The Salvia Wave of 2011

MMMM CATSUP!

SOMEWHERE IN A GALAXY NOT SO FAR FAR AWAY; a hop and a skip into the near future: cars still cannot fly. . . But the children do.  Lots of them do, from the yard to the playground, down paths laughing hysterically on the way to school or anywhere they can get their next salvia fix.  Yes:  salvia.  Salvia divinorum

These children became the first components of a vast movement called The Salvia Wave, one which swept the country and all speculation of a 'Caffeine Craze' with it.  Starbucks took up Salvia and only rarely sold coffee.  The Coffee Bean became the Salvia Leaf. . .  It was first triggered on December 10th, 2010, when video was posted on the internet of Miley Cyrus taking a bong rip and inhaling smoke which then reduced her to a giggling buffoon. Observe:

As her friend predicted "You're gonna shit when you see this. . ."  Miley did shit upon seeing it, as well as the entire media world and anyone with a daughter.  Her people immediately got on this potential PR bomb and stated that the smoke she inhaled in the video was not the devil weed marijuana, but in fact the hallucinogen called salvia - and by God its legal! The backlash started slow, like any good menacing wave, for in the minds of young women everywhere the image of Miley Cyrus smoking and altering her mind had been planted firmly in their empty little heads and took awhile before it budded into a gruesome flower. . .

Their interest regardless, had been piqued.  They had never heard of Salvia before.

And now they wanted a piece of the action.

Weeks after the video went up children (particularly young girls) began to act peculiar.  Christmas began to take a back seat to some new obsession, even though signs of the joyous season were all around them and television sets kept barking out TOYS! TOYS! TOYS!  In response worried mothers mothered; foreheads were felt with the back of the hand, throats were scrupulously inspected, and for the more neurotic doctor's appointments were made and specialists were bothered at all hours of the day.  No definite answers came, but never before had so many children been misdiagnosed with attention deficit disorder and Asperger's syndrome.

The wave was slowly rising, building.

Seemingly over night the Disney star had become the head of a rising vibration that was worming its way down the spine of Middle America.  A Timothy Leary of sorts: a face to put on a drug and an entire movement of Salvia heads grooving to the sweet sweet tunes of some Hannah Montana.  Drugs, Disney, and Miley Cyrus maaan.  A ticket to enlightenment, lead by the hand by Mickey Mouse to a world of sunshine bright yet still outdone by the smiles of the people who live there.  Up to the queen:  Miley Cyrus.  In the streets she was praised by anyone under fourteen, touted as a visionary with a keen sense for wisdom and absolution.  While in Oaxaca, Mexico ancient shamans slowly shook their heads and spit in the dirt, for what kind of cruel fate would churn a practice followed and carried out in holy rite by ancestors for centuries (smoking salvia) and allow it all to be plastered over with a foolish lie like Miley Cyrus?

The hipper of parents knew all about Salvia.  Some had even tried it. Most however, were ignorant to its substance, and as a result were often glossed over with bullshit and lies.  Many became hate mongering Nazis, with fine buttons fastened to the chest that read things like: SALVIA turns our KIDS into SLAVES and Salvia Ruined My Child's Life (for bitter victims), and One Hit and Your Dead (recycled from old anti-marijuana campaigns.)

And still rising. . . rising.

In a month the concern on parents faces was even more noticeable. Curfews were earlier and earlier, and strictly enforced.  Some parents even took to locking their children in their rooms.  Others took a more novel approach and chained them to the bed.  It was apparent: this horrid drug was turning daddy's 'little princess' into a 'law-breaking junkie,' and there were articles with big bright headlines to terrify the Sunday reader and really boil his blood.  DADDY'S PRINCESS TURNS JUNKIE,  SALVIA: HEROIN FOR KIDS? SCHOOLYARD DEALERS. . .

"A 12 year old Salvia junkie was arrested late last night and charged with prostitution.  The girl had actually admitted to having sex for Salvia and an immense love for Hannah Montana.  Her parents have asked that her name be concealed for her safety."

-Ron Eastridge "Terror in Suburbia"

"Two girls, donned in Hannah Montana gear entered Dan's Smoke Shop this afternoon armed with shotguns. Screaming at the clerk they ordered him to the ground, threatening to take his life if he were to move or call for help.  They then proceeded to deplete the store of its Salvia supply, taking all they could and shoving it in pockets and Hannah Montana purses.  Both suspects are still at large."

-Sandy Chen The Chronicle

The pristine streets of suburbs everywhere had become battlegrounds;  the sections of concealed dysfunction sprang loose from their walls and spread out into the streets.  Whole throngs of little girls dressed like princesses roamed the streets like feral dogs.  Boys often took to the practice of trading Salvia to young girls in exchange for looks at their panties. . . The Great Fear once again crippled the balls of the common man and refused to let go.

In March Mothers Against Salvia was formed, a hard nosed coalition hell bent on getting Salvia off the streets and out of the minds of their precious children.  

Soon after, in April more and more clinics were reporting that children no longer dreamed!  Parents no longer heard tales of crazy dreams with cartoon characters and school teachers. . . no longer heard tales of nightmares.  This was the most frightening thought of all: children incapable of dreams.  What chaos the world would fall into!

Parents continued to fight, but still, the wave was rising, rising:

The disillusioned masses began to call Malibu their home, as it was the city where Miley lived.  It became a new age Haight/Ashbury, where Salvia heads came together to take up the streets and panhandle.  They had come for the philosophy: all the Salvia and Disney you could want, but instead of cartoons and polished happiness, they came face to face with a harsh reality.  A harsh reality where hunger and cold were a very real thing, the only thing worse perhaps being the way people looked at you.  It was a real bum scene, a real bum scene: young girls from out of town, strung out on Salvia and some disillusioned philosophy spit straight from the mouth of Mickey Mouse, mingling amongst prostitutes and pimps always looking for more girls.  It was a crime element the city had never seen before.

And still the wave was building. . .

The Summer of Salvia began soon after that.  It had been kicked off with an enormous concert held by Hannah Montana.  It drew over fifty thousand Salvia heads and was immediately in every newspaper in the country.

"The scene of the concert the day after is a desolate one.  The fields here, which once housed over fifty thousand young people.  Now, all that remains are memories, garbage, and an overwhelming cloud of disdain precipitating from an entire town of upset citizens.  Local shops are all out of energy drinks and Salvia.  Others cite damage- including destroyed fences and several broken windows."

-Javier Mendoza, New York Times

As the Summer of Salvia was getting into full swing, local governments were in a great stir, working on legislation to criminalize Salvia.  One particular douche was reported as saying "My God its worse than marijuana, and will probably take ten times more lives every year!"  But no, the man was not lacking in his math, he knew ten times zero still equaled zero, his error came in him actually believing marijuana ever killed anyone.  Despite constant pressure, still the movement grew, picking up steam.  The National coverage had given them credibility, and they certainly were not going to stop there: a few heads even appeared on Oprah during the peak of the Summer of Salvia.  It was a glorious time in deed, and when three rich daddy's girls came up with the idea for the end all be all of concerts, a lot of the Salvia heads believed themselves to be winning.  The technocracy was gonna crumble under mind expanding drugs and good music (at least in their estimation anyway.)

These three girls were all older than the common Salvia head, being 22, 24, and 25 respectively.  Together they scouted around for locations in a beat up Chevy, looking for the site of the next big Woodstock 69 incarnation.  They chose a particular lot which was deemed perfect after weeks of finding spots that were too small, or overrun with poison ivy, or logistically impossible: the owners wanting nothing to do with a bunch of Salvia heads.  Their eventual victim was a simple dairy farmer with a shrewd head for business and glasses as thick as Coke bottles.  Despite being a poor candidate in that his fields served as sustenance for the biggest farm in the whole county, and milk to three different counties within the state, the deal was signed, and the gig was signed, sealed, and days away from delivering to the world a giant fuck fest the media would call the 'Salvia Epidemic of 2011.'

The concert was to be a three day event of Disney and Salvia, held in the middle of August.  Media helped promote the event by predicting how savage it was, heads spread the word around water pipes, and the lineup spoke for itself:

• Billy Ray Cyrus
• Cast of Camp Rock
• Cast of High School Musical
• Selena Gomez
• Justin Bieber
• Imagination Movers
• The Cheetah Girls
• The Doodle Bops
• The Jonas Brothers
• Raven Simone
• Hannah Montana

With appearances by:

• Suite Life's Zack and Cody
• The cast of Sonny With a Chance
• Shake It
• The Wizards of Waverly Place
• Corey in the House

Even Nickelodeon got in the deal and added their talents:

• Yo Gabba Gabba!
• A fool in Sponge Bob suit
• Jamie Lynn Spears (and baby)
• Naked Brothers Band

The first day brought in 25 thousand heads, from all over the globe; a mass pooling of all frequencies, flowing through the very heart of the movement there in the nondescript nothingness of middle America.  The heart overflowed, and backed up all state freeways in all directions, and the site was declared to be a disaster area after only being seven hours in.  Still the souls piled in to hear the sweet tunes of Billy Ray Cyrus, who incidentally opened and welcomed everyone to the concert.  Additional acts had to be flown in over the masses, as every direct route had been clogged with cars and people, all drawn to the bright lights of the concert like bugs to a bug zapper.

The second day brought in even more people, as the sun rose from its shell to milk the fields in its light.  It illuminated upon 100 thousand heads, some mingling about the sleeping bodies, others making up the contingent of sleeping masses.  Word had gotten out that the poorly planned concert had no way of keeping anyone out, so as phone calls from cell phones went out, the masses kept piling on it, some walking as far as 10 miles to get to the site of the concert.  Interest in the show was already high, but when word got out that all participants would get a pewter Mickey Mouse pipe, it increased, and with it the heavy flow of human life coming down the highway and from all directions.  One girl went so far as to say it was "Beautiful.  An assembly of the whole army, of all the heads, gathered together for a single purpose.  You wake in the day and The Jonas Brothers are rocking out.  Its like a dream almost. You've gotta shake your head and remind yourself that it really is real!" She then proceeded to piss herself with Justin Beiber came out.

It was by the second day really, that I couldn't stop spitting.  The smell of second-hand Salvia had filled the air, reminiscent of abstestos and fresh dog shit.  My head also hurt, and there wasn't a single remedy other than more Salvia.  In a way, I was upset that they didn't have any REAL drugs, and the place was as dry as a Monastery: not a single drop of the good stuff anywhere--only sodas and energy drinks. . . Despite the discomfort, still I made some notes of the happenings around me:

13/14 year old girl fellating a boy of similar age, stopping only to take a couple of hits of Salvia.

Parents lost, conspicuous.  Smiling awkwardly as their children rock out to Disney Tunes.  A disgusting personification of Disney these days. Living proof.  Look at them.  Just look.  Dad looks like he's just waiting for someone to try and rape his daughter, so he can have a reason to kill someone.  Second-hand Salvia?  Pretty nice smile, while underneath the body revolts, and all kind of horrible thoughts boil in the mind. . .

Another Salvia kid.  You can tell.  They're like stepping stones in a bog of retardation, everything moving around them as they slump to the ground, motionless and smiling.  Like wet clothes.  Like regrets.  Slumped on the floor.

Along the edge.  Playing with the cliff.  To one side the stupid kids of the Salvia Wave, to the other PARENTS, outraged and clutching signs. Picking out the miscreants.  Keeping track of violations.  Screaming desperately into a wake that cared not to hear, nor possibly could anyway.  Tallying and bullying and building up to a moment in which all built up rage would explode; or so it appeared, with their reddening faces and boiling eyes.  What the fuck are they so annoyed about?  Nothing DANGEROUS going on here. . .

And that was where I was wrong, for as I woke to the third day of this glorious shit fest, I found that the numbers had thinned; no, not thinned, just not awake.  But after hours, still, children did not stir from their nests out on the hill, nor did they seem to pay any attention of the acts that were on stage. . . And Miley was coming up soon, to close out the big shindig with one final hurrah.  Had they had enough?  No.  According to reports after the concert, they were dead.  POISONING:

"A somber scene here today after the Salvia Fest.  Some mourn, while others can only shake their heads and say 'I told you so.'  So far two-hundred lives have been lost today, and the tally keeps increasing.  Yesterday, these hills were filled with the sounds of music and joyous celebration, today: they are filled with the sounds of tears as parents search for their children.  Since the beginning of the concert attendees were reportedly given pewter Mickey Mouse pipes, out of which they no doubt smoked Salvia.  But it was not that Salvia that killed them, it was the pipe itself.  According to experts and physicians all mortalities were a result of lead poisoning, as the pipes themselves were drenched in lead paint and were made in China.  Officials are still looking into the situation, while everywhere in the country parents are in an out roar over such a tragic obstruction of sensibility."

-Jizz McHandy, The Oracle

It took Miley coming out as the closer for everyone to realize something was really wrong.  The usual throng of retards she commanded was not present, and soon people got fishy.  These were no pooped kids, these were cooked kids.  They had finally cashed their ticket and were now descending on the ride, in a Disneyland not much like the real thing. Fantasy.

I was just able to get out of the place before the place was firebombed to hell: they had to get rid of all the evidence.

The causalities of that concert came out to 583, 288 human lives, but all of it was a trifle thing in comparison to the minds it had destroyed, the families it had cruelly left unlinked, and the destruction of Salvia and mind expansion all together.  It was best to play the game.  To take the ticket you were given from the beginning, and to not try and make any alterations at all; to sit in your seat and take the ride, and accept wherever it took you along the way, towards the inevitable distinction all living beings must face: death.

Could this ever happen?  No.  Which in a way reveals the hub-bub of Miley smoking Salvia.  Of course, the world isn't gonna change.  There isn't going to be any big Salvia wave.  But in the same breath it is quite understandable that she would be quite the model for young impressionable minds.  Sure, young girls love Miley Cyrus, who would say that upon viewing her doing Salvia that the very idea of doing the same damn thing wouldn't be implanted in the heads of kids everywhere?  Or at the very least, thought about?  Or considered?

No one, except Miley's people, but such is the purpose of having people.  Like politicians they serve to bend the truth and reflect attacks, and as such carry the thick skin and the thin dignity that makes them so perfect for the job.

But if you ask Doctor Drew, its a sign that perhaps there is a giant issue in Miley's life.  SEEK PROFESSIONAL HELP, PREFERABLY FROM ME, DOCTOR DREW.

So who's right?

Who cares?

Its much more fun to pretend that perhaps it could create such a movement like the Acid Wave felt in the mid to late sixties.  Yeah, much more fun.  And how fitting, is it not, that it be Salvia?  A hallucinogenic for the lazy man unwilling to put in all the hours: a short quick rush of madness for 10 minutes a hit.  A perfect drug for a generation accustomed to instant gratification, for the ADHD freak and the iPhone junkie.  Yes.  Quick.  Cheap.  Now.  And so quick one could go on to the next thing--a dozen things-- before taking up another hit and riding down the same old 5 second ride. . .

It is for these reasons that iR declares Salvia, and Miley Cyrus, in its limited potential of greatness:  finitely retarded. 

Happy 100th.

Merry Christmas.

Happy New Year.

pieces:

iR

Imperial Stars; The Dumbest Thing Going

Sit your child upon your knee.  Warm by the comfort of the fire.  Hear it crackling?  Its almost as if upon the edge of its warmth one finds safety, whereas outside of its reach, in the dark, there exists only cold and discomfort. 

Move closer.  Keep safe.  Don't worry little lass, ICP won't get you, they're scared of the dark too.  Better still.  Better move close. Safe.  The young mind and its imagination can create a great deal of evils, evils which grow with the mind and over time, become very real things.

But hush.

Hush now, let me tell you a story.  Drink your milk and eat your cookies.

Listen:

Drink your milk and eat your cookies!

Listen:

Dearest Little One, With Eyes So Bright and A Heart So Pure,

. . .

Grandpa is talking now.

. . .

That's better.

There once was a shit band called Imperial Stars, that was made up of nothing but a bunch of total losers pushing thirty years of age.  Quiet now, while Grandpa wets his lips with some adult juice.  All the better to remember with.  Don't say anything, you'll understand when you're older. Yes I know it smells something awful, but it isn't consumed for the smell young one.  Besides, why do you think your parents left you with me? They hate you, as they hate me.  You better get use to ghosts. . . Now may Grandpa continue?

Where was I?  Ahh yes yes, my finger tells me I was right here, right on the pulse.  These Imperial Stars fellows were somewhere else, their hands probably rested firmly upon their genitals, or perhaps on the genitals of their cell mates. . . A quick laugh and I realize that perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself, and surely in such a case I must be getting ahead of you, for although an old man has a brain made of mush, it is still more functional than that of a witless child!

And I'll prove it damn you, I'll prove it!

Listen now, listen to Grandpa:

Yes well, there once was this band called Imperial Stars, and since their name made mention of some sort of status, these men walked around believing that they were of such a distinction that they deserved to be called stars, but not just stars, Imperial ones, as retarded as that may seem. . . No dear, not supernovas, that would be silly.  Just stars. Well anyway. . . yes, oh yes, they would frequent bars and clubs and speak of their musical talents and rope in young blind girls with copulations and fake fancy suits and a little bit of money.  What they did with these women you're neither old enough nor wise enough to understand, but what they did is fuck them. . . Oh yes. . . Well pardon me. . .  I probably shouldn't have said that.  Don't ask.  Just listen.

*The sound of the chair rocking, the wood squealing, the fire sucking in air, warming the room and lighting the both of them.

Their sound dear, can be described as borderline retarded, often spilling over into dubious bouts of utter bullshit and douchery.  Shield your ears young one, no new soul should have to listen to such degradation and vague, empty notions of celebrity.  For you others, watch  and listen closely. . . As I put on this video :

Wait is that Carlos Mencia?

Yes, little lass, apparently these guys did a video with the same director that did the Miracles ICP music video: Windows Media Player.  Where does the story come in?  Where does the story come in?  Oh you young ones and your constant questions, your jumpiness, your lack of patience. . .  Where does the story come in. . . why this is the story! Now be quiet and drink your milk and eat your cookies and listen to dear Grandpa:

Due to their general suckage and pending decline into the waking void that is the music industry, these D-bags felt the need to get their names a little press.  Oh how they were successful in this endeavor, for the assholes, writers of a song called Traffic Jam 101, felt it was necessary to start a traffic jam on the 101 during peak hours of traffic by parking ACROSS the freeway in their giant SHITMOBILE.  They then proceeded to perform a mini concert of their song 'Traffic Jam 101,' from atop their shitmobile, with their speakers blaring on out at everyone within a 200 yard radius.

*The chair rocking and the smell of booze.  Boozey ole grandpa.  Hell yeah.

Oh you fools, hell hath no fury like a California native stuck in rush hour traffic trying to get to work.

*speaking to no one at all

Oh you fools. . .

Not only did the coppers show up and impound their shit van, but they also arrested the members of the band and put a hefty bail on each and every one of them.

Talk about total fucking morons.

In case you didn't know, I'm sure you don't know lass, you're still young yet:  highway 101 serves as one of the main nerves connecting the Northwest to the Southwest, spanning 1,500 miles.  Its a veritable vein draining from Seattle, Washington down into the muck of Los Angeles.  And these assholes clogged it up.  For a song.  For a real shitty song.  And they're a band.  A real shitty band.

*The chair rocking and the smell of booze and the fire, lighting the room and warming all around it.

Now one can assume that they have tremendous balls - you know for getting arrested promoting a song that generally sucks to begin with.  On the other hand, lass, one can assume that they are tremendously retarded - you know, for getting arrested promoting a song that generally sucks to begin with. . .  Its one or the other, depending on how you see it, for although having balls sometimes results in stupidity, it only delves over into retardation when the individual (i.e. owner of said balls) is already retarded to begin with; the brain is only willing to take as much damage as it perceives it can take, especially when testicles are involved.

But you wouldn't really get that, now would you lass?

So what am I saying?

Your average man wouldn't willingly stick anything into a bear trap, let alone reproductive organs.

A retard, however, would.

Like these Imperial Star guys.

And thats precisely what they did, snagged their testicles in a steel bear trap.

You see, in Los Angeles traffic is a bitch, especially in the early mornings when people are going to work, and again, when they are coming home. Tis why they call it the rat race lass, so many years of their lives spent going SOMEWHERE in the hopes of becoming SOMETHING, just like everyone else.  Everyone biting at everyone else's heels and no one ever really getting anywhere.  The second they interrupted that race, they incured the wrath of all those mice, appalled that they should be so bold as to claim they were anything but the average fur covered vermin, and further angered by their interruption of their race with such an extravagant and foolish display of arrogance and douchery.

Naturally its only time before they disappear, some sort of career perceived in their heads due to 10 minutes on the local news being described by d-bags as being d-bags.  So let it be know lass...  Let it...

*The chair and its rocking ceased, Grandpa's chest heaving and spewing clouds of gasoline out into the air in easy. . . steady. . . beats. . . Let Grandpa sleep now... Sleep.

The Imperial Stars have really made a name for themselves.  For all the wrong reasons.  Not only do they generally suck, (making one wonder how they ever got an album deal to begin with, moreorless their own tour bus,) but they're total assholes on top of that.  And now I know who they are.  And now you know who they are.

Fuck.

But at least the internets has willingly dispatched its own bit of justice: the trolls have come to feast.  Not only has their phone number been posted for angry commuters to bitch and generally flood their voice mail, but they've also received and outpouring of hate -the majority of which they have censored, yeah cause not only do they like traffic jams and general douchery, they like censorship too.  

Never mind the people who were late to work that day, or the people who fired, or who never got that job interview because they showed up late, or even worse the real emergencies that were put to a hault by your antics; a real shitty concert was totally worth it.  Yeah, totally worth all the money its gonna take to bail your asses out of jail and get your SHITMOBILE out of the impound lot. . . And yeah, its totally gonna make you guys famous.

And it is for these reason alone: that your music career is effectively over before it ever started, that iR declares 'Imperials Stars' finitely retarded.  

The best part?  These assholes are supposedly working towards ending children's homelessness - by stopping traffic - commerce.

The Imperial Stars is also a science fiction novel.  

These d-bags aren't even on wikipedia.

Totally unrelated, but check out this retardation:

No wait, like really?  Owen Wilson wanted to kill himself BEFORE Marmaduke was ever released, or even offered to him?   Weird.

iR

Fred: The Fucking Movie

Although this indictment has been a long time coming, I have looked at that initial idea of writing it with scornful eyes, for even the most vile of shit talking would promote this royal d-bag, and promoting this d-bag is the last thing I would ever want to do.  And although I have long since ignored it, this particular d-bag has some how finagled his way from Youtube star to Nickelodeon star, and has thusly brought himself to my attention like a sudden boil on the ass. . .  And what I see standing in front of me is a poorly dressed retard pretending to be six years old, even though he's rapidly approaching those years when he should not care about making little videos on youtube, but instead girls and trying to take advantage of them.  He's waving his skinny arms in front of me and screaming as if at any moment, if he didn't stop screaming or moving around, or doing anything annoying he might suddenly explode from pure pent up energy alone. . .

He's showing up everywhere.

Everywhere vile little snot factories called children dwell and play. . .

They call him Fred, and he made a name for himself (thanks to Youtube) despite being completely fucking annoying. . .

This perhaps, is the greatest calamity of Youtube, as views are views: the fact that the majority of people watch your videos to laugh at you and talk undying amounts of complete garbage is irrelevant; they're still watching. Due to this shameful fact, a one trick pony named Fred (real name/played by Lucas Cruishank) is laughing himself all the way to the bank, even as supposed 'internet trolls' out him for the wasteful internet annoyance he really is.

Who's Fred? . . .  Oh you lucky lucky bastard.

Watch:

This video, mind you, now has 29 million views.

Immediately my fears have subsided, as I would like to think the previous video is more than enough evidence to put this Youtube phenomenon right in the shit box with all the others, Justin Bieber included.

The character that is Fred, is a six year old who has lots of issues for which he has to take medication.  He's totally in love with his neighbor Judy, and his nemesis is some kid name Kevin.  Aside from that, his dad isn't around a whole lot, (if ever, I haven't investigated enough, nor care to, although I can probably say its because he ran off after realizing he couldn't bear the shame of having such an annoying retard as his first born boy --that one he wanted to tromp around in ballfields with and to shoot birds with, but obviously couldn't-- or he probably killed himself. . . for similar reasons) and his mom is an alcoholic/drug addict who's in and out of rehab.

Fred also seems to have absolutely no fucking friends.

Seeing as how we never see anyone else in Fred's videos, the same can be said about the d-bag who plays him, for although there are these other characters (Mom, Judy, Kevin, Grandma, etc.,) they are only heard and are never seen, their voice always Lucas, and always of a douchocity (sick made up word) that breeds annoyance.

Other episodes include:
"Fred Goes Swimming" 45 million views
"Fred Goes to the Dentist" 23.8 million views
"Fred Gets Bullied" 16.5 million views
"Fred on May Day"  11.9 million views

40 plus episodes, all including the same annoying screams and utter bouts of retardation that could only be Youtube's Fred.  It is this high pitched voice which some say is what makes him funny, but this is only said by children, who's peers are made up of similar ADHD sugar addicts with equally high pitched squeals; they're use to that shit.  For an adult, one should only have to put up with such a thing if they are obligated to, you know, like if it was their kid.  Otherwise fuck you Fred, you're fucking annoying.

And yes... This Fred kid is humor FOR kids.  Kids fucking love him, and as a result Nickelodeon has taken him under their wing and has given him his own made for T.V. movie. . . Called Fred: The Movie. . . I shit you not.

Keep burying, I can still see his face.

It premiered September 18th, 2010, and is Nickelodeons first attempt at turning this Fred kid into a total franchise, as with the success of the first one so comes a contract deal for the second.  When it rains it pours.

There's not much to really say about it, its quite what you would expect. Its like a Fred Youtube video, only a hundred times longer, an attribute which clearly shows Fred's shallowness, for after 20 minutes of the kid you can already see him floundering, looking for some way to try and cheaply entertain you with a stupid flashback or impromptu song with horrid singing.  Include in a shameful cameo from WWE wrestler John Cena (who plays Fred's dad,) and you've got yourself one big steaming pile of fail not seen since General Custer.

There's very little humor to be had,  save for maybe Fred getting pummeled with red rubber balls (the ancient archaic game of dodge ball,) getting drenched with water from a hose, or getting put in a headlock by John Cena and tossed through a table. . .

But then again there is that scene where Fred sticks a tree up his anus. . .

I shit you not, he stuck a tree up his ass while laying flat on his belly, with the hopes that it would make a good disguise; yeah I'm just a tree, not a loser with a tree trunk up my ass. . .

All I can say is that if you happened to watch this movie with me and just so happened to find any of the material funny enough to produce a laugh, you were forcefully asked to leave the room, and I wasn't joking around.  I even kicked out Gram Gram, and she's ninety-five years old and can't laugh without a strength given to her with the help of antibiotics and steroids -- still I kicked that bitch out.  Yeah, wheel your ass down the hallway, I don't want to see your Depression Era face any longer.  Oh boo-hoo.

Of course the movie has its delightful own little message at the end, some bullshit about being yourself and the hot chick that you like will eventually like you even though everyone hates you and you totally embarrassed her in front of all her friends at a party you weren't even invited to, oh and that you can lie to everyone and become popular.

See you next time.

This Fred kid fucking sucks.  He isn't really popular.  He's just loved by a bunch of kids young enough to not yet be described as teens, which is strange in that these kids technically aren't even suppose to be on Youtube, or to have an account of any of that.

But thats just a technicality anyway.

The fact that he is so popular, and is making money off of his youtube, can only be because of retardation.  The sheer annoyance of the kid is enough, but when you couple that with humor that isn't even funny, then you've got a perfect product for retards, and these days it is becoming quite apparent that retardation is big business.  Big business.

How else can this Fred kid get his own music videos, his album, his own clothing line, his own toys, and his own movie?  

His popularity has led him to where he is now, a 16 year old playing a role he created four five years ago, and he's not getting any younger.  Despite the fact that he's popular now, he'll fade soon, and that is a day we can all hope for.

Eat shit and die Fred.  You too Lucas.

And it is for this reason that iR declares Fred Figglehorn, finitely retarded.

Played by Lucas Cruikshank.

Fred appeared at the Teen Choice Awards both 2009, 2010.

Fred was sponsored by Zipit Wireless Messenger.

Fred Figglehorn merchandise is available at Hot Topic. . .

Fred has two music videos out, both of which totally blow.

You can buy Fred bullshit on the Fred Figglehorn website, including a 250 dollar package in which the buyer gets the opportunity to talk with Fred himself!  FUCK YEAH!  As well as have Fred leave a voice mail for you.  Double FUCK YEAH!

Official Fred Website

love,

iR

The Deaths of Young Girls; The Birth of Justin Bieber

The collective nothingness that is Canada breathes in; cold air. Breathes out; warm, white like cotton candy. . . A lone Canadian in jack boots stands in a foot of muck rigid as a flag pole, saluting his great nation's flag with a pride that can only come from a true hockey-loving Canadian with maple syrup running through his veins. . . A dying bar serves frothy beers to ugly men with ugly teeth, who bitterly drink their hops with a sort of disdain resulting from being known as America's little brother. . .  Off in the distance, under the shade of a few wilting pines, as conspicuous as a band-aid on a dinner plate, two polar bears fuck. . .

Its another boring day in Canada. . . but wait.

Listen:

The dullness of the day is cut through by the screams of an eighteen year old girl.  She lays in a hospital bed, her hands clenched against her supports, her voice spouting out terrible groans and noises that only women in labor and dying cows make.  The woman is Ms. Pattie Mallette, a devout Christian who had dreams of becoming an actress, dreams which were shattered after she, like a good Christian, got knocked up by some random dude at the ripe old age of eighteen. Despite the unexpected circumstances of a child, Pattie followed her faith, and prayed to God every night.  By her third trimester her prayers became more and more specific, and by the time that little Justin Bieber was born, on March 1st, 1994, she had asked God to "use her son as a modern Prophet Samuel, a voice of a generation."  (source)

Pattie would need her faith, for surely raising a child can be rather difficult for a single parent, especially one that is only eighteen.  She worked odd jobs and she and her son some how got by, and Justin was raised to be normal enough.  For Pattie her faith wouldn't be tested again until a Jewish man with a head for making money and an ear tuned for the songs of tiny birds, came to cage her son and put him in the music business after hearing one of Justin's youtube videos.  Despite being a kid who played sports, Justin also posted youtube video's of him singing Usher songs and dancing, and until Scooter Braun saw them, Justin was performing purely for an audience of tweens around the country whos chemical driven crushes they easily confused as true love.

That day with Scooter Braun, was one which Pattie both celebrated and loathed.  She was happy that her son had been discovered, she was happy that perhaps this could be his chance to become a prophet. . . That perhaps God was indeed doing his work, through her son, Justin Bieber. . . But she was troubled by the fact that this man, Scooter Braun was a Jew.

"God," she prayed.  "you don't want this Jewish kid to be Justin's man, do you?"

She was further perplexed by the fact that he was from an Atlanta based rap label. . .

"God, I gave him to you.  You could send me a Christian man, a Christian label."

But then Scooter Braun threw some money in her face.

And just like that Justin and mommy packed their shit and moved to Atlanta.

And just like that Justin starting doing some demos.

And just like that Justin had a date with his idol, Usher.

The two of them went to a carnival, and ate cotton candy, and Usher even won Justin a giant stuffed lizard when he knocked down all the milk bottles at a carnival game with one throw.  (Justin still has that giant stuffed lizard. . . )  They had a great date, and even sealed it with a kiss at the top of the ferris wheel.

So in love.

So with a boyfriend in Usher, and a daddy in Scooter Braun, Justin Bieber really only needed one more thing to become the next closet fag adored by tons of pussy (albeit young, retarded pussy):  a swagger coach. Luckily his boyfriend has been in the business for awhile, and already had the perfect guy in mind: the same man that shaped and modeled him as a teen pop star: Mr. Ryan Good.  Ryan is responsible for Justin's mannerism on and off stage, right down to every annoying hair flip.  Collectively, it is the duty of all three of them to take care of Justin Bieber, even if this means occasionally 'tag-teaming' him in the hotel room.

Aside from these three men, Justin also has a personal tutor, and a whole team of adults who monitor his every action and make sure he maintains his marketable image.  With these adults on his side, Justin released his debut album, My World in 2009, and it immediately was sucked up and adored by preteens and their crazy egocentric mothers.  The album sold 137,000 copies alone in the first day, and peaked at number five on the Top Ten Billboard List.

At this time the balloon was just begging to swell, or perhaps it was already swollen.

Justin was big on Radio Disney I suppose, he was big somewhere, amongst some people.

Swelling. . .

The success of Justin's My World can be proven easily by the number of deaths his performances generate.  There of course were those three young girls who were hospitalized during a Bieber performace at The Battlecreek Mall; that mother who broke her spine chasing Bieber for an autograph (she fell and was trampled by the following stampede of other autograph hungry fans;) and of course those foolsih girls who asked Bieber for a hug, and when he didn't comply, promptly killed themselves, being unable to live in a world where Justin Bieber didn't want them. . . And on the outside of these concerts, right there at the fringe, are fathers (the only ride the girl could get) standing amongst one another, sipping beers secretively, as to not be conspicous, and they're all grumbling...

"I just don't like it."  One spits.  He shakes his head.  "I just don't like it."

All of them staring out at the sea of girls, watching like surfers watch a dangerous tide, all of them conscious of that fact that those waters just may suck them under, just take their lives if they aren't careful. . .

"Yep. . ."  A contemptuous snort.  "I just don't like it."

Swelling. . . like the tide.

The mere presence of the boy is a powerful thing; sight of him turns young girls into ravenous beasts far too overcome by a sudden surge of inexplicable feelings to do anything other than belt out ear splitting screams and intense sobbing. . . But why do kids feel so strongly about Bieber?

Well, he is said to be made by his YouTube fan base, or so they will cross themselves up and down and swear to.  This has resulted in many Justin Bieber wars, by the twelve year girls who love him, and the twelve year old boys who hate him, because they AREN'T HIM.  Case in point, this little doucher:

So his video is out, and he's walking around the elementary yard, and he's noticing something. . . All these girls ignoring him. . . It becomes clear, hating on Justin Bieber doesn't get you pussy, at least in the fourth grade it doesn't. . . So what happens months later, as soon as he's saved up enough money?  He gets himself a Justin Bieber haircut and his name in The New York Times in a puff piece about a sudden trend amongst young teens, that trend being: Justin Bieber haircuts. . . A tasteful interview he did over the phone in the kitchen to a woman all the way over in New York. . . (Would have loved to hear that retarded interview by the way. . .)  He's totally changed his opinion about the guy, and can't stop fucking with his hair.  Now he's totally Pro-Justin Bieber.

Way to go asshole.   I hope that one kiss you finally got from a girl is worth looking like a total douche bag with a haircut that is basically a bowl cut.  If anything, its only made you more annoying, as if the obnoxious red hair and the abundance of energy wasn't enough, now you've made yourself to always be forced to carry around a comb.  Way to go.  But I'm ahead of myself.  I keep forgetting he's just a kid, a retarded little kid. . .

Hypocrisy is just a big word when you're only 12, like onomatopoeia, a word you don't even know the meaning of, but sure sounds fancy and sophisticated.

And so the wind is blown out of iR's sails:  "You wouldn't make fun of a bunch of children, now would you?  Surely you had an irrational crush all of your own, right?"

Nope.  I was never a child.

If you think about it, being Justin Bieber totally sucks balls.  You've got a mother who's a total Jesus freak and has delusions that perhaps you are just the thing that this world is looking for (and not another product.)  Your father is an adopted one, and the only real resemblance of a dad, in that he's always there to scold you and remind you that there is business to be done.  But he's not your real dad... Your real dad you only talk to on occasion over an impersonal phone.

You're deeply in love with a black man, but you can't love him openly, because doing so would ruin your image, and you'd no longer be a useful object to use to sell sex to little girls.  You've got a whole image team that follows you around to make sure that you don't slip up, because slipping up would be the worst thing you could ever do.  Failure, is not an option.

And when you fuck up, you get scolded every damn time.

Its not life for a boy.

No life for a boy in love with a grown black man.

Its like caging a bird.

And on top of that you have to pretend you like all these girls who rave over your laboriously. . . Throngs of retarded fans that steal your shit and try desperately to hug you.  Stupid bitches like this:

Look ma, we're dumb!

Emah Hira Maito, aged seventeen and her friend (nameless,) who ran up on Bieber and stole his favorite hat, and yes although it is quite retarded to have a favorite hat, this young little lass though it would be a good idea to hold it for RANSOM, yes RANSOM, yet she was not looking for money. . . She was looking for a hug.  Needless to say the COPS had a thing or two to say about it, and the BITCH never got her HUG.

And if this wasn't a good enough representation of that craze that runs through these young girls minds, when they returned that hat, the two of them included their phone numbers and their twitter accounts with the vague and utter retarded notion that, MAYBE, just MAYBE Justin will forget about all the crazy stalker antics and chose them, just pluck them up like daisies amongst the millions of throngs of young girls who all hope for him to do the same to them. . . just pluck them up like daisies.

Emah is still waiting by the phone. . .

Patiently. . . waiting. . .

So where does this place Justin Bieber on the iR scale of retardation?  Well considering the fact that he's already gone through puberty, and his voice has indeed changed, making some of those higher notes impossible to reach, and the fact that pop music flows regardless of a person's hardwork, that Justin Bieber is deserving of an all new definition of retardation.  Further compounded by the fact that he is litterally one major slip up from completely polarizing every young girl's feelings about him, fickle as they are, Infinitely Retarded declares Justin Bieber, finitely retarded.


finite retardation - n - retardation in an individual that is not constant and eventually ends.  Although this retardation may span a longer period of time, it does indeed have a starting point and an ending point, quite unlike Infinite retardation, which is perpetual.  Victims of this retardation are said to be "finitely retarded."

And Justin's case, he'll find himself a bottle, grow old, and wither and die in one.

Just like the worm.

*Due to the gonzo nature of iR, all facts surely must be straightened out.  Here are really the facts, really...


Justin Bieber is Canadian.

His mom is a Jesus freak, did pray to God to make him a Prophet Samuel, and was distraught when a Jewish man came to try and represent her son.

Usher finds Justin Bieber to be like a son.  They are not actually lovers... (At least not publicly.)

Justin twitters a lot, and its all retarded dribble.

Justin has been nominated for many awards, but all he's ever won is a moonman from TRL Italy...

He's only had one album reach number one, and that was only in Canada alone.

Bieber's got a team of what looks like over 50 people, who handle everything from writing his songs to managing the money to yada yada and etc etc.

Bieber's concerts and appearances do get out of hand, many goers report minor injuries with all the scuffling and hub-bub going about, no deaths reported however, :( sad face.

Bieber is not gay, although if you ask 12 year old boys they will all say that he is, and that he sings like a girl "And that is why I hate him."

Bieber really is a youtube sensation, was before Scooter ever scooped him up.  There really are pointless and mind numbing war videos between Justin's lovers and Justin's haters. . . Just look it up if you believe me not, but I warn you, though there are bits of hilarity, much of is retardation.

Bieber wears ball caps all the time. . . I don't like this style, cocked to one side, this I like not.  And this, yes is irrelevant.

Did I mention he's Canadian?

love,
iR