Quote:
Originally Posted by Ryback_feed_me_more
Incriminating photo of Drexel from Reno
Cmoney has been Beth Shak all along?
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Ryback_feed_me_moreIncriminating photo of Drexel from Reno
Cmoney has been Beth Shak all along?
Quote:
After that American dentist whose name I don't care enough to Google shot Cecil (that majestic lion whose majesty was so brilliant that only after he was dead were people no longer blind to his very existence and could finally glimpse the lifeless trace of his majesty that alone has been appraised at the monetary value of AT LEAST six or seven non-majestic human lives, especially those who had the honor to live in the same country (whose name escapes me, and doesn't matter anyhow so long as the king is dead) as majestic Cecil and thus directly bask in Cecil's majestic presence; rumor also has it that that majestic lion was also a decorated war hero and proudly received a Purple Heart and countless honorifics; in fact, many TIME-subscribers and non-experts alike speculate that, in all likelihood, the fearless regal gaze of his Majesty alone would have majestically cured the SARS virus had that Satan-worshipping dentist-qua-Himmler not barbarically decided to -- with a grin and erection, no less -- end the life of poor, poor, poor, poor, oh so poor, majestic Cecil with one cowardly pull of a trigger, which was later confirmed to be a lucky shot anyhow) -- after all this, I had spent the better half of a month trying to think of a joke about a dentist shooting a lion in his pajamas (a la Groucho Marx).
Then into another month, well past the relevance of this news piece (to be sure, people had to move on, as impossible as it seemed, for that's what the righteous, virtuous, accomplished, prolific, and downright majestic Cecil -- whose majestic legacy will of course forever burn on until the day the good among us merit to be reunited once again with our beloved lion, and while the rest rot eternally in Cecilless hell -- would have wanted). And while I did come up with at least a few passable versions of this joke, none were particularly funny in a way other than being mostly cerebral or downright snobbish.
It goes without saying that none of my attempted jokes bore the hallmark of greatness. This last point, if nothing else, I feel needs to be said.
But I was and still am CERTAIN there is a perfect joke of this type in here somewhere. Every so often I find my mind drifting back to this, musing over all percieved angles, wrenching my thoughts this way and that in some perhaps delusion-qua-hope that THIS time the stars will align and this white whale of a joke will wash up from out of the smoke and chaos and ether (and other words) in full-form and perfect detail, unsuspectingly and unassuming and without warning or trumpeteering or any fanfare whatsoever, gifted everso very graciously onto the shores of my consciousness...all while I, having long ago exhausted the last shred of my mental faculties, can do nothing but dumbly build sandcastles along said shore, and every so often pause to furrow my jutting brow or swat a giant dragonfly or prayerfully and in angst wring my hands together, just before inevitably letting gravity takeover once again as they fall to the glass-littered sand where I drag my hands' hairy hominid knuckles and semi-opposable thumbs across this desolate beach like two broken metal detectors of an aimless bionic beach-comber unwilling and unable to part with the only albatrossic(?) instruments at his disposal... again pausing only to lay restlessly in wait for a miracle of a joke to beach itself.
But alas, if hope springs (falls?) eternal, then what else have I got but faith that the world is not a cruel place, meaning in this yet explicable event of great cosmic significance, that the perfect joke whose specific garden-path setup and punchlining misdirection is a derivational nod to Grouch Marx, and in content paints a narrative of a) wearing pajamas and b) the demonic assassination of the late majestic philanthropic kind-hearted and pure soul that was once confined to a lion's body and named Cecil.
Now, having said all this, I have just one point: as fate would have it, there is again a topical story in the news about shooting an animal whose majesty is invaluably greater than that of, say, fifteen non-majestic human lives, and (all the more so) at very generous least, seven-hundred-plus lives of never-majestic and always worthless human toddler lives. Granted, this story of the evil zookeeper, who is cut from the same cloth as Pol Pot himself, where he calmly and with sociopathic deliberation, executed a gorilla (who many believe was trying to nurse the child, or perhaps nourish said undeserving creature by selflessly amputating it's own leg and offering it as meat before nailing itself to a cross it fashioned with its own two non-opposoble-thumbed hands), unfeeling to the expert, Good Samararian advice of YouTube commentators and hardest-of-the-hard-hitting CSNBC journalists that would soon follow as we the unworthy public were enlightened by what they, if they were the zookeeper, would have undeniably and humbly done to save both this angelic and predictably good-natured gorilla and also, just because, the other, basically pointless, small human thing.
Many believe that the zookeeper, who may or may not have had a lengthy correspondence with Charles Manson (mainly about the great benefits, and only trifling reasons against, one enjoys when deciding to carve a swastika into ones own forehead) acted out of jealousy. Eclipsed by the gorillas implacable magnetism and charm, the barbarous zookeeper would soon receive virtually no recognition, snubbed by other zoo animals and the less majestic patrons -- or people -- equally. The only logical move in his diseased, Machivellian brain was to strike at the first opportunity, despite the backlash that would surely follow in the wake of this crime throughout the next week or so, and pick off the angel-of-a-primate (or, to the Zoo Nazi, the malignant, havoc-wreaking monster to his Dr. Frankenstein) so as to reclaim his hard-won, zoo-renowned status (known to all the zoo over...save for, of course, the "sophomoric" and "non-serious abomination to the art of zookeepery" that is the petting zoo, his words not mine...) as the most popular, beloved, and, yes, benevolent zookeeper this side of the cotton candy kiosk.
Now in the spirit of brevity, I will be frank (so, please pardon the clipped tone, as I can assure you there is no snarky subtext, nor disdainful passive-aggression lurking between the lines in the white spaces whatsoever, or any other such guilty and hidden impurities): can anyone think of a joke for this situation in the style of the abovementioned Groucho Marx formulation? Or something similar? If so, don't hesitate to share your non-copywritten quip below.
Many thanks in advance and please, for once, would it kill you simply try to make yourselves useful?
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Zookeeper Who Raised Harambe from Birth: 'He Was Never Aggressive or Mean to People'
Above is a headline from People magazine. The way I see it, the parents should have known this gorilla wasn't an asshole, and the zookeeper had no right to treat him like an unpredictable wild animal just because he resembled in every identical (genus, species) way -- how trivial! -- a wild animal. Maybe his kid brother Aharambe acted like this but certainly not Harambe! Besides, the zookeeper squandered a rare (yes, rare) opportunity to use tough-love and teach the parents and toddlers alike (though more so idiot toddlers who are the real culprits here) a valuable lesson: don't go into a cage with a wild animal. Actually, wait, there is a chance this was common knowledge. In that case, it's a shame the zookeeper didn't have bigger balls and make this kid into an example. Because, when it comes to freak accidents like this and all the useful statistics that follow, the potential sacrifice of a child would not only educate the public, but enlighten them. What's even better is they would treasure such a lesson that they already know. So, in a way, by making the kid an example for all to see, people would surely turn inward and realize that the truth was in them all along. If you think about it, there was so much potential for journalists to momentarily put aside fear-tactics and negativity and shock and -- God knows it's been too long -- tell a rare, much-needed story to warm the hearts of the public for years to come.
anyone have Muhammad Ali in their death pool?
Its not looking good for the champ. Life support right now.
Quote:
Originally Posted by DRK Star
You are days late. I posted this in the Prince deathpool thread to ward off Sonatine from killing him outright.Quote:
Originally Posted by DRK Star
Coolest Yard Gnomes Ever
http://www.thisiswhyimbroke.com/horr...-garden-gnomes
hearing the champ and goat boxer is on life support legit makes me feel like shitQuote:
Originally Posted by DRK Star
david williams on fox right now, Master Chef. think its a re-run, but he's about to cook right now.
Who is in the right side of your brain??? And has he/she ever affected your poker game?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wfYbgdo8e-8&feature=youtu.be
move over butter. I took this comment to the trump train instead.
Nik Naks are the British version of Cheetos.
There is no equivalent to the Sunday Sport anywhere.
Michael Rapaport Vs. Bill Burr
NYC Vs. Boston
http://www.stitcher.com/podcast/cbs-...2-war-41649388
get yall some
listening to the live stream and the current episode playing started off with Druff and B'sMom going at it about him doing the podcast.
it seriously sounded like a little boy being told he can't play his video games.