Don’t try tell me about patriotism, hombre.
Y’think you’re a patriot? Y’think you love America? Y’think you’ve bled red, white, and blue for the nation?
Well, who am I t’say y’haven’t? Nobody. So I won’t.
But let me just give you a hypothetical. What if there was a guy who somehow figured out how to travel to different realities? Y’know, like, different dimensions. And what if every time he went to a different reality, it wreaked havoc on his body? And what if we ain’t talkin’ `bout no minor headache – we’re talkin’ about bleedin’ from the eyes and bones feelin’ like they’re breakin’ and lungs wheezin’ out but not fillin’ up and vomitin’ out the ass and a really bad genital rash?
Y’know, like how it is after takin’ some really quality club drugs.
Anyways, back to my point. So, what if – just what if – despite all of negative repercussions, this guy keeps on travelin’ to different realities? And what if this transdimensional sojournin’ wasn’t for recreational purposes, but for patriotic ones? Y’know, like, a fact-findin’ mission. Go on enough to find out how different scenarios play out, and y’might be able to help your nation steer away from the Sirens and towards Valhalla.
“If this went that way and that went this way, well, then we’d be better off! What if `ole Jelly Bean Reagan didn’t run for a second term? What if Baby Hitler choked on a chicken bone? What if? What if?!”
So, despite killin’ himself slowly – and surely – this guy keeps hoppin’ into different realities, all for the sake of givin’ Uncle Sam the fullest report possible. Would y’call this guy a patriot?
Apologies if I come across as rambunctious, I just always get whupped up on Presidents’ Day.
But, as President RFK once said, “Get me a coffee, a copy of the Times, and an answer as to why the hell we don’t have a moonbase yet!”
Welcome to the MONDAY MORNING COMMUTE!
Now that you’ve survived some drivel-fiction, it’s time to share what we’ll all be doing this week. Y’know, to survive the grind of the day-to-day.
What albums, books, movies, video games, beers, roller coasters, pharmaceuticals, aerobics classes, or foodstuffs will you be using as protective padding these next few days?
I haven’t seen Machete, but even still I have the suspicion that I’m in love with it. It rocks a certain absurdity that I can get behind. Robby Rodriguez is following up the original flick with Machete Kills, and is showing no signs of mitigating the bonkers.
Drug trafficking is fucking hardcore. Have you ever wondered what it looks like to stuff 72 cocaine capsules into your stomach and hope for the best? Yeah, me neither. But I have seen it now, and it’s fucking ludicrous.
Say what you will about drug cartels and the such, sometimes I have to admire their ingenuity in finding new ways to transport their product. Mind-blowing ways. Take for example these motherfuckers. The U.S Navy with help from Honduras nabbed a submarine carrying tons and tons of cocaine.
There’s thirty-three dudes stuck down in the middle of the Earth for a couple of months. Stuck down there in the miserable darkness with one another, not sure when they’re going to get out. Of course these men have some requests. And of course these requests consist of drugs, sex dolls, and porn. You’re stuck down there for months, you need to actualize some basic needs, right? With plastic dolls!
Thankfully, these requests were met. For the most part. While the drugs and the porn was smuggled down to these poor dudes, the request for sex dolls was denied. Why? Well apparently they could only drudge up ten sex dolls, and we know how men handle sharing women. For all our bluster, we’re a jealous sort. The doc denied “the men’s request for sex dolls …because [he] was afraid jealousy could spread after only 10, rather than 33, dolls were found.”
How the fuck can only ten sex dolls be found? These men are trapped! Goodness gracious.
What I don’t get is why they just throw their typical definition of heterosexual tendencies to the wind. Right? I’m not up to speed on Chilean definitions of heterosexual normativity, but clearly there must be escape clauses for when you’re trapped underground for months. I mean, we exempt everyone when it comes to the army barracks or prison around here in the Empire. I’m sure we’d float the pass when it comes to being stuck in a mine.
All the guys are already tripping on drugs and hammering out loads next to one another, why didn’t they just lend an orifice or two?