgiven for greater crimes.

Michael joined me here and we plan to grow older and die on this island.  We can do it because you’re all so stupid.

Thank you.  Thank you very much.