Sarah Palin Speaks to The Springton Christian School on D-Day

The gym had been prepared for an assembly the day prior, much to the anger of the basketball team, who now sat with everyone else in crowded quarters in chairs lined along the hardwood.  A slight murmur rose up in the gym, the majority of the conversation regarding the stage.  A stage had been built and housed nearly a dozen flags, and was flanked on all sides by red, white, and blue.  Large Roman columns rose up in front of the stage serving more for looks than anything else.  The podium had remained empty, but was presently occupied by the school's principal, an ugly little man who absolutely detested children.

"Silence!  Silence!'  He pounded the podium with his fist.  His pink round head peered up over the podium, barely visible, but the mere reputation of his wickedness silenced the mumbling crowd.  "As you may or may not know--but judging from this current class it would be safe to assume the latter, that you in fact do not know--today is the sixty-seventh anniversary of D-Day, a day when a lot of young Americans took to foreign lands in an effort to defeat evil.  And they did.  But I don't want to get too far into it, as I am rather excited about our speaker here today who has come all this way to tell you all about it.  So without further ado, I present to you. . . The future President of the United States of America, Sarah. . . Palin!"

The initial shock gave way to applause as the witch herself came out donned in a bright red suit.

"Thank you, thank you," she said, her voice echoing out through the tiny gym and bouncing off the wooden floor just like a bouncing basket ball. "I'd like to thank you for having me here.  As your principal stated, today is the 67th anniversary of D-Day. . . but not really.  You see a lot of people don't know this but D-Day actually began 10 days earlier."

The crowd collectively gasped, but only for a moment.  Sarah only smiled, and once again the students began their collective grumbling but it was ceased yet again by the angry pink face of their principal.  He apparently had not been listening, caught up in his own infatuation with the woman, with the lady in red.

"D-Day marks the day we as Americans entered World War 2, which up until this point had been fought by the Island of Germany and China against the British, the French and the Transylvanians.  We entered the war after President Kennedy had a premonition of Adolf Hitler singling out Jewish people and using them to run an evil theme park for the enjoyment of him and his soldiers.  Being America, we detested the very idea of slavery, as seen by the fact that in our nation's history we have never practiced it, and thusly decided to enter the war."

The reaction was mixed, though bordering on general hysteria.  Some simply sat in shock, their mouths open, some looking at one another in dismay.  The braver students, and those who were particularly outraged started heckling Palin, knowing of their principal's love for dealing out punishment (which, as it seemed, was surpassed only by his love of one, Sarah Palin).  Unfortunately Palin found their heckling to be directed towards slavery, and not her, and thusly continued.

"I know.  I know!  We all hate slavery right?!  So we spotted Hitler and his army entrenched on their island with our satellites, and shipped our armed forces over immediately under the care of General Custard.  Our boys hit that beachhead, and Tom Hanks was there, and Vin Diesel, and one guy lost his arm and was carrying it with his remaining good arm, and after much fighting we took that beachhead.  It was a victory that lead eventually to the downfall of Hitler and his evil theme park.  We freed the Jews and Charlie Chaplin, who had been taken as a prison of war."

"In the end, a man shot at a tank with a pistol, and we were after all able to save that young private, but at the cost of how many lives? The sacrifices made to keep this country free are just another example of the beauty of freedom. So many people are willing to give their lives so that others may live the American Way of life.  And they do this because American life is good and awesome.  Besides, this private we saved from a horrible death at the hands of the venomous Germans would go on to make a great deal of good movies, like 'Good Will Hunting.'

Luckily, one brave soldier managed to survive the entanglement and record it all for posterity.  Which I will show you now.  Be warned however, that the following footage may be a bit disturbing; but such is war."

The lights went down.

The lights came up.  There was silence, save for Sarah Palin at the podium, wiping a phony tear from her eye and trying her best to hold back the emotion within her.

"What cinematography for way back then, am I right?"  

She laughed, still wiping the tears from her eyes and looking to ease the tension a bit.  For some reason the room felt incredibly hot.  She assumed it must have been the result of so many bodies in such a confined space not built for such a capacity of human flesh, and simply smiled and attempted to continue her speech.  But it seemed to she had forgot the rest of it. Easing herself behind the podium she took a quick glance at her cheat sheet, written on the palm of her hand.  A chorus of boos arose from the students, who had finally had enough of this ninnie.  

Their principal rose from his seat, furious that his students would make him look bad, furious that they would dare interrupt his beloved.  His pink face turned a bright crimson, he looked so mad many figured steam would shoot out of his ears but it didn't.  He simply trembled as rage built within him.  He turned a brighter and brighter red, as his very eyes swelled and all these thoughts of hatred bubbled to the surface of his brain.

A real tea pot with a fitting round belly.

"Stop this!  Stop this this instant!"  he steamed "You will not insult Mrs. Palin like this!"  When the booing continued he started picking out individuals for damnation.  "Phillp Peters, detention!  Sally Welsh, detention!  Stop this!  Stop this!"

He paraded up and down the stage, stomping his feet.  He shouted, he raged, yet still he could not control his students. . . He knew he hated children, and this was precisely why.  He made idle threats, and when all else failed he could only think to turn to Mrs. Palin and apologize, but turning to the podium he had found that she had fled the scene.

And instantly, his heart sank.

In recent news Sarah Palin told reporters that Paul Revere had run to the British and warned them of the militia, firing his musket in the air with one hand and lifting a lantern with the other, and apparently holding the reigns of his horse with his third hand (betcha didn't know that).  Naturally, anyone who's seen Looney Toons knows that Paul Revere actually warned revolutionaries that 'The British are coming. . . the British are coming. . ."  Apparently history reports that not even this is true, that Revere only made half the ride and ending up getting 100 percent of the credit.

Well apparently, Sarah Palin was correct in her statement, or so some douchers state.  Mr. Revere was later captured during his 'Midnight Ride' by the Red Coats and in turn, like a total pussy gave up information to them that there was indeed a militia awaiting them. But this is not what Sarah Palin said.  She claimed his mission was to tell the British that there was a militia looking to repel their advance.  This clearly was not his mission.  Nor did he ride around on his horse shooting his musket off (one handed?) and ringing a bell for the soul purpose of intercepting the Red Coats.    In what world, other than Sarah Palin's, would an armed force send out a messenger to inform a much larger enemy with a reputation for conquering of the former's presence?  

After attacks regarding her intelligence and knowledge of American History, Sarah Palin claimed it was just an attempt by (liberal) media to try and put her on the spot and try and make her look stupid with a "gotcha question."  Yet she was asked "What have you seen so far today, and what are you going to take away from your visit?"  She then proceeded to indulge that she had recently learned she had just visited a site that was once frequented by Paul Revere as a teenager, and then spat out her terrible mistake.

Even more frightening, and retarded, is that Palin followers have actually resorted to trying to edit Paul Revere's Wikipedia page so that it may coincide with her statement. . . Come on guys, you know Wikipedia is hardly credible, right?  Changing a website hardly changes history, does it not?

And it is for these reasons that iR declares Sarah Palin and her followers; completely retarded.

Apparently a lot of people want to fuck Sarah Palin.  There are numerous amounts of photoshopped photos of her head placed atop the bodies of much bustier women. . . Also an entire porn series has been devoted to her, complete with a Sarah Palin look-a-like.

Palin was once a local news sportscaster.  You mean like Champ?  Yup, with equally awesome sideburns.

In high school she played on the basketball team, which in her Senior year, won the Alaskan State Championship.  During her time on the team she was give the nickname "Sarah Barracuda."

Opposes bans on semi-automatic weapons.

Palin: "The Tea Party is the future of politics in America."

Sarah Palin's Alaska on TLC

love, 

iR

Inside the NBA Moves Indoors; Charles Barkley: Inspirational Retard

The following blog is enhanced with Charles Barkley Quotes.

TNT's Inside the NBA has always been an opinionated show that made no efforts to be otherwise; their show is one of few that basketball stars actually watch and generally enjoy, and such a policy has allowed its fog horn Charles Barkley plenty of opportunities to piss people off and/or make a fool of himself and therefore make the show entertaining to those who don't even really understand basketball.  For this very reason, never before have they been concerned with Chuck and his sometimes controversial statements, but now after comments made by Charles Barkley, they are planning on moving its pregame show indoors as opposed to outside the stadium in lieu of rising tensions between Barkley and Miami Heat fans.

The tensions began when Chuck had the 'audacity' to pick the Chicago Bulls over the Miami Heat in the Eastern Conference Finals.  It pissed of Dwayne Wade and Heat fans alike, and when they complained and started 'Barkley Sucks' chants, he called them all a bunch of 'whiners,' and implied that many of them were just employees at 'McDonalds' and that his life was much better than theirs.  The following Sunday, at Game 3 of the Conference Finals, Barkley's limo arrived at the arena, and the window rolled down and Barkley flipped of a crowd of hecklers waiting outside the arena.

Yet with his rather spotty history, and reputation, why the sudden concern for Barkley?

Well apparently his comments envoked the wrath of King James and Nike.  Nike of course is so concerned with its new cash cow, that they once confiscated a clip that went viral of Jordan Crawford dunking on LeBron James IN HIS OWN CAMP.  Charles Barkley was told confidentially to 'ease off of LeBron.'  The pressure on him by Nike didn't shut him up however instead, he claimed 'atheletes today are wussified,' and that 'these groups today (Nike), if you don't say 100 percent positive about their guy, or their team, they overract.'  NBA players today are wussified?  Yes, but everyone is a wuss compared to you Chuck:

Look an example of Chuck's nonwussyness and the utter retardation of some youtube users!

So TNT has taken Charles indoors, but he still hasn't stopped, and why should he?  He's made a career of being controversial, and has more than once put his foot in his mouth.  He's shown he has the ability to do it, and has often said things that would have gotten much smaller men fired, but he wasn't.  The retardation of Chuck cannot be touched.  Its expected, and entirely inspirational.  He's called his producers pussies on the air, he's suggested the irritating fans should be taken down to center court and beaten during half-time, he's claimed he hates white people, he's criticized GMS, David Stern, coaches, fans, and referees--its like he said, "He's no role model."  He's no role model, and he's certainly not going to take shit from Nike or Miami Heat fans. 

Most recently he's picked the Dallas Mavericks over the Miami Heat in the NBA Finals, and action which has led some Heat fans to claim he's a Heat Hater, and why not? everyone else hates the Heat, why not Barkley too?  Never mind the fact that he's been praising LeBron as one of the best players in the league for the past three years. . . Of course, he's just hating. . . Your thoughts Sir Charles?

And thats why we love you Chuck, you always handle each situation with such class.  Fuck fuck fuck. . . its bullshit.  And what bullshit indeed. Heat fans have been taking shit all season, from other NBA fans and the press, and now that the prize and ever illusive ring is now in their sights, they're unleashing pent up venom brought on by the ever arrogant "I Told You So" disease.  Are fans not to be bitter and envious of the situation that literally fell in your lap Miami?  Are Cleveland Cavalier fans (if there are any left) not to be bitter about the sudden impoverished state they have found themselves in after their golden child ditched their bleak grey city for the sun and sand of Miami?  And is Charles Barkley, a NBA Analyst, paid to spout his retardation for the sake of interest and ratings, not allowed to pick the Chicago Bulls over the Miami Heat, or the Dallas Mavericks over the Heat because its his honest opinion?  Well no, apparently not.  Apparently this is all just the work of some dubious smear campaign designed to tarnish your beloved team.

How shameful.  Did you not shun LeBron James last year?  Did you not give two shits about Chris Bosh like the rest of us last year?  And now that they're donning your colors you're all up in arms defending them against a legendary retard with plenty of contributions to the game.  Oh how fickle is fandom.  But there is one man, ladies and germs, who is not fickle, and that's Mr. Charles Barkley.  From his Gillette commercials to his commentating game, the man has not changed, and has been constantly retarded his entire career.

In fact Barkley loves Miami, if you ever need to find him, he'll be the guy driving around with the smug look on his face after successfully predicting the Miami Heat's demise in the NBA Finals. 

:)

Charles Barkley is untouchable.  When he played basketball he was a rough and physical, and his history of NBA fights account for that, and now as a commentator he speaks his mind and fights just as often verbally.  This of course causes some controversy, but it is what he has done his entire career.  When he spit in that girls face as a player, everyone eventually got over it, and the two then became friends.  When he elbowed that player in the Olympics for 'fear that he was carrying a spear,' the man came up to Barkley and took a photo with him afterward. . .  He's just that lovable, despite being at times disagreeable.  He certainly rubs people the wrong way, but most of the time its people taking him out of context.

This current debacle is ridiculous.  Sure, maybe Sir Charles shouldn't have acted so crass towards the fans, but now that I think of it, for him to act any other way would be very unCharles of him.  Charles is Charles, and people have got to let him be that.  And besides, fuck the Heat.

It is for Charles' ability to say whatever he wants without ever really facing reprocussions for them that iR declares Charles Barkley inspirationally retarded.

Arrested for DUI.  Upon the arrest Charles admitted he was on his way to get some oral sex.  He then offered tattooing the arresting officers name on his butt if he would let him go.

Charles Barkley once hired a famous heckler to try and urk Michael Jordan.  He flew him up to Phoenix and got him a seat behind the Bulls bench.

Announced he would run for Governor of Alabama in 2012, but then quickly changed his mind in 2010.

Charles has written several books about himself.

Charles' Notoriously Horrible Golf Swing

Charles Barkley Calls Himself a Dumb Ass

love, 

iR

The Hopeless Retardation of MTV's Geordie Shore

That sickness once believed to be a 'Jersey Thing' has crossed the mighty Atlantic and has germinated in, of all places, New Castle, England. It has infected a group of people along the River Tyne, people known as Geordies, who's accent was once declared "the most attractive in England," but to an American ear is unintelligible and entirely foreign sounding when drowned in alcohol.  Knowledgeable of this disease MTV took the another opportunity to cash in on its social infiltration and further make a quick buck off the hopelessly hip.  Ladies and gents, or perhaps I should say birds and lads, I present to you:  Geordie Shore.

They're much like their Jersey Shore counterparts, in that they're all about partying (pah-tee-ing) and promiscuous sex.  The lads seem highly concerned with their personal appearance, spending many hours in the gym talking about birds, and many more in front of the mirror staring at all the work they had put in.  Tanning is also important, along with hair, and at times they seem to echo such mantras as 'Gym, Tan, Laundry.'  The birds also are big on the tans, many also like to wear fake eyelashes, and extensive makeup is definitely a must.  Geordie language is also as unique as Guido language, hinted with heavy accents, and undecipherable to anyone with a brain.

The cast?  Well lets me em:

There's of course Sophie, who's like Snooki (minus the strange food addictions and love of giant slippers) and Angelina (minus the Staten Island) all rolled into one giant ball of retardation, with enough stupid for two.  Her taste in men is very similar to Snooki's; she prefers 'a proper butch man' with 'big muscles, a nice golden tan,' just as long as they aren't 'as dark as her, because that would be competition.'  Despite her confidence, the room mates find her to be a 'minga,' the Geordie equivalent to a 'grenade.'  She just turned twenty one and is all set to go to the Geordie Shore to be a total 'slut' and 'cock magnet.'  So far she has been unsuccessful in that endeavor, but she has managed to get totally drunk off a 'few jager bombs,' get angry and call everyone a tramp, and spend the rest of her time on the show dirtying up the pristine bathrooms with dark brown puke and/or head first in a toilet as one of the room mates holds back her hair. She does however just want to be everyone's friend, and swears she's not usually a 'drunk.'  Plus she can talk the back legs off a donkey, whatever that means.

Then there's Gary, The Situation's UK dopple ganger, who's got The Situation act down pat.  He's got nothing to worry about and just wants to party (pah-tee) down Geordie Shore style.  He claims to know 'the situation' inside out, from getting the birds number to shagging her.  He's got his own six pack, which he too uses to lure unsuspecting drunk women into borderline rape, his favorite way to party (pah-tee).  But no, he doesn't call it 'creepin,' he calls it 'pullin.'  In fact he's so good at it he declares he 'should have a degree in pulling women.'  He too is a gym rat, and is primarily concerned with laying as much pipe as possible, with any bird he can.  He too also talks a good game, but unlike The Situation he can actually back it up. Still, I can't understand what he's saying half the time. . . but I think he said something about having a reputation for stealing other lads' birds.

James is not only the self proclaimed 'best looking lad in Newcastle, if not England,' but he is also definitely one of its most conceited.  He could also be said to be much like Pauly D, in that he's rather concerned with his hair.  He's so concerned with his hair that it was a big factor in choosing a room, in that he preferred one with many mirrors so that he may do his hair, and in fact admits that the hardest thing he's done in his life is 'me hair.'  He too works out (wherever and whenever) and like his 'lads' is primarily concerned with getting laid.

Holly is obviously a JWoww Geordie, and some how her fake tits make JWoww's boob job look tasteful.  Holly is so in love with her fake boobs that she's actually named them: Heidi and Audrina, 'and when ever that song comes on:  Heidi and Audrina eat your heart out,' she points at her tits and calls them 'her babies.'  She's eighteen and is about as bright as a broken light bulb.  Her claim to fame is the ability to hold various bottles of differing sizes between her breasts.  She then often drinks from them, or lets others.  She has a boyfriend who for some reason doesn't mind if she shows her massive fake titties to anyone and everyone.

Jay mirrors Ronnie, he's big and seems to never wear a shirt.  In fact upon discovering that he was the first lad in the house he immediately removed his shirt, you know, cause first impressions are important.  He's definitely not looking for a relationship and is just down to party (pah-tee) with some birds.  He really likes to take care of himself, and focuses on what he calls the 'more feminine side of life.'  He gets his eyebrows waxed, looking so well manicured they appear drawn on, and oh, he also waxes his ass.  Gotta look sharp for the birds, you understand.  He hangs out with his mom because she does his laundry for him, which is pretty sweet, that is unless he's got a bird over and she does it for him, after which he 'repays them in another way.'  His favorite activities include working out and posing topless in front of his BMW.  

Greg could be said to be Vinnie when Jersey Shore first started in that he doesn't seem to fit in, despite saying that he's well know around the scene.  He's even a 'ghost' because he doesn't sport that signature Gordie tan.  Despite his differences it turns out that he's really just as big of a douche bag as the others.  He enjoys calling himself "Snakers" because when he's at the club he's like a snake with the birds.  He's even got a hand motion to accompany every phone number he gets as a sort of celebration--his hands together, palm to palm, slithering through the air like a snake.  Sometimes when he's working with a friend and sees a girl he likes he gets 'his big man to pull a fat mate and he'll go for her.'  Whatever that may mean.

Vicky is our Geordie version of Sammi, in that she's still a member of a generally shitty group of people, but claims superiority because she's got a little more money.  Unlike Sammi however, she can't see to keep her eyes on just one lad, and seems to like every dude in the house, particularly Jay and Greg.  She likes flashing herself about and shows it with dresses sparkling almost as if bedazzled.  Being a real socialite, she is well known about the Geordie D-Bag Scene and apparently gets around with the lads, if yah know what I mean.

Charlotte is onto herself.  She doesn't really act like anyone from the Jersey Shore but is terribly concerned about looking like a sweaty minga.  She also admits to being 'shallow with boys' and has never kissed anyone without a six pack.  She has however, made out with dozens upon dozens of brainless Neanderthals.  Way to go Charlotte! Overall, she's a self-proclaimed '21st Century Girl,' which is nice in that we're surprised she actually knows what century we are in.

The people of Newcastle, England are quite upset about Geordie Shore, just as Italian Americans were offended by Jersey Shore when it unleashed its retardation upon the world.  Both have claimed the shows representing them is grossly inaccurate and that a selected group of few are making the majority look stupid.

And they're right.

But in regards to you Geordies I can only find Geordie Shore to be a spoof of Jersey Shore, which probably, hopefully, was a spoof to begin with.  This is to say that it cannot be taken seriously, and should not--it is retarded and is to be treated as such (point and laugh, if you are unaware of the proper procedure).  Besides, I don't know what you Geordies are so upset about, the rest of the world can't understand you anyway.

To quote the great Big Momma, "What the problem is?"

But if this show does take off, I suggest you all batten down the hatches, for they'll be around longer than anyone will assume possible.  And it is for these reason's that iR declares The Geordie Shore, hopelessly retarded.

Airs every Tuesday, on MTV UK or whatever. . . 

MTV's Geordie Shore

The Geordie Dictionary?

love,

iR

Charlie Sheen Gives Ashton Doucher A Call

The Sheen Estate in Sherman Oaks stirred with activity, though the head of the household still slept.  There was much to be done before Charlie Sheen woke: there were drugs to be prepared for easy ingestion; toast and his favorite jam to be laid out next to his bed, and a special blend of coffee was to be brewed fresh, with one and a half pours of milk mixed in, no sugar, absolutely no sugar.  He had a regular staff to ensure that such regulations were upheld, but it was his two girlfriends, his two goddesses who added those personal touches.  For instance, upon waking from dreams usually regarding hookers and violence, he could be sure that Goddess #1 would be there already ready to provide him with his daily morning blow job, and that Goddess #2 would be right by her side, already prepared with a line of coke -- because thats how winners start their day.  So it was the day things changed, when even his own images and mental delusions cracked under the fierce weight of reality;  and it was all the fault of a damn corpse fucker. . .

You see, it was May, during a time when the weather couldn't make up its mind, crying Spring one day and boasting Summer the next.  Well he woke as usual and. . .

He snorted a line

Then used his mind
To rehab his addictions
He claimed he was sane
But drugs ate his brain
And he needs no prescriptions

He rose up out of bed and stretched off his sleep.  The tiger blood gorged through his veins and arteries, through his many hearts (for he did in fact posses more than one) as the world and all of its intricacies came to him in revelations.  It was the morning ritual, one which had brought him much success in the past, but seemed to be lacking in more recent years.  He frowned, but only momentarily, as he still felt he was winning. Winning by his definition, for he felt good and more importantly felt needed.  Eventually the high would come down though, and like a true winner he was terribly afraid of losing.  The big L word would surface in his mind despite his best efforts to out run it.  It was the reason why he started up a television career in the first place.  To beat it.

Being a winner, he was down with the Twitter and other gadgets of the hopelessly hip.  To be quite frank, he had even set a Guinness Book World Record for Fastest Time to Reach 1 Million Followers (I remember when Guinness Book World Records were important and interesting to me. . . in the fourth grade).  Before being able to check his Twitter his iPhone rang winning.  He found it to be his agent.  He smiled, thinking those pricks had finally caved and given him his job back on 2 and a Half Men.

"So when do I start?"  There was a silence on the other end of the phone. He had caught his agent of guard, but why?  Was his return not as inevitable as he had thought?  No.  Bullshit.  "Listen I've got things to do here" his voice was agitated as much from the cocaine as from having to deal with such shit.

"Look I've had about enough of your act, and I'm not the only one.  That much is obvious to everyone but you Charlie.  I'm tired of it.  We are tired of it.  More importantly CBS is tired of it, they're done with you.  They just inked a deal with Ashton Kutcher today. . ."

Other words were spoken, but Charlie Sheen didn't really hear much of it. He was too filled with hate, his eyes glazed over, his ears listening to all that tiger blood boiling inside of his body.  The room seemed to grow hot, his brow laced with perspiration.  Did his ears produce steam?  Thought of Ashton entered his mind, and all he could picture was a corpse fucker with a goofy grin on his face. A goofy grin on his face.  On his face.  That stupid face!  That stupid jolly face I'd love to smash like a melon. . . Split the noggin like a cantaloupe. . . Wonder if any brains come out?

Just beat. . .

"You hear me?"  the phone squawked.  "We're through.  You got it?! Through!"

The phone went dead.  For awhile it didn't even register.  When it did Charlie felt that perhaps he might cry, which surprised him for he could not remember the last time he had cried.  After nearly a minute without waterworks he concluded what he had expected all along: that he had never cried his entire life.  Not even at birth.  Through the sorrow came menacing vibes of hatred and need for retribution.  It shook him to his very core, his muscles tense to the point of aching.  Something had to be done.

"That corpse fucker. . ."  He said aloud.  His goddesses found him to be distraught and sought to comfort him the only way they knew how, with fleshly pursuits.  He refused their advances and they looked upon him fearfully.  " Go away my dears, daddy has some business to attend to. They left the room shuffling their feet like children sentenced to bed early. With the room now empty he sat behind his desk and took out a cigarette and lit it.  Looking down at it he found is didn't burn quite as he would like, and frowning at it he adjusted the ember with his thumbnail.  As it burned he thought of what to do.  Would he write him a letter and sign it in blood, as he had done with Chuck Lorre?  He thought for awhile and was against it.  No, instead he phone the little shit.

He picked up the phone. . .

Across town a much younger man was getting up to the first rising rays of sunshine with a smile upon his face. He inspected his sheets and was glad to see that his aging wife had managed to keep control of her bladder that night whilst she slept.  He knew there were things to tend to before the head of the household woke up: there was oatmeal to be prepared with prunes to help for her digestion, the morning bath was to be prepared, and ginkgo biloba (to improve memory) was to be placed bedside.  Walking around he noticed his wife's massive doll collection, and noted that they needed to be dusted.  He liked feeling needed. Downstairs he heard the scuffle of the children, and smiled.  Heading towards the door he was ready to descend upon them, to take them into his arms and live out a real phoney baloney Hollywood story. . . but his phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hello Ashton?"

"Why yes, who's this?"

"Charlie Sheen, do you know who I am Ashton?"  he asked rather simply without taking away from his anger.    He smiled.  He was already accumulating his past accolades like some sort of adding machine that always equated to 'winning'

"Why yes. . . yes I do. . ." Ashton replied, politely.

"It was a rhetorical question Ashton," cold as iceeeee.  Smirnoff Ice. Enjoy a nice cool refreshing Smirnoff Ice this summer, whilst hanging out with all your boyfriends under the veranda.

"Oh. . . I just thought. . . I mean you were so quiet I thought. . ."

"Don't think Ashton, its not a good look for you.  But returning to my original thought, do you know who I am?  I'm a war vet, I'm an ex-navy seal, I'm an extreme skydiver, I'm a rookie cop, I'm an ex-con turned Major League relief pitcher, but more importantly, I was a father figure to that fat little shit for eight long years. . ."  His anger subsided, and was replaced with a strange feeling in his heart--yes The Grinch's heart was growing bigger Whoville; he really did love that little shit."

"And who are you, Ashton, who are you?"

"Well I'm. . ."

"Again. . . rhetorical Ashton.  You are a stoner incapable of finding his own car, a computer generated deer--which I would never do by the way--and an overall idiot who can't even handle a coke deal properly. . ."

"You saw My Boss's Daughter?  Aww, that means so much. . . "  Ashton said genuinely touched.  "Not many people saw it."

"Yeah, unfortunately I did."  On the other end Ashton frowned.  "Say, by the way did you hit that?  You know, you fuck Tara Reid?"

"What?!  No we're good friends."

"Yeah. . . didn't think so."  Sheen said.  Then, under his breath "Fag."

"What?  What was that?"

"Nothing."

"You seem to forget. . . " Ashton said meekly.  "I was also a CIA agent, and a Texas Ranger."

"A CIA agent!"  Sheen laughed.  "Yeah with a blonde bitch for a partner. I'd ask if you've hit that, but apparently young blondes aren't your thing. And a Texas ranger?  Yeah playing second fiddle to James Van Der Beek.  How is that guy the toughest motherfucker in that town?  Seems the law round them parts aint very tough if you ask me.  Or is it just the town?  Full of male ballerinas and wine drinkers?  Real fluff Ashton. Real fluff.  I'm trying to make a point here."  He was angry, angry at the entire situation, he had felt properly fucked by the press and the media.  "My point is this.  You can NEVER replace me.  You can never be me, I'm Charlie fucking Sheen.  I've killed men.  I'm a real bad ass.  Look at the facts, you are married to a geriatric with dimming headlights, and I'm living with two women.  Both of them are my girlfriends.  One's a model, lingerie and shit.  Swimsuits. . .  The other is a porn star.  I piss 151.  I've got tiger blood.  The only thing pumping through those veins of yours is chicken broth."

Ashton knew not how to feel.  It seemed as if Charlie was rambling, becoming nonsensical.  His anger was obvious.

"Your movie career has been a total failure--your T.V. career has been based on looking cute and playing dumb--it comes natural to you, I'll give you that--and putting on practical jokes on all your celebrity friends, almost as if to say 'look who I know!'  If I were to Punk you, you'd be dead, I have shot people you know.  I can do it.  I shot Kelly Preston. . . "

"How'd you get this number?"  Ashton asked.

"Never mind how I got it. . . I'm Charlie fuckin' Sheen.  I can do a lot of things Ashton.  If you think anyone is going to give a shit about you coming to 2 and a Half Men, you're sorely mistaken.  You're just there to make all the old women with cob web crotches like your wife wet in their granny panties, and after a week or two they'll get bored of that when they realize you have no talent whatsoever.  You can't bring even an iota of what I bring!  I'm CHARLIE FUCKING SHEEN!"

And with that he hung up the phone.  He threw it to the ground and breathed in.  Cold cool air seeping in through his nostrils and down into his burning lungs.  He exhaled and felt its warm.  His belly felt like a smoldering fire.

Across town Ashton put away his phone as his wife stirred.

"Anything important, honey?"  Demi asked.

"No. . . " he turned "no, nothing at all."

He smiled and bent down to sit on the bed.

"Ready for your enema?"

This has all gone on too long.  Its nice to feel like its over with, but alas, their making more episodes.  I don't really watch the show, nor CBS for that matter, so I don't understand why anyone even cares.  What I can say is that it has been damaging to Charlie Sheen, he'll probably never come back from this.  Not like it really matters, what with all the ridiculous cash CBS was throwing at him.

Bah humbug.

iR declares this whole debacle irreparably retarded.

Sheen has taken up a business venture involving electric cigarettes, called "NicoSheen."  The package is said to grace his 'signature smirk.'

Sheen really did accidentally shoot Kelly Preston, his then girlfriend.  After being shot she broke up with him.  Sheen still does not know why.

Sheen has his own clothing line, called Sheen Kidz, with a 'z'.

Two and a Half Men airs EVERYDAY in Argentina. 

The Australian once described Two and a Half Men as a "sometimes creepy, misogynistic comedy."

Two and a Half Men has been nominated for 30 Emmy Awards, and 2 Golden Globes.

Kel Mitchell Found Jesus

We are gathered here today. . . Light in through the colored panes of church windows. . . Bow your heads. . . The smell of polished pews. . . Come self-proclaimed 90's kids, you boob tube aficionados, you couch cushion jockeys. . . your prophet has arrived.

Prepare the body of Christ. . . a bag of potato chips. . . Pour forth the blood of Christ. . . Coca-Cola. . . Its a shame loud T.V. . . [louder now] Its a shame loud T.V. destroyed. . . I said its a shame loud T.V destroyed your hearing so. . . I said. . . never mind:

Your prophet has arrived. . . 

Guess where Kel's other hand is?  Keenan's face reveals the answer.

What fasting.  What endurance in the name of the lord; none.  What emptiness along the crawling spaces.  The psychedelic soma water, the duodenum berries.  Throw down your orange sodas my friends, Kel Mitchell found Jesus but never fixed his teeth.  Destined, the dreary sidekick.  Even that dance show gave him the title of co host. . .

What stables of women.  What endurance in the name of the wang. What many girls, some of questionable age.  They fell and lay in his bed of success.  Like withdrawing from the bank account.  The word then was 'fine'.  He's FIOOOYNNE.

Piqued, made for decline.
Getting drunk on orange wine.

Who loves orange soda?  Kel loves orange soda.  Is it true?  He do he do he doo-oo.  Orange sugar water and orange Nickelodeon money. Wadded thick in the pockets, placed gingerly betwixt the g-strings of working girls. Oh he do, he do.

Who loves Kel?  Kel loves Kel.  Is it true?  He do he do he doo-oo.  The countless mirrors for looking upon himself, the mirrors for catching sex acts, the mirrors, the mirrors.  The portrait of himself hanging in the hall, overlooking his 'pussy palace.'  The initials KM engraved in the fine leather headrests of his finer automobiles.

But more importantly, more than orange soda and himself, Kel loves God. Is it true?

What fasting.  What endurance in the name of the Lord; none.  What emptiness along the crawling spaces.  The psychedelic soma water, the duodenum berries.  Throw down your orange sodas my friends, Kel Mitchell found Jesus but never fixed his teeth.

Kel of course got his start on the Nickelodeon show All-That, which was kinda like SNL for kids, in that it was once very good, only to slowly get shittier and shittier until reaching a point of being unwatchable; but at least All-That was finally taken out to pasture and put out of its misery.  It was where Kel met Kenan Thompson (who curiously currently works for SNL) and under the bright lights of the Nickelodeon Studios in Orlando Florida, a great bromance bloomed.  The relationship allowed them to develop chemistry and proved rather fruitful for their careers. They were like a Laurel and Hardy, and the beauty of it was their audience was so young and ignorant they could steal rather liberally from their material without their young fanbase even noticing. One of their more successful skits included a place called Good Burger, with Kel playing a retarded-Spicoli-surfer-fast food employee- named Ed (pictured above). He of course was a horrible employee who could never show up on time and further illustrated the common belief that all fast food workers are retarded (which is generally true.)  He also suffered from being capable of spouting only three or four annoying phrases, all of which somehow became trademarks.  On the basis of this flimsy sketch a movie was made called Good Burger, which unfortunately could only taint the wondrous talent of the Great Sinbad.

Now I know all you 90's kids. . . but I have to explain it. . . Not everyone knows the glory of. . . I said not everyone knows the glory of. . . I said. . . Oh damn your rotten ears!  Always interrupting me with their refusal . . . their refusal to work. . .But I must explain it. . . I said I must explain it for others who. . . oh never mind.

Ever wonder what happened to Ed?  Well apparently his last name is Jankins, and this happened to him:

He went bat shit insane on meth and now frequents the local playground, scaring the shit out of little kids.

In 1996, Kenan and Kel were given their own show, The Kenan and Kel Show, which was helped by an already established fan base from All That.  It provided more of the same, with Kenan repeating phrases including a proclamation of his love for orange soda (which was alluded to earlier) and 'Aww here its goes' and all kinds of other shit.  Kenan played the straight man, only he was a schemer who thought up schemes which propelled the show for five long years.  Before the show ended, Kel got a role in the movie Mystery Men.  He played Invisible Boy, who could only turn invisible if no one was looking at him.  Yes, it seems that even as a superhero Kel Mitchell is mediocre and equivocally lame.

The movie didn't really succeed, which was surprising in that Janeane Garofalo was in it. . .  (best joke so far)

With a failed movie under his belt, and the end of another show, Kel feared slipping off into nothingness of everyday 'civilian life,' and did his best to do what he could to keep from becoming a nobody.  He tried to get jobs, but no one wanted him, and it was then that Kel first saw the bars of that cage which had seemed so free earlier; that niche of being a home made Nickelodeon star.

Too old, sweet prince.

Despair set in.  He started eating peanut butter.  Lots and lots of peanut butter.

"Help me God."  The sweet prince cried.  "Help me."

I know what you think. . . and am making this up. . . Obviously you haven't seen any. . . I said obviously you haven't seen any of my stuff before. . . Of course its all true. . . every last word. . . I said every last word, even the part about the. . . about the peanut butter.

God would answer him?  He got a role in a television movie no one saw, called Two Heads Are Better Than None, and then he would get even more offers for work: an episode of Nash Bridges, voice work for The Adventures of Rocky and Bullwinkle, and Clifford the Big Red Dog.  Later he would go on to host The Pokemon 2000 Movie Special (lawlz).

Kel counted his blessings, and continued praying, but only with peanut butter in his mouth.  In 2005 he appeared Kanye West video, as a porter. Betcha didn't know that. . . but then again Kel Mitchell really is Invisible Boy.  Word is he tried talking to Kanye, who swatted at his ear as if to silence some tenacious gnat.

Still more blessings:

In 2007, Kel Mitchell had a minor role in the dramatic film Honeydripper.  

More:

Now, Kel is working on a movie he wrote and stars in, called Chicago Pulaski Jones.  He plays the son of Cedric The Entertainer, who dies, and Kel feels the need to avenge his death. . . with dance:

Urban river dance is ruffffff.

One can clearly see this movie will suck horribly, as if one could not tell from the rather unoriginal plot line to begin with.  I think its supposed to be dramatic, but with Kel's haircut, his acting, and Cedric the Entertainer directing the whole debacle, its awful hard to tell.

Awful hard to tell.  Like his newfound Christianity.  He's got the lingo for sure.  But is it true?  No one can say, only Kel can, and he thinks its true, but only if you pray with peanut butter in your mouth.

So yes brothers and sisters. . . we should be thankful. . . a man exists today. . . and integrity to stand up for whats. . .  I said what's right. . .  So drink forth the blood. . . share of his flesh. . . pray only with peanut butter and for the. . . GET YOUR HEARING AIDS FIXED!

Firstly I'd like to accuse myself of purple prose, 'betwixt' being the primary offender.  Secondly I'd like to apologize for uh, I guess acting like a preacher there, and like you couldn't hear, I just felt the need to talk needless shit about 90's kids.  Why?  Spite.  With that said, we are all guilty, every one of us.  I'm not here to say believing in God is retarded, I'm just saying that when you go around preaching God and the Bible, and then right after that judge a booty shaking contest you kinda look dumb and hypocritical. . . I'm just sayin'.

I commend the fact that you're still trying, but I mean come on, Chicago Pulaski Jones?  I suggest you can it before anyone sees anymore footage, before you're canned. . . for good.  Keep the faith alive, though it still doesn't change the fact you were legally declared retarded in the summer of '04.

Congrats, iR declares Kel Mitchell, legally retarded.

Way to burn out, writer of this 'blah-g.'

Kenan and Kel fans have been begging... I mean BEGGING, for a reunion of the two on SNL with revivals of their roles in the Good Burger movie. . . These people are morons.  I say this not because they desire such a thing, but because they believe such a thing could be possible.  Not only that but desirable. . .  They have aged, ladies and gentlemen, and I'm sure they would have no interest whatsoever in playing roles they had when they were teenagers.  

If you disagree feel free to comment... or call me an asshole.

love,

iR