Nazis in Our Midst, No Really, RIGHT in Our Midst!

I guess if I had to be totally honest, I would say that I have been accused of suffering from the odd delusion here and there throughout my lifetime. Like there was that one time, when I thought I actually had a shot at asking one of the popular girls in high school to go to a school dance with me. Delusional? Yep. Thank God for handwritten notes. That conversation would have really, really sucked face to face. Or that other time I thought I had been abducted by aliens and taken in a spaceship to a far off galaxy and then mercilessly anal probed for no apparent reason. Another delusion? You got it, homey. Turns out it was just a homeless guy wearing one of those Ronald Reagan masks from the movie Point Break, and the spaceship was just the back alley at Patty O’Drunkigan’s neighbourhood pub and adult video rental store where I had apparently passed out after closing time. I think it’s fair to say my imagination has gotten the best of me at times, but in my own defence, it was probably for the best given the bleak nature of the real situations.

Over time these random delusionary personality sniglets have led to a fair amount of amusement for my friends and family and myself. “University Degree?” laughter erupts! “Going to be anything other than a wage slave the rest of my life?” Hilarity ensues! “Goals?” “Dreams?” Oh, the snickering we would enjoy. There goes that Brent again, head in the clouds and ass in the gutter! This time, though, I really believe that I am on to something that others don’t seem to be aware of, even though the evidence is all around them, practically goose-stepping them right in their stupid, disbelieving faces. Sorry, that last part was a little bitter. I am going to present the evidence to you and let you be the judge. I can’t be the only one who sees it. It seems like everywhere I look, I see Nazis! That’s right, those guys they don’t teach you about in Canadian schools so maybe you could grow up to become one. Sorry, that part was a little bitter too. Can you explain the following pictures?

This woman is apparently someone named Sarah Palin and she is supposedly a politician of some sort. I don’t believe it for a minute. I saw her performance during the last election in the U.S., and I am convinced that she is actually a clone of Eva Braun that has been created by some nefarious Shadow-Reich conspiracy group that didn’t do a good job splicing the genes responsible for brains. Inflammatory hand gestures aside, only someone cloned into present day from the 1940’s could have fucked that campaign up as badly as she did. Case closed.

Okay, can someone tell me what the hell is going on here? I thought the goose-stepping crowd was limited to Stalinist throwbacks and Little Communist Dictatorships That Could, like Cuba. These people are plainly putting on some sort of goose-stepping clinic, with none other than “USA” emblazoned across their backs. The website said something about some martial art called Tae Kwon Do, whatever the screw that is. Sounds like something a Nazi would make up. I’ve only heard of Kung Fu before, I don’t know about you.

As if these public displays of blatant Naziism weren’t enough, I was out on a day parole walk in the park the other day and I witnessed this disturbing sight, which I was lucky to be able to capture in time with my Kodak Instamatic before the little bugger saw me looking and went back to walking normally:

It’s all around us, people, it’s all around us. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when your child comes home with a permission slip to join his school’s “After School Aryan Club” or gets picked up in a school bus with a swastika on the side. The time to act is now, before it’s too late. Let me know how the battle is going, I’ve got a date tonight on a spaceship in a galaxy far, far away. Ready to go Ron?

Undeserved? I Think not, Sir!

I’ve spent the last few days thinking about the recent awarding of the Nobel Peace Prize to Best African American American President Ever and Don’t Even Think About Saying He’s Not, You Racist, Barack Obama. The flurry of criticism, eye-rolling, and unabashed outrage after the announcement made me nostalgic about the similar reactions I faced after an ill-fated grade school audition for the lead role in our little school’s production of “The Flying Nun.” Good times. I can’t recall another time in my life when my direction seemed so clear cut and obvious: “Exit stage left, MORON!” But I digress. When all of the doubters and naysayers started to come out of the woodwork to question B.A.A.A.President Ever Obama’s Nobel salute, I thought to myself: “Self, why is everyone so upset? Surely this isn’t the first award of distinction given to a man as great as B.A.A.A.P.E. Obama?” I decided to use my awesome skills of investigative research and outright fabrication to get to the bottom of and uncover, or invent, the real, or not so real story of his past achievements and awards. Let’s face it, the man deserves the Nobel Peace Prize for showing enough restraint to not round up all the Universal Health Care protesting oldsters and put them out to sea on a goddamned ice floe. Get your head out of your ass, people!

The first example I found of President Obama’s award worthiness was when he was awarded the White Crane/James White Poetry Prize which is a biennial manuscript prize for “excellence in Gay men’s poetry.” The award consists of a $1000.00 cash prize and publication of the winning manuscript. Obama won the award after submitting a manuscript of love poems written to Bill Clinton during a rocky period in the Obama’s fake marriage. The poetry collection was entitled “You Complete Me, Bubba,” and featured such notable poems as “Redneck Soliloquy” and “The Forbidden Highway Less Traveled.” Sure, at the time there were also criticisms leveled at Obama’s win. Complaints of “He’s not gay!” and “He never wrote that!” were heard, but history has looked fondly on his winning of the prize since to this day he is still the only Future B.A.A.A.P.E. to have ever won the award.

The second example I found or made up to convince you of President Obama’s award worthiness was his deserving win of the Employee of the Month Award at Chase Bank. As a measure of how valuable an employee Obama is to the bank, they have made him Employee of the Month for not only the last half of 2008, but for all the months of 2009, and into the foreseeable future, as long as in the words of Chase Bank CEO Jamie “Diamond Jim” Dimon “He keeps the revenue flowing.” He must be one heck of a valuable employee to be keeping the business afloat all by himself. Obviously he is very deserving of this award!

Lastly, but certainly not leastliest, it took some deep investigative research and fabrication to unearth what is possibly Obama’s most impressive award win of all. That’s right folks, the Holy Grail of awards, the coveted Penthouse Forum “Letter of the Month.” As if we needed any more evidence of the man’s award-worthy abilities than his cure of world peace or whatever, his melting of Gay men’s poetry hearts, or his ability to cure a bank’s stupidity-driven insolvency with a simple 25 Billion dollar injection of taxpayer cash. As it so happens, he can also write a mean piece of (semi)erotic fiction. Since this is a family friendly blog (assuming all members of your family over the age of four routinely use the word “fuck”), I will only provide a brief excerpt of his award-winning prose here, but be forewarned, it might get a little tepid steamy!:

Dear Penthouse Forum,

I am a duly elected President of a semi-large country located in the Midwest to Mid North-South Region of a continent somewhere North of South America, but West of Asia and East of Europe. I never thought I would ever have a reason to be writing to Penthouse Forum until today. I have been going through a rough patch lately as I am pretty sure that my wife has been seeing some white guy behind my back (just because I pointed out he was a white guy does not mean you should assume that I am a person of colour, why don’t we just say I am a white person of colour). Apparently this white guy writes some awesome blog that nobody reads, and has a massive johnson, but that is beside my point. I decided today that I was going to fight to get her back. I spent the afternoon tidying up my sock drawer and put on my sexiest pair of Dockers and, impulsively, a v-neck sweater (I know! I’m such a slut!). When my wife, let’s call her Mochelle, walked through the door, I had my plan of seduction waiting for her. I had our living room decked out with all of her favourite things: a case of Diet Pepsi, the new issue of Better Hos and Gardens, and a fresh tube of Lanacane foot cream…

Whoa Nelly! We’d better stop it right there folks! Things are getting a lit-tle bit racy! I don’t think you need to see anymore to realize that the man truly deserved this accolade as well. I guess the point I am trying to get at is that he is a very talented fella, and we should look forward to him receiving many awards, merited and otherwise, in the years to come.

Has Anyone Told Them Yet?

I think we can all agree that it has happened to us a time or two. You know what I’m talking about. Those times when you were blissfully going through life completely unaware that there was some disastrous wardrobe malfunction happening to you or that you had a stain of some kind on your shirt. I think we have all experienced these things, and wondered why the hell no one had taken the opportunity to warn us or bring the problem to our attention so we could correct it.

What’s that? It’s never happened to you? Come on. You mean to tell me that you have never, and I mean never, not even once, given a speech at a Toastmasters meeting with a gigantic booger stuck to the side of your face? Or perhaps put on a seminar on personal motivation or life improvement in front of thousands of people without realizing you had sprung an enormous boner the whole time (fucking Cialis)? Seriously? How about teaching an entire Sunday School class with one testicle wafting in the breeze out the leghole of your Jimmy Connors Special Edition Tennis Shorts? No? Well then turn the page, my friend, this post is not for you.

Now, back to my point, now that the “real world stuff has never happened to me” losers have left the room. There are people out there today who are living the whole life equivalent of the “booger stuck to the side of the face” scenario, and they may not even be aware of it. I feel it is my mission to help point out that nasty ol’ booger on these people’s faces so that they may have some chance of regaining some of their dignity:

Miley Cyrus in human form, taking a break from her true existence as a ginormous pile of money.

Poor Miley. I mean, she is really living the good life on the surface of it. In fact, I heard they might be considering changing the saying “Life of Riley” to “Life of Miley.” Let’s face it, she has more money than God, millions of adoring fans, and two of the two teenage boys living in my house would sell both kidneys to go on a date with her. Unfortunately, no one appears to have ever told her that the Billy Ray Cyrus that claims to be her father (pending conclusion of the orphanage baby-snatching investigation), is also the same Billy Ray Cyrus that stained our psyches and lowered the collective IQ of the world with the super awesome country ditty “Achy Breaky Heart." Does this poor child realize the suffering her so-called father’s past has wreaked upon the world? And the mullet, don’t get me started on the fucking mullet. I swear to God, there was an episode of Dr. Phil the other day in which “survivors” detailed how they had managed to keep from committing suicide after realizing they had been deflowered in the rusty box of an old Ford pickup truck to Billy’s caterwauling of “Achy Breaky Heart.” Somebody help this child.

“Hey, I know you. I’m gonna kiiilll youuu!”

Well Hillary, you’ve done pretty well for yourself. From First Lady to Secretary of State. Not bad. I just feel like right now would be a good time to point out a little booger on the side of your face. Your husband is a philandering dickhead! And a liar! Believe it or not, even in Washington, you don’t have to put up with that bullshit. You could kick his ass to the curb tomorrow and no one would give a shit. Hell, your approval rating would probably even rise from like one, to three or four percent. Just a little suggestion to help you out should you choose to decide to not live the life of the spurned wife. Please tell me you haven’t gotten back at him in kind though. It bothers me to think of some skinny Latino pool boy rocking on a toilet in your ensuite, reciting the Rosary to himself, waiting for you to call him into your boudoir.

“Hey, hoser! Have you seen our careers?”

Finally, we have the plucky little nation of Canada. It’s about time somebody let you know that your balls are hanging out. Long story short, the world does not give a shit what you think. Americans don’t want to hear about your awesome healthcare system and it’s ever shortening list of people who have died waiting for life saving surgeries. Europeans don’t give a flying fart that your ridiculously insulated, money grubbing, overcharging, fat and lazy chartered banks weathered the world recession on the back of increasing ATM usage fees. People in Iran don’t care that you walked out on their Supreme Leader’s speech at the UN. They don’t care because they are making nukes to bomb your smug ass. Oddly enough, the opinions of a nation of thirty some million overprivileged crackers just don’t matter to most of the world with problems a little more important than what to do about that darn Quebec thing. I am afraid, Canada, that your inflated self-importance has become the on-stage boner shame of a nation.